Ask Dr. Druid . Ley Lines .. LithoNet . Day 42

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 42

Ley Lines .. LithoNet

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   Here below is a real-life reverie vision as it transpired and as I transcribed it in my log in real reverie time. It will seem sometimes dense and opaque no doubt because I haven’t translated it all for you yet, but I thought you might be interested to see such an event unfold. Read it with your mouth as if outloud and re-send your Inner Perfectionist and her/his cousin Your Inner Rationalist off to <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Fiji to chug grog. Remember that I am within the vision as I make these notes.

[Dateline Mtn View CA/New Hampshire 01.06.08]

   Who knew?[It is always a surprise when matters coalesce in a retrospectively obvious but druidically mischievous and profound way.] Having learned about waking the jewels ever luminous like constellations under our feet, not on the phones, not on the internets, the tvs, the telegraphs, the radios, but on the ley lines, I found myself lighting the sparkle in the deep earths of New Hampshire USA. Thru the earth (as whale song carries thru the seas from even one ocean to another), I felt the rustle of the tired feet of billions of women who do the labor of the world, who cook, who sweep, who endure. And the dancing feet of little girls whose dreams are not all ashes in the cooking fires yet.

    This was not the airy spiritual, not the Heavens afar. This was the most ancient communications device our molecules have ever been attuned to, the greatest crystal, our darling, our beloved vuraearthgoo.

    I had been tele-phoning for Hillary with those ingenious machines and it is important and instructive to phone strangers and listen.

   So how did this ley-lines lithonet action coalesce? In brief (not starting like Roderick Random or Peregrine Pickle at my birth), I had an élan vital, vivid dream with Hillary a month ago. She said, “We need you.” I’ve been phoning and wishing and grokking.

     A second odd element is that when my belovedbeloved silver Burmese cat, Frolic, has been lying across my chest purring, that tiny sublime resonance and rumble which a purr is has penetrated much further around and along my body than ever before. I’ve been curious about it, but just tucked it away in my Notice Jewelbox and made no deductions.

    [Notes: earth reporter, the current telluric news, haha; Frolls as network of soft silver lines in the total dark; kangaroo feet; merriment for Hillary; under the sphinx a ley chamber or giant transformer, hub with ley spokes; cat waves, I realized that Jester & Frolic were ‘purring’ with each other, it just wasn’t audible to me;]

    Jewelbines – jewel-fueled turbines of light & delight. It’s the geosynthesis (cf photosynthesis) that we don’t even study, the alchemyed radiance from the preening delighted crystals patiently purring in the earth, and we consciously oblivious to their peacock’s-tail-colored pulse. WE seldom hear the sound of the jewellight as it waterfalls up [northern lights] as vuraearthgoo, like a jeweled harp, hurtles through space, a song the gods can see.

    ‘Lithos’ is Greek for ‘stone.’ Just because the stones are patient doesn’t mean they aren’t blossoming down there. They speak to each other and to the shaman washing her cooking pot in telluric jewel waves from the lithosphere like northern lights in the atmosphere. The lithosphere extruded all of us, after all, pelican, leopard, and violet – and you. We all are the patient invention of the Lithos who dreamt, devised, and waited and waited until the Bios could move and be warm. [stabilizing the lithonet at the New Hampshire node – the lithotechnology – cf the assistance of silicon in the external computer and the programming. Silicon & glass & stained glass; still flowing; LithoNet News The lithonet is more ‘organic,’ aesthetic, a different programming language; The litholight in NH has already bloomed. Lithogize. Sisyphus is pushing a geode up the mountain, that’s why he’s laughing;]     

    I feel this huge knot in the center of my chest has been gordianned or cleaved or unknotted, like we finally got the lithophore (cf semaphore) going. Hillary & the hopes of little girls./// Her example of groundedness is splendid. Hillary has the deep abiding strength of stones. All the women who bore the burdens thru History Herstory, the Ancients – their patient and fierce bones are speaking their jewellight dream song for her thru the dear vuraearthgoo, the lithonet, as constant as stones.

    As one might be a lighthouse keeper, a jewellight keeper is my essential job on the campaign, keeping the lenses of the ley net, the lithonet polished.

///

   Allow yourself time to muse, to immerse in reverie, semi-waking dreams. Allow a subject to speak to you, and as an amanuensis or scribe, note down the experience as it happens or just after it happens. Fret not when you begin these muses that your notes are ragged or lurch. Remind yourself of the muse theme as you follow the thread thru the gorgeous labyrinth of a contemplation.

   Notice that I use brackets to put in other reverie items to include later or to muse upon another time. I often use semi-colons to separate thoughts. Somehow they’re less mentally turbulent to the reveric flow than periods are. Eventually you can learn to make notes without jarring yourself out of reverie.

   Obviously this was a very dense and intense reverie. It is the hub of a many-spoked contemplation. This experience had a magic carpet, transported, bi-location feel. It led to many revelations of deep and ancient communications systems in the weeks that followed.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::- 

Notes:

.. gordianned .. The Gordian Knot is a tangle of complexity that is solved suddenly by cleaving the knot in half with the sword of thought, not by patiently and tediously trying to untangle the knot.

 .. Remember that Vuravura & Jeegoo are other names for Earth. I try to avoid too Western-centric a feel when we honor our planet.

.. semaphore is the signaling communication with positions of two flag for the letters of the alphabet that is still used between two ships at sea.

.. geode .. a geode is a very plain-looking rock which when split open gorgeously reveals a shockingly dazzling array of often violet crystals.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Ask Dr. Druid, 66 Days from Lead to Gold, Secrets of  Alchemy You Can Use, a druid shaman’s playbook .. Intro; Prologue; Day 1; Days 2 & 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Day 8; Day 9; Day 10; Day 11; Day 12; Day 13; Day 14; day 15 Review 2; Day 16; Day 17; Day 18; Day 19; Day 20; Day 21; Day 22; Day 23; Day 24; Day 25; Day 26; Day 27; Day 28; Day 29; Day 30; Day 31; Day 32; Day 33; Day 34; Day 35; Day 36; Day 37; [Day 38]; Day 39; Day 40; Day 41; Day 42;

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If you know or are an agent, aspiring agent, editor, or publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. if you make $50,000 a year, it’s gone in 4 seconds in Iraq;

.. let’s spend most of the Military-Corporate Budget on education instead ..

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Ask Dr. Druid . day 41 . Reverie

 

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 41

Reverie

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    Now that we’ve established some tactics and practices and habits of keen and poignant observation and a more holographic engagement with the compelling and darling and daring language of our electric surround, we only need to add that deft attention to our reveries and, presto! we have woven lucid dreaming with our lucid waking.

    Consider that the sunlight skills are forest skills and the starlight skills are underwater skills, like looking at stars reflected in a still pool. The medium is different. In your present earth-tethered guise, you may be more consciously accustomed to the dryland qualities of perception and memory, but using attention deftly and deliberately is universal.

    Just as you would pack and prepare to go to <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Paris, France, you pack and prepare to go to Sueño, the fabulous seas and continents of dreams and reveries. The trick is less getting there than getting the contraband, smuggling the sueño insights and outsights back into earthworld.

    Oneiro is the Greek word for dream. Obviously it’s not hard to gallivant in the oneiro-worlds – you do it every night. The trick is to move the ‘one spot’ of your dynamic consciousness there and back.

     I find it generally useful to travel light with a veryvery open mind. I am intrepid explorer; thoughtful visitor; ambassador; pioneer; philosophic observer. Sometimes I find myself of the place 'I' end up and other times I’m more of a traveler. But whether Dream, Reverie, or ImagiNation, the exact same skills of adaptability and deftly alert attention apply that apply to all your vivid living..

   Write yourself some detailed and random notes in your log about where you are now in relationship to what you presently think of Dream, Reverie, ImagiNation, Vision. You’ll find this survey useful and interesting in a week, a month, a year, five years. When you’re an old hand and have essentially formally or informally written your own IntraRealms Travel Book. Including travel to the grocery store and to the Far Stars and to the Land of Apples. All your adventures, grokked, will interest and illuminate and shape (like you as a sculpture of light) and poetry you.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-

 Ask Dr. Druid, 66 Days from Lead to Gold, Secrets of  Alchemy You Can Use, a druid shaman’s playbook .. Intro; Prologue; Day 1; Days 2 & 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Day 8; Day 9; Day 10; Day 11; Day 12; Day 13; Day 14; day 15 Review 2; Day 16; Day 17; Day 18; Day 19; Day 20; Day 21; Day 22; Day 23; Day 24; Day 25; Day 26; Day 27; Day 28; Day 29; Day 30; Day 31; Day 32; Day 33; Day 34; Day 35; Day 36; Day 37; Day 38; Day 39; Day 40; Day 41;

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If you know or are an agent, aspiring agent, editor, or publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

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.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

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<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. if you make $50,000 a year, it’s gone in 4 seconds in Iraq;

.. let’s spend most of the Military-Corporate Budget on education instead ..

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Ask Dr. Druid . day 40 . Dream Toddlers

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 40

Dream Toddlers

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    In 189,800 hours of our 569,400 hour life, one-third of our terrestrial span, we are dream toddlers. However august and accomplished we become in the solid, roughly sequential, daylight portion of our life adventure, we are untutored and gawky, if not helpless, in our dream experience. Dreaming happens to us. Our parents were ignorant of dream existence and its radical rules.

     Perhaps it was thought enough for the homo sapiens to master the obviously demanding rules and consequences of K1 day life. However, the haphazard approach to dream experience has had dread consequences. The next stage of the evolving creature, homoa jubilant, will need to learn at least the rudiments of dream will, dream action, dream manners, and especially dream humor, or we will not be admitted to the Wider Galactic Community.

     The Stiff Brains, as we are so derisively dubbed in the rollicking metalight-speed Galactic WarpNet, are seen as the El Stupidos on the fringes of the more faceted and agile Galactic Community. I have defended our provincial, noble savage strengths with what wit I can muster in their glittering and cavorting presences, but we are, frankly, a dull lot.

     At the end of the nineteenth century, we were on the threshold of wondrous multi-mind discoveries when this very linear stolid Viennese dude the Galactics call Siggy Fraud inexplicably became the rage of the Pessies. The failed post-Romantic whiners are called Pessies on the WarpNet. Pessimism is seen as a deadly leprosy of consciousness by the lighter-than-light creatures only some of whom look remotely human.

    Erif, the 6' 4″ chocolate brown felinoa sapiens sage told me that Siggy Fraud was undergoing a major soul overhaul between incarnations because his notions about dreams and the quicksilver consciousness therein were so appallingly dull and wrong. He had managed to pollute the inner atmosphere of several generations. When he had had his spherical sight restored, the pomposity and thinness, the small grey grimness of his Bombastic Version struck him vividly in the face, like a sudden cold wind before a storm. His Version had had so little of wonder and of deftness. He had had an alchemy, a grim one: he had turned gold into lead.

     Erif told me that Siggy’s peripheral vision circuits had been damaged and that the most precious sense, his sense of humor, had been impaired. His grotesque misinterpretation of the dream worlds had turned people from their full heritage of consciousness as if they had been trapped in a goldfish bowl rather than set free on the deep, wide sea. He had not meant to do ill. He was afraid. He had little art in his heart, and the seduction of the multi-worlds seems to taunt our day world’s need for order and predictability. Art is the chalice which can hold the intoxicating elixir, but artists got separated out, were not integrated, and the society became unbalanced.

     An Earth people called the Senoi deal with the night world just as if it were a different part of their whole life in the way that a play is different from a banquet. Not better, different. The sadness, the loss is in valuing one over the other. There are people who get mesmerized—dazzled—by the dream worlds or vision worlds and therefore handle the day life inadequately. A concern about the dream worlds is not silly or inconsiderable. They are extraordinarily vivid and powerful energy levels. No one would let a child drive a race car without learning to drive. I am extravagantly fascinated by my whole twenty-four hour life, but I recognize the real dangers involved with lonely exploration of alternate densities. A deliberate study of the complexities of reality is in the end faster, surer, and safer. The pyrotechnics of drugs are titillating, but they do not teach you how to act in alternate realities. Drugs drain the (nervous) system rather than replenishing it. When you act in the dream worlds, however timidly or tinily, you are recharged.

     The reason we are kept from the wider Galaxy is because we blunder blindly around in the china shop busting up the crockery. We are energy boors.

     We were sidetracked into the pathology of divers densities by Siggy’s overheated intellect. Leaving him on his siding to heal, we can begin to design the balanced humorous mind, the luminous and intriguing whole life, and one day we will be greeted into the glad Galaxy with cheers and hurrahs.

::-::- ::-::- ::-::- ::-::

   I remain astonished that with all the excellent and fascinating education I was so lucky to be illuminated by, not one adult ever mentioned even one time that to be wholly and wholesomely human, I should become dream-able.

    I am by no means a Senoi. I’m not as fluent in dream action as they are. As we ask our child who comes home from school, “How was your day at school, dear?”  — every morning they ask their littlest child, “How was your night at school, dear?”

    Imagine that we in the industrial West invented the radio which can tune to invisible and inaudible strands of energys and display then in a way we can hear. Similarly, the Senoi and many shamanic peoples have invented how to tune their own internal receivers without needing an external gizmo like a radio. What they experience is often a 3D or holoexperience. You yourself do it every night whether you remember it or not. They can just do it less haphazardly. So will you by day 66.  

::-::- ::-::- ::-::- ::-::

Notes:

.. homo/homoa .. I coined ‘homoa’ to feel less hopelessly narrow. I once had this swell Swedish lecturer gent who was an expert on the Mayan Calendar seamlessly use “she” as the pronoun for his whole lecture. It was a viscerally remarkable event. I had no idea the subtle energy bombardment that the patriarchal biases of the language really invisibly impose upon us. Each time he said ‘she,’ I realized that subliminally I was visualizing a ‘she’ doing or thinking what ever went on in the sentence. This actually changes the voltage of your imagination.

.. Siggie Fraud is Sigmund Freud for those of you not so addicted to pithy puns as I.

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Ask Dr. Druid, 66 Days from Lead to Gold, Secrets of  Alchemy You Can Use, a druid shaman’s playbook .. Intro; Prologue; Day 1; Days 2 & 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Day 8; Day 9; Day 10; Day 11; Day 12; Day 13; Day 14; day 15 Review 2; Day 16; Day 17; Day 18; Day 19; Day 20; Day 21; Day 22; Day 23; Day 24; Day 25; Day 26; Day 27; Day 28; Day 29; Day 30; Day 31; Day 32; Day 33; Day 34; Day 35; Day 36; Day 37; Day 38; Day 39; Day 40;

……..……<^>………..…..

If you know or are an agent, aspiring agent, editor, or publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

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from pukatja; anamara tjukurpa, caterpillar dreaming

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.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo & diablobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. if you make $50,000 a year, it’s gone in 4 seconds in Iraq;

.. let’s spend most of the Military-Corporate Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>…………….

Ask Dr. Druid . day 39 . The Land of the Dead Is Lively

 

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 39

The Land of the Dead is Lively

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    The first one who died, my father, I was numb. The second one who died, my first husband, I screamed. By the tenth big death before I was 29, I was pissed. Furious, not drunk.

    This Heaven-and-Hell folderol is a misleading way to talk about the Land of the Dead because though the Heaven-mongering Christians, who began as a simple religion of the powerless, have had the power, the press, and the propaganda for a lot of centuries, the AfterLife Truth is much more complex, and, luckily, a ton more fun.

    I didn’t think when I was a child feeding the shiny newborn black-and-white Holstein calves their buckets of faintly pink milk that I would grow up to become an expert in death. It just happened. There’s no degree you can get in this one. The Major Universities don’t have Death 101 on the curriculum. The Major Religions Lie because they got detached from Mystery. The Other Side, the non-carnate, the less dense — of which the AfterLife is but a facet — is often too raunchy, sly, anarchic, boisterous, and fragmented to be a useful example for a solid, sequential existence. Thus the preachers and teachers, seldom lit from within, hid the truth, abridged it, sanitized it, pietized it, forgot it.

    When, to my shock, I met my disoriented father shortly after he’d died, his color was quite blue. He was swaddled in bandages and was being cared for by bustling midwife-like beings who were tending his unreconciled passage from the solid carnate world to the non-carnate realms. They were kind. He had died too young at fifty-two. The hospital had killed him with misdiagnosis. The doctors said Whoops, shrugged, looked abashed, and then down at their brilliantly-shined shoes. When I first met my father in OtherLand, of course I just thought I was crazy.

    When I met my first husband, Michael, who had died too young at twenty-eight — his car slid off an icy Vermont road into a tree — when I met Michael in an other-density garret, cooking a hamburger, the fat sizzling loudly in the frying pan, I was just utterly glad to know that he hadn’t vaporized into some black hole of nothingness. The black hole of nothingness being the most cruelly unbearable. I still thought I was probably crazy.

    Depending on who you are hearing this, you either think I’m still crazy or are holding your hand to your mouth grateful that it happened to someone else too or you’re so used to this inter-realm stuff that it’s not exactly ho-hum, not really old hat, but it isn’t molecularly shocking nor bone-marrow creepy, throat-clutchingly terrifying anymore either.

    Father, husband, brother, stepbrother, stepfather, mother, mentor, headmistress, eighteen-year-old cat, all the eight grandparents of course. By now my horror has transmogrified to raw rage. Higher realms indeed. Our dear Earth realm is so high and glorious that non-carnates, responsible and derelict alike, shove and claw to get a ticket on this most intriguing of galactic roller coaster rides. I distinctly blame Religions for grabbing power by devaluing this solid terrestrial experience.

    Don’t get me wrong — I’m grateful for my non-carnate and semi-carnate experiences. Learning to fly, walking on water, floating through the ceiling. Giddy stuff. But I will not have us be a colony of heaven. We are the experts on relatively sequential time, on solid experience, on being able to actually eat a whole chocolate chip cookie, to drive where we’re going and not end up somewhere else.

    Our beloved realm is a masterpiece of reality engineering — there is no higher place to be. Different, just different. I sometimes think that if I could get that single point across, I could be at peace. Of course that single point would change the world. We would know that every daily thing is holy, radiant. Awe and delight would be our steady state, daily little explosions of radiance. We could then greet heaven with the strength of our own earth beauty and stand in the galactic councils not as slaves or puppets or children, but as tellers of our own tales, proud and various.

    I had never met my ex-husband's parents when they were alive. Mr. Martin was a high school principal in a medium-sized Iowa town. Mrs. Martin taught home economics and was a devout Christian. I was a vivid redheaded pagan. They would have disapproved of me mightily.

    When I met Mr. Martin in OtherLand, however, he was driving too fast in a bright-yellow open touring car, had on a loud black-and-white-checked sports jacket, a jaunty hat with a sprightly red feather, and a tiger lounging in the back seat with whom I sat. We got along famously to my huge and relieved surprise.

    Mrs. Martin when I met her was almost nun-like in her retreat and shyness of soul. I think Earth had been too rough and ready for her. But she loved her brilliant, vulnerable son, and could, freer of Earth's particular prejudices, honor that I loved him too.

    These pow-wows with the dead are not frequent; we don't hang out. My dead, anyway, do not hover. I think it is wicked that the veil is so impenetrable. When I get the chance to rail at heaven's haughty hierarchy, I shall.

::-::-::-::-::-::-::

    The fierce skills of deft and delighted attentions you’ve been honing and honeying will serve you exquisitely as you begin your forays into the DreamLands and ReverieLands.

    Anciently we traveled between our beloved VuraEarthGoo and these other Realms, including the Land of Apples, as you might visit Paris, France or Machu Pikchu, high above the Urubamba Valley north of Cusco, Peru.

    As we amble along, we’ll have some volcanic venting about the disturbance and wreckage wrought by Formal Religions and Psychology Stiffs upon the portals to the Land of Apples.

    As weightlessness is ordinary in space travel, the laws of physics we’re used to when we travel by train, plane, or ship are different when we travel in DreamLands or New ReverieLand. The laws of physics are different, the ethics are different, the social structures are different. We’ll explore these differences.     

::-::-::-::-::-::-::

Notes:

.. carnate .. in a body;

.. hamburger, other density garret .. (A garret is a kind of attic that someone lives in.) Hamburger was a kind of fond and absurd motif between my husband Michael and me. Just out of UVM and Mount Holyoke in 1966, Michael and I had gone to the NorthEast Kingdom in Vermont to teach in remote high schools in Hardwick and the tiny village of Greensboro, pop. 503. We felt it was a kind of domestic Peace Corps before there were formal programs for such things. Half of my seventh-grade English class was fanged. A class of little vampires. Apparently inbreeding leads to the elongation of the eye teeth just over the lower lip. No doubt the same phenomenon that occurred in the remote valleys of Transylvania.

    We were poor. We ate hamburger in some form 6-7 nights a week. I would walk down the single snowy street to Ernie’s, the little grocery store which catered to the posh-ish influx of summer people and hung on in the winter. I would stand in front of the meat counter most every day and look as if I might choose something else. Polly, the meat lady, never rushed me though she knew I would say, “I think I’ll have half a pound of hamburger today.”

    I had a booklet called 101 Ways to Cook Hamburger. In a spurt of invention, I even put some sliced banana pieces between two thin patties of hamburger and pinched the edges before I fried the burgers up. It’s not bad.  So cooking hamburgers was kind of ‘our song’ you might say. A tender joke. A secret handshake.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Ask Dr. Druid, 66 Days from Lead to Gold, Secrets of  Alchemy You Can Use, a druid shaman’s playbook .. Intro; Prologue; Day 1; Days 2 & 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Day 8; Day 9; Day 10; Day 11; Day 12; Day 13; Day 14; day 15 Review 2; Day 16; Day 17; Day 18; Day 19; Day 20; Day 21; Day 22; Day 23; Day 24; Day 25; Day 26; Day 27; Day 28; Day 29; Day 30; Day 31; Day 32; Day 33; Day 34; Day 35; Day 36; Day 37; Day 38; Day 39;

……..……<^>………..…..

If you know or are an agent, aspiring agent, editor, or publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

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.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo & diablobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. if you make $50,000 a year, it’s gone in 4 seconds in Iraq;

.. let’s spend most of the Military-Corporate Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>…………….

Ask Dr. Druid . day 37 . holokus, hulakus

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 37

holokus, hulakus

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-:-:-:-:-:-

Cheney and diseased mind

Rhyme

In this terrible time.

Yet the butterfly’s

Stained glass wings

Remain

Sublime.

 …:…:.

A grain of sand

Blooms

Into a pearl,

That world

Where we and dawn

Secretly conspire

To smile,

Transfixed

In that pearl light,

With one another.

Many the grains of sand,

Many the dawns,

Many the conspiracies of smiles.

–:.:—:.:–

Does the River Remember?

Does the River

Remember

The fish who silverly

Swim in it?

Does the air

Remember

The people, the tigers

Who wrathfully

Swim in it?

Are we zebra-striped,

Giraffe-splotched

Braille

To the air?

Does it read us

As we pass

Swarm slither gallop

Amble by?

Can you caress the air

Back

As it zephyrs?

-:-:-:-:-:-

Lead

Would prefer

To make moveable type

More than bullets.

I asked it.

Words

For prayers & dares,

To spell

The spell of love:

Te amo

Not te ammo

For gods’ sakes.

Poor lead Pb82 ..

Millions of words.

Millions of bullets.

Which wins?

-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Fortune?

Fortunate in friends?

I am friends with constellations,

Agog at that ceaseless sea

Of stars.

A charmed life?

I am charmed

By a dandelion puff.

Love?

Hither. Yon.

Piffle.

I’d rather remain

Amazed.

…:..:….:..

The Smaller Moons

Only the panthers and I

Were awake

When the smaller moons

Rose.

“Get an orphan

To sing the duets

With the smaller moons,”

Commanded Montezuma

The Wise

Before the bearded

Snakehearted ogres

Shattered our shores,

Our harmony, our hospitality,

Bloodmasked warriors

Sang with the full moon,

Imperious, glorious was she.

The smaller moons

The silver sliver

The quarter moon

Whisper dew of pearl

So kind so soft

A melody

The ice in your heart

Melts

And becomes the rain

Which falls

On flowers and fawns

Again

In the 3rd hour

Before dawn

The orphan

And the smaller moons

Sing this song,

The duet the warriors cannot hear.

 -::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Hide

In

Plain sight

Is Druidry;

And patience

As far

As there are

Stars.

Our patient duty to beauty.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-

How?

How can we waste,

Lay waste

To eternity

With our murderous grimaces

Our grim murders

Faux ennobled

By the vainest rhetoric

Where mutilated children

Become disappeared

As collateral damage?

-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Mon flotsam,

You wash up

On my beach,

Driftwood,

Smoothed, silver,

Salty, gnarled.

The beach’s treasure

Along with the sanddollars.

 -::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-

    Holoku, hulaku. Hulaku — little dances, gestures of admiration for the way words play, effervesce, coalesce. A formal haiku of <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />5/7/5 syllables per line is a single drop of dew on a leaf. An holoku is less formal but no less earnest. It is not confined or refined by the number of syllables but by the dimensions of a notion, a small exploration.

   In your log or journal let an image or a notion drift into your mind like an exquisite small cloud. Listen to its story and write down the words. You’ll learn unexpected qualities or narratives about the object or notion. Lead Pb82 enjoys being moveable type and is imprisoned and tortured to be bullets. It never had occurred to me to listen to lead. I had no preconceived notions about lead. Your mind gets this luminous quiet as you listen to the object or the notion fold itself like origami into its own shape which you describe and transcribe.

   It helps to get over the stupid modern idea that ‘objects’ don’t talk. I grew up listening to trees as an only child in the country. It wasn’t til I went to school that I learned not to talk about talking to trees. I think all poets consciously or unconsciously know that everything has a story to tell. It all gossips and preens or keens.

     One of my druid points is to remind you that we all have the right to the keen and reverent attention that may come naturally to some bards or be trained early in some lucky folk, but that every single person can learn the magic tricks of poetry and attention. You may not get what a friend of mine calls ‘recognized’ or lionized in the celebrity society, but you can get drunk on beauty and fascination. The poetry attention, distilled like honey in your heart, is a sweetness and intoxication that is the birthright of sentients.

   I have never figured out how churches etc could con people into casting their hearts to some distant Heaven while right here we are in the middle of a K1 masterpiece sans pareil in the cosmos. Now, in other books to come we can talk about how we have truly distressed the social systems. But that which the painters paint as still lifes, what Van Gogh tore his ear off for, the huge sky Turner wept over in his landscapes, the poet’s ache for the single drop of dew on the leaf. That masterpiece is so present and abundant that you can be full and fierce always to face the fractal challenges of biped interactions. Yet the butterfly’s/Stained glass wings /Remain/Sublime. You can trust that with molecular totality.

….::…:..

Notes:

.. faux (foh) .. false, fake;

.. Basho is a classic haikuist. A lovely one is “Lightning — /Heron’s cry/Stabs the darkness.”

.. sans pareil (sahn par-eye) without parallel or without equal, French;

-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Ask Dr. Druid, 66 Days from Lead to Gold, Secrets of  Alchemy You Can Use, a druid shaman’s playbook .. Intro; Prologue; Day 1; Days 2 & 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Day 8; Day 9; Day 10; Day 11; Day 12; Day 13; Day 14; day 15 Review 2; Day 16; Day 17; Day 18; Day 19; Day 20; Day 21; Day 22; Day 23; Day 24; Day 25; Day 26; Day 27; Day 28; Day 29; Day 30; Day 31; Day 32; Day 33; Day 34; Day 35; Day 36; Day 37;

……..……<^>………..…..

If you know or are an agent, aspiring agent, editor, or publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

You may comment anonymously.

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

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.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo & diablobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. if you make $50,000 a year, it’s gone in 4 seconds in Iraq;

.. let’s spend most of the Military-Corporate Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>…………….

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 36 . Paris, France

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Ask Dr. Druid . Day 36

<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Paris, France

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    Druids have always believed in an absolute democracy of knowledge – or more important of knowing. (Not so much the stuff, but the process.) The treasure, the golden, the untarnishable joy is knowing and sharing it with abandon and glee, with reverence, reverie, and revelry.

   I imagine it would be levitatingly fine to go to Paris, France. But not everyone gets to see the Seine. Yet they must not have lives of regret. The druid point is to be jolly and amazed wherever you are. Not some ‘positive thinking’ abstraction, but honed & honeyed perception. Besides, think of how well that’ll serve you if you get to Paris, France.

    It is the eternal birthright of consciousness to bloom. A fine and dandy and handy curiosity. Rhapsodic outsight & insight, a woven song. Freedom of knowledge/knowing is the 1st freedom or the zero freedom, the foundation and the vault, the out-of-which all incandescence.

    I taught in Adult Education for twenty-five years and I saw people not value their band because they weren’t Mick Jagger. Not value their vacation because it was never Paris, France. Not value their painting because they didn’t make a living at it. How rotten is that? Where did we get so knee-jerk in welding money or fame and value?

    When I started doing stained glass, I thought I would die with the beauty of the colors and the chickadee/small bird glee in making a box or mirror or clock where I had cut all the shimmering glass and laid all the solder. I learned to do both the lead and Tiffany styles. I learned it well enough to exhilaratedly teach it in Adult Education. Then I fell into the terrible trap of thinking that I had to validate my stained glass by selling it. I came to hate doing it. I had to make the same or similar items over and over for economies of time and scale. I never got to experiment with bizarre but instructive failures.

    I met this guy who had made cool and eccentric bird houses. He sold a few now & again at a local flea market for grins but his mother talked him into trying to ‘Get Serious and organized and really sell a line of bird houses.’ It all but broke his heart. He had loved and crafted his unique bird houses and now the zigzagging originality, the quixotic fun had gone out of it. Think how Mick Jagger feels that all anyone really wants to hear is ‘Satisfaction.’ Nobody gives a damn about his new ballad, ‘Buried in Ostrich Feathers.’

    You may get to go to Paris, France. You may get to be Mick Jagger. That’ll take care of itself. I’m interested in the hours when you aren’t in Paris, France and aren’t Mick Jagger. Druidry has to do with the kind of cooking chefs do for themselves and their friends at home. Expert but daily.

   The Brits have this concept of the gifted amateur. Someone good enough to be a professional, but who does something else for the rent and pursues the craft or the game or the art for its own exact and quirky sake. Remember, someone is going to be fixing the car, washing the dishes in the restaurant, digging the ditches, washing the windows. All this hurrah about everybody following their bliss for money is blindered codswallop. Billions of people on this VuraEarthGoo have beastly or not so grand jobs. Those jobs exist. Those jobs are going to be done by some body. Those folks have the right to as much bliss as the next doodette or dood. Bliss what you follow. The art and the job for rent. Myself, I wash windows for the rent. It’s honest work. And proves my point. That we could share the grottier jobs around and still all get grokked out with mirthmost merriment.  

…………<^>…………

 Notes:

   I haven't put my mind to the distribution scheme of the necessary work, but guess it'll be something like a fab Russian sci fi story I read once where every six months in the mail you got a note about your job for the next six months. (If you know the author of this story, I adore to find it out again. Pls leave in Comment.) Neurosurgeon three weeks a month and dishwasher at the Ritz for one week a month, or somesuch. I'm not wed to any scheme yet —  just to the principle that all bipeds are actually created equal. What a novel idea to mean it.

   I've long felt we should require all elected public officials to live on minimum wage and take public transportation for one week of every month, they're in office. See oh see how quickly minimum wage would Rise and how much oftener clean buses would show up.

.. VuraEarthGoo .. Vuravura, Earth, & Jeegoo are all names for our Home Planet.  

Ask Dr. Druid, 66 Days from Lead to Gold, Secrets of  Alchemy You Can Use, a druid shaman’s playbook .. Intro; Prologue; Day 1; Days 2 & 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Day 8; Day 9; Day 10; Day 11; Day 12; Day 13; Day 14; day 15 Review 2; Day 16; Day 17; Day 18; Day 19; Day 20; Day 21; Day 22; Day 23; Day 24; Day 25; Day 26; Day 27; Day 28; Day 29; Day 30; Day 31; Day 32; Day 33; Day 34; Day 35; Day 36;

……..……<^>………..…..

If you know or are an agent, aspiring agent, editor, or publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

You may comment anonymously.

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

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.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo & diablobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military-Corporate Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>…………….           

Ask Dr. Druid . day 35 . M.E.O.W. .. Moral Equivalent Of War

//

//

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 35

M.E.O.W. .. the Moral Equivalent Of War

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    I daresay we’ve illuminated enough more of our enchanting consciousness now to assay a foray druidesquely into a wider context, beyond the strictly personal. This may be a shock. After the unassailable trust we’ve been revealing & forging between you and the whole wide AllElse worlds, to, with that opened mind, leap d’artagnan-like into understanding our druid duty toward W.A.R. is a shock. Pero c’est la vie verdad. But that is actual life and its juggling. Why you’re learning to be an expert clown. Why we take so much Vitamin I.

  What we have to figure out each of us is Meow MEOW, meow – meow is the mnemonic device for the Moral Equivalent Of War. An antidote to what A.Einstein in 1932 calls “the war menace”; “the dark places of human will and feeling”; to taking the “latent” hatred and destructive passion and raising it to “the power of a collective psychosis.” S.Freud replies to A.Einstein that we cannot suppress “man’s aggressive tendencies . . . — what we may try is to divert [‘the war impulse’] into a channel other than that of warfare.” (My emphases.)

    In 1906 William James called this kind of transmogrification “the moral equivalent of war.” “War is the strong life,” how men can exercise their “hardihood.”

    I can understand this dyspepsia against what James calls the “mawkish and dishwatery,” a desire for life’s more “bitter” and salty flavors.

    What can we druids bring to the war on war? A quotidian discipline so exacting and eclectic and exciting that its very delicacy, its deftness becomes robust.

    As a droll but instructive example of the interface between the empath’s private necessity (Mutilated children are never collateral damage) and the batterings and buffetings of a frequently psychotic society, I had made up for me a teeshirt that says militant pacifist. Why? Because so many dear folk in the peace movement are so annoyingly ‘mawkish & dishwatery.’ I’d, say, swear like a sailor when describing our lunatic leaders. (If you make $50,000 a year, it’s gone in four seconds in the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq debacle. That’s nuts.) One of the treacly souls with whom I was sharing a lucid and pungent rant would give me the kicked-spaniel look and say, “Why can’t you be nicer?” “Because I care zero about nice. What I care about is not-mutilated. Not-mutilated. In mind, heart, or body.”

   Meow/moral equivalent of war is a mnemonic device, a memory trick, a memory meme. Because juxtaposing meow & moral equivalent of war is absurd, it reminds our mentality to hone the tools and weapons of fierce mind rather than the weapons of mutilation.

    Don’t mistake me. Ungrounded ‘intelligence’ and cleverness are no per se protection against the war psychosis whatever. “War hath no fury like a noncombatant.”

    Marianne Moore speaks of poetry as being “imaginary gardens with real toads in them.” Every fierce poetry-act of electric perception you construct, inhabit, perform, engage in is the meow, the moral equivalent of war. The equivalent of war which is, instead, moral. When you seize seeing, you tyger your life. You do the alchemy, you replace the reigning madly contagious psychosis with electric sanity.

    You have to be able to be alone with your fullness with AllElse or they(family, churches, nations, pals) will be able to bribe or bludgeon you with temptations, demands, commands whereby you submit or succumb to the psychosis(warism, racism, sexism, theism etc.)to keep approval, to keep belonging. (No, no, I’m not suggesting some strange isolation. Just a startled awareness of what we will sacrifice in order to belong. We will allow mutilated children to be called collateral damage and gaze, if regretfully, the Other Way.)

    Understanding that your hero’s journey is the daily meow, the exact and devoted and constant curiosity consistent with the marvel & magic of being alive. The war on war, the m.e.o.w, the moral equivalent of war, can not be won with their mutilating weapons, but in another quantum. Neither the right brain nor the left brain, but the rhapsodic center, the zone where Vulcan & Venus join fierce & tender forces of shocking, startled appreciation. Honor paid not in some fantastically sentimentally recalled war-struck past where you trapped juice, mystery, and mischief, but remembrance of things present, honed, honeyed, by all the earlier insights and outsights, angles. Jabbing skillfully at your day with a brush full of shocking color, wheat, sky, crows, like Van Gogh painting the ordinary scene as if it were illuminated suddenly and unbearably with lightning. Seize seeing.

   When daily life is shocking, terrifying, absurd, delicious, our poetry-eyes ablaze, war will seem as wasteful, coarse, revolting as it, in gruesome fact, is.

   Meow is a handy meme, a portable talisman to remind us that each act of attention, each breath, each heartbeat is an act of tyger peace, of fierce peace. Violent perception for peace. The joak’s on the boring warring. Sooner than you think too.

    Some scoffing is allowed. War? Piffle. Dreary. Dull. Loud. Leaden. Mainly vastly stupid. Impaling his entrails on your bayonet. Again? Really? Ho hum. War loses because it isn’t as savage as a violet.

    You are a Prometheus of perception. When you burn your hand on your cat’s fur, you know you’re beginning to wake up. Meow.

…!…

Notes:

. shock .. The war on war will be a shock if you’ve pried open your consciousness to put the pearls inside. If you do the exercises and keep a log, your openness will make you more vulnerable. Empathy actually increases the neural pathways. You get used to it.

 .d’artagnan .. (dar tan yaw[n]) d’Artagnan was the captain of the Three Musketeers, a swashbuckling hero;

. pero is 'but' and verdad is 'truly' in Spanish;

. mnemonic device .. roygbiv for the colors of the spectrum & rainbow is a classic mnemonic device. Roy. G. Biv – red orange yellow green blue indigo violet;

 . dyspepsia .. deranged, impaired digestion, grumpy guts, heartburn, nausea;

 . mawkish means sickly sentimental; from 1702; mawk = maggot;

. I got the Einstein, Freud, James & Montague quoted tidbits from Laptham's Quarterly Vo1 1.

 . quotidian (quoh-tidian)is the amusingly $20 word for ‘everyday’ or ‘daily’;

. militant pacifist .. a pacifist is not a passive-ist, but like the mighty western ocean on an halcyon day, a pacific-ist. To me, it’s about using resources for ingenious & determined construction.

 . treacly .. (tree-clee) treacle (tree-cull) implies excessive sweetness; think of too much molasses;

. “War hath no fury like a non-combatant.” ..  C.E.Montague 1922;

. Van Gogh ripped his ear off because it was so clear to him, the complete glory of wheat. Now, self-mutilation ain’t wise but it speaks to the passion inherent.

. savage violet .. a dandelion puff is rough stuff;

. Vulcan & Venus .. Vulcan is the Roman god of fire, a lame blacksmith, therefore forger, crafter; husband of the goddess of Love, Venus;

. Prometheus . Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gave it to humankind.

…………<^>…………

Ask Dr. Druid, 66 Days from Lead to Gold, Secrets of  Alchemy You Can Use, a druid shaman’s playbook .. Intro; Prologue; Day 1; Days 2 & 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Day 8; Day 9; Day 10; Day 11; Day 12; Day 13; Day 14; day 15 Review 2; Day 16; Day 17; Day 18; Day 19; Day 20; Day 21; Day 22; Day 23; Day 24; Day 25; Day 26; Day 27; Day 28; Day 29; Day 30; Day 31; Day 32; Day 33; Day 34; Day 35;

……..……<^>………..…..

If you know or are an agent, aspiring agent, editor, or publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

You may comment anonymously.

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

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I’d be very grateful if you’d send pogblog’s link to a friend:
http://pogblog.blogharbor.com  

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.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo & diablobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military-Corporate Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>…………….

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 34 . Rats, Ice Cream, Pigs, Granny, & Gandhi

 

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 34

Rats, Ice Cream, Pigs, Granny, & Gandhi

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    Ah, mnemonic devices .. When you need a restorative spate of recreation, play with mnemonic(knee-mahn-ik)devices. A mnemonic device is some nifty trick so you can remember something. A lifetime later I still remember A Rat In Tom’s House Might Eat Tom’s Ice Cream as the mnemonic device whose first letters spell arithmetic. George Eaton’s Old Grandmother Rode A Pig Home Yesterday spells geography. Muy yum (the only palindrome I ever invented – a palindrome meaning that it reads the same backwards as forward, the most famous probably being ‘Madam, I’m Adam.’)

   The enduring quality of a mnemonic device speaks in miniature to the astonishing power of story to the human brain – we really prefer stories to crack or even chocolate. The rat sentence is a tiny story in which we rather gleefully & shiverally fear that a Rat might be stalking Tom’s ice cream.  Then there’s George Eaton, Granny, & the pig. It is this bardic, storyness that makes us rich – those who spend their time accumulating paltry bottomlines wear emperor’s clothes. Stories don’t rust or get stolen or shame your lucred soul.  

     My doggèd pal who wanders the Earth with her Teach Peace sign sent me the following mnemonic device for remembering Gandhi’s 9 steps for decreasing violence, increasing non-violence or conducting cooperation. Gandhi was very practical, not mystical. In this case, the first letters highlight a key word in the practical steps or seeds that increase cooperation on our sure if zigzagging path to peace.

   

 Dancing Penguins Should Have Long Nights Doing Fancy Polkas

1. (D) Define the conflict.

2. (P) It isn’t you against me .. it’s you and me against the problem .. the problem is the problem.

3. (S)  List the things we do share. Need for food, shelter, water, safety, & art, for instance. Need cats too.

4. (H) Don’t ask antagonists for the self-justifying ‘What happened?’ Ask for a factual list of ‘What did you do?’

5. (L) Practice active Listening Skills..not passive brooding sullen hearing.

6. (N) Resolve conflict in a neutral  place. Treaties are not made on the battlefield. Too toxic & hot there.

7. (D) Proceed with doable steps. Don’t try to swallow the pumpkin whole..Have a single piece of pie to start.

8. (F) Practice forgiveness skills, not vengeance skills. Go quickly to neutral..on the way to eventual forgiveness.

9. (P) Purify my heart. Purify my own heart. Easy to see stubborn flaws, lousy attitude, & blindness of others…  

[10. Practice active Laughing skills. Sweet sweet irony cools the melon. This is a bonus step.]  

..adapted from pp.40-41 Colman McCarthy I’d Rather Teach Peace

….!!…

These steps unfurled show you can teach peace indeed! I hope you'll copy the little piece & send it along to people. Some folks put it on their websites. I’ll gloss this more or meringue this more soon. Am too sleepy at the mo. Whatever time of the 1440/86400 (minutes or seconds of your daynight) this finds you deliciously in, don’ let the 12-ft-tall lizards getcha down. The poets and the poetry-eyed do win. Because we’re more fun, & the multi-verse or many-poem place finds calculating success in money bizarre. Eat lots of buttered toast.

……..!…

Notes:

. muy yum .. muy is very in Spanish (pron mmmwhee); yum for yummy;

. lucred . verb coin from lucre, ill-gotten gain; In the 16th century, Tyndale translated a slur re money in the Christian bible as ‘filthy lucre,’ giving it the cast we feel today.

. 12-ft-tall lizards .. There is a group on an island somewhere that is convinced that those greedy leaders of today who extol the corporate over the person are really 12-ft-tall lizards in disguise. The notion has an undoubted resonance and is divinely droll at the very least.

.   

…………<^>…………

Ask Dr. Druid, 66 Days from Lead to Gold, Secrets of  Alchemy You Can Use, a druid shaman’s playbook .. Intro; Prologue; Day 1; Days 2 & 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Day 8; Day 9; Day 10; Day 11; Day 12; Day 13; Day 14; day 15 Review 2; Day 16; Day 17; Day 18; Day 19; Day 20; Day 21; Day 22; Day 23; Day 24; Day 25; Day 26; Day 27; Day 28; Day 29; Day 30; Day 31; Day 32; Day 33; Day 34;

……..……<^>………..…..

If you know or are an agent, aspiring agent, editor, or publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

You may comment anonymously.

…………….<^>……………..

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I’d be very grateful if you’d send pogblog’s link to a friend:
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.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo & diablobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military-Corporate Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>…………….

Ask Dr. Druid . day 33 . Walking with Sherrard

 

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 33

Walking with Sherrard

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    My dear friend Sherrard Grey now gallivanting in the FarStars was the one person I could go grokkingly in the woods with. Many folk are pleasant or even riveting to hang out with. But only Sherrard could walk two feet down the sylvan path and with me exclaim again, “Oh look at the scarlet hogwort leaf!” 

    Most folk quail or dim at constant daffy “Oh, look!” Sherrard could take it. It was a giga-treat to have someone besides The Blue and one’s own Jolly Brain to share the stupendousness with. The stupendous shock and surprise.

    With most companions, I recommend only stopping astonished in your tracks periodically. It’s not that one minds being thought mad. Perhaps one even prefers to be thought glad as a hatter. But sharing unbearable joy with unshaman folk can make them cranky. As your eyes get more vivid and poetry, you may find yourself being simply crushed at other folks’ dismal lack of enthusiasm. Fret not – or at least it serves no purpose to fret. Share every 1000th treasure and note the rest for The Blue or whoever your Secret Pal is.

    It can be daggone tricky to become more eclectic and more electric and then find your companions as alert as logs. You must navigate this conundrum, this riddle. You ought not be more dull to fit in. Nor may you begin to despise your slumbering fellows who will wake in their own time. Believe me, there will be fellow see-ers along the way & you’ll have a jolly recognition and immersing laugh so deeply true that you will know and re-know that the bizarre narcolepsy of the darling planet Earth is a puzzle that you are solving.

    Remember how bloody lucky you are to ever be awake alert stunned. Your gratitude must make you humble or you will just be an alert jerk. Which sucks. You are not are not superior for being alert, for having honed and honeyed attentions–you are l.u.c.k.y. You came across influences and confluences. It’s always your fault you can’t translate your new experiences to your friends or beloved. If you were so daggone smart, you could figure out how to entice them with crumbs like little birds.

    You do lead a double (octable?) life. Every single person (wall, old sock) has many things to teach you. You may be grand and fab at what you’re good at, but you ain’t good at what they’re good at. And if you are a real see-ker, you’ll patiently unfold what treasures and tricks each person each wall each old sock has got. And remind yourself to watch out for the hubris of humility too.

    I know, gods don’t I know how frustrating it can and will be to not be able to share instantly and straight across your electric mosaic of insights and outsights. Pick your moments. Remember how dim you are about playing the xylophone. Keep your eye on the xylophone when you begin interiorly or horrors! exteriorly to evince contumely. Experienced shamans know their luck. Prideful and preening fledgling shamans are not patient, are not generous and amusing. The puffed-up or faux humble ain’t got it yet. Avoid them pitfalls, friend, so you won’t look back upon yourself in excruciating embarrassment.

    The ancient Egyptians assumed that the stargods would weigh your heart after your life and if your heart was not light as a feather, you wouldn’t be honored. Pride and greed make your heart heavy. The stargods actually put your heart in a golden scale with a feather on the pan opposite your heart. This is a daunting adventure in lightening of your heart.

    I’ll never forget my several walks in the woods with Sherrard. They gave me courage and delight in the tiny fegg world at just the moment when I thought for sure it would be an utterly lonely adventure, this distilled perception thing. We never saw each other again for 40 years after that. Nor phoned. We mailed each other occasional letters which appeared out of the blue. Knowing a fellow see-er is out there is a lot. If one other person has seen a unicorn, it’s enough.

…………<^>…………

Ask Dr. Druid, 66 Days from Lead to Gold, Secrets of  Alchemy You Can Use, a druid shaman’s playbook .. Intro; Prologue; Day 1; Days 2 & 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Day 8; Day 9; Day 10; Day 11; Day 12; Day 13; Day 14; day 15 Review 2; Day 16; Day 17; Day 18; Day 19; Day 20; Day 21; Day 22; Day 23; Day 24; Day 25; Day 26; Day 27; Day 28; Day 29; Day 30; Day 31; Day 32; Day 33;

……..……<^>………..…..

If you know or are an agent, aspiring agent, editor, or publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

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.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military-Corporate Budget on education instead ..………….<^>…………….  

Ask Dr. Druid . day 32 . Fencing

 

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 32

fencing

the duel for deftness

image

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if you read it with your mouth as if out loud

[Ask Dr. Druid is designed to begin at the beginning. Click here.]

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     Sam Breeze throttled back on his snazzy new HelioJetter, the latest two-seater sport jetabout. He settled the tiny craft on the rooftop jetter pad at Max Thorn's InnerSpace MindGym, ISMG. Sam's previous full-passage Earth Trip had been in a cruder era, but he had made his useful mark in that lifetime. He'd been a pretty good portrait artist and had invented the telegraph which had revolutionized outer-world communication at the time. He came out of each lifetime with a deeper conviction that art had an essential part in any constructive endeavor.

    Art, fencing, and invention all shared a creative quality or posture that Max coaxed into your body's and psyche's muscle memory by merrily hollering or hissing “Au point” at you for an hour every instant your body and mind lost the perfect deft balance good fencing requires. “Au point.” (Oh pwa-n. The 'a-n' sound is like the beginning of 'angle' just before you put the 'ng' sound on.) Poised. Equally ready to pounce or to retreat. Not relaxed, but not tense. It is this deft state that Max cajoled and bullied his fencers into maintaining. Properly performed, it became nearly effortless.

    Sam grimaced cheerfully at the memory of the early days when he'd all but collapsed from the effort to make no effort. Learning like a butterfly to let his attention alight on things, to hover like a hummingbird sipping nectar.

    “Breeze,” Max would hiss suddenly behind his left ear, “Are you a hummingbird? Do you skim like a swallow? Are you a zephyr?”

    'FarStars no,' Sam would think, 'I'm a waterlogged, weak-kneed, lily-livered lump.' At first, all these alertness exercises made him feel even less competent, kindergarten awkward. Perhaps it was not worth feeling this ridiculous?

    “Dogs waste effort, cats waste none,” Max would insist. “Purr. Cats are always balanced, au point, poised. Watch them and admire. Learn.” The thing Sam liked best about Max was his refusal to guru. “I'm just a technician, kid. A batting coach. Keep your eye on the ball. Everything is a ball,” he'd cackle. Wise guys always cackle.

    In fencing, your weight is not on either foot. It goes straight down from the top of your head through your spine down between your two widespread feet. Though this position is physically useful in fencing, the au point, poised attitude is also always required in order to live vividly. Alert.

    With his white canvas fencing jacket open, Sam waited for his turn on the piste, the arm-span-wide special fencing strip laid out on the Gym floor. He recalled when he had learned to fly in his own body in the less-dense Realms of Experience and the first time he had levitated in his own room at home. What both adventures had in common was an un-gravity, a not-grasping, a not-clenching.

    Levitating, he had floated up like some large Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon and bounced gently off the ceiling, feeling at once delighted, incredulous, and entirely a fool. He was like a baby in this action. He couldn't control his motion yet. When he flew in dreams, he had careened and hurtled, and when he was about to run into a wall or a mountainside, he would flinch, duck, but dream-crashing never hurt anything except his terran pride and expectations. He got grace when he stopped trying so hard.  

 

     ISMG, the InnerSpace MindGym, was for people who found samuraiing a tad belligerent. All the disciplines and arts sought the Zone. The monk who illuminated the manuscript, the baseball player who had to concentrate but must not squeeze the bat too tight, the fencer on guard. The Zone.

    ISMG with a certain glee disdained 'peak experiences,' that treasure hunt of the previous century. Max had put his huge ruddy hooked nose up to the end of Sam's aquiline one and gazed owlishly at him, “Bloody hell, kid,” he whispered, “I want a peak life.”

   ISMG made every client keep a journal to remind them that all action, all repose was equally a chance to practice or perfect being au point, lightly intent. “If you can't do it washing the dishes, y'ain't gonna suddenly do it here on the piste,” Max chided. Like photographs, each action has to become focused.

    Sam thought that perhaps our blessed eyes were too well-engineered for our own good. If we actually had to 'manually' focus our nifty dual full-color, 3-D bio-cameras on the front of our faces, we might better appreciate the infinite adjustments of attention required to really focus on each thing. Visually we are lazy because it is done for us so automatically.

    As Sam took his place on the piste, the special fencing strip on the Gym floor, drew up his fencing foil before his face, Max cried gleefully, “Au point, Mr. Breeze, au point! Deftly, please.”

…..!…

…!…..

     Samuel Finley Breese Morse was a portrait painter, inventor of the telegraph, and of Morse Code. In Fencing we find him incarnated in an unstuffed shirt, one of the greater joys of modernity – being unstuffed shirtwise, that is. He is a distant ancestor of mine, and I always have felt the wells of invention and of codes and languages and arts across the zephyry ethers – resonances, unexpected echoes.

    Your attention can be piercing or tender. It is the precious stuff whereat your life occurs, or neglected, fails to occur. An unfit attention doesn’t serve you well in either delicate work or more landscape, global work. A fabulous attention is the birthright, the untollable riches of each conscious creature. It needs to hie itself  to an InnerSpace MindGym for aerobic practice in extrospection and introspection, both fueled by wry, lest you take yourself too seriously. Levitas is the attitude of attention that will delight you whether you’re in your own cozy hovel or in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Paris, France. I’m more interested in what happens to you in your own cozy hovel because only a few of the denizens of the darling planet get to visit Paris, France and everyone would like to be able to decorate their cozy hovel with the glories of perceptioning delight. Druids are staunchly not to say stubbornly egalitarian in opportunitys to thrive in verve, to excel in élan vital.

…!…..

Ask Dr. Druid, 66 Days from Lead to Gold, Secrets of  Alchemy You Can Use, a druid shaman’s playbook .. Intro; Prologue; Day 1; Days 2 & 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Day 8; Day 9; Day 10; Day 11; Day 12; Day 13; Day 14; day 15 Review 2; Day 16; Day 17; Day 18; Day 19; Day 20; Day 21; Day 22; Day 23; Day 24; Day 25; Day 26; Day 27; Day 28; Day 29; Day 30; Day 31; Day 32;

……..……<^>………..…..

If you know or are an agent, aspiring agent, editor, or publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

You may comment anonymously.

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2007 all rights reserved

copyright ask dr. druid 2007 all rights reserved

blog title image is a piece of andy goldsworthy

excerpt image warhol

article title parkes slice

I’d be very grateful if you’d send pogblog’s link to a friend:
http://pogblog.blogharbor.com  

email: askdrdruid@gmail.com

.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military-Corporate Budget on education instead ..