All Charges Were Dropped Against the Easter Bunny

Remembering the day the Easter Bunny got into a fight at the mall

Yesterday I met Dandi Lion Elf Breeze for lunch. I had salami and she had veggie pizza. Then we walked around a little bit. We strolled. Pastels in the store windows reminded me of about 6 years ago when the rabbit got in a fight at the mall and it was on the news. I asked her about it but she did not remember.

It was back in the days when Julia Butterfly was in the tree and all it did was rain. Those days felt heavy to me. I had been sick for a year. I knew I would get better but I did not know when. I did not know when the rain would stop.

Then this happened.

The Easter Bunny was at the Mall visiting with the children and everyone was having their picture taken. There was a line. Moms and Dad and kids all waiting to see the Bunny.
One mom, who maybe was not a good mom, or maybe was having a hard day, was being mean to her kid. Yanking the kid by the arm and saying "Don't be stupid." or some other spirit evaporating thing"
The Easter Bunny got out of its chair and said to the mom, "Hey this is the Easter Bunny line, only kindness in the Easter Bunny line" and when to sit down and smile that picture taking smile with the next kid.
The mom got meaner to the kid and smacked it on the head. The Easter Bunny jumped into Super Hero action and stood between the mom and the kid.
The mom pushed the Easter Bunny and the Easter Bunny pushed the mom back.
The mom smacked the Easter Bunny and the Easter Bunny smacked the mom back.
( There are no pictures of this.)
So the Easter Bunny and the mom are going at it. This was not a Zen Rabbit, one who knew how to 'Be Peace" It was an Action Rabbit who was, I must say at a disadvantage with the large head that sort of turned on its own when there was a lot of movement.
Any how, first Mall Security came. Then the Police and then the News Crews.
I followed the story and in time all charges were dropped against the Rabbit.

I knew then that I had moved to the right town.

( In writing this I wonder more about the kid.... what is it like to see your mom duke it out, or maybe in the kids view, be attacked by the Easter Rabbit? )

Some Thoughts on Spiritual Paths

The focus of a spiritual path changes.

Your job in life is to be you. If you seek to be like someone else the world will suffer from a lack of you.

It helps to pay attention to what scares you for that is where the next step is to be found.

It helps to pay attention to what delights you and makes you smile that effortless full face smile, for that is where the next step is to be found.

It helps to not want to change for change is addictive. To be in the energy of "always becoming" is to not exist at all. To be is to be. Waiting until you lose 10 pounds or see God is a waste of time.

It helps to not think you know, but to be willing to be surprised.

It helps to allow for new evidence that may contradict old evidence and let all data have a party.

There are two gifts we give the world. One is that which we are or do so easily we do not see it and the other is that which we work like a dog to learn.

The focus of my spiritual path today is Time Management and the art form of Completion.

Fellow Explorer, Eleven-O

Eleven-O and I had lunch today. I asked him if I could share this on my blog and he said yes. Saying Yes is his spiritual path. Sometimes I listen as he tells his life for clues to mine. I look for clues in him. Sometimes I think he has the key to the whole universe. Not because he looks like Yoda, he does not. It is because I think that maybe he knows where to look.... everywhere.

Eleven-O is starting clown school today. He will not recieve his bulbous nose until he passes a serious clown test.



He titled this WHITE NOISE

i seem to affect electrical devices around me. especially when i am in a heightened emotion, like extremely scared or extremely elated. i have two friends back in sacramento. there's something about the three of us, when we're together, magic happens. funny, that they both have phoenix tattoos. makes me think i need one. during my "crazy" lady macbeth days the electrical changes in whatever environment i occupied were unreal. it happened often. if it wasn't light bulbs flickering, tv people talking to me, radios blasting on with no power source, or street lights going out when i walked through them, it was dishes breaking (almost every time i went out to eat, something would break, and always during a moment punctuated by me, enough for me to become extremely paranoid), things spilling, children crying, or animals dying. this bird flew into the window of the cafe i was working at, right after an interaction i found unpleasant, the bird was stunned, it stayed in place, on one of the outdoor tables, one foot bent, shaking, drooling, before it fell. and maybe that's all it was, paranoia. me so afraid of affecting people, feeling like i was being looked at under a search light all the time, like someone was watching to see how i would interact with others, spreading what it was i was spreading. so, yes, i was very manic. and vibrating high, too high maybe. and so were two of my friends, one night, after drinking martinis, the three of us, the special trinity, haha, were laughing and screaming, being totally out of control, and i'm freaking out kinda, because not even under the influence of alcohol does lady macbeth let go of me, and there's something not right, but it's fun, i'm glad that i'm able to laugh. my friend lauren, starts screaming like a banshee, out of nowhere, and this old fashioned, floor radio blasts on, and it's talking about god, something about the end days, and shaun, it's his house, starts hurling around holding his head, how the fuck did that go on, it's not even plugged in!, he's screaming, the god radio is still talking, i'm scared, i think i did it, everything, things seem to be breaking, the world, and lauren, laughing stumbles to bed, like she's seen it a thousand times before. leaving me alone watching shaun scared, of me it seems, or of what we've done. i feel responsible so i say nothing. i just go to the bathroom to stare at myself.

Molly the Dog

Molly lives in Texas.

I have never met Molly she comes into my knowing when I do readings for her steward. She greets me at the psychic door tail wagging.

I do not know why but Molly is the animal I read the clearest.

Molly busted into a reading I was doing for her person and asked a question very important to her. "Where do I go?" She was serious and a bit frantic.

"What do you mean where do you go? Show me." I thought back to her.

"I am in the car and then I am not. Where do I go?"

She showed me a picture of her riding behind the drivers seat where she could enjoy air from the open window. Sitting being happy, getting air. She shows me her person using an emergency tone of voice, "Molly where are you?" And Molly tells me, "What does she mean where am I? I am right there. I am in the car."

"Yes, Molly. You are in the car. She just wants you to be where she can see you."

"I am always there?" asks Molly, not sure about what could happen.

"Yes you are always there. She wants to see you."

I tell the person, "When you are driving and Molly sits behind you ask her to come to the front seat. Don't ask her where she is. It makes her think she is not there because she does not understand how you could not know she was right behind you."

Molly's person laughs. "Yes I guess the stress from work is still in my voice and I worry when I can not see her. She comes into the front seat with her ears down and I always check to see if she was chewing back there."

"Her ears are down because she thinks she went invisible or something. Just ask her calmly to come to the front so you can see her with your eyes."

Molly, in Texas, at her feet while she is on the phone, looks up at her.

Wash the PIg, Ignore the Self....... The Value of Side Shows

I always think there is a way to do anything. Anything is possible. There is a difference between possible and probable.

It is said you can not wash a pig in the mud but then I think, suppose you got a power washer, no that makes more mud. Well, suppose you put on very tall boots and cleaned off that pig with handi wipes? How about if you dried him with a hair dryer and brushed the mud off of him? How big is that mud puddle? Is it year round? Where does the pig get its food? Will it leave the mud puddle to eat? What if you put an apple at the other end of the yard and the pig would go to eat it and then you blocked off the mud puddle and the pig would just get clean by itself?

When the magician waves his left hand in the air it means that you might have wanted to pay attention to his right hand a nano second ago. That is were the action was.

The question creates the answer. Do you want to be right or do you want to be happy? How about do I want to be safe? Do I feel safe? If I change will I be safe? What might happen if I change my method of operation?

What if I let the cat out of the bag? Which leads me back to the pig, a pig in a poke. The cat was in the bag because it was being sold as a pig at a time when only rich people were able to eat high on the hog. It was a scam. An Illusion. A poor scam guy, probably one of my ancestors, would put a pig in a pillow case, go to the market place, wave another poor guy (also of my lineage) into an alley and ask him... "Hey want to buy an illegal pig?........ no checks, cash only." The other guy would think 'oh boy.. food!" and pay a very reasonable price, which always helps in a scam. Quickly as to not get caught the deal goes down. The buyer runs off to open the poke and presto chang-o the pig has turned into a cat. And no one is really happy. It is not easy being a scam artist. You come back as a person with an unexplainable need to wear clothes from the 80's.

So where was I? I was looking for the real question. Today's real question is: What is not being seen?

What is the last thing I want to see? What do I fear?

Ugly Chewing

I am in a war with someone over control. I am losing. She will not give an inch.

This is not the problem. The problem is I can not put it down. My resistance to her resistance eats away at my time.

Months and months ago the house across the street had a fire. Two type A rats from the burned house took refuse in my home. My daughter's old boy friend who lived with me for four years after she moved out, ( it was a very big house), killed one of the rats by quietly dropping a recliner on it at three in the morning. The widowed remaining rat moved into my bathroom and lived under my sink, inside of a cabinet that had some excellent acoustic qualities. The sink was possibly made of the same wood that cellos are made of. The rat would start to chew on the wood every night starting at exactly 3:17 AM until 5:30ish AM, safe from falling recliners.

My thoughts remind me of this rat chewing.

There was another woman. She was eating a cucumber and she said to me, "I just love cucumbers. They have so much vitamin E." She said a lot of things like that. Her inner Google had a virus. She was often wrong and also time warped. She talked about Nixon as if he lived nest door to her just yesterday.

One time she said she did not understand why people liked to celebrate Easter. "Why would everyone celebrate the day Christ died?"
"Could it be that Easter is the day he rose from the dead?" I asked her. "No" she said. "I think it is the day he died." "OK" I said.

But for days I wondered how it is we learn things. A quick lesson from a Hallmark Store might have informed her. Rabbits and eggs and hats or knowing a church person or seeing a movie. We live in a Christian culture. How did she not absorb the myth? How is that possible? It was beyond me. Absolutely beyond me. Rat chewingly beyond me.

When she said cucumbers have vitamin E I did not say anything. I did not say, "There is NO vitamin E in a cucumber."

I carried that none statement around in my head like a letter you need to mail for three weeks. It just stayed in my active statement file. It festered
like a burp that won't burp or worse. It created an air pocket and a prayer. "Oh my God, there is no E in a cucumber."

Little things like that. A different person recently told me that duct tape only lasts six months. I am trying to stay conscious and so I had time to ask myself, "Self, do you wish to get in an argument over the life expectancy of duct tape?"

And besides, I was not sure. It was not my experience that duct tape rots and falls off of things twice a year but that does not mean it does not happen, so God help me, I looked it up.....

I am in a war with someone over control. I am losing. The only real power is power over self. I will not put it down. I want to do X. She says Y. Y is what is happening and except for it is not the way I would do it, it will work. Within her Y world, I do not praise her. Y is more work for the same results that X would be. Y actually takes more skill. She has that skill. I withhold the praise.

I chew.

" ThankYou for a Wonderful Evening" Said the Dead Woman

I want to be free from needing, ( how ugly) to impress. With a poet's respect for the word, I wish to choose them, those words, carefully.

If we fall into sharing communication, communion, ( how sacred ) I hope it is not over empty mocking.

The shaman says there is only one power and that is power over self. Power over someone else is empty. It would be the game of avoidance of self. It is widely accepted.

I am exploring my options on how to be.

One does not improve their psychic ability by improving their psychic skills but by living. How should I live?

I was invited to give a talk in the town next to mine. I did not know if I should say yes or I should say no because I did not have a reason for talking. Why should I do that? Why am I doing that? What do I want to give and what do I want to take? or a better question, do I seek communion with them at this time? I do not know yet.
I called Jayne, to see how I was, to see what she would reflect of me. I always liked myself in her reflection. I like her world because it is different than mine but very attractive to me. I like the way Jayne is Jayne. I like her questions.

I wrote a poem once, about a log in the fire place holding the flame the burned it captive so it could transform and be as free as ash.

So what did the dead woman say to the man who had a date with her. "Why thank you, I had a wonderful evening."

When you have nothing to ___________ ( fill in the blank ) praise comes easy.

When you have nothing to 'hide' praise comes easy.
When you have nothing to 'defend' praise comes easy.
When you have nothing to 'live up to' praise comes easy.
When you have nothing to 'impress' praise comes easy.
When you have nothing to 'gain' praise comes easy.

Posting, one two three

check check

Thoughts on the Ovbious

Obvious Thoughts on the Obvious

From my friend Dictionary.com:
obvious

adj 1: easily perceived or understood; "obvious errors" [ant: unobvious] 2: easily perceived by the senses or grasped by the mind; "a perceptible sense of expectation in the court"; "an obvious (or palpable) lie" [syn: perceptible] 3: obvious to the eye or mind; "a tower conspicuous at a great distance"; "wore conspicuous neckties"; "made herself conspicuous by her exhibitionistic preening" [syn: conspicuous] [ant: inconspicuous] 4: obvious to the eye; "a visible change of expression" [syn: visible]


[From Latin obvius, from obviam, in the way, within reach : ob-, against; see ob- + viam, accusative sing. of via, way; see wegh- in Indo-European Roots.]

"within reach", I like that. I am pleased to believe that what I need to be aware of is within reach.

My grandmother used to look for her glasses. Tearing around the house moving this and that she would turn red in the face, knowing that they had to be there somewhere. Most of the time they were on top of her head. Sometimes my grandfather would tell her, sometimes not.

Sometimes others can see clearly what we the seeker can not.

We are indeed a great resource to each other.

When I was a kid my dad would take me to the tide pools by Moss Beach. We would go before the sun came up. We would walk on kelp slippery rocks and we would fall. My habit would be to wait to fall and then from that point crawl. Falling was like a signal that there was something to look at now. I would crawl with my head down and look at what was there, sort of like the Mars Land Rover. I learned that when I thought I saw nothing and I kept looking then I would see something. Little creatures who were there all the time would become visible. As the sun rose I would see more.

The rich man who was killed by robbers wore his destiny on his head. What created and insured his doom was not his wealth but his appearance in a parable.

Which one am I?

In the story of the Wise Man there are several players:
The Wise Man,
the servant,
the 'sinner',
the dead woman,
the people who get turned away,
the rich man,
the robber.
What is it the wise man was known for, what made the people think he was a sage?
He was the one who saw the death of the rich man at the hand of the robbers.

How amazing is that?
Is it not an obvious outcome?
The Wise Woman in me is humbled. The obvious, which I often speak, to often speak, is of value?
Who is wasting their time? Who is wasting away?
Is that how the dead woman died?

30 Minutes

I am going to write for thirty minutes....... the big hand is on the 3.

Jayne says I should use paragraph breaks. OK.

I will.

Done.

I sent a copy of the Wise Man story to my friend, Wheelbarrow and she said,
""Well, Wren, I say whatever cracks you open, cracks you open. I don’t need to know or even understand it, just celebrate it and get the online path to your new blog.

I muse on that: I talk when people don’t listen.

My brain seems to be making an odd shuckling sound.""

and then I said........ ( btw, it is exciting to have a friend who has the courage to let her brain make noises ) so back to and then I said:
The story was so unexpected. You have a master crying and very upset, you hear about a serious very forbidden crime, and then he compares it to the ordinary........... continuing to talk when someone is not listening......... shock value..........
but then what about it? is it really that disgusting? to talk when someone is not listening..........
who would be disrespected.......... the wisdom you might be speaking, ( being the wise man ) or how little you might expect from your own efforts?

But now I am thinking on it more. If, like in a dream, you pretend you are every person in it, then I am also the dead woman.

If it might be true that all of creation screams the wonders of this world then I am the one who does not know how to listen. But that could be a whole different story.

If my words were seeds, am I placing them with respect?

What happens when you call Jayne... Well Jayne says.......

"You need a blog," says Jayne. Now go to www.youneedablog.com and click on three things to do to get your blog. Now fill in the first blank..." Jayne has turned into DCS...... unasked for but not unwelcomed and too quick to resist. ( DCS means Dominator Customer Service )
So here I am.
I called Jayne because one of the things in my life that I am looking for is to be heard by different people.
I read something yesterday that was shockingly awakening for me. The local bookstore lady gave me a book to review for her, "Should I carry this in my store? I have no way to judge a book on the Tarot." ( well throw me in the briar patch! A free book! )
The title of the book is Kabbalistic Tarot by Dovid Krafchow. Yes! She should carry it and yes, I should read it again. It is the kindest and most heart centered book on Tarot I have ever read and the author is humble.
What I read in the book was this story: page 119:
The Wise Man
The same sage who foresaw the death of the rich man by the hand of bandits one day locked himself in his room and cried aloud. The crying and pleading when on for many hours until finally, late into the night, pale and drawn, the wise man emerged from his room. He asked his young assistant to find the last person who had visited him.
The wise mans attendant had turned away so many people from his master's door during this demonstration of grief that he could not recall the last person admitted to the sage's presence.
Years passed. The young man grew old in service to the wise man. One day, he took the liberty of asking his master what had elicited such a demonstration of grief so many years ago. The ancient one looked up, his ragged voice almost a whisper from years of dispensing advice. He smiled.
"yes," said the sage. "I remember. That man I wailed for came to me having committed a very grave offense. He had sex with a dead woman."
The servant was stunned. Why had his master cried so bitterly over another man's offense? Unbidden, the wise man explained: "In order to give advice, a person must be able to find the same offense within himself. This man came to me with such a gruesome offense, and surely that same offense had to dwell someone inside me."
For a long time the servant and the master sat in a twilit silence. Unable to restrain himself, before total darkness descended, the servant asked, "So what did you find in yourself?"
The wise man looked compassionately upon his servant and answered, " I talk when people don't listen."


oh my............................................ I do that too, too often. So I called Jayne and Jayne says, "You need a blog".

Jayne is right.