The Gossamer White Praying Mantis and The Crystal Bowl: Two Praying Mantis non-fiction short stories.
Tag: Synchronicity
It is the time of new stuff..
hellosheath depletion region…
“This radical or root insecurity is, paradoxically, the greatest security we can find”*
Yes a few symbols thrown together.
Science reports and metaphysical books galore
are
written up about both statements.
That untouchable place of
process
that is
new and unknowingly different
and undefined…
It is the TIME of this new stuff!!
* Astrology Beyond Ego Tim Lyons
Cover me with flowers Summer solstice greetings
Summer is a week away. It is a strange time of pulling, changing, and growing. Gravity is intense now. Yet the tendency to expand to the cosmos is a real problem as well.
This pulling down and expanding up is a type of living intensity that we all go through, but regardless we collectively enjoy our summer on this side of the earth, the western hemisphere.
This hollyhock watercolor symbolizes what summer represents. The tall stalks and colorful blooms show the glory of summer. This hollyhock worked hard to get there too. I captured this the summer of 1990 when I too was changing and reaching a new phase of my life and ready for something new!! I found this image today while going through some of my things.
I also found some sheet music by Hugo Wolf that I have been looking for such a long time. It was underneath hiding under the watercolor. I enrolled in an opera singing course at Los Angeles Valley College around 1996. I learned to love Hugo Wolf’s compositions and the variety of lyricists that he worked with.
Bedeckt mich mit Blumen is a haunting and beautiful song. It was beyond my talents to sing but I still enjoyed it completely.
Bringing these two lost items, a watercolor, and some music, is a way to celebrate the coming summer. I do not like summer much because leaving spring is a type of unwilling death to me…so the extramundane and oxymoronic come together once more as gifts of days gone by for the coming summer.
Cover me with flowers by Hugo Wolf Liederabend 15
(Bedeckt mich mit Blumen)
Oh, deck me with roses,
I die: love hath slain me.
Left me softly sighing.
zephyr steal from me the breath of my roses,
oh, deck me!
For I know not which is sweeter:
Loves pure spirit.
or the lush breath of roses
Gather lilies and jasmines,
these shall
be my grave’s soft cover.
I’m dying.
And you ask me, friends.
Of what?
I answer:
Of life’s sweetest pain,
for I love her,
I love her. (John Bernhoff).
Morning-Glory Flowers and Vine
“Didn’t you hear the morning-glory flower is very independent!!?”
“Oh really?”
“Yes, kind of wild too I hear…and not dependable in the garden.”
“I see them, often, climbing fences and in alleyways, the flower is very beautiful and bright too.”
“Maybe so,” said the old black bird as he flew away.
Overhearing this conversation between two blackbirds I imagined that they were both correct in their observations of the morning-glory flower, which is a wild vine-with flowers that grow around residential homes and alleyways, very beautiful to look at and always a pleasure to find. I have had a packet of morning-glory seeds for a few years and when I clean-up around the house I always seem to find the packet. I put it in one place or another until I find it again.
This year I decided to take a chance and plant the morning-glory seeds in a long wood flower box that my parents gave us years ago. Originally, the flower box was put in on the walkway of our apartment for seven years. Now it has been with us thirteen years here at our home. One side of the box now has a menthol succulent growing in it. I have had that plant for many generations: about twenty-five. I originally was given the plant from my first mother-in-law Mary Kowalewski. My mother and I took many trimmings from the original plant from Mary. It is the kind of plant that will grow with or without water. It took well to the box, so it lives there happily alone now. Next to it there has been a dry spot where nothing seems to grow beside a few weeds that dry off quickly. It was about three months ago I planted the dark little triangle seeds there; the morning-glory seeds from the packet.
Something started to grow. At first, I was not sure what was growing. Then my heart jumped because it was vining outwards. I knew at that time it was the independent morning-glory. How strange, the place that no other plant wanted …it wanted! I think this shows the unique nature of this vine flower. I put a long stick from a nearby branch in the earth of the box to help the plant vine up it. The one vine leg of this plant did not show any interest. So, I stopped trying. A few days later the other leg of the vine was nicely wound around it. I laughed out loud. I fell deeply in love with this morning-glory vine.
Today I awoke early and went outside to give the vine some water. The days are hot now. I noticed yesterday that the leaves have started to wilt. To my surprise I found two wonderful flowers. Again, my heart about jumped from my chest from joy. So, it goes.
I am not going to bet on it, but I am sneaky and hopeful, that these two legs vining outwards will eventually take over our garden net fence,
“But don’t tell anybody…I don’t want my independent morning-glory and vine to find out!”
Tralfamadorians
This land is mine, God gave this land to me
This brave and ancient land to me
And when the morning sun reveals her hills and plain
Then I see a land where children can run free.
So, take my hand and walk this land with me
And walk this lovely land with me.
Though I am just a man, when you are by my side
With the help of God, I know I can be strong.
To make this land our home
If I must fight, I’ll fight to make this land our own
Until I die, this land is mine.
This is a Praying Mantis theme song.
But It can hale true!
I listen to a diversity of songs all the time. What I like best about songs are when they talk to me. I talk with them so why not them with me. I use them in my posting as highlighters to accentuate the theme of my postings. If you trip through my musical posting they will tell you a story… oh my I revealed myself again. I think you can do this with most writers.
When songs talk to you it is important. I call it synchronicity listening. At the appropriate time a song comes forth and you know it’s talking to you. Why, you must think about it to find the answer: not take it lightly, it has meaning. One song that did this recently is Love Buzz. It was years ago when I first heard it.
Nirvana brought it back from the dead. A band named Shocking Blue created the original recording of this song. I like both but prefer the original. I like the depth of Mariska Veres vocal style. It sounds like the dark Goddess graphing me by the heart into the underworld. I feel this song is about the power and even imperfection of love and the overwhelming seduction and abuse of it, but It can hale true!
I posted the song on my Facebook a few days back. Then I went out to the local pub and a friendly DJ played the song as soon as I drank my first pint. Stunned, I felt the hairs on my back go up. I realize that stepping out for the night was a good thing.
We were meant to be where we were at that time and place in history. With so many opportunities available at the time, so much going on with old and new friends it was the place to be. Life in general was being shady.
I realized when the song played that life is a real bitch sometimes, but I am gracefully loved and being taken care of.
I love songs!!! This one of the Praying Mantis theme songs.
Dad’s Passing
Mom and Dad in the 1940s Santa Monica CA.
Saint Patrick’s Day 2013.
My siblings and I headed down to the local Pickwick Irish pub for a great traditional meal of corned beef and cabbage. We drank until the well was closed to us. Then we all went home. I think dad would have appreciated this. He told me that often at funerals people always talk so ceremoniously about the deceased. They usually always would lie about how great a person was instead of how they really were, the real stories about how they really really were. So, this day at the pub was how my dad would have celebrated or grieved a dead friend or family member, by getting fucking drunk with his friends. As we sure Do-Wah Diddy did.
A bittersweet time.
The year 1942 Greer Garson was 31 when she hit it as an actress, a very mature time for a woman to make it big . I enjoy watching her films. I enjoy her strength, femininity, and intuitive strategic nature. Watching Classic films is so comforting. The films are the same year after year but somehow change with time. It is a matter of perspective; a film viewed at 5 is understood differently at 55. It is movie magic and in times of grief and sorrow films bring comfort and friendship.
Today is such a day where the line –up of films accentuates the durability of eternal grief, the motifs and archetypes of life and films.
A long night of seeming madness and then with a couple of button pushes the classic films begin at late morning and without even eyeglasses or coffee. Three Coins in the Fountain, Notorious and Dial M for Murder will embrace me today. Now an awake child of the cosmos I find my eyeglasses, coffee and make cabbage salad with bacon, red peppers, avocado, jalapeño, and dill-rye bread.
Unfortunately, the real focus of this little dilly-dally of a transforming short story is about three things.
Two songs, my dad and death. He died on Saint Patrick’s Day.
It was a week ago today that he passed. A nurse from hospice, three siblings, and myself attended as classical music played in the background. Intense and with a call to my heart. I asked my brother to change the CD,
“Put on that CD you got for Dad a few years back for his birthday or was it Christmas!?”
It was the best of Frank Sinatra. We watched Dad move into the eternal and listened with a pleasant release and sad joy. In a moment of time between the song The Young at Heart and Three Coins in a Fountain, dad left us. I imaged him dancing away with the spirit of our deceased mother or maybe Greer Garson.
In her youth mother looked similar to Greer Garson.
Built by the Knights Templar
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.
The Temple By Hudley 1991Last 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!!
Crone Women Magazine Review
If you are an older women like me looking for some profound reading material; go find a place to kick off your shoes and sit by the fire or stream to read.
This is the magazine for you. It is published twice a year. I find it walking the line of paradoxical living. Liberally looking at what it is to be a mature woman: fun, fantastic and homey with a witchy bend. I love it. So check it out.
LOVE BIRDS: Mae West and George Raft
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 synchronicity 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.
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