The Ouroboros | gniaes`.`seaing...gnihtyreve ni slobmys.symbols in everything...

The Ouroboros | gniaes`.`seaing...gnihtyreve ni slobmys.symbols in everything...
Land is not responsible for "Hugh Manatee's" doings. ALL of us are responsible for our own environmental sustainablility

Friday, November 20, 2015

Froggy Medicine


Life.  Survival is unstoppable, rebellion, defiance.
Universal Love.  er, Ock.tober

fire elf


cornflower indigo

blue morning glory

giant blue phlox


aperture acting up...
frogette and two carrion beatles
Frog had hatched in a plastic watering can that the weeds had grown over and hidden.  Somehow this sweet little frog survived in that plastic jug, sharing the tiny pool of water with a dead mouse.  The mouse had two orange and black beetles attached to it as it decomposed in the jug.

Discovered it while cleaning up around the yard.  Had been blessed with an unusually rainy summer, a gift to have running water all through June - September.  So much rain caused the yard to grow like crazy - a jungle of tall white asters all season, and the jug had nestled hidden.

Knew immediately just where to release the tiny buoyant critter. Where to let her go.  Cradled the watering jug carefully walking her down to a pot hole near the brook.  As she was gently freed into the clear water, it was apparent that she had not developed normally, her legs atrophied.  She floated to the surface, breathing, taking in her new surroundings.  A beautiful, clear mini-pond in the woods.  Stayed, savoring sending her love and cooing to her.  She swam under and surfaced by the edge, little sweet head popping up by some maple leaves.
C 'er sweet little head, face bobbing up under the upper left floating leaf...

Joy.  She would be okay, way out here in the boonies.

Since, she gets visits from us, a handful of little Mexican/German hounds and Cally kitty, just about daily.  Speak love and well-wishing into the pool.  There she jumps, into the water swimmingly from the side.   She is alive and well!  Joy fills green hearts...

sweet froggette



Mercury @ 29* Scorpi-or-pior-pio

Dig it.  Dig it up.  Bring it on.  Bring it into the light.  Man-o-man.
Each day, with so much joy, so much Paine.
Pluto in Capricorn, the big squares subsiding.
Bring the corruption up into the light.
Keep it coming, we can take it high and tight.
Bring it on.

Eye ♥ U, girl.  ♬ ♪   ☄
We can take it, we're tough.
Only the Universe can say when enough is enough.
Yesterday was harder without you.
Today is worse.
Tomorrow we may be together again.
But Now I'm not ready to go!

Joy is to be had around every corner
Perhaps we prefer the warmer
Dark cold damp and moldy
Warm bright Sun love unfolding

What the hell is life, anyway?
Another day, another do, another hey?
Gotta enjoy every gulp of air
Greet yet another day
Stupid smile on my face they'll never wipe off,

I love you so much I could die
But there's too much to do - don't lie
Whatever does not pill us
Heaps us stronger
∃ ~ ♬ ♪ ♥ ∞ ☮ ★ ☄ | ☄ ★ ☮ ∞ ♥ ♪ ♬ ~ ∃

And the Wind Screams Mary...to the tunes of Jimi Hendrix
And the Wind, Cries... Mary

Sunday, November 1, 2015

Dark Night of the Soul

This incarnation has been nothing but a Dark Night of the Soul

Ahhh the Sylph.  The beauty.  I used to take spiritual sustenance and often, run-away safety, at the beach.  Like the long walks on Nantasket Beach in Hull, Massachusetts.  In its heyday, Nantasket was a thriving year round carnival.  That had long been washed away by the time I walked its beaches.  Always alone.

Then by 2003 my step-son had finally reached the age of 18.  It took another year to muster up the courage to leave the abusive alcoholic drug-addicted ex-husband (demon) after he had attempted to murder me in a blacked-out rage.  They both ganged up on me and made the whole marriage hell.  They hated me.  I felt I deserved it, to stay that long.  (Hey, my step daughter had put her foot on mine in the beginning, looked up into my eyes, and pleaded me not to leave.)  Sucker. The Quincy Courts and Weymouth Police Department both recommended I get (the hell) out of Massachusetts entirely, leave the state, as I intended to protect my ex-husband's two kids from their father stalking me:  ex-husband was one charge away from a stalking charge, and hard prison time. His son joined in on their torturing me.  However, I was not going to allow my existence to be responsible for he undoing himself.  So I left for his kids.

I left everything there, a career, friends, a beautiful home rented from now my mother having lost my father in '93.  Gut-wrenching to leave my old stomping grounds and the snotty blue-blood streets of the ongoing occupied colony known as Boston.  Kind of miss that mean, bitchy, beautiful city, in a sad way.  I miss access to the beaches the most.  But I had to lose everything, yet again.  I ended up in NH, acquiring a camp with my mother through her predatory lenders of choice.  Still living through the hell of losing that beloved camp.  I couldn't get it up to get my first mortgage, alone was my mother's orders.  Then my mother raised my rent $200 more to $800 when I lost my job during the latest great economic depression crash against the people.  Hey, she needed more money for her wasteful Miami Beach lifestyle, and the self-destructive rampage she perpetrates on her own health and spirituality.  She refuses to speak to me for 3 years by now.  A excruciatingly painful blessing.  I forgive her.

Much harder to forgive myself.  Hey, I have this incredible will to survive, a double-edged sword.  Yay.

In the Upper Valley, I learned to look to the mountain vistas for that solace, for that elusive, fleeting feeling of freedom.  Once a wonderfully brave and kind friend hiked to Mount Moosilauke with me, on the western edge of that range.  I could not afford to hike the mountains in general and had no appropriate companionship to continue to do so with, and was afraid to go alone.  So I would see the vistas from my commutes, and from freedom-thrill solo driving trips, looking for the dangerous kindness of magical waterfalls to swim in the summer, (breathtaking), and to gaze into during the brutal winters.  Alone heaven.

These days I look to the Great Rift for visual and spiritual solace.  The Milky Way, the Earth's mother, is beyond the suffering of this beloved planet.  Why.  Why does humanity have to suffer?  It is totally unnecessary.  It is the product of satanic occupation.  Damn evil parasitic greed to the Black Hole, to the very womb, of Granny Milky Way.  Perhaps Granny can dispatch this evil to Pluto, for destruction, and regeneration/healing.

In the late 50s, early 60s my father had been working for arch evil S.H.A.P.E., the military arm of NATO when my mother got her vicious, greedy money-grubbing vampiritic hooks in to him.  She got pregnant to lure him into marrying her.  Hey, they were both acting out their parents' and their own generational running-from indentured servitude, Nazi war and poverty.  I forgive them,  but Yuk.  Being born to them was hell.  Survivor's guilt: at being alive.

My mother despised my existence from in vitro on, and wanted me to get away from her mostly, going to work as early and often as possible, at home incessantly doing housework to avoid me, longing for her, -- as much as she thought she loved me.  Totally confusing.  But hey, she nailed her husband, my father, who was the absent, gentle, kind and loving parent.  Wild birds landed on his shoulder for god's sake.  Any vicious dog would set his toothy, slime dripping head in his lap.  ('Savant.'  Voracious learner of languages, written and computer code.)  Huh?  Both souls recipients of childhood familial abuse.  But my father, who I adored, but with that horrific war monger vocation?  Of which he could not speak, until his dying day.  I forgave him long ago, as his soul attached to me for three years after his passing.  I couldn't get his message of the future.  (Beware your mother, who evidently would try to self-destruct in her greed.)

But I still despise much of my inner child because of my upbringing.  My mother was ignorant of the horrors of Dad's vocation, escaping into fiction, she just wanted more, more, more.  Ca-ching... $ Let's move again...who gives a shit about the kids education or welfare...Yup, we moved a lot and we got bullied a lot, especially me as the older sibling.  typical.  The terrors especially of the Concord, MA and Brookline, MA public school systems.  Princess?  Princess this.  Hell should not be for children and other living things...

I now question the whole astrological school of thought where souls choose who they incarnate to.  Huh?  Was I such a BEAST in past lives that I feel my current life was forced on me, to come back to this mess of suffering and environmental destruction, to those parents?  And to serve or suffer.

Here I am, on and on in my mind's eye eye go, continually compelled to survive, struggling against my genetically inherited and spiritually kharmic demons, on my usual unwilling warpath to destroy everything I try to love, everything I attempt to do, in my personal life.  Why...?  Hell on earth.  Self-sabotage.  My legacy?  I reject that, this is not meant to be, or for the greater good.  Write for money?  That would take self-esteem.  And the poverty I've fallen into just gets worse with age.

Homelessness is a very real danger for folks like me prone to psychosis.  So is the danger of enforced medicating/incarceration.  That package just another terror dangling over my head my whole life.  So sick of being sick. Bah, humbug!

Yet here I am again, looking down another abyss of losing yet another home, another love, (!!!NO!!!) to my own self-destructive choices, the ravages and trap of PTSD (from infancy on,) bipolar illness, autism spectrum and social anxiety that was never properly diagnosed, (evidently, thanks, Daddy) and subsequent self-hatred.  I am probably struggling with personality disorder, evidently: thanks, mom. Poor woman.  Sorry I exist, for your sake, 'little mum'.  But I do, and it's on you, old girl.  Love you.  Hang in there.  And as always, I pray for you, mother, to heal thyself.

Now.  This poor kind, hard working, decent, good, genius of a native man.  Life has not been kind to him.  I don't deserve him.  I had no idea I was so incredibly screwed up, after taking the deadly memory wipe tyranny Rx for those two decades so I could attempt to hold down work.  Totally wrecked my gut insides.  Never mind the hell terror of hernia surgery mesh butchery repair last summer.  I couldn't take the deadly psychiatric Rx-mind-control pills any more if I chose to without killing my body and mind further.  Oh, and the pill-pushed brainwash of 'suicidal ideation' being an acceptable side effect.  My god.  Damn me to the hell of being me? Forced into another incarnation, back into this world.  Never again against my will, will I incarnate back here.  My soul will never be tricked again.  If I could only salvage this incarnation.

Some Solace and Universal Love for ALL

So, I look to the Green and White Mountain ranges from yet another petro-fueled vehicle poisoning the air, oceans, and never able to drive myself, but most importantly unable to hike them.  Ouch.

But especially my heart and soul drifts to the Great Rift...day or night, lately to the tunes of Robbie Robertson and The Red Road Ensemble (Words Of Fire, Deeds Of Blood) in particular has been stuck in my head for this last week. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iDt2GzSTUeU  more You tube...Robbie Robertson Vevo

∃ ~ ♬ ♪ ♥ ∞ ☮ ★ ☄ | ☄ ★ ☮ ∞ ♥ ♪ ♬ ~ ∃