Home Tidings

As I beautify our home, I ponder the fleeting nature of the seasons, the speed of evolution, and the marvelous half-haunted feeling which defines my human existence. From an early age I felt that a true fulfillment and success was not defined by the accumulation of status emblems nor the sensation of happiness. On the contrary, accomplishment was to be acquired by divesting oneself of need to possess material goods and an aspiring life was marked by a richness in complex emotions and contradictions peppered with pain and bathed in saffron melancholy. Anything truly worthwhile was begot by a condition of liberation from societal values or beliefs which in turn causes a cessation from the limitations of imagination imposed by religious and institutional dogma which seem to perpetuate the greater evils on the planet. Some degree of alienation or a delicious loneliness is indicative of the type of rebellion one needs to maintain a purity of spirit and presence of mind. If your heart doesn't regularly tear like any good muscle from use, why you aren't setting your sights high enough on expansion and development. Thusly, my ideals brought me toil and anguish in good measure.

There is everything and nothing ambiguous about being dead and the same thing holds true for seeing dead people. These days I see the spirits with less stark clarity than I used to, because I no longer live at the beach. I rely on an inner site, rather than on being surrounded by the elemental ocean and sheer blackness to conduct the energy of the Angels. I no longer nest comfortably on the shore, waves lapping at the jetty rocks beneath me, tucked into the space between worlds that at once has More value to me that any mortal occupation, and yet holds the key ingredient to giving my earthly ife meaning.

For the first time that I can remember I am grieving without regret, almost without sadness. The weeping within is a psychic release, almost like the negative space in a picture, or the shadow of a Peruvian cross on the floor of Machu Pichu. But it is not my shadow. I am grieving for my uncle, and for general things...for the loss of innocence, the fall from grace which has led to perpetual global war. I am grievous for the suppression of truth, for the close mindedness, the cattiness, the superficiality, the fear that keeps people from waking up to the happenings on the planet. I am grievous over slow growth, the erosion of women's rights, and the cruel way materialism, classism, hatred and racism have gripped our global morale and policies. I am grievous that the appalling devastation of ecosystems on this planet is not calling more people to action. That people cling to the sort of petty jealousy and greed that got us into this trouble in the first place. we live in a world where Donald Trump is running for president, so we are all suffering collectivelWe live in a world where our children feel unsafe. We live in a world where the trees are dying, the ice caps are melting and the sea level is rising.

I am looking forward to connecting with the angels in the City of Angels under my astronomical home because of how clear they come in visually for me there. For when I do walk among them it is the single most comforting thing to me. It gives me perspective and hope beyond reason. People tend to project an impossible solemnity on their deities and God figures. Angels reflect the spectrum of human emotion and add to it a sense of oneness with the collective consciousness beyond what we can imagine. They are funny and playful. I want find that meditative state of complete familiarity and hominess I had overlooking the Pacific Ocean on the beach which allowed me to visually experience their presence in full technicolor. I spent twenty years of my life inhabiting and traversing that beach, that shoreline, so it is no small wonder that I felt I was as much a part of the topography as it was part of my DNA. I still have access to that sense of security and safety offered by the elemental world from my office, but for some reason, the energy of the Atlantic Ocean and perhaps the landmarks along its shores offer me no solace. Yearning for the familiar expanse that seems to reverberate with heavenly music and native tongues. Surely gatekeepers like Pele hasten weather from archipelagos' tropical primordial forests. The Atlantic seems like an unfamiliar past, whereas the Pacific feels like a familiar future.