Swan and something new

When you clear things out, you make room for something new. When you let go, you are free to embrace. When you leave - you arrive.

We all pray for release of one kind or another, for liberty - from the chains that bind us.

Something I haven't mentioned, I don't think, from one of my favorite books - The Secret of Letting Go, is where he says, "just because you've failed at something a thousand times, doesn't mean you shouldn't try again, doesn't mean you the 1001nth try won't be the one that gets you over the hump.."

He goes on to say that sometimes you just need to change your strategy.

Can you live a life of your dreams? What if you have it all, but one piece - should you chuck it and start again, or make do?

2012 was a hard year for me, a good year, but I was trying to serve, and not serving my self. I had a dream life but couldn't enjoy it, I was caught up in "the struggle."

A friend of mine said, "environmentalists talk about protecting nature, but they never go to it, and ask what it wants, ask for its help, support, and guidance." I have since then, and I have received. Ask, and it shall be granted unto you.

Swan people have the ability to see the future,

and to accept the healing and transformation 

that is beginning in their lives.

I stopped trying to heal the world, and started trying healing my self. I asked for guidance and renewal, and a Lazarus owl came to me, and a dead swan. Let go = Receive.

Ask. Ask for your prayers to be answered, ask for help, ask for a world where you can naively give.

I see the future. Transformation is coming to us all.

Owl and the ROYAL ORDER

Two Wednesday's ago I was heading to Vancouver for a trial. It was pre-dusk as I left for my three-hour drive, and I thought, "I bet I'm gonna see an owl tonight." Not that it's a common occurrence, it was just a feeling. On the highway down to Nanaimo, and the stretch where you can go 110 km/h, it was about 7:30 and pouring rain, pitch black, I looked across at some jerk who had his high beams on, and - bam! Or rather - Thud! I leaped, thinking the window was going to crash in on me - whatever hit it right in front of my face left a circle of uncracked glass a bit smaller than the palm of my hand, a spiral of cracks around it - and a beak mark in the middle.

I thought: "Fuck, I killed, an owl." "What kinda bad omen is that?" "I'm a terrible person." I felt bad. Really bad. I almost felt like I had summoned it up with my prediction, and .. that it was all my fault.

I was distraught in Van, at Di's, and she gave me some cards to see if I could find any answers. The one that stood out was - The ROYAL ORDER. We aid each other on the journey to ascension  But we can't help others unless we first help ourselves.

On Friday, on my way back, I swung around and walked that stretch of road = no dead owl. No feathers. Nothing. It coulda been dragged off by a scavenger, a dog, or a driving-by taxidermist/feather-picker. Or - it may have lived. I went home Friday and watched animal snuff-films - you know 'cat vs. owl' - on youtube .. for a whole hour. 

Birds of prey are amazingly resilient. I started to wonder if maybe I had not killed the owl after all. [Check this out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UkW7r-rgeBQ  .. this is tenacity on the level of my brother - do not fuck with this bird! A goose can break your arm, you could run that gyrfalcon over repeatedly and he'd still get up and choke the crap out of you.]

Nonetheless - the whole sordid tale threw a pall over me and my life for a few days. I was an owl-killer, curséd by owls, whom I love and adore.

Saturday, Diana and I went down to Grice Bay for a walk on the mud-flats. On the drive back at dusk, half-way up the Grice Bay road, an owl dropped out of the trees to our left, swooped in front of the car, opening his wings wide right in front of us, and then cresting and landing in a tree on the other side of the road. 

I was shocked, but managed to stop the car and back up. There he was, just sitting there. What the heck!? I got out, stood under the tree, took a few pictures, talked to him. I thanked him for his visit, and for assuring me I hadn't killed him. But it was about more than that. He sat, turned away, rotated his head, and turned back to look directly at me - over and over. I have never had an encounter with an animal that seemed so... intentional. He was so all-knowing, wise, simple, straight-forward: a living mystery. An alien.

Another friend put it differently (than the royal order), more gently - the beauty path. We must stay on it. That could be another name for this blog; The Beauty Path: weird nature encounters as road-signs to self. Do we choose the path, or does the path choose us? Is there any difference?

I'm not sure what he wanted, this owl who wanted to get into my car, and my life. I told him I'd do what he asked. There's a quote from a book I'm reading, but I can't find it. The book is Forest Mage, by Robin Hobb. Very enjoyable light fantasy-adventure. Or so I thought. The parallels to my life since I started it are a bit creepy.

The main character is a young man, who is destined to serve as a soldier. He becomes possessed by forest magic, as his people encounter a forest-dwelling people, who believe in magic instead of rational steel. The forest magic is his destiny.

The quote is where his teacher and lover says to him, "foolish boy, you will do what the magic wants, one way or another - it is your path." He sees that every time he has resisted his destiny what he clung to was taken away from him.

Carlos Castaneda's teacher, Don Juan, said that once you took the path of personal power - you had no control over where it would guide you. Joseph Campbell said that once you accept "The Call" - you don't know where the path will lead you.

But follow it, you must. As Cpt. Willard said, "never get outta the boat - not unless you're gonna go all the way.."

We run from our fates: nothing is more terrifying. We try to hide, we lie to ourselves; "this isn't real," "it was only a dream," "that promise didn't mean anything.."

.. but it did. Oh, it did.

Owl is absolute mercilessness, with absolute love, and truth-to-nature .. when life asked you, and you said Yes, you didn't say, "yes, but only if so-and-so says it's ok," or "yes, but only if it doesn't take me off The Program.." Fuck the program. 

Maybe you didn't say yes. This blog's not for you.

Obey the ROYAL ORDER.

Follow your Destiny, you chose it.

Make it a beautiful path.

Snatch it.

Empty Spaces, March (Prologue)

Talking with a friend tonight about some time she'd taken off, and seeing how her life had changed in that time, I said, "it's amazing what happens when you create an empty space." People are so afraid to leave something - job, relationship, home - they want the space filled first, before they'll agree with the Universe to empty it.

I'm committing long-accustomed blog crime as I write (although I have immunity to kill) - I have another drafted - one about owls. But the owls and the swan may have been about this - creating empty spaces - places to be filled.

I have the life I do now because I threw what I had away, and now, when I want more.. well, someone once said to me, "you always want more, it's never enough.."

Yeah, pretty much.

Last year I wrote March and the Human Spring. In 13 minutes it's March. Fuck, I love March. Last year was the human spring - this one's mine.

maybe death isn't darkness, after all,

but so much light wrapping itself around us —

as soft as feathers —

Let go.

Letting go doesn't mean giving up - but surrendering to who you are.

Have no regrets.

Wolf

Saw three wolves on Saturday, at Combers beach. They saw us, and were running the other way. Out of fear or ravening hunger for our little dog, I knew not. That's the way they would have had to go to get around the pond/river between us, and "get" us. Or, now that they had gotten our attention - were they intending to lead us somewhere?

Did they?

I freaked out a bit, and even threw away the last of my favorite power bar in favour of getting our shit together and scramming. "Wolves" was all I said. They were beautiful. Big, long-legged and gangly, almost like teenagers. Almost like four-legged faeries skipping across the land without quite touching it.. almost like water splashing down a brook, where seeing us was a rock it dashed against, making a commotion; so natural.

Diana, my partner, said she would have stayed to watch. We left. In my role as This Protector. Who do I protect from, other than marauding images of ravening beasts, in my mind, in my depths?

"300 people livin down in west Virginia, have no idea of all these thoughts that lie within ya"

We love and fear nature as reflections of ourselves. In the tarot I consider the ninth card the most telling - it is both your wish, and your fear. After some time reading the cards you come to see it repeated many times - what you most deeply wish for - you most deeply fear: they are one and the same.

We all long to be wild. And there is something in us, no matter who we are, deep down, which runs wild and free, in a primeval forest, forever.

Wolf is the pathfinder, the forerunner of new ideas who returns to the clan to teach and share medicine. Wolf takes one mate for life and is loyal like Dog. If you were to keep company with Wolves, you would find an enormous sense of family within the pack, as well as a strong individualistic urge.
The senses of Wolf are very keen, and the moon is its power ally. The moon is the symbol for psychic energy, or the unconscious that holds the secrets of knowledge and wisdom. Baying at the moon may be an indication of Wolf's desire to connect with new ideas which are just below the surface of consciousness. Wolf medicine empowers the teacher within us all to come forth and aid the children of Earth in understanding the Great Mystery and Life.
As you feel Wolf coming alive within you, you may wish to share your knowledge by writing or lecturing on information that will help others better understand their uniqueness or path in life. It is in sharing of great truths that the consciousness of humanity will attain new heights.

What ideas are just below the surface? Do I have something to offer in my unique path? I've also been thinking, in fear and frustration and desire, lately, that I want to start being all of me - out there in the world; spiritual, at times superstitious, philosophical, professional. Someone that sees ghosts, can write a mean commercial lease, likes to have fun, loves nature, and has a non-negotiable sense of purpose.

We all have a unique path - let a bit more of your wildness out, to follow it. You may fear that, but you also long for it.

Follow your wolf.

Sometimes they howl to locate their pack. 

They find each other when another howls back.

Airports

On my last trip I spent a lot of time in Airports. Vancouver, San Francisco, Frankfurt, Dublin, Newark, Montreal. I slept in Vancouver airport Christmas eve, on my return, because I got in so late I didn't want to wake anyone up. I found a nice little dark bench by the fountain, made a nice little bed for myself, and had a good sleep. Woke up, and it was still dark out, I felt rested and figured it must be six am, and I packed my stuff to go get the sky train and bus to the ferry so I could drive home. After packing everything I looked at my cell - it was 2am. I'd slept for 2 hours. Sigh.

A friend drove me from Kilkenny to the Dublin airport the morning before, to get there for 7:40 for my 9:40 flight. Flight was delayed, so I had a final Guinness and wrote in my journal. Meditated and slept on the planes, was pretty tired, no-one seemed to wanna talk. On my way to Europe had an hour and fifteen minute stop in Frankfurt. But my flight was late getting in, so it was more like 50 minutes to get through security and to my next take-off. A very helpful little older lady with a thick African accent (who worked there) instructed me to open the gate, jump the que, and run. I did, it was kinda fun to sprint through an airport, I felt like I was in a movie! And it was the only moment in the whole trip when I was glad I had worn running sneakers, otherwise I felt like a hick.

Newark airport was cool - everyone had New York accents, and was friendly and gruff. No bullshit there. As close as I've come to being in New York City. One day, one day..

Life is about airports, a series of airports. Heaven may smell like the airport. Although I may never get that proven...

Everything that begins, ends. Our lives and every association, project, dream, we ever have. We get on a plane and leave it one day, and that plane lands somewhere else. Somewhere previously unknown to us.

Dublin was my favourite - it's small and simple and smells a bit funny, like airports used to be, instead of the huge corporate well-oiled machine they are now, where we are smoothly and seamlessly herded from one destination to another, and sold lots of stuff on the way. Vancouver isn't bad. I had an awesome smoked meat sandwich in Montreal airport though - a high point in that day and a half of flat-out travel.

Come. Go. Life is a series of airports. I love them because I love the change they represent - leaving things behind, and embracing new things; the unknown.

Connemara

If you should ask then maybe they'd
Tell you what I would say
True colors fly in blue and black
Blue silken sky and burning flag

Connemara.

Is an area of Ireland, in the west. It is "a district in the west of Ireland of which the boundaries are not well defined." It is mostly seen as being north of Galway. We were south of Galway. It was a beautiful area. So - not sure if I was really in 'Connemara' or not.. 
We drove in at night, stayed in a little B&B. Sat and drank tea in the sitting room that evening, and pondered the great spinning void of fate, under our minds, and our feet, as we chatted about life and love. After going to Spiddal that day, to see my Mom's grave by the sea. 

We awoke to swirling mist, little birds outside the window at breakfast. It was Dec 21, 2012 - the end of the World.

The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing "Galway Bay"

Meditating tonight, lying in the dark - I stepped into that golden zone where; I could hear my neighbours in the room below, talking, my room-mate come in and talk to the dog, close the door, and the silence, under and through it all - they weren't at odds, instead all part of one song. I thought, 'Connemara' is a good name for that.. phenomenon. When you're there - there is a river of life, the music in a pub in Galway, the wind across the scattered fractured rocks of the Burren, the bird songs, the people's jibes and laughing eyes, even through sorrow - the music a mystery under it all, the mystery a music. What ended, with the World, and what began?..

On the way back from Spiddal we stopped at a restaurant/hotel called Twelve, in Barna, just north of Galway. Great food, great service, awesome vibe. A shelf of books on Irish history and other rebelliousness. When an errand knight needs a break from his mid-evil wanderings, Twelve is a great spot to have a pint, maybe take a lady out. I was lucky to do so. Well, she took me out, I think. It was a great time in a magical few days.

I've again renewed my commitment to follow my path, wherever it may lead me. Will go back to school. When this trip came up I had a weird moment of being afraid, and I later defined it as; "wanting to stay in my hidey-hole." I live in a really great place, truly great, but - no hidey-holes. I have an errand to do.

The fortunate
      Is he whose earnest purpose never swerves,
      Whose slightest action or inaction serves
The one great aim.

The Irish know how to live. In more ways than one. Enjoy your life, laugh, love, laugh some more. But be free at any cost. 

I brought home a bottle of Connemara Irish Whiskey, and the poem I mentioned in the last entry, that my travelling companion (I'll call her "Diana", after the huntress) and I couldn't find - is called Connemara. 

In the west of Ireland I was reminded to enjoy life..

... and of the One Great Aim.

There's something sleeping in my breast

That wakes only in the west;
There's something in the core of me
That needs the West to set it free.

Kent (let's talk)

This blog is largely about my brother, although he may not be mentioned in it again.

I went to school in England in 2006 for a bit, finishing my degree. It was at a castle. Which is kind of like a cathedral, to a blind man.

Castles were military and social structures - mundane, about survival. Those architects, who learned those skills, spiritualized them - and hence - Cathedrals.

In England in those days, I was going thought a lot, marriage breakdown, health problems; 'a crisis of faith'. And yet - I recalled you.

"And then there was another way home"

lemme out

I had a dream when I got back, and people always said you should follow your dreams, that there was a place for me. I sniffed it on the wind, when I was there.

In Ireland I sniffed it again, and this time - it had a name. And an angel came and opened the door in my head.

Castles architects spiritualized their skills, and made tributes to the human spirit. Can we do the same?

The answer my, friend, is blowin' in the wind