Ten Things I’ll Make An Effort To Do In 2007

I’m not much on making resolutions at New Years. When it comes to resolving to do something, I more likely to get at it when I think about it rather than wait for the calendar to change.
I’ve been thinking about it, though, thanks to the current of comic punchlines. You’ve seen ‘em. The guy on the couch vowing to gain weight and drink beer because he knows they’re resolutions he’ll keep.
Here’s my list of things I’ll make an effort to do:

1.Get published. I’ll do my part. I’ll write something marketable and learn more about the query and proposal process, but the final decision is out of my hands. For than, I’ll petition the Universe.
2.Keep exercising. It’s okay to take a day off now and then. In fact, I think it’s a good idea to take the occasional break. But I’ll keep at it.
3. Spend more time outside in the winter. Fresh air and winter sun are good for the soul.
4. Listen to the Universe more. When I ignore Guidance I regret it.
5. Thank the Universe more. Gratitude is important.
6. Sell or otherwise dispose of my dad’s power wheelchair. It’s been in the garage since August. I’ll give it away. I have something that someone needs. I want that somebody to have it.
7. Spend more time out in the world. Writers don’t get out much and I’ve enjoyed that part of it immensely. Lately I’ve started to think that I need more human interaction. Never thought I’d see that day.
8. More bike rides in the summer. I went out at least three times a week for up to 12 miles at a time last summer and it was wonderful.
9. More self-hypnosis experiments. I gave myself a suggestion once concerning housecleaning. Next thing I knew I was down on my knees on the bathroom floor chasing dustbunnies out from under the baseboards with a toothpick.
10. Cultivate impatience. I have less patience these days and I’ve decided that it’s a message from the Universe. Up in No. 5 I vowed to listen to the Universe. This is a way to make good on that promise.

Happy 2007.

What Am I Doing Here? I Can’t Write!

Back when I worked at the weekly newspaper in Olds I’d go to the local RCMP detachment every Monday afternoon at 2 p.m. to get the police report. Then I’d drive 10 miles south to Didsbury and do the same thing at its RCMP detachment.
The drive was scenic with mountains to the west and prairie to the east. It was a nice break and a highlight of the day. I’d get back to the office, grab some coffee and junk food from a nearby convenience store, set myself at the typewriter, and then panic.
What am I doing here? I can’t write.
It was clearest to me at those moments that I was dreadfully unskilled, untalented, and well-nigh useless.
Despite having gotten through the previous week without being called out on my thundering lack of ability I was convinced that this Wednesday’s paper would be my downfall.
I’d stare at the unmolested piece of paper in my typewriter and consider my options. There weren’t many.
I think better with something in my mouth. I used to smoke and any smoker knows you can buy a lot of time taking out a cigarette, lighting it up, and then inhaling thoughtfully.
I’d quit several years earlier, but junk food can make you look thoughtful, too. I sipped and chewed. Police reports are easy. The paper stayed blank.
I think the act of eating relaxed me. After a few moments of heavy chewing I’d realize that I’d only need to do what I’d done last week. Put some words on the paper as they were told to me. If it worked then, it’ll work again.
After two years I realized that I’d been getting away with being a no-talent lout for quite some time. Perhaps I’d been wrong. This revelation was wonderful and freeing. At that moment I realized I was adequate. That has stayed with me.
I don’t concern myself being a great writer although being a paid one again would be nice. I am confident in my adequacy and no one can take that from me.

Banana Pudding Pie

A comment a few posts ago (thanks Talia) contained the suggestion that I ought to post recipes for my crustless banana pudding pie and the attendant chocolate Schnapps sauce.
Tasty idea.
This recipe is suited for celiacs. I’m not a true celiac though I am wheat intolerant. I can get away with having a bit of wheat flour, but I chiefly use spelt and other lower gluten flours. I keep rice, tapioca, and potato flours around for when I feel the need to be gluten-free.
You gluten-eaters can substitute white flour in this recipe.
I’m not big on following recipes. I consider them something to be simultaneously referred to and ignored.
Although the following is my own invention I learned how to be gluten-free from the cookbooks by Bette Hagman like “More from the Gluten-Free Gourmet” and “The Gluten-free Gourmet Cooks Fast and Healthy.”
Here goes.

Crustless Banana Pudding Pie

Three ripe bananas.
About 1/2 cup of sugar. The sweetness of the bananas lets you cut down on the sugar content.
Three large eggs.
One-quarter cup of rice flour or potato flour (or starch) or tapioca flour (or starch)
¼ tsp of vanilla
½ tsp salt
1 tsp lemon juice
1 tsp guar gum (omit if using wheat flour)
Mixture may be thinned slightly with non-dairy milk substitute or non-dairy sour cream substitute if lactose intolerant.
Milk drinkers can use the real thing.
Blend in a food processor at a vigorous setting. Give it about three minutes so everything is properly mixed.
Pour in greased pie plate and bake at 350 for 40 –45 minutes. Depending on the temperament of your oven it could take longer to set.
Cool thoroughly and store in refrigerator. This gets better every day.

This is the base recipe. Stir in fruits and/or nuts like frozen raspberries and crushed pecans prior to pouring it in the pie plate.
This is good on its own and even better when topped with a sauce such as chocolate Schnapps sauce.
It’s very easy to make. Here’s the recipe. It’s my own invention.

About a cup of brown sugar.
A tbsp or so of water.
One 100g Lindt Extra Fine chocolate bar. Use the 85 per cent cocoa variety. Trust me.
Melt the sugar over medium heat and mix in the water. Break Lindt bar and add. Mix as it melts. If mixture is too thick add more water to desired consistency.
Allow mixture to simmer as you stir in a minimum of two tbsp of Schnapps. Use the real stuff for heaven’s sake. Don’t use that infernal abomination peppermint. I used apricot Schnapps. I had to choose between it and pear and the apricot won this time.
Simmer for about two more minutes stirring occasionally.
Remove from heat. Stir once more and pour into container.
Store in fridge.
If mixture hardens set container in a warm water bath until it gets runny. Stir vigorously and serve.

Look Closely, There Are Goats

I thought anything that mentions goats ought to have a pic of them. This is my very first attempt at putting a print photo on the blog.
Said goats are a bit hard to see. But they're there.

Meet Horricks

This is Horricks. It's a 100+ year old pump organ (it was made in 1901, I think) that my Grandma Maggie Thomson (nee Horricks) brought out from Ontario. She gave it to mom. I ended up with it.
It's not the best photo ever, but a) it's my very first ever blog photo, b) it's one of the first photos I ever took with my digital camera, and c) it's Horricks and I'm happy.

Seasonal Stuff

Best of the season to everyone and have an amazing 2007.

Promoting a Lie

Bush’s recent comments about wanting to increase the overall size of the US military reminded me of something that has annoyed me greatly. I’ll get to it shortly. But first, Canada doesn’t have a draft. Neither does the US right now. Every so often a bogus leaked report gets spammed around the Internet warning that the US draft will be reinstituted.
So far it’s been a hoax. But how does one increase the size of the military without a draft?
By getting more volunteers of course.
And that brings me to why I’m annoyed. Ever hear that ridiculous song-and-dance about Canada’s All-Volunteer Army? My country used to brag about it.
You see, back during WWII all our soldiers signed up. Yet we had conscription back then. That’s different from the draft because . . . um . . . because . . . “conscription” has 12 letters and “draft” only has five letters.
My dad was conscripted. He was 22 and single and exactly what Canada was looking for. So he went on his way to do his duty for his country. And when he got there he was given a piece of paper to sign. It said, “I volunteer.”
He did not sign.
Why?
“Because,” he said to me, “I didn’t volunteer.”
He was given three chances to buy into the Big Canadian Lie and three times he declined.
Dad told me that you weren’t punished for not signing, but neither were you promoted. Apparently one of the higher-ups suggested to him one day that he could go far in the army if he wanted. Well, that just wasn’t enough of a carrot.
So he led parades and became a driver for some higher-ranking fellow. He drove this fellow around BC selling Victory Bonds and got free beer out of the deal.
Not bad for refusing to lie.
I think it’s genetic. My Great-Grandfather Utas left Gammalsvenskby, a Swedish village in Ukraine, in 1886 over military duty.
Originally the settlers were told they wouldn’t have to serve in the Russian Army. When this changed he left. In fact, he was the first person from Gammalsvenskby to pack up his family and head for Canada because of it.
That’s not family lore. We had no clue why he left until we read Gammalsvenskby – the true story of the Swedish settlement in the Ukraine by Jörgen Hedman.
Good for him for taking a stand. We just don’t like to lie. We really don’t like to be lied to. And it’s extremely offensive when your own government does it and expects you to play along.

Solstice

Winter’s here and the day’s are about to get longer. We’re beginning our slow march to Litha and the longest day.
Mike and I celebrated the Winter Solstice last night and it was wonderful. We burned the seedpods of some wild tobacco he grew and let the smoke take our troubles to the sky.
The smoke was white and clean looking, if you can say that of smoke, and had a wonderful sweet fragrance that was set off beautifully by the clear cool night.
It’s the first time we’ve honoured Yule outdoors. In the past our observance has been restricted to food, but we felt a need to mark it like this.
Not that we ignored the food. I roasted a turkey in beer and made a crustless banana pudding pie with a chocolate Schnapps sauce. The pie is good. The sauce is better.
Winter Solstice means more than Christmas to me because it goes back forever and doesn’t have a great lot of commercialization piled on it. Like the smoke from last night’s tobacco, it just seems cleaner.

It’s just a bunch of words.

I haven’t written much about writing yet. In part because the blog is new, but mostly I don’t have much to say about it at present.
I write because it’s what I incarnated to do. I decided when I was five years old that I’d write a book. It’s just a bunch of words, I remember thinking. To my five-year-old mind that was reasonable. Of course a book is a bunch of words. But they’re put together in an interesting, compelling, enlightening or informative way.
I think that’s what’s been giving me problems over the past five years. I’ve haven’t got that interesting, compelling, and entertaining business down yet.
So I’ll plug away. I’ve got some ideas. I like to think my hypnosis and meditation scripts are fresh and interesting. They work, too, and that’s really important. No point writing self-help books if they don’t help anyone.
But there’s no point in doing them if they’re not published. So it’s back to figuring out what’s so all–fired special about my work because all I’ve got now is a bunch of words.

The Envelope or the Letter?

So here it is Christmas and Christianity’s gotten itself so wrapped up in idol worship that the true message of Jesus is all but forgotten. Christian idolatry is everywhere, and it’s exactly what Jesus didn’t want. If you’ve read the Bible you’d know that. In fact, everyone who claims to be a Christian ought to read the Good Book and find out for themselves what it really says.
I read it cover-to-cover about 20 years ago. I’m neither a Sunday Christian nor a Christmas Christian. I was raised in the United Church but stopped going when I was nine because I couldn’t get any straight answers to my questions. No one could explain to me about “Father, Son, and Holy Ghost” and I was convinced they were three different people.
Anyway I spent an hour each and every day reading the Bible. Took me about two months and I tell you what there’s some pretty tough sledding in the parts of NKJV. It’s worth it though, because I don’t have to depend on what somebody else swears the Bible says. It’s there or it ain’t. Interpretation be damned.
We ignore what Jesus said, unless it’s convenient for us to buy into it. Too many Christians say “I believe in Jesus” and leave it at that. No mention of what he did, said or stood for, just that they believe in him. You know what? That’s meaningless. It’s shallow and it’s pious and you’re just saying it because it makes you feel like you’re better than non-believers. Frankly, you sicken me.
A few years ago one of my Guides told me about religion in our world following the coming Earth and societal changes.
“It is the Source who will be honored and the Son, though honored, will no longer be idolized. This is not what He intended. He only showed the way by love. Tell me, what you would rather keep, the envelope or the words inside? He was the envelope. It was the letter inside that was important. The map to the God-Source, the directions.”

How Will I Ever Learn?

Yeah, I screw up. My spelling’s adequate, but my typing is atrocious. And I have an unnatural love of commas.
Consequently, errors will show up in the blog. I don’t always catch ‘em. Hell, I don’t always see them.
So if you see a consistent error, or even a single occurrence of something particularly egregious, tell me.
I may not know any better. If no one tells me, then I’ll never learn.
Call me out when I make a mistake.

Fruitcake Is Good

I love fruitcake. There. I said it.
I don’t really get all the insult jokes about fruitcake. It’s tasty.
The best part about Christmas was the fruitcake my parents made. Green and red maraschino cherries, of course. Other fruits, too, and nuts. Walnuts for sure, but I don't recall what else. I never had a hand in the creation and it’s been years since I had one of theirs so I can’t say. I think it had rum or brandy in the dough. Maybe both. I don’t know. I just remember it was good.
Seems to me it was put together around December 1 and then tucked away. Weeks later it was unwrapped and we tucked in. I ate as much as I could handle, and that was quite a bit.
I still get to eat fruitcake every year. My husband is a natural baker and really enjoys seasonal baking like Linzer Torte and Lebkuchen. But a few years ago I asked for fruitcake and he found a wonderful recipe that only has to sit for a few days. One year he made two or three of them for me and I would have happily eaten two or three.
So go ahead. Make fun of them. Ignore the amount of work involved and pretend that you’re one of the crowd of fruitcake–haters. Maybe you actually believe all the bad press they get. Good for you. But keep your fruitcake jokes to yourself. I don’t want to hear them.
And if you really despise them that much, then do us both a favour. Give it to me. I promise I’ll give it a good home, albeit a temporary one.

The Hitchhiking Ghost

I saw a ghost in broad daylight.
Mike and I were on our way to Grasslands National Park in Saskatchewan and decided to check out Highway 41 as we’d never been on it. It was a clear, blue sunshiny day in June with the near-endless visibility you get out on the prairies. A beautiful day for a drive and not much traffic on the road.
It was right around 2 p.m. We were minding our own business heading south with Mike behind the wheel. The road just ahead dipped a bit, then went up a slight hill with a curve. I don’t know if there was a stream in the dip or not, but there were guardrails.
I saw young man, maybe 20-30 years old, standing on the right-hand shoulder. I think he had a small suitcase beside him. He walked over to the centre line, picked something up off the pavement, and then walked back to the shoulder.
Okay, I thought, we’ve got a hitchhiker ahead. I turned to Mike and told him to watch out for the guy in case he tried to go to the centre line again.
But when I turned back the road was empty. A three or four ton truck came down the hill and sped by us on its way north.
No other traffic. No one had stopped to collect this young fellow. He was just gone.
Mike didn’t say anything. I was at a loss, too.
A ghost in broad daylight. Wonderful.
I haven’t had a chance to take that highway again, but I want to. What’s this guy’s story? Is he waiting for a ride that never showed? Was he killed by a vehicle while retrieving something from the middle of the road?
I’m not just curious. I’d like to help the poor fellow. Haven’t got the first clue how to help a ghost, but I’d like to at least talk to him.

Weird Stuff From The Great Beyond

When we got home Monday night from my dad’s funeral the DVD player was recording.
We hadn’t set it to record, but that didn’t seem to stop it.
I looked at it dully. It was about 7:30 and I was busy transporting some of his belongings to their temporary storage area in the living room.
Just before 8 p.m. the VCR popped on, as it was supposed to do, but the program was a repeat so I shut off the timer. As I did that the DVD shut off, too.
So the next morning I checked to see what we’d gotten. Nothing.
It recorded Battlestar Galactica on Sunday and whatever was in place of Heroes later on Monday. It’s worked normally since that evening.
It’s not the first weird thing. Last Thursday just after I got home from Barrhead the phone rang. I was near the portable phone in the bedroom so I picked it up. Even as I was saying hello I could hear Mike yelling from the kitchen warning that the phone I was on didn’t work.
He’d tried all day to get a dial tone. Nothing.
Deceased folks commonly use electricity to get our attention. There’s an explanation for it that I’m too lazy to look up right now so you’ll just have to take my word for it.
I don’t know why dad-–I’m assuming he’s the culprit-- chose the phone and a DVD player. Maybe it’s because we’d be likely to notice and because messing with them isn’t all that disruptive. It gets his point across without being annoying. That’s a thoughtful spirit.

Great Reward

My dad finally went off to his Great Reward in the early hours of December 7. He'd been in the hospital about a week and spent his last day on Earth zonked on morphine and immobile. Although he slept most of the time, I could sense very strong electrical activity in his brain. No doubt in my mind he was well aware of what was happening around him.
His companion, Ethel, stayed at his side to the end. She said that three times prior to his death he lifted his right arm to the top of his head.
I think he was clearing away all the debris so that the doorway home wasn't obstructed. A new friend from the Absolute Write Water Cooler suggested that he was either waving good-bye or hello or both. Whatever the reason, it was interesting.

Just So You Know

To date only one person has left a comment on my blog. I'm grateful for said comment, but I wonder. Only one? Have I lost my touch? Years ago when I wrote a column for The Mountaineer I routinely heard about it.
Those who agreed said so and I was happy.
Those who disagreed were vehement about it and I was even happier.
A former local pastor and I had some wonderful discussions. We disagreed, but it was all on the logical level of discourse. That was fun.
Others spewed their bile in Letters to the Editor. I was a clearly wrong. And in one memorable letter I was told to get an education.
Sigh. Good, good days.

You don't need a Blogger account to leave a comment.
There's no need to leave your name either. You're welcome to spew your bile anonymously as you see fit.
You can even agree with me if you have to.
Just don't think you have to sign up for anything first.

Oh Christmas Tree

I love Christmas trees. Don’t get me wrong. The real ones smell great, they impart a wonderful woodsy feeling to a home, and they are lovely.
But why in the world do we have to go out and kill a living creature? This makes no sense whatsoever.
Imagine if Jesus were alive today to celebrate the alleged day of his birth with us. He was all about peace and love. We honour that with destruction. We kill something, dress it up, then toss it out in a snowbank. I think he’d be downright bemused over these antics.
Harvesting trees for lumber is one thing. It serves a legitimate purpose. But the annual Christmas slaughter is an entirely different matter.
If we must tart up an evergreen, can we at least do it to a live one? It’ll suffer the indignity for a few weeks, maybe take a bit of heckling from its forest friends, but at least we wouldn’t have to kill anything for Christ’s sake.

We Only Have Poor At Christmas

‘Tis the Season to . . . overindulge in food and drink, spend a lot of money you don’t have on people you may not even like, and pretend you give a damn about others.
For three weeks and a bit millions of Christians go the whole hog in making an effort to be Christian. Between eating and drinking and shopping and trying not to get caught or kill someone while driving home soused they give a bit to the poor. Nothing wrong with that. In fact, it’s wonderful. A family gets a turkey. A kid gets a present. The poor, or at least some of them, have some semblance of normalcy for a day.
But where are these good, giving people the other 11 months of the year? Poor, hungry needy people are here 12 months of the year. By January, the poor are largely forgotten. If we happen to see one, then we cross the street or avert our eyes.
It’s their own damn fault they’re poor, we tell ourselves. Maybe they’re working off some karma, or simply decided to spend a lifetime outside the main flow of society.
Maybe that’s exactly what these people chose. Good for them. I believe we learn way more in a life of adversity than we do jetting around the world being famous for being famous. But that’s not the issue.
When a soul chooses a life of poverty or homelessness or the like, it is also giving the rest of us a chance to grow. We are being given a glorious opportunity to reach out to another person and recognize that when you help someone you help yourself.
You can help in many ways and not all of them involve money or materials. Even if you can’t afford to give anything at least acknowledge that the poor person shivering on the street is a person. Send a warm thought or some white light his or her way, and a thank you for the lesson that’s being offered.

Why Don’t You Self-Publish?

I get that a lot. It’s a reasonable question posed by well-meaning folk. They don’t understand that proper self-publishing costs a great deal of money--between $8,000 and $10,000. This doesn’t include distribution. It would be entirely up to me to get my book into stores or to sell it from the back of a room following talks.
One the good side, I’d own outright any book that came off the press. In real self-publishing the author is in charge of every aspect of production from editing to cover art to the physical size of the finished product. I’d make all these decisions, get my ISBN, and hire a short-run printer to make 500 or so copies for the first printing. Then I’d set my cover price, fill the trunk of my car, and start selling.
Even if I could afford this I’m not keen to do it. From what I’ve learned through reputable websites and blogs around the Internet it seems to be rare, though not unheard of, for a book that’s been self-published to be picked up by a commercial trade house.
And I’d have just used up first rights this way. Reprint rights aren’t that enticing.
What about all those others self-publishing outfits? You get royalties from them, right?
Those aren’t really self-publishing outfits. They’re vanity presses trying to pass themselves off as self-publishers or real publishers. I’ve looked at a few of them to see what they’re about. They’re not for me.
Not only would I give up first rights, but I’d sign a contract for X number of years giving said outfit the right to publish, and I’d have paid the company to do it.
Real publishing companies pay their authors, not the other way around.
Vanities are often referred to as PODs because they use print on demand technology. That means copies don’t physically exist until they’re ordered. If five are ordered, then five copies of the book are produced. Commonly, these books cost more than a book from a store shelf.
Vanity presses don’t do any distribution. Books they produce can be ordered through bookstores, but they aren’t likely to be on any shelf beyond the author’s hometown bookstore.
Unlike proper self-publishing, the copies spat out by vanity publishers are owned by the company, not the author. Not only would I have paid the POD to put my golden prose in print, I’d have to buy copies of my own book for resale.
So there I’d be, out a few thousand just to get the thing on a file to be printed out as needed, out hundreds or thousands of dollars more just to have copies on hand to sell, and I’d have to charge a ridiculously high price in a vain effort to get some money back.
I wouldn’t have a publishing credit. No commercial trade publisher will go near it because it’s been published already. All I’ll have to show for it is a trunk load of books and a huge credit card bill.
That said, vanities have their place. If all you want is to have a record of Great-Grandma’s Top 100 Rhubarb Recipes, and you know that all 200 of your cousins will buy a copy, then go ahead.
But if you want to be published author, then write good books and submit them to the commercial trade publishers that accept the kind of books you write.
If–-when--you’re turned down, try again.
I’ve been rejected literally hundreds of times. I keep at it. Maybe I’m hopeful; maybe I just don’t catch on quickly. But I’m still trying.

I Am Not A Tooth

Wisdom teeth get impacted. People don’t. Events have an impact on us, but they do not impact us.
This grating misuse of the word impact had got to stop. Sadly, I don’t believe it will as it’s become so annoyingly commonplace that it’s worming its way into the fabric of the language.
It’s not just used in everyday conversation either. I read it in newspapers and hear it on newscasts. These are people who communicate for a living. They ought to know better.
Years ago I railed about the misuse of access. You don’t access something, you gain access to it, I argued.
It didn’t do any good, of course. Today we’re gleefully accessing all manner of things. I still don’t think it’s correct, but I’ve given up. I say access now, too, and it’s happened so often I don’t feel any pain when I do it. The impact of it is lost.
This is a dangerous post to make. Now that I’ve written it I’ll probably mess up somewhere in public and make the very mistake I’ve complained about or one that’s equally egregious.
Such things happen. I hope the lesson it brings has an impact on me.

A Conversation With The Earth

The Earth is a sentient being. I hadn’t realized it until I found myself speaking with her one day.
I’d fully relaxed myself and taken the Earth’s energy up through my chakras. Soon I found myself in a small, grassy clearing at the edge of a lovely, deciduous forest. The trees were in mature, dark leaf. It was very early morning and the sun rising in the far northeast behind me. Though I could see grass and trees, a thick blanket of white light, like a low, thick fog, covered everything.
A layer of golden light covered this fog and I could sense amorphous beings within it. On the fog’s underside was a layer of inviting, bright green light hovering just above the dew-darkened grass.
As the fog grew thinner an edge of turquoise began to ribbon through it. The golden layer grew and more ribbons of turquoise appeared and became wider. The layer of green grew upward, and there, through the transforming, dissipating light at the edge of the forest, stood a woman.
The full branches of the tall trees reached over her head forming a protective, yet inviting archway. The forest was a cave, and this was its entrance.
She was clad in a long, white gown and appeared simultaneously as a young maiden, a mature, maternal woman, and a wise crone. Her shoulder length dark hair was edged with dark red and a proud, vibrant streak of gray graced the front.
Her eyes were endless, warm and dark, and spoke of depth and age and knowing. A sash of glorious red ran from one shoulder to the opposite hip and was edged with a thin blade of black. A tinge of harvest gold light surrounded her, as did an aura of expectancy. She sent out a feeling of a great, impending birth filled with the energy of vibrant new life.
“It is me you feel when you feel Earth (my) energy,” she said. “My love.”
“To you in your time my others, the other planets in your known system, are uninhabited. Oh that is a joke! But for you, it is the only way for you now to understand. Too many ‘Others.’ Too much for your way of being. Change. Understand. You will see it as real.”
Our present level of intellectual and spiritual development prevents us from accepting sentient life beyond our own. However, after the Earth and societal changes we would. (My note.)
She went on to talk about the life in other dimensions and under her surface, some of the access points, and the coming changes.
“Entrances and ports. Yes Shasta. Yes Rocky Mountains. Yes China Desert. Yes Pampas. This (Pampas) is a second entrance to Antarctica. (It is) needed because of ease of exit for visiting, like a back door. Are others inside me, long sealed. (Other entrances are not in use at present. (My note.) Too bad.”
“I will cleanse. I am sore and tired . . . wrong word . . . I ache, not just with pain that is felt physical, also hurting of abuse of surface children. But I take you along now that we are ready to go.”
“In your years? Unknown. In seasons. Some cycles yet before entrance to the New Way. Others of my, mine, call, encourage, but I am still. To come, yes it does. Seasons. Cycles. The great new season-cycle, my completion, finish and new. Rested and resting now. Yes.”
Her communication sounded choppy to me, but I think that was a problem at my end. I believe it was due to my surprise at the information and my lack of experience in communicating with her, not a deficiency in her ability to express herself.
It was clear, however, that the Earth is a living thing with her own consciousness. It is difficult for us to accept that the Earth is a living sentient creature, but she is.
We are alive because of the Earth. She grows our food, provides us with water, and her crops clean and create the very air we breathe. In short, she sustains us.
We have to treat the Earth like the living creature she is and not a combination endless mine of riches and garbage dump. We need to assist her by cleaning the water and filling in the holes and scars we leave with our improvements and rapacity.
She is our shelter. She is our constant companion and our reminder of the continuing cycles of rebirth.
She has a voice and it is time to start listening to it.

Poisonous People and Energy Thieves

Some people are so toxic that they poison every well they walk by. They have to suck the life force out of everyone they meet because they don’t own their own energy. They steal our positive energy and replace it with their never ending supply of toxins.
They’re in our families. We deal with them at work or know them socially. It doesn’t matter what you do with your life because you’ll never measure up, and they’ll stab a dessert fork in your ego whenever they can to ensure you don’t forget it.
I quit my reporting job to write books. I decided when I was five years old that I’d write a book someday. Someday eventually arrived 37 years later and I set about getting it done. I’ve written three manuscripts in the past five years and have a start on the fourth. They’ve been submitted. They’ve been rejected. I keep at it. But it doesn’t matter to the poisonous ones. It is their delight to needle me that I don't have anything available on a bookstore shelf.
“You haven’t had anything published, right?” I’m reminded.
It’s not that their standards are so high. Usually, I’ve noticed in my own experience, it's because their own accomplishments are so low. So’s their self-esteem.
Maybe they’re hiding away from abuse or neglect and don’t have the strength to face it. They use up all the energy they have in keeping this hidden, and then have to steal from the positive energy of others just to get through the day.
They won’t change until they have no choice. And as long as they can find willing victims to feast on they won’t need to change.
Certainly I feel some sympathy for them, but that’s where it ends. My energy is my own.
They’re difficult to be around. If I know I’m going to be in the same room as one of these poisoners, then a shield of white light is often enough to keep me safe. I ask the Universe to protect me, and then visualize this light around me. I also ask to have any unwanted energy bounce away from this shield and to be dissolved. If it’s a particularly poisonous energy thief, then I send the person some love after I’ve put up my shield. I mentally picture the person enveloped by the love and energy of the Universe.
If I don’t know beforehand and I get drained, then it’s sometimes days before I recover properly.

In-Gratitude

In-Gratitude

I have some guides. These lovely spirit beings do their best to set me straight as needed. They are with me when I channel or do Therapeutic Touch, and three of them helped me write my second manuscript.
Here’s what they said about our current state of entitlement.
“Adopt gratefulness in your attitude.” They told me our present ingratitude for all we have has to change, and we need to accept the Earth’s bounty “in gratitude.”
“This is gratitude-–gratefulness in attitude. Be it,” they said.
“Thank God every day. Say your thanks to the Earth for her bounty and to God the Source for all that has been received. Take for your needs in gratitude.”
“You take so much and return so little.”
Acknowledges that the food you’re eating didn’t just appear magically appear on the store shelf.
“No, there was work involved. Raw materials from the Earth had a hand in it, no matter what it was.”
They suggested giving thanks this way:
”Thank You Mother Earth, for providing a womb for this food and allowing it to grow and nurture us. Thank you to the sunshine and the rain and wind and yes, to the Earth for all her bounty.”

“If you follow a conventional religion and you are more comfortable saying grace, then do so,” they said.
“Why do you need to be reminded to be thankful? It should be natural.”

What's Hypnosis Ever Done For Me?

Have you ever been reluctant to make a phone call?
I have. I was a newspaper reporter for almost 20 years and phone interviews are part of the job. Oh, I still did them. The problem was I hated to bother people.
It should have gotten easier as the years went on. But even after having to phone a local fellow once to ask if it was his dad who was charged with a Southern Alberta murder I still put off the calls.
About a decade later I became a hypnotherapist. I practiced on friends and hypnotized myself literally hundreds of times until one day it occurred to me that I had a wonderful means to make my work easier.
I made a relaxation tape for myself and added suggestions for making work calls right away. Because I really wanted to change, the suggestion was very effective. The next day I when I got an assignment I made the call right away. I was partway through dialing when I realized the difference that one self-hypnosis session had made.
Sometimes all it takes is one hypnosis session. Other times it can take several. It depends on several factors including how motivated and willing the client is to make changes in his or her life. You can't be made to do anything under hypnosis that you wouldn't ordinarily do, and you are always in control.

Hello

Hello,

Welcome to The Goat's Lunch Pail.
It'll take me a bit to work things out. I'm still feeling my way around.
Thanks for stopping by.
Your comments are welcome.

Leah