“ believe in everything until it’s disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it’s in your mind. Who’s to say that dreams and nightmares aren’t as real as the here and now?” John Lennon
Editorial The Bushel of Rice by Éric P. Lemoine
Email for inquiries and submissions firstname.lastname@example.org Cover artist Elikozoe Design and publication Éric P. Lemoine
Contributors to this issue Lamberto Acyatan (Philippines) Judyette Clarke (USA) Susan Clemons (USA) Jean-Baptiste Duret (France) Dale A. Evans (USA) Linn Garden (U.K.) Pat Gerber (Switzerland) Gunn Hole (Norway) Ravyn Karasu (USA) Richard Kendall (USA) Deane E. Kogelschatz (USA) Robert M. Kreegier (USA) Sheila MacGregor (USA) Kenneth McSween (USA) Tracy Marshall (Spain) William Marshall (USA Sharon Mendenhall (USA) Lee Muir (New Zealand) Rashmi Pahuja (USA) Anet Paulina (USA) A. Howard Reed (USA) Marcy Singer (USA) Emmy van Swaaij (Netherlands)
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 email@example.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.
didn’t plan to write anything about the world’s economy. There are many who, more aware than I am of the dynamics, are piling up analysis of it… so why bother? But you probably all know that life has this funny way of reminding us that there is something we are deliberately avoiding. And when it comes to writing a little zeitgeist for a magazine like Wisp (where most, if not all, of the contributors have learnt to do things when they feel appropriate and timely and not under other external “out-of-necessity” kind of circumstances) these reminders can come back tenfold. So I won’t write about economics; the word itself suggests a mindset of thrift which is frankly not what we really want. Instead, I will share with you a dream I had which pointed me to this subject. But ﬁrst, let me tell you a little more about these reminders I noticed. First with Dale, who’s doing a brilliant job with her Shifting Views column but recently assailed by work, submitted her monthly article a few days later than usual. Late enough for it to arrive after I had this dream. In fact, the following day. When I read her article, I started to wonder at the signiﬁcance of it all. Then later that day I was doing some gift-shopping for a nephew’s birthday and among the children’s books I was attracted by a beautiful “pop-up” book about Ancient Egypt. Of course, you’ll ﬁnd a few articles about Egypt in Wisp and even the astrological sign of the month seemed to have conspired to that effect. But here’s what I ﬁrst read in this book: “Ancient Egyptians didn’t have coin money like we do; they made exchanges based on the value of the goods they were exchanging.” Now, I couldn’t help but smile.
Of course it would be unfair not to list other articles which I found in retrospect were speaking of similar themes: exchange, communications, value and trust in self (to name a few: Sharon and Anet’s articles, and even our ﬁrst submission from as far as the Philippines ‘talked’ about inner abundance.) All that being said, here is the short story. In my dream, I end up in a sort of classroom after running some errands in a department store. This is a Chinese language course, and the teacher is laying out the contents of the course, especially the fact that we may need to do things as soon as they are taught so as to not feel overwhelmed. Towards the end of the session, I decide to write the very few sentences she has beautifully written on the blackboard, but as if to confirm her advice, I notice that they are far longer than I thought, as if they are developing on my notebook as I write them. She ends the class by telling us a sort of parable. Of an old Chinese man, who finds himself with a bushel of rice to last for all the coming winter. She asks to us: what will he do? Will he eat it so as not to starve, or will it keep it for next spring to sow it, taking the risk that the rice grains rot because of the humidity? This may very well be a simple but interesting summary of the situation we now ﬁnd ourselves in, giving us much to consider; just as when I was a child it took me a long time to understand what was meant in the parable1 of the man who blamed his servant for having buried his money some place safe, and rewarded with even greater responsibilities the ones who used it to gain greater proﬁts. 1 The talents of money — Matthew 25:14-30
Inside Editorial, by Éric P. Lemoine (p.3) Shifting Views, Cat Pause by Dale A. Evans (p.5) Scorpio, by Elikozoe (p.6) The Sphinx, by Deane E. Kogelschatz (p.7-8) Modern Touch on Ancient Egypt, by Ravyn Karasu (p.10-12) The Essence of Yum, by Marcy Singer (p.13) Whisper Zone, feat. Judyette Clarke, Linn Garden, Sheila MacGregor, Rashmi Pahuja, A. Howard Reed (p.14-15, 28) Datura and aquamarine by Tracy Marshall
The Road to Elmira, Chapter 1, by Richard Kendall, with art by Ken McSween (p.16-18) Affirmations, Anyone?, by Anet Paulina (p.19) Mirror, Mirror: Who Am I?, by Susan Clemons (p.20) Harshsociations, by Jean-Baptiste Duret (p.21) Divinity, by Robert (Reese) M. Kreegier (p.22-23) WOW! He’s Got Great Definition-s, by William Marshall (p.24-25) The Donkey Virus, by Emmy van Swaaij (p.2728) Basic Instincts, by Gunn Hole (p.29) TRUST!, by Sharon Mendenhall (p.30-33) The Egg, by Pat Gerber (p.34-36) Elusive Dream, by Becky V. Wrick (p.36-37) World Peace, by Lamberto Acyatan (p.38-39)
Shifting Views by Dale A Evans
photography, Jean-Baptiste Duret
Japanese Maple Tree, photo credits: David Beaulieu — landscaping.about.com
’m quickly doing my morning routine before taking my son to work. We’re picking up his co-worker on the way and were running late. Meanwhile, one of my cats — the one that wakes me up to remember my dreams — rubs against my legs and I start to say something like, “Excuse me! I’m late! Can you please get out from under my feet!” But I pause. And I pet the cat. One, two, three swipes of my hand across his length and it feels blissful! And it took what? About 7 seconds? Seven blissful seconds that I was almost willing to go without because hurrying seemed more important. The opportunities for blissful moments are abundant and available throughout our day. But we have to be paying attention to be noticing them. Then we have to take the next step of choosing to experience them. These plentiful feelings of bliss are what comprise living a life of bliss, and yet most people put them off in their daily lives, expecting to catch up on them when they’re not so busy or on that vacation each year. But it is not that downtime or the vacation that we remember. It’s the blissful feelings that we allowed ourselves to experience that become the pleasant memories we carry with us. The vacation is just the title of the memory. How often do you sacriﬁce experiencing bliss? During my online class “Living Your Bliss Now,” I asked that the participants describe what the ﬁrst 15 minutes of their day would be like if they were truly living their bliss. Many of them described wonderful surroundings and entirely different lifestyles than what they were living. Oddly, none of them told me what their ﬁrst ﬁfteen waking minutes would be like.
After doing the exercise again, with the aim of keeping it within ﬁfteen minutes, one woman shared her idea of bliss. She would wake up feeling rested and rejuvenated. Then she would eat a breakfast of fresh fruit salad, a croissant, and coffee at her beautiful table looking out her window to the beautiful scenery. While there, she would plan her day in her mind. Doing some chores for the work she loved, maybe lunching with a friend, or taking in a movie, or working out at the gym. And then she stopped, for she was again moving beyond the ﬁfteen minutes. I then suggested she could do these things now. She explained that in her visualization a chef had prepared her breakfast. And she had much more money, so she lived in a much more beautiful place. So we decided to explore what parts of this she could incorporate into present. What we came up with was that she could purchase fresh fruit and croissants from the local grocery’s fruit and salad bar and bakery. She could set a timer on her coffee maker to have it brewed when she awoke. The night before she would set out a beautiful plate and mug to use. And from her beautiful dining room table that was once her grandmother’s, she could look out on the oriental maple tree that she loved. Living your bliss doesn’t have to wait. In fact, waiting for bliss keeps it at a distance. Waiting for it is choosing in the ever-present now to keep your bliss forever elusively in the future. What aspects of your bliss can you choose to have right now?
Dale A Evans is a Personal Reality Coach and Energy Worker at It All Begins Now.com.
Scorpio October 24 - November 22
Selket, The Scorpion Goddess by Elikozoe Selket (also spelt Selkis, Serket etc.) was the Egyptian Goddess of magic. She was traditionally depicted in the form of a woman with a scorpion on her head (or in some variations, as a woman with scorpion body parts.) In Egyptian mythology she was essentially revered as a beneﬁcial goddess. In some myths, she helped Isis and her son Horus from Set by sending her seven scorpions to protect them. Selket was also associated with childbirth and nursing, offering her protection to women and children. She rules over all venomous creatures (scorpions, snakes, spiders…) and as such, embodies the venom as well as the antidote, thus being both a protector of the dead and of the magicians (dealing with poisons and philters.) Protector of the tents of embalmers, she was associated to the canopic jar holding the intestines of the deceased —which was deiﬁed as Qebehsenuef, one of the Four sons of Horus (the hawk-headed one). As well as the astrological sign of Scorpio (ruled by Hades, Greek god of the Afterworld) this ancient goddess is reminding us of the ambivalence of death and re-birth.
illustrations wikipedia commons Photography of Selket’s statue, from Tutankhamun’s Tomb in Cairo’s Museum.
The Sphinx by Deane E. Kogelschatz
here are few objects on our planet that elicit as much excitement or controversy as the Sphinx. Whether it’s who built it, when it was built, its purpose or the origins of its name, the Sphinx remains one of the most controversial objects of our time. Lying in the Giza Plateau, the Sphinx faces due east and points at the middle pyramid of the complex with the Great Pyramid on its right. It’s 260 feet long and has a small temple between its paws. It has a height of 65 feet and is 20 feet wide. One of the Sphinx controversies centers around its head and whether what we see today is the original. The 1925 photo below illustrates these differences in material before the Sphinx had been dug out and restoration efforts took place. It is quite obvious that the head is made of quite different material than the neck, shoulders or the rest of the body. Our two energy essence friends, Elias and Kris, also agree that the head we see today is not the original.
What follows is a brief excerpt of my session with Kris, 10/29/04: DEANE: (52:42) I have another question in that regard. When you talked about the Sphinx being at least ten thousand years old, I was told that you said the head of the Sphinx was originally that of Anubis. Now Anubis was an Egyptian creation, I think, and if the Sphinx is over ten thousand years old, how could it have originally been the head of Anubis? Can you clarify that, please? KRIS: Indeed. Where do you think these deities come from? From the Egyptian Pantheon? DEANE: Well, Egyptian fantasy, just like some of our present day fantasies. Of course they could have been picked up elsewhere, but the dynamics
of a time frame of early ancient Egypt of four thousand years ago, and the civilization you’re talking about, ten thousand years ago, that still leaves six thousand years between them and the early Egyptian civilization as we know it, and that would be a big stretch to pick up Anubis, would it not? KRIS: It would appear as such. They were a much older culture on that part of Africa. […] The area in question, the Nile Delta, was also much different, being lush garden land much larger in area. And the Mediterranean was non-existent. The Egyptian land mass as it is commonly known, extends much farther north. After such a time, [there was] another culture at that place. [unintelligible] your old Egyptian mythologies retire to their predecessor as Netjer1.
There are also controversies regarding the age of the Sphinx. The Egyptian government holds the ofﬁcial position that the Pharaoh Khafre-Chephren, in the 4th Dynasty, about 2500 BC, was the builder. But more recently, in the 1990s, geologist Robert Schoch and writer John Anthony West shook the historical and geological world by providing evidence and announcing that in their opinion, the Sphinx was at least 9000 years old and possibly much older. The proof they offered was based on the vertical weathering features on the Sphinx and its enclosures. This type of weathering can only be caused by water erosion and does not appear on other more fragile mud-brick structures on the Sakkara Plateau, ten miles south of Giza, indisputably dated several hundred years earlier than the standard dating of the Sphinx.
1 Egyptian term for “divinity”; also used by Kris both as a name for another non-physical source and as a name for a civilisation predating the ancient Egyptians.
Photography by Jon Bodsworth – http://egyptarchive.co.uk Drawing from Manual Of Egyptian Archaeology And Guide To The Study Of Antiquities In Egypt, by Gaston Camille Charles Maspero
Now to compound our Sphinx mysteries, there are rumors of secret passageways, rooms and chambers holding the histories of the world and secrets to life itself. The illustration below shows what has already been discovered below and to the side of the Sphinx.
Secret Chamber and Passages under the Sphinx Present sand level
(NOT TO SCALE)
“Campbell’s Tomb” possibly light and air shaft
Causeway to Nile shaft
Perhaps there is something inside the Sphinx, an area that remains to be discovered. It began on Saturday, January 10, 2004, when a small group of Elias List members decided they would pool their energy and see if they could make a trip under the Sphinx to determine if any hidden rooms existed. The attempt passed without anything being discovered. On January 14th, a Wednesday afternoon some four days later, I was sitting in my lounge chair in my barroom, relaxing and having my ﬁrst bourbon of the day. I began wondering about the group excursion to the Sphinx, feeling sorry I had missed it that previous Saturday afternoon. I continued to wonder if I could go under the Sphinx myself without the assistance of any pooled energy to do so. I leaned back and let my mind ﬂoat free, embedded with this intention. Some moments later I was there, experiencing very realistic visual images, in color, but this time inside the Sphinx, not under it. I recorded the speciﬁc details of what I saw and experienced, made a transcript of this and posted it to the Elias List. An Elias List friend who lives out west, Don, offered to read my detailed transcript to Elias in his upcoming session, asking Elias to point out any errors in my perceptions. Don did this and Elias validated all of it:
February 10, 2004 – Session #1509 DON: I have a very long question from Deane/Leland. This is what he wrote about his impressions of what is a physical description of what’s under the Sphinx2. I’ll go ahead and read this verbatim […]. He’s asking for a conﬁrmation of these impressions, or any amendments. “The first room really isn’t a room, it’s like a vestibule. It’s about eight feet, (2-∞ meters), square and has three walls. The wall that faces the body of the Sphinx isn’t there and the steps down start from there. As you walk down the steps, you are walking toward the tail of the Sphinx. There are probably twenty steps. When you get to the bottom, it’s about eight feet square and there is an entrance to an empty room to your left and one to the right. I would guess these rooms are the same size and are about twelve feet square, (four meters), and they do not have doors. As I write these words I get the impression these rooms were ceremonial in nature. About five feet ahead are some steps — six, seven, maybe eight of them — and a door at the top rather wide and tall. I can’t tell if it’s made of wood, but I know it’s not a solid stone slab. I estimate the door to be about six feet wide and perhaps eight to ten feet tall. “Inside is a very long room that goes
about halfway under the Sphinx. The room is about ten to twelve feet wide and it’s about eight feet tall. It looks like it is somewhat wider than it is high. As you enter the doorway, on the left are what looks like hollowed out areas that function as shelves. Scrolls are laid there and what looks like almost square-cut palm leaves in a frame. The leaves contained within are cut wider at the top than at the bottom and they are treated with something, perhaps embalming stuff, to make them last. There’s some other stuff there too, piled on the shelf I’m looking at, that may be a stack of papyri. I do not know where the light came from so that I could see. I do know that as I was facing the shelves, the tail would be to my right and I could see easily. To my right it was dark and I could not see the wall, thus my impression that the room continues towards the tail. My impression is that it continues about halfway under the Sphinx.” DON: That’s the end of it. Do you have any comments on any of it or anything to say? ELIAS: I may express conﬁrmation and validation of the description, and of his impressions. DON: All right. 2 Note from Deane: I found myself inside the Sphinx, not under it, below the right paw.
As my thoughts return and I relive the experience, I cannot help but think of all the ancient treasures that lie out there just waiting to be touched once again by human hands, transmitting information from eons past. It is there for us to claim, our ancient heritage, as we continue to expand our consciousness and integrate new knowledge into our reality.
The corridor that leads from Khafre’s Valley temple to the causeway from the Mortuary temple. – Photography by Jon Bodsworth – http://egyptarchive.co.uk
Modern Touch on Ancient Egypt by Ravyn Karasu Having recently published Akhetaten’s Gates, Ravyn talks about the process of writing and publishing her debut novel, “a somewhat comical historical fiction, taking place in the lands of ancient Egypt.”
have recently written a novel called Akhetaten’s Gates. It’s a somewhat comical historical ﬁction, taking place in the lands of ancient Egypt. It focuses on the Amarna Period. Nefertiti, who regales her entire life and adventures therein, tells the entire story in ﬁrst person. The story focuses mostly on a plethora of strong women and their ability to endure hard times. It’s also a story about love, and what it means to truly love another. This story was a lot of fun to write. It took a long time to complete. To be honest, the ﬁrst draft was actually written in 1997, when I was a sophomore in high school. But, my writing skills back then weren’t exactly where they are now. The potential was there, but not the actual talent. After many years, I began to re-evaluate the stories I had started as a teenager, and I just so happened to ﬁnd the old manuscript. I saw the potential and decided to rewrite the book with my more modern ﬂair. I thought it would be a wonderful story to use as my debut publication. The original concept for the story was supposed to be a third-person story about Akhenaten. When I got into high school, I had become very interested in ancient Egyptian history and mythology, and I hit the books hard. After reading countless books and articles on Amarna, and watching many documentaries on Discovery, I began to form my own opinions and instincts. I’m, by no means, an Egyptologist. I have always known my place as a ﬁction writer. I had nothing to offer to the scientiﬁc community by way of my thoughts and feelings of history, so I put it in writing for entertainment purposes. Granted, a lot of the information is skewed, made up, or twisted, but some are not. That’s the beauty of ﬁction. In the end, my hope is that readers have gained a sincere interest in these characters, and would do real research on their own for the real facts. That’s how I did it when I was growing up. If something looked interesting, I’d research it further. Of course, my original concept wasn’t working. I just couldn’t identify enough with Akhenaten to create an interesting story. I ended up having to look to Nefertiti for ideas. I found that her history is even more mysterious than Akhenaten’s, and for me, that was ﬁction-worthy gold. I redesigned the entire story to focus solely on Nefertiti. And, rather than third-person, I wanted a ﬁrst-person point of view to really allow readers to connect with a human being. Being as I’m a young writer, I had to face the facts. A lot of people just would not be interested in the boring old tongues of ancient worlds. I wanted something different and really colorful. I added a little science ﬁction twist to the story. That opened up a whole new way to tell the story. Now, instead of a boring tone, Nefertiti had a modern and spunky way of speaking which could draw in a reader and keep them interested. Her crazy sayings and whimsical behavior made the story far more entertaining to follow. It also made Nefertiti, as well as many other characters in the story, more reachable to the young and modern reader. It was my way to make the story funny, interesting, and to bridge a gap. I guess we won’t know if I’m successful or not until the book is released.
Before I go any further, I do have to stop and give some credit to Jennifer Schricker, who is responsible for the beautiful cover art of the book. Originally, I was very worried about letting anybody take the job. I know how I am, and that’s picky and fussy. I’m a real pain to work with. But, Jennifer was very upbeat and a lot of fun. She also understood everything I had to say. I had to really admire her talent and patience. She really made the project a whole lot less stressful than I had anticipated, and she made it a whole lot more fun. Akhetaten’s Gates is a real milestone for me. I hope that it’s an enjoyable read for many. It is available since October 2008 on the Trafford Publishing website at trafford.com. It will also be made available at all other online book sellers, including Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Books-A-Million, etc. It can be purchased, if I understand correctly, in any country. I do hope anyone who picks it up has a very good time with it.
Misfit to Majestic Nefertiti always believed that she was destined to be a nobody, and living in her sister’s shadow. All of that changed when she was pulled from death by a mysterious entity and placed in a “modern” world to prepare her for her destiny. Five years later, Nefertiti is returned to the land of ancient Egypt and comes face to face with a misﬁt prince named Amenhotep IV. Together, they form a love and bond that endures throughout spiritual adventures, political mishaps, and outrageous acts of blasphemy. Follow this semi-whimsical tale of a love that lasts throughout all hardships and throughout the tests of time.
Excerpt from Akhetaten’s Gates by Ravyn Karasu & Trafford Publishing Inc. ©2008
’ve never had so many people dote on me before. The ﬁrst three months of my pregnancy was rather rough. Every morning meant morning sickness. I was easily nauseated by the sight or smell of food. Frankly, I just wanted to not eat all together, but then I’d get hungry. Selfsabotage, that’s what it was! And it wasn’t even just food! I became a real superwoman, like the Bionic Girl, or something. I could smell… everything! Perfumes, sweat, ﬂowers, animals,… my nose was of divine strength! I could have probably smelled a fart from a mile away! This particular morning was different. I wasn’t feeling ill at all. I was a little achy, but certainly not ill. I couldn’t stand hiding in the bedroom anymore. It was stale and lonely, since Amenhotep actually had to leave me to perform work. So, I was forced, if I wanted out, to walk alone to the royal gardens. It wasn’t a total loss. The sun and fresh air felt so good. Finding a cushioned seat, I placed myself in it, liking the hot pillows on my bottom, and reclining slightly with a long sigh. I untied my dress, my favorite, transparent, blue dress; the only dress I could still ﬁt in, and pulled the material back, revealing my growing middle. It felt like Aten was reaching down and caressing it. It coaxed for me to close my eyes, and bid me to nap. A silent lullaby was loud in my mind, as if it sang to me from the heavens. Was Aten singing? Did it really sound so beautiful? Mmmm, this was so nice… “Showing now, aren’t we?” A voice asked. I gasped and pulled my dress closed, and I turned towards the voice. Amenhotep III was leaned against the entrance of the garden. Oh, he looked absolutely awful; so tired and burnt out. It looked as though he was contemplating giving up. “You startled me,” I exhaled. “How are you feeling today?” “Hurts,” he mumbled. “My head… my mouth… it hurts so much.” “I’m sorry.”
Taweret “The Great One” – was the ancient Egyptian goddess of maternity and childbirth, protector of women and children. She was depicted as a combination of a crocodile, a hippopotamus standing on her hind legs with a full pregnant abdomen, pendulous breasts and long hair on her head.
He shook his head, “I am on my way to pray to the gods and goddesses for health. At this rate,… I cannot rule my kingdom.” “Isn’t… your son doing a good job?” I asked. “That’s not the point…” “Don’t you have faith in him?” “It’s too soon to tell. Everything rests on Tiy’s shoulders.” I frowned a little, “I guess. She’s a very strong woman.” “Yes, she is.” “But, he’s trying really hard.” He let out a groan. I wasn’t sure if it was in pain or doubt. Perhaps, it was a little of both. He reached out and rubbed my belly. “It’s a girl.” “Eh?!” I gasped. “How can you tell that?!” “Nefertiti, I have many children. Believe me, I’ve learned a thing or two.” I pushed his hands away, “You’re full of it.” He gave a small chuckle and stepped back as he sunk into the palace to continue on his way. On the way, he passed Amenhotep IV as he was coming to ﬁnd me. He approached and placed his hands on my belly, “He doesn’t believe in me, does he?” “You heard him?” “I always catch the tail end of failure remarks,” he sighed. I forced a smile, “He’s just a cranky old man, Amenhotep. Your mother and I believe in you. Draw your strength from us.” He scowled, “Hn! I shall love all our children equally. Every one will be precious. I will be grateful for every one; … so unlike him.” “Calm down,” I soothed and kissed his cheek. He sighed and brought me into an embrace. I stroked the back of his neck comfortingly, “You’re doing ﬁne. You weren’t primed for this position. So, you’re still learning. But, considering that,… you’ve come a long way from the boy I ﬁrst met.”
He gave me a small smile, “You’re right. Yes… you’re right. I’m not the same. I’m much better. Even without my father’s conﬁdence, I have strong women behind me.” He kissed my forehead, “I love you, Nefertiti.”
* Everyone believes that once Prince Charming marries Snow White or Cinderella, that it truly is happily ever after. This was not the case for me. Life in the palace could get very hectic. Sure, I had people who were very happy for me, like Teppy for example. As for my in-laws, I felt they were too stressful to keep in my company for long periods of time. Tiy was very excited about the baby. Too excited,… a real headache. As for Amenhotep III, the increasing pain only continued to make him cranky. My sisters-in-law seemed rather oblivious to us all together, more interested in their own matters. My worst experiences came from the harem. Wives were traditionally passed down from king to prince. So, with no senior pharaoh able to come visit them, their attentions were set on my husband. They were not even truly interested, but the thought of being with Pharaoh, regardless, was worth the ﬁght. They had grown insanely angry and envious of me, despite, at one time, being my friends. Everyone wanted to be important. A pregnant woman was no fun to a man,… and needed more women to entertain him. So was how they thought. This was how I came to realize that I could no longer trust them. I was wandering down the corridors, growing impatient of my husband. My hormones were going crazy and I had grown spontaneously needy. Bless his patience. I knew he wanted to be with me as much as possible, every moment of every day, if he could. But, the constant placement of him in the court, and me in a sheltered shadow really made things difﬁcult. I was taking conﬁdent steps as I kept wandering, hoping to see him. And I did. I saw him coming up the hallway. Eager, I opened my mouth to call for him, but stopped short. We were along the corridor leading to the harem. And from the harem slipped out a young woman, pressing herself against him, running her hand seductively along his body. It surprised him, as he had not really been paying attention to where he was going, and it made my blood boil. “You’re in quite a hurry,” she giggled, letting her dress slide off her shoulder,
Akhetaten’s Gates, continued from page 11 teasing him with a glimpse of her not-soample cleavage. She was a younger bride, having only been with Amenhotep III once, and having no child. She was a year or so older than Amenhotep IV, and quite eager to make her living as a harem wife, eager to produce a prince to thrust her into the royal dynasty. But, the sound of her voice and her sexual eagerness grated on my ears.
ness would enjoy other options to entertain his time?”
agitated I became. I began to land punches and sling her about like a rag doll.
“Sex… sex, sex, sex. I am a believer in love, my dear,” he said bitterly. “I am going to the wife of whom I love. I’ve no time for my father’s sluts.”
“Eh? Oh. Yes… Who are you?” Amenhotep asked.
“I’ll dare as I please,” he replied simply. “I dare not share my father’s spoils, and as acting Pharaoh in his absence, I’m certainly free to say and do as I please, regardless of what you think I should do or say.” And with that, he walked past her regally. She spun around in a ﬁt and grit her teeth, looking almost like a cartoon.
One last throw and I slammed her face into a wall. Knock out! Down she went, completely unconscious, and now missing a few teeth. Other than that, no serious damage, but I can safely say that she wasn’t as pretty as she was a few minutes before. The silence hung for only a few seconds before I received highly entertained applause. Tiy pushed through the crowd with a proud clap, “Well done, Nefertiti!”
“You don’t know me? Ah yes, you never visit the harem. I’m one of the wives you are inheriting from your father. I’m rather new here, compared to some of the others. I’m so lonely and, though deﬂowered, virtually untouched. I’m still quite fresh, and would make His Young Majesty a wonderful playmate. My body is a temple, a holy garden just awaiting your seed.” He gently removed her hands from his person, separating her from him, “Big deal. You still receive an income even without such things, and are capable of making a living with more productive matters. You need not remain on your back for the rest of your life. I’m afraid I’ve no use for a harem bride at this point.” “You come off as so cold,” she purred. “I am Mekhetamose.” “Hello, Mekhetamose,” he replied ﬂatly. “Oooh, say my name again, Young Majesty. It brings me delight and lights a ﬁre in me. I ache for you.” He turned up his nose, “Don’t get so proud. You’ve been here for a couple years now. You didn’t see me last year. Why pretend to see me now?” Mekhetamose frowned, “You really are cold.” “Please, excuse me.” “You’re going to her, aren’t you?” She accused. “I am. And I’ve every right to. I need not answer to you. I don’t see how it would be any of your business,” he retorted. “How dull,” she sighed, moving hair out of her face. “She’s blowing up, Highness. She’s not as lovely as we are right now. Pregnant people ﬁnd sex so awkward. Surely, High-
“How dare you!” Makhetamose shouted.
“You’re no good, is that it?! You’re no good at sex! That’s why you want the love you seek! That’s why you do not partake of the many willing bodies that wish to bring you pleasure! Everyone will see your shame! Everyone will see how poor you are! She’ll adore you so much that she’ll politely overlook your shortcomings! She’ll overlook your sexual failures! Or maybe the rumors are true? You are a woman posing as a man? Hiring some lucky sport to impregnate your queen to continue with the charade?” I’m pretty sure he would have reacted with a violent authority, and would have been free to do so. The look on his face showed that he was absolutely furious… fuming furious. Had I been in my right mind, he might have frightened me. That is,… if I was in my right mind. But, I was so fueled by hormones and jealousy that like a bat out of Hell, I ﬂew forward, past Amenhotep, who became startled, and grabbed at Mekhetamose’s hair. She let out a surprised scream, “You!” “Stupid bitch!” I spat at her. “Who do you think you are?! How dare you speak so out of line?! How dare you… to your own king!” “Nefertiti, where did you come from?!” Amenhotep gasped in surprise. A growing crowd began to congregate about us. I paid them no mind as I continued to assault on the wench. Faintly, though I could hear them cheering. Mekhetamose was a lot of mouth and attitude, but she had no ﬁght to back her up. She ﬂailed about in my grip, hoping for a lucky strike. This is where my tomboy upbringing had an advantage. The more she struggled, the more
“Huh?” I let out as I looked around. “A real initiation!” She declared. “I remember the ﬁrst time I punched out a harem whore! Very good!” I suddenly began to snifﬂe. My emotions were in overload. Amenhotep rushed to me, “Nefertiti, are you hurt?!” “I want a hug!” I cried, turning to him and burying my face in his chest as I let out unreasonable sobs. “Isn’t she precious?” Tiy cooed. She peered down at Mekhetamose, “Dumb witch. When will they learn? They’ll spread their legs for any political advantage. They all pray for sons so to bump the queens from their place.” She came over and pat my head, “Don’t fret, Child. You are my son’s true beloved. He is well behaved. I trained him all proper for you.” I gave another pathetic snifﬂe, and cried out, “I want a cookie!”
The Essence of Yum by Marcy Singer Oranges, by Tracy Marshall
or some time now I have been searching for the perfect soy-mayo salad dressing recipe. A friend had mentioned that he was looking for a good one and it got me interested as well.
A few weeks ago I happened upon a recipe for some kind of salad (which I’ve since forgotten) with a soy-mayo dressing. Of course, the dressing caught my eye. I gave it a try, made a couple of modiﬁcations, and then sent it to my friend for his input. He agreed that it was a tasty, simple recipe. In fact my daughter loves it and it has replaced her all-time favorite dill dip for crudités. And so I thought I’d pass it along as this month’s offering:
Soy Mayo salad dressing Difficulty: Easy Preparation Time: 10 minutes
Ingredients 5 Tbsp rice vinegar (seasoned or unseasoned) 2 Tbsp honey 4 Tbsp soy sauce 1 clove peeled and minced garlic ∞ T Asian sesame oil 1 T grated fresh ginger ∞ teaspoon cayenne powder 1 cup real mayonnaise 2–3 T sesame tahini
Preparation Methods 1. The simplest way to prepare this dressing is to simply dump all the ingredients into a blender and puree until smooth. Pour into bottle or jar and refrigerate. Shake well before using. 2. If you don’t have a blender, in a large bowl whisk together rice vinegar and honey until honey is completely dissolved. Add the rest of the ingredients and whisk well until completely combined. Pour into any kind of jar or bottle and refrigerate. Shake well before using. 3. Or place rice vinegar and honey in a jar with a tight ﬁtting lid and shake vigorously until the honey is completely dissolved into the vinegar. Add the remaining ingredients and shake well until completely combined. Refrigerate. Shake well before using. (NOTE: Methods 2 and 3 will not give as smooth a dressing, but as long as you mince or grate the garlic and ginger very well, it will be just as good.) Makes approximately 2 cups.
Exotic stars glide majestically around circles within circles. galaxies of suns and worlds and civilizations
by Rashmi Pahuja
emories are strange things. There are times when I cant tell if what I know is a memory of something that happened or if it is a dream from some other place. There are memories of places, people and times that I am sure I have not met in this life of mine. If I were to pinpoint the exact time my heart felt you, I should go back a few lifetimes, hard as that is to believe. I feel your presence around me, even when my eyes don’t see you. I know your thoughts like I do my own thoughts. I feel your touch like I feel the passing breeze that caresses my face on a cool summer day. People say I am a Loner but I am never alone, never really alone.
flowing into the nexus of cycles of aeons of centuries of days and hours and minutes and seconds. they are myriad grains of sand
dropping through infinity’s hourglass.
There are days when you appear. I am not sure if it is my dreams or if it is your world. But I see you as clear as the Moon on a dark night. I see your impish yet wise face, dark hair and the glint of mischief in your eyes, that endearing smile on your lips that makes dimples on your cheeks. We have pleasant walks over beautiful meadows overlooking mountains, picking ﬂowers or along the river bank feeling the wet soil or the sand or a trail in the woods with the sounds of songbirds. We frolic in the waters, pick fruits from laden trees, walk amongst the gentle animals or sometimes pet the Big Cats. Sometimes we share long conversations, or very comfortable silences with smiles that warm our insides, the kind that leaves joy and peace within my self as I come out of the fog. I always know I will see you again, that the coming of the fog only means that our time with each other was up for my day. I never remember the conversations except for the feeling of being happy. But the words you said come to me at certain times in my life, like a reminder. It feels like as if its something my elder has taught me, like as if I already knew, like its part of me but really not from me. It makes me curious… who are you? Are you a visitor from my past or part of the present or will be part of my future? There are people who remind me of you, like you split yourself into those many others. You feel like a friend almost bordering someone I love but I also feel an unseen line that we are careful not to cross. Nothing is said but is understood.
Whisper Zone 14
Would a day arrive where the world where you are and the world where I seemingly am, could blend into One? As I wait for an answer, I do wish for you to remain a part of me even if I don’t really know who you are. It doesn’t matter, for I have my names for you so that I may claim you for myself —my soul’s guard, my place of happiness, my place of understanding who I am.
My Tongue Is Pink My tongue is pink
My peace is yours
My teeth are white
My dreams are treasure.
My palms are calloused
My blood is red
My palms are calloused
My heart breaks
My feet are bare.
My mouth cries
My blood is red
My stomach is empty
My eyes glisten
My future unknown.
My tears are salt
My feet are bare.
My eyes glisten My tears are salt
My tongue is pink.
My head has hair.
What race am I?
My life is hope
My brain plans pleasure
My teeth are white
My head has hair. My life is hope
My peace is yours My dreams are treasure. My heart breaks My mouth cries
My stomach is empty My future unknown. My tongue is pink. What race am I?
My brain plans pleasure A. Howard Reed
Final Words Final words don't need voicing won't be around to feel their waves my thought is that a sweetness lingers without a shout to shake it off
Smiley, photography by Trottinette
The Road To Elmira
Richard Kendall was a member of the Jane Roberts/Seth classes held in Elmira, New York during the 1970’s.
by Richard Kendall Chapter One All Roads Do Not Lead to Rome
was nineteen years old in 1969, and changes in the mass consciousness of this country were beginning to bubble up up, and in some cases, the bubble just outright burst. The Vietnam War was in full swing, and in November of 1969 approximately two hundred ﬁfty thousand people marched on Washington, D.C. in opposition to a war that had divided the country into warring factions of its own. In that same year, Woodstock, billed as “3 Days of Peace and Music” attracted close to ﬁve hundred thousand folks. I was one of them, and while there was music a plenty, the peace part of the equation was very scarce. The movie Easy Rider made its way to the wide screen that year as Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper traveled by motorcycle in a horizontal direction in search of the real America. Neil Armstrong took a vertical route, and became the ﬁrst man to walk on the moon. By the end of the decade the ideology of the 1960’s had reached its crescendo, and within a few years, yesterday’s hippies would become today’s lawyers, doctors, and Wall Street brokers. For some, this transition was relatively easy. For me, thoughts of ﬁnding a steady job; settling down; focusing on making money; all these goals were anathema to the hippie spirit that still lived within me. As I held on tight to my counter-culture stance, the world in which those ideas had found a home was quickly disappearing, and the new world that was rising up to take its place left me feeling unsure as to how I might ﬁt in to this new paradigm. So as the decade drew to a close, uncertainties hung in the air all around me. There was only one thing I felt for certain: I needed some answers before I could move on with my life; answers to just a few simple, basic questions. Questions such as why am I here; is there a God; what happens to us when we die; have I lived before; why is there so much suffering in the world. Like I said, just a few simple, basic questions. I had tried plenty of drugs in my search for answers, but the insights I received during those seemingly heightened states of awareness had a nasty way of fading into so much
The Road to Elmira is a retrospective of the time Rich spent attending Jane Roberts’s ESP classes. It is a work in progress, and as of now does not have a publisher. Rich welcomes inquiries from prospective publishers. http://richkendallonline.com
pulp in the morning, as the drug’s effects would begin to wear off. Ultimately, I used drugs not to seek knowledge, but to numb the pain that was coursing through me; pain born from confusion, from fear, and from an endless procession of unanswered and perhaps unanswerable questions that kept exploding inside my brain. But while these drug-induced moments of peace were certainly pleasurable, they did not provide any real answers, and moreover, spawned a fresh set of new problems, which was the last thing I needed. Turning to organized religion was not an option, for I could not accept the limited picture of reality they present with their tales of heaven and hell, and a vengeful god who would not hesitate to destroy us if we did not follow his rules and worship him on a regular basis. Perhaps a nice brisk walk on the moon might provide some insights, but I was way behind in my astronaut training at this point. The need for me to ﬁnd answers became more than just an important issue, it became an imperative. Right around this time, a friend of mine who was also interested in spiritual matters told me about these metaphysical classes he started attending in response to an ad he saw in the newspaper. These classes were taught by a fellow named François, who claimed to be a master of occult knowledge, privy to the secrets of the gods themselves. If you studied under him and followed his directions without question, (all of this according to François) you would have the opportunity of reaching levels of enlightenment that very few ever achieve. It was understood you would never reach the level of level of enlightenment that
François had achieved, but at this juncture in my life, any light would be welcomed. When you’re stranded on an island feeling alone and helpless, and a ship approaches, you don’t ask what ﬂag it’s ﬂying, you just hop aboard. So with hope tucked under my sleeve, off I went to meet François, thinking that perhaps he just might be the one to lead me out of the darkness. François was a tall, black, charismatic ﬁgure. His voice rang out with conﬁdence. He let you know in no uncertain terms that he had mastered many levels of reality, and had access to secret and hidden knowledge. This knowledge, he emphasized, should not be shared with others until they were properly prepared to receive it; for otherwise, doing so could be very dangerous for the recipient. He attracted mostly young people and looking back I can honestly say he was a master; a master at exploiting the insecurities and fears that lived within others. Feelings of hopelessness combined with little belief in one’s own worth were a perfect recipe for François, and he knew just how to mix the ingredients. His intentions were to open a school, create an elite army of metaphysical mentors, who would then descend upon the ignorant masses to help save their miserable souls. But not all the students who were studying under him would be chosen to become part of this army. Those who weren’t chosen could still study his teachings, but would be outside of the inner circle he was in the process of forming. Rumors began to circulate as to who the chosen ones would be, and one day I heard through the grapevine that I was not going to be one of them.
There was only one thing I felt for certain: I needed some answers before I could move on with my life; answers to just a few simple, basic questions. Questions such as why am I here; is there a God; what happens to us when we die; have I lived before; why is there so much suffering in the world.
The Road To Elmira, continued from page 16
When I was in the sixth grade, an announcement was made that classes were going to be divided in a new way. Special classes were being created called SP, for those whose intelligence ranked above the norm. No tests were given to determine the criterion for this ranking, and no explanations offered. Your parents would receive a letter which would indicate you were either going to be part of the SP group, or not. Everyone was on the edge of their seats waiting for that letter. I remember how terrible I felt when my parents informed me that I was not one of those who had been accepted. I didn’t feel much better when two weeks later they sent my parents another letter, this one stating that they had decided to accept me after all. Even at that young age I knew there was more to this than met the eye, and ﬁgured there was probably some problem in ﬁlling up some of the classes, hence my new found intelligence miraculously rising to the surface. Trying out for a school team or school play and not making the cut can be a difﬁcult pill to swallow. But being denied a place in François’s school was too much to bear without at least ﬁnding out why. So I gathered all my courage and decided to call François and ﬁnd out if the rumor was true. His voice on the other end of the line sounded like it was right inside my brain. He proceeded to tell me in a calm and imperious manner that I could not be admitted to his school for the following reason: I was in the grips of a demoniacal thing. Let me tell you, this felt a lot worse than not qualifying for SP classes. He spoke to me my very worst fears about myself. Maybe there really was something fundamentally wrong with me, that somehow I was not put together quite right, and that I had better keep a very short leash on myself, lest all hell break loose and god knows what damage I might do to myself or to others. As I look back upon François’s pronouncement all those years ago, I feel bad for that nineteen year old self who so willingly accepted François’s proclamation as truth. But demoniacal thing or not, life goes on, and François was willing to throw me a bone. He told me I could continue studying his philosophy from outside the school, and if I read certain books in the order he told me to, I could ﬁnd some measure of enlightenment. Some measure of enlightenment sounded a lot better than continuing to wander in the dark, so I was determined to follow the path he set out before me. And then, in the latter part of 1970, the winds began to shift. One of the girls who had been selected for François’s school came across a book called The Seth Material, by Jane Roberts. Though this book was not one of those on François’s reading list, she started telling fellow students about it. If history teaches us anything, it teaches us that word of mouth is one of the most powerful forces on earth, so word spread quickly, and in short time François was dutifully asked if we could add this title to his list. He agreed to the request, never telling us that he had already contacted Jane Roberts by phone numerous times, a fact I was to ﬁnd out about much later. Another fact I was to ﬁnd out about much later was that François drove Jane Roberts up a wall, had wanted to visit her, but she was having no part of it. She saw him not as a kindred spirit, but as a self-deluded individual. Furthermore, his brand of esoteric knowledge was saturated with concepts that were opposite to those Jane was teaching. So while allowing us to read Jane’s book, François went out of his way to let us know that Jane was not very evolved spiritually, and not someone to be taken seriously. He did however decree that Seth’s presence made the book worth reading, for Seth was more in line with the level of metaphysical expertise that François himself had attained.
One of the girls who had been selected for François’s school came across a book called The Seth Material, by Jane Roberts. Though this book was not one of those on François’s reading list, she started telling fellow students about it.
Artwork by Kenneth (Oba) McSween The house on Water Street, Elmira NY where Jane Roberts held her sessions.
I can’t tell you the exact date in 1970 when I ﬁrst picked up The Seth Material, but I can tell you that from page one bells began to ring. As I continued to read the chimes grew louder, and it felt like a part of me started to wake up that had been asleep for centuries. I wanted to go to one of those classes Jane wrote about and although my attention was still riveted on François, in the summer of 1971 I wrote Jane a letter asking if I could attend one of her classes. She wrote back saying that if I was going to be in the area there was no problem with me joining her class for the evening. She only asked that I let her know beforehand. Sounded like a fair deal to me, and I proceeded to tell François about my letter and Jane’s response. I asked him if going to one of Jane’s classes would be alright with him, and he said yes. Summer and fall passed quickly that year, and by the beginning of December, bitter winds were enveloping New York City. Snowcovered streets soon followed as the yearly ritual of standing out in the cold to scrape off ice from the car windows was upon us once more. When temperatures really began to plummet, people bundled up in such a way that the only visible part of them was their eyes, the only evidence that the creature walking toward you was of the human kind. On one of those winter evenings I was sitting in my kitchen enjoying a hot bowl of pea soup, (one of my favorites) when the phone rang. The news that reached my ears stunned my brain, and for a few moments I felt my consciousness wobble. The caller informed me that earlier that day François had dropped dead on the street. They had
no further information at this point. This just didn’t seem possible. François was only in his forties, and had always seemed so vibrant, ﬁlled with energy, in league with the gods themselves! How could this be? But it was. François had dropped dead on one of those cold and snowy New York City streets, the causes being unknown. Like so many things in life, this was another mystery, with questions that went begging for answers but returned with an empty cup. As often happens when any kind of leader dies, others rush in to try to ﬁll the void. Occasionally, the right kind of person is able to keep things going, but this would not be one of those occasions. No one was going to ﬁll François’s shoes, and the glue that had held the school together quickly came apart. The ﬂedgling army of enlightened soldiers who were going to help François build his school and liberate mankind went their separate ways, and before too long melted into the anonymous masses whose ignorant souls they were one day going to save. As for me, I didn’t like the idea of my spiritual quest ending so abruptly, so despite François’s comments about Jane Roberts, I wrote her another letter, and she agreed to let me attend one of her classes in Elmira, New York, during the ﬁrst week of January, 1972. Life has a funny way of opening doors for us when we least expect it, and while there was nothing funny about the death of François, doors were being opened. There was just one pressing question that had to be answered sooner rather than later: where the heck was Elmira anyway?
Detail from Oba’s drawing: Saturn’s Leash
Affirmations, Anyone? by Anet Paulina
The Crane and the US Dollar, by Jean-Baptiste Duret
he use of afﬁrmations for making desired changes is highly touted in many self-help and New Age circles. Craft a positive statement describing what you want and repeat it often (perhaps in writing), so the advice goes, and it will manifest like magic! Unfortunately, those who have tried to alter their beliefs or habits by repeating afﬁrmations rarely have much success. The idea seems valid; why doesn’t it work more often? Think of it this way: Is it likely that multibillionaire Bill Gates afﬁrms to himself daily that he is ﬁnancially prosperous? Does fashion model Kate Moss stay thin by repeating afﬁrmations that she is slender? Although we will never know for sure the daily habits of such folks, I would hazard to guess that it never crosses their mind to afﬁrm to themselves something they actually believe is true. Although afﬁrmations sound good in theory (no pun intended), typically all you are doing is reminding yourself of — and reinforcing — what you truly believe, which usually is the opposite of the afﬁrmation. What “counts” in reality creation is the energy projected, not the words spoken. Your mind or your mouth may be saying the positive phrase, but your energy is projecting the reverse. There are, however, ways to use afﬁrmations that are likely to have beneﬁcial results. Personally I use afﬁrmations the way French women dress: rather than trying to combat traits I don’t like about myself, I focus on enhancing those I prefer. For example, presently it would not be a good idea for me to use the afﬁrmation, “I have ﬁnancial abundance.” When I make that statement, my energy plummets because I don’t truly believe it. Fortunately there are positive aspects of my ﬁnancial situation that I actually do believe and can focus on and reinforce. For instance, I have never been destitute — regardless of circumstances, I’ve always had enough resources to meet my needs. Also I have a lifelong history of accumulating very little debt and promptly paying off any debts I do incur. When I lose sight of these facts and descend into unproductive worry about ﬁnances, it helps to remind myself of the positive things I know to be true. “I always have more than enough material resources” is an appropriate afﬁrmation that helps me relax my energy. It doesn’t necessarily imply that I have a lot of money in the bank; what is important to me is that my basic needs are met.
Another reminder I sometimes use is, “I don’t do debt.” As an afﬁrmation, this phrase likely would outrage the New Age police on two counts: it deals with a negative subject (debt) and includes the dreaded word no (albeit in contraction form). But regardless of the rules, when I say this phrase, my energy feels more positive. It reminds me that regardless of my income or other circumstances, I somehow manage to stay largely debt-free. This would be a good place to mention that the oft-repeated dictum, “the Universe doesn’t understand the word no,” is unsubstantiated and, quite frankly, absurd. Well, perhaps the Universe doesn’t understand the concept of a negative (never having had an in-depth conversation with the Universe, I cannot say for sure), but humans certainly do! If we didn’t, then so many of us would not have taken on negative beliefs about ourselves and others based on what we were told as children. If my example afﬁrmations sound suspiciously like they cross over into the area of appreciation, it’s because they do. Rather than opposing something I’ve created and don’t prefer (lack of ﬁnancial abundance), I recognize and focus on closely related creations that I genuinely appreciate. One possible productive use of afﬁrmations in the traditional sense (afﬁrming that you have what you want, even though you don’t yet believe it) is when a person is in a state of heightened suggestibility, such as during a hypnosis session or energy psychology procedure. Under these circumstances, people tend to relax their energy and rigid belief structures enough to allow new information to inﬁltrate. If the person is in a neutral state and doesn’t project opposing energy when the phrase is heard or vocalized, it may have the desired effect. In determining whether to use an afﬁrmation in your typical state of waking consciousness, the key is to notice how you feel when you say the phrase. If your energy feels more relaxed or buoyant, the phrase is a good candidate for an afﬁrmation. If the feeling generated is neutral or “ﬂat,” the statement is unlikely to have much effect. And if the potential afﬁrmation evokes negative feelings, waste no time in banishing it to the Universe — which, of course, cannot comprehend a negative and therefore will be safe. (smile)
Mirror, Mirror: Who Am I? by Susan Clemons
ho am I? That’s a question I ﬁnd myself asking fairly often these days. I look in the mirror and don’t have the slightest idea of who I’m looking at sometimes. Do I even have an identity anymore? All the energy I’ve put into looking at myself, looking at beliefs, conquering fears, and changing perspectives through trust and acceptance with the hope of transforming myself into the ultimate conscious creator, where has it gotten me and what am I now? It seems easier to think of who I’m not than who I am. I’m not the little kid who dreamed of an exciting future any more. I’m not the 20 something who saw my whole life ahead of me, or the 30 something who wanted to establish myself, or even the 40 something who felt I was ﬁnally coming into my own. I can ﬁnd plenty of labels and boxes to put myself into but none of them seem to ﬁt even though friends and acquaintances seem anxious to pop me, along with themselves, into the box of the day. This one’s too tight, that
?I mA ohW :rorriM ,rorriM
one’s too tall, another one’s full of lumps and bumps, and that one over there is just a tad too soft. And no amount of fancy paper and pretty ribbons applied to the outer package changes my mind at all. When I look back on the dazzling array of roles I’ve played in my life and then forward to the possibility of new roles I might try I think, “will the real me please stand up?” Yes, that’s it, ﬁnding the “real” me seems to be the quest of the day. Is there such a thing as a “real” me? Does such an animal exist? I stand in front of the mirror twisting and turning looking at myself from every angle possible to see if there’s one that I’ve missed that will reveal the magic answer. No such luck. A myriad of past and present me’s seem to appear and disappear in a kaleidoscope of images. I turn to the closet and ﬁnd almost any role I want waiting for me to step into it, but no “real” me to be found anywhere. Just a pinch of my mother here, a sprinkling of my father there and maybe some of grandpa over there. Nothing recognizable as me at all.
Maybe I’m looking in the wrong place. Maybe memories, mirrors, and my closet simply aren’t where I’ll ﬁnd the answer. What’s left? Words. All those labels ﬂoating through my head bouncing around like little steel balls in a pin ball machine gone wild. And there I am frantically batting the ﬂippers trying to keep all the balls going at once so I can rack up more and more points. Suddenly I realize the roles and labels can’t be me if I’m the one manning the ﬂippers. So where do I go from here? Thinking of labels and boxes I ﬁnally wonder if maybe the problem is with nouns and objects. When I think about what’s real about me, there are no nouns, no solid things or objects, no tidy little categories to ﬁt myself into. So I try letting go of all those shiny little nouns to see what’s left. As I watch the last little steel ball disappear down the slot I realize verbs and processes are what’s left. I feel a little awkward and uncomfortable just standing there without all that “stuff”. It’s oddly silent to begin with. No bells and whistles going off, no ding ding ding as the points rack up, just that funny little clacking sound of now useless ﬂippers until I realize there’s nothing left to ﬂip. With a little practice I begin to realize there’s movement here but nothing solid. Yes, this feels better. No boxes, no steel balls, and best of all no ﬂippers, no points to worry about either. How funny, I discover that my life isn’t out there in front of me any more at all and there’s nothing to manipulate. Everything is right here inside me. Boundaries come unstuck and start ﬂowing into whole movements that are the living pattern of my days. I ﬁnd I’m suddenly free, creative, and uniquely individual, a multiplicity of talents, qualities and personality formed out of the intimate bonds of a lifetime of growth and experience. No longer some “thing” to be pointed to, measured, or manipulated, but simply the ongoing awareness of the experience of self created, self directed, self expression. So… this is what it feels like to be the “real” me, a conscious creator continually in the process of creating myself anew each moment of the day. Free to make myself what I will with each new choice I give myself, taking responsibility and credit for the whole of it. I think I like this me.
Drawings by Susan Clemons
Stop-point, photography by Jean-Baptiste Duret
Harshsociations by Jean-Baptiste Duret
e all have automatic associations which we don’t even think of. I once had a discussion with a friend where I used an analogy of paintings hung on our walls. Some of them we have owned for such a long time that we don’t even remember the time when they weren’t there. Sometimes, the walls are so crowded that we don’t remember there are walls or even other paintings hanging underneath — not to mention all that dust we don’t usually bother to clean, blurring the boundaries of the frames. In a way they have become part of the wall and oftentimes are obstructing the windows. The motivation to write this article was triggered by a dream which was so intense, in which I was so involved, that I woke up as excited and irritated as I would have been in real life. This dream was an exploration of a situation at work and beside the information that was offered in the dream, what struck me most was what I discovered when I began to observe myself and my responses to it. Surprisingly, I realized I was fascinated by aspects of work in my life, but I wouldn’t admit it to myself. Work is so “not fun”! How could one ﬁnd “work” attractive? At the mere mention of “work”, I have this feeling of hopelessness and I become fatigued and exhausted. Using my analogy, I decided to have a closer look at my wall and its paintings. At ﬁrst glance there are so many of them that I can’t identify one precisely, and furthermore the light feels dim. An impression of disharmony arises from the proximity of so many different colors, seemingly from different pictures, but with that dust, who can tell Something at the surface attracts my attention. What would happen if I were to direct more light in its direction? Oh! one of my favorites of the moment: “At work people are so demanding and they are never satisﬁed and always changing their mind”… this one is a rough ballpoint pen caricature, one that I used to reﬁne during the meetings. I realize I’m scribbling it on another picture, the planning chart of “a neverending project abruptly terminated”... I remembered that it was a gift for my ﬁrst day a few years ago. I wasn’t even there for that project, this painting isn’t directly related to what I’m dealing with at work now! Why did I put it on my wall? Let’s see if I can remove it. It’s still moving, not as stuck as the others… Oh! another one beneath it… this one looks like a situation from my ﬁrst work experience, it didn’t go so well either: “I’m a victim, they wouldn’t help me, I can’t possibly ask questions for fear of appearing dumb or incompetent”. What is it doing here, I don’t like it. Ah! Look at what is hid-
ing underneath… one of my successful projects, people were very satisﬁed with what I was doing. It’s half covered by yet another one, rather unpleasant: “I’m thrust in the middle of a pool of indecision, the water is murky and I’m bumping into a big deﬂated rubber duck while the vicious swimming instructor uses his pole to keep my head under the surface.” I didn’t know I had so many variations in my collection of victim-mood pictures! I could go on and on for quite a long time, ﬁnding nicely executed miniatures and triptychs, even those old ones from my childhood called “holidays with my aunts” (1, 2 and 3), an uninteresting project at school titled “connect the hotspots dots”, and a training course in an astronomical department, “counting stars”… Long story short, I had been putting together not only paintings from my own experiences but also paintings from others, not directly connected to me. The overall view allows us to ﬁnd those grouped by a common theme and at times they are appealingly organized and the pattern is familiar, but we can also ﬁnd hastily forgotten heaps in a dark corner of the room. For a few months I have been moving in the direction of incorporating more fun and movement in my job. I want to be my own employer, and I want to incorporate more of my own direction in my working life. A look at these paintings on my wall and it appears so daunting that I don’t feel the urge to accomplish it quickly. I have spent so much time piling up all those paintings that I now have a hard time remembering under which one(s) are the door and the windows. If changing my job is a step toward this realization, it also means having to comply with other people, different rules, would I know what to do? How to appear? A world of fakeness…
on’t be so harsh with yourself, Take a break!
An unexpected picture popping up out of this crowded wall of harshsociations reminds me of the beneﬁts of interrupting the inner drums of self beating. We can use any moment as a stop-point and remove ourselves from this cacophony to evaluate the situation more comfortably. From this place of inner calm, the intensity of my responses to these associations shows me that there is a tremendous amount of energy readily available for the realization of what I want to create. I don’t need to peel off all these layers of paintings ﬁrst, just be aware of them and their position and (re)move those that are blocking or obstructing the direction I want to follow.
Divinity by Robert M. Kreegier (a.k.a “Reese")
he world as any of us knows it, whether we be Christian, Buddhist or Atheist, is ripe with color, depth and beauty. As we grow up, we are shown by someone we love how to identify the color we see: “This wood is brown,” or “This paper is white,” or “This banana is yellow,” for example. However, and hypothetically, what if someone wasn’t taught the names of these colors or even that there were different classiﬁcations of color and for whatever reasons, this individual remained ignorant of these categorizations? If I were to tell this individual, “I see reds and blues and greens,” they would retort and say or perhaps think, “I do not see these things, they are not real to me, I do not believe in them.” To me these colors exist and for this hypothetical individual they also exist, however they have not learned to identify or classify them, or that they should even make an attempt at such. If I were to then point to an object and say, “This apple is the color red, just as this ﬁre truck is red and this ﬁre hydrant,” they would be able to make the associations and begin to identify what they had seen all along. From there they would say or perhaps think, “Before I did not believe these colors existed, but I see now they have been here all along. I can identify what I know now I have always seen.”
In the same way we may ask an Atheist, as an example, “Do you believe in God?” and they would say or perhaps think, “No, I do not see God nor do I see any proof of God.” In the same manner as the individual who did not believe in color, it is not that the Atheist cannot see any proof of God, it is just that they have not learned to identify the tangible stuff of God. It can be said of these matters, that everything is ﬁrst subjective. It is only when we learn to identify, that these mysterious and elusive subjective feelings become objective and tangible things. Just as color, tone and beauty surround every aspect of our lives, so too does divinity. The trouble is that with something as subjective as God, it becomes very hard or impossible to point to something and say: “This is God,” or “This is spirit,” or “This is divine.” And so, early in our lives, someone inﬂuential, almost always our parents, point to a religion with its doctrine and say, “This is God,” or “This is divinity.” With nothing else to point to to explain the feeling of God, parents point to their religion. In doing so, these wondrous feelings of spirituality and connection with the world are mapped around the pre-existing beliefs put forward by the doctrine at hand. Unfortunately, in many cases, those doctrines make attempts to hold the individual’s beliefs fast within their rigid framework… and so the individual must never waiver from the doctrine with which they’ve been brought up. This is an extreme example, of course, for many individuals switch religions due to changes in preference or perhaps marital purposes.
There are occasions, however, where we may point out coincidences and reﬂections of our inner nature and being. I cannot prove spirit in the same way I cannot prove color or the sensation you derive from color. I can only point out occurrences of that wonderful aspect of ourselves that we say is spirit in the same way that I would point out examples of the color blue. Tell me what you feel when you see an oak tree. Tell me what you feel as you walk barefoot through sandy shores along the Gulf of Mexico. What is it that gives meaning to art? How did you feel as you read Great Expectations1? I could very well ask you to prove those feelings to me. But I know I cannot ask this because I know they are spiritual feelings. They are subjective feelings and are not bound by the current limitations of physicality. It is that very sense of belonging and feeling that is the god inside everything. It is that sense of connection as you wander through a forest and ﬁnd a beautiful ﬂower among the tall trees. It is the sense of beauty and wonder as you sit at the edge of a ﬁeld and listen to the crickets chirp while enjoying the dance of ﬁreﬂies. That is God.
Reese is a life-long student of philosophy, life and spirit. Growing up in a spiritual family, and surrounded by a library of books with subjects as diverse as the Seth Material, Quantum Physics, Plato, and Grey's Anatomy as well as various economic and government texts and a plethora of novels, Reese has had ample chance to learn the art of modesty… though the degree of this he shows is still up for debate! Read his blog at: http://silicaterra.blogspot.com
Verily, if you can be Atheist and still recognize the color and wonder ever-present in your life, then you must also recognize the very divinity of your soul.
photography by Reese
And it is only when you forget that sense of connection or ignore it completely that the world seems cynical, plane, stale, clinical and boring. It is only in this dire state that wars are fought, for it is in this state that the individual yearns with sad groans from the very pit of their stomach for a sense of beauty and splendor and the true freedom that the pure acceptance of experience brings.
No matter what your belief structure, you feel emotion and connection with the world. I can only hope that people will begin to feel God and divinity directly, feel their world directly, interpret it on their own and come to their own conclusions. Perhaps with open minds we can come together and share our experiences and begin to try and identify experiences that correlate and then, perhaps, we can all begin to identify the real god that lives inside us all and truly begin to know that we are ﬁrstly spiritual creatures with a deep connection to everything around us… for even though spirituality is subjective, it is that wondrous subjectivity that ties together and enlightens the objective world we live in.
1 by Charles Dickens (note from the editor).
Illustration by Chris Brown
WOW! He’s Got Great Definition-s by William Marshall
o, I’m not talking about the guy that goes to the gym eight times a week. I’m going to talk about the deﬁnitions we ﬁnd in our dictionary and how they relate to our beliefs, which in turn affect our perception. If you have been reading my articles you know that I believe that our perception creates our reality – all of it, and since our beliefs heavily inﬂuence our perception it seemed logical to address them. What do deﬁnitions have to do with beliefs? Just about everything. The trouble with beliefs is that there are surface beliefs, mid-level beliefs and root beliefs. The root belief is the Big Lebowski, while the mid-level beliefs and the surface beliefs attach themselves to the Big Lebowski and act as inﬂuences. We can look at gravity, time, health and aging as examples of root beliefs. We take them
as absolutes and therefore do not question them. Each one has near limitless inﬂuences. For instance, one belief that inﬂuences our belief in gravity is that falling one foot is not going to hurt as much as falling thirty feet. A belief that inﬂuences the root belief of time is that time moves more quickly when we are having fun than if we were watching the second hand go round. A belief that inﬂuences the root belief in health is that we can be invaded by infectious microbes. In this case our root belief in health holds that health is fragile and must be defended. It has occurred to few of us that health is our birthright and that it is only our beliefs that weaken that birthright. One of our greatest root beliefs is our deﬁnition of who we are… humans. Other beliefs that have inﬂuenced that root belief is evolu-
tion, Darwinism, science and religion to name but a few. The dictionary deﬁnes human as having human form or characteristics. That doesn’t say much. The human form is pretty straightforward, but characteristics is chock full of beliefs that are inﬂuences on how we perceives ourselves and therefore create our reality. What might you draw as your experience if you hold as truth the inﬂuencing belief that humans are a blight on nature? My guess is that you will experience evidence of that belief everywhere. Or, consider the belief that humans are nothing more than a cosmic coincidence, an accidental mutation of a few Neanderthal genes, who in turn were a result of a few random gene mutations of Australopithecus. With these inﬂuencing beliefs our only power lies in the fact that we have larger brains than those who came before us. There is no real power in beliefs like that.
Look at the layers of belief like a tree. The inﬂuencing belief in the moment can be likened to a leaf. We work our way backward to the twig upon which it grows and then to the branch. The branch leads to the core belief, which can be likened to the trunk of the tree, and then the trunk will lead us to the root. Consciousness is a mid-level belief that Seth has called core beliefs. We believe that consciousness exists and is contained within the brain and is actually generated by the brain. With these inﬂuencing beliefs it is no wonder that we ignore all the indications that say otherwise. Out of body experiences and brief glimpses through time become unreal and so imagination and therefore awareness is stiﬂed. You get what you believe and I am not talking about believing through thought. You can’t say to yourself, “I believe I can walk through a wall,” and then walk through the wall. The root belief is still solid and that IS the root belief; matter is solid. Change our deﬁnitions of ourselves and of consciousness and everything else will fall in place. Nearly all that we experience can be traced back to those two root beliefs. Inﬂuencing beliefs can always be traced back to the root belief, but we must pay attention to what we do in the moment, for the inﬂuencing belief can only be identiﬁed in that moment. This is why it is so important to pay attention to the NOW. What we do leads us to the inﬂuencing belief and from there we can climb down the ladder, ﬁrst to the core belief and then to the root belief. Look at the layers of belief like a tree. The inﬂuencing belief in the moment can be likened to a leaf. We work our way backward to the twig upon which it grows and then to the branch. The branch leads to the core belief, which can be likened to the trunk of the tree, and then the trunk will lead us to the root. We operate within a forest of such metaphoric trees, for we live in a belief driven reality. It is part of our blueprint. Let’s look at the root belief of aging and how the metaphor of a tree will inﬂuence how we age. The deﬁnition of the root belief is to grow old. We age from the moment we are born, but not all of us reach old age. It is the aging process that I am concerned with here, for aging is a process and that process is completely inﬂuenced by all the beliefs that form the trunk, the branches, the twigs and the leaves. All of us experience the various inﬂuences we individually hold as beliefs attached to the root. You know what yours are. Mine are probably similar, the differences being a matter of degree. The branches of the root belief of aging and of health interweave and affect each other, for our forest is dense. If one of your beliefs is that you are too old to kayak down a level four whitewater then you will not experience that, even though you may have noticed that some folks your age have experienced a level four kayak adventure. You probably couldn’t do it even if you tried because you have solidiﬁed your inﬂuencing belief into a truth.
You might say that individual has worked out all their lives and is a product of good genes (another inﬂuencing belief). Your thinking is inﬂuenced by your beliefs. I hold many of the beliefs that you hold regarding aging, but possibly unlike you I have always believed that you are as old as you feel. How I feel in any given moment, however, is also inﬂuenced by my beliefs attached to the root beliefs of aging and health. The difference now is that I have begun to identify those beliefs and the identiﬁcation of them has allowed me to choose differently in each moment. They are beginning to loose their hold as fact and truth. I am 63 years-old. I run on average 40 miles a week and will run a marathon in October. (I’ve run over 40 of them). As a 40 year-old I ran a 15:23 5K (4:57/mile pace) and recently ran a 21:19 5K (6:57/mile pace). The difference in time is in part a result of my inﬂuencing beliefs about aging. There are many others, but I’m sticking with aging here. I have a belief that me as a 63 year-old cannot run as fast as the me I was at 40. I believe that my body cannot withstand the same training that I did at 40 and that at 63 I will amplify the body effects of less training. At the same time that I hold these limiting beliefs I also hold the belief that my age will not limit me from doing what I want to do. I want to run, and within limits I don’t care how fast I run. It’s all interwoven. My resting heart rate is 55 and my maximum heart rate is 170. My body responds to my beliefs about my body. At 40 my resting heart rate was 40 and my max was 210. I have a belief that with a max heart rate of 170 I cannot run as fast as someone who has a max heart rate of 210. Inﬂuencing beliefs reside within every moment we create. I won’t get in to how preserved my body looks or doesn’t look. I’ll let those who know me decide for themselves. It is, after all, their individual perceptions of me. One last point. What we consider to be facts are real, but they are real for each of us due to beliefs that we hold as absolutes. When you see a fact as a fact and not as a strongly held belief you will not be able to alter the fact. Find the inﬂuencing belief, follow it to its root belief, accept it and you just might ﬁnd that the fact isn’t quit the fact you once believed. Happy hunting.
Keep a green tree alive in your heart and perhaps a singing bird will come. Chinese proverb
photography Tracy Marshall
The Donkey Virus Working With Beliefs In The Dreamstate
by Emmy van Swaaij
The Donkey Virus!
I’m seated behind a computer in the living room at my parents’ house. It’s an Apple computer, such a very expensive bigscreened one that my parents don’t own in the waking state —they have a PC. I installed a “succeed for your math test! Practice program” and chat with Jen and Ellen about dreams I just had.
“Yeah, right!” I replied, “And then I’ll get nothing done on time, and the test! The Math test! (notice the capital there) What about that?! I have no discipline whatsoever… (BEEEEEP lots of negative self talk here, hurtful for the eyes and heart, especially my own.)”
Then while I’m chatting with both Jen and Ellen a huge donkey appears on my screen, covering the whole screen.
ert-Jan had just left for a fresh work day and I was fretting: Shall I get dressed now? Shall I stay in bed a bit longer? Oh it’s probably disappointing for Gert-Jan that I didn’t have breakfast with him this morning, and now I think of it… Geez I’m so lazy! My eyelids however were telling me a totally different story: “Please Em, a little bit more sleep would do us a lot of good!”.
Of course, my eyelids won the discussion. They laughed at my proposal to jog, and my legs did the same. “That can wait” they said, “You can run after you’ve slept a bit more.” I said to myself that I would sleep in till 10, no later and so negotiated a bit with the two voices inside me. At 9:59 I woke up naturally (I hadn’t set an alarm clock) remembering the dream I just had. This dream presented me with such valuable insight that I’m glad I chose to listen to my body’s protest and not to that other voice that was tucked in with feelings of artiﬁcial guilt.
Donkey, photography Tracy Marshall
It’s an animated donkey like you would expect in those very noisy children’s cartoons they show at cartoon network for instance. It wears a hat (don’t you just adore the humor in the dream state!) and I can’t use any chat program any longer whatsoever. It’s a virus that was attached to that free practice program I had downloaded. I start fretting: dang it! Now I can’t have a conversation with Ellen and Jen and the computer is probably ruined! It’s my parents’ computer! What will they say?!
Meanwhile the donkey keeps running on the screen and I feel so dumb for having installed that program. I know that there are many people who have made a similar mistake but I feel so stupid to have done the same thing. My mom enters the room and I tell her feeling utterly embarrassed that I installed that program and now yes, there is this virus running crazy.
What I like so much about this dream is its clarity and also the sense of humor! A virus is not dangerous as long as you don’t activate it. Of course this virus in the dream relates to my beliefs attached to maths and my capacities of passing that test or not. You would only download such a program to practice your maths with that title: “Be sure you pass this test” when inwardly you are convinced you are not able to do so.
I realize that I have a laptop, a smaller version of this computer, that I could use and be ‘safe’ to work with some things, but I can’t ignore this situation. It has to be solved as well. It would be a good temporary solution, but this problem needs to be fixed.
I was fretting like crazy the last couple of days, so much so that I was in tears about the whole thing. The dream points out that even in a stable system (Apple) it can happen that you “activate” programs (beliefs) that are not so healthy for you. The separated computer, the laptop represents an alternate self, a self that is more ﬂexible and portable.
The donkey keeps running around and making horrible sounds, singing songs to stress how dumb I was to install this. He also states the thing: If I don’t remove the program in some days, it will be there forever, but “Haha!”, it shouts, “You don’t know how to do that, well do you?!” I realize that I might have to get some help from an outside office, feel embarrassed to have to contact them, but then I see that I can delete the program. It takes effort, but I can do it myself. As I try to select the programs and hit delete I have trouble seeing them clearly. I hit delete (after searching for them for a long time, all the time that donkey would run around on the screen, making it even more difficult to see clearly. Then I start to worry: “What if I think I deleted them, but they are still running in the background somewhere…”
% Night Visitor Upon sweet brow of crystal moorings, Deep furrows nestling there Doth beckon tender velvet kissings; Only a breath to linger, for a face so fair. And whilst you float in weightless slumber, Wishing — waiting but for a moment to gaze; Then leaves on silent wings, As quickly as she came…
-Sheila MacGregor- ¢
Find Sheila’s book of poetry Quiet Reflections at http://tinyurl.com/Quiet-Reflections
The Apple in the dream was a home-computer. This I think connects to physical life. It is that part of me that is physical at the moment. My consciousness does not only reside in the Apple at my parents place, this physical life, but also outside of it. Portions of my consciousness work outside that framework. The donkey is an excellent representation of how I view myself (the stereotypical donkey-with-hat picture), as “Dumb with maths”. By focusing and letting representation/manifestation of that belief get all my attention, I can’t work around it and de-activate it (this is a better word for it than delete, you don’t delete beliefs, you just deactivate them). The manifestation of that belief blurs my sight quite literally. At the end of the dream I fret that I have not really found the root of the problem yet, that donkey was jumping around like crazy and I had so much trouble focusing that I’m not sure if I tackled the problem. The advice of the dream is: Don’t focus on the donkey. Also it says to me: Ok, you might not be able to de-activate that belief in time, before that big test on Monday, but choose to use a different computer altogether (that ﬂexible laptop) to make the test. Choose a totally different approach and don’t buy into easy-ﬁxes (as the program in the dream was, help me quick!) but be gentle to yourself. Later on you can try to de-activate that virus, asking advice from others who worked through similar issues and most of all: Don’t be ashamed that you activated it. The Donkey just upsets me way too much at this moment. It will press all my buttons and make me blurry and unable to work with the computer at all. (So this “fear of not passing that math-test” really makes it difﬁcult for me to focus on things I do cherish and ﬁnd important, as the conversations with Ellen and Jen) I studied yesterday for the test using a new approach, carefully beginning right at the beginning of maths and was able to use that “other” computer that didn’t have the Donkey in it in the ﬁrst place. It’s not a quick ﬁx. It takes a lot of time, beginning with math problems I can handle, building conﬁdence there and then slowly working towards more difﬁcult issues that are more easily solved because I gave myself the time to learn the basics. My approach before this change was: try and understand those difﬁcult problems, demanding from myself to get it in one try, re-activating: See!? How dumb you are! So I’m glad I was able to change that!
by Gunn Hole
t was one of those perfect mornings. I had a day off work, I was alone at home and decided to have a long and relaxing breakfast in the garden. Lady was around as usual, snifﬁng or just lying by my feet, enjoying the moment. The distant roaring from the local waterfall and the birds happily singing just added to the peace and harmony. Our neighbourhood was empty; adults were at work, and kids had gone to school. We were alone, Lady and me, and that was perfectly ok. I was deep into reading an article when I suddenly heard some weird barking coming from her. No sign of the dog. I called her name, but she didn't respond. Searching around the house, checking the neighbours’ gardens; no dog. I decided to wait for awhile, she usually shows up quickly. Ten minutes later: barking again, and it was now obvious that something was wrong. Her sounds immediately woke up my instincts of rescuing. She was in some kind of pain. Her barking led me in the right direction, but she seemed to be invisible. Then I suddenly noticed the white fur of her nose, under the last step of the stairs leading to the basement. Oh my! She must have smelled something interesting, and made herself almost ﬂat as a pancake, and then forced herself behind the stairs.
I grabbed her and tried to pull her out again. Impossible. The opening was way too narrow. I became worried. Yes, she is a dog, but feels almost like a small child. This could be a traumatic experience for her, especially if it lasted. Nobody was around to help us right now so what could I do?… I was about to leave for a hammer in order to remove one of the steps. Trying to lift the staircase seemed quite unrealistic but in desperation I made an attempt. To my surprise, it worked! It was not heavy at all! Wow! I lifted the whole staircase! Then I made it lean on my knee and gently pulled Lady out of her prison with my free hand. What a relief! Hugs and happy jumps! You wonder if there were heartbeats? The answer is “yes!” for both of us. Later I went back with Lady to check out what had happened. I also tried to lift the staircase again. What? It was almost impossible. A small movement was all I could do. I have heard about people getting unexpected energy and strength in dangerous situations but never experienced it before. It felt like a quite natural thing. Still our mind and body work well together, and so do our basic instincts. What a relief in these modern days! Our Creator has truly made us in the smartest way.
Now she was stuck there.
She must have smelled something interesting, and made herself almost ﬂat as a pancake, and then forced herself behind the stairs.
TRUST by Sharon Mendenhall
In continuation of Sharon’s humorous exploration of issues with Trust, started in the sixth issue of Wisp…
here’s a little known fact about Trust that I would like to share with you. Everyone thinks that since Trust can be such an airhead at times she’s unable to hold a job outside of the CMPC help line. But that isn’t true. Trust not only has a full time job, she’s also a successful stock broker. And she’s such a good stock broker, that accounts are named after her.
There’s a rumor going around, that if you put your stock in Trust, you’re guaranteed some high dividends. At least I think that’s what the rumor says. Could be, where your trust lies, you manifest your reality. That stock business confuses the hell out of me. I let Trust handle it for me.
The First Shift Bank of Trust The First Shift Bank of Trust is open for business. This is about the best news since they announced sliced bread. Of course, it didn’t take very long to build the bank, because it only consists of a huge parking lot, and one ATM. As with most ﬁduciary institutions that are concerned about image, the First Shift Bank of Trust has opted to appear the same as most well known banks. This means that the ATM machine looks like most every other ATM machine on the blue planet. It also includes buttons written in Braille, as a reward for any blind person that is able to drive up to the machine without destroying it. You can get your own plastic card with magnetic stripe, sixteen-digit number, expiration date, and personal PIN. PIN means, Personal Identiﬁcation Number, in bankspeak. You get to make up any ole number you want as identiﬁcation. Personal PIN could also mean Put In Number, because that is exactly what you do after you put in the card, but at the First Shift Bank of Trust it also means, Put In No-doubt. This machine doesn’t care who you are, so there is no video camera to take your picture, and keep it on record just in case you suddenly decide to wrap a chain around it, hook it to the bumper of your car, and drag that motha’ back to your house for convenience. In fact, I don’t think this machine is even bolted down. And it looks like it’s made of heavy metal from a distance, but when you get up to it you see that it’s pretty ﬂimsy. It does have a computer screen where you can watch a DVD during the transaction A lot of people just drive off in confusion, because they think that the machine is broke, but I guarantee ya that the machine is far from broke. You just need to work up the courage to try it.
The ﬁrst thing you have to do is get your no-doubt in order. It’s not like you have to endorse the back of your no-doubt, but there is some afﬁrming involved. There is a zone in the parking lot designated for this. This zone is not marked, so the way that you know you’re in it is by the feel, but everyone knows when they’re zoning. That’s when everything is going so right for you, that you are full of conﬁdence and know you can’t make any mistakes. You have to have a whole bunch of no-doubt to be zoning. Then you are ready to drive right up to the machine and punch in your no-doubt number that you get to make up. This machine does not spit out a piece of green paper with an attractive portrait of a very dead person on it. They keep their attractive portraits of dead people in other areas. So, no sense waiting around for anything else to happen, unless you’re really into the DVD. All you have to do is trust that Prosperity will ﬁnd you, no matter where you are, and give you some pretty nice gifts. It always works. If you have any additional questions, call Trust at the CMPC help line.
called up the CMPC help line, and asked Faith if I could talk directly to Trust, because it was about a stockbroker item, and I haven’t been able to get her at the ofﬁce. Faith patched me right through. Trust asked me what I wanted, and I told her that I thought I should be investing in some of that security software stock, since this was a really huge technical crisis that’s been rocking computers around the globe.
Transcript TRUST: I deal exclusively in common stock called S-Sense. Everyone holds 100% of S-Sense. So every one has their own S-Sense Trust Account that they may draw against at any time. Some people forget about their S-Sense Trust Account and unknowingly give away their valuable stock depending on their RESPONSE-ability. If you believe you have a margin of obligation to or for another person, then you are giving away your personal stock under the heading of personal responsibility. My job is to remind people about their unlimited Trust Account, and help them to improve their RESPOND-ability. How you respond to another person determines if you are giving away your valuable asset or not. The idea is to invest in yourself. Do you understand? ME: No. TRUST: My name is Trust to remind you to trust in yourself. Anytime you are uncertain about the status of your self-stock, call me on me. Eventually you will understand my purpose.
TRUST: No. ME: Well, thank you very much.
Well, I waited a long time for Trust to answer. I heard this little “snicker,” and then I heard it break out into a laugh that was so loud, I’m sure she was peeing her pants right there on the chair. Not only that, then I hear her whisper somethin’, and then I hear Faith laughing in the background.
Oh, by the way, I was on the MBS Transit Bus at the time, calling from my cell phone.
I called up Trust one more time just to see if I could understand this stock thing a little bit better.
ME: Let me see if I understand this correctly. I have 100% of S-Sense, and it is very valuable. Is that correct? TRUST: Yes.
ME: (Startled) Correct? Then how much would be left in my S-Sense Trust Account? TRUST: 100%
ME: So, what if I want to exchange some of that for, say, a new car? Could I do that? TRUST: Yes. ME: How would I do that? TRUST: All self-stock transactions are conducted at the First Shift Bank of Trust. ME: But at the First Shift Bank of Trust, I still have to put in some no-doubt? TRUST: Yes. ME: Where do I get the no-doubt? TRUST: You get the no-doubt from the “knowin” thought pizza runners, that use the “No In” exit door. ME: They will give me some no-doubt? TRUST: Yes. But you have to learn to recognize them. ME: So if I learn to recognize them, then they will just hand me some no-doubt as they go running by, is that correct?
ME: So if there’s always 100% in my S-Sense Trust Account why would I care about giving it away with that Respond-ability thing? TRUST: That is when you forget you have an unlimited Trust Account to access. RESPONSE-ability is putting your stock into something or someone else, while depleting your own. RESPOND-ability is learning to improve your knee-jerk responses to another, if they cause you anguish, so it will not deplete your self-stock. ME: But my self-stock can’t be depleted? TRUST: If you remember it cannot. You have to remember to access your unlimited Trust Account. That’s why you need me. I remind you to put your stock in yourself. ME: Oh? Well, that all sounds pretty good, but I’m still confused. Duh! TRUST: Call back anytime.
ME: Thank you.
ME: So if I take that to the bank, then how do I get the car?
TRUST: You’re welcome.
TRUST: From the Trust Account.
ME: I just sit around, and then the new car drives itself up to my door on account of I have trust? Ha, ha.
TRUST: You’re welcome.
Well, I don’t know what she said, but I started to feel a little insecure, so I just hung up. I didn’t want Acceptance to get on the line, because I could only guess what she would have done.
I was feeling uneasy about my previous conversation with Trust, which consisted of her just laughing. I thought I would try calling her at the ofﬁce and getting some clariﬁcation regarding what she does as a Stockbroker. That stock stuff really confuses me. Anyway, this is a transcript of our conversation. I keep reading it over and over, but I still can’t make heads or tails.
ME: I hope so. Is there a charge for this service?
ME: Goodbye. TRUST: Goodbye. Click.
Account-ability Ring, ring.
TRUST: Self-Stock Trust Account. May I help you?
ME: It’s me again. I have just one more question.
TRUST: Self-Stock Trust Account. May I help you?
TRUST: You’re supposed to be dancing.
ME: This is me. Okay, I’ve done all that. I collected some no-doubt from the “knowin” thought pizza runners, stopped brieﬂy to zone, then deposited my no-doubt in the First Shift Bank of Trust ATM, watched the DVD for a few minutes, and then drove off. Go ahead and deduct that from my non-deplete-able Trust Account. When can I expect my new car?
ME: I am. But I want to know one thing. When my new car gets here, what will that prove?
TRUST: That depends on Proba Billy.
TRUST: It will prove that you have account-ability. ME: Account-ability? TRUST: Yes, account-ability for every thing that happens for you. ME: Kewl. Dancin’ now. See. (Wiggle, wiggle.) TRUST: Goodbye. ME: Goodbye.
ME: Who the hell is Proba Billy? Is he driving my new car?
TRUST: We will discuss that later. ME: So what should I do now? TRUST: I suggest you do a Bun Dance.
Do Da Dance
ME: How do I do that?
Prance, prance, do da dance.
TRUST: Dance around and shake your bun, and forget completely about the car. The new car will honk when it gets to your driveway. Worrying about it is detrimental to the process.
Do da dance of circumstance. Have some fun! Shake your bun!
ME: Are you sure? This all sounds rather silly.
TRUST: Trust me.
ME: Okay. Dancin’ now!
Prance, prance, do da dance.
Do da dance of significance.
Have some fun! Shake your bun!
Big expanse, To enhance, The finance, Or inheritance! Prance, prance, do da dance.
Do da dance of happenstance. Have some fun! Shake your bun! Competence! Affluence!
Dance around and shake your bun, and forget completely about the car. The new car will honk when it gets to your driveway. Worrying about it is detrimental to the process.
Coincidence! Magnificent! Prance, prance, do da dance Do da dance to extravagance. Have some fun! Shake your bun! In a trance, Exuberance, Utterance, Ambulance! Whew!
How to access your S-Sense Trust Account
rust sent me a brochure about “How to access your S-Sense Trust Account.” There is a lot of information on Response-ability, Respond-ability, and Account-ability in little tiny print. I would copy it word for word for you, but I can’t see that well. Anyway, you can call her up and order your own brochure if you want, but get a magnifying glass, because this is very much like the Cosmic Motion Picture Company’s Performance Contract with all kinds of little clauses and no pictures. I’m going to paraphrase some of it, then you get your own brochure, and see how close I am to being correct.
RESPONSE-ability: From what I can tell you don’t have any responsibility to anyone but yourself. You can tell other people to “go take a ﬂying” and it doesn’t effect your S-Sense Trust Account in the slightest. The ability part is your ability to know this. Now you can response all you want, and it won’t effect your S-Sense Trust Account either, but you must know that you are making the choice to response, because right here in bold print, it says, “you don’t have to.” So the only problem I can see with your ability to response, is when you think you do, and for some silly reason thinking you do will effect your ability to access the Trust Account. That’s about all there is in this paragraph. RESPOND-ability: From what I can tell Response-ability and Respond-ability are two different things. Respondability is like when people are throwing you fastballs, and you can decide whether to catch it and continue it into play by throwing it to ﬁrst base. The ability part comes in your ability to react, because if you’re going to get all upset, because you caught the fastball, when you wasn’t expecting it, and now it’s smarting the palms of your hands, and you’re standing on the mound crying and everything, then you’re not a league player. If you decide you want to play the ball game, then you need to be wearing your glove. If you’ve lost your glove, then you better go ﬁnd it, because your mother is not responsible for knowing where your glove is. Neither is anyone else, even the player that threw you the fastball to begin with. All league players have really nice gloves to protect themselves. Now, this is not like the school where you have to play. It says right here in bold print, “you don’t have to.” You can tell your teacher that it’s “that time of the month,” and go sit on the bench, and it won’t effect your S-Sense Trust Account either. For some silly reason, standing on the mound and bawling your eyes out, because someone threw you a fastball, will effect your ability to access the Trust Account. It also says in this paragraph, you may think you’re playing softball, and not hardball, but all the players
are playing their own game. So part of the ability comes in not getting upset because you’re standing on the mound, in your cute little gym suit, examining your manicure, thinking you’re playing softball, and some other player throws you a hardball, and breaks one of your expensive nails. Other players are not responsible for your expensive nails. Now sometimes you can get on a team where everyone is pretty nice. Those are the “Platitudes,” and they play every season. However, the “Platitudes,” are pretty boring after a while, because they are all a bunch of wimpy players. So if you want to get good at the game, where maybe you could quality for the major leagues, you could stop playing with the “Platitudes,” because you will never learn anything playing with them. But you don’t have to stop playing with the “Platitudes,” because it says right here in bold print, “you don’t have to.” So if you want to spend your time just looking good in your gym suit, that’s okay too. That’s about all there is in this paragraph. Account-ability: Now this is the big mama, wazoo part, you know how they always save the important stuff for last. Account-ability is your ability to dip right into that Trust Account, and you can’t suck it dry because it doesn’t have a bottom. All you have to know are the directions to the well, and that you have Account-ability, which means you are accountable for getting to the well by yourself. It is very important to know that you are accountable, because your mother is not responsible for knowing where the directions are. Neither is anyone else. If you lost your directions, then you are just ﬂat screwed. Now here’s the kicker, anytime you lose your directions, you can call up Trust, and Trust will give you some directions. You don’t have to do this, because it says right here in bold print, “you don’t have to.” But Trust is advising that you do, because there is no charge for this service, so what can you lose? That’s about all there is in this paragraph.
Then there’s a whole bunch of additional stuff about your self-stock, and how to be investing, but my eyes are tired. I’ll save that for another day. Don’t forget, you can always call up Trust and get your own brochure, because I am not responsible for your brochure.
The Egg by Pat Gerber “Agent M to base, Agent M to base – Hello, are you receiving?“ “We are receiving loud and clear M, please give your coordinates.” “Base, I am glad to have contact, something has gone wrong somewhere. I think I need help.” “Base to Agent; we see no problem. According to our previous investigations we have set you down in the most suitable area. After exact study of the earth and its population, we placed you in the ideal place where other beings resemble yourself. We are sure that you will soon settle in without being noticed.” “Base we have made a small mistake. The objects resembling myself do not stay in my form but change. They are known as eggs on earth and these earthly eggs contain creatures.” “We know this agent M, but our eggs also contain creatures: those of us that have been developed through years of evolution under the surface of our illustrious planet Mars.” “Accepted Base, but the creatures that leave the eggs on earth have a different shape and form than our good selves. The mother creature, known as bird, is always sitting on me, and sometimes that can be quite unpleasant. We know the details of an earthly disposal system, and my surface is becoming quite unsightly. I am surrounded by other objects known as “chicks” which is the earthly word for a bird offspring. They are in their eggs and then with no warning the egg splits and they emerge, completely naked. The mother creature then ﬂies away and brings them earthly animals to eat, mostly in the living stage. These bird creatures are almost cannibals, although they do not eat each other. They eat live animals. Await further instructions Base. “Agent M is it possible to perhaps move away from these strange earth creatures and lay in hiding until we can beam you back?” “Base, birds do not live on the surface or even beneath the surface, as we are accustomed. They have large appendices on each side of their body which move vertically at high speeds rhythmically enabling them to ﬂoat on the air. For this reason their habitat is in something known as trees, tall vegetable compositions reaching high into the sky. At the moment Agent M is situated half way up one of these trees and it could be that something may break if I try to leave the place where I am. I think it is known as nest, if I remember rightly from my studies on our illustrious planet of Mars.” “Agent M this is correct. Somewhere a mistake has been made. Bird has been confused with human. Have you seen human species up to now?”
Eggletons Hunt, photography by Tracy Marshall
“Base I sometimes hear them from far below.” “M would it be possible to roll out of the tree when they pass by in the hope that a human might break your fall. You can then try to communicate with human.” “Will do base, I must wait until bird looks again for living food.” Meanwhile beneath the trees in the forest Jill and her brother Colin were taking a walk through the trees collecting chestnuts for their games. “Ow, that hurt” said Jill. “What’s the matter Jill, did you stumble?” “No something hit me on the head. There is it on the ground.” “Well it’s only an egg Jill, couldn’t have hurt that much. I wonder what bird laid that one, it’s bright red. I have never seen a red egg before.” “Perhaps it’s not an egg Colin, let’s have a closer look. It feels quite warm on the outside. Perhaps it is going to hatch.” “Put me down at once” said a squeaky voice coming from the egg. Jill dropped the egg immediately. “Colin the egg spoke to me.” “I heard it as well” answered Colin. And then something strange happened. Two pieces of wire grew out of the bottom of the egg and at the side of the egg another two pieces on each side. An antenna grew out of the top. “Colin what is that, I think we had better go.” and then a pleading voice came, almost crying “please do not leave me alone, I know no-one here and am completely lost.” “Jill, I think the egg is talking to us, although it looks more like Humpty Dumpty now.” “I think you are right Colin.” Jill took her courage in her hands and spoke to the egg, although she felt a bit stupid talking to an egg.
The egg answered. “I am agent M from the illustrious planet Mars and have been sent to earth as one of our agents to land on its soil. Somehow a mistake was made by our great leaders and they sent me to the place where others resemble creatures as myself. I seemed to be somewhere together with an object called bird. My base told me to leave bird and ﬁnd human. Are you human?” “Yes we are human” answered Jill, “but what do you want from us. Are you really a Martian.” “Of course I am, you can tell that by looking at me.” “Well not exactly” answered Colin, “you see we have never seen a Martian before. We have often sent space ships to land on the surface of Mars, but up to now a Martian has never been found.” “Are you disputing our existence, human?” asked M. “Of course we exist, there are just as many of us as there are humans, only we prefer to live under the surface. Our centre is in the middle of our planet, but our population is expanding and we have started to build our cities on the outer limits of the centre and are now only a thousand miles below the surface.” “Do you all look like eggs?” Asked Jill “I do not look like an egg” answered M “I am a fully grown Martian, I only have my hard surface when danger may be around.”
mistake millions of years ago and found only giant monsters with no brain walking around on the planet. It seems that things have changed, but from our planet we get signals of war and disagreements on earth. It just so happens that every one hundred earth years or so, one of us is sent here to take an eye view on things. The last time we were here it seemed that the automobile had been invented and people had started ﬂying. In the meanwhile there were two wars, so we postponed our visits until they were over. We are not sure how things are developing over the next hundred years, but as long as we receive signals we can keep an eye on things. And now I just want to return to my planet and give the report.” “How are you planning to go back.” Jill asked. “No problem, I just have to get a message to my central and they will fetch me. A mistake was made this time and the word egg shape made my people decide to put me with other eggs, so I was living in this tree in a nest until I heard you coming. My people will fetch me this evening, so I would like to hide somewhere until they come. Can you help me?” Jill and Colin had never seen a Martian before and did not really believe in them up to this moment, but they decided this Martian was a friendly sort of person, even if he did look a bit strange with his red body and three eyes. “OK Martian” they said.
“Well you are safe with us so you can show us how you really look”. Actually Colin thought he was being made a joke of, and somewhere nearby there was someone with a remote control guiding the egg or Martian.
“My name is M” was the answer.
M decided to take the chance “Well if you really say I am safe, I would prefer to change my egg shape – just a moment” and the egg started spinning on its basis, the top of the egg opened and a little red man with three eyes in his egg shaped head was looking at them. There was no mouth or ears, but Colin and Jill could still hear him speaking.”
“Thank you for your help, I also think that will be a good solution. Thank goodness you only have one moon on earth, otherwise I would have to wait a long while until the darkness would be upon me.”
“In that case M I think the best thing is that you hide in this tree trunk and wait until it becomes dark which will be in about three hours.”
“What’s he talking about Colin?” asked Jill. “Jill everyone knows that Mars has two moons.”
“Jill I think he uses telepathy” “You must really be a Martian. So what do you want on our earth. Are you going to invade us?”
“That is correct young human. Our night time is much brighter than yours. So now please leave me, I will send a message to central and they will beam me back.”
“Of course not, our ancestors made that
“Mr. Martian, can we come back this
“Who are you?” she asked
evening and watch you being beamed. We won’t tell anyone.” “Of course you can, just make sure you are here in three earth hours.” After Jill and Colin left M went to work sending a message to his planet Mars. “Hello base, are you receiving. M calling.” “Receiving loud and clear, please state your location.” “Am now on ground at the base of the tree I was sent to. Wish to leave earth when darkness arrives. Await further instructions.” “No problem M, just stay where you are, preparations are being made to beam you back as soon as the earth moon appears and night has fallen.” “Thank you base am looking forward to my return. Have had contact with earthlings, known as children. Very nice humans known as Jill and Colin. They wish to say goodbye when I leave this evening. Is permission granted.” “Permission granted M. It will be better if they do not report meeting with Martian.” “No problem base, humans do not believe in existence of extra terrestrial beings and they will be ignored.” “Very good M, your wife and children are awaiting your return eagerly.” Jill and Colin returned home but they knew they would be leaving again. When their parents thought they were sleeping they were not. They sneaked out of the house and went to the forest to the place where the Martian had been left. He was there standing next to the tree trunk, but again resembling an egg. “Why do you look like an egg again” they asked. “Don’t ask silly questions. You wrap yourself up warm when the cold night air comes. We Martians also wrap ourselves up and our egg keeps us nice and warm. So now stand back I can feel the vibrations.” Jill and Colin stood on one side together and watched. A shaft of light came through the trees focusing on M. M pulled in the wires protruding from the bottom and the side of the egg and the children watched. There was a red vibrating glow and he was gone. So if you ever take a walk through the forest and see an egg lying on the ground, don’t touch it. It might not be what you think.
“You tempestuous fool” Becky cried and slapped Gayesh soundly across the face. “Don’t give me those unspoken looks!” Gayesh sighed. “Ah, the infinite pleasure I had in mind is naught but an elusive dream.”
lizabeth read the last two lines she’d been working on to her publisher, Godfrey Pig-Littleton.
Godfrey snorted. “Elizabeth, really! You jest, I hope.” “Well, I was just trying to fit each of the four themes into one chapter, they all seemed to fit together so easily” Elizabeth replied. “Why not? Tempestuous, Elusive Dreams, Unspoken Looks, and Pleasure” “You seemed to have fit them all into two sentences, never mind a chapter. And your characters sound like characters in a play.” “Well they are characters in a play, Godfrey” replied Elizabeth. “Ham actors, that’s what I meant. Anyway, Liz” Pig-Littleton said with a slightly mischievous grin, “What if Gayesh doesn’t want his face slapped by Becky?” “What do you mean?” “What if Becky doesn’t want to slap Gayesh?” “Well, she will if I write it into the play, surely!” Elizabeth started to frown. She knew that once she invented her characters that they continued to exist in a reality of their own, being free to create their own realities in whatever probable dimension they found themselves in, but she had never really stopped to think about the ramifications of her continuing to write incidents into their lives. “Maybe Becky has moved on from where you left her last time you wrote about her, in a completely different direction” Godfrey continued “And maybe she doesn’t want to play along with your theme word game. I mean really, is it fair to make her? Maybe she was having more fun doing whatever it was she was doing while you weren’t even thinking about what she should do. Quite rude really to interrupt her just so that you could do your word theme games. Bit of a cheek, I’d say.” “Oh Godfrey, that’s easily explained” Elizabeth had remembered Probabilities, which was always a handy excuse in continuity disputes. “Another probable character will do what I write for them to do, there are probably hundreds of probable characters now, all going in different directions.” “Is that wise? Really Elizabeth, that sounds outrageously irresponsible. Hundreds of probable characters running amok, and you have absolutely no idea what they’re all getting up to.”
“Well they’re not my responsibility Godfrey, for heavens sake!” “Well if they’re not your responsibility, then who’s responsible for them?” “Nobody is responsible for them!” “Well that sounds like a recipe for chaos if you ask me” Godfrey said with a sniff. “You’ve unleashed hundreds of probable Becky’s into reality, not to mention Leo’s and Bea’s….” “And Pig-Littleton’s” Elizabeth interjected under her breath. “… and Sanso’s and Dory’s” Godfrey, who hadn’t heard Elizabeth, continued to reel off the characters names. “I mean how big do you think reality is? The rate you’re filling it up with probable characters there’ll be no space left!”
Anyway, Godfrey” Elizabeth turned back to her notepad. “Listen to the latest chapter and tell me what you think: “You tempestuous fool” Becky cried and slapped Gayesh soundly across the face. “Don’t give me those unspoken looks!” Gayesh sighed. “Ah, the infinite pleasure I had in mind is naught but an elusive dream.” Godfrey Pig-Littleton was impressed. “Elizabeth, how perfectly you incorporated the four themes into one brilliantly short chapter” Elizabeth closed her notebook with a satisfied smile and yawned. Let them all do whatever the bloody hell they all want to, I’m off to bed. Plenty of probable characters available in the morning, waiting in the wings. Circle of Eights, Story #1849 by Becky Vane Wrick
Elizabeth started to laugh. “Oh Godfrey, you’re a case. Ahahah! They don’t take up any space at all!
World Peace Art by Lamberto Acyatan
Our Planet Earth is asking for Peace… If every individual cannot ﬁnd inner happiness, the world cannot attain Peace…
Budai, or the Laughing Buddha is a major ﬁgure in Asia, namely in Buddhist, Taoist and Shinto cultures. He usually represents generosity, fortune and abundance, as symbolized by both his large belly and his bag always full. In Chinese tradition, he was a Chinese monk living in the 10th century, who was seen after his death as an incarnation of Maitreya, the bodhisattva (enlightened being) predicted to succeed Gautama as the next Buddha (or future Buddha). His representation thus carries messages of wisdom such as generosity, contentment, tolerance and open kindheartedness. Helping people attain realization of these qualities, he helps them to connect and to bring heaven to Earth.
We would welcome any kind of personal writing, artistic works, poems, essays, etc. Find previous issues and all published stories on our website...
http://wisp.focusphere.net Wisp e-zine — Issue #7 — November 2008 — ISSN 1760-4796 No part of this magazine may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher
Levanter on Gib’s Rock, by Tracy Marshall
The intention of WISP is to provide a place for personal stories; inspirational, light, humorous, challenging or anything in between… and beyond.