Here’s to you Mr. Trump
I am a crone peppered with punk and seasoned with many other flavors. Humor, sometimes nasty, lets off a lot of steam. Or descending or ascending into the extramundane!
I am happy to be a member of…
Top Posts & Pages
February 2012 – 2018
- "In the beginning there was a void except for the written word." The Avengers (Band)
- Art Stuff Man…
- Book Reading of the Day
- Book Reading of the Day, it's Sunday !!
- Books I Dig
- CDs and anything to review that i want toooooooooooooo!!
- Current Events..
- Dialogue with Breasts more than a sex object.
- Embellished non-fiction short stories
- Holly Duval Cornell's Poems & Prose
- My Red Book by Holly Cornell
- Nature Politics
- PUNK NO-stalgia :Punk Rock
- Records, CDs and anything to review that i want toooooooooooooo!!
- The Adventures of Sony and Raubie
- The Daily “FUCK” Gazette
- the Esoteric heart beat…
- The Praying Mantis
Agathos Daimon, the Good or Rich Spirit”. His numinous presence could be represented in art as a serpent or more concretely as a young man bearing a cornucopia and a bowl in one hand, and a poppy and an ear of grain in the other. The agathodaemon was later adapted into a general daemon of fortuna, particularly of the continued abundance of a family’s good food and drink.
“Scientists know that electromagnetic waves carry information. Radio waves are a common example of how information is sent out via electromagnetic waves. The waves that your heart and brain generate carry information that is sent through your body and out into the space around you, just like a radio transmitter. Yet the heart’s signals have much more power.” – The HeartMath Story, as Told by Founder Doc Childre
I’ve heard it said that the soul doesn’t live inside our body but that it is more like a womb in which we are contained.
Turner, Toko-pa. Belonging: Remembering Ourselves home (Kindle Locations 2739-2740). Her Own Room Press. Kindle Edition.
“This disco guy wanted funk in our sound with 10,000 backing vocals, the guy laughed at Tony when he tried to sing, they treated us like shit. Casey wanted to hit that engineer dick…Posh Boy told us not to play games with him, he’d play games with us. That engineer was a real dick.”
~ Steve Soto ADOLESCENTS
In our over psychological culture, psychological testing substitutes for this seasoned eye and prevents its development. Instead of looking, we test; instead of imaginative insight, we read write-ups; instead of interviews, inventories; instead of stories, scores. Psychology assumes it can get at character by probing motivations, reaction responses, choices, and projections. It uses concepts and numbers to access the soul, rather than relying on the anomalous eye of a practiced observer.
Hillman, James. The Force of Character: And the Lasting Life (Kindle Locations 844-847). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
It is the prime task of a truly modern mind to endure both the spiritual and the practical as the framework for her life.
Johnson, Robert A.. She: Understanding Feminine Psychology (p. 80). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition. __________________________________
Stop thinking about art works as objects, and start thinking about them as triggers for experiences. (Roy Ascott’s phrase.) That solves a lot of problems: we don’t have to argue whether photographs are art, or whether performances are art, or whether Carl Andre’s bricks or Andrew Serranos’s piss or Little Richard’s ‘Long Tall Sally’ are art, because we say, ‘Art is something that happens, a process, not a quality, and all sorts of things can make it happen.’ … [W]hat makes a work of art ‘good’ for you is not something that is already ‘inside’ it, but something that happens inside you — so the value of the work lies in the degree to which it can help you have the kind of experience that you call art.
~ Brian Eno
Mysterious in day’s broad light,
Nature retains her veil, despite our imprecations,
and what she won’t reveal to human mind or sight
levers, screws or hammers
cannot wrench from her. ~ Goethe
Faust part 1
Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade just as painting does, or music. If you are born knowing them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself.
“And just as the soul that is inside your dust.”
~ Pg 8 The Divine Comedy ~ Dante
“I always liked the intensity of the recording.”
~ Chris Bailey from the band The Saints
“Sometimes people try and tell me what is and isn’t punk, or that GBH do or don’t fit in, but they’re generally no older than my socks, and they know about as much. I’ve lived my life doing what I want the way I want to ever since I got expelled from school. Ever since 1977….That’s punk rock”
~ Ross Lomas: From his Book City Baby.
“As I was walking among the fires of Hell,
delighted with the enjoyments of Genius;
which to Angels look like torment and insanity.
I collected some of their Proverbs. ”
~ William Blake, “The Marriage of Heaven and Hell”, 1790
Category Archives: Synchronicity
“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
― William Shakespeare, Hamlet
I believe in the above quote completely. I have witnessed it in the many unexplained experiences I have had and through writers of a multideity of philosophies, as the deities of science, philosophy and psychology or things of art and religion. These “more things” as the high ideals that we believe in; from conspiracy theory, to strange evil occult directives, or even in the loving brilliance of things viewed thought the eyes of wise clairvoyance!
Currently there is a new hurricane in Florida called Matthew, and so far, it has been blamed on president Barack Obama. Rush Limbaugh has blamed it on left-wing conspiracists. I am reading the Ascension Mysteries by David Wilcock, and I am wondering what the insider government is sharing about this storm. It could be evil extraterrestrials fighting the beneficent extraterrestrials which parallels the current politics between the evil Cabal and the compassionate Alliance. Yet today, I reflect back on a book that speaks of a hurricane in Florida from 1904.
I took The Real World of Fairies off the bookshelf today. It is written by Dora van Gelder. She gives a remarkable firsthand account of a Hurricane in Miami, Florida. It is all included in Chapter 12 of her book. This book was originally published in 1904. Mine is a reprint from the Theosophical Publishing House. My edition is 1978. I originally read it in the mid-1980s. The book is available now at amazon.com.
Dora’s accounts in her book are based on her first person clairvoyance. She speaks by means of telepathy with beings she calls water fairies, sea angels and angels of the hurricane. She affirms that these beings are involved in a creative work with nature to bring balance. Whether you believe in what she is saying or not, it is very imaginary, profound and poetic. She also holds true to a person concerned about the balance of nature as current scientists are about global warming and climate change.
“…Human beings will inevitable think that the water fairies, sea angles, and especially the angel of the hurricane himself are bad or evil, because to us they have been destroying life. But this is not so. They have destroyed forms, but they have not destroyed the life within the forms, for life cannot die. MOREOVER, THESE BEINGS HAVE PERFORMED THEIR FUNCTION IN ACCORDANCE WITH NATURAL LAW. Men destroy property, one another and the whole face of nature in times of war or for personal gain, and they read their own motives into nature. But nature has no personal feelings. All this destruction is accomplished impersonally, and even, strange to say, with a feeling of love, because the host of angels and fairies never wanted to kill anything and tries to save as much as possible. How different from war, where we try to destroy everything!”
As many books I have read over time with differing perspectives, Dora’s insights wake me up to the continuity, power and beauty of nature. Her small book is fun to read and I recommend it, especial the last chapter entitled Hurricane.
The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see nature all ridicule and deformity… and some scarce see nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself. ~William Blake
Stumbling along today I found some quicksilver. A little Jung and a little Hillman and a little alchemical reaction….
The Book of Cratès
In the Creative Process:
“Make your obstructions or limitations productive by stimulating greater intensity of thought and a deeper sense of spiritual freedom” ~ The William Blake Tarot Cards
Saturn in Scorpio
When I think about the continuity of life I don’t think of humanity as much of a continuity of things. We are puffs in the wind compared to the planets in our solar system. Astrology is based on this continuity of life. It is part of us physically like modern-day science but also much more. My example begins with a book. It is a book in my secret bookcase behind the computer desk. It holds chess books and esoteric books. The other day while cleaning I opened the door to this bookcase. I unconsciously reached for a book and put it down on the table where I put books that I am currently reading. I then began to read it. I am amazed on what it says to me now. I researched online to study the planet Saturn. I am amazed to find that Saturn was moving into the sigh of Scorpio. There is more to this story. Saturn rules the sign Capricorn while Neptune rules Scorpio and tomorrow the opposite is happening. We find Saturn in Scorpio and Neptune in Capricorn. (October 5th)
The book I reached for is called The Saturn Pluto Phenomenon by Joy Michand & Karen Hilverson.
So what does this all mean?
Thrift stores and garage sales are where it happens. I play a game sometimes. I imagine things I would like to have and then let my imagination go. I shop with the glow of possibilities and magic. It is amazing to find the things I thought of. The days of, thrift stores, any Salvation Army or garage sale, have pretty much ended. Yet, I remember back to a certain book store. It was a place that supplied us with some interesting used books. We found some great books there. This bookstore was a garage sale because it was a garage sale of used books; Old and dusty; histories that are enchanting.
My husband collects too many Chess books. One day we went out to breakfast and then turned into the local used book store for our terrible addiction to books. On this particular day a big book sale was happening; an array of books were for sale outside and it was about to rain. The two of us separated looking for a gem or heart of gold. We both were coming up empty. I wanted to find something special for my husband on his birthday on that same day. He has studied and played chess for years and I do not know much about the game.
I have been known to try to fool him by going into his chess closet; taking out an old one and warp it up for a Christmas or on his birthday as a NEW gift. He remembers them all. I sometimes put little notes in his chess books thinking he will never find them… but he always does (even years later).
Anyway, on this day from our past I found a small selection of game books and noticed one with the word “CHESS” on it. It was a book about Siegbert Tarrasch and I thought,
“How do I say this name?”
I tried hiding the book behind my back but John wrestled it out of my grasp: A big smile came over his face because he knew about Tarrasch.
“Happy birthday John.”
I took the book back from him and looked through it. It smelled old and while reading through the preface… I stopped and read the short biography;
Siegbert Tarrasch was born on March 5, 1862. He was one of the strongest chess players of the late 19th century and early 20th century. Tarrasch was Jewish, and a patriotic German who lost a son in World War I, but lived to suffer under the early stages of Nazism.
“Wow that is the same month and day as John’s birthday.”
March 5th, John and Siegbert’s birthdays are one hundred and four years apart.
This is the best synchronicity that I ever shared with another, but I have played this game before and continue to do so…because life is listening to synchronicities.
It is always interesting when a symbolic painting painted from years ago comes forward to reveal itself. I remember what the Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung said,
“…that when creating art from an unconscious or spiritual place one should share it with others or the public…”
Yet, I do because as Jung points out, that when one does it can touch someone else and affect a chain of events that has meaning.
Last night while watching the History 2 channel. I came upon a TV series. In general it is about an unearthed structure that may have been built during the medieval period on American soil. It is a very interesting topic to me. As I watched the program a special moment happened. I call them synchronicity moments. This structure seemed familiar to me. As many ancient buildings, it seems to be in tune with the four directions and with the sun, moon and stars in the night sky. The Knights Templar focus was on the divine feminine and for them it was the star Venus and also the symbol of the egg.
On this particular structure on American soil there is an egg shape stone that lights up as a certain time by the sun. This holds great meaning symbolically when understanding the Goddess.
As I was viewing this program I looked at the clock below the TV screen and noticed the time was 11:11.
Numerologists believe that events linked to the time 11:11 appear more often than can be explained by chance or coincidence. This belief being based on the concept of synchronicity. Some authors claim that seeing 11:11 on a clock is an auspicious sign. Others claim that 11:11 signals a spirit presence.
Knowing this I had to listen to what I was watching with more intent. Then the image of a watercolor painting I did years ago came to my mind. At the time when I created the painting it was based on my inspiration. I was working with the American Indian Medicine wheel that is based on the four directions: North, East, South and West. I also placed a triangle shape over the threshold of the building of my watercolor. The building I imagined was also built of stone like the structure in the history channel.
At the time I created this simple water-color I was thinking of it as a holy place that I would like to build on a large piece of land in a natural setting.
I am now content to share this story. To think about it and this new experience of what it is saying to me now. What is saying to you the reader?
So be it, I shared my story Mr. Jung!!
ose picking is not a popular topic but we all do it, some more gracefully than others. My music teacher, who was also my voice teacher, did it on stage with a tissue. When she sang opera on stage she could transform from being a 40-year-old woman to a youthful angelic being, and just as lovely while waiting for the class to get ready, with her finger up her nose. I watched her put that tissue with a finger way up there and then she pulled it out and acutely looked at it. She was not embarrassed or self-conscious about it either and I thought to myself,
“How does she do that…to pick ones nose and not care? Doesn’t she think about all of us watching her?”
My dad told me a story once. He was on Hollywood Blvd. and a big limousine pulled up alongside his car. They were both waiting at the stop sign when he saw a woman picking her nose in the back of the limousine. I guess in the 1940s not all big limousines had tinted windows. She looked over at Dad and seemed to blush and then she gave him a big smile. It was a youthful Elisabeth Taylor.
Hollywood and Santa Monica was the “cat’s meow” back then for movie stars, gangsters and the common folk. They mingled nicely back then. Things were spread out and people were intimate. Dad said that at some of the night clubs that he went to there were a number of actors and gangsters present. One night he said hello in passing to Bugsy Siegel while in a Santa Monica restaurant. He said his eyes were piercing blue and as cold as ice. I think this was a few days before he was actually found murdered. Maybe he wasn’t killed by the mob for money laundering or for his wheeling and dealing in Vegas; maybe they caught him picking his nose.
It is not by chance that I posted a picture of Mae West and a few days later a short essay about George Raft. I did not know the connection between them then, but after some research and reading his biography I came to realize the relationship they had with each other. This is how synchronicity works and for them it is also about a deep love.
May West is overwhelming sexy. She is a classic vexing iconic blonde bombshell. George Raft is the sharp gangster. He is a tough guy with a chaos deep voice, so unique and enduring he defines a generation of look and style. For us they go on doing this with endless images, films and books. The thought of them together as lovers and friends is the enhancement of romance. As a sensitive person I feel this is the story that I am procuring about them.
They both died within days from each other; ending up lying in the same morgue alongside each other. This was not planned by them. It could be just by chance that these two iconic film stars came to lie together like this. I can say from a physical perspective it may be true, but for me chance has no say in this; I know that there is no such thing. Their story and death has meaning to me and says something beautiful about the two of them.
I am reflecting upon a film that is about another great love story. It dreamily reveals my intuitive insight about Mae and George’s love story. It is the film The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. It is about a ghost and living woman who fall in love. It is a humorous and titillating story. The actors are not Mae West and George Raft but what happens at the end of the story is my focus. Mrs. Muir lives her life and at the very end of the film we find her siting in a rocking chair. This is where she dies. In this scene we see the young Captain, the ghost, walk up to her and reach for her hand. He pulls her up. She is now also a ghost. The two of them, youthful and beautiful, are together once more and so a new journey begins when they walk away together.
I envision this same scenario for Mae and George. As I look down I see the old age, sickness and death of Mae and George, but as I look up I see two lovers gazing down then up into each others eyes. They are youthful, beautiful and together again moving onward and beyond. This is what I see in the best desires of my imagination for them.
To look at old age and death as a sad and lonely time is to miss the point of life. Waiting is sometimes the price that true love pays. As we grow older the mind naturally goes inward. Reflections and images become stronger. Mae and George live on in our memories and I would not be surprised, but delighted, if more synchronistic mysteries come forth for me about these love birds. It really is a wonderful thing for me to see. This type of information is not so much linear; But comes in a roundabout imperfect way and it grows as leaves on a tree, or slowly collects as dew on a petal.
This is the lesson they’ve taught me…this is the meaning of this synchronicity about their love.