Imagine the sound of thunder following a flash of lightning during a spring storm.
Now imagine the noise of those lightning flashes occuring 100 times per second!
This is what happens every day all around the earth, and that noise –not the sound of thunder, but the sub-audible electromagnetic resonance it causes, is bouncing around dear mother earth in an acoustic bowl called the earth-ionosphere… that space between terra firma and the layer of our atmosphere that protects us from being fried by solar flares.
Lightning is creating Earth’s Song which ranges from 7 to 50 mHz. . . which just so happens to be the range of our own electromagntic signals within our brains.
You’ve felt it before.. . Standing upon some mountain, or alone on the upper deck of cruise ship gazing across a vast empty ocean…
There, looking up at stars that are always hiding behind the glare of our city lights. There alone, where the contamination of radio signals and cell phone signals and wifi signals and tv signals and microwave signals are not constantly bombarding and penetrating our minds… we find our oneness with our mother earth.
The resonance grabs your heart and your spirit and you understand what it is that has been lost by the Hopi, the Aborigine, and exactly why they were one with their surroundings.
X marks the spot. My universe for 19 years of my life. Countless early Christmas morning risings, Halloween popcorn balls, big southern breakfasts… too many memories to recount here.
No, I am here to recount the adventures no one else experienced from this X. I have drawn the magical mystery map of The Old Russian Trail, and have chosen to reveal its secrets herein. I am sure somewhere there was some pact that its secrets were never to be revealed, but that vow was long forgotten by its former guardians, those who have gone on to adventures elsewhere in this world… and beyond it.
Why it was the Old Russian Trail I do not know. Perhaps because this was the time of cold wars and cold storm cellars and whispers of bomb shelters that murmured beneath the conversations adults had around us. But there it was. Its beginning lay at the end of our street, across the dirt road that marked the border to the end of civilization and into the expanse of the unknown universe. A depression in the weeded field that led first under a small wooden bridge made of railroad ties and meandered between the barbed wire fence and the railroad tracks as far as the eye could see.
The small bridge was the result of a side rail that ran to the newly built Morrow Thomas building. It was built, I am sure now, to cross a needed drainage ditch from the dirt road. As to the giant red brick Morrow Thomas building, we knew only that they sold hammers or something, housed hardware of some kind, and numerous rail cars would often be sent down the siderail to be loaded with “things” and shipped off to who knows where.
So our first adventure was to dash across the dirt road and crawl beneath the small bridge…and there we saw the expanse of The Trail. It went on as far as we could see. And, it was begging to be explored. We walked a few hundred feet along the ditch gathering artifacts and stones, and still could not see where it might lead us. Without knowing it, it would lead out of our imaginations into adventures unimagined that evening.
This was going to take a plan of some sort… and supplies and maybe more men… who knew? This was far beyond the X. This was big.
Well, first off I am a liar. Though I have signed up for the project, I will not be writing fiction… other than the loss of my memory of events over the years, fiction of this life we live upon this earth while longing to return to our spirit nature. Never the less I believe it to be a journey all should undertake… and we shall soon see how it all unfolds.
If you would like to participate, check out ART HOUSE CO-OP in Brooklyn.
I hate you…
because you’re pretty, ugly, skinny, fat. Because you’re black, red, yellow, white, brown. Because you’re Christian, Agnostic, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Bahai. Because your hair is long, short straight, curly, buzzed. I hate you because you eat meat, are a vegetarian, vegan, because you fast. I hate you because you’re gay, straight, liberal, conservative, republican, democrat, socialist, fascist, communist. I hate you because you’re homeless, a damn millionaire, educated, stupid, from the East, the West, your a Northerner, a Southerner. I hate you because your not like me. You don’t look like me, talk like me, think like me, want to be me. I hate you. Don’t pray for world peace. Pray for personal peace.
There is something foreboding about a daily journal.
Even though it is for only one’s self, there is an inherent fear of one’s innermost thoughts being exposed to public scrutiny. So, the tendency is, for one to write with constant vision of some unknown reader in mind.
This is an excellent source for the beginning Tai Chi Short Form Yang practicioner
Tai Chi incorporates fluid movement and gentle exercises; learn about proper Tai Chi stance for practicing Tai Chi in this free Tai Chi video for beginners. Expert: Jason Hall Bio: Jason Hall is a professional martial arts instructor who teaches martial arts, tai chi, and self defense classes for men, women and children. … Read More
I have forgotten what is real and what is imaginary,
For my time here has erased all outward reference.
I ride upon the wind’s song, upon the Sorceress’ voice,
Barely perceptible. Whispered. Whispered.
Whispered not to my ears, but to my mind’s very core.
Whispered, “Dance, dance.” and I must dance.
And her breath, warm against my face, whispers, “Dance.”
I am no longer my self, but a marionette for her biding,
Like a lodestone I cling to her words
And fear her whispers may become silent.
In the dimly luminescent waning light of day,
Snow-covered mountains’ beauty spread
As an alabaster sculpture before my eyes,
Their radiance accentuates the darker valley beneath
Its mystique heightened by the corybantic growth
Near obscuring my destination.
Upon this vision, I am held to pause,
Breathing in this enchanting scene,
While remembering the taste of my love’s lips upon my own,
Far, far too long, a memory upon this journey.
I hasten my step, anticipating her welcoming caress
at this journey’s end.
On the precipice of the Sorceress’ cavernous abyss
Upon a path, dark and overgrown,
Where from its depths rise up
The heat and humid breath of her dark abode,
Mixed with incense, and perfumes, and sounds of moaning souls
Air magnetically charged with her magic,
Capturing passersby as to a spider’s web.
I see, but my resistance is futile.
I pause, but I am drawn still forward into her trap
My being all consumed by her power.
All that is without her is vanished,
And all that is within her is manifest in my thoughts
Forever in my thoughts for evermore.
It is evening meditation
Beneath tall pines, their long inhalations
Whispering softly beneath a moonlit night.
My entire being is focused upon the Lotus –
Opening in this twilight beneath a pale blue moon.
I am overcome with its simplistic beauty in this light
and its perfume embraces me, holds me close,
transfixed, while obliterating all else in this Universe.
I shall never want to leave this moment.
