Sabrina and Cooing Dove’s first encounter with each other. Or Colin’s best friend Hawk.
Hawk was a traveler from tribe to tribe. He shared stories about the Great Peacemaker. He often would have to earn favor with each community he approached. Showing he was not a Brave of war, trickery, or bad medicine.
Hot buttered rum was a drink my uncle Royal made up for the Holidays in Autumn and Winter. He had a small store-bought bucket with the ingredients. He put a tablespoon in a cup of warm water and rum. The smell was cinnamon, butter, and pumpkin spices.
As I watched him make the drinks for the adults. He would give me his cocky smile while making one up for me without the booze. We gave each other a wink, a click of the mouth and a nod… after uncle pulled out his cigar. “Just like James Cagney.” Soon the men would be playing poker.
Years later I lived alone on the east coast in Rochester New York during the same holidays. One evening after work I went into a bar and sat down, I asked for a hot buttered rum. Surely, they had the same bucket of goodness sold at most liquor stores behind the bar. The hostess looked at me like I was a moron, who I most likely am. I saw some talking behind the bar. Then the bartender came out with warm water in a cup, a jig of rum, and a tab of butter. Now I looked at him like the moron.
Before I put the chemistry together three jigs were brought up and turned over before me. Whack, whack whack … the three pints of local beers were welcomed. I learned then the customs of local drunks. The moral of this story is that the Butter Rum Life Savers taste like my Uncle Royal’s Hot Buttered Rum cocktail.
He had a big old ranch style house and farm in Anaheim Orange County. Not two miles from Knots Berry Farm. When the big deal was jam. fried chicken and mining for gold. Pomegranates, oranges, and avocado trees once strummed his house for a few miles. It is now a house landmark. His sons had the house and land protected. It is most likely a stranded place surrounded by fast food joints, apartments and who knows what. I should go see the old farm again someday!
In Jung’s theory, the anima makes up the totality of the unconscious feminine psychological qualities that a man possesses and the animus the masculine ones possessed by a woman.
So, when a man puts down or suppresses a woman, it tells us that he has a complex or issue with his own feminine. As an individual or collectively. We live in a patriarchal world. There are so many journeys a male has to correct this problem. Myth, religion, and psychology, or maybe just listening to a female for a change.
Women can learn to handle this problem by developing and having a strong ego and addressing the male within her own psyche.
It is so different what a man and woman face and project out into the world. When I am conflicting with a man it is because my animus is acting up and needs to find balance. I must express my intellect and feelings. It is a challenging and rewarding process where I have found bliss, creativity, and hope… one does not always have to dwell in the underground…maybe a good film noir satisfies this dilemma… a heavy metal song or horror film… or a cup cake with lots of frosting. I like having a well-balanced animus and anima. It took a lot of work… I am aware of it always as a process of life. It is not boring in the slightest, either.
You may think the story I am about to tell you is a bizarre story, but it is real, we are living it… yes now… it is redundant.
I have foresight. It means I can see things. The Covid-19 and all variants are not what you may think. It lives and expands through our bodies. Spreading from human to human …
If you could see it like I can, I encourage you to change your mind about things. If you are playing it safe, you will understand that what you are doing is for the common good of all human beings.
From another realm the Covid-19 virus is like a vast spider’s web. It takes and expands. It goes around and around. Humans are just a source of temporary expanding blissful glory of this multidimensional expanding life force.
It hovers and attacks those who are unaware and stupid. It can read minds and goes after those who play this death game. Some humans are in on it. They think they have control, and they want other people to die. It is a form of mass hysteria of denial that the virus picks up on. It is not stupid. It wants to survive. Until the very end.
I can see it. My foresight tells me to tell people to beware, be careful… yet they play a lost game of denial, ignorance, and defiance. They tease it. This only makes it hungrier. The common good of humanity is not their concern.
I wait and watch from my cave. Deep grieving I feel. I see it all from my electrical fire. I see the variant spreading. A dancing organismic virus web going around and around… and every time I see it from a distance, it sees me very aware.
I give it the finger because mine is cleaned and watched, my mask is on and I social distance. That is the one thing this creepy multidimensional monster hates.
I hope you know what this vast nympho wants… close together people, human beings who sweat on each other, jumping up and down against each other. It is a nightmare, Surreal-intrinsic… and all I can do is watch from a distance.
Innocuous in my cave around the electrical fire, for now… what a real sickness I see…
The big black bumble bee is collecting nectar outside my window. The overcast day is good.
I have a bitchin scarf that is black with golden stars. It hangs with my turquoise necklace that calls out to my cowboy boots. It is a turn on.
While studying, researching, and thinking it out, approaching a documentary film is very exciting. I have experienced that most times I walked alone or only with a few in some of my most valuable and emotional endeavors.
So, it is still moving on…
In a world of turmoil and strongest of strange… I find comfort in my ride. Like a ride on my white mustang over the trails of the Santa Monica mountains. It smells of sage, fennel, and life. It holds a narrative, story… and it will be told.
My mind is wandering on the trail of possibilities… it is so wild and good. Technologies are forming from the realm of new and accessible possibilities… it is so cool. Time for a Diet Doctor Pepper…. Here is a song that really sets the stage of my journey into documentary film making…
“To the question, “Why am I old?” the usual answer is, “Because I am becoming dead.” But the facts show that I reveal more character as I age, not more death.”
― James Hillman, The Force of Character: And the Lasting Life
My oldest brother Steven J. Hudson died a couple of years ago. He was found in his apartment. These details are sketchy, and he is survived by his son and grandson.
Below is a story about my brother who spoke to me from the grave. I think he and Dennis Danell, the original bass player of Social Distortion, both are having some fun on the other side. They caught me in an “amber moment.” Affirming to me that the line between eternity and earthlings is often a fine line.
Brother Steve was a character… he died in his early 70s. He did so many things in life. He sailed, surfed, was a scuba diver, drank, ran marathons … he was a ladies’ man. He was a movie extra for years and knew many characters in the film industry too.
He told me once he kept books and documented all the shows and episodes he was on. I wish I had those books now.
Brother Greg and Steve once said they were going to write a memoir or novel about Steve’s movie experience. I told Steve I was eager to do it too. If Steve only asked me to do it… it would have been done.
I have viewed him on many shows. I like watching reruns from the 60s through the 80s because you never know where his mug will show up.
Here is the story documented … with images to boot… a real life from the beyond story.
I saw SD at their 40th anniversary last December. Mike / band was awesome. He was wearing the badges I gave to Dennis (rip) on his guitar belt. I stole thoes badges from my oldest brother Steve. He had several police badges and such. He got them as a movie actor / extra. He was pissed. A nice synchronicity.
After the show in 2019 I saw this episode a couple years later…
Crazy night, I am watching Kolchak: The Night Stalker and saw my brother Steve (rip). He was a movie extra for years. I am watching the Bad Medicine episode. Steve is playing a police officer! I took his badges … a few years later. He kept them in a basket in his apartment. Those badges have a story too! He just affirmed it tonight! Wow … ❤️ kind of spooked! Thanks Kolchak!
The rhythm and blues, rock and punk rock and the continuity of a beat blows through generations. The beat, guitars and some vocals all take on a life of their own.
I first remember hearing the Rolling Stones by way of my siblings’ records or from the radio.
Something new and fresh after years becomes,
“I wonder how many times I have heard this song !?”
Yet a good song will bloom up and expand out into a new generation.
Blues, rock, and punk rock…
As the musicians play the songs, beat it out, as the music goes up and down our spines it has a life of its own… it enters our DNA.
As a young girl walking home. A car drives by and that song is playing loudly. Ya that song and the beat held me for a short time as the car raced by.
Listening to it on a record or at a live show that same song grabs you and shakes all those memories from your guts.
We mortals get old and die but the beat, the songs live on until a giant earth explosion … all gone…until,
The black-angel says to the white-devil…
“Dig that song, that beat… “
As Dante Alighieri himself is just “Walking the Dog.”
Baby’s back, dressed in black,
Silver buttons all down her back
High, low, tipsy toe,
She broke a needle and she can’t sew
Walkin’ the dog,
Just walkin’ the dog
If you don’t know how to do it,
I’ll show you how to walk the dog
Asked a fellow for fifteen cents,
See the fellow he jumped the fence
Jumped so high he touched the sky,
Never got back till the fourth of July
Walkin’ the dog,
Just walkin’ the dog
If you don’t know how to do it,
I’ll show you how to walk the dog
Come on now, come on, come on
Mary, Mary, quite contrary
Tell me, how does your garden grow?
You got silver bells and you got cockleshells
Pretty maids all in a row
Walking the dog
Just a walkin’ the dog
If you don’t know how to do it
Show you how to walk the dog
Come on now, come on, come on
Oh oh, just a, just a, just a walkin’
Just a, just a, just a walkin’
Just a, just a, just a walkin’
Oh yeah, if you don’t know how to do it
I’ll show you how to walk the dog, oh
Just a, just a, just a, just a, just a, just a walkin’
Just a, just a, just a, just a, just a, just a walkin’, oh
music scene. I was one with the punk scene,
and I tumbled into the mystery of it. I had a
voice again like I did when I was that young
tomboy. The punk scene was like Halloween,
Christmas, horror films, and freedom all at
the same time. Overwhelmed, I felt as though
I was in A Midsummer Night’s Dream,
mimicking Puck— taking on the images that
were around me without question.
It means that the whole time I was in the
punk rock scene, from beginning to end, it
was all about a song. One song to the next
pulled me throughout the scene. Once that
loud music got into my blood there was
nothing like it. I was socially awkward, wild,
and morally uncultivated. I was a perfect
product for the Los Angeles punk rock scene
because I was someone that the normal
culture had completely abandoned. Yet, here I
was, welcomed into an underground
counterculture.
It was my turn to create a name for
myself. I became a punk rocker. I would spit
in your face if I hated you. I’d hit you if I
loved you. For the first time in my life I felt
power.
My bellbottoms
were thrown out and replaced with black
straight legs. I shopped at thrift stores and
navy surplus stores for my clothes.
For twenty dollars, I could buy a
complete wardrobe. I wore cowboy boots or
rain boots. I collected badges and put them
on my shirts. These badges were of local
bands and images that were important to me!
I started buying punk rock records and
listening to punk rock music and continued to
listen to the radio.
“…so it was left to Heracles to arrange a bargain with Zeus to exchange Chiron’s immortality for the life of Prometheus, who had been chained to a rock and left to die for his transgressions.” Apollodorus, 2.5.4
They were in opposition to each other for a few years. I sat between them in my living room. Fennel was cut from a plant from my front yard. It stood about as tall as me. As it dries, a thick fennel stick becomes stronger and more resilient. It rests near my hearth. The Chiron stencil is upon the wall in my living room. Art, I created years ago when my oldest son was young.
Yet there they were. I knew about the mythology that tells a story of Prometheus. He brought fire to humanity in such a fennel stick. For this sacrifice he was punished and tortured by Zeus. Bound to a rock, and so the story goes. Yet I finally stumbled upon a hidden myth that it was Chiron who set Prometheus free. The day I found this out. My living room bounded with joy. Here in my little living room, I came to understand this mystery! I felt liberated as well in a magical way. As if a secret story was only told to me. I finally comprehended it clearly. I imagined dancing around while holding hands with my two dear friends.
It took me a great deal of time to see this, but there they were in opposition to each other. Yet not them but the struggle was in me. I mused so many imagined ideas. How much longer was it that I also stumbled upon the quote from Shelly’s prose Prometheus Unbound? I suddenly read the passage and them knew the truth of what I read. A conversation between the earth and moon. Prose describing the liberation of Prometheus towards the heavens. The moment Chiron set Prometheus free. Here is the quote.
The joy, the triumph, the delight, the madness!
The boundless, overflowing, bursting gladness,
The vaporous exultation not be be confined!
Ha! Ha! the animation of delight
Which wraps me, like an atmosphere of light,
And bears me as a cloud is borne by its own wind.
Brother mine, calm wanderer,
Happy globe of land and air,
Some Sprint is darted like a beam from thee,
Which penetrated my frozen frame,
And passes with the warmth of flame,
With love, and odour, and deep melody
Through me through me!
(320 _ 330 Prometheus Unbound)
I cried. my heart almost leaps out with him towards the heavens. Overjoyed how this all came together. I bear witness to this. Now I share my joy here. To at least know in a creative way, how liberation may be viewed by the earth and the moon. Also, I address humanity … we need to see how precious literature merged with mythology is. To feel it and be inspired. To know the hope, it offers us now!
Now to take this story further. Finding out that I will be working with Uranus, which is now in opposition to Uranus in my birth chart. I am taken down on a path to know Uranus better. To know myself better as well as humanity. I realize as we get older, we all share in this journey. Be it consciously or unconsciously. I want to know Uranus better.
I already know Uranus better then I knew. I stumbled upon a book that made me realize all this time I had a relationship with the Uranian myth through what I have known about Prometheus.
“,,,the planet Uranus was reflected in the myth of Prometheus: the initiation of radical change, the passion for freedom, the defiance of authority, the act of cosmic rebellion against a universal structure to free humanity of bondage, the urge to transcend limitation, the intellectual brilliance and genius, the element of excitement and risk. So also Prometheus’s style in outwitting the gods, when he used subtle stratagems and unexpected timing to upset the established order: he, too, was called the cosmic trickster. And the resonant symbol of Prometheus’s fire conveyed at once several meanings—the creative spark, cultural and technological breakthrough, the enhancement of human autonomy, the liberating gift from the heavens, sudden enlightenment, intellectual and spiritual awakening—all of which astrologers consider to be connected with the planet Uranus.”
Tarnas, Richard. Prometheus the Awakener (pp. 20-21). Spring Publications, Inc.. Kindle Edition.
“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.”
― William Shakespeare, Macbeth
Grief and responsibility are two words that I am feeling right now after the death of my older brother Greg, or some call him Gregory.
When I was young, he was a fun and challenging responsible brother. As I got older, I found him distant and lacking the kind of responsibility that comes from a life that is often not perfect. We all have our demons, but Greg was not shy about his.
I am not going to write about his life here.
I have studied many esoteric books and I can give Greg the respect of inspiring me to look this direction.
He studied Rudolf Steiner and I others. I think we studied and experienced our share of mysticism and occult as well as Native American spirituality. We both grew up on the same hills that were wild and whimsical… calling us to our natural spirituality of questions.
I have learned that after death we are given the ability to look over our lives. All the good things and bad. What we did to ourselves and others. Yet when a family member dies, we too ‘the living’ indirectly go through a parallel experience.
I am letting my psyche grieve out. Like the rain today that is a gentle sprinkling while shearing, the cosmos gives back gems and reflections of memories too.
I love my brother Greg and I will miss him showing up out of nowhere, to get a pint from the local Pickwick pub with some Fish and Chips. He was not dependable, but he had a unique pattern about him that made life fun.
I have come to realize that I am a responsible person. Greg was too as a teacher who had good friends.
I like to document things, write, and take care of my family. I wish Greg followed through with some of his writing project ideas.
I can say that Greg had a good life holding many adventures, trials and loves. I wish him well on his journey away from us. I hope when he comes to me during his retrospection of life, he will find one of his four siblings doing what they do as reasonably happy and forgiving.
This is what we humans are made up of, our contrary ways. None of us get away with anything…
Greg had a dark side too. Our family does… standing up to them has been something I had to do. I am glad I did. “So It Goes.”
“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.”
― E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly.
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