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Intermezzo by Brigitte Geisler

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When sunrise wakes me up by Brigitte Geisler ~ http://flickr.com/photos/bridgy2008/

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Editorial Twice’s a charm Email for inquiries and submissions wisp.ezine@gmail.com Cover artist Brigitte Geisler Design and publication Éric P. Lemoine Contributors to this issue

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KC Anneken (USA) James Arteman (USA) Judyette Clarke (USA) Margaret Collins (Australia) John Cullen (Canada) Rodney O. Davidson (USA) Jean-Baptiste Duret (France) Brigitte Geisler (Germany) Jeannine Geisler (Germany) Paul Gill (USA) Bill Ingle (USA) Emily Judson (Australia) Jeremy Key (USA) Kenneth McSween (USA) Tracy Marshall (Spain) Sharon Mendenhall (USA) Bill Michaels (USA) Lee Muir (New Zealand) Mike Nelson Pedde (Canada) Jan Ramsey-Hart (USA) Thomas J. Sherlock (USA) Jadia L. Ward (USA)

and a special thanks to Mary/Elias and other behind-the-scenes collaborators

http://wisp.focusphere.net We would love to hear from you Want to react on a published article, or submit your own? Contact us at wisp_ezine@yahoogroups.com No part of this magazine may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher. The views expressed by the contributors are their own and do not necessarily represent those of Wisp e-zine.

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by Yurick Emonel

here is some deep magic at work in this e-zine, if you ask me.

No sooner had I tried to put together all the synchronicities, than it made my head spin like the daisy-wheel of my very first typewriter that I’d got ages ago. To state the obvious — and this probably is always a sure way to start tackling things — this issue is born under the number Two. It's no longer One. It has evolved and is now transitioning to a very delicate phase of its development. How to remain Whole when you cease to be One? French Poet Rimbaud had this genius way of putting it. « Je est un autre » (“I is another”). It can really start to make you feel nuts of all sorts — and thus excite in anticipation your pet squirrel exercising in its wheel — when you feel you are about to lose your personality as much as your grip in the forthcoming changes. Then, a faithful contributor reminded us that this issue of Wisp, not only would be Two, but Twins too (Twisps?). Or Gemini if you prefer,… things can get lost a trifle in translation when you get contributors from different cultures. True, it almost bedazzles me at time when I think how nearly miraculous that it all still works with such variety at its core.

It's not really spilling the can of worms to say it, because you can feel it in the air. It must be due to that magical, Mercurial word which seems the cure-it-all of every marriage counselor : “Com-Mu-ni-Ca-tion”. Looks a bit odd spelt that way, I know, perhaps even slightly gross… Regardless, it is Mercurial magic (and retrograde notwithstanding), not so much because moods might sway between cool and heated at times — a matter of pressure and expansion? — but because of the God of Messengers who rules the sign of the Twins (there is nothing hermetic in that, except perhaps the messages we refuse to open). And no sooner had “communication” popped up, it not only popped up once, but started to fill the whole place, like all was about communication. Really, when you look at the flurry of communication means, I daresay, had they known of these modern Yahoo, MSN and SMS (com-) oddities, the Ancient Romans and Greeks would probably have seen red too (or even yellow, if they’d got too emotional). Some friendly voice coming from the other side even started to tell us about it, in a flurry of Com-com-com-Com reminiscent of the 5th.

Yeath! Yeath! How interesting that it works so well you start to ask yourself… You can spend hours on that scratching your chin to no avail.

Encouraging us to expound on that creatively. Com-com-com-Com.

What makes, despite the duality, the Twins interact well together? What is their secret?…

So, relax now and enjoy the show. Just remember “allow the change” doesn’t mean to let go… of your Self. And be alert to the signs…

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Inside Editorial, by Yurick Emonel (p.3) A Billy Johnson Heads Report, the Andalucian Connection, by Tracy Marshall (p.5) Gemini, Brigitte Geisler and Elias (p.6) Saved by Angels, by Margaret Collins (p.7) Whisper Zone (p.8-9) Finding Seth Speaks, by Tracy Marshall (p.10-11) Exploring Mass Events: Introduction, by Thomas J. Sherlock (p.12) The Last Mimzy, a film review, by Rodney Davidson (p.13)

The Frogs, by Mike Pedde (p.18) It’s a Small World Afterall, by Jan Ramsey-Hart (p.19-20) Psyche or the Trials of the Soul, by Éric P. Lemoine (p.22) Ask The Snoot, by Georges & Salome (feat. the Snoot) (p.23-25) Let’s All Get on the Same Page, by Sharon Mendenhall (p.26) Surprise Mail, by John Cullen (p.27) Storm Watching, am I seeing things?, by Paul Gill (p.27) Fueling a New Energy Project, by Bill Michaels (p.28-29) What are Time Bridgers?, by Captain Bridger (p.29-30) Native American Focus, by James (Rob) Arteman (p.31) Editor’s Mail, Contributions welcome, by Bill Ingle (p.31)

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La mouette by Jean-Baptiste Duret

Emergence, book excerpt and artwork, by Jadia L. Ward (p.14-17)


A Billy Johnson Heads Report In this new instalment of the carved heads adventures through space and time, our photo reporter Tracy Marshall tells us more about the heads last stop in Spanish Costa del Sol.

The Andalucian Connection

(For the previous instalments, refer to issue number one of Wisp)

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by Tracy Marshall

he two Billy Johnson carved fossil heads arrived here in Spain in May, after a brief visit to the daughter of one of the Time-bridgers in Birmingham, UK for energy imprinting. After taking photographs of them in various locations here in Andalucia, including an ancient mound and the ruins of a Roman city, they will be sent to a Time-bridgers’ member in Kentucky for further energy imprinting, before being sent to the ‘Area of Enchantment’1 in Florida, where they will be buried for the Time-bridgers in the year 2163 to find. The non-physically focused essence Elias, channeled by Mary Ennis, has agreed to exchange messages between the Time-bridgers in 2163 and the Time-bridgers in 2008, and the 2163 team have already been informed that a Billy Johnson head is soon to be buried for them to find. We look forward to announcing in due course, via the Elias channel, that the Billy Johnson head has indeed been found in the year 2163. Each fossil head was accompanied by a little card with a riddle on one side, and a diagram on the other. The riddle reads “Twinkle Twinkle; On genius and fool; Twinkle twinkle; Sweet sky jewel”. In the accompanying message from Billy, he said that the ammonite is 180 million years old, but that the bluestone head is much older. Billy commented that the bluestone would ‘shine bright with me in the Spanish sun’, and indeed it does. My intention was to send the ammonite head to the future, and keep the bluestone one. However, during the weekly Glass Hour group meditations, three of us ‘saw’ the bluestone one being found by the Time-bridgers in 2163, and so we have decided that I will keep the ammonite one in Spain, and the bluestone will be buried in Florida for the Time-bridgers project.

References 1 see Time-bridgers article page 29 Tracy’s blog: http://stillwandering.multiply.com Billy Johnson Second Wave http://www.paradox-carving.co.uk/work/default.asp?idno=183

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his time of the year, around the month of June, is traditionally associated with the constellation Gemini, or the Twins.

The ancient myths tell us the constellation is named after Castor and Pollux, twins hatched from an egg, sons of Leda, Queen of Sparta, and Zeus, King of the Gods in the guise of a swan. Brothers of Helen of Troy, they have also been heroes in the quest of Jason and the Argonauts.

As only Pollux was immortal, when Castor died, they were granted by Zeus the right to share Pollux immortality so that they wouldn’t be separated. Saviors in desperate situations, protectors of sailors, the Dioscuri were considered by the Greeks to be responsible for St Elmo’s fires.

[outlines from Dieter Steffmann’s Jahreskreis font]

Gemini, the Twins of Spring

In astrology, Gemini are the communicators of the Zodiac.

Impressions

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Die Zwillinge (Baby Tucans), photography by Jeannine Geisler

“Communication is the foundation of change”

Elias, 6

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W

hen my daughter Meleena was two years old,

we were in the process of building our house, and had a small caravan on our 5 acre property. Meleena immediately clicked with one of the builders and they would eat lunch together and hang out. One day we were sitting on the back stairs of the new house and I noticed Meleena had disappeared. After a frantic search, I found her on the other side of a fence walking away from my 30’ dam. She was very calm and walking slowly. When I asked her what she was doing, she said that she felt to walk to the dam, even though it was strictly out of bounds, she had never done it since or after. She said that she walked right to the edge, then two hands held hers. There was a male and female on each side of her, they were tall and had long white gowns on with gold sashes and wore sandals. They didn’t speak, just led her away from the dam. She was half way back when we found her. After that I had the dam filled in. There was no doubt in my mind that Angels had saved her. Two years later Meleena nearly died from bacterial meningitis, and lost 90% of her hearing.

Blue ice, Jeannine Geisler

Saved by Angels by Margaret Collins

When she was 12 years old, she had an episode with seeing Dragons in water. She was so afraid she wouldn’t even have a bath or look at a glass of water. I ended up taking her to a physic to try and sort it out. The physic found that she had separated her negative and positive aspects, the negative she manifested as dragons, and did a Crystal healing on her. She never had any trouble with them after that. She also said that Meleena did that as she was unsure. Twelve is the age we make certain life decisions, and she was having problems with that. Two days later, my concrete water tank lit up like it had a spotlight on it. Next day I saw a woman run from the water tank. She was wearing shorts on and a white T-shirt and had short blonde hair. So I chased this person out of my property but couldn’t find her. While I did that a woman in the same white outfit appeared out the window to Meleena. She walked up to my horse, who is ironically named Angel, and touched her tail, which Meleena said lit up with sparkles. She then just walked off and disappeared. We were both pretty gob-smacked to say the least. It was not the first time I had seen my water tank light up. Meleena is a gifted medium, but chooses at this point not to use her abilities in a public arena. She sees dead people as real as life, and they talk to her constantly. One even moved her doll off the top of her cupboard one night and put her on her pillow. I have since found that Meleena is also Milumet, so that might explain it a bit. Whoever Angels are, they are here to help. We speculate they are from other dimensions, from the future even. In any case, I’m glad they turn up every so often.

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She ran to her little girl as quickly as she pos-

sibly could! A bloodcurdling scream had shocked her from her sunbathing reverie, and she cursed as she stepped on and squished her bottle of Coppertone across the walkway. Scooping her daughter in her arms she ran into the house, setting her daughter down in a playpen as the child continued to scream loudly and wave her arm around. Opening the refrigerator the mom mixed baking soda with meat tenderizer as quickly as she could. Grabbing her screaming daughter with shaking hands she hurriedly applied the horrid paste, cooing to the trembling child all the while that it would be OK, momma loves you, you’ll be all right! The momma’s eyes are welling with tears and the young child is making strange, almost intelligible noises, but she is no longer screaming. Breathing deeply the mother holds her child and showers her with love and affection, until the poor little thing falls asleep.

Sperm Whale Cloud, photo Jean-Baptiste Duret — Seed, illustration Elikozoe

Later, when the daughter has children of her own she will discuss this event with her mother, laughing about the time she stuck her finger in the electrical socket… to which the other will stare blankly recalling no such incidence, but a horrible sting by a hornet.

Seeds of probability Seeds, thrown out unawares from the center of my passion with just a thought. erupted from pods incubated within my inner self, and scattered by mynd hands like crumbs across the cosmos. a sprinkle of event, a word, a phrase, a look on someone's face, settled there, dormant till I catch up to notice it and feed it thought. surprised at what I have so humorously hidden in yesterday today and tomorrow, I laugh to watch it

6 Jan Ramsey-Hart

grow and spread cross the faces of my lives, colors, feelings, action blending, merging, spreading squirrelly fingers into new pods of possibility.

Judyette Clarke

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Whisper Zone

“Just living is not enough,” said the butterfly, “one must have sunshine, freedom and a little flower.” ~ Hans Christian Anderson

Just remember always, to have fun with what you are doing When it becomes “work”, switch and find something else that brings you to the brink of sheer joy And the key to the “brink” is to allow yourself to go past the “brink” and still know you are okay What is beyond the brink of everything is pure spirit, pure creation... I am One With the One

The Shift in consciousness is like a box of chocolates The more into it you’re diving, The more expanded your being. The Snoot

Lullaby For The Augu Stopgap Lullaby for the Augu opgap A dreamsong of ateliers and undertones Fan the ice for no audience A teaparty adherent, vacant Content till I wear the disengagement ring The face of patience Bracing, Remote, Indispensable, Laughing No response, or delicate answers I imagine a future Defined by archaic mosaics I walk here Awaiting the invoice Kenneth (Oba) McSween

Pilgrimage, detail — Kenneth McSween This is a 2 ½” x 3 ½” miniature Ballpoint Pen and Graphite Pencil drawing. The buildings are from an antique postcard from Cadiz, Spain and the rest is straight from my imagination. It is part of a multi-paneled piece titled: “Pilgrimage” (totally hand drawn)

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E

Last May 8th would have been the 79th birthday of American poet and writer Jane Roberts. For the occasion, Tracy Marshall shares with us some magical coincidences of people finding Jane Roberts’ books.

ach life is charmed (Seven said), yours and everyone else’s, and you must never forget it. The instant you’re born, you’re charmed, because life itself is a charm. Each being is charmed into existence in whatever reality it finds itself, and given everything it needs to operate in the environment. Your body is charmed, too: It’s a magic part of everything else; springing up from all the things you see about you.

Finding Seth Speaks

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first read Seth Speaks three years ago, around about the time I got my first computer and internet connection. The book was unlike anything I had ever read and I was curious to find out more about it, so I googled it. I found Seth chat groups and mailing lists and joined then, and soon discovered that many people had an interesting story to tell about how they first found the book Seth Speaks, by Jane Roberts. Bill Ingle, long time participant in the online Seth community and instigator of some of the first physical gatherings and expeditions of its members, shares this experience of his first Seth encounter on his Realitytest website1:

“During the spring of 1982, I chose to teach myself how to meditate and took my copy of LeShan’s book into the beautiful Mount Auburn Cemetery of Cambridge, Massachusetts, home to the mortal remains (and ornate funerary monuments) of many well-to-do 19th Century Boston Brahmins.

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You are magic. You charm the air so that it thickens into your body wherever you are. Jane Roberts, from The Charmed Life, in Oversoul Seven’s Little Book, The Further Education of Oversoul Seven (1979)

by Tracy Marshall

I sat on the steps of a marble tomb facing a pond (not realizing at the time that this was Mary Baker Eddy’s tomb) and proceeded to follow the book's instructions. Shortly after allowing my thoughts to gradually come to a stop, having already relaxed myself and closed my eyes, I was greatly surprised to see (with my mind's eye) a full-color and crystal clear image of the paperback cover of Seth Speaks, by Jane Roberts, a book I had glanced at in a bookstore and dismissed. Under these circumstances I decided the book deserved a second look and immediately left the cemetery for Harvard Square, where I purchased a copy. I was quite impressed and soon thereafter purchased and read all of the Seth books then in print. Many future adventures would never have come about had I not made the choices I made that day, including those that followed my discovery of the world’s first Sethrelated Internet mailing list, years later. (See The Great Coordination Point Expedition.1)

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Atoms and molecules go singing through the miraculous air, forming themselves into rocks and trees and dogs and cats and people, too.

Advocates of meditation promote its use for many purposes, but the above experience illustrates how meditation can facilitate the opening of a connection between the egoic conscious self and greater regions of self, regions where time doesn‘t exist.” For many, Seth Speaks seems to literally fly off the shelf, as in Sharon Mendenhall's experience:

“I was in a library in Las Vegas, circa 1984, in the metaphysical section, when I attempted to pull out a small book on one of the upper shelves. Because they were packed in so tightly, a large book next to it also came out and nearly fell on my head. Because I had to catch it in my hand, it looked of interest to me and I began to browse through it. But I almost didn’t check it out because it was so called “channelled” material, and I didn’t trust that at the time. But once I read my first Seth book Seth Speaks I was addicted ever after. 1 see http://www.realitytest.com/gcpe/


Actually, this isn’t an unusual story. Jerry Hicks of the famous Esther Hicks / Abraham2 tells almost the same story about being in a library in Phoenix, around the same time frame.” For others, Seth Speaks first appears in a dream. Éric Lemoine writes:

“I can date my interest in the Jane Roberts and Seth books back to 2003, 5 years ago, almost day for day. Being a prolific dreamer, for some years it had become habit to jot down my dreams when I woke up, in an attempt to understand more about my personal symbols, and also to increase the chance of having lucid dreams. That morning of May 15th, I wake up from a series of dreams, and one strikes me in particular. It had a feeling of clarity and there seemed to be clues for me to search for more meaning. I am in a kind of shuttle, very white and pristine, coming back “home”. Someone had left a thick magazine on a seat, and I proceed to read the content. The reading is capturing my interest, it tells about the “material Seth”, and I have images of pyramids associated with the reading. After I'm interrupted by the controller, I find I have arrived and have to get off. I close the magazine and the cover intrigues me. There is a clear photograph of a middle aged portly man, white-gray buzz-cut hair, and on an impulse, I take the magazine with me. When I wake up, I am at first surprised, because all I knew of “Seth” at that time was the notorious Egyptian God, and a gigantic villain cobra trapped in another dimension in the Conan animated series. I could relate the pyramids to them, but the very clear and peaceful feeling wasn't matching these images. So I tried to look up the Internet for “material Seth”, and the first site that comes up is a website with a painting of a man which looked eerily similar to the one of my dream. It says: “Portrait of Seth by Jane [Robert]'s husband, Robert F. Butts. Many of Jane's students visualize Seth in this form.” (Later I would read Oversoul Seven by Jane Roberts, and connect the dots with the pyramids). At first reluctant to investigate some “channeled” material, I must say that this dream is largely responsible for my current investigations in what Seth had discussed in these books. And it is a reminder for me to trust these messages, for in them is invaluable information waiting to be tapped into, and more importantly, to be experienced...”

7 During the writing of this article we learned that Robert Fabian Butts, died at age 88 in St. Joseph’s Hospital in Elmira, NY on May 26, 2008 of cancer. Rob graduated from Pratt Art Institute in Brooklyn. He was an Air Force Veteran of WWII, an Instrument Specialist repairing airplanes in the Pacific Islands during the war. Rob is an accomplished artist and writer, and he is the co-writer of the nine Seth Books with his first wife, Jane Roberts (1929-1984). Rob is survived by his second wife, Laurel Lee DaviesButts, to whom we send our condolences and also, our deepest gratitude for their work.

In my own experience, I was looking for an answer to a particular question that was troubling me at the time. I bought Seth Speaks, which I had previously made a note of ‘to buy later’ but had forgotten about, after the death of a favourite dog, Rosie. Whilst browsing through the books online, thinking to cheer myself up with a few new books, part of the title of Seth Speaks ~ The Eternal Validity of The Soul ~ stood out. I had been consumed with wonderings about where Rosie had gone after her death. Interestingly, for a year or so previously, I had known that I was looking for ‘something’, and knew that I was close to finding it. Halfway through the first chapter, I knew I’d found it, and ordered more Seth books. A year or so later, I'd read virtually all the Seth books, and Jane Roberts books as well, and the online Seth community had led me to find other channeled material to expand the information initially found in Seth Speaks.

May the wings of the butterfly kiss the sun And find your shoulder to light on, To bring you luck, happiness and riches Today, tomorrow and beyond. ~Irish Blessing

2 Esther Hicks is an inspirational speaker and with her husband Jerry Hicks has co-authored a series of best-selling books. She is best known for the Abraham material, one of the sources of inspiration behind the self-help movie the Secret (2006).

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Exploring Mass Events: Introduction By Thomas J. Sherlock

I intend, through a series of articles, to explore Seth’s The Individual and the Nature of Mass Events, chapter by chapter. I have been prompted to embark on this exploration by unconnected threads: contemporary world events and my current exploration of another Seth book. In light of recent events such as the tsunami, Katrina, current events such as the cyclone in Myanmar cyclone and the China earthquake (51,000 dead to date), and impending events such as the divisive, dramatic, U.S. presidential election, a review of Mass Events and the psycho-mechanics behind world events seems timely. I have also been lead to explore Mass Events as a result of a similar exploration I am conducting with The Nature of Personal Reality at NewWorldView.com. In an e-mail exchange with Paul Helfrich, steward of New World View, I had asked what would be a logical follow-up to NoPR. While I contemplated The Nature of the Psyche, Paul recommended Mass Events. Mass Events is subtly presented to the reader with three quotes in the front matter. In the first quote, a disclaimer (disclosure?) is tendered: “We have never told anybody to do anything, except to face up to the abilities of consciousness”. In other words, do not simply sit on your laurels expecting the world to happen around you without your input, without action on your part. You are a powerful being; take responsibilities for your life and you consciousness abilities. The second quote follows with a caveat: “if you are seriously worried about a physical condition, go to a doctor”; and, in the same quote, a reminder regarding your health: “when you have a headache … trouble with your sinuses … hay fever … remind yourself that your body does indeed have the capacity to heal itself.” Finally the reader is presented with a challenge: “Let us each dare/ to open our dream’s door,/ and explore/the unofficial thresholds,/ where we begin”. So, let us begin. Jane Roberts, the writer, begins her introduction to Mass Events with wit by saying: “A trance is a very private phenomenon” (p. 5). However, this trance occurs in a “physical world of shared events”(p.5). Jane then shares elements of her private life with the reader. She brings up the death of her cat, Billy, touches upon her personal work with “heroic impulses”, describes her subjective experience in receiving information for a subsequent Seth book and lauds her husband Rob Butts for his role as midwife, bringing the Seth material to the public world and for spurring her on. She also references elements of the shared world which have become a part of her private existence, such as her glass of wine, cigarettes, the mass-produced table (emphasis mine) and the tape recorder. And Seth will discuss “in depth how our private realities merge into mass experience” (p.6) and “shows how each of can contribute to the mass reality” (p. 6) for “we are the events in which we participate” (p.7). Jane is a nexus from which she is able to journey into other, inner realities and venture out in to the physical, public realm. She speaks of having a psychological alliance (p. 9) and a psychological bond (p. 9) with Seth. She closes the introduction explaining that the Seth sessions rise from the private lives of herself and her husband (and perhaps Seth’s too). And she reiterates that Seth provides a continuum of existence that spreads from privacy to public life.

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Impulses While paying homage to one of the more revered of Seth expressions: “You make your own reality”, calling it “one of the cornerstones of Seth’s material” (p. 7) Jane notes that in Mass Events, Seth develops this idea deeper and wider, “maintaining that our private impulses are meant to provide the impetus for the development of our own abilities in a way that will also contribute to the best interests of the species and the natural world as well” (p. 7). In fact, much of Mass Events is “concerned with the purposes of our impulses” (p. 7) and it “is an introduction to our impulses, those we follow and those we deny” (p. 8) Impulses should not be ignored because they are creative (p. 8) and the language of the psyche (p. 8). And we should heed our impulses, because Seth reminds us, after all: “we are of good intent.” (p. 7)

Mincing Words Jane uses different words and phrases to convey the concept of the public space: the physical world of shared events, the physical world of events that we all share together (p. 5), mass experience, the public arena, our world, (p. 6), our civilizations, society, mass reality, global actions, the species (p. 7), world events (p. 7, p. 11), the psyche of the people, of the species itself, the people (p. 9), public world, mass arena of events (p. 11). Jane also infers mass events: massproduced table (p. 5), Jonestown mass suicides (p. 6). The idea of public events as being shared reduces the sense that they are objective occurrences disconnected from our private lives. It also evokes the realization that what is happening out there is intimately tethered to our own private lives and that we have an influential participation in mass events. This stream of sharing can also be found throughout the introduction. Jane speak of wanting to share Seth’s “new, vaster philosophical structure with their readers (p. 8) (emphasis mine), and that the introduction is her sole conscious contribution to the book (p. 11) (emphasis mine). May we all make conscious contributions to our world of shared, mass events.

An Emerging Conscious Creative Lexicon for the MidShift1 Community In Jane’s introduction to Mass Events, I have encountered some terms which have become quite familiar within the conscious creative colleges of Seth, Elias, Kris and others. There are terms which have taken on new connotations and associations in an effort to express the language of the psyche and to translate or interpret the Shift and the Exploration of our Greater Reality. The word “focus”, for example, can be defined as the lifetime or focus of attention of essence (our higher self) (Elias, session 1120), or in common vernacular, a past life (Kris, private session). Jane first uses the term as we might understand it outside of conscious creation while still hinting at Elias’ definition: “even if I was focused elsewhere and my consciousness turned inward”(p. 6). This could be considered a foreshadowing of the word used later in the introduction as understood by many in the midshift community: “it’s quite legitimate to say that I’m a focus of his [sic] (Seth’s) consciousness” (p. 10). The word “discount” is another example: “Not that such material wasn’t often distorted, or just as often discounted” (p. 10). Here Jane is referring to intuitive disclosures or “our deepest unconscious knowledge about ourselves” (p. 10). The word “discount” is frequently used by Elias and has at least once recently been used by Kris on Kris Radio (Your Own Inner Friend, 15 May 2008). Often used in the phrase “discounting yourself”, it can be considered the opposite of “appreciating yourself”.

Loose Ends Some comments made by Jane Roberts have left me wondering. I do not discern the solution within the problem. On page 7, she refers to “you make your own reality” as one of the cornerstones, where normally a cornerstone is singular. So what are the other cornerstones and how many are there? Four? Perhaps Mass Events will reveal some more. In page 5, Jane writes: “So technology, with all of its implications, is never really too far away.” Which implications is she referring to? Perhaps the answers to these questions are irrelevant, for, just like Jane and Rob, I am still learning how to ask the right questions (p. 8) And maybe these comments of Jane are not essential because “The point of all of this is [sic] the exploration of human consciousness, its ranges and scopes.” (p. 10).

1 Term inspired by Opan’s own term “Midshift Earth”


photography Tracy Marshall

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imsultaneous rabbit transit Sundial runs slow In a garden's enchantment Prescient dreams In the twilight know The head's appointment And where it will go. Ken (Oba)

The Last Mimzy A movie review by Rodney Davidson

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ast night I watched the 2007 movie “The Last Mimzy”. It’s about a mysterious box that is sent from the future to our present time and discovered by two young children. I have forgotten who told me to watch it as I know this is not the general kind of movie (family entertainment) that attracts me. I am a thought focused senior citizen who is only just beginning to know how to express his feelings, which are frequently intense, as they became during this movie. The acting by the children is extraordinary. They truly look like they are living in a world of make believe that is more real than real. I was strongly captivated by these precious children. I was mostly captivated by the little girl, who in my opinion steals the show, so to speak, but it was the little boy that I identified with.

Both children begin to play with toys they find in a box washed up on the shore and in doing so develop extraordinary powers. The girl’s abilities fall into the category of “manipulating energy in the material world”. The little boy’s abilities fall into the category of intellectual prowess. I was really beginning to enjoy the movie when a scene came in which the little boy was describing his science fair project to his teachers and visitors. First know that the boy was recognized originally as a poor student and a definite under-achiever, at least by one teacher. His science fair project, however, was over-the-top in every aspect that one could think of. The audience were transfixed in their amazement and the boy’s parents were actually frightened in their wonderment of what had happened to their children. This is actually a minor scene in the plot of the over-all story, so its impact on me really caught me off-guard. No sooner did I “get” the depth and insight of the boy’s “knowledge” (I was a career mathematician in the field of physics) than I was overwhelmed with emotion. It was explosive and captivating and I was reeling from it. (I know I cry at family type movies which I discovered is why I do not watch them)

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So, being a thought type focus, I immediately began searching for the message being carried by this “signal”. The message I “found” truly impressed me, and I believe will touch everyone reading this to some extent as being about themselves as well. This little boy, who I did not know at that point that I had identified with as much as I had, was showing that he had “connected” with his magical self, his source, his inspiration, his muse, and in seeing this I was “connected” to mine as well. This whole episode is sending out ripples of revelation to me. This boy’s “connection” was through his imagination and was facilitated by people from the future, who, in my opinion, symbolically represent models of who I seek to become. It’s about becoming who we really are. I am pretty sure that these ideas are brand new for me and I am delighted you are all there to let me share.

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Emergence — 4' x 5' painting by Jadia L. Ward.

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Emergence

artwork & book by Jadia L. Ward

Mother Earth is surfacing with the sea goddess Amphitrite. Amphitrite is attempting to part a wave in the middle of an around-the-world single-handed sailboat race called the Vendée Globe. These gallant heroines come to the surface from the hidden city of Atlantis to rescue their sister... as well as other statues around the planet... to bring them alive and save their precious Ocean Planet. The world will learn once again that Atlantis lives... but will the Ocean Planet? It is a "Question of Balance"...

This Murr-maid was born in Key West, Florida. She has traveled the U.S., lived in eight states and now resides in Vancouver, WA. She has also traveled to parts of the North and South American continents and is hoping to travel to the rest in time. As an artist/ photographer she views life through a different lens each day. Her husband manages a boat building and marine repair facility. Together, they share a love for water vessels of all types. Water in all forms is entwined in their lives… especially since the couple met on a dock when he sailed into her life on a Hobie Cat 16. Their longest sailing trip to date was 2700 miles from Kauai back to the U.S. mainland port, Port Ludlow, WA. With a passion for the Ocean Planet… this watery lady also loves to scuba dive, snow ski, travel to exotic places, play guitar and sing. (Of late, her friends, Barb & Amy, have been encouraging her to become more creative with her fins and take up gardening… like she doesn't have enough to do already… no more dishes please!) And last, and most important of all… she loves time with her family and friends. Especially, with her daughter Mariah and her two-year-old grandson named Gaige. So as you venture to see the world through Rumble doll’s lens, paintbrush or marquetry… just please remember to come back and visit regularly for her world is constantly changing.

http://rumbledoll.multiply.com

Chapter One — A TEAR A single tear dropped from her eye landing in the cold river below. The tear’s ripple effect upon the dark reflection of her face in the water, moved quietly and steadily outward from its center. Then as the watery circle grew, from within the growing circle an eye surfaced. Mirroring her image, the eye looked back up, straight into her eyes. Piercing her heart, sonic readings enveloped her whole body, as the eye lingered there for another brief moment. She felt profound sadness, for the eye carried the forgotten memories of a lost civilization waiting to reclaim its rightful place amongst men and women… the hour of The Emergence was swiftly moving upon them. In the midnight mist, rotating lights flashed. The beacon was a warning to any sea traffic coming and going, upon the entrance of the great Columbia River between the two northwestern states of Oregon and Washington. The Columbia River bar, seventeen miles long, demanded full attention from the fifteen licensed pilots that cross it with heavy ocean vessels laden with cargo, day and night. But tonight, a movement made its way up the mighty river, undetected, as they moved swiftly below rapid currents, cloaked in the chilly dark waters. The Coasties were certainly on their usual guard and patrol too, but never in their wildest imaginations could they have conjured up the reality of what was about to happen on their shores, sixty miles up stream, after slipping right under their noses. Bronze, as cold as the morning’s ice, could not keep the emotions from flooding out of this beautiful creature kneeling on the city’s waterfront. Her hand reached for the water below and was met by the nose of her wet confidant. He nuzzled her fingertips, then moved his snout into her palm. He continued in rhythmic motions to feel every essence of energy she offered him. This stimulated and heightened all of the dolphin’s senses, for which, he had longed for her touch, once again. He had waited years for her return to their realm. His clicking and soft echoing cries were emitted to help his lovely lady stand strong upon her new perch and resolve for them to be together again. Tears rolled down her weathered face, as she knew her strength must be as steadfast as the bolts that had restrained her previously for so long. Her innermost spirit grew and swelled so it would face off with the binding restraints. Restraints imposed by her creator and other men were just

as binding as the “greed of humankind”. Although she did not know that she was capable of understanding the slick wet creature’s language, as he spoke to her in chirps and clicks, it was as if his words spoke directly into her mind, planting each sentence as if it were seeds to her next thoughts. Her thoughts also allowed her to communicate directly and clearly with her newly found friend without uttering a sound into the night air. There were feelings of “oneness” she never remembered before. As his clicking continued, she heard him say clearly: “Sounder is the name you bestowed upon me so long ago, my lady.” He then raised his nose further up from her palm, stroking the lady’s steely arm, to reassure the noble child-like woman that her memories would return in time. He also consoled her with his words: “Do not fear o’ great one, The Emergence has begun… they are now in procession and will arrive shortly.” Sounder continued to moved his nose up and down, softly stroking her arm, as he spoke to her mind: “I will keep your worries at bay, great loved one, for I will guard and protect you from your enemies!” Then Sounder slid back down her arm to her ringed finger. He spoke in quiet tones: “When I placed this ring on your finger many eons ago… I have always been with you… your memories will return, my lovely lady… you must keep faith in me and the others of The Emergence.” The bronze woman felt so heavy, not so much of body as in her troubled heart. She really wanted to have hope and faith in Sounder’s words, just etched in her mind, for the warm sparkling traces gave her comfort. Although she wanted to flee, at this time, she could not turn and run, for she was much too large to hide and knew of no place to run to. The year 2015 was upon them, but not much had changed since she rode up the river some thirty years before. The water spraying from the fireboat turrets and the lone bargeman, standing on the steel brace to starboard, were not as grand of a sight to behold as was her beauty to the bystanders lining the bridges and sea wall upon her arrival. Even the Burnside Bridge, a glorious relic, stood open as a welcoming gateway to the city of Portland. The tall figured woman’s arrival to her destination was enabled through the good graces of a community’s hard earned effort. No one could have felt more welcomed arriving in the watery city of Portland. Her bestowed name, made her even more aware of the responsibility to the community she would represent. In her stance, her grandeur was

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Emergence, continued from page 15 breathtaking, not in so much as her beauty, although her beauty was without question, but more in the great strength she imposed upon her perceivers. She was to bring hope, enlightenment and the spirit of great commerce to a city faltering under growth and economic struggles. This noble woman’s hand reached out to those, through her creator’s modeling, to uplift anything that approached her. Her trident made it evident that she was a peacemaker as well as a warrior, if called upon. She would kneel to those around her, humbling herself to bid her welcoming ado. The graceful woman felt satisfaction as she envisioned the beautiful river-city as her permanent home. She could not have been more pleased, even if she had picked the city personally. Years before, when the industrious team placed her upon her permanent pedestal, and the crew began tightening the bolts; this noble woman knew that there had been a horrible mistake made. She could only wonder at why her creator had neglected to tell her. Twisted bolts and fate restrained her in the most inappropriate place for her mission of welcoming people to the beautiful city of Portland. How could her creator have been so blind to her situation, to allow her to stand daily and serve a city with so few citizens to see her? The sidewalk trees planted, grew and obscured the magnificent woman. Although she could not speak up to object to the indignity, her spirit roared inside at the cruelty she would have to endure, to be mounted in a place that offered her no avenue to serve her city and her people. Her anguish ran deep as any underground spring as her thoughts raced and echoed in her brain, reverberating: “How could my creator have committed such an injustice to me… what did I do to deserve this punishment… does he know how much he has betrayed me?” Her tears flowed like soft rain on the dolphin and dark waters. Sounder, though getting colder and weaker with each passing moment, pushed his nose further up her hand, past her wrist to pull her out of worrisome thoughts. His sensitive sonar received her mental words and try as he might to relieve her pain, he could only offer insignificant condolences to her until The Emergence arrived. “My sweet lady, they were wrong to have treated you so poorly… but that is behind us now, for we have come to help you” replied Sounder. He knew that it was futile for a lone dolphin to capture the attention of his grieving lady, over the tragedy that had befallen her for so many years. Sounder wriggle his body once more, trying to do his best to distract her until the precise moment of The Emergence’s arrival.

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She, once again, felt the dolphin slide up her forearm and flip his tail before he splashed down through the gray mist, back into the icy water. The Japanese current weather pattern of the city usually kept Portland’s temperatures above freezing, but on this 9th day of January, it was exceptionally cold from a blizzard that had left the city precariously standing on its feet under six inches of snow. Although she could not explain why, she sensed that Sounder was under great stress and wondered how he could survive out of his element and in the fresh, slowly freezing, cold water of the Columbia River. She knew he had traveled the distance up the river from the salty ocean of the Pacific, for which it made her grow concerned over Sounder’s safety. But being too weary from breaking her bolted restrains, she had no strength left to dwell on thoughts of a dolphin’s molecular structure and survivability.

interrupted by crisp words of: “Well are you going to explain or do I need more practice on my E.S.P., Officer Blake?” The stunned officer replied “I can’t explain it, sir… but you are not going to believe what my eyes are viewing!” The radio silence broke the misty cold air with: “Try me Eric… and why are you wasting my time?”

The huge, weathered, bronze hand very carefully stroked the face and nose of the gentle creature below her, but then they were abruptly interrupted. Sirens broke the late night silence as flashing wigwags danced in the crystallized mist. The sirens and flashing blue lights were not uncommon to her, but to this fragile creature stroking a dolphin, the fact that she was on the same ground level, verses seeing things unfold beneath her many feet below, it struck her with awe. She had longed to be on the waterfront reaching towards her watery world to bring knowledge to humankind about her Ocean Planet. But to actually be on ground near water was quite unnerving to her.

The lady and Sounder could not help but listen to a fretful Officer Blake retort: “Sarge, this one you need to see for yourself… I will wait for arrival - over.” The policeman’s nervous reply caused the reactive sergeant to begin cursing. The sergeant then stopped in mid curse, hoping that his man on duty had had the good sense to unclick the mike of his walkie-talkie, so as not to cause any further embarrassment to his force. The agitated sergeant hesitated and gained composure, for his high blood pressure had been diagnosed, and did not need further rising. Counting curses under his breath, he clicked he radio and called back to Officer Blake again: “ I’ll be there in ten minutes… is that a problem, over?” Officer Blake’s response filled the night air with apprehension: “It will have to do… and I think she is certainly not going anywhere in that amount of time -over.” The walkie-talkie behind her squawked its final words: “She better not or it’s your badge, boy - over!”

As she continued precariously leaning over the bank, touching and caressing her water-baby friend, gasps and cries from people broke through the mist, almost as warnings for her to not lose her balance and fall in the chilly river. The lady wanted to leap up and run, but Sounder uttered: “Be still, my lady… stand your ground, my lovely child, The Emergence is almost here… for now I hear their soundings in the distance.” She held fast and silent as the first three officers arrived talking at each other and into their squawking CP200 walkie-talkies. Although she could not actually see the officer, talking with the most authority directly behind her, she listened intently to the conversation while Sounder slipped further into the water, so not to be noticed by the men gathering. The officer’s voice was authoritative but seemed to express an underlying fear. “Sergeant, I have never in all my years on the beat ever seen anything like this – over,” exclaimed the first police officer. A few moments went by. The crackling of the walkie-talkie was

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As Officer Blake stood in shock of what he saw before him, his reply broke the silence once again: “She has been removed and is now at the river’s edge by the Alexandria Hotel in the grassy amphitheatre… looking like she is about to take a plunge in the Willamette!” The bellowing sergeant’s voice came through loud and clear at Officer Blake’s reply of sharing very little information, while just having come on his nightly watch to the harbor front.

The child-like woman could not understand why humankind spoke so brusque to one another, while as if their speech, displayed in this intimidating behavior, really gave one the upper hand while acting out the position of authority. She noticed a genetic flaw of humankind, to verbally intimidate so as to treat each other inhumanely, was felt was far more of their own choosing and perpetuation than what she assumed was imposed by any kind creator or from Mother Nature’s miscalculation. She has witnessed many flaws in humankind through out her years on earth, of which clearly two were demonstrated upon Officer Blake tonight by his sergeant. The first flaw was lack of self-control and the second flaw was that this sergeant showed no empathy for his officer and his situation. The essences in these quirks of human nature,


HEALING HANDS made the grand lady feel pangs of hurt from and resentment towards the sergeant inflicting emotional pain on Officer Blake. In pity, she recognized strange and unfamiliar human feelings, one especially, that had a strong defensive sensation rising in her gut. She could not quite understand why she seemed thrilled and wanting to stay to see the sergeant’s face when he arrived. She could only wish that his vision of her standing on the waterfront would bring him to his proper position, well beneath her. But under the circumstances, she felt at this time, to remain frozen in her current stance was the best course of action. The action of standing would pick its own time and most certainly would reinforce the effect she hoped to achieve when she rose before the sergeant to her own feet. The bronze woman’s eyes twinkled with the thought of how the sergeant’s face would look then. Sounder felt her every thought transmitting through his body and he splashed his flukes on the water’s surface to distract her, as they waited for the sergeant’s arrival at the harbor side.

by J. Bernard Hutton The story of the author, a hardened journalist, stricken with threatened blindness, met the medium George Chapman, a former Aylesbury fireman, who purported to be controlled by the spirit of a long-dead surgeon, William Lang. The only emotion the author felt about Chapman's claims was a cynicism tinged with contempt — yet a miracle happened. This is more than the account of one man's involvement with the medium, for the author decided to investigate further, and the case histories he presents make fascinating reading.

The ice-cold hand reached down further into the water hoping to feel the sleek dolphin’s body against her metallic flesh. So much time had passed since she had felt any living creature against her body; the last was time on the day she was bolted to her perch many years before, with the exception of her creator’s finishing touch upon her lips. He had given her a farewell kiss as a token of his love. Of course in her heart, she now knew that kiss had been for a love of his own handy work rather than his professed love of her. Another tear ran down her cheek as she thought of her creator that sent her into the world as a missionary, only to be obscured from the masses she hope enlighten.

I found the book so full of actual exciting healings that to give only one example would not do it justice. ~ John Cullen (crowquiller)

The puffs from Sounder’s air vent and the large tears frozen to the statue’s face showed traces of ice crystals as the night’s temperatures fell another five degrees. Although the dolphin needed only one half of his conscious brain to actively remind himself to breathe, the metal woman witnessed Sounder’s breathing, and watched in concern over his laboring breaths, while he swam in place, waiting for The Emergence… he needed them desperately, to rescue her from the turn of events that he had no power to control. He just had to hang on and keep up a distraction for her sake. He sounded to her: “My precious Erythrae!” Her thoughts melded with his, reaching back eons… she touched lost memories. Sounder felt the presence… The Emergence arrived.

photography Emily Judson

Sounder jerked the lady from her thoughts, back into reality, as the most shrilling noise sang out from him: “eeeeeeeaaaaaaaaa”. His squeal pierced the silence like a whistle from a train, resonating off her body, echoing back to the other side of the river, reverberating back to them only to travel out once again. Officer Blake and the two waiting officers broke from their conversations and ran quickly to the water’s edge to look for the originator of such a cry. The officers confirmed with each other that although they each heard the sound and thought they knew what might make the noise, they all agreed that the sergeant would think that they were all still on the juice from the previous night’s party. The officers began discussing and swearing, professing their loyalty to one another and to not acknowledge or divulge anything about the dolphin sounds they just heard, or the party they attended to their sergeant. The officers knew their jobs would be threatened and they needed their livelihoods like they needed the immediate local park’s toilet to relieve themselves from the cold night air.

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Mike Pedde

remember one night, a few summers ago, sitting on the edge of the swamp near my house. A couple came wandering by, and since it was fairly late, asked me what I was doing. I responded, quite simply, that I was talking with the frogs. Feeling that they were in the presence of a wise guy (and not a seeker), they then asked what the frogs were saying. To this, I responded that if I tried to explain, they would not understand — but if they sat there long enough, the frogs would tell them. At that point, they walked away.

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Frogs by Emily Judson

The frogs


by Jan Ramsey-Hart

I

n light of that Wispy, ephemeral substance we call experience, I would like to recount a story from a few years ago.

I had been introduced to online Seth Groups via Yahoo and was getting pretty comfortable with the whole Seth and Elias internet community. Realizing that there were more Seth Books available I began looking for them at stores and was a little disappointed they were being offered exclusively from the publisher; realistically I couldn’t justify $350 for the books, not even as an investment, so I began my quest elsewhere. After a quick search on Google, elsewhere turned out to be eBay when a search for Jane Roberts yielded an auction about to close with 12-14 Seth and Jane books, including the poetry book Dialogues of the Soul and Mortal Self in Time and a purple paper back edition of Seth Speaks. I set up my account in a hurry, placed my bid and watched anxiously as the next two hours inexorably dragged on and on. In the end, when nobody else placed a bid, I won the whole shebang! I was so excited! What a success for my first eBay transaction! I made the purchase with my bank card and was pleased with how easy it was to wrap it up with a PayPal exchange. I later checked my bank for the transaction and no monies had been exchanged; I checked again the next day and still no monies had been withdrawn. I wrote the women, asking if she’d received my information and she never replied. I wrote personal e-mails and eBay messages to her, and she never answered any of them. I was frantic! I wanted those books! Almost a week went by and still no monies were withdrawn, and I hadn’t heard from the seller about the books either! This was in the early weeks of October 2005, and after another week went by, I let it go: c’est la vie. Fast forward to little more then five months later. My second opportunity to meet several friends from all over the world because of online sources occurred in Castaic, CA during the St Paddy’s Day weekend of March 2006 with Mary Ennis and Elias. We flooded the hotels of Castaic, making a ritual of meeting for coffee and chatter at a young woman’s room at the Castaic Hotel named Britta.

Leopard Lacewing, by KC Anneken

It’s a Small World Afterall

Britta is a most boisterous and intriguing woman who is very well read, opinionated, courageous and, as can be seen later, strong. We’d met in a small IM chat group and hit it off pretty well becoming friends through these meetings and other personal interactions for about six months. In all this time we had exchanged stories, done remote views, shared impressions of aspects and just chatted. With so many from this online chat group gathered together in Castaic the energy was exhilarating as we were finally face to face! As often happens at these get-togethers, nobody wants to call it a night until they are rebounding off the walls, knocking drinks over and sleepwalking into corners. The third bump in the shin generally leads to a nocturnal migration of visitors as people reluctantly navigate their ways back to their rooms! I am of the opinion this social behavior stems from a natural apprehension of not wanting to miss something, so you try to absorb every second spent together and digest the experience later! It was late Friday night and the group session was the next day, and as people reluctantly fell prey to the spell of Morpheus, only Britta and I remained. We continued swapping stories, and eventually began discussing our most drastic and unique challenges: me telling her of growing the equivalent of a second heart in my uterus; her telling me she went to the hospital for treatment of an undiagnosed coagulating blood malady and woke up 6 weeks later sans her leg beneath the knee. We are both, to put it mildly, amazed at the creativity of our challenges and begin a discussion based on an expanded sense of Self. Elaborating on this term from my personal glossary may be trite, especially within a

group of people who are familiar with the work of Jane Roberts specifically, and many others generically, but here goes. An expanded sense of Self is the conscious knowledge that you are One-In-Many; one Soul in many times, places and spaces. If this is truly an everyday consciously applied thought, then applying a larger, wider, more comprehensive symbolic rationale to situations and experiences often works better to understand events and event overlays then trying to “logically” make sense of an otherwise seemingly illogical event. An expanded sense of Self literally broadens an individual’s perceptual horizon. I can’t speak for Britta, or her ruminations about why she’s experienced what she has and is experiencing, or about adapting to life without that portion of her leg and foot, but I can elaborate on my current opinion of what occurred with me encapsulated within the rationale of (what I consider) a more integrated sense of Self. I confessed to Britta that I had been confused about my life, in spite of blazing passions that seemed to burn within me, and I felt my peculiar physical situation was somehow the result of living in two worlds and quite literally trying to follow two paths with heart. For years I’d traveled with a group of people who’d followed their interpretation of the Seth Material. As time went on I realized I wanted to go back to school and at the age of 26 decided to aim for a degree in geology. In my quietest moments I would dream about (re) discovering new sciences; I would become a conscious dreamer and meld that specialized awareness with my brand of geology and oceanography! The concept made a lot of inner sense to me, and before I realized what

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It is a Small World Afterall, continued from page 19

This passion combined with education led to top marks, and before I knew it I’d been nominated for the position of academic peer tutor at Pacific Lutheran University . Clinching the nomination I taught, tutored and read text to tape for all upper division earth science courses. While still a junior I was offered a full time (40-hour/wk) student position as a Hydrologic Technician with the United States Geological Survey-Water Resources Division. Within four months of graduating with a BS in Geology Cum Laude, I was employed in the realm of private practice mining consultation doing coal surveys for building projects and managing two highly productive silica mines in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains . This was all fine and good for me, for it seemed as if I was on a path with heart. Ironically, as soon as I started experiencing “bureaucracy” at the USGS I began to bleed heavily. I was so excited to be “educated” and was looking forward to exploring and contributing my two cents on projects, but was always told ‘not yet’. After working for the USGS for about two months, a totally cushioned job with a great Federal benefits package, my feminine bleeding got a lot worse. After working there for 9 months I was basically bleeding heavily for 21-28 days, and not bleeding for a week or less. Basically I sat at a desk all day long and entered data. When I spoke of working on modeling projects I was told the mathematics in the spreadsheet was too complex for me to know what to do. If my data was entered and there was nothing else for me to do I didn’t check out, because that would indicate that they didn’t need a full time student worker, so I would read and study whatever I found interesting. I learned a lot, but by the time I figured out what it would take to be a scientist in their fields instead of a technician, I realized it wasn’t something I wanted to participate in because I had never been good at bureaucracy. When the firm called I was offered a job at double my current salary with full benefits, something I didn’t have the pleasure of at the USGS because I was technically a student. Taking the job it was only 3 months before I was driving a nicer car, making more money then I had ever thought possible and attending meetings with city council members, property owners and mine developers! The schmoozing was the key to advancement, the clubs, the charities, the trips. All necessary to make a name for yourself, and I dove into it with gusto! Within two months I was losing so much blood in a day that I had to sit down or I couldn’t breathe; I could saturate two super tampons and a king size pad in about ten minutes. All this time I never once went to a doctor for assistance rationalizing that I was getting older and older meant heavier periods. After all, I’d had children ages ago, wasn’t going to get pregnant again. Just a new physiological phase of my body… after all a lot of women had heavy periods… what an easy rationalization!’ One day I began a full blown hemorrhage. In less then a minute I lost over a quart of blood. My chest began to tighten and started acting out of phase. I was so frightened I jumped up and started slamming myself against the wall to get my heart back in pattern. After it was beating normally I called my mom and my friend Cayce to tell them I was scared. They basically played tag team, and I was still on the phone when there was a knock at the door and it was the medics with an ambulance.

Eggmarine,, photography Tracy Marshall Eggmarine

was happening, I began dreaming of earth-sciences, experiencing different forms of pressure from locales deep within the earth, different biology’s from the familiar human and physics that were not Newtonianly physical in the manner I’d been taught.

I was so internally confused, I didn’t know if I wanted to believe I create my reality anymore, but identifying the symbols in my life hidden within irrational emotional flashes I realized I wasn’t happy as a full-time mine-manager. I wasn’t happy with my decision to merge and accept the establishment, so even before going through radical angioplasty and an emergency hysterectomy, I had begun re-reading Seth books and Jane Roberts books, and almost instantly pulled my head out of my arse! When I awoke from surgery I knew I had to make a decision. Either A) follow the path I was on as a working soon to be gung ho Republican, or I could forget all that and focus on what truly brings me joy. And for all I loved geology, actually working as a geologist took all my passion away! Britta then began to explain to me a very similar sort of mind set and that recalling Seth and Jane Roberts after losing her lower leg inspired her to seek out books available. In her searches she mentions this woman on eBay who had 12-14 books by Jane Roberts for sale, including a purple soft back edition and copies of Dialogues of the the Soul and Mortal Self in Time!

— Huh? — Britta? Could you repeat that please? — So, there was this woman in Florida … — Uh-huh, I thought that is what you said. The bottom line? Sometimes there is a greater need in our lives, and I am of the opinion Britta had a greater need than I. Yep. Britta won the books from the lady in Florida , who informed her that the woman in Seattle who originally bought them disappeared, wigged out, whatever, but she never got the books. So Britta offered her a Buy It Now price and won the same Jane Roberts and Seth Books I had bid on and won. Now, I guess if I were sour grapes I would hold it against her for taking my books, lol! But the bottom line is that we do create our reality, this world is a lot smaller then we think it is, and we are intimately connected. For all the talking me and Britta did in the six months prior to meeting she had never mentioned winning the package, nor had I ever mentioned losing it!

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Biberon, by Jean-Baptiste Duret

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Psyche, or the Trials of the Soul by Éric P. Lemoine

D

id you ever had the chance to observe a butterfly hatching from its chrysalis? It is something truly magical.

A year ago, I was in the Insectarium of Chicago’s Botanical Garden, and just stood in front of a glass panel behind which a few butterflies ready to hatch were put on display. It was in the middle of winter, with freezing cold temperatures outside, and like the butterflies, the few people inside the Insectarium were kept in a damp cocoon of warmth. It was easy and ecstatic to imagine myself being like that one butterfly which was moving, extremely slowly and delicately spreading my newly grown wings out of the dried out cocoon. Slowly discovering what kind of transformations had occurred, and so slowly, in a long stretched-out moment of eternity, feeling the blood gushing into the thin capillaries in minute motions, softly unwrapping the delicately folded wings. As a matter of fact, now I look at it, I was that new-born butterfly. Interestingly, Greeks have the same word for butterfly and soul: Psyche (ψυχή). In a classical myth told by Latin Berber author Apuleius, Psyche is the name of a young woman of great beauty who is loved by Love itself, Cupid. The story knows endless digressions and variations, like any good bedtime story, and ends well too. However, at the heart of the story is the slow awakening of Psyche to herself. Put to unfair trials by her jealous sisters and mother-in-law, she learns how to raise from them, with help from Nature, and thanks to her steadfastness. She finally dies from the last of these trials, but to be awakened to and by Love, who had been silently and discreetly helping her, never seen but always present. And she is granted immortality, and a daughter born from Love, named Bliss (Hedone). This story, retold countless times in modern tales seems simple to understand. A classical love-story, very unrealistic, and a little too syrupy? Perhaps… While thinking about what I could write about this picture that I drew (to me, as much as I drew it) a long time ago, many thoughts came to me. Thoughts of these errors and trials and many metamorphosis that the picture itself had to undergo to become this one. Thoughts of the symbolism of the butterfly and the unending transformation of the soul. Thoughts of my own transformations, mirrored by the transformation of my website1. I was reminded of something French author André Gide once said: “Know thyself. A maxim as pernicious as it is ugly. Whoever observes himself stops his own development. A caterpillar who’d want to know itself well would never become a butterfly2.”

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To fully understand this seemingly unconventional — not to say outrageous — quote, one has to put it into the context of Gide’s life. Raised in a traditional milieu, he spent a great part of his early life struggling against himself, to try to understand himself by applying other’s criteria which were unfit to his own true nature. He had thus to die as a caterpillar and cease trying to fit, to become the butterfly. In truth, the knowing of oneself comes as a by-product of one’s evolution, not the reverse. Though the heavily emphasized discursive nature of our current societies may lead us to the feeling of being stale at times, a whole realm of unexplored boundaries always wait for us when we dare to look into the mirror of our souls. It only takes a single moment for a caterpillar to learn how to tell something more than caterpillars’ tales… But it takes the whole caterpillar’s life.

Notes 1 Initially published at http://elikozoe.net 2 « Connais-toi toi-même. Maxime aussi pernicieuse que laide. Quiconque s’observe arrête son développement. La chenille qui chercherait à bien se connaître ne deviendrait jamais papillon. »


Ask The Snoot by Georges & Salome (feat. the Snoot) (A little boy walks into a cosy room painted in a warm and soft shade of orange. An old elegant woman sits humming in her rocking chair. ) Georges : Hey Granny, old professor Elias gave us an odd assignment today.

Georges, a little boy, comes home after an odd day at school. He cheerfully enlis his grandmother’s help for an assignment, which soon gets him involved in more adventure and encounters than he would have fir expeed...

Salome : Very well. Let’s do a little exercise. Close your eyes a moment and tell me what is happening. Georges : Well, it’s dark. Not totally but it’s dark. What’s supposed to happen?

Salome : And what is this odd assignment Georges?

Salome : Just notice for now, don’t think about what is supposed to happen, that’s the surprise.

Georges : Well, he gave us a few words and told us that we could expand upon it in any imaginative direction we chose.

Georges : I see colors, and a dwarf. He really has a weird hairy face, hahaha. And his nose, it’s big. He’s smirking at me.

Salome : Oh! That seems a pretty interesting game my little one. And what were these few words? Do you remember them?

Salome (grinning) : And what do you think it means?

Georges : Granny..? You have this odd look again… your eyes are all sparkling. Salome : Hahaha, and you are doing this wondering look of yours my dear. I’m just recalling a few mischiefs I was doing with your professor when we were young. So, tell me what are these few words? Georges : Hum, something about communication and change… wait! Yes, he told us this: “communication is the foundation of change”. Does that mean that if I communicate with you, you will change? Salome : (chuckles) and to what would I change? Georges : Well, I don’t know, you tell me.

Georges : Mmm, I can only see his back. I can’t see what he’s doing. Salome : Just feel/fill your body in your imagination as you do with your physical body. Georges : Ouch! You pinched me!

Georges : Well I don’t know… He’s small… like me? no I’m bigger, he’s a dwarf. Salome : Hahahahaha. The dwarf is merely an aspect of you, he’s not smaller and you’re not bigger. You brought him to your attention as a reminder of being playful and of the unfamiliar. He’s odd enough to catch your attention. Georges : Ahhh! Salome : Is he still here? Let’s take a closer look. Georges : Oh! You’re here with us now, there is this feeling of you in me. It is cool! And you’re smiling. Granny I love you ! Salome : I love you too my Georges. He’s doing something now. Can you tell me what?

Salome : I’m impressed that you brought us here. Let’s say hello to the Master of the place dear, he may offer you a few treasures.

be careful not to crush this flower with nine petals. It’s too beautiful. (with sparkles in her eyes) eyes : Oh! Salome (with You see it then, good. But trust me, the flower would be safe with you in its center. At the count of three?

Georges : Treasures!? As in pirates’ treasures? What’s his name? Salome : You’ll know it soon enough (smile) Let’s come closer.

Salome : Hahaha just to help you feel it better and focus your attention, this is like a dream, and it is real as you could feel. Georges : I can see my shoes also! Did mom bring me these? Ouch! Why are you pinching me again… Oh the dwarf just looked at us, he’s giggling. His eyes are big and dark, they are like doors, and I can see what he was doing in his eyes, it is replaying like a movie… Did he really speak to the blue butterfly? I feel like I’m attracted, hold my hand granny I don’t want to leave you there alone.

Georges : He’s funny with his snout… It’s vibrating quickly when he eats the fruit as if they were too acid… Oh! I feel it in my body, it’s fresh and electric, that’s one of his names. He’s the Snoot! Hahaha. Do you think he can see us, he doesn’t seem to be bothered by our presence. And he doesn’t seem blind. Granny, what is he doing with the fruit? It’s like he’s considering them before taking one and eating them…

©Jorid

Salome : Why don’t you look for yourself?

Salome : Are we jumping together then?

Georges : Three !!! Hahahahahaha

Georges : I can? He won’t mind?

Georges : Hahaha. You can jump?

(He jumps, followed by his granny)

Salome : Hahaha, would you mind?

Salome : Of course, and I bet you I can jump farther than you. And don’t look so doubtful! Just do it and see for yourself.

Georges : Where are we Granny? It feels really soft and warm here. And what are all those funny trees with the red fruit? They seem juicy and slightly acid… There is an animal there, Granny look! It’s eating the fruit.

Georges : Well there are plenty of them… and there are many of these mossy trees… I wouldn’t mind.

Georges : hahaha… OK, let’s go then, but

Salome : Eggzactly, haha.

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Ask the Snoot, continued from page 23

Georges : I’ll pick this one, it looks like an owl with these two globulous limps. OOh…

Georges : He says hello, Granny. He offers you his warm welcome and… (to the Snoot) what did you say? He’s happy to meet you again. You know him?

Salome : What happened? Did it hurt?

Salome : I know you my dear. And you seem to be quite in touch with this aspect of yours. Did you notice how you know what he “says”?

Georges : No. It’s crispy under my fingers, but it’s damp also… it’s like a million grains of sand vibrating and changing place… brrr… hahaha it’s tickling when I grasp it fully. It’s like it wants to jump out of my hand. Are you a grumpy fruit? Oh! Look at it… it’s like it’s frowning at me. Do you think it understands me? Salome : At least it’s responding to you. What else is it doing? Georges : I feel a bit drowsy with the vibration, it’s like a lullaby. Maybe it wants to tell me a secret!? And what is this crack in its back? Oh sh… ooops… sorry!… well it’s all open now, and it stopped vibrating… did I hurt you? Salome : Is that something inside the fruit? There… Georges : Oh! Are they fortune cookies? There is a piece of paper in it, and the juice is forming words! “Dear Snoot, I hope you can help me. My boyfriend has proposed to me and I said yes, but now I am having some niggly doubts. I love him very much and and as long as he gets a job soon I would like to spend the rest of my life with him. The only problem is I don’t know if I really trust him. I suspect he is cheating on me and to be honest I am not even sure if the baby I am carrying is his. Yes I know that sounds awful. I confronted him and he got quite angry. He vehemently denied he had been cheating on me, and swore he would never do it again. Well the other thing is I think he may have a drinking problem. Funny thing is that I did not know he drank until one night recently he came home sober. That was few weeks ago now, but I am worried it might happen again. What do you think Snoot? Do you think I am just being silly? Sincerely Pregnant and Confused” Georges : Oh! Granny, the Snoot took my fruit and he’s eating it. Salome : Are you taking on the mood of that grumpy fruit? (she winks to him) Georges : grmpf… hahaha, yes. At least we know he knows we’re here. (to the Snoot) Hi. I’m Georges. The Snoot (Staring at Georges)

Georges : What do you mean? Salome : Well, did you actually hear him? Did he move his mouth? Did he speak? Georges : But… you’re right. I just… know… he says it’s because we are connected. I see him moving his snout too. And it’s like I feel him coming in myself and when I speak… I’m going into him. Well not exactly, but… AHHH! Help me, I’m the Snoot!! Salome : Focus on this feeling of you, this feeling of you being you, and you’ll find yourself again. Georges : Wow, that’s awesome! It was like I was him and he was me and I knew what he has done and… Look Granny! Oh no don’t look, what is he doing!? Salome : He’s answering this “poor girl”, she must be quite distressed with all that she created in her life. Georges : But he’s just dropping a big pooh! Salome : It’s the most beautiful creation. (she giggles) Georges : Huh? Well, I think we’ll let him answer his fruit-mails. He told me about a cave there after the stream and the ruins… well I saw it in his memories… or maybe it was his imagination… I can’t tell the difference… well I want to go there. Salome : So let’s go to the cave then, maybe you’ll find another treasure. Georges : Yes, it was all shiny and blazing all over… like crystal lamps blinking in and out… Salome : Why did you stop? Georges : Look Granny, there’s a boy over there, near the stream. Hey! What are you doing here? Are you lost? The Boy : I don’t know. I’m trying to see the giant squid. I saw its shadow several times already, and I tried to catch it, but it’s swift and good at camouflaging itself. (The boy keep on speaking about the squid and doesn’t pay attention to our friends) Georges : He was weird. As if he wasn’t really here with us. I had that strange feeling in my belly, I didn’t like it. It was not really fun. Salome : Just take a look at those two butterflies there. See how they are playing together, sometimes they are going in different directions and then their paths are crossing again. Georges : I think I prefer the rabbit. I’ll try to catch it. Salome : Don’t run too fast sweetie, I can’t follow with my petticoat.

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Bunnies, by Elikozoe

(Still following the stream and the rabbit, after a few encounters in the forest with a smoking dragon named Naasir who told them the weird dreams he’d been having, an even weirder animal called the vautruche which can blink quickly like the giant squid and a man called Joseph who could speak with wolves, they arrive at a clearing.) Georges : Do you think we’ll arrive at this bridge soon? Salome : I’m sure of it. Joseph told us it was not so far from the clearing, and we’re at the clearing now. We can have some rest if you’d like, I’m going to pick up some of these beautiful flowers for the archeologist.

Georges : Well I feel bored with all that. It seems to take longer than I thought and I don’t get much for my assignment — except this weird stone. Salome (intently): And haven’t you yet figured it out? All about this little adventure? Georges (something starts to dawn on the young face) : Oh… I see… These are all symbols! The butterflies, the Snoot’s poohs, and the archeologist’s stones… Salome (smiling): Yes, continue

Georges : But we’re going to lose the rabbit!

Georges : They express the same thing: change!

Salome : Hahahahaha. Don’t worry about the rabbit. He’ll always find you when you call him. You help me gather a bouquet? Pick as many colors you can, we’ll make a beautifully bright colored one.

Salome (still smiling): Yes! And…

Georges : Mmmm, the archeologist, wouldn’t he prefer stones? Salome : And why do you think it’s a he? Georges : I don’t know, isn’t he a he? Salome (grinning) : That, you’ll have to decide for yourself! (Soon after the bridge, at the cave entrance, they meet the archeologist (who is still a woman) and is busy sorting some of her finds of the week. Georges asks her about all these stones and their origin --some are like gems but he’s more interested in a bird-shaped one. The archaeologist explains that each stone contains knowledge and that, if he pays attention, he can get answers from them because he’s very connected to their structure… Huh!? oh sure! His attention is then diverted by a phurtive little spider who just sprang from a hole and who seems happy to be here gloating all around. He tries to catch her but she’s quick and soon disappears in the grass outside. Eventually, the archaeologist asks the boy to pick a stone; he chooses the owl, and he and his grand-mother leave the archeologist to her tasks.)

Georges : and… err… I still don’t see why there is communication… OK, the butterflies they communicate, but why the stone… and why the pooh?! Salome : My Georgie, the pooh is to remind you that the answer is not what you value. What you value is the treasure-hunt! The seeking, the adventurous journey! Though contained in it, change is not this or that final product that you’re looking at. The change is within you, it grows and expands when you interact with the symbol and it communicates its changes to you and reveals own your desire for change. It communicates the change, from itself back to yourself. Do you see? Georges : Oh, I see… (a few seconds pass in silence) Can I have some of these chocolate cookies now?

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Let's All Get On the Same Page by Sharon Mendenhall

L

anguage is limiting, to say the least. to say the least. I suppose it is somewhat due to those troublesome Nyms, but then that’s another article.

z

Until we notice that words which create pictures in our mind also link us to our own hidden beliefs, we don’t realize that each of us holds different perceptions and definitions for the same words.

To silence the mind often brings up images of zen master meditation and beliefs about methods that involve regiment, discipline or special time set aside to walk in the woods. Whatever mental images come up with the word meditation, it usually incorporates a full set of beliefs utilizing the practice of taming the unruly mind, along with your personal beliefs regarding good or bad, right or wrong. But meditation need not be so limiting and could include something as simple as paying attention to what you are doing. Meditation is merely a movement of attention.

As Oprah ushers us into the “New World” via internet and satellite radio, I think it might be handy to review some common words and phrases being bantered about lately. What is she saying? What are we hearing through the filter of our own beliefs? Just what is this supposed magical universe of New Age thinking?

How to silence the hamster wheel

z

in your head just short of having a stroke. å

Looking for Nirvana in all the wrong places. å

Nirvana, utopia, or bliss all describe a state of mind, or a place where nothing bad ever happens, as though we are expecting ourselves to strive for constant goodness in a world of no discord. Not only is this state of heaven boring, it cannot even be defined, as bad and good are judgments. Who does the judging? It won’t suddenly transform into a perfect world because the world is already perfect, it is our ideas and beliefs that suggest otherwise.

z

Enlightenment is the end result. å

There isn’t an end result of total enlightenment, even after death. You cannot know everything, because everything hasn’t been created yet. Nor will it ever be. Just enjoy the ride.

z

Fulfilling your life's purpose. å

Life doesn’t automatically come with a spiritual purpose or a mission, other than the ones that you invent for yourself. It could be as simple as “If it is not fun, don’t do it.”

z

Let go the ego. å

Freud gave the ego a bad rap, but ego is nothing more than your own identity. It is your story and your place in it. Although it is advisable to step outside of your story every now and then for a refreshing viewpoint, the ego doesn’t need to be destroyed. Ego is part of who you are. No use shooting yourself in the foot.

References For more definitions from a dead guy named Elias see: http://www.flickr.com/photos/lfdeale/2510922855/ About Oprah’s Soul Series Internet Radio Show http://www.oprah.com/xm/oprah/oprah_about.jhtml

Enlightenment Road, by Elikozoe

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Storm watching, am I seeing things?

Surprise Mail by John Cullen (Crowquiller)

by Paul Gill

R

ed sprites are a scientific term, not for fairies in a forest, but an upper atmosphere phenomenon. While still mysterious, they were attributed to early aviation myth and lore. Pilots had reported seeing a red flash above the tops of thunderstorms, but no one had ever been able to take any photos of them. The first images of a sprite were accidently obtained in 1989 during military flights recording with high speed photography. Suddenly videos of large but weak luminous flashes appeared directly above an active thunderstorm. They can be small single or multiple vertically elongated structures, that I feel resemble a long jellyfish. These can extend from above the cloud tops to altitudes up to almost 60 miles. Sprites are predominantly red and they usually last no more than a few milliseconds. So, don’t rely on getting a “good look” at them.

I

n my mailbox in Ottawa way back when I first began to draw pen and ink pictures, was a strange parcel. It was labelled: "House of Commons" I do not frequently get mail from Parliament Hill, and opened it with grave anticipation! What did I do now? now The parcel held a photograph and its negative that shocked me in my shoes! Canada's Prime Minister John Diefenbaker, was holding up a Pen and Ink of mine called the "Rideau Canal, Ottawa 1971" 1971 He was in his Office with his secretary, and mailed this photo to me with the remarks: “With best wishes to John Cullen”, and signed ”John Diefenbaker“. The letter said he appreciated my art and was collecting as many as he could find for his home. I was dumbfounded!

The brightest region lies in the altitude range 40 to 45 miles, above which there is often a faint red glow or wispy structure that extends to about 60 miles. Below the bright red region, blue tendril-like filamentary structures often extend downward to as low as 20 miles. Because of their dimness, they have can only be seen at night, preferably with highly sensitive cameras. However, if ones eyes are sufficiently dark-adapted, one can actually detect them without any visual aid. I prefer to use a cardboard square, like that of the back of a pad of paper to hold up at the level of the lightning flash. Then I focus on the region above that and the cardboard helps keep my eyes dark adapted. If I think I saw a red flash, then it is likely I did, since the brain can not process light flashes down to a millisecond in length. Currently science views the sprite as a form of TLE (trans·luminous event) related to ground to cloud lightning strikes and it is still being deciphered with ongoing research.

At the time, I was employed driving a cement mixer truck for Francon in Ottawa. Imagine a truck driver getting something like this in the mail! He didn't realize it at the time, but his thoughtful letter and photo renewed my faith in the hobby and I have continued with it ever since!

Thank you John Diefenbaker!

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F

Fueling a New Energy Project

I

by Bill Michaels

am a Scorpio. I have always had a gift of being able to visualize a

solution to a question or problem. Not a vague solution which required translation and which could be read several ways such as in dreams, but a detailed picture in color, sometimes even in motion. Whether this is common to Scorpios as some descriptions of the various birth signs indicate, I don’t know, but I have it, and it has in general served me quite well over the years. It has at times, however, caused me considerable trouble. I cannot explain this “gift” any more than the person who can see ghosts can explain theirs. While still a young man and working for a “cutting edge” electronics factory, I “saw” a much better way of feeding ceramic substrates (think of miniature bricks made out of china, as small as breakfast cereal) than the tapered carbide “stops” then in use. When these got slight grooves worn in them they would not “drop” the part properly and had to be smoothed with a diamond faced grinding wheel. A group of six or seven people did nothing but regrind these “stops” and make new ones, and they believed that they were more valuable employees than the rest of us. I came up with a design (since adopted worldwide) which eliminated the need for the expensive carbide parts. I was quite proud of myself, thinking how much more profitable the manufacturing process had become. Imagine my surprise to find that everyone was mad at me. The members of the “carbide team” were most enraged, as they now had to do “ordinary” work. The department head was upset because he now could only be 94% as big a man, and now missed out on all the kickbacks from the carbide suppliers and those selling the diamond grinding wheels. You might think I would have learned, but I didn’t. I later found myself in an organization which built and repaired motor homes. The inside of these coaches were of plywood with wallpaper on it. They would paint the plywood with a primer paint, which would raise the grain of the wood sometimes to the extent that it would show through the wallpaper. The solution to this was to sand all the plywood after it was installed, necessitating carefully working around cabinets, shelves, appliances, lights, and all manner of things. I asked why they didn’t sand the plywood before installing it and putting all the stuff in the way. The answer was that they had always done it that way and making things more difficult for someone not in your department was considered to be of little consequence. They changed the procedure, but I was never thanked, and soon was laid off, and my tool cart and I were ushered off the property. I had to sneak back in to get my lunch box.

NightClub Electro, by Jean-Baptiste Duret

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During the last “energy crisis” when the Arab nations stopped supplying oil to countries supporting Israel, I remembered an article in a 1898 Encyclopædia about the then recently discovered “liquid air” being a remarkable motor fuel. The civilized world ran on steam at that time, and the best scientific minds of the day were completely agog over the fact that a bucket of liquid air when poured into a slightly modified steam engine would make it run without fire, and consequently without smoke. To a substance which boiled at 312 degrees below zero Fahrenheit, outdoor air, even in winter seemed quite hot. It was even proposed as a fuel for “flying machines” which hadn’t been invented as yet. Much research was done, and liquid air powered automobiles were successfully demonstrated in 1900. The definition of success then consisted of a couple of laps around a horse race track at little faster speed than a horse could manage and to not break down. These attempts were plagued by the same problem of frost build-up on the surfaces of the heat exchanger as the liquid nitrogen powered car of the 1990s built by the University of Washington on a government grant. As I settled into a rut worn smooth and comfortable by a decade of doing what I do well, I thought less and less frequently about doing something about the ideas I had been given regarding liquid air power. At 68, I was still in excellent health, and most people thought I was in the “Vietnam vet” age group. I was never sick, never missed work, and considered myself an excellent example of someone having the right “beliefs” and creating my own pleasant reality. My combination of the two philosophies, UCYOR (you create your own reality) and the older one which held that we existed to create both joy and misery for the use of the spirit world made for an uncomplicated and pleasant existence. I “believed” that I was healthy, and simply rejected any evidence to the contrary, and when presented by frustration or bad luck, I would simply imagine it having been created by a small, somewhat likeable demon, smile and say “You poor little demon, sorry but there will be no handout of anger, hatred, or rage for you today. I love you, but you might as well go and create frustration for someone else.” (anybody remember the “care bears” who used love as a weapon?) I had a boss at that time who had Parkinson’s disease and whose medicine made him into a “mean drunk” at times. Sending a little love his way would usually turn him right around.

During the last “en ergy crisis” when the Arab nations stopped supplying oil to countries supporti ng Israel, I remembered an article in a 1898 Encyclopæd ia about the then recently discovered “liquid air” being a remarkable motor fuel.


Anyway, imagine my surprise when I found myself in the local hospital with fluid on my lungs sufficient to hamper my breathing. Upon examining me, it was discovered that I had insurance, so they sold me a pacemaker, and almost killed me with overdoses of medicine. Later when pressing my greater self (or whatever you prefer to call it) as to the reason, I received the answer that unless something like that happened, I would never get around to my liquid air project, and indicated that this was the reason for my existence in the flesh. I created a corporation, and found that nothing happens quickly. It took well over a year to legalize the corporation, get an employee number, and secure “not for profit” status with the Internal Revenue Service. The first bit of encouragement was State of Indiana recognition of a private not-for-profit research corporation. Universities and foundations do research, but not private organizations. Churches are non-profit, but don’t do research. Anyway, miracle number one, the state agreed to accept the articles of incorporation for a private not-for-profit research corporation although I am sure that no one involved had ever heard of such a thing. No problem getting a tax number, just a couple months waiting. The final hurdle was the governmental approval of the “public charity” classification from the Internal Revenue Service which enabled donors to deduct contributions from their federal income tax. Apparently the government thought this was some new tax scam, and nothing was heard from them for five and half months. Finally, they responded, giving me less than a month to reincorporate, and reword the application. I found a new lawyer just starting out who would try to meet the deadline (it seems that the rules had changed since I had submitted my application). Between special delivery mail, telephone calls to Indianapolis, emergency board meetings, and some panic on my part she pulled it off. This was miracle number two. Next hurdle was getting the local newspaper to print a story. I turned in a “press release”, and in a masterpiece of bad timing, the reporter who normally did such stories had resigned, and it was assigned to the editorial writer, who considered it beneath his dignity, and unwelcome extra work besides. In spite of telephone calls to him and whining to the editor, the story remained unprinted. I finally took my “problem” up with the publisher, pointing out that my paid advertising campaign could not be expected to start until the story was published. After over four months, a rather poor excuse for a story appeared buried in the business section (the local model airplane club rates page one — it’s a small paper). However, a retired draftsman of outstanding qualifications read the article and contacted me. He will do some work without pay, and for the first time in quite a long time I can see the likelihood of success in my reality. For a while I feared that my efforts were to come to fruition in some adjacent reality. It is a good design, the math checks out, and it violates no law of physics. There is certainly a need. Finances are the remaining problem. Believe it or not, I have not as yet received my first donation. This is mainly my own fault; I have not worked hard enough at it as yet.

What is Time Bridgers? by Captain Bridger

T

ime Bridgers is a group of individuals who explore the element of time in all its facets and functions. Time Bridgers also discusses an active manipulation of time and the mechanics/ processes involved in doing so, be it in utilizing technology or natural means. Time Bridgers also is open to establishing contact and opening communications with various time frames, beginning with individuals (Jon & James) in a probable future year of 2163. It is that communication with 2163 that the Time Bridgers group centers around as the primary focus of activity, but Time Bridgers is not limited to exclusive communications with those individuals or the time frame of that particular year. What we are working towards and what we have to accomplish in making our interactions and endeavors with Jon and James the primary focus of attention (though not the only focus of attention/ activities), will help us in an array of other directions. Opening this door between our time and Jon and James's time will help us connect to other times also; establishing a more open, direct, physically objective communication with Jon and James can help us do so with other time frames as well, which is the significance of what we work towards with them. In 2163, time travel is in its infancy, though Jon and James's scientific community has developed a way to send items through time. Their time manipulation abilities are somewhat basic at present, but what we are accomplishing in helping them, is to further develop those processes and move closer toward furthering or even completing a means to physically traverse time and space.

I have contacted local millionaires, some of whose businesses I have supported for years and got no response. Even Al Gore has not as yet even acknowledged receiving my request.

continued next page...

For a fuller explanation, visit http://darlap.com or just Google “darlap”

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What is Time Bridgers, continued from page 29

How are we opening that door between times? How are we interacting and communicating with those individuals from the future? We receive items from the future at Oba's area of enchantment. We also plant items and messages in Oba's area of enchantment for the future to find. In 2163, Jon and James and others from the scientific school/community near the land we identify as Oba's area of enchantment, engage an archeological dig where they search for our items. We have received phone calls from the future, in which, the more we progress in our goals of helping Jon and James develop their time manipulation method and aid in how they can configure innergy between our time and theirs, the more these phone calls will increase in frequency and also the longer the duration of the phone calls can increase. We also use Elias Session Transcripts1 to communicate with Jon and James as they have access to and read those/our sessions. This is one avenue that we not only offer messages, but also confirm and validate things that we are doing to get closer and closer to an immediate, direct exchange between our time and theirs. This is an avenue that ensures accurate placement of attention and time as well as validates our activities, helping us move toward our goals with as little backtracking or deviation as possible. A Time Ladder has also been constructed, consisting of individuals that we will eventually know at a later time in the future, who also know those involved with Jon and James in 2163. We pass items from one person to another like "rungs" on this Time Ladder, until reaching the intended target (i.e. Jon and James). There are other, historical communications and references that validate what they are doing as well as confirms the success of what they are doing. These have not been completely implemented as of yet, but will, and will appear in works of art and books created by Time Bridgers that also last the duration of the 155 years between our time and theirs.

A Time Ladder has also been constructed, consisting of individuals that we will eventually know at a later time in the future, who also know those involved with Jon and James in 2163.

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Time Bridgers members also regularly participate within Glass Hour meetings, which are designed to generate innergy that may then be directed to Oba's area of enchantment to lessen the already thin veils between our two time frames at that location. The Time Bridgers are also creating a "Map of the Future", which is a listing of events that occurs between our time and the probable 2163. Our intention in designing this map is to generate "anchor points" that the Time Bridgers on our side of the Time Stream and those on their side of that Time Stream may agree upon and insert in our officially accepted line of probabilities to use in like manner to stepping stones connecting each side of the time stream. The more familiar we are with their time, the more open we become to that time and in that, the easier it will be to translate their innergy more accurately in efficiently facilitating any exchange with them and their time. A method has been developed by Time Bridgers in our present time frame of reference, for sending greeting card messages to those in the future and even other individuals in the present.

What is a Glass Hour? "Glass Hour" is a phrase used in general to describe moments or occurrences where time overlaps, intersects, or where bleedthroughs occur between time frames‌ Glass Hour isn't about one hour in particular, but is related to time warps or instances of time being manipulated in ways that we currently believe not to be its usual flow. More specifically, the phrase "Glass Hour" is being used as a focal point or a phrase that is concentrated upon by a group of individuals, the innergy of which is directed to Oba's area of enchantment where the veil between our time and 2163 is thinning. Communications have been made with individuals named Jon and James who conduct time travel experiments in the year 2163 within the same location as what has been presently referred to as "Oba's area of enchantment" within the Southern Florida region.

1 see http://www.eliasweb.at or http://www.eliaforum.org for audio files of the sessions


Editor’s Mail

Native American Focus

C

by James (Rob) Arteman

hief Salmon-Wang called for his son, Little-Wick, I want you to marry the daughter of chief Crack-Pipe of the Comanchitos’s tribe, Yeti-Tush! This surprised Little-Wick because he thought his father new of his love for Running-Bare of the Sue Indian tribe. They are a warring tribe that sometimes refer to themselves as lawyers. However, the chief of the Sue, Take-Um-Cleaners wants Running-Bare to marry my focus Hugh Heifer! I‘m from a well-to-do tribe known as the Pawning! We support much trading with other tribes. It appears that my father is a shrewd business man. He says that it's “who you know!” I‘m sure that's why he has me greeting everyone who comes to our store, WampumMart! Which was great since my magazine publication “PlayBore” didn't take off like I'd hoped.

Bill Ingle for Wisp “Contributions welcome

for the next issue of Wisp on the 7th June!”

P

rocrastinators beware!

If you’re like me, you’ll think the 7th is the drop-dead deadline, and try to get something in as close to the last minute as possible, say on the 6th.

Wisp will come out on the 5th, however, before you get to the 6th, so that you must say to yourself: “Aw shucks. I’ll have to wait for the next one.”

Some say it was the title, but I think it was the release of that new Evon Woodchuck speed reading course. It was broadcast over our TP Cable TradePer-View-Um. I think it worked for me. You start by hanging by your feet from a tree limb, place the book, magazine, whatever, under your head. Turn the pages as fast as you can and when done, close the book, reach up and cut the rope holding you.

If you’re not careful, this could go on indefinitely. You have to mentally move the drop-dead deadline to the 5th, and get your piece in by the 4th, although Wisp might then appear on the 3rd, considering its nature.

Then you fall head first on the book and all of its information shoots into your brain!

The dead Victorian newspaperman in my head wrote at the last possible minute, night after night, for years. The presses would be ready to roll, everything all set in type except for the leader.

I tried it with one of the recommended books on learning a new language. When I recovered from the fall, I immediately began speaking in the new language. The book I chose was “The Articulation Of Obscenities” My next attempt will be to read something that seems to be most important to my Medicine Man Optometrist. Everyone that enters his office is asked to read a chart and to provide him with an immediate review. I plan to sneak into his TP and take the chart for a speed reading session. He caught me trying to fake it last time when I said “I really enjoyed what I read. I felt like the author and I were on the same page. I was so drawn into the story, I felt like I was the character EFP TOZ!” Well, he seemed to know right away that I wasn't really reading the chart correctly! Thinking back now, I think

P

T O Z

Finished, the machinery — the presses — powered by well stoked steam engines, would kick into action. Eventually, the end result of all of this would end up in a couple of horse drawn wagons, the horses eager to get going. Some habits die hard and can even carry over into other selves. Is this not a good rationalization for a little procrastination?

E F

He’d come in to the office, sit down at his desk, and — as the tension in the room was just beginning to really amp up — write his leader. Done, he’d hand it to a fellow, who immediately began translating it into type.

was the author and not the main character!

However, he told me my eyes were fine, the only problem he saw was that they were connected to a worthless lump of gray matter! I asked him if he could recommend a specialist that could remove it. Otherwise our Pawning health plan won't cover it if it's outside of our tribe network. He said that possibly with one good sneeze it would just fall out, however, he'd order me a special nose spray made with a new medicine called something like nitro glycerin just in case.

That old fashioned newspaper had a regularity to it that was a piece of its world. Sure — there are daily newspapers today, morning and evening — but they exist in a world of instantaneous electronic communication and extremely sophisticated presses. There’s no clip-clop of horses on city streets in this world; watches tend to be electronic and worn on the wrist and fleetingly glanced at; they

Wisp e-zine

are not the handwound ticking pocket watches you might stop, take out your pocket, open up, and scrutinize for a long moment before reversing the process. Everything changes, of course, but in this case they’ve become accelerated, at least if you view all of this linearly. So we decided to blend the two times together a bit. We’d whip up a new probable reality just for the fun of it. Travelling to Victorian London via Main Coordination Point, we quickly put our plan into action. Dressed in period clothing and well studied and rehearsed, we began soliciting venture capitalists of the day and soon raised a substantial sum. We hired steel manufacturers, engineers, and designers, and purchased land. We began immediate construction on our power station, the world’s first. We had to secure rights for our primitive electrical lines; no one had heretofore imagined power lines and poles but we got our way. (Money talks, even back then.) We started work on the cellular system before we’d even finished the power system. Before long Victorian London sported ugly cell towers everywhere, an occasional microwave dish heightening the strangeness of our creation in that time and place. We began shipping in massive quantities of cellphones through the portal, then hired actors and actresses to popularize cellphone use even as we plastered billboards everywhere, employing 21st Century advertising techniques on an innocent population. We sold tons of phones and made gobs of loot, more than enough to fund our next adventure. Bill I.

JUNE 2008

31


The intention of WISP is to provide a place for personal stories; inspirational, light, humorous, challenging or anything in between… and beyond.

Find previous issues and all published stories on our website...

http://wisp.focusphere.net Wisp e-zine — Issue #2 — June 2008 No part of this magazine may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher

Desire, by KC Anneken

We would welcome any kind of personal writing, artistic works, poems, essays, etc.

Wisp #2  

Second issue of Wisp - June 2008 See http://wisp.focusphere.net

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