I believe this will be a must-see film. Here is the trailer.
Corbett Report on “Globaloni”
Here, James dives into the details surrounding Canada’s selected Prime Minister, Mark Carney.
Stand for something. Vote for principles.
The following is a post on Twitter that I feel is worth sharing.
“Why I’m Voting PPC — And Why You Should Too
Let’s get something straight.
Every time I express support for the People’s Party of Canada, someone inevitably throws out the tired line: “You’re splitting the vote.” But ask yourself this—why is it always the PPC being accused of vote-splitting, and never the CPC? It’s as if the Conservative Party thinks they’re entitled to our votes simply because they wear the label “conservative.”
They’re not.
If a party no longer represents your values, they don’t deserve your support. Period.
Let’s call it what it is: the PPC is not splitting the conservative vote—they are the conservative vote. The CPC is just another establishment party trying to masquerade as something they’re not. They’ve abandoned conservative principles on issue after issue, yet expect you to show up on election day like obedient voters and tick the box next to their name out of fear.
Fear of the Liberals. Fear of “wasting your vote.” Fear of not winning.
But I’m not a fear voter. I’m a values voter. And I vote for the party that best aligns with my values—not the one the media tells me is “electable,” and certainly not the one begging for my vote while betraying everything I stand for.
The PPC platform? It’s everything Canadians expect from a principled, conservative party—but aren’t getting from the CPC.
In fact, the PPC is promising to do all the things you wish the CPC would do—things the CPC has outright stated they have no intention of doing.
The CPC is pro-war, pro-NGO interference, and soft on the immigration issues that matter. The PPC, by contrast, is bold, honest, and unafraid to stand on principle, even when it’s unpopular.
And let’s not forget what matters now more than ever:
There is no PPC candidate being accused of being under foreign influence.
There is no PPC candidate who supported vaccine mandates.
None. Not one.
That cannot be said for the CPC, many of whom stood silently or actively enabled the most abusive mandates in Canadian history. And now, they want your vote—again—as if they didn’t betray you when it mattered most.
I used to say the CPC’s greatest asset was Justin Trudeau. But now that he’s gone and Mark Carney is the unelected Prime Minister, the truth has become even clearer: a vote for the CPC is now a vote for the Liberals. Not the other way around.
Why? Because they’re two wings of the same bird.
They don’t oppose each other on principle. They oppose each other theatrically—while remaining united in ignoring the issues that matter to real Canadians. Whether it’s their shared contempt for President Trump, their silence on sovereignty, or their coziness with globalist institutions, it’s obvious: they are on the same team. And you’re not on it.
Conservatives don’t win by playing it safe. They win when they offer bold, unapologetic alternatives to the status quo. That’s what the PPC is doing—and they’re doing it without compromise.
I know and respect many of the candidates running for the PPC. Veterans. Newcomers. Everyday Canadians. People who’ve put everything on the line—not for power, not for recognition—but because they love this country and believe it’s worth saving. Some have worn the uniform. Others are first-generation immigrants who deeply appreciate what Canada once stood for, and are doing everything they can to protect it.
These are the kinds of people I want representing me. And I refuse to reward the CPC—which does not share my values—by abandoning the party that actually does.
This election, I’m voting PPC.
They’ve earned my vote.
Unlike the Liberals and the CPC, who seem more united in their hatred of Trump than in solving actual Canadian issues, the PPC is focused on what really matters: restoring national sovereignty, repairing our fractured relationship with the United States, and putting the interests of Canadians first.
The PPC isn’t just talking about uniting Canada—they’re doing it. They are the only party confronting the globalist agenda that has caused nothing but hardship over the last 9 years. At a time when the stakes could not be higher, “close enough” is simply not good enough.
Stand for something.
Vote for principles.”
Voting in 2025
You won’t hear these ideas on the CBC, so you might find this video informative.
Musings from The Lunatic Farmer – Joel Salatin
MYTHOLOGY
I’ve just finished a fairly comprehensive book titled MYTHOLOGY by Edith Hamilton. I’ll never forget a 10th grade English unit on mythology and find the whole study fascinating because it explains the stories concocted by Greeks and Romans to explain things. From the sunflower to the lotus to the constellations, storms, and lightning, everything we see is a result of some divine-mortal interaction.
Of course the most famous storyteller in this genre is Homer, who wrote the Iliad and the Odyssey, codifying these stories into a narrative that is as exciting as any modern thriller. The romance, vengeance, battles and connivances of the gods and their half human offspring encompasses every emotion and tribulation imaginable.
It all got me to thinking about modern mythology. We moderns, ruled by science, think we’re above all this mythological silliness. That people for centuries actually believed these tales as the explanations for things seems outlandish to us. And yet as I look at beliefs today, I’m struck by our current mythologies.
Imagine thinking a mask could stop a virus. Imagine thinking factory farmed chickens have nothing to do with bird flu. Imagine thinking Ozempic is the cure for obesity. Imagine thinking glyphosate doesn’t have any negative residual effect on the land or our food. Imagine thinking an egg from caged factory chickens is just as nutritious as one from GMO-free pastured birds.
The superstitions of our day are no less outlandish than mythology, and yet government policy, the medical community, and most people cling to them cultishly as if they were divinely given.
Isn’t it interesting to see how long myths can linger before being discredited? How long did people think sickness came from spirits? Galileo and Copernicus were tortured for suggesting our solar system revolved around the sun; their discoveries took 100 years to find credence in academic circles.
Look at hydrogenated vegetable oil, margarine, Crisco, anti-microbial soap, DDT and subtherapeutic antibiotic feeding in livestock. As official USDA policy, we currently believe exterminating bird flu survivors will eradicate the problem. We believe chemical fertilizers are the only way to feed the world. We believe 100 U.S. military bases scattered around the world are necessary to keep us safe.
We believe the government owning half the west is better than private enterprise. We believe if neighbors interacted in food choice freedom with each other outside government regulatory oversight we’d fill our hospitals with poisoned people. We believe government intervention in health care and education are necessary to deliver health and education. We believe taking the 10 commandments down from our public school classrooms makes better people. And according to Stacey Abrams, we believe heartbeats of unborn babies are manufactured by nefarious spirits to make women contemplating abortion rethink their position.
And certainly we think McDonald’s is okay to feed your kids and a quart of Coca-Cola a day is safer than a teaspoon of raw milk. In our techno-sophisticated modern culture, have we progressed at all beyond the mythology of the ancients?
What’s your favorite modern myth ?
Facts Revealed
It seems that, at least weekly, we are treated to evidence that we are not, and never were, crazy conspiracy theorists. And more and more we can be sure we are no longer a Fringe Minority. Indeed, I believe the world is finally waking up to the fact that we have been lied to time and time again.
Here are the statements of the Dutch minister of Health that Neil Oliver references.
The Gods of the Copybook Headings
AS I pass through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market-Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn.
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breath of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market-Place;
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch.
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch.
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings.
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “Stick to the Devil you know.”
On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Heading said: “The Wages of Sin is Death.”
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Heading said: “If you don’t work you die.”
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew,
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four-
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man-
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began:-
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
Rudyard Kipling
Quoted by Glen Beck in a wonderful conversation with Neil Oliver here.
“A copybook was an exercise book used to practice one’s handwriting in. The pages were blank except for horizontal rulings and a printed specimen of perfect handwriting at the top. You were supposed to copy this specimen all down the page. The specimens were proverbs or quotations, or little commonplace hortatory or admonitory sayings — the ones in the poem illustrate the kind of thing. These were the copybook headings.” As quoted from here.
The Unproved “Mass Graves” Narrative
‘Canadians are being deliberately deceived’ by the Trudeau government, indigenous leaders, and the media about the ‘obviously false claim’ that residential schools were responsible for ‘deaths and secret burials’ of children, retired Manitoba judge Brian Giesbrecht wrote.
The linked news story above plus the one below must not be buried.
A Small Dream Fulfilled
Yes, I have been wanting to do this for a few years – walk barefoot in the woods. So today was the day. The trek was only about two and a half minutes in total, but it was super wonderful for both my soul and the soles of my feet.
I apologize that this might be a bit dizzy-ing – I’m not experienced in posting videos.
Ganesh is a majestic three-branched oak tree on the trail whom I hug every time I see him. Drumbo, a hollow naked pine or cedar – I’m not sure which – gets the same treatment. Plus he makes a lovely drumming sound when I forcefully pound on his belly.
“The Most Important Conversation That I Have Heard This Year.”
The above was a viewer’s comment after watching this interview, and I believe he’s right. Check out what these truly dedicated souls say and see if you don’t agree with me.
“If the Rule That You Followed Brought You to This, Of What Use Was the Rule?”
Yes, this is long, and fast-paced, and dense with info that you may feel you want to verify. Nevertheless, you might want to watch it for the excellent summary of the evil BS and truth surrounding us.
Title Quote is from “No Country for Old Men”
Ivor refers to Jacob Nordangard’s work. Here is one of his videos. An additional attraction for me is his enchanting accent.
“The Puppeticians and Their Masters Have Set Themselves On High”
I don’t recall a more serious, nor angry monologue than this from Neil.
“Suck it up, Serfs!”
“You don’t matter.”
“Taxes are nothing more than the forced funding of organized crime.”
Dr Phil Speaks with RFK Junior
“When you tear out a man’s tongue, you are not proving him a liar, you’re only telling the world that you fear what he might say.” George R.R. Martin
Excellent.
It’s Us vs the Hawks!
This is excellent! And so very logical!
When We Destroy Nature, We Diminish Our Capacity to Sense the Divine
The simple truth by JFK Jr.
Choreographed Fear
Neil Oliver’s most recent talk, Watch Out – it’s Lies & Forever Fear! elaborates on the ever-present “fear porn” in today’s world.
The constant stoking of anxiety over imminent threats: from Russia, China or Iran; from disease; from climate disasters; and of running out of time, energy and soldiers.
In less than twenty minutes, he wraps up so much! All the while delighting the listener with his mastery of the language.
Don’t miss this one: I feel it is indeed, a must watch or listen.
Censored and Shadow Banned? Member of the Fringe Minority Speaks Out
Is Social Media shadow banning, as well as censoring, me? I believe so.
As a result of these actions, most of my controversial or unpopular posts have little chance of being seen by more than a handful. I’m not saying I need them to be seen, but rather that I think some people may need to see some of them. Indeed, not many people enjoy the luxury that I have of being able to spend time reading and exploring topics outside of mainstream media. So they are often unaware of what’s going on beyond CBC’s or NPR’s coverage. They have no options to see alternative views, and they have no “tribe” with whom to discuss these topics.
I’m also not saying that I always know what is true. But I do have a very good understanding of what is not true.
Given the controlling arm of what the elites and their partners-in-crime deem to be mis- dis- and false information, perhaps I have a better chance of reaching people here, beyond Facebook’s, X’s and Instagram’s censorship? Conspiracies or not, I and you have the right to judge for ourselves.
I feel, for example, that this wonderful speech by Laura Aboli deserves to be seen and heard. One would wait a very long time to see any of her videos on Legacy media. The comments for and against her position are also interesting to read.
This video by the delightful Neil Oliver cuts to the chase. Man, does he have a way with words! Here is another of Neil’s monologues where he talks about the hypocrisies of the World Economic Forum’s Annual Meeting in Davos.
What about Ivor Cummins? Do you know of his work? Here he gives a long, but illuminating and very factual explanation of the “Planetary Emergency.”
Argentina’s new president, Javier Milei has been causing quite a stir these days, as you can imagine if you listen to his January 17th address to the World Economic Forum. If you prefer to read the transcript, I’ve included it here.
These are only a few of the worthwhile voices that I respect and lend an ear to. There are so many more who are themselves being shut down. Audiences can only find them with great effort and time. I feel blessed that I have a good deal of both.
How many of us really understand the full complexity around the recent Farmers’ protests, the war in Ukraine, DEI, the Sustainable Development Goals, the Pandemic Treaty and Amendments to the International Health Regulations, etc.? One really has to be persistent to get any detailed information at all, let alone reliable information that is not supporting The Agenda.
We are being lied to on so many levels about so many issues that neither I, nor any other average person, can possibly grasp it all. However, whether or not we agree with what these speakers say, we must fight for our right to hear them, so that we can at least have an opportunity to seriously evaluate their perspectives. Perhaps, after listening, we will conclude they are worthy of no further attention, but at least we will have had a chance to hear their views, form an opinion and then go on to speak our own truths.
We owe it to ourselves.
Creations For Tomorrow
I brought home mountains and moose signs,
fields and forests and waterfalls,
and a grand old house on a hill.
memories of them are tucked idly and tidily away – until we meet again.
drinking from bubbling cold mountain streams,
resting elbows on an old stone wall,
climbing a 240-metre incline.
this old home has seen better days,
but dreams of a future develop steadily –
beyond the peeling paint and layers of wallpaper and linoleum.
I fold these images gently inside.
visions of demolition and reconstruction blend together, amidst
the changing of door knobs and locks, and testing the Starlink.
a persistent and determined labour of love with hardware and software,
and the re-stacking of chopped wood to close off a gaping hole in the wall.
Success!
discussing options
and possibilities
and ever more alternatives.
all with the mutual goal of trying to figure things out,
to talk things through,
to suss out a plan – of sorts.
our conversations flow unchallenged, with perfect ease.
potholes and back roads and a dark rainy drive,
my daughter calmly in control.
playing scrabble and cribbage, and sipping on wine.
marvelling at architecture, food and accents;
warm people everywhere – some were even entertained by our chit-chat.
not a single negative encounter.
spongey beds; and massive pillows impossible to sleep on –
we used them to build barricades between our beds
to block out our light from our sleeping companion.
laughing ourselves silly over our silliness
like the colours of the carpet on the stairs.
treating ourselves
in thrift shops, gem stores, and fancy boutiques.
crystals, jewellry, and singing bowls; garments on sale;
“good, good, good, … good vibrations!”
books from sidewalk libraries.
walking and talking and moments of silence.
tidal bores! such a treat! how could I not know they existed?
a fellow traveller with her tale of a lost phone.
walking barefoot in the ocean sand and water, embracing the sights and sounds.
more treasures for home:
pebbles, shells and old man’s beard.
Laughter and delight in our shared appreciation
for mushrooms and bark and textures and detail;
and lichen and colours and rocks
and birds and buildings and trees.
and cattails resembling old men.
searching in vain for lobster.
visiting galleries and pubs.
a Victorian home with a charming hostess
and treasures in every room;
delightfully soft and luxurious sheets on our quilt-covered beds.
struggling to get Google music to do our bidding;
lessons in double solitaire where the student slaughters the teacher.
exploring our understanding of the spiritual, consciousness, conspiracies, the truth;
marvelling at life, and love, and the differences between men and women.
and embracing the contrasts, too.
(precipices and machinery)
listening and speaking; speaking and listening;
musing and laughing and loving.
singing in the car:
Christine Lavin, “I’m a fly on a plane” “The checkout girl”
The Corries, “Will ye go, Lassie, go?”
Lou Reed, “Walk on the Wild side.”
such fun we had!
mother and daughter, friends and companions;
nine wonderful days together;
over 3,000 kms.
Shared oohs and aahs and love.
Priceless.
A Blessing of Shared Adventures
My daughter and I agree – we are blessed with good fortune!
Having our first ever mother/daughter road trip/holiday offers us adventures that are bubbling over with all that’s good.
Here, on Kristina’s Substack, I invite you to enjoy a few more details of this recent chapter in her life.
Clearing the Path Before Me
A walk in the woods is clearly different three days after an ice storm. It’s messier. And somehow, even a bit eery. For some reason, though, on this Easter Sunday, it’s less so. We have electric power back on in our town! And with that comes a different vibration, as well as a clarity that one doesn’t get when surrounded by the sound of generators.
As a regular walker in these lovely woods for many years, I have developed a kind of ownership for them. Ownership in the sense of responsibility. I like to clear the path for the next day, and for the next walkers. Today, that involved lots of bending and lugging and tossing to get branches out of the way. It was fun and rewarding, and I enjoyed the challenge.
One of my exciting finds was this collection of pellets – the photo below shows only a portion of them. Unfortunately, I forgot to look up. The quantity of pellets indicated that there was surely an owl’s roosting spot directly above. Next time I’ll check it out.
I was very happy to see that one of my favourite friends endured the storm intact – he has almost no branches to accumulate ice.
I decided to do a detour around this very low spot.
Back home, I continued clearing, trying to purge my path of some unnecessary clutter. It feels rewarding here too, though it is an ongoing task. Occasionally, I give a wide berth to things I don’t want to deal with. As in the woods, there will always be more tomorrow because just like owls, I seem to produce more every day.
Also, as in the woods, at times I discover treasures – perhaps I should look up for their source.
And, as in the woods, there are some things that I can’t do alone, so I need another’s help.
Proud Momma Moments
My daughter is a writer.
No, that’s not quite right – in actual fact, my daughter is a wonderfully talented story teller who writes; a story teller whose creations regularly take me on an emotional roller coaster, moving me from tears to laughter, and everything in between.
When I read her posts, my heart bursts with pride and awe that she has the ability to weave her words in such a powerful and delightful way.
Here, for your reading pleasure, is her latest.
Musings in the Forest
When I go into the woods, my muse awakens and joins me. She speaks with a soft but confident whisper, “Listen and experience.” I trust her intuition and wisdom so, as I walk along, hugging and talking to my trees, I pay close attention to everything. During this big-loop counterclockwise walk and talk, I have ample time to ponder today’s topsy-turvy world and examine my place in it.
Shaggy’s bark reminds me of how flimsy their story is, and how it seems that the layers should peel off easily – if only one were determined enough to peer underneath, critically examine what’s partially hidden there, and then give a little tug.
Reggie, a few steps further along on my left, is the wedge – the one that the powers-that-be have tried to drive into communities everywhere. This Red Car Alley cuts through the big loop path – much the way truth slices through lies. Maybe that’s why I walk this path twice. Along this stretch, though, it is important that I keep my eyes wide open so I don’t get poked by the fallen branches overhead – they threaten to jab me regularly.
After the half-way point along Red Car Alley, I greet the greedy Fatso with a knowing nod, and then continue past him up the incline. He is only a short distance below the higher ground at Hill Top Lookout. As I pass the branch that goes off the path to the right, I can look down to the Mud Flats and beyond, towards Enchantment.
Continuing along the main path of the big loop, I often feel choked up walking past, and remembering special meetings and meditations at Big Rock Rodeo.
Not far beyond that, as I pass the ever-present swamps there on my left, I encounter the sometimes very slippery Muddier Flats where I must be cautious not to lose my balance and get sucked in. But with no real trepidation, and with one step in front of the other, I handily make my way up the small hill.
Harold, a tall stately and proud maple reminds me of Daddy, though he ironically, was a small man – especially in his 71st year, when he died. His fine character, though, was solid, like his tree; I love to hug him closely and hopefully, knowing he has my back.
At the end of this stretch I find that Looky Lefty has recently acquired a landmark pile of rocks with an arrow-shaped rock directing me left. For some reason, I am always reminded of, “Go to jail; go directly to jail; do not pass go; do not collect $200.00.”
Shortly after the turn and up a small rise is my triangular rock creation right beside the path. She is firmly rooted, but sometimes loses her hat or even her head, which I replace with whatever is handy. In the winter, she may don a happy face or a heart, traced into the snow on her chest.
Further along this path, Poke Salad Annie reminds me of the multiple holes in their narrative. She is a dead birch that leans precariously on another rather frail dead trunk, and even another. I’m sure it would take only a simple determined push or an extra strong gust of wind in the right direction to send her toppling, and taking her support team with her.
After another gentle curve to the left, I appreciate how easily and gracefully Yogi performs her moves, bending over and stretching her arms behind her up to the sky as if to entice, beckon in and welcome the passersby. I rarely venture closer.
As I head to and through Rocky Road Turnpike, it is crucial that I stay alert so as to not stumble and tumble. I cannot let up my guard as I follow the twists and turns leading to Wet-Foot-Shallows. This section is not for the faint of heart, but I forge ahead, happily ignoring the warnings for my health and safety. I refuse to buy into any fear of what may or may not be ahead. Life is to be experienced. All is well and I am safe.
Just past this point, Peter Pi reminds me of the sciences and the research of thousands of courageous scientists who regularly risk everything to tell us the truth – the truth that gives me the confidence to breathe easily and fearlessly.
Meandering on to my beloved Archie, I feel a sense of peace, calm and hope, in spite of the presence of Grim Grinch. I’ve learned that, though he does look mean, he really is quite powerless in the face of the enduring fortitude of my tribe and my guardians.
Further on in Forevergreen, I gaze up with admiration at Charity, the gorgeous Stripper who stands across the path from a shelter, masterfully built by some industrious hands. Surely this is a sign that I am safe from all future knowns and unknowns in the universe.
The three Buddies keep watch over me as I follow the path up and down and around the bends on my way to Ganesh, the magnificent three-armed, and very huggable red oak. Here I embrace the Spiritual Roundabout that takes me left once again.
Onward, up and down and around again, I finally make it to the divine vibrations of Drumbo at his Crossroads. Then, because I am driven to do so, I retrace my steps down Red Car Alley, and the Path of Truth. At the top once again, this time I hang a right from Hill Top Lookout down to the Mud Flats below, and on to Enchantment beyond. My muse and I both have lighter hearts as we move along the home stretch out to the street.
In the winter when there is lots of snow, and whenever I feel inspired, I make a family of snow angels along my route. Each one gives me the opportunity to breathe deeply and look up to the heavens for divine guidance. In awe, I admire the treetops while tracing the angels’ wings in the snow. Sometimes I also add hearts and happy faces beside the path. `These too always add to the joy I feel in this enchanted universe.
This daily high-frequency trek into the forest is my solace and my therapy; it empowers me; it helps me see the agenda and reject it every step of the way. My root chakra is well balanced here and I feel fully grounded and supported. In this environment, I joyfully nourish my mind, body and spirit. I have enough; I know enough; I am enough. I plan to survive and thrive in gratitude for what I have today; I am joyful, confident, calm and fearless.
Imitation vs The Real Deal
Is imitation the sincerest form of flattery? Maybe, maybe not. But when the muse calls out to us, and we are inspired, it can be a lot of fun to respond.
The present was inspired by Kristina Drake’s post, The Apple Peeler.
Cat’s Cradle by Robyn Sarah
When women together sit sipping
cold tea and tugging at the
threads of memory, thoughtfully
pulling at this
or that bit or loop, or slipping
this loop over that finger till
warp and weft of past lives begin
crazily to unwind, when women sit
smoking and talking, the talk
making smoke in the air, when they shake
shreds of tobacco out of a crumpled pack
and keep drinking the same weak tea
from the same broken pot, something clicks
in the springs of the clock
and it’s yesterday again,
and the sprung yarn rolls down loose
from the spool of the moon.
When women together sit talking
an afternoon, when they talk
the sun down, talk stars, talk
dawn–they talk up a dust
of sleeping dogs and bones
and they talk a drum for the dust
to dance to, till the dance
drums up a storm; when women
sit drumming fingers on tops
of tables, when the tables turn
into tops that spin and hum
and the bobbin of the moon
keeps spinning its fine yarn down
to catch fingers, when fingers catch
talk in a cat’s cradle, and turn
talk into a net to catch the curve
of the storm–then it’s talk
against talk, till the tail
of the storm trails into dust
and they talk the dust back down.
Things that matter and don’t matter
are caught together, things done and undone,
and the kettle boils dry and over
while they lean closer to peer down
into the murky water where last night’s dream
flicks its tail and is gone
(and the reel of the moon keeps cranking
its long line down)–when women together
sit sipping cold tea and sawing on the strings
of memory, it is an old tune.
The rice sticks to the bottom of the pan,
and things get left out in the rain.
Below is an alteration/imitation inspired by a scene at the poet’s home in Hungary.
A Carpentry of Old Men by Kristina Drake
When old men together sit planning
a new project, when they plan
the time out, plan views, plan
night – they plan up a dust
of lumber yards and beams
and they plan a fiddle for the wood
to dance to, till the dance
fiddles up a spark; when old men
sit stirring sugar in cups
with spoons, when the spoons turn
into tools that spin and whine
and the brace of the sky
keeps working its drill bit deep
to bore lumber, when lumber seats
plans in a bearing wall, and turns
plans into a frame to build the strength
of the spark – then it’s plans
against plans, till the flash
of the spark sears into wood
and they plan the wood back up.
Things that matter and don’t matter
are caught together, things done and undone,
and the trees grow tall and strong
while they lean closer to peer down
into the fallen ashes where the day’s work
flicks a match and is gone
(and the truss of the sky keeps bracing
its timber frames up) – when old men together
sit drinking hot coffee and tapping on the boards
of tomorrow, it is a new song.
The sun glints off the metal flashing
and the gutters gather the rain.
Finally here is a version inspired by the poet’s beloved collection of gemstones and crystals.
Apache Tears and Desert Rose by Audrey Drake
When a woman alone sits sipping
hot tea and toying with the
mystery of life, thoughtfully
admiring this
Bloodstone or Emerald, or holding
this Garnet between fingers till
courage and joy of a new life begins
happily to unfold, when a woman sits
thinking and dreaming, the dreams
making hope in the room, when she takes
the Fluorite from the corner square
and keeps drinking the same hot tea
from the same tiny pot, something moves
in the depths of her soul
and it’s only today,
and the Moonstone rolls down loose
from one hand to the other.
When a woman alone sits dreaming
an afternoon, when she dreams
the sun down, dreams Turquoise, dreams
Agate- she dreams up a future
of waking vigor and joy
and she dreams a love for the future
to dance to, till the dance
evokes an embrace; when a woman
sits caressing the Mangano
at the table, when the tables turn
into clouds that form and roll
and the frequencies in the air
keep growing in strength down
to catch fingers, when fingers catch
dreams on a cloud, and turn
dreams into a net to catch the essence
of the clouds -then it’s dream
against dream, till the wisp
of the embrace trails into the future
and she dreams the future back down.
Things that matter and don’t matter
are caught together, things done and undone,
and the Kyanite moves up and over
while she leans closer to peer down
into the lovely Howlite where last night’s dream
flicks its tail and is gone
(and the Tiger’s Eye keeps seducing
the Pink Opal) -when a woman alone
sits sipping hot tea and loving the feel
of her Rose Quartz, it is an old tune.
The Amethyst vibrating in her hand reminds her of rain.
Injuries – Accidental or Orchestrated?
“Infertility: A Diabolical Agenda.”
While using your best critical thinking skills, please watch the important documentary linked above.
What do you conclude?
“If … mothers-to-be were misled into accepting an anti-fertility vaccine in the hope of protecting their future children from neonatal tetanus, the “do-no-harm caveat” was violated. In receiving up to five anti-fertility injections, any mothers-to-be would almost certainly be robbed of the very children they were trying to protect from neonatal tetanus.” From Scientific Research.
What If?
Imagine that the runny nose, fever and cough that we occasionally experience are not an indication of sickness?
Imagine that these “symptoms of infection” are actually evidence that our bodies are doing their job of repairing, restoring and healing – through the processes of inflammation, fever, diarrhea, etc. that make us feel miserable.
Imagine that these signs of sickness are, in fact, signs that our bodies are in the process of doing what they are designed to do best: expel toxic substances, influences, and other unwanted harmful invaders.
And then, imagine further, that by taking the drugs (often toxic to the body) that we hope will reduce or eliminate those nasty symptoms, we actually give our bodies more work to do.
Dawn Lester and David Parker explore these and many other fascinating topics in their 700-plus-page book, What Really Makes You Ill?
I’m having a difficult time putting this weighty tome down.
Cushioning & Cuddling Activities
Our muses sometimes spark creative ventures exactly when we need them most: when we are feeling down, or desperate, or anxious. The embers may sit for awhile and then suddenly, clear out of the blue, they burst into flame with an urgency that demands creation. Such was my recent experience with this Dementia Activity Cushion.
I started with a very general idea of the “tools” I wanted my friend to manipulate, but I wasn’t at all sure how they would fit together. So I just poked right into the project, digging around and gathering various bits and pieces that seemed useful: an unused purple cushion; an outgrown plushy and sequined top from my granddaughter; a recycled balsamic rice bag (because it had a zipper – and words and numbers); some beads and cords and pockets, and at the last minute, a small flashlight. And then I set to work, thinking and planning and stitching, and keeping my mind occupied with doing.
My friend now has a lot of items to play with whenever she wants to keep her mind occupied with doing.
Zipping and clipping; tying and snapping; slipping and sliding. What fun!
I’ll find out tomorrow how she manages.
Mother
Twenty-one years ago, in the year 2000, Marjorie Snelgrove, had one of her poems published in Ballads of Our Lives. At that point in her life she was 74, just a few months older than I am now. Like many in our family, she had dabbled in poetry and other forms of writing most of her life – just for the sheer pleasure of it. In today’s world, she would most certainly have had a blog. In any case, I believe she was very proud to have her contribution accepted alongside those of hundreds of other amateur poets.
Today my mother would have turned 95, so I am going to post her poem on my blog.
“Hey, Mom! You’re on a different stage now.”
The Un-Done
While I’m lying awake in the wee hours of the morning, trying to ignore the snoring and the songs of the birds, my mind – completely unbidden and unappreciated – works overtime.
My weary brain wants to dwell on the unresolved, the unreconciled, the unfinished and the unattended; and it bids me unrelentingly to take care of them all ASAP.
With a certain degree of spiralling effort, I occasionally manage to make some kind of vague plans in my head, wishing I could sneak out of bed and write them down. Unable, though, to put any of these schemes into action at four in the morning, I simply observe as my mind nags on and on.
Then these worries seem to morph into the unknown, the unseen, and the unthought. And before long they have become the worst of all worst-case scenarios: the unprepared.
Until I manage to find a solution to the too-short 24-hour day, I just have to hope that I’m not too late and that I don’t completely come undone!
Resonances & The Great Journey
We are living in interesting times, and I’ve concluded that if we are completely open to the seemingly unrelated inputs around us, we gain and learn a lot – especially in times like these.
It may seem like coincidence and serendipity are at play, but if only that is the case, why do so many pieces connect and speak to us so clearly, and so individually? Why does one soul receive the message while so many others are left out, and oblivious to it? Perhaps it has to do with how we engage with the world?
These thoughts make me think of comments in a recent post on a blog I love to follow. The author refers to Susan Inspired and her regular, and much appreciated, discussions of the Schumann Resonance charts. Susan suggests in one of her videos that we adopt a “zero-point perspective” because that is the way to “recover sanity and live together in wholeness.” Zero point is a centred state, a place of stillness within, found through prayer or meditation, and a connection with the soul, the higher good, God.
I too follow Susan, and have come to truly appreciate her wisdom, including that expressed in her poetry. Below is one I especially like. I shared it with my 87-year-old friend and she too was moved by it.
The Great Journey
A Poem About the Sense of the Soul
by Susan Lacerra
Hoping beyond hope
Knowing beyond faith
I trust in something
that my inner wisdom tells me is so
A sense, without words
a sense of what is true
a sense of what to do, offered to me
of possibility
It is as if a great path
is on offer should I test it
should I test my fortitude
to rise to the fullest life
my Soul intends for me
there is no reason I can share with others
there are no markers visible
the sense of goalposts is within
they are not visible
the path is written in my heart
and only revealed
step
by step
© 2021 Susan Lacerra. All Rights Reserved. Permission is given to share this article on other blogs and websites as long as the text is posted, in part or in whole, without alteration to the text and with the author’s credit and live website link included in the article. This article was first published at https://susanlacerra.com/sense-of-the-soul.
Lenses on the World
When walking in the very cold weather, I protect my face by pulling my scarf way up over my nose, and my hat way down over my brow. I also need to take off my glasses because they fog up completely. As a very near-sighted person, removing my glasses leaves me with compromised vision.
I’ve discovered though, that the tears in my watery eyes act as lenses, and help me to see the details of the path in front of me: perspective and clarity enhanced.
Have you noticed that?
I think it’s rather neat.
Audities' Cards 