Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Earth Day - WTF!

It is the early morning of January 28th, 1969 aboard the Union Oil drill platform-A: Six miles from Santa Barbara, California.  On an otherwise routine day, well number A-21 experienced a underwater blow-out lasting ten days, and covering all within sight with sticky crude oil.  At the time it was the worst environmental oil spill ever.  Today it's been bumped to number three, after the Exxon Valdez spill in 1989; and the infamous Deepwater Horizon which ironically occurred on Earth Day just five years ago.

Aghast at the destruction of the Santa Barbara spill, the following year senator Gaylord Nelson from Wisconsin conceived of "Earth Day" and soon got it approved as an annual observance to further our understanding and appreciation of our mother earth.  That oil spill and the resultant Earth Day observance are generally considered to be the genesis of the conservation movement. 

How well I remember that time 45 years ago; back when our passions could not be defeated by any bureaucracy and some of us thought we were seeing the dawn of a bright new day for Gaia and all her children.  Finally, progress was being made somewhere if not everywhere, and the sweet smell of hope filled the air, and our heads.  For a time.

There were a few politicians who took up the banner for conservation, along with groups like Greenpeace, Sea Shepherds, etc; and gradually, little by little laws were enacted to further protect the environment, natural wetlands & watersheds.  things were looking up; for a time.

Sometimes the pendulum of change seems more like the scimitar. As soon as face-shooter Dick Cheney and his smirking chimp GWB puppet figurehead took office; laws which were protecting the environment and mother earth were summarily stripped off the books and replaced with the patriot act.  Things have been rolling downhill ever since for Gaia, and all of us along with her.

As we greet the 45th observance of Earth Day we are finding there is indeed not much to celebrate.  Just this last week fracking operations in Oklahoma released another swarm of 4.0+ earthquakes, with the same thing occurring in Idaho, Montana, and basically everywhere fracking is permitted.  So, this insanity called fracking, which makes drinking water so toxic it is flammable, and creates swarms of earthquakes-is perfectly legal? 

I'll just say it, What the Fuck?!!?

Meanwhile the timber industry is busy trying to cut down every last tree they can find so Japan can have wood for houses.  We're stripping Tuna from the Atlantic fast enough for it to be called genocide, so the Japanese can have some non-radioactive fish to eat in their new homes.  Everywhere we look; animals are being harvested with zero regard for anything beyond profit.  Not only are entire forests still being burned in south America in the name of progress and profit; all over the world the rapacious demand for palm oil kills even more wild virgin forests at a truly staggering rate.

Humanity can live just fine without palm oil, whale oil, and fucking shark fin soup.  Why we insist upon such ugly, greedy practices just amazes and confounds me.  I seem these days to be trapped in one long, drawn out, What the Fuck moment; because every single day those running this game ratchet the insanity up a few more notches.  

Has the media where you live covered the massive dead whales beaching themselves in Japan, or that this act is thought to be a precursor sign of earthquakes.  Did they tell you that just days after the beaching, Japan began having not just an earthquake, but once again, swarms of them?  Didn't hear about that?  Didn't think so.  Then you might not have heard about the new volcanoes erupting in Japan either.

It isn't just Gaia having a really bad time of it this week; her human children aren't doing so good either.  A man guilty only of running while being black is shot to death, in the back, as another man arrested for the same "offense" dies from a mysterious broken spine while in custody.  Elsewhere, a 70 year old volunteer police "officer" killed a suspect with his gun while thinking he was firing his taser.  He was unqualified for either in my humble opinion; but was found not only not guilty, but also deserving a vacation in the Bahamas??!! Yup, another WTF moment.

Obama is celebrating Earth Day with some nuclear brinksmanship and saber rattling with Iran which is probably making dear Gaia a bit nervous.  Why isn't he sending some humanitarian ships to help save drowning refugees fleeing Libya instead of blockading Iran

Earlier this week a postal worker in a gyrocopter flew in under all the radar in the most controlled air space on earth, evading all the muscles of homeland security; and landed on the white house lawn to deliver 535 letters-one to every member of congress protesting campaign funding practices.  To the further embarrassment of DHS, the postal worker had notified the authorities and media he would be conducting this act of civil disobedience.  And he still sneaked in and took everyone by surprise even so.     

A crazy week on planet Earth!



Getting back to mother earth as a focus; we find that Fukushima has killed the pacific ocean, as the fishermen return with empty nets again, like last year, there are no fish.  They're all dead & gone, but then we already knew that.  We also know it will only be getting worse as more radiation spews into the air and sea daily from that festering open sore created by incompetence fueled by greed.

 At every level, when it comes to humans, it seems they cannot ever be counted upon to make the correct choice for the greatest good.  As example, take the king crab fishery in Alaska, just down wind from Fukushima's continuously erupting nuclear volcano.  That fishery should have been shut down immediately, Why you may ask...because crabs feed on the dead & dying of the ocean, which means all things killed by radiation.  The crabs become toxic from eating irradiated fish, and still they are selling Alaskan crab for top dollar around the world four years after the nuclear accident; knowing it is poison.  Not only don't those involved get into any trouble, they get their own TV show! 

Utter insanity.

Back in the gulf of Mexico; the remnant of the Deepwater Horizon well is still leaking oil, as are a good many of the hundreds upon hundreds of abandoned gulf oil rigs.  BP sprayed unknown thousands of gallons of corexit which is designed to sink the oil, not absorb or disperse it.  Almost all of the Deepwater Horizon oil, plus all that corexit has turned the gulf into a dead zone; and the ocean conveyor currents are circulating that death around the planet.  Stuff like this is kept from us by the news minders at propaganda control, for our own good.  It's easier to ignore if we aren't being reminded of it every day. 


All over the planet we see the same exact thing: those who have either depleted or contaminated their own natural resources behaving as if they have a god-given right to the resources of others; either by commerce, or by war if necessary.  This is not just an unhealthy mindset, it is maniacal & insane. 

Those shadowy ones behind all these atrocities continue to spray deadly toxic chemtrails above us in stark disregard for our resentment, dulling our senses, making us sick, and taking us right out of the equation.  For a while now we have seen the reports claiming that some Wal-Mart stores would be used as containment facilities, when all the undesirables and rebels were rounded up.  Those reports are easy for some to dismiss, but then this week also saw the announced closing to several Wal-Mart stores in different states all closing for plumbing repairs.  All of them, Really?!  Seems just a bit strange to me when you consider how Wal-Mart stores hate to lose a penny of business.  Hmmm!  Very strange indeed.  Then there are the reports of all those railroad cars with leg irons for the passengers; easy to ignore until related stories begin traveling in clusters, then it begins to make sense.

Between the neocons, archons & morons all the promise of Earth Day has become more of a longing for what was, and what we have lost.  Poor old Gaylord Nelson must be weeping in his grave.  Meanwhile, as they totally ignore the mega-risks to earth from Mega-business, news people show us how we can save the earth by making earth day hats from empty cereal boxes instead of tossing them in the trash.  While California suffers from a devastating drought, residents are threatened with stiff fines for wasting water; 11 huge private golf courses; and the almond industry in southern California use all the water they want.  What complete rubbish!  With so much at stake, why are games and nuts such a high priority?  Once again, we are fed this puerile idea that it is the behavior of individuals like you & me that has caused all these deadly ills to mother earth; and Our job to fix it. 

 How utterly insulting. 

The indigenous original people of north America called Gaia by a different name, they knew her as Turtle Island, and knowing also that all things are connected on the great medicine wheel of life; every day was earth day! They showed her respect, and she gave them abundance.  Good trade! 

Somehow, since that time we have allowed others to steal our power and use it to wage war upon the sweet dear earth in our name.  To our enduring shame we have watched this parade of increasingly horrifying  atrocities to the environment without raising so much as a whimper of meaningful protest.  We just pretend we don't see, then pretend nobody else does either, and continue on with our little rat race lives, in servitude to those in the shadows of power.

Not too much to celebrate, is there?

© 2015 full re-post with permission only


May the Source Forgive Us




Epilogue:
Within a week of Earth Day 2015, the predictions made in the video above came true:
 over 4000 dead in the volcano eruption in Chile & the Massive Earthquake in Nepal.
Are we paying attention Yet?

Update:
On May 20, 2015: a month after 'Earth Day' ~ Santa Barbara Calif. suffered yet another massive oil spill reminiscent of that 1969 spill which inspired the conservation movement. 

 As if to answer the question above:  No, we haven't learned shit.  
Thanks for all the silence.

Nature strikes back.





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Other Voices:
Nature strikes back.
Emergency closure of fishery along entire west coast- no fish survived -population decimated!
Are the nationwide walmart closures connected to detention centers for Americans?


Tuesday, April 14, 2015

How's Your Happiness Index?

If the big bang had lasted just a fraction of a second less than it did; everything would have collapsed back in upon itself.

If the big bang had lasted just a fraction of a second longer than it did; everything would have exploded in one big fireball.

Instead, the big bang lasted the exact, precise length of time necessary to form an expanding universe full of galaxies, stars and planets.

I'm fairly happy about that.

Than I am alive upon a planet the perfect distance from a star for life to thrive makes me very happy indeed!

Everything after should be considered a bonus.

We've all known people who seem happy nearly all the time, regardless of circumstance; and others, who seem to never find so much as an ounce of happiness no matter how much of it surrounds them.

Happiness is a by-product of life.  It does not discriminate between the deserving and non-deserving; that, is a purely human trait. 

Clearly, happiness is a valued commodity in today's chaotic world, perhaps more so than ever.  As with the concept of love, happiness is often harder to define than we think it should be.  it's not a one-size-fits-all kind of thing; it's way more personal than that; just like love.

Love and happiness can often travel together, but not always.  Love can bring about happiness, yet happiness does not guarantee love, in every instance.

What constitutes happiness is different for everyone; what sends one to the height of ecstasy may not even rate mild interest from others; and vice versa.

"It isn't what you have, or who you are, or where you are, or what you
   are doing that makes you happy or un-happy: it's what you think about."
                                                                   ~Dale Carnegie~

 Happiness is as fleeting as the visit from a hummingbird on a sunny day, and like the hummingbird; happiness also comes and goes on its own schedule & agenda.

Happiness cannot be commanded, or demanded...it simply is, and then after a while it goes away or changes form into some other emotion.

Is happiness the opposite or absence of sadness?
Not always, no.

Ones life may be totally devoid of sadness without having a speck of happiness to show for it.  Likewise, one may find true happiness in many things while still feeling sadness on other levels.  They are not interchangeable or mutually exclusive energies.

We're more complicated than that.

On the world web there are no shortages of tests and such one may use to gauge their happiness index on some chart or another.  That is fine for those who are happy with such things; but the simpler approach is to make sure your happiness index doesn't become your misery index.

As the human condition continues to degrade, finding happiness becomes more important than ever in the stagnant dystopian landscape around us.  The power elite certainly seem to rejoice in ever increasing regulations and restrictions of freedom, and liberty; as if they're trying to see how much repression humanity as a whole will tolerate.

While some people pursue happiness so intently they totally miss some obvious opportunities; other people find great happiness in even the smallest of things. 

When happiness catches us unaware and settles in for a while the first thing we want is more, we want to extend the happiness hoping it will stay around longer; yet knowing that it cannot be held prisoner. 

We can become happiness junkies if we're not judicious.  An awful lot of addictions are started by trying to recapture the sensation of the first time something made us happy. 
We should be smart enough going in to realize we can never duplicate the first experience of anything.  That is exactly why the first experience of anything is so special!

Stress is a primary happiness antidote and can not only eradicate happiness, but even prevent it's re-growth as well.  Reducing & managing our stress may not in itself bring about happiness, but what it does is create the space in which happiness can bloom forth.

Some seek happiness outside of themselves, as a resource from the material world, while others seem to discover a well spring of happiness within themselves without looking for it.

There is the kind of happiness you find; then there is the kind of happiness you create.

There is the kind of happiness when our children make us proud, or when we exceed our own expectations for ourselves.  Still, I think the best we can hope for with happiness is to acknowledge it when we feel it, without trying to either hunt or capture it.

Then there is the almost evil kind of happiness some people find in making those around them as miserable and agitated as possible.  Failing to find or create their own happiness they satisfy themselves in spoiling the happiness of others, as if a sport.

I am all too happy to avoid such folks.



There is the kind of happiness we feel in the successful competition of a difficult task at the end of the day when our bones are tired.

Each of us has the choice and chance to awaken each day with a speck of happiness for what the day may bring, and what we might accomplish with the time.  We can monitor our thoughts to create a fertile environment for hapiness.

We can also try giving happiness a home in our hearts.  We can open our hearts to happiness instead of closing them off trying to make happiness a full time prisoner.

Compromise seems a constant in life, and its no different with happiness.  If we want to either find or create happiness quite often some compromise is required.  The trick is to not compromise that which makes your happiness possible in the first place.

There are no short cuts to happiness, yet at the same time it can pop up in front of you when least expected, which makes a good case for knowing what you want.

Unfortunately, far too often we humans must learn the lessons involved when we attach our happiness to the emotional affection of others.  Having someone else be responsible for our happiness can be the slipperiest of slopes; especially when things get very tough.

Sometimes folks get trapped into measuring their happiness and self-worth in the esteem others hold for them, good or ill.

It gets really interesting when we attempt to balance our spiritual happiness with physical happiness in this life.  While they may seem polar opposites, they really aren't; not if you go about it the right way.  Finding that balance point is what makes it challenging.   

The average worker gets up earlier than they'd like, rushes thru the rote morning routine  to fight traffic, to get to a job they hate, being around people they dislike, then grinds home thru still heavier traffic . . . hard to find happiness in that rat race agenda.  That's the whole point!

"A positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it
will annoy enough people to make it worth the effort."
                                                            ~ Herm Albright ~

There is the false happiness of dime-a-dozen-divas, and other brightly colored fast moving objects which are created by our false economy and false society to keep us distracted... for a while longer.  We see these diversions for what they are, entertainment for the lower chakras; but we don't mistake them for real happiness. 

That ocean side home with the magnificent view certainly brings happiness...and high maintenance in a never ending battle with salt and corrosion.  Life is compromise.

Most people think of money straight away, when happiness comes to mind; despite the ages old wisdom that happiness cannot be so cheaply bought.  Indeed some find happiness of a sort in the possessions money can buy; yet so often in the end they too late understand the true definition of possession. 

Happiness may also be found in the experiences that money can buy.  The accumulation of experience certainly serves us more than the collection of things...depending entirely of course on the kinds of experiences one seeks out. 

Fulfilling, or destructive?

Top astronomers estimate that nearly 90% of the material needed to make new stars is gone.  After just 14 billion years and already we're in the grip of entropy.  Experts have long held that the rate at which the universe is expanding from the big bang is slowing down; and that it will some day eventually collapse back in upon itself, with the entire universe ultimately consumed in one all-consuming black hole.

One cosmic breath,
an exhale followed by an inhale
with all of creation come and gone between the two.

I figure that leaves us all a few billion more years to let some happiness find us!

© 2015 full re-post with permission only

May the Source be with You!


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Saturday, April 4, 2015

A Monster Called Jingle Bells


Up in northern Wisconsin there is a respectable sized puddle of water named Birch Lake, near the sleepy little lumber town of Laona.  It's where my folks grew up, and eventually married.  Back then dad was a businessman and mom taught high school English.  I was but three years old when dad's career relocated the family to the southwest.

I might have grown up thinking that city life was normal except for the fact that family ties took us back to spend most of every summer on Birch lake.  It was my annual reboot from nature, and I looked forward to it more than anything else. 

Birch lake was my training ground for learning how to get on out in the quiet places, and unlike most kids learning those skills, the lessons came from my mom.  A tomboy from the start, she could identify every species of tree that grew in such abundance surrounding the lake, and every creature living there.  She taught me wood lore, and how to respect nature, and the forest.  While mom's skill set made her the quintessential woods person, her first love was fishing; and every summer we'd spend countless hours of the day and night dragging fishing lures around that lake.

Now as one might expect; growing up in a family oriented to the outdoors, there was no shortage of campfire stories.  We of course heard about such legendary creatures as the Hodag, and side-hill gulger which were standard fare for those parts back in the day.  There were also the much more intriguing family stories told every summer, and of these, none were more appealing to me than the lake monster called Jingle Bells

Fishermen on Birch lake primarily fished for walleye pike, and northern pike which were plentiful, and some bass as well if you knew just where to look for them.  Although some disputed it at the time, many claimed there were also a few Muskellunge or Muskies, (the largest and most aggressive species of pike), living in the lake.  Over the years the legend grew of a fish in Birch lake that could not be caught.  Plenty of people had hooked this wily fish, including mom, but nobody had ever landed him.  In fact, mom claimed to have hooked him on no less than three occasions over the years.  As the story went, this fish had been hooked so many times there were numerous lures still hanging from his mouth, and when he shook his head violently to escape, they sounded like sleigh bells, so the locals took to calling him Jingle Bells.


Other members of the family had also seen the monster fish hooked, only to escape yet again.  Fishermen would come from all over to get a shot at Jingle Bells, and even though some very nice walleyes & northerns were pulled from Birch lake, nobody ever landed a monster muskie with a tackle box full of lures in its mouth.  The legend grew.

By the time I was twelve or so I'd actually grown tired of hearing about the mythical muskie, and even doubted it could still be alive after all these years.  However, I never grew tired of fishing with mom, so I learned to suspend disbelief, at least for the duration of the fishing trip.  I didn't even mind that she allowed no motors on her boat, because she always insisted on rowing.  She said there was a skill to rowing the boat without announcing your presence to the fish.  She was right, of course; so I watched, and learned.  I did get a few fishing trips in with dad, but mostly he hung out with kids his own age, the good old boys club and all that.  He liked to entertain business partners & clients during much of his annual vacation; offspring not invited.

It was June of 1963, my fourteenth summer at birch lake and the family had long understood that I was going to follow in mom's footsteps.  When I wasn't out on the lake I was up in the woods somewhere.  Although open to public fishing, the property surrounding the lake was owned by my grandfather and his brothers, so only family members owned parcels and cabins on the lake shore.  It was like having my very own wilderness paradise; what kid wouldn't just love that?

I was especially looking forward to this summer, having been told I was getting my own boat for my birthday.  It was supposed to be dad's secret gift, but mom clued me in for some reason, which in no way diminished the cool factor.  It was also the summer I'd chosen to duplicate one of mom's famous feats from the past; swimming the measured mile distance from the dock, out to the island.  Yes, this was going to be a summer to remember.  

As was the custom, other members of the extended family also dropped by every summer as they were able, so there was nearly always a full house.  In the evenings gramps would have a game of bridge going on near the crackling fire in the stone fireplace; as his various grandchildren would busy themselves with games and such.  Other family members would spread out around the place, engaged in one activity or another.  All of the activity would occasionally be punctuated by the popping of sap in the fire, or the snapping of mousetraps going off somewhere unseen.

There was no such thing as a video game back then, and TV not permitted in the cabin didn't prevent us from enjoying ourselves.  My cousins and I could spend hours trying to swing a wire loop on a string, onto a hook nailed to the wall.  Sounds easy until you try it!

Hours after sunset as everyone was settling in, the evening bite was on, so mom and I went fishing cause there were many mouths to feed, that they couldn't all fit in the boat was a double blessing!  Mom's boat was easily the oldest craft on the lake; a 16 foot wood rowboat.  The thing was big, and heavy for a smaller boat, and although it readily cried out for a motor, none was ever attached.  The oars were long & heavy as well.

Moving away from the dock with all our gear aboard, the boat was lethargic at first; but after a dozen powerful strokes it was soon gliding across the moonlit lake with purpose.  I think rowing that boat was moms therapy because she never tired of it, or shared it.  If she was in the boat she was rowing because nobody knew Birch lake like my mom.  In our first hour on the lake we picked up two nice Walleyes and a small northern pike we had to release for being undersize. 

Mom never used rod holders, preferring to pin the end of her rod to the bottom of the boat with her right foot.  She claimed doing it that way gave her more of a feel for what was going on.  When she hooked a fish we'd trade seats and I'd take over rowing.  When moms leg got tired from holding the rod down, she's reel in her lure and I'd send my line out. 
By the time the evening chill was setting into our bones we'd picked up a third walleye and were close to being ready to call it a night.  I had my line out, trolling a fancy new artificial frog lure I'd bought in town.  Mom scoffed when I rigged it up, showing her the swimming action of the rubber legs.  She probably hadn't bought a new lure in years, preferring to stick with what she knew worked.  She was fond of saying that fishing lures were made to catch fishermen, not fish.   Undaunted, I was putting my hopes on the sexy frog lure.

We'd decided to troll the deepest area of the lake a few times, then call it a night.  We talked of this and that in whispers, as we fished, being that voices carry on the water, and aren't a natural lake sound.  Mom always said if you want to catch the big fish, you have to think like one.  On our third pass my line suddenly began speeding off the reel into the water.  "Mom, stop rowing, I just snagged the bottom" I said, almost bored.  Shaking her head; mom says "Start reeling, its a sandy bottom here, nothing down there to snag, it's a fish!"

Very soon the line was tight, and still felt like a snag, except there was some give to the thing.  Convinced I'd snagged a waterlogged piece of sunken driftwood, my level of excitement was accordingly low.  I kept reeling as my arm muscle began burning against the dead weight on the end of my line.  Suddenly the driftwood on my rod took back about ten yards of line, and I was now playing tug-of-war with something quite powerful.  With my excitement level appropriately raised, I braced myself, and leaned into the fight.

Being no stranger to fishing this lake, I'd had my share of good sized fish, but not even the biggest fought anything close to what I had on my line.  Determined to land this fish I set the drag all the way tight so I could wear him down.  Mom saw me set the drag and just nodded, with a really huge grin on her face.  With my right arm feeling like it was on fire, I could see that I'd recovered most of my line: whatever I had; was just below the boat. 

Mom popped the oars out and stowed them up front, then reached for the flashlight as I wrestled my unseen opponent closer to the surface.  She was actually laughing when I heard her ask, "Still think you've got a snag?"  I was too busy proving myself a fisherman to come up with a snappy reply, I think I just grunted "Nope."  After cranking in a couple more yards of line everything just went slack, no resistance.  I was thinking I'd lost the fish when he slapped his enormous tail up alongside the boat as he broke the surface. 
 
Mom shined the spotlight over the left side of the boat, revealing the tail end of this fish.  Moving the light to the other side we were looking the monster called Jingle Bells right in the face.  For those who've never fished for pike, they are a long, slender fish with a mouth full of very sharp teeth.  Think fresh water barracuda!  Now in the commotion I don't recall hearing the famous sound associated with the legend, but with no less than six old fishing lures hanging from his mouth, and the tangles of broken lines looking like deformed whiskers, there could be no doubt this was the infamous muskie.

So, here I am, nearly exhausted, holding onto my fishing rod for dear life with Jaws trying to pull me out of the boat and I hear mom laughing again: "You still think Jingle Bells is dead son?"  My immediate dilemma prevented me from grasping the humor at the moment.  All that was left was to land this monster fish.  Not so easy if you're fishing on moms boat because she's something of a purist; who doesn't believe in using nets or gaff hooks.  Swell, just great.  With this fish starting to act like he was getting his second wind, we had to figure out how to get him on that boat without getting ripped to shreds by those teeth.  Then with a graceful flick of her fillet knife mom cut the line.  As Jingle Bells slid back into the black depths of the lake beyond the power of the spotlight, mom very matter-of-factly says: "Guess your sexy frog worked after all."

With that she replaced the oars, pointed the boat for the dock and began rowing us back  home.  We sat there just looking at one another, smiling in silence over the little adventure we'd just shared.  It wasn't a time for words.  Some things are just beyond simple language.  I looked around the lake all peaceful and serene again after the battle, noticed my hands were still shaking, and not from the chilled night air.  I couldn't shake the image of that monstrous face full of teeth or the enormity of that fish from my mind.  Fish like that just aren't supposed to exist!

The warm lights from the cabin were inviting as we neared the dock.  Still not exactly sure why mom had cut the line, I asked her what she was gonna tell everyone.  "Why, I'm going to tell them you caught Jingle Bells, but he got away the same way as always."  It took me a few seconds to catch her exact meaning, but I wanted to be sure, so I asked, "Do you mean you cut him loose three times before?"  She paused a moment as if re-living a poignant memory, then softly said, "Twice, I cut him loose twice before tonight, the first time he broke my line."

After my own experience with this legendary fish I found myself in agreement with mom: Yes he might look great mounted on the wall as a trophy, but I liked him better right where he was, knowing the rubber frog hanging from his mouth is mine!  He knows I caught him, that's all that really matters. 

Over the following years whenever the stresses of the material world sent me scurrying for my happy place invariably that place would be memories of Birch lake.  When times were really harsh, and I needed something more, I'd find myself back in that rowboat, talking with mom.  Always seemed to clear the skies of dark clouds. 

Mom passed away the year before I moved to Alaska.  She never pushed me to become a doctor or lawyer because she knew the world has plenty of those.  Instead she always told me to just follow my heart, so that's what I did.  A few years later I was certain I could feel mom smiling down on me when she saw that I was living with my family in the wilderness and teaching my daughter wood lore. 

Full circle.

Of course when my daughter was born I couldn't wait to send photos to my father, and sister, so they could update their family photo albums.  It was a couple of weeks later when I received a letter back from my sister.  The envelope was fat with a handful of old photos...really old, from the 1920's.  A brief note accompanied the photos: "After seeing pictures of your new daughter, I think you should have these old photos of mom at about the same age.  Grampa sent them to me when mom passed away, they are yours now."

In my hand were eight photos of my mom taken when she was just under a year old. 
I laid them all on the table in a row, then got the photos sent to my sister & laid them alongside.  

Except for the clothing, it looked like the same exact baby in both sets of pictures!

I'm not talking slight resemblance here, more like Xerox copy.

Not just an uncanny resemblance, a downright spooky one!

Most astounding of all, I'd sent my sister a
picture of my daughter sitting with our black cat:
She sent me one of mom sitting with a white cat!

Mom always did have a well developed sense of humor.

© 2015 full re-post with permission only


May the Source be with You


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