One Walker Blog

If you'd like to have your own blog here, start yourself a thread. Use your member name somewhere in the title so people will know who you are. The blogs here should be mostly about your spiritual path and beliefs.
One Walker
Posts: 595
Joined: Wed Jan 14, 2009 4:42 pm
Gender: Female
Location: Minnesota, USA

One Walker Blog

Post by One Walker »

January 26, 2009

I like to write. Call me a frustrated writer if you will; it doesn't matter. I've long since come to terms with my desire to get published in a book or magazine. I'm completely content and happy with what I'm doing now. I'll throw my stories and scribblings up here for people to take or leave as they like. Hopefully most of them will be of some use to others, or at least enjoyable to just read! :lol: Any comments or questions are welcomed!

I've kept a personal diary on some of my activity and experiences while walking the path of a stone shaman but, after recently joining this board, it occurred to me that transferring or transcribing some of those entries into a blog here might prove to be beneficial to other people as well. Aside from that, it doesn't make much sense for me to continue with the diary if I'm going to duplicate it online so I'll start posting my continuing experiences here alone.

Lastly, there are other things I'd like to comment on that just don't go in a diary or even a bbs section. Those issues will wind up here too.

Anyway, some people have requested that I post my short stories. You'll find them in the appropriate/pertaining sections of the bbs but I also thought it would be useful to post them in their entirety here. Most of my existing stories are too long (I feel) to tie up a section post with. As a dear fellow member pointed out quite correctly; people are going to turn off immediately if they see it's an abnormally long posting. Here I can get down everything I want to say in long-form without worrying about that.

So, by way of opening things up, here is the entire text of The Hunter. This story was posted today in 3 parts in the Animals and Pets section:

I’ve never been much of an enthusiast when it comes to cats—probably because we never had them when I was a child. German Shepherds were the companions of my youth—an animal much more adapt at handling the raucous, rollicking, adventuresome nature of a young boy. My interest in cats came years later and then only because they were a package deal—the other half of the deal being girls. Cats were the barometer by which girls judged boys when I was a teenager. Getting anywhere with an adolescent female meant first passing inspection by a snobby, self-centered little lump of lazy, egotistical fur. If her cat liked you then you were in like Flynn; if not, you couldn’t melt the icy, contemptible look in her eyes with a blowtorch let alone a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. Why, just getting the furry little beast to rub up against your pant leg was worth two hundred bonus points. If it purred at you as well it practically guaranteed you a night of amorous carousing—assuming, of course, that you could keep the cat from clawing massive topographical changes into your arms, legs, and back while attempting to neck with its owner on the living room sofa.

It took a while before I finally put two and two together and came up with one. The cat and the cat’s owner were mirrors of each other. Personalities, habits, and traits between the two were almost identical in an alarming number of cases; right down to the claw marks. The boys at school use to brag about their latest conquests; even going so far as to compare wounds. I knew better. Their claims of wildly amorous conquests were in reality dismal attempts with partners as inept in the intricacies of love as they were. It was the cats. With that puzzle solved to my satisfaction I turned my attention elsewhere. Accumulating scars from cat scratches was not my idea of a life-goal; nor did I see any possibility of deriving monetary value from it. Quite the opposite in fact. Doctor bills would have kept me in hock the rest of my life and I was at that age where it was quickly becoming apparent fiscal intake was going to be a key factor in surviving sans parental units. I had also discovered that a ready supply of cash on hand tended to keep me in the good graces of the females of the species even more so than their cat’s affection.

I was in my mid-twenties before I crossed paths with a cat again. I was working the graveyard shift as a security officer at a factory in the tiny Twin City suburb of Lauderdale at the time. The Mississippi River oozed by about a quarter-mile to the South along with the main rail lines that ran through Minneapolis and Saint Paul. Mostly I was there to greet the transients jumping off freight trains and wandering through the plant in search of a place to eat, sleep, or loot. When I ran across one, I sent him where he needed to go; be it a restaurant, hotel, or the County Jail. Transients provided a fair amount of diversion but just patrolling the plant was an experience in itself. It was a huge, archaic place built who knows how many decades ago. Entering one of the buildings was like stepping through a porthole in time into one of those old photographs; yellowed and faded with age. High overhead lights shone dimly through the murk three stories above the floor; their covers and grates coated in decades of dust. Ancient iron girders formed vaulted ceilings over the center aisles with a myriad of smaller support beams giving the entire canopy the appearance of a giant, mutant spider web straight out of a ‘B’ monster movie.

Residual smoke from machines shut down hours before hung in a thin, blue haze throughout the buildings. The outer walls were a hybrid of thick brick and thin metal that had uniformly yellowed and blackened with age. Grime coated everything in layers measuring inches thick. Hundreds of the small, square windows lining the outer walls were empty; their panes fallen victim to time and teenagers. The windows that remained were useless—coated in the same filth as everything else. Hanging over it all was a pungent, musty odor; the product of decades of mildew and chemicals slowly working their way into the fixtures. The occasional death of a worker only added to the macabre ambiance of the place. It wasn't unheard of for a tired machinist to trip and tumble into a giant milling machine, or have an overhead crane suddenly let go its cargo over the head of an unsuspecting worker. That kind of foreknowledge tended to rear its ugly head in my memory at the most inopportune times—namely when I was walking through the area in which it happened. It was the kind of place where you could almost see the ghosts lurking at the edge of your vision; just beyond your line of sight. I always had the feeling that if I turned fast enough I could catch a glimpse of the phantoms of long-dead workers still moving about the place; endlessly repeating the tasks they’d performed while still among the living. The combination of all that plus years in the security business made me a very cautious individual when walking around that place. After all, survival is largely a matter of discretion.

Discretion is one thing however, eyesight something else. Even the best observer has difficulty seeing an object that isn’t moving and isn’t making a sound. Consequently, all my precautions still left me unprepared for my first encounter with the cat. ‘Confronted’ would be a more accurate description. It was one of those instances where you turn and come face-to-face with something that you missed seeing before; as if it had just materialized out of thin air. All at once the cat was just there, not six feet in front of me, crouching on top of a stack of pallets. After nearly jumping out of my skin, I struggled to get my wits back under some semblance of control. It took several hard swallows to wash my heart back down my throat, along with everything else that threatened to come up that way. The first coherent thought that came to mind was that the cat must have been sitting there all along or else I would have spotted his movement. My second thought was that if it had been a bobcat instead of a pussycat I would have been so much ground chuck right about then. Then I got my first good look at it.

It had to be one of the most frightful-looking animals I’d ever seen. Its face was horribly misshapen by scars, giving it a goitrous appearance. The fur on its back was a tangled snarl in some places, completely missing in others. Cankerous, puss-oozing sores pockmarked the areas of bare skin. For a minute I thought I was looking at the specter of some long-dead plant mascot come to pay its respects, be it out of good will or bad. Then I saw that it breathed and blinked, and knew for certain that it was real. Despite the animal’s appearance, it was the eyes that held my attention. Although dilated from hunting in the dark; a sharp, yellow corona was still plainly visible around the pupils and I found them deeply disturbing on some intimate level. It was a dynamic contrast to the cats’ short, flint-colored fur. More than that though, I sensed an intelligence in those eyes far different from any I’d ever encountered. The cat continued to watch me; its intense, unblinking stare giving me the feeling I was being examined under a microscope and somehow found to be lacking. The cat was actually thinking; studying; considering me. Then it arose and disappeared in one leap.

The next time I came across the cat was three days later. I was curious by then as to whether it had just been passing through or if the plant was part of its domain. The all-too-close encounter of our first meeting had given me pause to consider how I had been conducting my rounds—specifically, the difference between merely looking and actually seeing. As a result, I was much more diligent in my inspections and sure enough; there on top of a giant lathe I caught a glimpse of a gray figure gliding stealthily across the crest of the machine. It only spared me a glance, it was obviously on the prowl, but in that glance I sensed no contempt or fear. On the other hand, there was no interest in its expression either. It acknowledged my presence and then dismissed me just as quickly. It didn’t seem intimidated by my size or species in the least. It was simply after prey; a category of which I didn’t belong; thus I had been relegated to the status of a fixture no more significant than the lathe it sat upon. I stood perfectly still, fascinated. It crouched, frozen on the cowling of the lathe motor; peering off into some dark corner with an intensity no less than that of its larger cousins on the African plains. I took the opportunity to examine it more closely. It was male in gender; small in build, and lean in the extreme. His coat was the roughest, filthiest thing I’d ever seen and the hideous wounds covering his face attested to the horrific battles he’d been in. I guessed him to be no more than three or four years of age and they had obviously been tough ones. Suddenly, he leaped out of sight.

Definitely not your classic ‘mouser.’

Over the following weeks I came across him more and more. He wasn’t seeking me out deliberately because he never paid any attention to me. It was more as if he simply got use to having me around. I became part of his environment and he accepted me as such. There were machines and shelves and piles of raw materials and me. I grew accustomed to seeing him on most of my patrols. He never got too close but once he knew I was in the building he never let me out of his sight until I left. Eventually he started following me from building to building as I made my rounds; yet he still made no friendly overtures, nor did he accept any. It got to the point where I actually found him waiting for me inside the first door I came through as I started my patrol. He stayed in my general vicinity until I completed my round and went back out the door leading to the security shack. It was odd having a cat for a shadow but I rather enjoyed it. I began to bring balls to work. I scrounged up pieces of string. I even tried playing the beam of my flashlight on the floor and against the walls near him. To my surprise, he never showed the slightest interest in any of them. Playing was something he simply did not do. It was some time before I found out why.

There was a large, grassy yard between the two largest buildings of the plant which acted as a stockpile area for various items that were too large to stash inside. As I walked through the yard one night I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. A rabbit was making a break from cover now that I’d passed it by. I had missed seeing the rabbit but the cat didn’t. A gray blur came out of nowhere; hitting the rabbit with a flurry of energy. The cat landed high on his target, digging his claws in deep around the head and neck as both animals tumbled into the grass. I was taken aback by the suddenness and ferocity of the attack. A conflict of emotions rose within me as I watched the cat in action. It felt both wondrous and terrifying at the same time. The rabbit was twice the cat’s size and held the advantage in sheer strength. Tenacity, agility, and experience were the only things the cat had going for it. In the end, it was enough. I turned and walked away as the rabbit’s legs stuttered in the tell-tale rhythm of death. I was glad that the hunter would eat that night, yet angry and sad at the same time—as most people are when they see prey fall to the predator. The speed and savagery of the hunter’s attack astonished me. I felt enthralled, watching the cat take on another animal that was more than his match. At the same time I tried to dispel my disappointment that the cat had only been using me as a bush-beater.

As I continued my round I reflected on what I’d seen. It hadn’t struck me as particularly odd until right then but even in the city there’s usually a profusion of animal life. Squirrels and chipmunks scurry over the ground, scavenging for food. Birds nest in every nook, cranny, and overhang there is. Bats and owls hawk the city lights, hunting the insects and other nocturnal creatures drawn there. Animal life is everywhere if you know where to look. Here there was almost nothing. Now I knew why. There hadn’t been the slightest hint of playfulness in his attack—which told me he must have been on his own from a very early age. That also lent support to the theory that he’d had very little or no direct interaction with humans. He was obviously of a domestic variety but there seemed to be no domestic imprint left. Years of surviving on his own had taken care of that. He was as wild as if he were born to it, and there were good arguments that this was indeed the case. The untamed instincts of his ancestors had surfaced and they were what allowed him to survive. To him, Life was about food, water, and shelter. It angered me that fate had dealt the cat such an unforgiving hand but by the same token it seemed to have brought us together. I resolved to try and see if I could penetrate the shell that was his world.

Later that week I went to the hardware store and bought a pair of heavy work gloves. After that came the supermarket. Not knowing what foods might appeal to an animal that hunted exclusively for its meals, I bought everything from milk and cat food to crackers and fruit punch. I started putting on the gloves before each round and leaving foods of various types next to kills I suspected he’d made. As I half-expected, he ignored the food. Predators have to stay sharp to survive and hunting for his food was what kept him sharp. After two weeks with no luck I decided to change tactics. The direct approach seemed the next logical choice. I waited until the end of one of my patrols. His normal practice was to wait nearby until I hit my last station and went through the door before taking off on his own again. This time however, I didn’t go out the door as usual but instead walked over to a large, open area at the end of an aisle and set several pieces of torn cold cuts on the floor. From there, I walked over to a wall; turned, and crouched before looking in his direction. The change in routine caught him off guard but it was obvious from the start that he knew what I was up to. He circled the food at a distance, then started pacing the floor; keeping to the open area half-way between the food and the wall opposite me so he could keep an eye on me as well. He still didn’t trust me.

It was funny in a way. We both knew he was going to take the food but first it seemed he had to go through this ritual of resistance. It was as if he were considering the implications of the overture and of taking the food while I was present. The prospect of expanding on our level of coexistence seemed to be of major concern to him. It took about ten minutes for him to make up his mind but once he did he settled in to eat with an ease and gusto that both surprised and pleased me. I walked away with renewed hopes that I could somehow connect with him. I spent the next several weeks encouraging this new level of trust. I didn’t leave food for him every day, nor did I leave him too much. My desire wasn’t to make him dependent on me for food but to earn his trust. At the same time, I didn’t want him to lose his hunters’ edge. The only thing I did differently each time was to move farther out away from the wall a short step or two. I was preparing both of us for the next step, that of getting him to eat directly out of my hand.

When the time came, he did it with an ease that astounded me. I scattered some food on the floor, left some more in the palm of my glove and set it down next to the food on the floor. He ate what was on the floor first; all the while watching me with one eye. When he finished what was there he put his front paws up on my hand without hesitation and began eating the food in it. I’d never been so close to him before. His claws were long and ragged; and looked as though they’d never been cut. He seemed too small for his age but what was there was strong. Like his brethren all over the world his body took on the appearance of one giant, tensed muscle. For the first time I noticed deep scars on his body as well as those I’d previously seen on his face. He’d suffered appalling injuries at the hands of his enemies. I could see the marks of old wounds running like a spiderweb down the flanks of his hind legs. His back seemed covered with them as well; the thick, ugly lines disappearing beneath his stomach. It was clear that he hadn’t just been in fights—he’d been mauled—and by something a lot bigger than he was. The puss I’d seen oozing from sores before was from poorly healing wounds that had become infected. A pang of sorrow clutched me and my throat started to constrict.

With a start I realized he was trembling; not out of fear—we’d been around each other far too long for that—yet I couldn’t think of any other reason for it. As I watched him shake I felt a peculiar twinge in my chest. I hadn’t had much reason to trust humans in the past either. In that moment something changed in my perception of him. I too had been mauled from time to time in my life. I just didn’t wear the scars on the outside. I looked at his face again. He’d finished eating and was just standing there, half on my hand, gazing intently at my face as if he was reading my thoughts. I’d never had an animal look at me like that before, and damn few humans. With a rush; unspoken thoughts passed between us across a bridge I suddenly knew we would never fully transcend. He turned after a moment to look once around the room; then scampered off into the darkness. I stood; poignantly gazing at the spot where he’d disappeared. I wasn’t looking for something as stereotypical as a pet. I never tried to grab or pet him. The moment my hand came up I knew he would run and I wouldn’t have blamed him a bit. That would’ve made affection a condition and both of us had had enough of that. I had the sinking feeling that we had gone as far as we would go together.

For three weeks our relationship remained unchanged. Although I continued to leave food for him occasionally, I didn’t try to get him to eat out of my hand again. I had gotten that message, or so I thought. Then one night I was walking down one of main aisles on my rounds when my sixth sense told me something was behind me. I sneaked a look over my shoulder and blinked, flabbergasted to see the cat was following not three steps behind me. We went on like that for several yards before I stopped and turned to him.

“What?”

He stopped when I did. When I spoke, he sat down and looked at me expectantly. I merely looked back at him, bewildered. He was asking me something, that much I knew, but for the life of me I couldn’t imagine what. I squatted down to look more closely at him while I tried to figure out what it was he wanted. His eyes wavered for a moment; then, before I could react, he crouched and pounced on my shoulder. It startled me so badly I nearly fell over backwards. I froze in terror; expecting to feel those big claws digging into my shoulder or gouging at my neck and face any second. It took a moment for me to realize that wasn’t going to happen. I could feel his claws through the material of my shirt but they were clutching for purchase, not attack. Slowly, I turned my head to look at him in bewilderment. His head was bobbing up and down as well as turning from side to side in sharp, jerky movements. It seemed as if he didn’t even know I was there. He was too busy checking out the view from his new perch. I stood up slowly, careful to make sure my motions would not disrupt him. I gave him another minute to adjust to the view and his new position once I had risen to my full height. I kept my hands at my sides.

He was uncertain to be sure. I could feel his claws digging into my shirt—and through them felt the trembling of his body. I stole another sideways glance at him. He was scanning the room with what I swore was anticipation. I took it to be a good sign and started off again with slow, steady steps. It took a while for him to adjust to the rhythm of my stride but he rode it out well and never wavered. By the end of my round we both knew we’d found a symbiosis of sorts. From that day on we were a pair. The thought of him scratching or hurting me never even crossed my mind. Don't ask me why. It was one of those things you just know isn’t going to happen. After that first walk I took to laying my gloves on my shoulder instead of wearing them. They gave him a better grip and served as a layer of protection between those piercing claws and the flimsy material of my uniform shirt.

After a while a new routine began to emerge. If he wasn’t waiting for me when I came in the door to start my round I’d click my tongue a couple of times and squat. If he was around, he’d come running. If he wasn’t, I would continue on my patrol. Usually we would cross paths somewhere along the way. He would see or hear me coming and be waiting on top of a machine or stack of pallets for me. I would stop to give him a stationary target and he would leap to my right shoulder. It got so I could tell when something was wrong or someone else was around by the tension level in his body. I always stopped moving whenever he tensed. He would leap off and go his way to check things out while I went mine. I could tell by the way he moved off if he was stalking prey or if there was another human being nearby. When the coast was clear he would come back to his spot on my shoulder and we would continue on our way. Being around his heightened senses also raised mine. Together we became quite adept at detecting intruders; both the two-legged and four-legged kinds.

As the weeks flew by and winter began to set in he lost some of his furtiveness but never completely relaxed. With the coming of heavy snow and colder temperatures I began to notice that his kills were becoming more scarce. He took to spending less time on my shoulder and more time off hunting by himself. The shortage of readily available prey caused him to travel farther afield for his sustenance. As we moved into January I noticed his already gaunt frame thinning further still, despite the occasional snacks I still left for him. It grew bitter cold. Heat within the buildings was practically non-existent once operations shut down at the end of the workday. The walls had no insulation and the heaters were old-style filament units that hung from the high ceiling so very little warmth reached the floor thirty feet below. Snow billowed in through the cracks of loose-fitting doors to create drifts around the inside walls.

After two weeks of below-zero weather I began to notice blood on my gloves. His callused paws were cracking open in the cold. The tender skin between the pads on his feet had split and with his constant need for movement they continued to open and close. Layers of blood clots were evident from the wounds constantly reopening. As long as he stayed on his feet they would never heal and he had to stay on his feet to survive. At that point I decided to break my self-imposed ban on touching him. The next time he leaped on my shoulder I unzipped the top part of my parka and lifted him inside the coat, leaving him plenty of room to jump out if he wanted to. The pocket would keep him warm and off his feet while still affording him a view of his surroundings. Surprisingly enough, he took to it without complaint. By the end of January he was still shivering despite my best efforts to keep him warm underneath the parka. His frame continued to thin, his ribs standing out in stark contrast to his emaciated figure. It came to the point where I either had to do something more or watch him die.

Watching him die was not an option as far as I was concerned—even though I understood it was an integral part of life, especially life in the wild. I was surprised at how vehemently I rejected the idea. Somewhere along the way I’d come to care a lot more for this little hunter than I realized. I elected to try and see if he would enter the security shack. It had an excellent heater that would provide him with warmth at least for the eight hours I was on duty. He’d never been inside it but I reasoned that it was part of the plant, just like the rest of the buildings, so it stood to reason that he would be receptive to the idea of going into it. I tested my hypothesis by carrying him out to the shack at the end of one of my rounds and opening the door. Warm air washed across our faces. He perked up at the change in temperature and eagerly sniffed the air; testing it. I set him down on the threshold, keeping the door open to leave him the choice of going in or out. He stood for a full minute anxiously eyeing the place before bounding inside. He scampered about the room, checking every nook and cranny as I closed the door. I sat down at my table to make my hourly entry in the logbook while he scurried around the room. I had no sooner started writing when he jumped up on the high countertop that spanned the length of the shack and raced towards me. He leaped onto my shoulder and the next thing I knew an ice-cold nose was nudging my right ear and neck. He rubbed the side of his head hard up against mine and emitted a rough, grumbling noise. With a start I realized that was what passed for purring with him. I’d never heard him speak before, not even a cry. From the sound he was making I could tell that his vocal cords were damaged, whether from the cold or some battle I didn’t know.

He sat on my shoulder and continued to rumble, bumping my head affectionately. I reached up with one hand and he jerked momentarily as I touched him, running my hand down the length of his back in one long, slow stroke. His spine curled upward in response. After a minute he made up his mind. The rumbling increased in volume. I doubted anyone had ever done that to him before. I turned back to my writing. After a few minutes his purring ceased. He maintained his position on my shoulder and neither of us said anything more. The next night I brought in an old blanket and empty box. He watched the activity with great interest as I set them both in a corner, plainly understanding the implications. He waited until I had finished my chore and was back in my chair before walking over and inspecting his new accommodations more thoroughly. I poured myself a cup of hot chocolate and watched.

He sniffed the blanket a few times and walked a circle or two over it to test it. Then he turned to give me a look before leaping to the countertop and quickly making his way toward me. I set my cup down in anticipation of another leap onto my shoulder. Instead, he stuck his face in the hot chocolate and started lapping contentedly at the slowly melting miniature marshmallows floating on top. My eyes about popped.

“After all the things I tried to give you, you go after my hot chocolate!”

He raised his head to look at me, his dirty face and whiskers dripping with cocoa and melted marshmallows. There was a lightness in his eyes I’d never seen before. I swore there was a twinkle to them. I poured the contents into the bowl I had brought many months ago and made myself another cup. He went back to chasing marshmallows while I continued my writing. The hunter made it through the remaining winter months in good shape. Once he grew accustomed to the security shack it became his second home. By day he roamed the plant grounds and buildings. At night he stayed with me. We never played together—life had taken that from him long ago—but there was a light-hearted intimacy we enjoyed when in each others’ company. When he looked at me, his eyes were calm and steady. I would get the sense that he was studying me quite often.

The spring thaw eventually came, and with it the game returned. By that time he had filled out in size again and was raring to go, romping in the fields of newborn grass and rediscovering all his old haunts. He spent much less time in the shack once the weather lightened but that didn’t bother me. He preferred wide open spaces to roam and I understood that. He would often times come by my office, leaping up to the windowsill and growling in his own peculiar way just to let me know he was there. He’d wait until I acknowledged his presence before leaping off the sill again and disappearing. Once in a while he would come up and wait by the door to the shack or the building when he knew it was near the time for my patrol. I would pick him up and place him on my shoulder and we’d head off on our rounds together.

Then one night in the latter part of June we were making a patrol through the farthest of the two largest buildings. I was walking down one of the aisles near the far end of the building when I felt him tense. I stopped in my tracks and looked at him. His whole body was taunt and trembling, as if he were being electrocuted. I’d never seen him agitated like that before. He was staring straight ahead where two large stacks of metal I-beams marked the end of the corridor. I could tell he was upset in the extreme yet he refused to leave my shoulder. I followed his stare but could make out very little in the dim lighting. I listen but there was no sound. Then I caught a glimpse of movement between the stacks of metal. It was low to the ground and moving very slowly toward us. At first I thought it was a man and called out to him.

“Hey! I see you there!”

There was no response and the shadow kept moving. I began to get an uneasy feeling.
“Who’s there?!” I called out again, then breathed a sigh of relief as the shadow moved into the light and I saw it was a small dog. No wonder the cat was uptight. He must have had plenty of run-ins with dogs in his life. No doubt some of the scars on his body could be attributed to fights with the neighborhood pack. Then the uneasy feeling returned. The head and tail didn’t look right somehow. It took me a moment to realize why. It wasn’t a dog that I was looking at.

It was a rat.

It was the biggest rodent I’d ever seen. Its hair was brown and smoothed back along its body and the tail snaked out from its hind end for almost two feet. The eyes were black with a silver glint to them that had nothing to do with the light reflecting off those disquieting, opaque pools. The cat was shaking and I didn’t blame him a bit. I was shaking too. I was over a hundred times the rats’ size and it scared me. The rat took two steps forward. Our eyes locked and somehow I knew instinctively that in a moment it was going to charge. I also knew I couldn’t run fast enough to get away. Frantically, I scanned my surroundings for any kind of weapon. There was a stack of broken pallets nearby but far outside my grasp from the center of the aisle. I knew the beast would hurdle itself at me the minute I moved. There was no chance of making it to the stack and grabbing a board before it was on me. The thing was only about ten feet away. The two of us stood looking at each other. The rat had me and it knew it. The thought of that animal taking a bite out of me filled me with horror and a cold icicle of fear wormed its way down my back, settling at the base of my spine. The rat picked that instant to lunge forward with a speed I didn’t believe possible.

The cat jumped.

A million things went through my mind in the time it took the cat to cover the distance between the rodent and myself. I’d all but forgotten the hunter until he launched himself from my shoulder. He’d simply gone right out of my mind. I’d never even considered him part of the equation. The rat was three times his size. Where the rabbit had been natural prey, this was another predator, and a much more powerful one at that. The cat didn’t stand a chance. But he was fast. He was a gray blur as he left my shoulder. As fast as the rat moved, the cat was on him before he could make two feet. He came down on the rodents’ face, digging his claws into that massive head.

I lunged for the stack of pallets.

The rat was startled but not so badly that he wasn’t able to recover. Its massive jaws snapped wildly as the hunter held fast, spinning with the movement of the rodent’s head to keep away from its maw. The rat started twirling as if chasing its tail in an effort to grab the nimble feline. The hunter stayed with him, eluding that rancorous mouth by a hair’s breath. Suddenly, the rat switched directions and its jaws ground shut, nearly sundering the cat in half.

Something snapped inside me. All the things that I had felt for the cat in the past year but had kept inside for his sake came pouring out. The ache I had held at bay for the pains and hardships he had suffered as well as the kindness and fellowship he had shown me came gushing to the surface in a tidal wave of rage that it should end this way. I didn’t care that this might have been the natural order of things; that the weak must die and the strong survive. The rat had been coming for me, not him. The cat didn’t have to jump. He could have easily run away; avoiding the fight altogether. This hadn’t been his fight. It was between the rat and me. Instead the cat had jumped to buy me time.

The rat shook his head to free the cat’s claws from his head and flung the dead animal aside. Then he came for me. Murderous rage galvanized me into action. I grabbed a large board from the top of the stack, whirling and bringing the plank down with a snarl just as the rat closed on me. It took the first blow square on the head and that was enough to stun it. I kept hitting it until the skull cracked open, spilling its contents onto the ground. I walked over to the cat but there was no question as to his fate. He’d been dead before he hit the ground. I left him where he’d fallen and went to get the box and blanket that had been home to him for the past six months.

I buried him in the field near the spot where he’d taken the rabbit so long ago.

The next day workers in the plant weighed the rat on a shipping scale. It came in at just over fifteen pounds. Although they knew of the cat, none of them believed the tale I related about the events of the night before. The cat had shunned their attentions. Someone nailed the rat to the wall by the time clock, hanging it by its tail so everyone could see it and revel in its size. Speculation ran that it was a river rat that had come up from the Mississippi a quarter-mile away. Nobody knew why it had come so far afield. Some thought it had gone insane. Others claimed it had simply been looking to expand its territory.

I took it down the following night.

Wearing the gloves that had provided a perch for my friend for so long, I carried the rodent far into the field. I picked a spot close to the fence and within sight of the river and hammered a steel post into the ground. Then I mounted the rat on it by jamming its mouth over the rod and hammering on it until the tip nearly came out its rear.

And then I picked up the baseball bat I’d brought from home and walked away on my round.

One Walker.
We have seen what Power does.
We have seen what Power costs.

One is never equal to the other.
One Walker
Posts: 595
Joined: Wed Jan 14, 2009 4:42 pm
Gender: Female
Location: Minnesota, USA

Our relationship to stones, both bought and in the wild.

Post by One Walker »

January 27, 2009

Sometimes trying to identify rocks and stones can be a pain! (Can I say that? Will The Elements be displeased? Me thinks not-or at least hopes. :lol: ) Anyway, rocks with multiple minerals in them are awfully hard to track down sometimes. I spent most of the day today just trying to do ONE. Information in books is sketchy, incomplete, or downright contradictory. Pictures online and in books are sparse, of a terrible quality, or of some polished stone-which of course makes it look totally different than a natural or water-worn formation. Then you have to have a Master's Degree in Alphabet Soup-ology just to decipher the technical ramblings of some Earth Science or Geology professor! THAT was the worst and what gave me my headache today. These people with Doctorates should take a remedial course in Layman's English. If you can't say it so everyone can understand it then how good are you and how good is the information? Really?

You may ask: "Why go to all the bother?" Because it's worth it in the end-at least to me. Sure there are stones and crystals out there you can buy that are good for every occasion. They all have their purposes, right? I think there's something more though. I think what gets largely overlooked are the stones right outside your door, down at the park, on the side of the road, or otherwise in the wild. See, I'm one of those people that believes a stone gets traumatized when it is forcibly taken from the Earth (commercially mined), then gets cut up some more and put through a tumbler. Perhaps the final insult in all that is for the rock to be acquired by someone simply for its visual beauty and placed in some kind of jewelry setup without its purpose or potential ever being realized.

How would you feel under similar circumstances? And if another human comes along who does realize your true purpose and potential; how willing would you be to open up to them? Would you be hesitant? Angry? Afraid? Uncaring? Be honest. Even if you were to fully open up to them there is something which has already been perhaps irretrievably lost. Look at the 'accepted manner' in which many Pagan followers perform their acquisitions. It's okay to buy a polished gemstone commercially. Just take it home, do the 'Wham-Bam Cleansing Sham' on it and it's good to go; ready for you to use it in whatever way you want.

But then we get to the issue of dealing with human distress and what's the ritual? Pour it into the stone and then bury it, throw it away, or throw it in a body of water. However, you should NEVER look back at it, touch it, or use it ever again. Let The Elements cleanse it of your outpouring of negativity. Why? This seems contradictory to me. If the stone-which was chalk full of its own negativity to begin with-was good enough for you to cleanse in the first place then why isn't it good enough to do so now? The first cleansing would have been harder since it was the rock that held the negativity and not you. Why then must you abandon the stone forever once you've dumped all your negativity in to it?

Maybe it's because we all know the pain that keeps the household awake at night. We all know that some memories will not lie down and be silent. Species guilt? Genetic memory? Perhaps. We all know, even if it's just subconsciously, how that stone came to be in that rock shop. We know what it was put through just so some human could buy a pretty trinket.

Or a tool.

And let's be honest. I've seen many people, even on this bbs, who seem to be following the 'organized religion' path of Paganism. They want to be cool but different than the mainstream. They want to do dangerous things and take risks. They want to be 'In' and accepted. They want to be feared or prominent. Or they're just looking for someone else to provide them the answers or an 'out' so they don't have to do any real work or thinking for themselves. They go through the prescribed rituals and get all the equipment to do so but without hardly considering the implications of what they're doing, how they're doing it, or the meaning of it all. Just more tools and an easy way to get what you want. A 'Get Rich Quick' scheme. If it fails, it'll be someone else's fault. The person who gave you the information is to blame. Or it was all a bunch of BS to begin with.

So mote it be. The stones know. The Elements know. The One Above All Others knows. But don't worry, they are not vengeful. Anger is entropy and works against this universe as it tries to evolve into a state where entropy does not exist. What they are disappointed and saddened at is that very unawareness because if this universe is to evolve to a higher plane we must all do so together and those kinds of people I mentioned above hinder that process. They do not truly understand what they do, or rather are failing to do.

Saying that, I'll now say this: Yes, I have bought rock shop stones that have been mined and tumble-polished. I was fully aware of that when I purchased them. Taking that into consideration, I didn't just pick one up out of a bin. I scanned them for vibration. I asked of them if any would like to be with me. I projected to them my understanding of the circumstances that brought them to that place. I projected the place and relationship I offered them. And I let them know I realized they were hurt, perhaps beyond reconciliation. Only after that did I follow the positive vibrations down to a specific stone which chose to go with me and be my companion.

A stone in the wild usually has no need of that. These stones have been traumatized too but it is the universal trauma of pollution which is shared by all living things. And that I can do something about! That is a wound I know can be mended. Aside from that is the personality inherent in a stone from the wild. In a way it is unblemished as a 'taken' stone has been. The character is much more intact. When I approach it, or it calls to me, it is with the mutual understanding that we both recognize, enjoy, and are exercising Free Will. Each of us our own. It makes a difference. A Big one as far as I'm concerned. When I come in contact with a stone in the wild there is an open, mutual curiosity there. There is no 'baggage' hanging over us and it is not predetermined to be a 'conditional' encounter or relationship. I've met stones who's need was nothing more than to be given a good physical cleaning and a restful cleansing for a few days high out on my balcony under the open sunshine and moonlight. I was happy to comply and then release it lovingly back into the wild. Some stones wanted only to touch me; to see what it was like because they had been untouched by human hands. I was glad to oblige.

And then there are the multi-mineral stones (which brings us full-circle). Most of them are startling in their complexity and advanced stage of personality. Also in their strength and ability. I have received stones such as Snow Quartz with Jet; Snow Quartz with Iron; Ironstone with Jasper; and Quartz with Limonite (just to name a few) and their personalities, characteristics, and primary strengths are markedly different than if you were to analyze them as stand-alone minerals. For instance, we know Quartz to be a common crystal but very powerful. When joined with Jet though, the Quartz is subjugated in a way to the Jet. Quartz has merged with Jet not only to preserve and protect it (Jet is a Fossil. Fossilized wood.) but to lend its considerable energy to it. Jet on its own has primary strengths in Protection, Anti-nightmare, Luck, Divination, and Health. Quartz gives all of these a super-power boost. Quartz, on the other hand, has its strengths centered in Protection, Healing, Psychism, Power, and Lactation. However, when purposes meet between these two minerals-namely Protection, Divination, and Anti-nightmare-it becomes a Super Stone with a combined energy output greater than if they were going it alone. The sum is greater than the total of its parts. It is my belief that the symbiosis and synergy shared by the two allow it-as one-to become more accessible to the energies of Akasha. Because the Element Akasha is THE universal energy which binds all things it seems reasonable that those things most closely bound together would more easily access the energy of Akasha. Thus, the three become One.

Okay, it may sound kooky but there it is. You can agree, disagree, or just take it as food for thought. Comments are welcome! In any event, Be Well and Blessings to you!

One Walker.
We have seen what Power does.
We have seen what Power costs.

One is never equal to the other.
One Walker
Posts: 595
Joined: Wed Jan 14, 2009 4:42 pm
Gender: Female
Location: Minnesota, USA

Post by One Walker »

January 29, 2009

There's a pretty good discussion going on right now over in the Spirits, Ghosts, and Angels section under the post "A Blessing Rainbow? Ghost Riders in the sky? Pics and video!" We're well into our second page now and the conversation has made its way to the subject of faeries and (or versus! LOL) plant consciousness. I related a couple of stories I had about experiences relating to this and posted part of an entry from my old rock diary by way of description of one of these events. Here then is my complete entry for that day:

Wednesday, July 16,2008

Much to catch up on since my last entry on the 11th. I walked the park most days but did take two separate days off to give myself a rest from the intensity I invariably feel when I'm there. It's a wonderful feeling to be in that park. Much joy and communion. Even pleasure has its toll though, especially when I link with the elements there. It's not an unpleasant feeling at all, just a bit taxing on my physically and mentally. I believe I now have a frame of reference as to why The Source advised Edgar Cayce to only do three readings per day. I'm NOT comparing myself with him or his God-given talents; only relating that there is a mental and physical strain involved in slipping over into elemental vibrations. I wonder if it was always so or if we, as humans, have simply drifted apart from that connection over the millennia. Perhaps because are in so much trouble and have made such a mess of things in part because of it. How could we not get into trouble when we lose the connection with our world?

Wondrous things have happened over the past week as they relate to both the park and myself. I'll address the park first. Nearly each day I experience something new and always the mystical, wondrous aspects of the park. I have released a few stones back to the elements, most of them wanted to be tossed into the deep channel of the river where they may be cleansed and shaped by the water with less of the polluted silt, dirt, mud, and chemicals that accumulate along its shores. I must admit however that today was the first time in several weeks I have seen chemical foaming in the river. The waters overall appear clearer but this too may be because the water level has been declining. Very little rain has fallen here or further North. There is a forecast for some rain tonight and tomorrow. I hope it comes.

I had a black granite stone that I took to the park today. It came apart in three pieces right in my hand as I was heading toward the dock. Bright, clean inner sections were revealed to me but I sensed that this stone, now stones, needed to be returned to the elements in order to continue its desired life. I believe this stone was given to me originally so that it might be cleansed and be exposed to a nurturing atmosphere for awhile. I sensed no damage or hurt in this stone. I think this was a preparation step toward the next stage of its life design. Curiously enough, I did not sense these stones needed to be tossed back into the river but that they be at the waters edge or just in the tidal wave of it. I believe they were to continue being cleansed and adjusted by the Sun but also were seeking to be reshaped in the lapping of the waves.

I received two stones today. Both are White in color. One is a milky Quartz crystalline entity I had actually seen there before. It was unusually placed by itself in the midst of a large clump of dirt extending over a tree root system at waters edge. The first time I saw it I had a feeling it was not meant for me at that time and I had not seen or noticed it since. Today I spotted it again in the same place but this time I was compelled to receive it. The second stone is also white, about three times as big as the first, but non-crystalline. I received it on the shore and it had a tremendous amount of raw energy stored in it. I would also like to note that once I had both these stones in my pocket for awhile the crystalline stone was notably cooler than the non-crystalline. Whether this has something to do with one being Receptive in nature and the other Projective I do not yet know but intend to find out.

I took The Cradle, Meat, and The Traveler with me today as well. The fourth was a Granite stone much like the one which split in three. This one however I had the opportunity to commune with immediately after I released the other three. This stone did not need to go back to the elements at this time. It also revealed to me its many crystal facets. This, I believe, is another stone which may be used for scrying.

My commune with The Grand Ol Lady and the other firs went well. Things are dry but the flora is managing to hang on. I was drawn to commune directly with some other firs today and learned that they too can experience what we humans have always thought were exclusive to our species. I found a pine today that was older in age but weakened because it was feeling unloved and forgotten. Perhaps useless like some older people do. She had actually pushed many of her smaller lower branches upward to the next branch above so they could still survive and flourish, supported against the firmness of the branch above (I intend to take some pictures tomorrow since I didn’t have my camera with me today). Her needles were much smaller and fewer than the thriving young stud situated next to her. Her bark was also notably whiter, like the graying of old age, but otherwise she was strong and uninfected with disease. In communing directly with her I sensed she was feeling the years in the sense that she was old and forgotten, looked down upon to a certain extent like teenagers do with old people. She was even feeling a little apart from God. I assured her that He loved her, I loved her, and that she was not useless, forgotten, or otherwise lessened in any way. I projected the beauty of her children and how strong they were (Pine Cones). I told her how beautiful her limbs and needles were. I told her how much I admired her innovative effort of relieving herself of some of the branch weight by swinging them up and propping them against the next higher limb. I told her to drink deep of the waters from the black earth. She had as much of a place to do so as all other creatures who draw upon that source. I also told her that I would come back to visit with her regularly.

I also sent a prayer commune to all the creatures in the park that they drink deep from the waters in the black soil until the rains came again. I told them all it was important that they survived and that they mattered.

I met up with an MD in the park today. No, not a Medical Doctor, a Mentally Disturbed person. It was a woman and part of a small group that is taken to the park on a regular basis for exercise. I’ve seen her and her group there before but today she was standing alone at the foot of the hill. She’d been there with one person in a wheelchair plus her caregiver-a young man. The young man had pushed the wheelchair-bound person to the top of the hill that is the entry/exit to the park for vehicles but he did not return for the woman. She took my hand as I passed so I walked with her to the top of the hill. She was hot and dry-skinned and I was worried about dehydration. She also kept repeating something like “Gummie” which I took to mean “Hungry”. I told her we’d get her something to drink and eat very soon. I walked with her and the group all the way back home. I prayed for her and communed with her as best I could to give her strength and ease her thirst. The caregiver said they lived in a assisted living house on Park Ave. He said they were ‘behind schedule’ and separated her hand from mine. He said she could walk at a normal speed (not the easier pace we were moving at) and that if he put her out front of the wheelchair he could make her walk at this normal speed. She gripped me hard and obviously did not want to let go. I felt a bit offended by his actions. The company he worked for was based in Mendota Heights. I told the young man that she was hot and dry-skinned and to watch her until he could get her inside and hydrated again. Personally, I believe he deliberately left her at the bottom of the park hill to ‘force’ her to come along faster (under the threat of being left behind/left all alone). I do not believe this was the correct thing to do.

I picked up four books from Half-Price Books over the weekend. 1) An older version of Scott Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Crystal, Gem, and Metal Magic. 2) Rocks and Minerals by Chris Pellant. 3) The Encyclopedia of Crystals by Judy Hall. 4) Growing Through Personal Crisis by Harmon and June Bro as part of their “Edgar Cayce’s Wisdom for the New Age” series. The books all appear good except for, surprisingly enough, the last. The Bro’s did not write this well from an easy-to-read or understand viewpoint. The concepts are vague and circular, the grammar is disruptive, the ideas are not transited smoothly. I am really disappointed in this book so far. The difficult reading, unnecessary complexity of language, and vagaries make this a book I’ll leave alone for quite a while before trying it again. Maybe I’m just having a mental block to it right now. Maybe it is not yet time for me to read it. We’ll see.

Lastly, I worked with the stones and a rite last night. In re-reading the beginning of the first book one of Scott C’s statements grabbed at me again. Stones work for needs, NOT wants. What I NEED is a job, i.e. money. I am at a desperation point. I could not follow the ritual as suggested in Scott’s book because I did not have all the materials on hand. That’s okay, as Scott reaffirms. You can set up a ritual of your own. The important thing is to be able to commune effectively with the stones in your care. That, as I’ve also learned, is a two way street. Here’s why:

I place the dime and two pennies on my ritual stone. I placed the two MOP-laden shells over the money so that each ‘wing’ of a shell was over a coin. Then I placed all the stones in my care that contain red and/or pink around the outer edges of the shells. There were more than enough to do this. All other stones were not in this ritual but placed around the outside of the ritual stone just the same because they are part of that family of those I’ve received.

Then I started talking to God out loud. I expressed honesty. It included my regret at prior inactivity, my sense of shame and how I feel I’ve let my mother down, how I feel lost because I’ve been waiting, for years and decades really, for a ‘sign’ as to what I should do and where I should be. It ‘occurred’ to me then that this has been faulty thinking because we have Free Will as The Source stated to Edgar Cayce and his patients. Free Will means WE determine a course of action but unless we want to take a big risk in fouling it up it is essential we tell God about it. God reads what is in our hearts, NOT what is in our minds. If He did, we would not have true Free Will. WE decide the future and even He cannot say for certainty what may occur or change.

Something else I noted was I have more stones with red and/or rose in them than any other. Why is that? Because stones are used by God as much or more so than by us. Because He too can communicate with us through them, and in fact does so. He gets us what we need. In my case, he knew I needed to know that I was loved and that He loved me very much. He brought me and these stones together to send me this message in this way. Why this way? Perhaps because I have been somehow closed off to other forms of communication with him. Being soured for so long on organized religion probably has a lot to do with that. No doubt the church is in our hearts and not in a building but to go without interaction with others who believe the same as I do does nothing but damage. It’s so much harder for one person to go it alone. You can get lost awfully quick and easy. You also get lonely.

What a joy I felt at this realization! There, on my ritual stone, stood the physical testament of my God’s love for me. Direct communication. Just chance you say? How much do YOU leave to chance, let alone when it involves someone you love? What makes you think God does either? God lets us choose whether to turn toward Him or away but He always tries in every means He can to let us know we are always welcome with him!

I also then understood that he had sent those shells to me not only as a gift of reward but also a means for me to connect with my Need. Then I told him I needed his help in finding a job. Every place I put in an application at has failed to either produce a response or resulted in a rejection. I will be homeless very soon unless I become employed. I also told him my long-term dream. To have a hobby farm somehow. To grow my own food. To have shops where I could build and repair furniture and other items obtained from abandoned or foreclosed storage facilities. I want to turn those items around and sell them and/or give them away to the needy in the trying times I foresee ahead for our country.

I gave the whole situation to Him. Then I went to bed about dawn (this took most of the night although it didn’t feel that way at the time. There was a definite loss of time.).
I arose this morning and picked up The Shopper magazine delivered outside my door. I circled several job prospects (more than I’d seen in this paper for a few weeks) and started making phone calls. I HAVE AN INTERVIEW AT 7AM TOMORROW AT HOFFMAN VIA INDUSTRIAL STAFFING! The job starts out at $11.50, is here in Anoka just off of 7th, and has 1rst or 2nd shifts available. This is IDEAL! I had wondered about Hoffman before but never put an application in there since I never located an employment ad from them and didn’t think they were hiring in this depressed economy. I didn’t even know what they did. They make electrical enclosures.

Okay, it’s 11:15 PM and I have to get up early tomorrow for my interview. God grant me the job!

He did too! Now if I can just get called back to that place! LOL. You know, its funny in that by re-reading that entry I noted how much my life has changed since then (for the better to be sure!). I have been following the Shaman path for quite some time but I was in a bit of a personal slump right then. I realize now there were some things which were closed off to me because of the preoccupation with the situation I was in. I cannot help but wonder if the same might be true now even though I don't see it or realize it. I think it's time for a little self-meditation and assessment. I'm well on the way to getting my new ritual place set up and should have it complete in the next few days; along with my periodic all-stone cleaning and cleansing cycle. I want them all to be refreshed, revitalized, and renergized when they assume their new home.

One Walker.
We have seen what Power does.
We have seen what Power costs.

One is never equal to the other.
[Silver Dove]
Posts: 137
Joined: Mon Sep 29, 2008 8:03 am
Gender: Female

Post by [Silver Dove] »

Yay!!! You started your blog....I love the tale of Hunter...
Sorry I haven't been on the board much...getting ready to go back to work on Monday....but I will be visiting your blog as much as I can.
Well which ever publishing company rejected your writing don't realize what they have missed....their loss is our gain here, so please blog on my friend....and I will put in my 2 cents when ever I can....
May love, peace & hope always be with you. Blessed Be!

Silver Dove
One Walker
Posts: 595
Joined: Wed Jan 14, 2009 4:42 pm
Gender: Female
Location: Minnesota, USA

El Tremendo

Post by One Walker »

February 2, 2009

Thanks Silver Dove! The Hunter will always have a special place in my heart. I even went back years later to visit his grave. I do miss him and think about him even now. BUT, I had a great day today so by way of celebration and as a counter to that rather sad tale I offer up another true tale but on a much lighter note. I wrote this quite a while back as well but figured to dust it off and post it on the off chance you or others might get a chuckle out of it. This took place a year or two before my incident with the cat and involved myself, my friend Todd Norton (a pseudonym), and something we came to know as El Tremendo...

Lassie was never a favorite TV show of mine as a child. Oh, I like dogs; don’t get me wrong; but while Lassie could leap ravines like an antelope; drag snot-nosed kids out of burning buildings; and snarl brain-dead bad guys into submission; I never once saw her chase any blackbirds, squirrels, or rabbits out of the garden. In fact, she took the opposite approach; cheerfully nuzzling up to every creature that came along. It was enough to give an eight year-old boy a case of the shingles. Mom, on the other hand, thought Lassie was the greatest thing since post-natal painkillers. I took it as a personal affront that she thought more highly of a television icon than our own four-legged family member. After all, our dog risked life and limb every day to kill anything that moved in our yard. He’d show up on the front porch with a terminal case of halitosis and a dead bunny in tow and what would mom do? Start wailing and crying and carrying on as if the rabbit had been a personal friend of hers! Personally, I was delighted.

To me, Mom’s point of view was right up there with “Oh, don’t kill it; it’s so cute!” I didn’t believe for a minute that adorable little bunny hanging from our German Shepherd’s jaws didn’t consider all the ramifications before turning our vegetable garden into a late-night snack. It had no qualms about gobbling down our hard-earned crops so if the dog happened to catch it in the act, well, those are the breaks. Some people might think that’s cruel and unfair because the rabbit is small and the dog is large. Well, I hate to be the one to burst the bubble but size doesn’t matter in the animal kingdom; it’s how you use what you've got that counts. A rabbit is at least as fast as a dog and definitely more maneuverable. Besides, I’ve seen dogs that make rabbits look like Mighty Joe Young. On the other hand, I’ve seen rabbits that think they are Mighty Joe Young. One rabbit in particular comes to mind…

I was working as a security officer in a large office complex at the time along with my old friend Todd Norton. Pure luck landed us both with jobs not only at the same security company but also at the same job site and shift schedule. They were looking for two people dumb enough to work nights, weekends, and holidays and we didn’t mind being paid minimum wage to walk around after dark in a part of town better known as ‘War Zone D’. So there I was, bopping down the main floor hallway of one of the buildings late one night when I happened to look in the reflection of a glass door in front of me and spotted a man walking behind me. This wasn’t particularly unusual considering it was an office complex and people often worked late. The fact that he was wearing a trench coat in the middle of June; appeared soaked through to the bone; and had a face right out of Dawn Of The Dead didn't faze me in the least. Obviously the man’s car had overheated and he put the trench coat on to keep from getting dirty while he worked on it. Then he must have removed the radiator cap before the car cooled off and been sprayed with boiling water and anti-freeze—which explained him being soaked from head to foot and having a face that looked like regurgitated cauliflower.

Obviously.

I immediately took pity on the poor fellow. He hadn’t uttered a word despite being severely scalded; though there did seem to be a crazed look in his eyes reminiscent of a rabid animal. Instinctively I knew this was a man who would brook no argument about seeking medical attention but instead only wanted to fix his car and be on his way. I quickly headed out the door to effect those repairs as soon as possible. Unfortunately, once I was outside I saw no sign of a vehicle. I turned to ask him where his car was but the words died in my throat. My new-found friend had picked up his pace and was practically riding my heels wearing an expression not unlike a kid who just realized he’s been locked in for the night inside a candy store. Suddenly I had this inexplicable urge to pick up my pace as well. Then the man broke into a run.

Right about then it occurred to me that what the man had in mind might not be car repairs at all but something more along the lines of my untimely demise, namely after much screaming. It also occurred to me that I should call Todd on the radio. It’s always been my philosophy that two heads are better than one, particularly when confronting a crazed lunatic in the process of selecting his next victim. Besides, Todd would never forgive me for missing out on the chance to meet a real-life serial killer. Realizing I could run the six hundred yards to the security desk faster than I could draw my radio; I immediately put my feet to good effect toward that goal. No sooner had I broken into a nice, healthy sprint somewhere up around Mach 8 when two red orbs appeared in front of me. Thinking I had found the man’s car after all, I stopped in my tracks.

It was just in time to see the orbs blink.

I stood there for a moment, confused. The lights seemed awfully close together to be from a car or even a motorcycle. They may have been emergency flashers but they certainly weren’t blinking in a regular pattern. In fact, they hadn’t blinked again at all. Suddenly I had the sinking feeling that it wasn’t taillights I was looking at all but something more along the lines of Cujo.

Here comes the screaming part… I thought, and, being a firm believer in doing things right the first time, let loose with a good one to start things off. To my astonishment the dog ran right by me. I spun around and saw the man not twenty feet away; stopped in his tracks and staring at the animal bearing down on him. The hell-hound hit him high in the chest; knocking him flat on his back. Incredibly, the animal then sat down on the pavement next to the man as he struggled to find his breath and get back to his feet. My mouth fell open. No dog I ever heard of—or any other predator for that matter—stopped with only one strike after committing itself to battle. That is, of course, unless the dog was Lassie.

Only, this wasn’t Lassie. It wasn’t even a dog. It was a rabbit.

It was the biggest rabbit I’d ever seen. Forget his ears; the top of his head was higher than a fire hydrant. His haunches were as big as hubcaps and he wore a feral grin on his face that had nothing to do with anything pleasant. This was a battle for survival of the fittest and my spectral friend had just come in second-best. The man scrambled to his feet and tore off in the opposite direction. The rabbit let loose with a guttural belch that would’ve put a six-year-old boy to shame and jumped up to go after him. I watched the stranger disappear around the corner of a building with the rabbit closing fast. Then I regained my senses and made a dash for the security desk. I blew through the front door of the security office as if something was chasing me—a not unusual occurrence when Todd and I worked together—and began my report in a manner typical of graveyard-shift security officers everywhere:

“GEEEEEEEEEEESUS KEEEEERRRRRRIST!”

This had the desired effect. It catapulted Todd out of his chair like it was an ejection seat while his follicles shot up like Billy Idol on a bad hair day.

“What! What happened!?”
“A rabbit just saved my ass!”
Dead silence. Todd blinked.
“You're kidding. A rabbit?"
“A rabbit. It was the biggest rabbit I ever saw,” I recounted breathlessly, “This guy was chasing me and the rabbit just came out of nowhere. He jumped up, hit the guy in the chest, and knocked him down he was so big. Then the guy got up and took off. The last I saw he was running hell-bent-for-leather around the corner of the North Plaza building with the rabbit right behind!”
“No way.”
“I swear on my momma’s eyes, man. This thing was Big, dude. Huge. This ain’t some puny cottontail I’m talkin’ about! I’m talking giant, mutant, red-eyed, belch-like-a-linebacker, grin-like-a-possum, beast!”
“Well, how big was he?”
“Haven’t you been listening!? Like a ’52 Buick bumper, man! His head would top a highway rail. His flanks were as big as your butt cheeks. We’re talking about Bugs Bunny breeding with the Tasmanian Devil here. I mean El Tremendo, jack!”

Needless to say, Todd was skeptical. Some strange things happened around the complex that summer but he just couldn’t bring himself to accept the fact a creature that large could go unnoticed for so long. As for me, I was a believer. All of a sudden I began to see the damn thing everywhere. I’d be out on patrol walking through the parking lot and Ga-LUMP! El Tremendo would jump out of some bushes and plop down on the lawn to look me over like a menu. He never chased me—a fact for which I was eternally grateful—it was more as if he just wanted to let me to know he was there. I kept telling Todd each time I saw him and each time he’d just shake his head and chuckle in disbelief. That is, until about two weeks later. Todd came out of a building one night through a door that opened onto a little plaza area with no lighting. Unfortunately, he made the mistake of stopping and letting the door close behind him while his eyes adjusted to the dark. Once the door had closed: Ga-LUMP! El Tremendo jumped out of a nearby bush and landed on Todd’s feet. Todd looked down, barely able to make out the silhouette of some thing shaped like a short, fat kangaroo sitting on his shoes. The gleam of two red eyes stared up at him from just above his belt buckle and if the eyes were there then the jaws were…

“GEEEEEEEEEEESUS KEEEEERRRRRRIST!”

Later, as we tried to patch the hole in the wall made by the security office door when Todd blasted his way through it, we compared notes:

“Man, I swear his paws were bigger than dollar pancakes.”
“You should know; you’ve eaten enough of ‘em,” I recounted dryly, “Hand me that chunk of drywall and some plaster; will ya?”
“I’m telling you; they were! I’ve got the marks on my shoes to prove it!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I saw him first; remember ‘Mister Doubting Thomas?’ Now gimme that utility knife so I can cut out this hole. Man, I’ve never seen anyone hit a door so hard they sent it through the wall. We’ve gotta lay off those breakfast orgies at The Big Belly Buffet, dude; that’s all there is to it. Now see if you can scrounge up some paint while I put this patch in.”
“And his teeth! Man, I swear his cuspids were longer than . . .”

As it turned out, El Tremendo took quite a liking to my partner. He’d wait for Todd to come out of a building and the door to close behind him; then pounce out of his hiding place and chase Todd clear back to the office. It was obvious to me right from the start that it was nothing more than a game. He could have easily caught Todd a dozen times over but Todd had this funny way of running when he was scared. I called it ‘Bump N' Thump.’ Linear direction just didn’t enter into it. Todd would run anywhere and everywhere: up things, over things, around things, through things; it didn’t matter. El Tremendo would get Todd going; then run around to the left or right of him just to see if he could keep him moving in more or less a straight line. He got pretty good at it too. It wasn’t long before we started getting reports from other people on El Tremendo as well. It was nice to know his attention wasn’t center on us alone. We heard stories of office personnel coming out of buildings after working late and being chased to their cars by a giant rabbit. He even took to running after their vehicles and trying to bite the tires. The esteem in which we held him went way up at that point—not that we harbored any ill will towards white-collar workers but some of them could be a pain at times.

More than that though, it was his sheer audacity that held us in awe. Not only did we have the Grand Bull Moose of Big, Ugly Bunnies on our hands, but this one had attitude. I mean, what other rabbit had the machismo to chase cars and bite tires; let alone take on rampaging serial killers? All in all we came to tolerate his surprise appearances rather well. I even managed to persuade Todd there was an up-side to the situation. The exercise from all that running around did him good. Regrettably, El Tremendo finally came up against a car he couldn’t beat. We took the news of his demise in stride on the surface but underneath we couldn’t help but feel a little saddened. A legend was gone. There weren’t many giants…

But there was this cute little bunny that came dashing out of the bushes one morning as we were going off duty. It ran up to Todd and started chewing on his shoe…

One Walker.
We have seen what Power does.
We have seen what Power costs.

One is never equal to the other.
One Walker
Posts: 595
Joined: Wed Jan 14, 2009 4:42 pm
Gender: Female
Location: Minnesota, USA

Post by One Walker »

February 5, 2009

I was involved in a very good discussion a few days ago with a friend of mine on this site. The subject matter was spiritual journeys and how we decide where we are at in them at any given time. This is difficult to judge because we really don't know what the end result of our journey will be or even what specific 'goal' there is-if there is any at all! That issue aside, I thought I would reproduce here my response to that question: It has been amended slightly for the purposes of clarification and to protect the identity of my friend.

Man, you really know how to ask good questions! :lol: There's a couple of different things I consider as far as gauging myself in my spiritual journey. The first thing I ask myself is: Am I happy with myself? That question breaks down further into two parts:

1) How am I as a person in relation to the person I want to be. That means mentally/physically and emotionally/spiritually.

Mental/Physical: Am I confused about something? Do I expend a sufficient or inordinate amount of time considering things? Am I open to seeking knowledge, studying, and just plain learning more? Does my physical condition or activity suggest an issue? In other words: Why do we humans smoke/drink/overeat/under eat/take drugs? Because there are issues in our lives that we have not yet come to terms with. We put ourselves under stress by ignoring or inadequately dealing with the root of the problem and the manifestation of the mind seeking stress relief under those conditions is addiction or other forms of self-destruction.

Emotional/Spiritual: Do I get overly angry at little things? Do I fall into sadness or depression quickly? Am I procrastinating because something is bothering me or is it because I really don't want to do it? Do I feel melancholy or depressed most of the time? What, if anything, do I really believe in? Does what I believe make sense? Does it fit in with the natural order of things as I currently perceive them? If it does, that does not mean I have all the answers or am 'right'; merely that I am currently on what is, for me, the right path at this time. If it doesn't fit it means I need to find out why. It's time to eassess.

2) How do I know if I'm making progress along my spiritual path? The questions begin to change. New ideas and concepts come to light. It's like that old saying: "Just when I had all the answers they changed all the questions!" :lol: It's nothing to get discouraged about; it only means you are advancing to the next chapter. New things are revealed to you.

What's the final goal? Who really knows? Nobody! You've noticed that everyone has pretty much their own version of Heaven, Nirvana, Utopia, etc. You have also noted that those definitions tend to change over time as we grow 'older'. That's because we made them up in the first place! I had to chuckle a little bit when you mentioned the healer stating you were close to God/The Divine. Of course you are! We all are! I think what the healer meant is that you are closer than the average human-which I would totally agree with. We're all messengers of The Divine but because we were given Free Will it falls to reason that some people are going to chose to be better or more accurate messengers than others. Some people choose not to be messengers at all or outright reject the message. That's their choice. Unfortunately, that choice leaves them without hope of meaning in their lives because the first choice we all must make as conscious human beings is, in a way, the toughest choice we will ever have to make: What we want for our life: Joy or Agony?

It sounds like a simple choice but it really isn't because you have to accept the ramifications of that choice without knowing what they are. Joy is the choice of the universe. To be comfortable with all things. To feel that symbiosis and synergy of being together and looking not inward at each other but outward together in the same direction. Curiously enough this is a pretty good description of Love. The stuff God uses to glue people together with! :D The choice of Joy or Agony is a choice of positive and negative. Growth, change, and evolution all stem from positive choice or Joy. Destruction, negation, sterility, and devolvement all stem from the negative choice of Agony. I believe that if this universe ever reaches an overwhelming majority of positive force it will evolve-as a whole-into something else. What that might be I don't know.

The choice of Agony is the material, superficial pursuits of humans and a few other beings. Fulfilling Ego; obtaining fame; amassing fortune; to be judged 'successful' or 'great' by others; to be the only one left standing; to control or have dominion over others; these are all the self-invented trappings of man and they matter not at all in the greater scheme of things. These are all inventions of beings that, once they attained physical form on this plane, lost sight of why they are here. All things exist for a reason. They have Purpose. It is the ultimate folly of certain beings that they fail to recognize or accept this. There is no such thing as randomness. It is my belief we were put here to answer the question: "Can there be greatness without callousness?" but that's just my opinion.

These are some of the things I've come to understand in my years of this lifetime on the planet so far. Where does that leave me level-wise in my spiritual journey? Who knows? Who really cares? What does it really matter in the greater scheme of things? The answer is: Nothing At All. Spiritual journey is not about Me but rather We. I think the question you ask and the one the healer purposed is fundamentally flawed. To measure ones own self at a 'level' in the spiritual journey is really an act of ego because what else is there to compare it to but other humans? Are we then to feel happy or superior because we are 'farther along' or 'better' than most others? What's the point in that? What is the real purpose in such a question?

Now that I've said that, I'll say this: I meant no offense or condensation to you or the healer whatsoever. If that last part came across badly I apologize profoundly. Like I use to tell my girlfriends: "If something I say can be interpreted in two ways, and one of them makes you sad or angry, I meant it the other way!" :lol: Part of the faults males suffer. I have others too. I smoke and have for many years. It started out as I said before: stress relief due to not dealing with issues. I believe I have come to pretty good grips with those issues. Now it's just a matter of kicking the chemical addiction. I've also struggled with weight all my life. I'm pretty sure its a combination of genetics and parental pressure in my youth but maybe its a burden I must bear due to some past life issue. If that's the case I'm fine with that. I'll bear it as best I can while trying to find the right nutrition/exercise combination to correct it. I also have an anger issue. I get livid at Injustice when I see it. I also hate to be toyed with. Basically, I get angry at what I see as unnecessary difficulties forced upon myself or others.

So I'm human, just like everyone else. I don't have all the answers and know just a few of the questions! :lol: We're alike in that way I think.

One Walker
We have seen what Power does.
We have seen what Power costs.

One is never equal to the other.
One Walker
Posts: 595
Joined: Wed Jan 14, 2009 4:42 pm
Gender: Female
Location: Minnesota, USA

Post by One Walker »

Monday, February 9, 2009

Hmmm.... Things were kind of slow on the bbs tonight and in looking at my blog I noticed I haven't posted anything here for a few days. What's to say? Well, the weather is warmer here now! :lol: I managed to get out into the wild both weekend days but decided to stay in today as it was very cloudy and looked as though it would start raining any time. Of course it didn't until after the sun went down! Grrrr! Still no job prospects and judging by the news there won't be any for quite a while. I'm glad to have the time though to continue exploring my path. Doing lots of reading and am in the process of moving my ritual space to another location in the house so I keep occupied to be sure. I have this sense that there is a change coming for me and I believe it will be a positive one. What its nature is I do not know.

Something that has been weighing on my mind and heart lately is the large number of people out there who are generally unhappy. I was listening to songs on SoundClick today and the sheer number of sad and angry songs being posted is rather depressing to me. There even seems to be a substantial number of Wiccans and Pagan practitioners that are in a similar situation. I can't help but wonder why this is in light of the positive, reaffirming energies available to them and the answers that can be found there. Are these people not as strong or knowledgeable in their beliefs as they might be? Did they perhaps come to Wicca/Paganism looking not for answers but for someone else to provide the answers for them?

Belief and Faith are not the easy issues many would think. To truly believe or have faith you must open yourself up completely and with total honesty. A lot of people say they believe in something when they don't. The Elements are not fooled by this. They know people lie-and most often to themselves-and as long as that occurs there is little The Elements can do for these people because they're living under an illusion to begin with. No wonder so many people are complaining about how lost they are!

But perhaps more importantly; belief begins with Self. You have to believe in yourself and have confidence in that belief. You have to come to terms with and let go of your insecurities. You have to acknowledge your faults and weaknesses to the person it is hardest to admit things to: Yourself. You have to cast out fear. After all, what is there to fear? The Is will never subject you to more than you can handle. People have to realize the only agony they cannot bear is the one they will never see. And death? What is there to fear of death? The only part that dies is the physical body. Everything that is You will still exist and you will have the option of embarking on another life on the physical plane either here or somewhere else. So what then is there to be afraid of? What The Jones will think? Your public image?

Now that I've said that, I'll say this: Yes, it is a different situation when you are still living under your parents roof and are subject to their control. They're Super-Ultra-Christian fanatics you say? I hate to tell you this but those types of people also abound in the World of Wicca and Paganism. It's no different on this side of the fence. You don't believe me? Just read a few Christian-bashing posts on this forum. You don't have to look any further than that. Substitute the word "Wiccan" or "Pagan" for "Christian" and you'll see that the arguments are remarkably like those of the fanatical Christians. Both sides get caught up in a furor any time they feel their belief system is being threatened or assaulted somehow. Oddly enough, these are among the people who are most unsure about either themselves or their beliefs.

If you have confidence in your own beliefs there is no need to defend or justify them to someone else; nor is there reason to attack another person's beliefs. People have a right to believe what they want to. Nobody has the right to tell them they're wrong. Parents try to instill their belief system on their offspring and this is no different among Pagans, Wiccans, or Christians. This is also a quite logical and understandable action. You have to accept the fundamental truth of this and; while you're living under their roof; live with it if for no other reason than out of respect for another human being's beliefs. You also need to realize there is very little difference between these belief systems. All spiritual belief systems are based on Love, Peace, and Harmony.

Where we run in to trouble as humans is when we get caught up in the 'Organized Religion' aspects of belief. This is where all the hot-blooded arguments crop up. Also, you will note that the vast majority of arguments aren't really about beliefs as much as the rituals involved in the respective belief systems. You also have to realize these rituals were-without exception-created by humans. So the next challenge on your belief path is to lift yourself free of the quagmire those arguments create. First, you must truly believe what you say you believe or want to believe. Second, you must remove yourself from the earthly debate about spiritual beliefs in general. Once you do this you are prepared to receive the wonderful knowledge and assistance that is waiting out there for you to discover. :wink:

One Walker.
We have seen what Power does.
We have seen what Power costs.

One is never equal to the other.
One Walker
Posts: 595
Joined: Wed Jan 14, 2009 4:42 pm
Gender: Female
Location: Minnesota, USA

Post by One Walker »

Thursday, February 19. 2009

But just! :lol: It's 12:09 AM. I finally have my Ritual Place set up for the most part and took some pictures of it. The base is non-stained boards set up on a card table. Yes, almost all my stones are sitting on it at the same time. This is not the norm but I wanted them all to become well associated with their new place and each other.

Image

This first image I shot at night with no flash for the camera simply because it looked so wonderful in nothing but candlelight! Very peaceful and relaxing. It will be very good for Scrying and Meditation I think. White candles are at the four corners. the Green candle is to the North (Earth), Yellow to the East (Air), Red to the South (Fire), and Blue to the West (Water).

Image

I used the flash on the camera for this second picture. This really brought out the runes I drew on the wood representing the four directions and their Elements. The compass on the table to the right I use to check for magnetic and other effects of stones. Some stones are magnetic and will move the compass but I've found other stones that were not magnetic but moved the compass anyway! I'll be checking more into those later but for now I'm wondering if they are something like an 'Akasha' stone? The pocket knife right above the compass I use for testing stone hardness as a means to help identify them. Directly above and to the left of the pocket knife you can see a small stone sitting on a yellow Post-It note and another, larger stone a couple of inches higher than that sitting next to one of my external hard drives. There is also a third stone not shown sitting on top of my computer. These three stones all repel magnetism and electromagnetic energy. I am using them here to protect my ritual place from outside electromagnetic interference.

Image

This last picture was taken in daylight. The glass jar to the right with the stuff sitting in it is used in rituals. All the items contained in it (except the matchbook) were received in the wild. The spool of white line was store bought and is used in knot tying ceremonies as well as necklace work. Most of the stones you see were received in the wild. The lines of stones running from candle to candle along the outside edge are all Snow Quartz, Smoky Quartz, and Quartz with Limonite coating on them. The large center boulder is a slab of Granite that I was directed to by The Elements to receive and utilize as a center ritual-conducting stone altar. The small, round wooden stump on top of the Granite is actually hollow. It too was received from The Elements for ritual use.

Each of the Quartz stones encircling the site were individually empowered in this fashion: I held each one in my Projective hand, connected with it at the subconscious level, and gave this little rite:

Stone of Power, Beauty, and Grace,
Let no Evil enter this place.
Let no Harm be done in this place.


Simple and effective. I like it!

By the way, anyone looking to pick up red or pink candles cheap: Now is the time! Check the local department stores for post-Valentine's Day sales! I picked up eight candles for four dollars yesterday! :wink:

One Walker.
We have seen what Power does.
We have seen what Power costs.

One is never equal to the other.
One Walker
Posts: 595
Joined: Wed Jan 14, 2009 4:42 pm
Gender: Female
Location: Minnesota, USA

Post by One Walker »

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Well, we had a wonderful little snowstorm late yesterday and last night. Of course there were moans and groans from all the weather forecasters and a flurry of complaints from non-Minnesotans but that's to be expected I guess. The truth is, we needed it. Things were rather dry last year so we need the moisture. Besides, our average snowfall when I was growing up was eighty-eight inches. We get no where near that these days so I really don't understand what people are complaining about. Today the skies are mostly sunny with a brisk Alberta Clipper blowing in so I'm going to get out in the wild and enjoy this refreshing day. Before I do however, I'd like to post a short story I wrote about 15 years ago that seems to fit the occasion. I hope you all enjoy it!

I attended a writer’s workshop the other day and the subject of sensory input came up. One of the things that make a well-written scene; the scholar claimed; involves the characterization of items using one or more of the human senses. It seemed a valid point at the time so I made a note of it but the more I thought about it the more stumped I was. I’m from Minnesota. That means about half my time is spent in close proximity to snow. How do you describe snow? What can you say about it? If anyone should know you would think it’d be a Minnesotan. Well, it looks cold; smells cold; feels cold; tastes cold; and even sounds cold. What more can you say about it? I mean, sure it’s beautiful but why is it beautiful? Because it’s cold!

Wait a minute, I thought, That’s cool!

I decided right then and there what snow needed wasn’t sensory impressionism but something more along the lines of existential description. For instance, snow falls from the sky at less than terminal velocity. You can catch a flake that’s fallen ten thousand feet on the tip of your tongue for crying out loud! That’s cool; unless you get your face broken in the process in which case you should know it wasn’t a snowflake you were looking at but a chunk of hail.

Another thing about snow is, you can lie on top of it for a short period of time and die but burrow underneath it for a long period of time and survive. That’s cool, especially to those of us who happen to get lost or stranded on a regular basis. Snow is also the ultimate concealed weapon. In fact, it’s the number one weapon of choice among Minnesota males between the ages of 8 and 80. Nothing is quite as satisfying as the feeling of having a nice, big, fat, firm, tightly packed snowball nestled discreetly in your glove. Studies have shown that just such an act triggers a radical increase in endorphin levels. Oh sure, you may have started out building a snowman but just wait until you get some snow in your hands. Before you know it that dear loved one you’ve chosen to share this special moment with has turned into an outright menace to society who must be dealt with severely and immediately-especially since they’re bent over with their back to you.

This type of visual stimulation coupled with the increasingly severe hormonal imbalance caused by that wad of snow in your hand is difficult to suppress. To hear the satisfying skkkllack! of a well-placed snowball is to be as one with the universe. To see your polarized projectile explode against your loved one’s rump in a spray of glaciated shrapnel is to know your true self. Perhaps the best part about it is if you miss or only graze your target there’s an inexhaustible supply of ammunition readily at hand. Of course the hunter will probably become the hunted at that point so you’ll have to pick up more ammo on the way to wherever it is you’re running. How fortunate for you that snow is so light!

That’s another thing. Did you know that snow’s weight is inversely proportional to its application? Extensive field tests have proven that snow piled on the end of a shovel for the purpose of work weighs up to twelve times more than the same amount piled on a shovel for the purpose of play. Talk about cool! Just place a fellow human being within close proximity and before you know it you’ll be able to sling that snow twenty feet or more. Your sidewalk will be clear in no time!

Then there’s snow’s recuperative effect. Getting thirsty walking the ten miles to town after your car slid into the ditch? Why, walk right over to the side of the road and scoop up a healthy serving of snow! Everyone likes a cold drink now and then and snow is just the ticket. There’s no sensation quite like that of frozen flakes slowly melting in your stomach. It’s guaranteed to satisfy your thirst for at least forty to fifty years! And the endorphin effect! Well, you know what it does to just hold snow in your hand so you can imagine what it does when taken internally. It’ll put a snap in your step and a glint in your eye!

If you happen to be in the company of loved ones at the time you’ll certainly want to share this euphoric feeling with them as they may not be in the best of moods. Here’s where snows’ wonderful transmutation effects really shine—and there’s no need for your companion to take it orally! Liberal application to exposed body parts such as the neck will suffice. In the event there aren’t any exposed parts, direct insertion beneath their clothing at the base of their spinal column is highly recommended.

Perhaps the best thing about snow is that it knows when it’s overstayed its welcome. It picks Spring; when so many other things choose to return; to make its exit unobtrusively. Like that one crazy friend who gets on our nerves after prolonged exposure, we hardly notice its passage from our lives. Rest assured though, before too many months go by it reappears at just the right moment, just when we were beginning to think about it once again. We remember its nature with mild annoyance but it is always tempered with a certain softness and affection-for snow; like that crazy friend; never changes with the passage of time.

One Walker :D
We have seen what Power does.
We have seen what Power costs.

One is never equal to the other.
[Silver Dove]
Posts: 137
Joined: Mon Sep 29, 2008 8:03 am
Gender: Female

Post by [Silver Dove] »

Hi One Walker,

I love your alter! It really feels like the right place for all your stones & rocks. Is there a reason why you arranged your stones the way you did (other than the ones you already talked about)...for example is there a reason why you choose to put those particular stones you have on the granite?.....Your stones and rocks are so lovely as well.
May love, peace & hope always be with you. Blessed Be!

Silver Dove
One Walker
Posts: 595
Joined: Wed Jan 14, 2009 4:42 pm
Gender: Female
Location: Minnesota, USA

Post by One Walker »

Thanks, Silver Dove!

Many of these stones are 'special use' stones that will be put into sole containers as soon as I can properly catalog their descriptions and uses and take good pictures of them. For the most part I tried to place the stones according to their Elemental connection (Black and Green for Earth, Blue for Water, Red for Fire, etc.).

The granite centerpiece is connected to all the Elements and so, in a sense, represents Akasha. Some of the stones on the Granite altar are likewise 'centrally' connected-like my Pipestone. Others, like 'The Traveler'; 'Health'; and 'The Cradle'; are my everyday-carrying stones that I like to centrally charge since they have no exclusive Elemental attachment. For instance, The Cradle's primary purpose (as it told me) is to nurture. That means it provides not only Love but also Healing and Centering/Grounding. It can provide this to humans, trees, or any other kind of creature. Therefore it's also a good communicator to transcend the physical and ethereal realms. It is difficult to place stones such as this; with highly complex and differentiated personalities; within one Element so these will go on the granite.

Some of the stones on the granite I have yet to identify or discover their primary purpose so until then they will remain safely placed at the center of all Elements.

Good questions! Thanks! :D

One Walker.
We have seen what Power does.
We have seen what Power costs.

One is never equal to the other.
One Walker
Posts: 595
Joined: Wed Jan 14, 2009 4:42 pm
Gender: Female
Location: Minnesota, USA

Post by One Walker »

Thursday, March 5, 2009

The last several days have been a continuous blessing for me. First of all, there seems to be (to me anyway) quite a number of new memberships here on the forums and I take that to be a good sign. Lots pf people-especially younger ones-are actively seeking answers to their questions. Whether or not they're asking the right questions or are ready to accurately assimilate the information they may receive is another matter but I still think it's a very good thing.

Aside from that, my daily journeys into the wild have been full of love, laughter, and wonder. It is such a joy to be so warmly welcomed there! I can't help but smile when I enter the area and a bunch of trees start wildly waving at me. I have to laugh at this joyous greeting and wave back. Then a Blessing Wind comes up and I know I'm 'home'. I can go walking through the wild and have the trees pat me on the head or reach out and give me a warm, heart-felt embrace. Many times when I stop at a tree a bird or two will come over and start singing to me.

Even the normally skittish Canadian Geese have started coming around. Yesterday I was walking along the river looking for trash to pick up and receiving more than my share of bountiful gifts in the form of rock, shells, and other ritual items. There were two geese following me at a short distance behind. They were paddling upriver and stayed with me all the way up the shoreline. I would stop and wave to them occasionally and they would stop as well, only moving when I moved.

I received some incredible gifts. Yesterday I was the recipient of a beautiful large Quartz stone transitioning from Clear to Snow. I also received a large, completely intact, Freshwater Clam Shell (Both halves still attached). I also was gifted with several goose and duck feathers as well as several other gorgeous and strong stones, some with runes on them!. I also saw and got some good pictures of a pair of Swans in the river. There are two couples that have been frequenting the area recently. I have never seen Swans there before. There is a Snow Goose that mates with the Canadian Geese around there too, and has for several years. To top it all off animal-wise, I had a young Bald Eagle zoom past me not more than 30 feet away! I was so awestruck I didn't think to get my camera out in time but I've seen Eagles cruising the area before so I'll be keeping a special eye out for a photo opportunity soon. What an awesome, reverent experience it is to walk where eagles fly!

Today I received another shell that was even larger than yesterdays! (I'll post pics soon). I also was gifted with what I think is a truly HUGE Crystal. It was heavily covered with slime and gunk-as was the shell (They were right next to each other curiously enough. Connected? We'll see.)-so I'm in the process of cleaning them both. I also received several wondrous stones (and more with runes on them); plus several small pine branches from trees that have been recently 'trimmed back' by parties unknown. I brought them home and planted them in my pots in the hopes of keeping them alive a while longer. I really love the scent!

Lastly, I've been receiving glass bottles lately. Some are clear and some are colored. I know The Elements are aware of my intent to start growing my own herbs, spices, and such-as well as make my own candles-so I take this to be yet another positive sign that I'm on a good path and the right one for me. I've been picking up trash for years now but lately I've noted that half the things I'm being presented with are tools for ritual use. It's gotten so every time I spot some trash I have to smile and laugh and thank The Elements for this gift; be it for ritual use or just the opportunity to give something back by helping clean house! :lol:

It is just such an overwhelming JOY to be on this path! Truly there is a helping, giving relationship between myself and The Elements. Every day is a joy and I couldn't care less if I received a single item on my forays into the wild! I'm happy with the path my life is on. I'm smiling the whole time whenever I'm in the wild or near my ritual items (which is pretty much all the time). There is a sure-footedness and rock-like (if you'll pardon the pun) certainty to my existence that I haven't experienced in decades. Much has fallen into place for me and the larger world makes sense. There is a balance to the greater picture the likes of which I haven't known since I was a teen and still inexperienced in so many things.

Blessed Be!

One Walker.
We have seen what Power does.
We have seen what Power costs.

One is never equal to the other.
One Walker
Posts: 595
Joined: Wed Jan 14, 2009 4:42 pm
Gender: Female
Location: Minnesota, USA

Post by One Walker »

March 12, 2009

Been very busy the last several days spending a good portion of my Federal Return money! :lol: I went on a book-buying spree for such topics as Field Guides to Minnesota Trees and Wildflowers; several books by Edgar Cayce; Runes; The Kensington Rune Stone; The Pashats and The Crystal People by Murry Hope; and George Noory's Worker In The Light. That should hold me for awhile! I also picked up some additional ritual and stone-cleaning supplies. I think I'm going to need another cabinet or a portable pantry before long! Maybe tomorrow I'll go looking for one at a discount house I know of. I could also definitely use another bookcase!

The blizzard dumped several inches of snow on us and the temperature dropped into the single digits with a windchill of 20 to 35 degrees below zero for the past two days so I haven't ventured out into the wild as of late. I look at is as an opportunity to do the shopping thing and catch up on lots of interesting reading so it's certainly not wasted time. I'm also trying to prepare myself to undergo some substantial changes in my life. Namely, I'm going to quit smoking and radically alter my diet and exercise regime so I can get rid of this Christmas weight-from 1989! :lol: :roll: Send me good wishes and Intent everybody! Please!

Anyway, for those of you interested in all things paranormal there is a late night talk show that deals exclusively with a wide range of paranormal subjects called Coast to Coast AM. George Noory is the host and it's very good most of the time. You can check out the website here: http://www.coasttocoastam.com/. The cool thing is, you can join up at the site for a small monthly or annual fee and listen to the show or you can check the Affiliates section for an AM Radio Station near you that carries the broadcast. I listen via a local AM station that has an online broadcast so I get the best of all world I think. The program runs 7 nights a week from 10 PM to 2 or 3 AM Pacific Standard Time so you'll have to burn the midnight oil to listen but once it gets going the time will probably fly by. You can call in or e-mail questions or comments to George or his guest too! I've been listening to him for about two years now and it is an awesome show overall. Some wild, wild things can go on there so be ready for anything!

One Walker.
We have seen what Power does.
We have seen what Power costs.

One is never equal to the other.
One Walker
Posts: 595
Joined: Wed Jan 14, 2009 4:42 pm
Gender: Female
Location: Minnesota, USA

Post by One Walker »

March 21, 2009

Release The Bats started a pretty interesting thread over in the Questions and Answers section asking "Does insanity actually exist?" I dropped in with some comments, one of which included how, as individuals, we look at our world. It is very seldom in a purely factual way, or even in any factual way. We respond and interact with our world, our reality, based on Perception. This brought to mind a story I wrote a while back:

A MATTER OF PERCEPTION

A few days after we buried my father, Mom approached me with the idea of trying to make amends with my brother. I could understand her reasoning; there was only the three of us left now; but I still had my doubts. Thirteen months separated my older brother and I but that was the closest likeness we shared. Our growing-up years had been replete with the rivalry common to siblings but there were also things that had happened which mom still knew nothing about almost three decades later.

I’d surpassed my brother, both in size and height, by the age of five, and it wasn’t long after that I discovered what a handicap that could be. Being both the youngest and largest child I was virtually guaranteed of being automatically found guilty of any infraction and it didn’t take long for my brother to realize he could take advantage of the situation. Thus began our contest of wills-a race of sorts-with me trying to be scrupulously honest, responsible, peaceable, and forgiving in line with the religious ideals my parents expounded upon us while my brother did his best to exploit it. At the finish line lay the prize: the love and adoration of our parents.

It’d be nice to say the situation resolved itself and had a happy ending but the fact of the matter is the first born child sometimes holds a special light in parents eyes which blinds them to many things. Parenting doesn’t come with a manual grant you; and mistakes are inevitably made; but perhaps the worst is to put your head in the sand and ignore a problem or situation; or to tell the victim that they have to take it without recourse because the aggressor is a blood relation.

Blood doesn’t excuse everything.

I became an introvert largely because of that while my brother was an extrovert; enjoying the immunity his status afforded him. He did well in school and social settings while I struggled with both. He explored the more worldly attractions life had to offer while I looked elsewhere for answers that seemed to be without resolution. He was homosexual and I was heterosexual. The likelihood of us ever reaching some kind of common ground was slim. In fact, over time it grew worse. Eventually I was able to separate myself from him in the freedom of adulthood and there things had stood for nearly 19 years.

My mother told me she had first proposed the idea of putting our animosities aside to my brother but he rejected the notion. It didn’t surprise me. The enmity we felt toward each other was firmly entrenched in our childhood—a malignant growth that had surreptitiously wrapped itself around our family like a vine; slowly squeezing it to death. I had never let go of the injustices suffered in my youth at his hands and I very much doubted I could bring myself to forgive him. Then she told me that the reason my brother declined to make an overture was because he was afraid of me.

My brother? Afraid of me? Why?

The question nagged at me in the ensuing weeks. In the end I had to confess I really didn’t know why he was afraid. We’d been separated by more than mere miles far too long for me to understand what was going through his mind, and to tell you the truth I didn‘t really care. I’d discarded any thoughts of reconciliation with him or my parents long before I ever left home. It’d only been in the last few years, and then only after great difficulty, that I’d managed to bridge the gap between my parents and myself. The prospect of spanning the gulf separating my brother and I seemed impossible by comparison. Still, I’d given up on my parents as well when I went out on my own and yet reconciliation had eventually come with them. That, and the shadow of my father’s death looming over us, behooved me to at least give it a try.

The three of us decided to get together at mom’s place over Christmas. I knew, and I suppose my brother did too, that it would be a rough one. It’d be the first Christmas in fifty-five years that our mother would spend without her husband. The unspoken consensus between my brother and I was that we would set aside our hostilities for her sake. It also seemed the perfect opportunity to try and settle our differences of the past. Time was working against us all.

My brother had been diagnosed with HIV some years ago and was undergoing treatment with the aid and support of my parents. I knew our father’s passing held an extra measure of pain for him because it brought to the forefront the finality of his own existence. Since that time he had been pressuring my mother for more financial assistance with his medical bills in a panicky, almost frenzied state. It irked me that he was using statements like ‘I’m Only Dying!’ to try and coerce money from my mother—as if she hadn’t already been doing everything in her power to save her son’s life. Even so, I could understand the act of a desperate person. I knew as well as he did what lay ahead.

I waited until the day after Christmas when the two of us were alone outside. He was working in dad’s garden while I looked after mom’s old car. I knew she was busying herself with other chores inside the house so I approached him to strike up a conversation.

“How’s the new job going?” I asked.
“Fine,” he replied, but I immediately sensed that all was not fine. Even after years of separation I found I could still read the inflections in his voice. There was a tone of aloofness there, as if he was wary and his defenses were up.
“Still in training?” I continued.
“Oh, yeah. At least until April when the new branch opens up,” he responded. He wouldn’t look at me. His tone of voice sounded as if he thought he were talking to a dolt. It was a familiar intonation I remembered from many times in the past and I felt the first twinges of a very old anger creeping up inside me.
“Benefits?” I continued, struggling to keep the awkward conversation going. Why is he behaving like this? Doesn’t he realize what a precarious situation he’s in? Hasn’t he realized what’s really important yet; even after all these years and dad’s death?
“Of course!” he pompously proclaimed, as if it were a stupid question barely worth the breath it took to respond to it. He was playing what I’d called ‘The Denial Game’ when we were kids. He’d been a consummate liar back then and became very adept at denying things even if caught red-handed. He was acting as though there was nothing wrong at all despite the fact that our father was gone and he was terminally ill. He must have known why I’d approached him in private yet he was being patronizing; knowing it would provoke me.
“They cover your medication and treatments?” I persisted, now fully aroused by the condescending tone in his voice.
“Most of it,” he retorted indifferently. I knew exactly what he was thinking and deeply resented it. He would tap our mother for whatever costs his benefit package didn’t pick up even though she couldn’t really afford it. I knew she’d do it anyway. Her husband dead? Her son terminally ill? He knew it too and fully intended to play on that for all he could get out of her. It was just like the brother I’d always known. I was furious.
“Listen, if you need help covering any of that let me know, okay? I mean, I can’t promise anything but I’ll do what I can,” I said in the most contemptible tone I could muster.
“I’m fine!” he shot back.

Needless to say, things went downhill from there. All of a sudden we were boys again; those two arch-rivals on the same race track. The green flag had been dropped and up through the gears we went:

“Then stop hounding Mom for money she can’t afford to part with!” I scolded. “You already wiped out Mom and Dad once before with your college-hopping, partying lifestyle.”
“What! What are you talking about!?“ he exclaimed in a thinly-guised expression of shock. He was baiting me and I gladly swallowed it: Hook, line, and sinker.
“I’m talking about the way you treat your life. Like it’s one big party where someone else always picks up the tab for your good time!” I countered.
“What are you talking about?” he feigned, looking at me as if I were crazy. Gone were all thoughts of the reason for my engaging him in conversation in the first place.
“I’m talking about the way you’ve always tapped Mom and Dad for money to bail you out of trouble. Whenever you wanted to move, or pick up a new car, or try out a new college, you always hit them up for the money; knowing that they’d rather bail you out than see you go down in flames.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he smugly responded. I exploded.
“Good grief! Aren’t you ever going to grow up!? When are you going to face reality!?”
“You have no idea what reality is,” he said with a contemptuous smirk, shaking his head. “You have no idea what the reality of my situation is.”
“Reality!” I shouted incredulously. “What do you think; I’m still wet behind the ears!? I’ll tell you what the reality of your situation is…”

I had him. I had him and he knew it. Like I said though, he was never one to admit it; even to himself. We were headed into that first tight turn on our particular race track and I held the inside lane. Very few times had I ever gained that position over him and those times I did I usually let him coast through the turn—a leniency he had never extended to me when the situation had been reversed.

But this wasn’t a child’s game anymore. I had the years of experience in a grown-up world behind me in spite of our child-like bickering, and in those years I’d discovered the words in the adult world that I’d lacked in my youth. The ones that cut to the bone and left scars no amount of time could heal.

I could have backed off. I could have let him glide through. Instead, I flashed back upon a particularly vile and ugly thing he had done to me on a few occasions when we were alone at home. I remembered how helpless and ashamed I’d felt and how I’d wished that he’d die horribly. Now, almost twenty years later, I realized I’d gotten my wish.

And I put my brother into the wall.

“The reality of your situation is that you’re dying,” I proclaimed dispassionately. “You played around with your fag friends and you got burned. You’re gonna die, and a lot sooner than you ever imagined. No amount of money that Mom has; no amount in the world; will alter the fact that you’re one dead mother. And guess what! I’ve got news for you! You ain’t gonna like it! I’ve seen people die of AIDS. I’ve had ‘em die right in front of me and believe me; it ain’t pretty! You’re not gonna like it one bit. It ain’t a good way to die. There’s nothing noble about it. It’s painful and ugly and all your arrogance and denial and condescending attitude won’t change it.

“You knew all along that you were taking a chance but it’s always been ‘It’ll Never Happen To Me!’ with you. Well, guess what! It did! You don’t have anyone else to blame but yourself so get off this ‘I’m Only Dying’ crap! You’ve lived in the clouds all your life while other people picked up your tab. There’s nothing I can do about that but there sure is something I can do to keep you from dragging Mom down with you. At least face something for once in your life! Try to be a man for once in your life and spare Mom the agony of listening to your eternal whining and begging!

“You’ve been hopped up for years about everybody accepting your homosexuality. You wanna hear everybody tell you that it’s okay to be gay? You wanna hear me say it? Fine. You got it. It’s okay with me if you’re gay. And you know what?” I leaned over close to him and smiled the smile of The Wolf. “It’s okay with me that you’re a dead gay too.”

We locked eyes for a long moment, him on his knees in front of the bush he’d been pruning and me standing over him. He turned back to look at his handiwork but not before I’d seen enough to know that I’d hit what I was aiming at.

And now I knew why he feared me.

As a child he had enjoyed always getting his way. He had beaten, harassed, and sexually abused me; confident in the knowledge that he could outrun me because he was faster than I was and that our parents always took his side. My hatred of him, and of my parents for allowing him to continue unchecked for all those years, finally drove me to take matters into my own hands when I was fifteen. I started to run. I ran every day for six months. I ran until I was faster than him and then I waited until he struck again. When he did, I ran him into the ground and beat him bloody.

That beating had affected both of us more than I realized. When I walked away from his bruised and bleeding body that day I wasn’t the same person he’d known but I wasn’t the same person I’d known either. I was totally and truly indifferent to him and his pain. He had no idea what had happened; only that the tables had turned. For the first time he feared me; and in the years since it had never left him. He was afraid of a reckoning to come for what he’d done. There had been no limit as to how far he would go with me. The beating he took at my hands was a message. There would be no limit on him either. The hunted had become the hunter.

I turned away, angry and disgusted both with him and myself. I knew as I walked back to the car the magnitude of the damage I’d done but it was too late to take it back. I leaned under the hood, fuming at myself for letting things go that way. I’d failed my mother, my father, all of us. The first chance at some kind of peace between us in decades. It’d been up to me and I blew it. Instead of strengthening what was a precarious bridge at best, I’d blown it up.

Nice going, asshole.

I grabbed the upper radiator hose and gave it a squeeze. It was soft. I started checking it for leaks and cracks. Just then my mother came out the kitchen door carrying two large lawn bags full of various belongings and threw them in the trashcan. She’d been doing a lot of that since my father died.

“Hey Mom! Looks like you’re gonna need new radiator hoses before too long,” I hollered at her.
“Why? Is it leaking?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. The hoses are soft.”
“Oh?” she exclaimed, a confused expression on her face. She closed the lid on the trashcan and headed in my direction while putting on what I knew from experience was a feigned expression of interest. I noted how old and frail she looked as I watched her approach—as if it were a struggle just to walk to the car. My eyes softened. I knew a large part of her appearance had to do with my father’s death but still there was a certain quality about her even now. I don’t know if it was her Welsh ancestry, her Bostonian background, or her Christian faith, but somehow I knew she was going to tough it out. She was going to endure the unendurable. She was going to make it. I smiled and this inexplicably warm, gentle, proud feeling came over me.

My mother has never been interested in anything mechanical; especially cars. Vehicle maintenance was a traditional headache in our family. Despite my father’s best efforts they always seemed to break down, and at the most inopportune times. She’d always detested cars for that and the stresses they placed on the family. Yet, because her sons were there; because one of them wanted to show her something; there she was making the attempt to show interest where there was none. She was trying to show interest in the condition of the car; trying to bridge the gap between herself and something mechanical; trying to bridge the gap between herself and her son just like she’d tried to bridge the gap between herself and an all-male family for most of her adult life. She was being supportive by showing interest where there was none. She was offering support even though she was barely hanging on herself.

“What do you mean by ‘soft’?” she asked me tentatively.
“That’s how you tell when they’re starting to go bad,” I explained. “When they’re new they’re hard and stiff but as time passes, and heat and chemicals work on them, they begin to soften. Then cracks start to appear and the next thing you know you’ve blown a hose. That’s why you’re suppose to replace them when they get to feeling too soft. All you have to do is squeeze them to tell. I can replace the hoses. That’s no problem. They’re easy to change and they don’t cost that much.”
“Well, how do you know when they’re too soft?” she asked with some uncertainty.
“Here,” I offered, taking her hand and placing it on the hose, “Squeeze it right here.”
“Oh. And that’s too soft?” she looked at me questioningly.
“Well…yeah,” I stumbled; momentarily confused, “Don’t you think so? Doesn’t that feel soft to you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got arthritis, and I’m not as strong as you are,” she said, looking at me closely.
“Yeah, but doesn’t that feel soft to you?”

I’m as dense as the day is long.

“Well, what feels soft to you may seem hard to me. Your grip is stronger than mine so you squeeze harder than I do. I don’t know. I’m not very good at these things. Maybe it’s just in my head. I guess it’s just a matter of perception. You do what you think is best.”

And then she smiled. She gave me one of those patented ‘Mom’ smiles. The kind that can take that worthless lump of coal you’re holding and turn it into a diamond.

“I love you, son! I’m so glad you’re here!” she said in a voice that could melt the coldest heart.

Or break the hardest stone.

She rested her hand on my arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. Then she walked back into the house.

I scratched my head. Half of me was wondering what that was all about and the other half was still mulling over the argument with my brother:

Stop hounding Mom for money she can’t afford to part with . . . How do you know it’s too soft? . . . someone else always picks up the tab . . . but you squeeze harder than I do . . . go down in flames . . . I’ve got arthritis . . . you’re one dead mother . . . Oh. And that’s too soft? . . . I’ve seen people die . . . cracks start to appear . . . It’ll Never Happen To Me . . . That’s how you tell when they’re starting to go bad . . . but there’s sure something I can do . . . You do what you think is best . . . reality of the situation . . . a matter of perception . . .

Wait a minute. Reality of the situation? A matter of perception? I checked behind my ears.

Yup. Definite signs of moisture.

I looked over at my father’s garden and suddenly a great wave of grief crashed over me. It too was dying.

For most of my life I’d known my father as a stern, no-nonsense man without a lot of humor and sharp, hard, facial features that scared even me at times. For that reason it came as a shock to find that gardening had become one of my father’s passions after his retirement. For some reason he’d taken to planting flowers instead of vegetables. After he passed on my mother had neither the desire nor the passion to keep it up. I remembered her telling me how, in the time since my father’s death, my brother had driven all the way up from Arizona on many weekends just to tend the garden and keep it going. I looked his way and my spirits hit bottom. An immense sorrow poured down my throat to the soles of my shoes and came rising back up to well in my eyes, threatening to spill out.

My brother was bent over a small, yellow blossom; trimming away dead and dying limbs with the utmost care; trying not to kill it in the process. Anyone who saw the thing could tell it was a futile effort. All he could do, the best he could hope for, was to give it every chance to last as long as it could. He wouldn’t permit himself to hope that some miracle would save it. It was enough to clear away the parts that were already dead, give it some water, and let it do what it could with that little bit of help. I turned back to Mom’s car and looked it over; knowing that it too was a losing battle. In its heyday that model had been an Indy Pace Car but now…

This race was over.

Pace Cars aren’t there to win though. Once they’ve started the race they only come out when there’s trouble. And when they’re on the track there’s no passing, no jostling for position, no racing. It’s a time to take a break. Hit the pit area and make repairs. Clean up the debris and tend to the injured.

I looked up at the kitchen door. Then I closed the hood of the car and headed for the crash.

“Pretty flower.”
“Yeah, considering it looks like it got run over by a truck!”
“Salvageable?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see.”
“What kind is it?”
“I don’t know for sure. I think it’s a hybrid. Dad had all these labeled a long time ago but most of the markers have been washed away or the words faded out over time.”
“What do they call that color?”
“Yellow,” my brother looked up in surprise, “Most yellow flowers are called yellow. Why? What do you call it?”
“Yellow. I just thought they might’ve labeled it ‘Canary Yellow’ or ‘Lemon Yellow’ or something like that. You know; like how they have all these fancy, weird names for colors these days?”
“Huh? What’re you talking about?”
“What color is my T-shirt?”
“White.”
“What color is my skin?”
“Beige.”
“Okay, but some people would’ve called it white, right? You look in a box of crayons and it’s labeled ‘Flesh Tone.’ See what I mean?”
“I take it there’s a point to this.”
“A thing called by different names; identified in different ways and by different means. One face but many names. Reality versus the perception of reality.”

My brother gave the flower a pensive look but said nothing. I continued.

“Think of it like this: Some people experience what they call ‘Time Lag.’ Jet pilots and race car drivers for instance. They operate in abnormal conditions because they’re traveling at high speed. Adrenaline rises because they’re in the heat of action. They’re moving fast and their reactions need to be quicker so things seem to slow down for them. You’ve heard it before. What do accident victims always say? Either ‘It happened so fast’ or ‘It was like everything was in slow motion.’ Things aren’t really moving in slow motion of course; it’s just that their perception has been altered in the heat of action. Reality hasn’t changed, just their perception of reality.

“Unfortunately, when they make a mistake it’s usually magnified because of the speed they’re going. The point is that too often in the past you and I have relied on our perception of reality as true reality in the heat of the moment. Because of that we’ve made some pretty bad mistakes; like the one I just made a while ago. It’s got to stop. All that childhood garbage is in the past. There are greater issues between us; like how to get you the help you need.

“You’re my brother and despite what you may think I care about you. I care about what happens to you. If it were in my power to take away your troubles I would but I can’t. Neither can Mom. The best I can do is offer what support I can. At least I can listen if you want to talk.”

He looked at me but his face had the non-committal expression I’d seen on a few other occasions. I’d done the best I could. He turned back to the flower.

“I don’t know about you but I’m thirsty,” he said.
“Water?” I offered hopefully.
“Sure.”
“Ice?”
“Of course!”
“How much?”
“Half.”
“Half empty or half full?”

His head shot up and he looked at me closely. Then, for the first time in over twenty years, my brother shook his head and shot me a grin without a trace of malice in it. I smiled and turned to get the drinks but there was a full pitcher of ice water and two empty glasses already sitting outside the patio door…

He died nine months to the day after our last race of complications arising from AIDS.

I came back from that Christmas trip with a new-found interest in gardening.

And my mother was surprised to receive notice that she was the beneficiary of a sizable life insurance policy taken out by her eldest son.


One Walker.
We have seen what Power does.
We have seen what Power costs.

One is never equal to the other.
[Silver Dove]
Posts: 137
Joined: Mon Sep 29, 2008 8:03 am
Gender: Female

Post by [Silver Dove] »

Howdy OW!

Ok the blog about your brother brought tears to my eyes as I am currently going through some stuff with my own brother. Well he is going through a rough patch and he is pushing us away...he won't come back home, won't talk to us etc...and it hurts me to see him in so much pain but he doesn't even want to talk to me about it...at one point we used to be so close and now it's all changed...and the more I try to fix it the more he runs in the opposite direction....but I still have hope that all will be ok in time.
May love, peace & hope always be with you. Blessed Be!

Silver Dove
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