I am making an attempt to add to my creative satiation by creating a a podcast that has no specific direction. Neat huh?
If it was a personal ad, it would say ” Seeking Interesting Conversation”
“Hermit Noun seeks insightful conversation with people who would rather discuss vs. argue. Seeking people who like to think out of the box but still navigate with a moral compass. Hoping to do more than compare notes and commiserate, let’s find the treasure together and share the bounty- ”
I guess I don’t really care and it’s one of those moments when I again throw caution to the wind and set it forth. I will ask your assistance in momentum, because it will dictate a certain direction – This is definitely for me and you, but I want your help and involvement to make it something worth while. Think of it as a group project, a collaborative effort where I do most the work, but I don’t actually have to do anything at all because, duh, we aren’t in high school and this experiment is a choice, not a mandate.
If you have a half hour- check out my shaky, unguided pilot. If you do, I would appreciate it if you leave a comment and tell me what you think (good, bad- whatever.) If you check it out, share it, even if you don’t like it. Maybe it wasn’t for you today. But I bet you know someone who might like it because you like me and that is how networking works on the most pure of levels.
I’m pretty excited to share this rather impromptu recording regardless…. It’s nice to put my voice out there again- talking about the daily reflection. Today I compare our desires and obligations/ draws and distractions- to a junk drawer.
In December, it happened- all of the scrolling through FB pages looking for the “perfect dog” while daily breaking my own heart looking at all those fur balls that need furever homes- I finally saw her.
I knew it from her eyes. No picture of any dog spoke to me like this one did. She had recently been posted for rescue, and I wanted to be first on the list. So late that night, I filled out an application with magnanimous amounts of hope and love brewing within my soul. When I looked at this picture, I knew that I knew this dog even though she was rescued 622 miles away. Then I looked at her number. The last four digits are the same as my SSN. Weird right? Not to me- just a sign of synchronicity to come.
Over the course of the next day, my application was put into process, but Nina (as they called her) was tagged by a rescue based in the Colorado Springs area with fosters all across the Front Range. Usually they don’t deal with interested fosters this far North because they don’t have many connections in the area to make transports easier.
Perfect timing, was that application was filled out right before Christmas and most people were entrenched in their holiday plans, making transport a bit more complicated. At first I thought it would only be a few days before she would head my direction, but after further assessment they realized she is not spayed and had kennel cough. They would be unwilling to do surgery until the cough was cleared up… So, baby had to sit in quarantine for a few days until she was cleared for surgery. I was told it could be a couple of weeks.
It was fine. I was willing to be patient. Patience comes easy when you are sure it is The One. I wanted to make sure that she was healthy enough to travel and if we had to wait a little longer, then it would be worth it.
Finally last week she was cleared for transport. She would be here Sunday January 13, 2019.
In the weeks leading up to Nina’s transport, I began a process of talking to her through my psychic centers, just like I use to with Claddagh. I told Nina about my home life, the people in it and my other pet friends. I told her about the expectations I have for a calm house life. I told her about Claddagh and how much she meant to me. I told her, that I would be her last spot. I am her Home.
Every night before falling asleep I would tell the kitteries about our new friend. And, as I drifted to slumber I would send all the healing love energy to this new but suffering companion.
Jump back to 2007, when Claddagh came into my life. I was living with friends in Gilpin, Colorado. Friends who are on a higher wave length when it comes to spiritual discussions and how spiritual dynamics effect our reality. Friends who, themselves are animal lovers.
During one of the animal discussions the topic of animal reincarnation was brought up because even at first I was afraid of losing Claddagh. I was already preparing for her death in my psyche. This is when my friend Lindy started talking about animal reincarnation and soul companions in the form of pets.
That we contract with souls of animals for lessons and companionship in learning those lessons. That once we fell in love with an animal it was imparted with a Soul Personality. Given the duration of life is much shorter for an animal, their Souls are allowed to return in different bodies, if the contract is still active.
I always felt like I would be with Claddagh forever and ever, amen. I certainly didn’t feel like our contract was up when I had to say “good-bye.”
In spiritual communities it is talked about that animal reincarnation can take one of three forms. The soul being born into the body; the soul “walking into” a body that is already established in the world, and Soul Braiding.
Soul Braiding is when say a dying animal Soul contracts with another animal soul that is living. They contract to share a body and a personality in order to continue the initial soul contract with the human the first animal Soul was tied to. Essentially the living animal Soul agrees to bind with the dying animal Soul, and facilitate a continuation of where things left off.
Far left, right? Totally fucking Woo-woo, right?
I don’t think so.
Due to a scheduling conflict I was unable to pick up Nina from transport and I had to arrange for someone else to bring her to me. I noticed my dad was working near Fort Collins that day, and I offered a home made quiche for help in the matter. I asked him because the last time Claddagh disappeared, my dad arrived at the shelter before I did in order to help locate her. He also said to me “Mandie, you need to get another dog.” I figured if he was a strong advocate, then he would be of excellent assistance for uniting me with my newest friend. Plus he really likes dogs, and I think they know that about him.
Finally around 8:20pm they walk through the door. Nina is apprehensive as all get out. Her tail curled between her back legs, even when sitting down. She was easy under my dad’s control of the thin leash. She wasn’t sure about me. She wasn’t sure of anything except that she was comfortable with my dad. Ha! The man was worried she wouldn’t like him, and now she was thinking that she was suppose to leave with him… Sorry, puppers, you are staying with me.
After my dad left, she wandered around looking for him. Going back to the front door and just standing there giving little whines.
My pupception tells me that Soul Braiding began sometime between November of 2017 when Quantum adopted me, and March 2018 when the kittens were born. I also assume this is when the slow growing tumor began on Claddagh’s heart. Claddagh being 100% Love, wasn’t going to leave me stranded and alone. And in fact, the cats were the best support in my mourning.
Nina, in my estimation in between 9 months and a 1.5 years old, and seems to me that she is part of the timeline. This is why the process for her to come to me, despite distance, has perfectly aligned.
The piece of Claddagh’s Soul that is in this Nina, began to wake up on the drive with my dad. She sensed a familiarity that was safe.
After he left, I let her wander around the house and check everything out. Then she snuggled up on the sleeping bag in the garage and I read to her my Letter to my Future Dog. As I did, she stared at me. Giving me direct eye contact, which took Claddagh years to become confident enough to do. And we just stared at each other, me with tears in my eyes catalyzed by the overwhelming love and familiarity that I was feeling.
Shortly after that she began to unfurl. Her tails still seemingly timid in it’s expression, was now starting to go outward, instead of under. When before she wasn’t interested in coming to me, now all of a sudden she wanted to be right by my side.
There were some tests. I kept taking her outside, hoping she would go… but it was still overwhelming her. She came back in, and I ran inside to put Gma to bed. When I came back out there was a very fresh and large pile of poop on the concrete floor. Claddagh would never make a mess on carpet if there was an option, and that wasn’t something that I taught her, just like she would never poop on a trail.
I notice the poop, and Nina notices me notice the poop and she hunches into herself again, acting as if she will get reprehended. Instead I got excited! It looked like really healthy poop, and I was happy to know that she was able to clear her bowels. I told her good job, cleaned up the mess and put down some enzymes so she knows that isn’t the location for that in the future. She unfurls even more, it’s confirmed she “Is a Good Girl.” She need not worry about abuse for mistakes or accidents. Her comfort comes out in abounding waves.
We stay up until 4:30 in the morning, playing a sort of “getting to know you.” But do you know what she wants most of all? Just to be cuddled with me. When we finally went to bed, she was right there in the bed with me, like it’s been forever.
Today, she was a completely different animal from when she walked through the door. We went on a car ride, and she is perfect. We went to the feed store and she was perfect. She is observing the other animals and people, and still showing some timidness, but also a sort of excitement… she wants them to like her.
Quantum isn’t impressed with me currently and I think it’s because I relocated her and Capricious downstairs while we figure out introductions and dynamics. I think in a week everything will go into normal routine and the kitteries can come back up to my room and we can live like the weird little family that we are.
Current things that have happened in the last less than 24 hours that give me confidence in Soul Braiding;
1. When I ask her for a hug, she puts her paws on my knees. When I say full hug, she brings her paws to my shoulders, and we give a full hug.
2. She wants to hold hands while driving.
3. Her favorite spot is right next to me, regardless.
Those three things were a daily component of living with Claddagh for almost eleven years. How is it this timid dog just walked right into that alignment with out me asking her to?
The answer is The Soul Knows.
I’d like to introduce my new best friend; Journey.
The vibration of the soul, and the blood combined brings forth our flesh, in this spiritual contract we manifest in form, the features of history within us.
It’s true that they are attempting to kill off certain bloodlines. To suppress certain peoples. Those peoples feel the Truth in their own life blood. It’s required that they meet a certain range in vibration in order to be activated.
There are many yet to activated and they are being drawn in various directions in order to harvest the life force they have left while being blind to their own brilliance.
In actuality the frequency and vibration is killing off those who seek to kill off the “Natural Light.”
This is where we meet the trans-human agenda. The desire for clones and all around trans-formative manipulation geared toward infinite longevity.
Those of Natural Light in Creation know the Truth. It was contract as such. We don’t need modern technology to utilize it, once we remember it exists.
The best thing technology gave us, was the ability to reconnect instantly. The result is an archive of shared remembrance. If this medium goes away, know that your heart has an internal voice that needs no words to speak. You have internal eyes that see beyond your dreams. You have a gut that brings awareness to things that are amiss.
We are already full operating systems that have to remember how to get back to the home feed- alone. That is Heaven, or Infinity. The journey is singular at your own pace until it isn’t.
If you have been feeling something is amiss; it has been. If you feel a strange shift; it’s shifting. If you feel a calling for Higher Truth; follow it.
My dog was already a submissive… she was “put down” in many ways in her early life. I am still disgusted at it all.
But, you know what? I will only talk about it here. I bombarded FB for the first two weeks with my pain… and now in modern decorum I will pretend it doesn’t rip me apart on the inside. Oh, geez, am I following the steps of my forefathers, who chose to sweep inconvenient truths under the proverbial rug?
People don’t know how to mourn, these days. Our fast paced society urges us to “get over it and move on” as quickly as possible. We treat ourselves like processed food with defined expiration dates that serve as suggestions. You might be cool eating an out of date yogurt at your own house, but if a host of some other house offers the same thing, you cringe.
“Keep it in house.”
See, I don’t feel like I am allowed to mourn my dog companion for more than a couple of weeks. It isn’t allowed to break me, because their life expectancy is so much shorter than ours, and I should have known better.
I don’t feel like I can allow Claddagh to be the portal in which my previous pain, loss and suffering is filtered through. I just don’t feel like I have permission to fully feel, even though people say “take your time” and “feel it fully.”
I don’t feel permission because I am always trying to integrate and get along, and no one likes a Debby Downer, or a Miserable Mandie. I don’t feel permission because the extent of the pain is mine, alone to bare.
After day three, I told myself, “You HAVE to stop crying. You HAVE to buck up. No one cares as much as you do about it, and no one wants to hear about it.”
If you make it a mantra, I guess it makes it easier to adhere to, just through repetition.
If left to my own devices, I look out the door and say “All I really want is my dog.” And I imagine what that looks like, only to further upset the state of my heart.
Honestly, I don’t care if I upset you if I end up crying in reminiscence of my dog; but because I am empathetic, and I know you don’t want to hear it, I will self censor. I am not looking for your pity or sympathy…. I know you don’t know exactly what to say and it may be uncomfortable for you, that every topic you excavate leads back to me and my dog.
I am sure it is annoying, or at least uncomfortable.
I’m sorry, but I’m not.
I suppose if you don’t know what to do in the awkwardness, just smile. Know that I experienced a facet of love in life that I would have otherwise avoided, and that in and of itself, is bound to make me a better person in the long run.
I know she wasn’t as interesting to you, as she was meaningful and profound to me, and that is okay… but try not to sweep her memory away in your urgency to bring me back to whatever you feel is your self perceived center. I will take my time, and I require no rush on your end, for it will not bring any benefit.
She was “my girl”, ya know? I don’t even know if I am allowed to use the same distinct whistle if I find a new dog friend… I feel bad for chiding my cats with her same belly rub rhyme. Things are flowing into each other with my other animal friends, where it once was distinct and individual.
And I liked that, ya know? When her whistle was our whistle and not like any of the other whistles that were common for the other animals we mutually knew.
I kinda wish I got a Chilton manual on how to deal with this,or a “When your Dog Dies for Dummies” book, even though I know, internally all I need to know.
Life cycles are beautiful, until you see the shame in loss. My dog should have lived forever… I mean, that is how I feel. I never thought about getting another one, even though at times I thought about re-homing her due to my own personality flaws.
I’m looking at rescue dogs, trying to find a face I recognize. Not Claddaghs’ face, per say… just a face that feels familiar in the rustic part of my being that is perfectly adapted to animal companionship. I know it will happen when it is meant to… if it is meant to.
No worries here. I just miss her so damn much and rightly so.
Yet again I am trying to downsize and further compartmentalize my life. Shed some of that heavy weight that no longer serves me. It’s hard to do because it requires me to dig into my past and this time it went to an even weirder zone.
Did you ever see that movie “Stranger Than Fiction” with Will Ferrell? If not, you should and then maybe you will get the same sensation about your own life, especially if you are the artistic or wordy type.
Basically, today I got the sincere feeling I have been writing my life out, before I actually live it… or something to that degree. I can look at a piece of writing and know when and why I was writing it at the time, but the way I write things is subconsciously coded language. I don’t know how or why this happens specifically, but I have some assumptions.
The thing about all of this is, I haven’t had a bad life, over all. I’ve had a rudimentary amount of pain in comparison to other people. My family is full of good people who tried their best to offer what they could within their means, and probably unbeknownst to me, went above and beyond when needed.
So all I can do is ask myself “What the actual fuck?”
I am going to admit that most of my journals are a massive spiritual battle. It has been that way as far back as I have recorded my life. The journaling started around age 12, but I can go back to certain creations done in Elementary School and see a depth that is or was seen as somewhat abnormal for a kid that age.
“She is five- going on thirty five.” My grandma would say when I was little. I wanted to sit at the adult table. I wanted to converse. I had questions and quips beyond my years. Spirit has been speaking to me forever.
Now perhaps this is just the byproduct of losing a parent at a young age and the feeling that I had to grow up quickly to compensate. Maybe I was just born this way. Who knows? I do know that I drove my mother crazy when I was just a small child. Enough so, for her to strip me down to basically nothing and leave me on the front stoop with the old adage “If you don’t want to be here, you are going to leave the way you came in.” Naked and shivering.
It’s okay. My aunt lived a couple of blocks away, and my mom would call her and tell her to come pick me up. She would come over, packed with some over-sized clothing that belonged to my cousin. She would wrap me up and take me back to her place until the whole thing calmed down.
Once my dad said, “If your mom was still alive, you would probably be at each others throat.” Sometimes I feel like I am getting that experience with my grandma. It isn’t a “hate” or loathing issue… it’s just this weird temperament that arises out of our idiosyncrasies and difference in ideologies. It’s the byproduct of being stubborn and bull headed while still having the best intentions in love.
A stranger once told me “It’s easier to paint yourself into a corner than it is to write yourself out of a box.” That has stuck with me for over a decade. I wasn’t quite sure what it meant, but today, I think I got it.
It goes back to Abracadabra. A spell or incantation using the ABC’s. This is why writing and words are magical. This is how words hold a vibration that can influence the reality we live in… it’s the way you can send prayers or well wishes or destroy a life in a single breath.
My family can be traced back to the Druids on my Mother’s Father’s side. There is some witchery in the blood, and that blood still courses through my veins. I don’t purposely perform rituals or magik; I have a feeling there are a lot of us who don’t. We settle on titles like “artist” or “writer” or “musician.” We feel and feed on an indescribable power that fuels our creative spirit. Words will almost magically manifest on the page without too much work. We feel born knowing the Muses. At least, this is how it has always been for me.
I haven’t had to try too hard in creative ways. “It just comes to me.”
I don’t profess this as any sort of braggart, in fact, in this moment I am questioning all of it. My family is a mixed up match of “tight lipped” and deceased, I don’t know where I can go to discuss this openly, so I leave it here for you, my few but beautiful readers. I am realizing that I need to figure out a way to console myself. Feel free to send suggestions.
“The calm before the storm” is over. I know it and I feel it with a force that is hard to describe. As I read through these papers and place them in a new container, I am god smacked.. I’ve predicted future patterns in my life with no intention of doing so; in alignment with that, the writing has predicted patterns of humanity and what would be worth our attention. This leads me back a post I made about a week ago in regard to purpose and being a dreamer. In this moment, I want nothing more than someone I could share the depth of this with, but I don’t have that someone, which is a reoccurring theme in my personal writing that I rarely share.
I see in this moment that this specific loneliness is a representation of that spiritual battle. We are all looking for connection in various ways. I believe in Creation, I believe that Creation will not be out done. I know I can’t out-create Creation. That knowing can be overwhelming, like “why even try?” not to mention the clutter! I make and make and make a mess and an abundance of stuff that may end up at a thrift store or a landfill. I’ve carried paper around, weighing many many pounds over thousands of miles for what?
This is the moment it all shifts. I might not see the evidence of it immediately so I will leave room for it to shift as quickly as it wants to.
While going through things I stumbled on a good-bye note from a woman named Cecily Monk. I didn’t know her well, or for very long but I really liked her personality. She felt like a person that I would have had a long friendship with if we would have had more time together.
Anyway, when she left Keystone, Colorado I was at work and she left a note.
The last line is quite potent; “…and remember the journey of self discovery comes not in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” So obviously she was a fan of Proust, or one of her teachers had the actual quote “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” on a motivational poster or something.
I like that she added the word “self” and “journey” because the timing is perfect for today. Journey vs Voyage is appropriate because I perceive a Journey to be far more relaxed than a Voyage. Voyage makes me think of a specific conquest, for which I have had none up until this point. The actual Proust quote takes on a deeper meaning when I rehash my words and see that in fact, I have been on a Voyage but I didn’t know it. And I have had conquest but I didn’t acknowledge it.
It all comes down to love and forgiveness. And this is going to be so hard because there is a lot of bad shit happening in the world right now. But just like I am finding illumination in my own writing, we are going to find illumination in just how fucked up humanity has been by bringing it to light.
Today I wanted to get rid of EVERYTHING. I was feeling oppressed at how much garbage we consume and throw away. I was overwhelmed by the massive pressure of pain that is the human condition. I wished I wasn’t part of it because there is no easy solution and by the looks of it, it’s only going to get worse. I thought about all the mundane stuff we do on any given day just to maintain a “standard” of living. I thought about all the people who loath the work they do just for a paycheck.
I kept thinking, and thinking about all the stuff I can not stand. How disappointing all of our entertainment is because it’s coded and getting increasingly ominous in content. I thought about how my creative spirit has been lost because I can’t imagine things getting better and I am sick of rehashing this old script that we are being fed on the daily. Believe it or not, I believe this rumination to be a good sign. My art and dreams and writing tell me so. We really are dancing on the tip of a needle right now.
As I dug through this box the skies turned dark outside. A while letter the rain came pounding down in sheets. I laughed out loud and asked if this was a baptism and as I went to shut the screen door the water was falling so fierce that it was splashing out of the rain gutters. In the few seconds it took me to move the block in front of the door (which is actually a heavy concrete lawn statue of a sleeping man wearing a sombrero) I was soaked and a bit elated.
This isn’t over, though. I had just begun this excavation and there were more treasures to dig up, so this is only a taste of what that was. To a certain degree I’ve been pulled into my own mystery. I am sure it is appropriate timing as next month I will turn thirty-eight. My life has been amazing, it’s hard not to think it’s a shame that I have felt so heavy through all of it. Even in times of levity, the gravity of reality has kept me solid and grounded. Luckily people like that about me, but if they didn’t it wouldn’t really matter because it feels unchangeable.
Last night I re-watched Eternal Sunshine of the the Spotless Mind for the second time, since the first time years ago when it came out on video. I saw it with new eyes, but I knew the story and when I watched it the story came flooding back. Looking through my life in writing produces the same feeling. (Another topic I could probably go to length writing about, but not right now.)
I sense that things are starting to sync up for me again and I am not sure what that means. I will probably be able to glean some knowledge from further exploration but I don’t know if I will wake up with the energy to keep on tomorrow… or if I will sit in stasis again for a while. I’ve been practicing forgiveness for myself, and part of that is finding patience when my desires are so vast. Giving myself time to figure things out without a strict timeline. It isn’t easy. It’s hard not to compare myself to other people and their obvious accomplishments. I think “I’m just sitting on a stack of paper.” But that “stack of paper” is the analog archive of my life experience in a very raw form.
I like to journal like I like to go bowling. I can have a couple of drinks and do something to the best of my ability in full enjoyment even if I suck at it. I feel fulfilled by slapdashedly swinging my dominate hand around without expectation of high results. It’s something to do that is totally dependent on my personal attitude at the time. I don’t fear judgement because most times I keep it to myself. If you want to bowl alone, go at 1:30 pm on a Tuesday. The only people in there are over 60 and there aren’t many of them. Most are there just for the bar. Every once and a while a bold elderly man may stop by and offer tips on your game.
It’s like this blog page. I have like eighty people who follow me. I get very little engagement and I am fine with that. Sometimes I just have to express myself out in the world. When I was younger I was under the impression that I didn’t actually have a voice in the world, or that no one cared what I had to say; now I think that just the right people stumble in at just the right time, not only for me, but for themselves. My delusions of grandeur have been over for quite some time now.
This digging and sorting is going to continue. It has to. Something about “getting your house in order” feels appropriate right now. May you find patience and forgiveness in yourself, and the strength to get your own house in order.
PS. The heading image was something my mom wrote on a piece of paper. I don’t have much of her writing, on the other side is a poem that many people find haunting. I am not sure if the cipher works for the poem, but if I feel like it, I might see if it does. If it does, that would be so cool. On my mom’s typed page it is titled “Love Poem” and instead of “he” it is “she.” Who knows? Everyone loves a mystery and the author is unknown.
I’ve sat here for years now, slowly attempting to kill myself for no discernible reason. The deeper I dig the less I know. Over these past years my passions have been purged, and I am left wondering what the point of all of this is, for me, specifically. Once upon a time I was a person who felt a strong purpose for living. I was certain I was something special, though there was nothing outward about me that would elucidate such a theory.
I came to think of myself as one of the dreamers. My hands were never meant to stir the pots, but my dreams were ingredients to a larger stew. I knew I wasn’t the only Dreamer, but at times it felt like I might be. Something like the simulation theory, there was one player, playing many parts in the same game, but the avatars seemed clueless to this fact. I was one of the few who wondered why the others couldn’t see how obvious it all was.
Some people are born into the world a sleepy eyed blank slate. They believe everything they are taught, and they are not taught to question and so they don’t until they are forced to. Once they start to question life starts to fall apart level by level. Red pilled. Life will never be the same. Some refuse the red pill, they can’t face their fear of what is on the other side of the veil.
There are those like me born with one foot on the other side of the veil, and one foot grounded in the simulation. A delicate dance of walking a wire between worlds. It’s hard to explain the spiritual nature of existence to those who deny the spirit even exists. Everyone is born knowing the spirit world exists however the purity in that knowing is often sullied within the first few years of life for a variety of reasons.
It can be a long, hard road getting back to that place of knowing and experiencing the spirit, once one shuts it down or turns it off.
I could never avoid the spiritual realm. It would come to my dreams and in my waking life. At times I felt as if there was a bubble of protection around me, which helped substantiate my theory of some purpose. I figured that purpose would reveal itself as something tangible at some point, however I still feel like I am in a waiting room.
I start to wonder if part of the Dream Job, is to lose all desire for this world. “To be in the World, but not OF the World.” These days that is exactly where I exist. In but not of this World. I anticipate it’s collapse as I write this. The signs are here that something big is on the horizon. The Dreamers have sewn the Dream, and now the Integrator’s are weaving the Dream into the Fabric of Reality. Restitching the pattern as we’ve known it. All we need is enough people to man the Loom. The rest will take care of itself because Spirit is on the side of change. The expiration date grows ever closer.
We must become sick and disgusted before anything will change and that is why it is prophesied that there will be great upheaval. Some will riot against Creation and Spirit. Others will riot against Death and Destruction. The spirit that drives these entities will have no recourse but to clash in a battle to the end. It’s already told as to what side will prevail but that knowing doesn’t stop the course of events as they were written in the Time Template so long ago. There is nothing we can do about the outcome other than pick our sides wisely, there is a point coming where there will no longer be any grey area. No middle ground, fence riding. Simply, Hot or Cold. Life or Death.