Christmas Present

It is Christmas. The Christmas Spirit burns much lower in my heart as the years roll by, not because I have grown cynical but because there are no small children in my life brimming with the magic of Santa. If I had it to do over, I would never trick my children into believing in Santa Claus as a real person. I would explain the significance of Santa in terms of being selfless and loving. Once you know there is no Santa, the depression never quite leaves your psyche, does it?

I stepped out this morning into the unseasonably warm weather to hear geese overhead. I scanned the sky to catch sight of them. A nice sized flock came straight out of the west, not far above the trees. They seemed to pause in flight for a beat and I wondered if they were going to land in my yard! The most irritating dog right now is Mattie. True to her dedication to being the best giant pain-in-assorted-parts of my anatomy, she began barking at the horses - those killer herbivores who live here and who were dangerously waiting for their oats. At the first bark, the geese shifted just a wing beat and effortlessly coalesced into two formations, their natural flight expertise carrying them over my house as if by magic. I accepted their blessing as a very lovely Christmas present.

All is peaceful and calm down on the old farmstead. Ginger and Wally, the Supreme Beings, are fat and sassy. Ginger gets to boss Wally around every single day. Mattie and Jake are happy and healthy but both are worthless as farm dogs. Jake barks at human beings, friend and foe, but Mattie thinks everyone is her next new friend. Jake barks at unseen critters once in a great while but Mattie barks at every molecule and rustling atom, non stop. And if I am not careful to keep one or the other constrained, they actually leave the farm for expensive and dangerous adventures elsewhere. So... two "worthless" dogs. What are you going to do?

I am almost two years retired and it is wonderful. Now I can sleep through the night instead of hour long increments of fitful suffering. I get to stay home in the peace and quiet all day long. No more acid reflux and very few migraine headaches. No ass-burn at all. Well, that's a lie. I have ass-burn at Mattie every day!

I have started painting seriously. I have completed six acrylic paintings. I continue with small watercolors and there is also a set of oils waiting in the wings. Each time I learn a little more and finish better paintings. (Sorry to the people who have received the first clumsy attempts! My heart was in the right place even if the paintings kinda suck.)

My adult children are doing well, though both live complicated lives. They are healthy and happy and most importantly, they are not axe murderers. Mission accomplished!

I continue to meditate and study books written by Alan Wallace and Mingur Youngey Rinpoche. It required almost a lifetime of preparation to understand these Tibetan teachings even though they have been made simple for the Western mind. The Four Immeasurables or cultivating virtues of the heart:

Loving Kindness - heartfelt yearning and vision for oneself and others to experience happiness and the causes of happiness

Compassion - heartfelt yearning that all be free of suffering and its causes

Empathic Joy - Delight in other people's virtues, successes and joys

Equanimity - Even heartedness, even mindedness and impartiality

The Christ came to teach us these truths, as well as the Buddha and countless others, known and unknown.

In the spirit of Christmas:  

Wishing peace on earth and goodwill toward (some) men 

 from the Crazy Woman, the Supreme Beings, and the Constantly Barking Dogs of Spiritcreek.

Life May Be Far More Mysterious Than We Know

I spent most of my adult life working to heal my personal "demons" through a variety of modalities including Freudian-style therapists, Reiki, sweat lodge, soul retrievals, AlAnon, Family Reconstruction, and a billion prayers. This self-improvement effort was certainly worth it as I have been happy with who I am, and quite peaceful and satisfied with my life for the last twenty years or so. I have dealt with everything in this lifetime that had given me trouble, and I am still plumbing the more subtle depths with a decade of serious mediation practice.

My daughter is currently studying several trans-personal methodologies with the goal of eventually helping people heal themselves. For her to earn a certification she needed volunteers. I agreed to a session designed to access and deal with emotional trauma. I had absolutely no expectations or preconceived notions of what might happen when I agreed to participate. I had no idea what, if anything, might come up for me.

The methodology is not hypnosis nor anything manipulative. It is simply an opportunity to stop and listen to the deepest, most silent information in our own psyche. I believe the calm and focused attention I have been cultivating in meditation made the session quite easy for me. The session begins with the willingness to feel in the physical body any sensation that may need to be recognized or acknowledged. After some minutes I began to feel an ice cold sliver of pain in my lower left abdomen. I did not recognize that sensation. The longer I focused on it, the more defined it became until it felt as if a long thin icicle was inside my body. My daughter's guidance was to stay with it until I could recall or otherwise understand the source of this strange pain.

I guessed it was physical trauma from the emergency Cesarean delivery of my second child, but each time I tried to match that feeling with what I experienced in childbirth, it did not agree. I relaxed even further and patiently waited to see what might eventually be revealed. Before long my entire abdomen was ice cold, freezing. I began to shiver. Following my daughter's guidance to wait, it soon became clear that I was feeling an ice cold wind in my lower abdomen due to evisceration. Then my right leg was suddenly missing from the hip. My mind searched for some context for these physical sensations that were so real and immediate though I was lying in the comfort and safety of my own living room. Slowly, very slowly, I realized that I was hanging suspended in the sky from an enormous parachute. A bullet or shrapnel had pierced the flesh of my abdomen and my intestines had spilled out. The icy wind I could feel inside my warm body was literally the wind blowing into the empty cavity of a dying body. Another impact ripped through my right leg at the hip and it was gone. I was not in any physical pain except for the icy cold. I knew I was dying. As I stayed with these strange sensations, I "recalled" that I was 17 years old and had jumped from a huge plane over Normandy. The entire sky around me was full of men hanging beneath parachutes being systematically shot by a huge army of guns on the ground.

I was no longer afraid of anything because I knew I was already dead and it would not hurt when I hit the ground. An enormous sadness filled my entire being and my 17 year old heart shattered at the thought of my mother. How dearly I wished to see her and be safe in her arms again. It seemed there was even a few short memories of how I felt as I left this earth behind. I was peaceful but the sadness weighed me down. That 17 year old spirit was pretty cocky otherwise as he answered a few of my daughter's questions. He seemed irrepressible.

So.... I did not cry in the here and now though perhaps I should have. After some appropriate leave taking of the 17 year old soldier, Phase Two kicked in. This time as I remained still, it was a pain in the right side of my skull that heralded another traumatic "memory". Soon, the pain became a crushing ache and I knew that my skull has been fatally smashed. I could not tell if it was from warfare, murder, or if it was a hunting injury. As I patiently waited for this trauma to communicate itself to me, I realized I was a middle aged Native American man and it was not important how the injury happened. I was lying on the frozen ground in the deepest cold of a Plains winter. I either could not move, or the blood had frozen my clothes to the ground and I could not get up. I knew that I had been mistakenly left for dead by my companions. Or perhaps they deliberately left me behind. What was remarkable to the me in the here and now was that there was absolutely no rancor toward my companions who so heartlessly left me behind. I was not afraid of dying. It was natural and peaceful though I wished I could continue to live. I knew my life was over. The trauma seemed to be from the painful, conscious awareness as I lie slowly freezing to death on the ground. It was a hard way to go. But once I was dead, I left this realm with a good and peaceful heart. In the here and now, I thanked the Native American man and said my farewell to him.  

I continued to physically shiver despite the warm blanket I was wrapped in. Slowly I readjusted to being this version of me, in my house, in the present. Wow. As I slowly warmed up, I reflected on a very surprising chain of experiences. Both episodes began with real physical sensations in my body and I simply had to wait for information to "arrive". I do not know if they are past life memories, or some deep psyche "metaphor" of this lifetime.  Another rather extraordinary thing was how information coalesced in my conscious mind. I think my imagination filled in some of the blank details, but the manner of death came from outside of my normal thinking processes. Some of what I came to understand cannot even be easily expressed in verbal language. It was strange and mysterious and there is absolutely no way to objectively determine the source.


The take away is that it is painless to actually die. There might be a lot of physical suffering and mental anguish prior, but once a person actually dies, it is painless. We have feelings and opinions about what happened to us in the life we just lost, too. Apparently, something of who we were in that lifetime continues to exist intact in some form or manner because I held a short conversation with each man after I "remembered" how he died. Perhaps they were ghosts needing some help to move on - except they seemed to have already moved on after they died as far as I could tell. I assume there was trauma and great sadness that had to be healed in both of these experiences and I feel as if that happened. I do not see any change in my day to day thinking but I do feel a lot more confident about dying - someday. Perhaps I will die a very peaceful death this time around.

A Few Summer Scenes from Snokomo Road

It has been a beautiful year. I did not take a single serious photograph but I took quick photos with my phone. Such poor photos of the beautiful views in my neighborhood but I am sharing them anyway.

From left to right:  Saturn, Jupiter and Venus as seen from Snokomo Road, November, 2019

A quarter moon sets close behind the sun.

As many times as I have seen a full moon in my lifetime, its magic transcends everything.

Above the west trees at the farm.

Moonrise above the abundance of summer.

Moonrise, thunderheads and the Belt of Venus over amber waves of grain.

Amazing August and Post Script

August is unusually verdant and sweet.  It is most often hot and dry and brown.   This was an uncommonly beautiful evening.

From my favorite sunset viewing spot on Snokomo

The colors in the sky were glowing jewels.

Photography Consultant for the evening.

Retirement is wonderful. There is suddenly time for everything - calling old friends and relatives just to say "hi" - taking a guilt-free nap - spending a little money sometimes without feeling guilty - taking a few classes - simply sitting outdoors with the dogs lazing at my feet. The biggest indulgence has been the new corral fence between the house and the barn, which allows the horses to come close to the house. Sometimes all of us are in contented companionship within a few feet of one another - horses, dogs and old lady. It is awesome.

The horses make several trips a day to the new gate to see if I might have an apple or a pear or other treat. Maybe I am willing to groom them. Wally was far up by the barn the other evening. Sometimes, just seeing my horses fills me with a wave of mighty affection. I called, "What's up, Wally?!" He answered but did not bother to look my way. It was his version of "I'm busy right now, thank you very much." He is a character!

A pair of little barn swallows built a nest on the front porch this summer. It took them a few days and a lot of mud to build their nest. Each time I left the house, both birds flew to the same spot on the electrical line. They were agitated and would not return to nest building for some time. The male would then fly around broadcasting a warning. I was sorry to disturb them but I thought they would soon learn that I was no threat. I was 100% wrong about that. Once the eggs were laid, I tried to be quiet and peaceful leaving the house. I would not look at the nest, hoping the little hen would not fly off but it made no difference. I doubted they would be able to hatch their eggs due to their panic each time I opened the door.

The male, absolutely fearless, flies directly at my head, veering away at the last possible second. After the first tiny, newly-hatched head appeared in the nest, the father's attacks escalated into Navy Seal ferocity. He will come close enough that the rush of air from his wings disturbs my hair. He has also flown directly toward my face a few times. I ignore him, hoping he does not miscalculate. I think it would genuinely hurt if he crashed into my head or face.

I am not the only one attacked. The male swallow will not tolerate the humming birds coming to the feeder on the front porch window. They are too close to his family. The humming birds are determined to feed so there are spectacular aerial fights in the front yard each day. I do not know how fast their flight speed is, but they fly so fast I cannot see details of either bird. I just know the swallow is the larger of the two speeding combatants. (I moved the feeder, but it does not seem to make a difference.)

Today new furniture was delivered. The two young delivery men made multiple trips with cushions, pillows and then large pieces of furniture, so the swallow parents were agitated more than usual. One guy was over six foot tall which meant his bald head was intolerably close to the nest of babies. The shorter man, not much taller than me, pulled his ball cap down over his face, crouched low and made a mad dash off the front porch. I had to laugh! Those two little swallow parents slam dunked on that city boy!

The dogs will have to be kept away from the fledglings, so I am paying close attention to the baby birds. So far, they just have that silly "hair" sticking off their heads but it will not be long before they have real feathers. I hope I get to see them leave the nest.

The swallows must be part of a larger extended family because every morning and evening about six or eight barn swallows spend time feeding. The more mosquitoes they eat, the less there are to bite me! The birds slice through the air in large arcs, avoiding each other with ease. Everything is peaceful,green, abundant and beautiful. Baby toads and little frogs are abundant this year and there are a billion insects. I do not think it has ever been more beautiful. I am lucky enough to be home every single day to enjoy it all. Retirement is wonderful.

Filled with tiny occupants

Horrifying post script: I took the camera to the door with me Sunday morning because the little birds had their new feathers and would be leaving the nest any moment. When I eagerly stepped onto the porch, it took me a few seconds to understand what the hell I was seeing. I took the broom to this evil serpent, but it had already consumed all four of the baby birds. I wanted to kill the snake in that moment but I did not. The poor little fierce parents were attacking the snake but it did no good. I do not know if the humming birds were attacking the snake, too, but they were in the air space, like the tiny warriors they are. I am still sick about this.

Sto͞o′pĭd) adj. stu·pid·er, stu·pid·est. 1. Slow to learn or understand; obtuse

There are times I catch myself being amazingly stupid. I was going to hang a framed photo on the wall yesterday. The frame came with a cheap backing that had little rings in the corners. I was thinking, "Dang, that is is going to be difficult getting the measurements for two nails to be the precise distance apart, and level, and the backing will not hold that heavy frame for long!" I realized my stupidity before I put holes in the walls. I hung the photo today with the normal hardware. Stupid, but it could happen to anyone. Sometimes we simply do not use the appropriate area of the brain for problem solving. Other times we are genuinely stupid and there is no excuse.

My house has hardwood floors, a much cleaner way to live in the country, except my "new" vacuum cleaner does not suck the dust off the floor! I have been cussing that vacuum cleaner for more than FIVE YEARS! I have often consoled myself with researching the best vacuums for hardwood flooring. Because it is a new machine, I have not been emotionally prepared to buy another one anytime soon. The dust mop does not work well either due to the texture of the wood. I live with less than clean floors until I can not stand it any longer then I use a wet mop. Sometimes I get on hands and ruined knees with a damp cloth and a bucket of clear water, which is excruciating and I greatly dread it. This has been going on for five years and five months. Something or someone recently took pity on me, probably my female ancestors who simply could not tolerate my stupidity any longer. They intervened and lo, I taketh unto my hand a broom and sweepeth the dust of the earth from the corners of the hearth and there was rejoicing. A BROOM - the oldest housekeeping tool known to primates! There is a damn good reason why brooms are still in use: they work - like magic!

Stupider.

(Out of respect for my children, I will not commit my stupidest to the internet.)

I knew my daughter would have a good stupid photo of  me on Facebook ...

The Green Summer of '19

Evening from Snokomo Road

It has been a beautiful spring and summer so far. There was a week of 110 degree heat index days that caused everyone to move slowly. When I heard myself complaining too loudly, I thought of the people in Europe and India who were (are) suffering extreme heat without American air conditioning. I felt pangs of guilt knowing my energy consumption is contributing to global warming. I cannot be responsible for everything though it feels sometimes as if I am. Of course, we are each responsible for our own actions. To perhaps offset my air conditioning costs to the planet, I have slowed down 5 to 10 miles an hour on the highways, trading some of my time for less gasoline consumption. (Yes, it pisses people off when they are stuck behind me, but they are saving fuel, too. They should thank me instead of giving me the finger.)

Beginning with the snows in October of last year, it has been a time of abundant water here. The sound of flowing water has only recently ceased. The creek is still flowing but it is silent to my human ears. The agony of the bizarre winter floods in Nebraska, South Dakota and Iowa was frightening, the angry waters made even more devastating with huge boulders of ice. Livestock drowned trapped in their pens and pastures. It seems particularly cruel when the innocent suffer for our arrogance. We have known burning coal releases greenhouse gases to the atmosphere since the 18th century. Joseph Fourier, (Mar 21, 1768 - May 16, 1830) is credited with the discovery of the greenhouse effect. Our best minds have known about this problem for quite some time now. You can be certain that every modern scientist and engineer on the planet since the mid-20th century has intimately understood the greenhouse effect - every engineer employed by the big coal and gas conglomerates - every engineer employed by every large and small utility company across the planet - every automobile engineer. "We" have known it would be an enormous problem. For any politician on the planet to deny the science and ignore the threat we are facing is unconscionable.

The Dalai Lama said we did not know but now that we do, we must take care of our planet. When Kansas is as lush and green and fertile as it is this summer, how can we not look at it and marvel over the magnificent gift of this planet? How can we possibly ignore that it is our fault that thousands of species are going extinct - plants, insects, fish, animals of all kinds? Perhaps most egregious is the suffering of the whales, the greatest sentient beings in the solar system. As far as we know right now, whales are the largest sentient beings in the universe. With our pathetic wars, in our frail humanity, whales are continually hunted, poisoned, tortured. We cause them to become deaf with underseas radar, weapons, location systems, and with the frenetic search for more oil. Many whales are starving, either with bellies full of plastic or due to our over-fishing the oceans. How arrogant we are to think we could live on a planet devoid of the full web of life.

While I am deeply nourished by this green and golden year, I wonder just how many more times in my life the weather conditions will be favorable for such a beautiful season. Maybe never.

If It Ain't Raining, I'm Bitching About Something Else

Rain and eye surgery have been the preoccupations so far this summer. So boring. So "elderly"! Also, so amazing! Profound medical knowledge and technology combined with a skilled surgeon has restored my eyesight to a remarkable degree already. It will steadily improve over the next weeks. It was disconcerting to be awake and know what was happening to my very dear and irreplaceable eye(s), but the surgeon completed the procedure in a few MINUTES. I am lucky to live in these remarkable and knowledgeable times.

I know my physical body is slowly wearing out but I feel strong and vital and young at heart most of the time. After the well-intentioned patronizing from the surgical nurses, I realized that I must safeguard my own self-perception going forward on this journey of retirement and old age. The nurses assume I do not understand technology and require someone younger to explain. (I am old, motherfuckers, not stupid!) If I have a little difficulty hearing, it doesn't mean I am mentally deficit as well - I just need the nurse to speak a bit more crisply - not more slowly - not more loudly. The surgical team dealt the worst insult of all. Because I have a cane, they put a second medical band on my wrist bearing the hand written warning: "Fall Risk". Fuck that! I still carry 60 pound bags of oats, 50 pound bags of dog food! I still carry the 5 gallon 40 pound water jugs. I can still push my lawn tractor sideways to move it if I need to. I am not some frail old lady - yet. Becoming physically old happens despite our most fervent desire to not wear out like tired elastic in an old pair of underwear! Those nurses will all grow old, too. Some day they will remember every time they treated an older person like a child and they will regret it. The WORST was insisting that I sit in a goddamned wheelchair after the surgery, then being wheeled out to the curb like a sack of yams! I was perfectly capable of walking and should have been allowed to walk out of there like an adult! (I assume their insurance liability ends at the curb.)

I behaved and did not give any of the nurses a hard time but I doubled my resolve to stay as far away from medicines and doctors as possible for as long as possible. Nothing makes you feel any worse than to be treated like an adult imbecile. However, if they had treated me as callously as people are routinely treated in the work place, I would be bitching even more about that.

I am thankful for the amazing level of knowledge and skill and true medicine available to us. If I regain the ability to clearly see the stars, it will be worth sitting in a wheel chair against my will.

A Tiny Step

The United States Attorney General is supposed to be the supreme lawyer in service to our entire country - not a personal defender for a corrupt president. I knew that writing to the Washington DC Office of Disciplinary Counsel, asking them to investigate William Barr as an unethical attorney would not produce tangible results. It was instead a gesture with the force of my deeply held belief that if our country is to survive as a democracy, we must have people who aspire to the highest ideals of the office in which they have been placed. William Barr should do his best to conduct himself as an ethical servant to the will of the people, not as a personal toady for a lying president. I have officially registered my resistance to the unethical actions of William Barr. That energy is out there. When enough people express their opposition in whatever manner best suits them, it makes it more difficult for things to occur unchallenged, out of sight, unethically, and immorally.

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The Response

In Need of Better Equipment

Once upon a time, I saw a marvelous and mysterious occurrence in the night sky between Kansas City and Topeka. I was on a date with handsome soldier who had been deployed in Vietnam as a medic. He was spending his last few months in the Army at Ft Riley. We had gone to Kansas City for a concert but the tickets were sold out. Instead of staying in KC for the evening we opted to buy wine and return home. (A lot less expensive for guy on a soldier's pay than partying in the River Quay area would have been.) If we had stayed in Kansas City, I would never have witnessed the only thing I have ever remotely considered as a possible UFO.

As we were driving back from Kansas City, I was slouched down in the passenger's seat, gazing into the northern sky. There was not nearly as much light pollution then as there is now so once we left Kansas City behind, I could see a few faint stars in the north. A particularly bright one caught my eye. There are no exceptionally bright stars in the northern skies but this one was not so bright or so large that I thought it was a plane or anything artificial. It simply looked like a bright star. For whatever reason, it kept my attention as we rolled through the dark night for about seventy miles. I just happened to be looking at the "star" when it suddenly turned bright red and accelerated in a razor straight line to the west, literally disappearing from sight in an instant. I was so astounded that I shouted, scaring the soldier, "Did you see that?!"

"What? What?" He was shocked by my outburst. I excitedly tried to explain what I had just seen. I am certain he realized I had truly seen something startling. He knew I was not lying about seeing something is what I mean, but he had not seen it.

I have seen falling stars many times. Though they are fleeting, they fall toward the horizon, toward the ground. You have a beat or two to witness their fall. This thing, whatever it was, shot out of sight supernaturally fast. It seemed to have disappeared into a point.

Since then, I have kept my eyes open, hoping to see something like it again, but the odds of seeing anything travelling that fast are infinitesimally small. If I had not been looking directly at that star when it turned red, I would never have seen it move and disappear. It was an amazing thing to witness. There might be some natural explanation but I do not know what that would be.

Sometimes I think that if it was some sort of a spacecraft - just thinking here, not saying I believe it was actually a spacecraft - maybe they will come back for me some day. So, the other night when I turned north on Snokomo Road, I noticed a brilliant light low in the west that is normally not there. I took a photo of it with my phone but all it captured was this fuzzy orb. Venus is visible in the eastern sky right now, and Jupiter doesn't rise until 11 pm CST. My little phone takes good photos, but not nearly good enough to determine what this brilliant orb was. I need better photographic equipment! Alas, I do not think it was the mothership coming back for me...

The Stories We Tell

I read something entirely remarkable today: at least 16,000 fans of Game of Thrones have signed a petition demanding HBO remake the final season that ends the 8-season series. They are upset with the way it is ending. My first thought was, "Go pound sand, you entitled idiots! Write your own fantasy series and good luck finding the millions and millions of dollars to get it made into an A+ television series!"

Of course I understand the disappointment when a wonderful book is made into a film but things go askew. Maybe the actors are not talented enough to bring the characters to life. Brad Pitt comes to mind, ruining the character of Louie in Anne Rice's "Interview with the Vampire". I read Pitt changed his mind about acting in the film but it would have cost a fortune to back out of his contract. He sullenly honored the commitment and subsequently ruined that character. Tom Cruise was cast as Lestat, the main character, an ancient, beautiful, elegant, soulless vampire who decided to walk the world again in modern times. Tom Cruise looked nothing like the way Anne Rice described Lestat in the book, and the fans of the books were so disappointed - including me.

As for Game of Thrones (GOT), I watched the first two seasons piece-meal because I was traveling, spending four nights a week in a hotel where HBO was available. After the traveling came to an end, I did not want to spend the money for cable at home. Lo and behold, streaming technology has evolved since then! Via my internet connection, and a much less expensive monthly fee for HBO, I recently decided to catch up on the entire GOT series in anticipation for the final season. I am very glad I did this. It is a remarkably well done story with excellent actors and top-of-the line CGI and other digital effects, superb costumes, sets and authentic locations. And most thankfully, because it is HBO, it is free to tell this enormous story in adult terms - adult language, violence, nudity and other adult themes. The universal themes and the wonderfully developed characters struck chords with people around the world.

I was thinking about the enormous effort required to create such a sprawling, fantastical world as the one brought to life in GOT. I went looking for statistics.

According to the article, "Game of Thrones: By the Numbers", Dona Feldman, published in Forbes magazine, April 11, 2019: there are some astounding GOT numbers.

Broadcast in 207 countries and simulcast in 194 countries and territories

Season 7 had 32.8 million viewers

It was filmed in 10 countries, with 105,846 days for extras across all 8 seasons and countries where it was filmed. (This boggled my mind until I realized it was similar to "manhours")

68,143 hotel rooms were booked during the filming of GOT

There are more mind boggling statistics in the article, found here:Forbes Article

The enormous creative endeavor of GOT spread work and money across the world, and required all manner of expertise. Imagine what is involved in support of filming this series - the countless crews and the support needed for all those crews. The food and lodging and transportation of hundreds of people and tons of equipment. Imagine all the trades and skills needed to create buildings, sets, props, special effects, stunt people for all of the battles and fights and thousands of movie "extras" to bring the world of Westeros alive. There were scores of horses the various characters and armies needed, especially the Dothraki - a warrior race, like a cross between Genghis Khan and Native American Plains horse tribes. All those horses required food and shelter, transport, veterinarian attention, farrier services, grooming, handlers, costumes of their own, and of course, consummate riders! The raw materials needed for costumes and sets - such things as fabrics, lumber, plaster and energy to power everything - required money be spent in every location, and surely there were suppliers and specialists located around the world.

There is a high tech aspect of a fantasy series like GOT. The three dragons that hatched from ancient eggs, grew from cute baby dragons into enormous fire breathing monsters of legend, were CGI and they were almost flawless. They were so real that they were the stuff of nightmares! The technical expertise to meld CGI with special effects, real actors, real scenery into seamless motion pictures is truly remarkable. The technical advances developed for movies absolutely finds it way to dozens of other commercial (and likely government and military) applications. The creative efforts of modern film making moves the entire species forward.

Game of Thrones is routinely referred to as a "cultural phenomenon" but I heartily disagree with that. From the first human being until the last, we are storytellers. Before we ever scratched our art and stories into rocks or painted cave walls, there were people in every tribe who memorized their history using knots on a counting rope, beaded leather strips, shells on strings, reed tapestries, pottery, or animal hides. Written language evolved, then we recorded our stories on baked mud, parchment, animal skins, papers and in stone. Now we record our stories using art and theater and technology. It is not a phenomenon that something as innately human as the stories and characters in Game of Thrones appeals to people all over the world, speaking dozens of languages. It is the story of being human.

The basic premise of GOT is that humans must put aside their tribal differences and unite to fight the White Walkers, a race of undead creatures that only exist to feed on the living. If the living do not destroy the dead, the human race will be utterly destroyed. Of course, most of the humans recognize the need to cooperate, but some humans only see a chance to enrich themselves, isolate in their rich cities so to be left to plunder the world when the other humans have all been killed or sufficiently decimated. It puts you strongly in mind of a certain American President and his greedy, short-sighted, compatriots absolutely rigging the odds in their favor to plunder whatever is left of our natural world for their own monetary gain.

George R. R. Martin, the author of the books that Game of Thrones is based on, was writing a different book when the first chapter came to him. He had to stop his other project in order to write the entire series. Stephenie Meyer, the author of the young adult books that became the "cultural phenomenon" of the Twilight movies dreamed of a young girl and a beautiful vampire sitting in a meadow discussing the challenges caused by falling in love. When Meyer woke up, she wanted to know where that story led so she began writing what became the Twilight series.

Twilight is a story about tolerance between whites and Native Americans, vampires and the Native American shape-shifting wolf warriors. First they must learn to respect each other to protect the half human/half vampire child born to Bella the girl and Edward the vampire, the two characters Stephenie Meyer dreamed. Vampires from across the world and the wolves had to unite to battle the ancient evil, all-powerful vampire rulers that tolerated neither the wolves, nor the inter-species child, nor vampires who wished to live in a different manner than the old vampires dictated. The message was very clearly transmitted to a generation of young people all across the world that tolerance and cooperation is clearly desirable.

I am not a big Harry Potter fan but I am certain that "cultural phenomenon" story came to J.K. Rowling, the author of all those wonderfully magical books, in some sort of an imperative-to-write manner as well. The Harry Potter books have been translated into 74 different languages to date. I think there are similar messages in that work, what little I know of it.

While I can understand the investment the 16,000-and-counting fans have in seeing Game of Thrones end in a satisfying way, there is not a single ending that will satisfy everyone! Instead of whining, I wish they would be still and contemplate the truly amazing evolution of human story telling, and be thankful for it.

Here's to our long human history of superb storytelling. Here's to Sunday night and the end of something amazing.

Mysteries

The flaming sunset

Life is full of mysterious things. We explain them with science so they seem commonplace and routine. If you are like me, sometimes you begin to contemplate ordinary things until they appear extraordinary. I most often succeed in merely confusing myself. Sometimes, though, I scare myself.

I blame my mother for the first time I scared myself. She insisted I go to bed at 8 o'clock every night whether I was tired or not. It was torture to lay in bed wide awake. The lights had to be off and there was no excuse to get up, to make any noise, or complain. I discovered I could read by the dim single light bulb on in the living room if I laid on the end of my bed with my head hanging over, angling the book above me to catch as much light as possible. I read a lot of library books this way! But the neck, arms and eyes could only hold out so long. Sometimes my mother would go to bed early leaving the house in darkness, making it impossible to read. Then I would "think about" things, simply because I had no other option until blessed sleep arrived.

I do not know what led up to this little exercise, but I imagined I was above my bed looking down on myself. Then above the house looking down on the roof. Then the town, the state of Kansas, which looked remarkably like the map in my text books. Then the United States. Then I was out in space viewing the earth below me, which looked a lot like the globes we had in school. While I was out in space, I decided to take a little glance around. Suddenly facing the cold black infinity scared me so badly I fell back into my body on the bed and never tried that again. But I continued to amuse myself "thinking about" things, and I still do.

I recently burned a brush pile in the corral. Of course, I waited until the countryside was dry and flammable to do this, so I could not leave the fire unattended. It was several long hours of silent contemplation. None of the animals were interested in keeping vigil with me so I had a wonderful opportunity to "think about" all manner of things.

A common meditation exercise is to meditate by being aware of being aware. For the longest time, that was too complicated for me to understand. Eventually I realized it was simply paying attention to whatever was in my awareness. It is very simple, but like so many of these meditation practices and lessons, it may be simple but exceedingly difficult to accomplish or to understand. Since I was sitting and staring at the fire anyway, I might as well meditate. I do not think it counts as true meditation but soon enough the inevitable questions of the nature of fire came into in my mind. I know that fire is a rapid oxidation process that releases heat and light, a transformation of energy from one form to another. I wondered why human beings were created from combustible materials. There must be a reason. I know how we are combustible but I do not know why we are combustible. Wouldn't the Creator have figured out a safer way for us to exist in these bodies, especially since fire is exceedingly common in our dimension? He figured out the best way for ice to freeze in rivers and ponds in order to allow the aquatic life to survive through the winter but He left in one mystery. If you fill ice cube trays with hot water before placing them in the into the freezer, it freezes much more rapidly than cold water. This fact was disputed by an entire department full of engineers so the youngest, prettiest secretary filled two trays - one with cold water and one with hot - and proved this is true. As far as I know it is still a mystery to science. Did the Creator play a little joke on us, knowing eventually there would be a world full of hot shot engineers who would mock the women in their office? Possibly.

I digress. As I was staring into the flames, I was thinking of the true nature of our combustible bodies and what may be left behind after my time is up. I was deeply contemplating the true nature of our physical bodies - 60% water - more space than matter at the atomic level - and if that is all we are, then why doesn't everyone look like their race's equivalent of Jason Mamoa or Sophie Vergara? If we are all the same physical ingredients, then why are our bodies so different? Again, I know how this happens, but I do not know why it is designed this way.

I am supposed to come to some understanding of the impermanent nature of our existence by meditating. I am assured that it is possible to still and discipline the mind well enough that serious inquiry into the authentic nature of existence will lead to enlightenment. The Tibetans are not overly optimistic on how quickly a person can gain this knowledge: countless eons. Soooo... I have plenty of time to sit around watching the fire burn.

After some time watching the flames I was, in fact, still. It was mesmerizing to let my thoughts gently float on the edge of understanding the nature of fire. Some things are beyond words. As the entire mass of limbs reduced to red hot coals, some of the larger limbs were burning with an almost invisible flame. Had it been night, I could have seen the flames close to the charred logs, but it was bright afternoon. I could only see the energy distortions as the flames moved silently in the intense heat of the coals. The question came again and again, not in words but in something beyond language - how is your life like this transmutation you are witnessing in these invisible flames? I tried to sit as still as a stone because I knew for certain if I could sit still long enough, the mystery of the universe would open to me right there in the ashes of the fire. I grew impatient. I am not stone. No wonder it takes countless eons...

The mystery of spring arrives.

The mystery of the living sky

The mystery of the Solar eclipse

The mystery of a foggy morning

Why is a rose beautiful? 

Twenty Years Today

Exactly twenty years ago today, April 4, 1999, I became the official owner and caretaker of Spiritcreek farm. I was handed the keys and it was a thrilling day.  A quick look back over the last two decades in twenty photos:

The first little home on the prairie:

The view from the front window every time it snowed:

This is young Ginger with the new barn, a sun shade and all of the beautiful big bluestem that finally grew in the restored pasture!  The pasture had not been fenced yet, so Ginger lived in a big round pen.

The front gate, after the pasture had been fenced.  Ginger then had plenty of room to run and roam.

My little orphan Annie, lost to a terrible accident at the trainers.  I never took a single good photograph of her, or her beautiful long mane, or photographed her running when she was the most beautiful of horses...

The Good Dog Duke.  He came to live at Spiritcreek in April of 1999 and took his leave 16 years later.  He is still missed.

Duke in his younger years and the stray dog King, who just appeared, trotting down the driveway one day.  I was stupid enough to feed that dog and he was part of the crew for several years.  He attacked my beloved cat, Aldebaran, right in front of me, and though I pounded that dog with all my strength, I could not make him leave her alone.  He was lucky I did not kill him.  I called a dog rescue and they took him away. 

The Jake'N'Bake when he was a little puppy.  Early morning, everyone's favorite time.  Always starts out with a trip to the barn to feed the Supreme Being, Ginger.  Duke was patiently waiting while Jake rested.  Jake was sick, of course, when I got him from the shelter.  It took him a while to become strong and healthy like Duke.  It was cold the morning this photo was taken.  Duke loved cold weather!


The first week Wally came to the farm.  Mutual grooming.  Ginger was so happy for another horse!

The chicken coop I built and the beginnings of the entirely enclosed 10 ft by 20 ft pen I constructed for the chickens - all thoroughly chronicled in the first few years of my blog.  The three nest boxes were inside, and once it was all built, I decided to take them out and hang them on the back side of the coop.  For someone who does not know a freakin' thing about carpentry, I did pretty well, all things considered.

This is the view from the old office window, looking due east and toward the barn.  These are the bonded Redtail Hawks that live here and raise their young every year.  I was thrilled to see them each morning in the late winter.  One would arrive at dawn then the mate would arrive within a few moments.  They would greet the sunrise together every morning.  I built the new house very close to this tree and was sad to disturb their morning perch.

This is the little mound where the new house would be built.  You can just see an orange flag marking the spot.  This is the high bank of the creek at this location.  The sleeping porch overlooks the creek, about 15 feet below the base of these trees.

The long-held dream taking shape in the physical, at last...

The ugly end to the first little home.  It probably deserved a better ending than this.  I have photos of the deer coming through to inspect the gaping hole that suddenly appeared along their trail.

The land almost entirely healed from the destruction and the construction.  Beautiful.

The abundance of water, photo taken from the driveway.   (The two orange things in the office windows are to prevent birds from flying into the windows, killing themselves.)

Tiny little Mattie!  At first glance, she was a disappointment to me.  I had waited almost two years for a pup and I was expecting a furry fat butterball that weighed about 15 pounds.  Instead, she was this tiny little being weighing 6 pounds!  When they handed her to me the first time, she looked right in my eyes and we have been best friends since.  She is beautiful now.

The northwest view from the front door on November 1.  Beautiful!

Same view showing the latest addition:  the OK Corral!  It prompted my son to say, "You are going to have those horses in the house with you!"  Yes.  Yes, I would love that!

Driving down the driveway still fills me with gratitude for my little corner of the earth.  May the Creator grant me another twenty years and more here in the bend of the nameless little creek.

The Winter of Deep Mud

Though this might appear to be complaining, it is mere observation. I do not want to be caught complaining about something as simple as mud when Colorado suffered over 300 avalanches this winter - when California was on fire last fall - when people are suffering snowfall measured in feet not inches. Let me just say I will be profoundly more appreciative when the soil between my door and the barn has solidified back into firm dirt. I must lace my work boots extra tightly to prevent them from being sucked off my feet when I wade through the deep mud on the way to the barn. And my poor horses! Wally is one big mud pie. He gets mud on his face and in his ears! Ginger gets muddy but never as messy as Wally. Their hooves have cut into the soil in the new corral and most likely the big blue stem will not come back in the worst of it. Weeds - cockle burrs and stinging nettles - will be likely all that grows if spring ever arrives this year. Again, I am not complaining. The water tank is a mere 75 feet from the faucet now and I can quickly drain the water out of the hose after filling the tank. I only had to chop ice a few times this winter before the tank was moved close enough to electricity to use a tank heater. The horses have fresh water 24 hours a day!

The beautiful wood floor in my house is covered in muddy dog paw prints from Miss Mattie coming and going and from my own shoes and boots - though I have tried mightily to limit the import of mud into the house. Every rug is filthy but no sense in hauling them to the laundromat before the world dries up. Still not complaining! I will simply be exceedingly grateful when there is grass once again covering all the mud holes around the house.

A lot of rain is forecast beginning Tuesday afternoon. As saturated as the soil is, the creek could easily flood. Though I built the house on a high point, the water could come around the house and possibly get into the crawl space, maybe even into the garage. That seems unlikely, but the strange violence and unpredictability of the weather now makes it seem far more possible. If the creek escapes the banks, it can quite easily flood the old garage, including the pit of despair where the whangdoodles reside - the portal to hell I reluctantly enter in order to plug in the space heater when temperatures fall below 10 degrees. (Okay, I am straight up complaining about the portal to hell.)

It has been a long winter, cold and frozen and muddy and dreary. Not the worst winter but I have had my fill of deep mud though there is likely another two months of it on tap. Still, mud is better than a ten day electrical outage caused by an ice storm. Mud is better than 8" of snow that stranded me for three days. Mud is better than tornadoes. Mud is a million times better than drought! There are a million things worse than mud but right now, I can only think of a few.

Just to be clear:  still not complaining...

Beneath all this pristine white is a bottomless pit of mud...