12 Minutes After 12 On September Twelfth

Thirty years ago on September 11th, 1992 I went into labor with my first and only child. My pregnancy was perfect and I had the last three months to stay home from work and nest in my husband and I’s new home. I remember loving being pregnant. This little person was my buddy. Every move and kick, every week I’d look up in the book “What To Expect When You Are Expecting” what size the baby was. Waking up everyday knowing this little being was mine. We choose not to find out the gender of the baby because we wanted a surprise. I did want a boy very badly and had picked the name Maximilian years before.

So that morning on the 11th of September 1992, they induced my labor. I had a cassette called “Music To Be Born By” by Mickey Hart from The Grateful Dead. He had recorded the heartbeat of his son in utero years before and created a droning drum infused melody for mother’s to use to breath by. My Mother in Law was Swedish so she had this sweet accent. My Gram was in the room with me when Swedish Omi came in and said “oh my, what interesting music.” The labor lasted for many hours. It started off easy but as induction goes it them came on hard. Not many hours to get use to labor. The hard labor lasted nearly 12 hours. The time to push seemed like it lasted hours. I got an epidural so there wasn’t much room for walking around and I had an iv for fluids. Unlike the way babies use to be delivered like in Call The Midwife, women were given well sugared tea to keep them going. I was not allowed anything to drink. Only a wet towel you could suck on. There was no pain, but the dehydration I felt was really bad. I kept crying and crying for orange juice for hours and was refused. I understood why, but this caused me to started to become confused. Pushing was a problem because I was so thirsty. You would have thought the iv would have taken care of that. If that is the worst thing I can complain about giving birth, then I’m very lucky. Woman have suffered so during childbirth since the beginning of time. It was almost midnight and I just wasn’t pushing much. No woman thinks they are going to get through their first delivery but you always do.

That last push came and then…………

It’s a boy!! They laid him on my chest. He is so heavy I said. (8lbs 12ozs) I couldn’t continue to hold him as I had a fever, so they handed him over to Daddy. He looked a bit pale from the whole thing. In came everyone else and they all held him. I finally got that orange juice.

While they were preparing my room, I was put in a temporary room. The room was dark, only the dim lights coming from the hallway. I lay there, chemicals pumping through my system like I’d never felt. The sheer euphoria I felt. Like the best natural drug in the cosmos. I thought “I just had a baby. There is a new person on Earth and I pushed him out. He came through me. How did I do that?” I looked up at the clock and it was about 2:10am by then. Time froze. It is one of those memories that will pass before my eyes at my death I’m sure. That clock on that wall in that dimly dark room is one of my happy places. I will hope I never ever forget that feeling.

Little Max was born at 12:12am on September 12, 1992.

Years later after 9/11, it occurred to me that if I had been more of a fierce pusher that day, my Son would be doomed to have a September 11th birthday. Sorry to take the story to a downturn but every year on Sept 11th, that horrible day in history when the towers came down, there is nothing but talk of great sadness.

I remember on this day and tomorrow that my little boy is going to be 30 years old with his own babies and I’m so glad I had him. He is truly the best thing that has ever happened to me, and on September 11th I’m going to choose every year that on this day, I went into labor and had a sweet child. The best gift I ever got to quote Barbara Streisand, except when I got two more gifts, my Grandchildren.

Thank you God for all you have given me.

Nana Look At That Pretty Bird!

“Nana look at that pretty bird.

That’s not a real bird lolly.

Where are the real birds?

People a long time ago cared more about machines than they did the real animals. The birds got too hot and died.

It’s hot out here can we go inside Nana?”

I saw a post on a group called “We Need More Of This.” It featured a something very clever. It was a bird. A robot bird. They even showed a robot butterfly. I will not link or picture the beautiful fake bird here. In fact no pictures of real birds will appear on here because I will leave it undecorated with the nature that is soon not to exist.

We are spending too much time on things that are redundant. Yes, the science is brilliant. Clever obviously.

But what is the point?

Are we replacing butterflies and real birds with machines? Once you make one, some greedy ahole who doesn’t notice the real birds will want to make more and so on and so on until the sky will be covered with drones and fake nature.

Our CO2 levels will rise too high in 100 years where birds and butterflies will not exist. Sounds like the worst LSD trip ever. Nature can not be replicated. Why don’t they spend all their smart smart time helping make new things so the planet doesn’t’ burn up? They can still be greedy and make money responsibly.

Just like the penis shaped rubber tire valve covers for you to put on someone’s car you hate? How much do we need that crap? It’s true. I saw it for sale online on hate book.  It’s like a smarter “Idiocracy.”

We are putting our energy into washing the car but not noticing the car isn’t running anymore and then one day you are standing around in front of shiny broken thing, but now it’s not just a broken car, it’s a fire. on…….

..THE EARTH. 😞🌎🔥

Who will give a dam about your car then? Huh?

You?

I beg not.

A True Story About A Real Life Angel

Angels are real. The other side is alive. Heaven is real.

In 2017 one night I was having a night terror. This was almost daily. I woke got a drink and went back to bed.

I’m pretty sure once I fell back asleep the nightmare started again. I live alone so there is no one there to help me wake myself up from nightmares as they paralyses me. Suddenly in my right ear I heard the loud voice of a toddler almost a baby. It said with great confidence “Help!”

I woke up and sat up quickly thinking it was my 3 year old Grandson because he slept over often. Of course it was not him and he was not there. The word help did not sound like a child needing help. If words could let you hear the sound my voice now trying to describe it, it was more like this, “hElP!” with an almost funny tone to it. I sat there for a long time and realize whatever it was, it was there to wake me up. I have psychic gifts but I never hear voices nor do I see spirits.

Later that day and the days since I remembered that night and realized that baby angel was not asking for help, it was saying “I’m here to help.” Time passed. I so wanted that angel to talk to me again but it did not.

Jump to the fall of 2018. I’m in a new place. I was late at night and I had been meditating for over an hour. The house was completely silent. I feel waves and energy in my body when I’m in deep meditation. Suddenly from the right side of the bed, came that baby voice. This time it said “DOT!” My trance was broken and I sat there in awe. It was that same voice that had said help. I waited for another word, but I started to feel the presence of other helping spirits starting to make noises. I decided that was enough and got up to get a drink of water.

My curtains in my bed room were slightly parted in middle. I sometimes find myself sleeping at the end of my bed because my fan is there and I like the white noise and the air on my face. I woke up to move to end of bed when suddenly there was this very bright white light. It was the Moon. It was exactly in the parts of the curtains and I was mesmerized by it’s light. While I admired it, in my mind I thought of the word Dot. That baby angel must have told me to look out for the dot in the sky later. It felt true and glorious. I felt protected because so often I live in fear.

A week later at was at my son’s home with him and my 4yr old Grandson Lincoln. Mommy was at work. I had offered to come over and help clean house because I love taking care of my son and his family.

To go off topic for a moment I have to tell this story. One day, when my Grandson was 3 we were at my house. I asked “one day you will be a Daddy. What do you think you will name your baby?” He was silent for awhile looking out the patio door. He said “Concrete Patio.” What? LOL “What did you say?” “Concrete patio is what I will call the baby.” I’d never laughed so hard in my life. It’s become a long running family joke.

Before I came to clean, (maybe a month or two) my son had called me and wanted to talk about them having another child. They were young with the first one. He was not sure. I tried to be supportive and just listen. I did agree that if Lincoln was way older than a younger sibling it might not be so fun for him. So we left it at that.

When I was at the house cleaning, Lincoln, who was 4 now, and I were talking about baby sisters and brothers. The younger generation tends now to keep things to themselves for awhile. So I said something about concrete patio. Lincoln replied “we can just name the baby in Mommy’s belly concrete patio.” I didn’t hear it. I don’t know why it did not register what he was saying. Maybe the joy I feel with him his Daddy alone, makes my mind think too fast because I’m happy to be there.

Now as I said, my son and my daughter in law are very private. I was cleaning off the desk when I found a letter from an OB/GYN that said; “Congratulations on your pregnancy.” I froze. Opps. Was I not suppose to know about this and my Grandson had told me an hour before but I didn’t register.

“Maxi?” I said…holding up the letter, “was I not suppose to see this?” He came over and said “opps.” 😀 I was overjoyed and he was so happy and it was such an amazing moment to know my love will be doubled with another grandchild. I said to him “Lincoln spilled the beans an hour ago but I didn’t believe it.” From the mouths of babes. Kids always tell the truth.

Few weeks later she had her first ultrasound. When I saw it, it was just a dot on the film.

A DOT!

When I get premonition or intuition about something that has happened, it usually takes a day or maybe a week to understand the true meaning of the impression.

There was other explanation than this baby voice I had heard twice was the soul or angel of my future Grandchild. When it said “Help.” What it was saying is “I’m coming to help.” This soul from the other side was coming into my life at just the right time to help me from losing my mind. It talked to me. Once my daughter in law was pregnant I never heard baby angel’s voice again. Probably because she was busy growing in her Mommy’s belly. When we found out it was going to be a little girl. My nickname for her before I knew her name became “Little Dot.”

On June 25 Sophie was born. Another gift from God. A little soul who I can’t wait to tell her about how she was my angel before she got here. My little dot.

Everything You Imagine Needant Be Stuck In Your Mind

I think maybe I don’t know this is partially about me.

You don’t really want me to say that something programmed me to think she is partially mine?

I guess that’s not stuck anymore.

No need to thank me.

I give willingly.

🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝

When will someone tell me who Seth Price really is?

And what was the drug I took that made me forget I agreed to all of this?

and

Where’s my check?

🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝

 

Dear God, Help Me Be A Good Mother

My first bully?

My Mother.

So many people honor their parents. So many people are blessed with supportive Mother’s who are always there for their daughters. Sometimes I hate those people. Why? Because I’m afraid I’m turning into my Mother.

Let’s face it. There are many of us whose parents tried their best when you were young. My Mother was one of them. Having me at 20 was not a cake walk. Leaving my poor Father was in my best interest she said. But now she is 72 and her meanness has only aged like fine wine.

I pray to God that I don’t end up treating my grown son the way she treats me. I broke the cycle when he was young, but maybe this mediocre life of failure and illness and loneliness will just take it’s toll and 20 years from now, I will be the troll on my son’s facebook page. Maybe fucking facebook will burn to the ground because it’s done nothing but cause trouble with my Mother. I friend her because she has few friends. I friend her to share photos of my Grandson. Yet when I speak out about anything she disagrees with, be it politics or the things I like, she even starts arguments on Facebook in comments. She is my Mother? Do you know how embarrassing it is to my friends to see that negative and button pushing things she says to me in front of everyone.

My Mother lived with my Grandmother in the 90’s. My Gram was in her 70’s then and my Monster was in her 50’s. I didn’t see this happened, but I believed it happened. My Grandmother let my Mom live with her for awhile. My Mother was so verbally abusive to my Gram that my Gram had to call the police to remove my monster from her home.

My Gram….

(Me sharing some of my writing with my Gram before she passed in 2012)

She never said a mean thing about the things I wrote. She listened to my stories of  search for love. My supernatural experiences and always said, “Honey. Bless your little heart.”

My Gram and I would often talk about how mean my Mother was. You’d think my Mom might have been abused by my Grandparents. Not at all. Maybe they were guilty of apathy, I just know Gram died in 2013 and Mom was living with her again. I was in Seattle. God only knows how she treated her until she died. She would abused me long distance. (The distance not being long enough which is the real reason I left Indiana, with the goal to get my son to leave the backwater Christian hypocritical state)

I still have these two.

God only knows what I’d be without you.

My son and my grandson. God don’t let me turn into her and lose them. I’m so lonely and so tired of not being loved by my first family my Mother and my sister, that if I do start to make him miserable, I will end my life sooner than God intends because the last thing I want to do is destroy my child like my Mother continues to destroy me.

The End.

Why Are Toddlers So Dam Happy In The Morning?

(Sound Effects: Doves coo on pale blue wallpaper)

Cars.

Nana!

Cars.

My Grandson is awake. He’s two.

The child is obsessed with his toy cars.

There is nothing more redundantly sacred or joyous than the birth of a Grandchild. Especially if that child comes in a time of life when you least expected to be a Grandmother. And that at times until the baby arrives you search for a better word than Grandmother because your own Grandmother died two years ago a 89. If she had lived just one more bit of year, she would have seen another generation arrive in front of her. I would have been a Grandmother who had a Grandmother. It’s very nice people live longer there days.

Cars. He wants to know where his cars are?

These are the mornings when I remember it was much more enjoyable when you had a handsome man (A Grampy if you will) in the bed with you, sharing that early morning WAKE UP! Ce cera cera is the only way to be because that little face makes up for the lack of romantic love. A gift when I lack the other if I may.

It is also lovely to have a newborn to care for while I am still a very young 52 in the mind of course and still in this bio body suit I carry around.  It does not always cooperate. I remember those dreamy early days when the baby was very tiny and would sleep in my arms. Oh my aching back. It’s when the thing that your parents did to you, try to tell you stuff about this future, having kids, watching your kids have them etc…and I know my brain is way better at it now but my body was better at it then. My Grandson is almost two. Bending down to lift him, bending down to bath, bending down to retrieve him from toddler bed it’s all a pain in the ass. There is no one to be angry with than Father Time. It’s ok. It’s a workout when I can’t get to the YMCA. That kid is the YMCA. It’s a heart racer loving them like one does.

Where are the diapers?

There is so much joy when they say Grandchildren are perfect kind of children because you get to send them home. I get that now. I think it’s the shear heartbreak you feel when they go home with Dad but later when your enjoy a nice joint and a glass of vino, life is really perfect. We remember the utter endless early mornings when all you can do is open one eye to change a diaper. And why are toddlers so dam happy in the morning?

I better get going on this essay he will only be sleeping for another bit and this coffee and this lovely green has reminded me how much I do enjoy the times when I’m alone. Yet I’m not really alone. When that child goes back to where he is going, I become a child again. A child who dreams of dreams I dreamed when I was almost 2. A boy. A boy I knew. He came into my life a few years back and when I’m alone he comes and says to my heart.

Oh my darling, lets make a story, sit down and tell me how you feel. Tell tales of the things I see. I watch you from afar, rock a bye your sweet baby Lincoln. And one day you will find your way if you keep loving and do what your hearts say.  I brought the glad tidings to you, in a dream. So listen now what I say, I never left you. Be a girl. Be that little girl in your heart all the time. No matter how lonely you are, you are and will be mine.

What was I just talking about? How did I end up here? Sometimes I find myself in places that seem so queer. One minute I’m cleaning up toys and the next minute when I’m away from noise, I feel someone enter my aura. A presence that watches over me. That guides me this way and that. To write. To dream. To flow. The less resistance the better while your in a eddie they say. Well it’s about time to stay on schedule. That tiny child will be waking soon and I don’t want him to ever feel unheard or passed over or unimportant ….

Who let the doves in here?

Grade: C+ – Went off topic. Run on sentences. Didn’t make sense. Redundant. 

 

When A Fetus Grows In A Mystic Spiral Symphony

“If we don’t sustain this tuning, if we don’t make the right sounds, the world will fall apart.”

Using sound as a form of healing has been around for thousands of years. In my own battle with depression I have gone to medication again and again with disastrous results. Due to geography, I am not able to access the healers I require. Jill Purce is one of those healers. I find people like Jill through synchronicity and ran upon this video of her about a year ago.

You know when you watch someone and what they say makes you have goosebumps because they resonate that which your soul needs. During the video on about chanting, I thought I noticed she was possibly pregnant and the whole time I found it hard to be present (something) she talks about, because I kept wondering, what would be the effects of chanting while developing in the womb. It must be, well, heaven. Her children must be so lucky to have her as a Mother. Plus she named them Merlin and Cosmo. How cool is that?

So watch the video and I will continue with my thoughts. 🙂

When it comes to my depression, as she speaks about the elderly patients with dementia, I knew that feeling because I have seen it in psych wards where we are all drugged up and no one feels anything. I think back on my last hospitalization knowing I should not have been in there, knowing I was so drugged that I could not cry to think about how lovely it would have been to have seen a Jill Purce come into the ward for therapy. Alternative therapy is what we need for healing. All kinds of healing. Not just mental health. Mental health seems to be especially perfect for chanting in my humble opinion because it does put us in the now.

Many people like myself living with PTSD, which I don’t like to label myself that, but I do so others can identify, many of us can be triggered by a word. Like she said in the video, “mountain” can represent a bad memory of yesterday when we missed an appointment with someone on a hill. For me sadly, a band I loved, that got me through a bad mental health time is associated with that now. I hope someday that heals, ironically that does not mean I give up on music. More on that below.

Back to development in the womb. I think the state of mind our Mothers were in during our beginnings is crucial to who we are now. I don’t know if it’s fixed forever, but certainly it makes up our beginnings. I think I read in India, pregnant women are kept away from frightening things because they don’t want the Mother upset as to upset the fetus. That sounds wonderful to me. During the video I felt as though Jill may have been pregnant. I know both of her sons are musical, but one in particular is doing almost the same work as his Mother.

She speaks about sound at the cellular level. I wish I knew what a fetus’ cells looked like from a Mother who lived in war zones as opposed to Mother’s living in Kauai on the beach surfing everyday. Maybe science could show this to politicians and that would stop war?

I know the work on water and Dr. Emasaru Emoto’s work on The Hidden Message in Water and how thought’s can affect water is along the same lines in science. Sound and thoughts affect us, those around us, our subtle bodies and the world. We are all connected.

On another subject, (you never know which way I will be flowing)

The spiral.

I have been drawing Archimedean spirals since I was a child. Of course I didn’t know what it was until I found about the spiral being an ancient symbol. I just thought it was an ancient

Petroglyph

on cave walls and I liked southwest design. I made a video on the spiral. It’s pretty simple but you can watch or not watch whatever.. I made it before I got Jill’s book.

My headboard has an archimedean spiral on it, but I thought I should be more evolved and I needed more room to grow so I created a logarithmic spiral on my wall. 🙂  Get Jill’s book The Mystic Spiral. It’s a very interesting read with beautiful illustrations.  Here is a documentary she made about the mystic spiral which is really quite religious, which I prefer spiritual, but she is the kind of people I would like to be around.

Since I can’t travel to London to have healing sessions with Jill, (my parents always laughed when I sang, but now I think I can sing because I have listened to Eddie Vedder’s baritone for so long I think I know my range. :D) but I would like to study with her. If even for a day. I feel shy to chant. Even alone. I think listening to myself feels strange. I think that must be a hurdle to overcome for most beginners. Especially for those with mental illness. It has to do with loving yourself and accepting yourself and not labeling yourself and well basically being in the now, which is so hard to do as we are always so traumatized about living in the past or future.

So many so called “normal” people are actually worse at it. So who is really sick here? I think wanting healing is the actually healing.

Her husband Rupert Sheldrake is also a huge inspiration as the work he does and the books he has written for example “The Sense of Being Stared At” and his researched have helped me feel not so crazy. I wrote him once on my psi experiences and it was very difficult to share because if you tell a psychiatrist these things they call you delusional. His research assistant wrote back and thanked me for sharing and acknowledged how hard it must have been to tell my story to strangers. That healed me.

Her son, Cosmo Sheldrake is a joy to watch. He brings a very childlike vibe to music.. Music is very healing for me. I’m almost obsessed with keeping music on at all times that often I forget to be silent. I guess learning to chant would be good for me. He reaches a very deep tone somewhere after 41 minutes that really resonates with me.

I will admit I have a bit of crush.

I just love the whimsical style of his videos. All Cosmo’s videos are very organic. This is a live one.  I dream someday to have my Grandson in on of his workshops.

I love the Sheldrake family. You might say, I have adopted them, they just don’t know it. Maybe now they do. 🙂