SCRIBED NOTES AND A REALLY BIG HORSE.

Let's all remember I’m not here to convince or convert anyone to anything; convincing myself was hard enough. Were these "messages" I'm about to present actual and real? Thankfully, in reasoning through this urge to purge on the page, the core issue presented itself ~

Above all, this sharing had to ring fair and square with the heart, and it's true, these writings are savored treasures. But what if exposure of these "templates" of sorts was premature, seen as crazy or unhinged? Finally, these 'what if's' were given up via two cogent words: So what?  And that was that.

I've gradually come to trust the supportive suggestions from these unseen whom or whatevers, naming such as Dictations, fitting for my history in stenography. This placing pen to the page created dialogues I'd not thought up on my own, and "it/they" continue yet today.

Some time ago I'd begun penning with 'the less dominant hand', said to enroll the analytical left brain in the less familiar task of forming letters, thus freeing up the right brain's freedom-loving juju (blissfully relieved of all that left brain's snoopy 'right or wrong' chatter).

I set out to do some stream of consciousness writing, (thanks to author, Natalie Goldberg's teaching tools). Words came to mind and I painstakingly penned them left-handed. At its finish, the scrawling's content surprised me...

  
"Resurrecting past profiles again and again reaches little of your wants. Practice a sound principle, thus cleansing thoughts of 'what could go wrong' - waste of pursuit. Tending to these as a developing force will plant seeds of clear-cut endeavors to consider. Sharing these lessons is the frontier for this reason. 

Press on to express what is yours as you wish. Prepare to collect golden dreams once abandoned. These gestures toward movement awakens long-awaited fertile transplants to be nurtured again. Keep a masterful, onward approach." 

Early next morning, I dreamed myself  facing a huge draft horse, its bridle nearly fallen off. I waited for our eyes to meet, but standing very still, it continued looking off into the distance. Then all too soon, I was awake...

"Its projected mass had come to aid this Cause, a Cause not here for my employ, rather one that serves our world its Cause". This interpretative input had not been available until this writing here and now. The bridle's misplacement is important as if something being shed, as in "unbridled".

So there it was my friends, Holy Week of Easter, 2010, when I tumbled into something and decided I'd come back for more.

"If you have a brain in your head

and feet in your shoes,

you can steer yourself in

any direction you choose."

      -Dr. Seuss-     

                     

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STUFF I'VE NEVER BLOGGED BEFORE

Dear Diary, I await your treasures.

A blog-bug bite of some time ago began an itch to share what had come through me clairvoyantly - an inner "seeing, sensing, hearing". But exposing such as this was taking it's own sweet time for me to grasp and find the nerve.

When settling in for sleep one night, still wondering how and what to name the essence of its content, color me relieved when Roberta's song came to mind...



Smiling through the roof, I fell asleep.

I'd not heard the song for years and curiously this time - aside from a few opening stanzas - its lyric seemingly striking chords as Mystery, reminding me of Rumi prose ~

What if some Divine Mystery sings a person's life while at the same time looking through us? Not so much romantically as it is an opening to engage ourselves in ways not yet explored? 

Don’t get me wrong, kiddos, I’m not against a smooch or two to smooth the wrinkles, but consider how these lyrics may well fathom something deeper than a glandular excursion.

Thanks for dropping by and come back again if you like, just in case I've mustered enough courage to return!