In The Artist's Way, Julia Cameron describes (among other things) a writing process called "Morning Pages." It's really sort of a blend between a meditative process and a writing discipline, recommended for accessing and encouraging creativity. It's also therapeutic, useful in helping one get to the core of a matter and/or get through stuff. I've used morning pages for all of the above.
It's been a while since I wrote morning pages on a daily basis, but I think I will return to that practice, and here's why: It helped me before, and those pages are interesting to read now.
I came across a notebook while ago that contains morning pages from the days shortly after Steve's death. I know that somewhere there is another notebook of morning pages for some time prior to and through that event as well (although I'm not quite ready to see those pages yet).
I thought this notebook of morning pages would be much more difficult to read than it has been. In reading it, now, almost two years later, I see how much I was trying to adhere to some kind of routine in order to keep from utterly disintegrating and blowing to the four winds. Even the routine of the morning pages themselves - beginning with the date, a series of affirmations, filling three pages with writing, no matter what - this lent something of a sense of order to a time when my world had gone completely off its axis.
I wrote about the earthquake that frightened me so, and about Muffin the Cat as his health and mentality deteriorated, and about how nice it was to look out the windows in the daytime, but kind of scary at night. There is a great deal in that book of morning pages that, as I read, I can imagine having done, but do not actually remember. Woven into the everydayness of it all are touches of that spiky humor for which I am known among my friends. Not for public consumption, though. I'll keep my morning pages to myself for now, but I will write more of them, yes.
So. Morning Pages.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
One from the "Well, this is Awkward" Department...
This summer I was contacted by someone on facebook with a friend request. His profile picture depicted an attractive silver-haired man. Problem: the photo was of a fella who lives in Hawaii, but the person who friend-requested me insisted he was a businessman in England.
The old darling flattered me effusively, saying the nicest things. Now, I know I'm likeable, but almost everyone I know really only talks to me like that after they've gotten to know me pretty well. Even my dearest friends haven't gushed that much right out of the box. "To know me is to love me," keyword: Know.
This guy can't possibly know me that well, and I am traditionally suspicious of anyone who goes on too much too soon.
I guess he caught me in a weak moment. Oh, sure, I was cautious, but, yeah, I chatted with him on facebook. He sent me more photos of the same guy. I noticed that the photos he sent me all looked like upscale clothing catalog shoots - nothing that looked like a personal photo taken with one's own camera.
Bold declarations of love, eternal love, talk of making a life together. Playing the sympathy card with talk of having been orphaned at a young age and having a four year old child whose mother died in childbirth. Asking me questions, and then telling me how oh, so very much we have in common. He was pretty slick, but there were several things that didn't feel right. He didn't Skype, for example, (and wouldn't), and while he wanted to exchange phone numbers, apparently a phone call was impossible as well. Really, I do know better, but it sure was fun to have someone make a fuss, you know? I must say, I enjoyed the rush!
It's a six hour difference between England and Oklahoma, so our window of opportunity to chat was either in the middle of my night (his early morning) or the middle of my work day (his evening), and for some odd reason, my employer actually expects me to work when I'm on the clock! Go figure. The Institute actually has an official "No Personal Texting" policy, which all employees had to read and sign. Personal texting on one's smartphone is an activity for which one could be fired on the spot. I'd like to think surely they wouldn't actually fire me, but it is the policy, and I don't want to force them into that decision. I don't have to be Norma Rae today.
Meanwhile, my daughter and her daughter came in for a visit from New York. I'd told my grown children about my "new friend," and they were both very suspicious. My sister had given me a most frightening warning about this sort of thing.
Unfortunately for this would-be relationship, this fella never gave me any information that I could verify through other sources. There was absolutely no activity on his facebook profile, and I was his only facebook friend. The timeline of the story he told me was wobbly, with the only constant being his bold and effusive declarations of eternal cosmic love. Listen, if anyone came on that quickly and with that intensity in person, I'd be looking for the nearest Order of Protection. This was too much too fast! I'm thinking the reason I didn't shut this guy right down immediately was that there was, in my mind, a sense of safety in distance. Six time zones away, he's not likely to show up out at my gate asking to be let in without me knowing about it in advance. Well, that, and how pleasant it felt to be flattered so. I'm afraid this may be one of those times where "my ego is not my amigo."
So how did I find out about the photo?
When my daughter comes for a visit, she likes to throw a get-together. The day she arrived, she had invited my niece over for a visit. My children were teasing me about my "new boyfriend," so I showed Kandice a couple of the photos of "himself" that he'd sent me. Next thing I know, she's snapping a photo of these pictures with her smartphone and telling me about a way you can Google images. I had planned to follow this up later when I had a minute after things calmed down, but it seems she got to it before I did.
She was mortified, afraid I would be angry with her, but I know she loves her Aunt Vicki and doesn't want to see me get hurt. She called my daughter to discuss how to break the news to me. Later that night, the kids came to me and said, "Hey, mom, we found something you need to see."
A little surprising, but, then again, not really. Whoever this guy really is, he's pretty good at what he does - most of the time.
I learned a lot about what is actually an industry of Internet Romance Scammers. They use flattery and pretty pictures to get your attention. They are astonishingly crafty. The rhetoric escalates, usually including talk of a visit, and then they have an "emergency" and need money. Of course, they never come to visit, because they are not at all who they represent themselves to be. It's all about the money. They target men and women. They are almost never the demographic in which they represent themselves.
I actually did "break up" with him when the kids showed me what they found, but he kept messaging me, so I played along a little bit longer, just out of curiosity. It took about six weeks from the first contact to the "emergency" request - an urgent request for a "loan" of 10,000.00 British Pounds, which is almost 16,000.00 USD.
No, I didn't send any money.
Bright sides:
Maybe the biggest bright-side of all for me is that this really shook me out of the doldrums. I am delighted to discover that I can feel again, and with that door opened, a new chapter awaits....
The old darling flattered me effusively, saying the nicest things. Now, I know I'm likeable, but almost everyone I know really only talks to me like that after they've gotten to know me pretty well. Even my dearest friends haven't gushed that much right out of the box. "To know me is to love me," keyword: Know.
This guy can't possibly know me that well, and I am traditionally suspicious of anyone who goes on too much too soon.
I guess he caught me in a weak moment. Oh, sure, I was cautious, but, yeah, I chatted with him on facebook. He sent me more photos of the same guy. I noticed that the photos he sent me all looked like upscale clothing catalog shoots - nothing that looked like a personal photo taken with one's own camera.
Bold declarations of love, eternal love, talk of making a life together. Playing the sympathy card with talk of having been orphaned at a young age and having a four year old child whose mother died in childbirth. Asking me questions, and then telling me how oh, so very much we have in common. He was pretty slick, but there were several things that didn't feel right. He didn't Skype, for example, (and wouldn't), and while he wanted to exchange phone numbers, apparently a phone call was impossible as well. Really, I do know better, but it sure was fun to have someone make a fuss, you know? I must say, I enjoyed the rush!
It's a six hour difference between England and Oklahoma, so our window of opportunity to chat was either in the middle of my night (his early morning) or the middle of my work day (his evening), and for some odd reason, my employer actually expects me to work when I'm on the clock! Go figure. The Institute actually has an official "No Personal Texting" policy, which all employees had to read and sign. Personal texting on one's smartphone is an activity for which one could be fired on the spot. I'd like to think surely they wouldn't actually fire me, but it is the policy, and I don't want to force them into that decision. I don't have to be Norma Rae today.
Meanwhile, my daughter and her daughter came in for a visit from New York. I'd told my grown children about my "new friend," and they were both very suspicious. My sister had given me a most frightening warning about this sort of thing.
Unfortunately for this would-be relationship, this fella never gave me any information that I could verify through other sources. There was absolutely no activity on his facebook profile, and I was his only facebook friend. The timeline of the story he told me was wobbly, with the only constant being his bold and effusive declarations of eternal cosmic love. Listen, if anyone came on that quickly and with that intensity in person, I'd be looking for the nearest Order of Protection. This was too much too fast! I'm thinking the reason I didn't shut this guy right down immediately was that there was, in my mind, a sense of safety in distance. Six time zones away, he's not likely to show up out at my gate asking to be let in without me knowing about it in advance. Well, that, and how pleasant it felt to be flattered so. I'm afraid this may be one of those times where "my ego is not my amigo."
So how did I find out about the photo?
When my daughter comes for a visit, she likes to throw a get-together. The day she arrived, she had invited my niece over for a visit. My children were teasing me about my "new boyfriend," so I showed Kandice a couple of the photos of "himself" that he'd sent me. Next thing I know, she's snapping a photo of these pictures with her smartphone and telling me about a way you can Google images. I had planned to follow this up later when I had a minute after things calmed down, but it seems she got to it before I did.
She was mortified, afraid I would be angry with her, but I know she loves her Aunt Vicki and doesn't want to see me get hurt. She called my daughter to discuss how to break the news to me. Later that night, the kids came to me and said, "Hey, mom, we found something you need to see."
A little surprising, but, then again, not really. Whoever this guy really is, he's pretty good at what he does - most of the time.
I learned a lot about what is actually an industry of Internet Romance Scammers. They use flattery and pretty pictures to get your attention. They are astonishingly crafty. The rhetoric escalates, usually including talk of a visit, and then they have an "emergency" and need money. Of course, they never come to visit, because they are not at all who they represent themselves to be. It's all about the money. They target men and women. They are almost never the demographic in which they represent themselves.
I actually did "break up" with him when the kids showed me what they found, but he kept messaging me, so I played along a little bit longer, just out of curiosity. It took about six weeks from the first contact to the "emergency" request - an urgent request for a "loan" of 10,000.00 British Pounds, which is almost 16,000.00 USD.
No, I didn't send any money.
Bright sides:
- I had a clue
- I had savvy family members who knew how to find out about these things
- I listened to the people who love me
- I didn't send anybody any money
Maybe the biggest bright-side of all for me is that this really shook me out of the doldrums. I am delighted to discover that I can feel again, and with that door opened, a new chapter awaits....
Monday, July 29, 2013
Happy Birthday Steve
Today, this very day, July 29, marks the birthday of my late husband Steve Newby. If he were still alive he would be 63 years old today. He wouldn't want anyone to know it was his birthday. He would allow me to make a fuss if I did so privately, but he would still protest. The whole time I knew him, he was genuinely irritated when people made a big fuss over his birthday, although he did like the phone calls from his children and grandchildren. I never did understand it, but eventually came to accept as part of his Steve-ness. Anyone who knew Steve is undoubtedly smiling at the thought, as he was certainly one of a kind.
What he would prefer, then, was to find something or someone else to celebrate, take the focus off himself. Our anniversary, for example, was the 27th (would've been 15 years) and another special day for me comes up on August 1. Those would be the things he would have made a big hoopla over.
Before we moved to Cooperstown we liked to plan a get-together, inviting family and friends over for a cookout and visit. We called it our Annual Gratitude Celebration. We'd have this somewhere around the last week of July or the first week of August, right around this part of the year. Of the last one I remember, Steve, Grandma Susie, and Grandma Margaret have all gone to Heaven now. Becky's in a nursing home, we're not sure where Ron is. Of course that's not everybody, but it's probably about a quarter to a third of the number who were there that day.
When we moved back, that was one of the things we were looking forward to doing once the remodel was complete, hosting our Annual Gratitude Celebration Cookouts. Oh, we cooked out a few times, Steve and I, just the two of us. Steve was a bit of a perfectionist (he considered this an insult, but I never meant it as one) and to his way of thinking we weren't "ready" to have a bunch of people over, still too much not done yet.
Steve made such beautiful cabinetry that everything looked perfectly well finished just as it was, but the next thing on his project list when he departed this realm was drawer fronts, and then cabinet doors. I did find someone to make cabinet doors; the drawer fronts are still pending. Some things have just been hard to push through.
All this and so much more is rolling through my mind today on the anniversary of Steve Newby's birth. I've known other families who would get together to celebrate the memory of a departed character, and I've thought about doing something like this, but just haven't been able to push through and make it happen. Meanwhile, Life is what happens when you'e made other plans, or even whether you've made plans or not. Right now this memorial message is the best I can do. Were he alive, he would not like me to mention publicly that it was his birthday, but by golly, he's not here! Happy Birthday, Steve Newby!
What he would prefer, then, was to find something or someone else to celebrate, take the focus off himself. Our anniversary, for example, was the 27th (would've been 15 years) and another special day for me comes up on August 1. Those would be the things he would have made a big hoopla over.
Before we moved to Cooperstown we liked to plan a get-together, inviting family and friends over for a cookout and visit. We called it our Annual Gratitude Celebration. We'd have this somewhere around the last week of July or the first week of August, right around this part of the year. Of the last one I remember, Steve, Grandma Susie, and Grandma Margaret have all gone to Heaven now. Becky's in a nursing home, we're not sure where Ron is. Of course that's not everybody, but it's probably about a quarter to a third of the number who were there that day.
When we moved back, that was one of the things we were looking forward to doing once the remodel was complete, hosting our Annual Gratitude Celebration Cookouts. Oh, we cooked out a few times, Steve and I, just the two of us. Steve was a bit of a perfectionist (he considered this an insult, but I never meant it as one) and to his way of thinking we weren't "ready" to have a bunch of people over, still too much not done yet.
Steve made such beautiful cabinetry that everything looked perfectly well finished just as it was, but the next thing on his project list when he departed this realm was drawer fronts, and then cabinet doors. I did find someone to make cabinet doors; the drawer fronts are still pending. Some things have just been hard to push through.
All this and so much more is rolling through my mind today on the anniversary of Steve Newby's birth. I've known other families who would get together to celebrate the memory of a departed character, and I've thought about doing something like this, but just haven't been able to push through and make it happen. Meanwhile, Life is what happens when you'e made other plans, or even whether you've made plans or not. Right now this memorial message is the best I can do. Were he alive, he would not like me to mention publicly that it was his birthday, but by golly, he's not here! Happy Birthday, Steve Newby!
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Carrot Cake
I am part of a group of friends that meet at each others' homes every Monday night. We typically have some kind of baked good and ice cream for refreshment. One of the kitchen-challenged yet creative fellows brings frozen treats from Braums Ice Cream and Dairy store when it's his turn. When these interesting characters admitted me to their fold, I promised them that when they came to my house I would make Carrot Cake. I make a really good carrot cake, as anyone who's ever had it will heartily affirm. This is not a quick task for me. I love that we get together on Monday, because I can make the carrot cake on Sunday afternoon. The last time everyone came to my house, it was because one of the other guys had an emergency at his house and, asked to trade Mondays with me. I said, sure, but I wouldn't have time to make a carrot cake. I was in a bit of a time crunch myself that week and had to send my son into town to grab some store-bought baked goods for everyone. A couple of the guys gave me some good-natured ribbing about almost not coming when they heard there would be no carrot cake that time.
So it was my turn to have everyone over this week. I had plenty of notice, and set Sunday afternoon aside to make the Carrot Cake. Made sure I had organic carrots, grated them by hand. I have a food processor, and it's really fast to run them through there, and I would certainly do that if I were grating more than just the two cups for one cake, because then there's all the food processor parts to wash up and put away. Perhaps the labor evens itself out, what you exert grating carrots and rinsing the grater or mandolin versus getting the food processor out, putting it together, dropping the carrots in and grating them, zip zip, dis-assembling the food processor, washing all the parts, and putting it away. It might be fun, some time, to do a side-by-side comparison with a stopwatch and see how long each process takes to get two cups of grated carrots, start to finish, but for now the first option seems simpler for my small scale production run.
While the layers were baking, I got the brilliant idea to message some of my Cooperstown friends that I know love carrot cake in general, and mine in particular, and tease them a little bit. I messaged them on facebook to say that we'd be having carrot cake at my house the next evening. In the time frame given, they could drive straight through, or catch a plane. As a plan B, I offered that the next time I visit Cooperstown, I would prevail upon my daughter to let me use her kitchen to make a carrot cake to share with them. We all had a lot of fun talking about the idea, and now everyone involved is looking forward to it.
Four of my friends rode out here together and arrived first. Joan already knew I had made carrot cake because we'd talked about it earlier, but the fellas were happy to hear about it. Then the next two guys arrived together, and when I told the story about teasing my Cooperstown friends with "you have 24 yours to get here," I saw those two high-fiving each other like a couple of little boys grown tall.
Then they shared that on the way out here, one of them said to the other, "Do you think she's going to have that carrot cake this time?"
"Ooh, I don't know."
"Well, I think if she doesn't, we should charge her mileage for the trip to her house!"
I'm glad they didn't have to do that.
Everybody had as much as they wanted, and there was still about a third of the cake left, so it looks like my son might get a piece after all!
So it was my turn to have everyone over this week. I had plenty of notice, and set Sunday afternoon aside to make the Carrot Cake. Made sure I had organic carrots, grated them by hand. I have a food processor, and it's really fast to run them through there, and I would certainly do that if I were grating more than just the two cups for one cake, because then there's all the food processor parts to wash up and put away. Perhaps the labor evens itself out, what you exert grating carrots and rinsing the grater or mandolin versus getting the food processor out, putting it together, dropping the carrots in and grating them, zip zip, dis-assembling the food processor, washing all the parts, and putting it away. It might be fun, some time, to do a side-by-side comparison with a stopwatch and see how long each process takes to get two cups of grated carrots, start to finish, but for now the first option seems simpler for my small scale production run.
While the layers were baking, I got the brilliant idea to message some of my Cooperstown friends that I know love carrot cake in general, and mine in particular, and tease them a little bit. I messaged them on facebook to say that we'd be having carrot cake at my house the next evening. In the time frame given, they could drive straight through, or catch a plane. As a plan B, I offered that the next time I visit Cooperstown, I would prevail upon my daughter to let me use her kitchen to make a carrot cake to share with them. We all had a lot of fun talking about the idea, and now everyone involved is looking forward to it.
Four of my friends rode out here together and arrived first. Joan already knew I had made carrot cake because we'd talked about it earlier, but the fellas were happy to hear about it. Then the next two guys arrived together, and when I told the story about teasing my Cooperstown friends with "you have 24 yours to get here," I saw those two high-fiving each other like a couple of little boys grown tall.
Then they shared that on the way out here, one of them said to the other, "Do you think she's going to have that carrot cake this time?"
"Ooh, I don't know."
"Well, I think if she doesn't, we should charge her mileage for the trip to her house!"
I'm glad they didn't have to do that.
Everybody had as much as they wanted, and there was still about a third of the cake left, so it looks like my son might get a piece after all!
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Here's how peaceful it is at my house:
A little brown wren has built a next in a soft storage box right outside my back door. I open the back door, I could touch her nest with my hand. She's got about a half dozen eggs in there, about as big around as my fingertip, kind of cream colored. She flies away every time I come or go through that door. She's beginning to see that I mean her no harm, so she's not in a big hurry to fly away, but there's no need to distress her, so I will refrain from using that door this week.This is not a photo of "my" actual bird, but this is what she looks like, a little brown wren. Sweet little mommy bird.
King Daddy
If you're not lucky enough to have a broody hen who will set a clutch of eggs and hatch them, or whatever enough to have one of those incubator machines to hatch your eggs, you most likely get your chicks from your local farm supply store when they have them, usually available once a year, or your mail order poultry supply, usually available most of the year. When you buy chicks, you can specify "pullets," which is supposed to be all girls, or "straight run," which, in a perfect world, would be what ever you get when they hatch, supposedly 50/50 boys and girls, but in practical terms is probably what's left when they glean the pullets. How ever that happens, when I got my chickens, I asked for six red pullets (and have six red hens) and a straight run of barred rocks (and got two hens and four roosters). With the other two roosters I already had, that makes six hens and six roosters, which is about five roosters too many.
Now, I do know how to slaughter a rooster. And at least one of those barred rock roosters has exhibited behavior that has brought roosters to the dinner table before. I guess I'm just not up to it right now, though, so I have separated five of the roosters from the rest of the flock. One rooster, affectionately named King Daddy, is lord of the hens and he is a good rooster.
They could very well survive on the bugs and plants they graze on when they're outside, but I supplement their diet with chicken feed and kitchen scraps. Chickens will eat anything. Seriously, they are like pigs that way, only nowhere near as messy.
King Daddy looks out for his girls. He is always looking for some little tidbit on the ground that he thinks one of them might like to eat. He makes the cutest little fuss, to try to get them to come over to see what he has, "Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!" If no one runs right over to get what ever he's trying to show them, he picks it up and drops it, like show-and-tell, and chirps some more. Picks it up again. The smart hens run over and get whatever he's showing them, sometimes plucking it right from his beak. It's very endearing to watch.
King Daddy lets his girls know when there's danger. There's a special sound for danger overhead, like hawks, owls, and the like. He makes another sound when there's a four-footed predator. There are certain movements that freak them out, and then they all go on and on, like a crowd in hysterics. Wave anything red at them and they go freaking nuts, you can't shut them up. There are some scenes in Monty Python's Flying Circus that remind me of these chickens when they go nuts like that.
Today the roosters are out. When I went into the chicken pen to fill the waterer, somehow one of the barred rock hens escaped, the little ninja. I'm pretty good at keeping them at bay, but somehow she got through and I totally missed it, but, boy, as soon as she was out, here came all five of those roosters, as if to prove, once again, why they needed to be separated. As soon as the first one jumped on and off, I grabbed that hen and carried her back into the hen house. I imagine she had some 'splainin' to do when when got there, but at least she's safe again.
 | |
| King Daddy, lord of the hens |
Now, I do know how to slaughter a rooster. And at least one of those barred rock roosters has exhibited behavior that has brought roosters to the dinner table before. I guess I'm just not up to it right now, though, so I have separated five of the roosters from the rest of the flock. One rooster, affectionately named King Daddy, is lord of the hens and he is a good rooster.
They could very well survive on the bugs and plants they graze on when they're outside, but I supplement their diet with chicken feed and kitchen scraps. Chickens will eat anything. Seriously, they are like pigs that way, only nowhere near as messy.
King Daddy looks out for his girls. He is always looking for some little tidbit on the ground that he thinks one of them might like to eat. He makes the cutest little fuss, to try to get them to come over to see what he has, "Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!" If no one runs right over to get what ever he's trying to show them, he picks it up and drops it, like show-and-tell, and chirps some more. Picks it up again. The smart hens run over and get whatever he's showing them, sometimes plucking it right from his beak. It's very endearing to watch.
King Daddy lets his girls know when there's danger. There's a special sound for danger overhead, like hawks, owls, and the like. He makes another sound when there's a four-footed predator. There are certain movements that freak them out, and then they all go on and on, like a crowd in hysterics. Wave anything red at them and they go freaking nuts, you can't shut them up. There are some scenes in Monty Python's Flying Circus that remind me of these chickens when they go nuts like that.
Today the roosters are out. When I went into the chicken pen to fill the waterer, somehow one of the barred rock hens escaped, the little ninja. I'm pretty good at keeping them at bay, but somehow she got through and I totally missed it, but, boy, as soon as she was out, here came all five of those roosters, as if to prove, once again, why they needed to be separated. As soon as the first one jumped on and off, I grabbed that hen and carried her back into the hen house. I imagine she had some 'splainin' to do when when got there, but at least she's safe again.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
A Unicorn Named Roger
Most mornings I take a few minutes to go through a directed meditative process aimed at strengthening my intuition and developing my creativity. During part of this process, I visit a nature scene in my imagination. This nature scene is uaually similar from one day to the next, but I am likely to see some unusual things there sometimes. A "Marshmallow Tree," for instance. (Marshmallows as we know them do not ordinarily grow on trees.) So, it seems, another thing I get to do in this process, is to ease up on "The Need To Be Right," and to allow more of the sense of wonder.
I am learning that when I get something unusual, to just go with it, and observe and remember, because when I come back to the ordinary world, I can look things up, maybe see what that means. It's been very informative, very interesting.
For example, the other day in my meditation I got the children's book, Green Eggs and Ham. I could see it as clearly as if I were holding the physical book in my hands. I opened it up and flipped through it. All the pictures and words were there. I thought, Green Eggs and Ham? Really? Okay, but why am I getting this? Stupid, I thought.
But something said there's a reason... So when I came back to the ordinary world, I googled Green Eggs and Ham, and here's what I found out: It's about
Being presented with an idea
Resistance
Persistence
Resistance
Persistence
Resistance
Persistence
Resistance
Persistence
All right already, I'll try it, even though I know I won't like it, just so you'll shut up - hey, wait a minute - this isn't as bad as I thought - as a matter of fact, I like it, I like it a lot! I want some more!
This was a mind-opening experience for me. I can see that a worthy goal for me would be to excise most of the resistance out of the middle.
So this morning I had just arrived to my Nature Scene (the Marshmallow Tree is still there) and immediately in my face was a unicorn! Not distant or mysterious, not wild or skittish, but right there, face to face, blinking his big eyes at me. He was so close I could see he had freckles. I thought, Unicorns have freckles? and he said, "Why not? Unicorns can have freckles." I thought, I wonder if it has a name? and he said "You can call me Roger!" Roger? What kind of name is that for a Unicorn? and Roger threw his head back and laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, and then he said, "Green Eggs and Ham!" and ran away!
When I came back to the ordinary world I looked up Unicorns, which most people know are a legendary animal, generally depicted as a white horse with a single long horn coming from its forehead. Often considered to to be quite wild, the unicorn was considered to be a symbol of purity and grace, and the horn was said to have the power to to make poisoned water drinkable and to heal sickness.
Then I looked up the name Roger, and guess what that means? Famous Spear! I got a Unicorn named Roger. My universe definitely has a sense of humor.
I am learning that when I get something unusual, to just go with it, and observe and remember, because when I come back to the ordinary world, I can look things up, maybe see what that means. It's been very informative, very interesting.
For example, the other day in my meditation I got the children's book, Green Eggs and Ham. I could see it as clearly as if I were holding the physical book in my hands. I opened it up and flipped through it. All the pictures and words were there. I thought, Green Eggs and Ham? Really? Okay, but why am I getting this? Stupid, I thought.
But something said there's a reason... So when I came back to the ordinary world, I googled Green Eggs and Ham, and here's what I found out: It's about
Being presented with an idea
Resistance
Persistence
Resistance
Persistence
Resistance
Persistence
Resistance
Persistence
All right already, I'll try it, even though I know I won't like it, just so you'll shut up - hey, wait a minute - this isn't as bad as I thought - as a matter of fact, I like it, I like it a lot! I want some more!
This was a mind-opening experience for me. I can see that a worthy goal for me would be to excise most of the resistance out of the middle.
So this morning I had just arrived to my Nature Scene (the Marshmallow Tree is still there) and immediately in my face was a unicorn! Not distant or mysterious, not wild or skittish, but right there, face to face, blinking his big eyes at me. He was so close I could see he had freckles. I thought, Unicorns have freckles? and he said, "Why not? Unicorns can have freckles." I thought, I wonder if it has a name? and he said "You can call me Roger!" Roger? What kind of name is that for a Unicorn? and Roger threw his head back and laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, and then he said, "Green Eggs and Ham!" and ran away!
When I came back to the ordinary world I looked up Unicorns, which most people know are a legendary animal, generally depicted as a white horse with a single long horn coming from its forehead. Often considered to to be quite wild, the unicorn was considered to be a symbol of purity and grace, and the horn was said to have the power to to make poisoned water drinkable and to heal sickness.
Then I looked up the name Roger, and guess what that means? Famous Spear! I got a Unicorn named Roger. My universe definitely has a sense of humor.
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