Category Archives: Mindfulness
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. 🙂
A Soul Mate’s Secret Knock
Today was a wonderful day compared to the entry a few days ago while on medication. I felt like I could feel nothing.
“He” was not there.
“God” was not there.
“Creativity” was not there.
and I was out of medical marijuana and without that for depression I am lost to the wind.
I did stop the anti psychotics 24 hours ago. My body swelling has gone down and my mind is sharper. I am however still experiencing blurred vision. I managed to write a rage piece in this blog which for me was really good since writing has bee very hard for me for a long time. I have been censoring some feelings. I feel freer to express those now without shame thanks to a friend.
The story was about being in hospital and it purged the anger of why it happened again to me. Since I stopped the medication the night before, my mind had ideas, I could think and I found a bit of weed to help it along. It was fueled by sheer outrage that it keeps happening to me.
I will never take dangerous anti psychotics again.
under God’s protection, this I swear for my own health and well being.
but hey God,
dude,
Sir,
Like you gotta help me with this other problem and you know what it is I speak about. This blog is bleeding with it. How about feeding my heart now. I’ve had enough of darkness ya know? Stuff, where like, I have to keep reliving the same crap and you promise me love and Prince Charming if I do these things then I find him in mysterious was and we can talk in weird ways and you promise and promise but nothing happens. Where do I go from here?
Where do my “boys” come into this tale? This blog is a juxtaposition of two worlds. The reality of dealing with a mental illness and a label and trying to understand Quantum Physics when you are a C student so you can find your soul mate you’ve been looking for for 52 years because you can blame it on Disney movies.
I don’t want to go to bed. I want him in my head.
Is he busy?
Does he not really love me?
He said it was fine to write it all out without guilt, so where do I go from here. Where ever does he go when he goes away? Or do I go away and forget and he is always here and it is just logistics that cause problems like time zones and sleep etc..etc…
He never says he can hear me in writing though? hmmmm? I wonder why. Do you know? I have run my own rational science experiments on this situation in three years and some results have been astounding. I’m not going to broadcast that on Twitter, but still. I like him, but God, what gives. Is this your doing? Like when my ears change and then I think of him and I smile and then my right ear goes off and it starts talking to me in pulses. Sounds crazy to reader it’s normal to me. That’s how it started. We have progressed to a much deeper less primitive communication that often I misread. There is always the fall back to that when I cry or when he interrupts me reading or doing things he is proud of me doing.
I’d call it my
“soul mate’s secret knock“
🙂
I confess in a message to him basically from my heart which was from You and poured my sheer truth out and still although so kind, he never said a word about the other dimension he dwells in with me. So do I dwell there alone? God, am I crazy or just misguided? I think this must be some kind of silly gag I agreed on before I was born. Ha ha.
Am I doing something wrong?
Have I convinced myself of something that is not there?
I just heard him say
(“write: should I write this journal entry in my blog as part of my story and real life happy struggles?”)
I guess it’s fear that it’s not happening and I’m foolish or perhaps I have the wrong man associated with a wonderful feeling. Maybe it’s two taking care of me in two different ways. My body vibrates three different ways at times when I’m feeling good. (just now a pressure change in my ears which he is thinking of me or getting closer)
I don’t know anything really about Quantum Entanglement, I just throw the term around because I dig the way it sounds. But if atoms can entangle why can’t souls before birth? Just wondering.
Have I wished this? what ever “this” is into existence?
Are we spirals affecting the environment?
One might say
“Yes Darling, every single spiraling word…”
I’m not suppose to tell you this, but the gentleman I refer to here is James Callis.
Rupert Sheldrake & Deepak Chopra Are An Inspiration To Me
No need to explain.
I named this blog in 2012 God Goes On A Blind Date with Science.
But Then I changed it to Science Goes On A Blind Date With God.
Same difference.
Found this and realized I’m not so crazy.
I do understand some things essentially.
Wish I had heard of Dr. Sheldrake’s research about dogs and telepathy. If I only knew then what I did know then. Poor dog…I didn’t hear him often because I was not really alive, just medicated. I’m sad to think he could telepathically pick up my pain while I had him. He is gone now, at the rainbow bridge. I hope all my crying didn’t make his nervous system shut down so he could no longer walk. Pay attention to your animals they might be the only ones around when your sad.
Anyway…like these men. They make me feel normal.
P.S.
I’m Telepathic, I’m an Empath. I see Visions.
P.S.S.
You can too.
I like to listen to interesting discussions about things people usually don’t talk about.
I just wish I can be reborn and be better educated
so I understand some of what I’m going through.
But I’m grateful for great minds.
Thank You
God
The I AM
and all the other names you go by which must be zillions.
Miracles As Small As A Mustard Seed
The Cannabis Seed
In this blog I have written about my search for a natural medication to treat emotional issues.
I feel that the most beneficial medication for my depression and anxiety is
Cannabis
The point of this post is not why it works for me but why can
…..One day I’m dwelling in The United States in a city called Seattle and can purchase marijuana legally, safely and compassionately.
…..Then one day I undwell and move back to my hometown, still in The United States of America and I can’t buy it legally, nor is it even being considered?
We all know marijuana was given a bad rap in the 30’s by some drug enforcement agency guy man whose name need not go down in history, but it was all a scam against the Mexicans I believe and hyped to the general public as a bad bad thing.
You still see people say “drugs” as in illegal drugs and they keep cannabis mixed in with Heroine and Cocain and drugs that kill you, not the mention the legal drugs that kill you and the alcohol that can kill you if not in moderation.
What’s wrong is what is turning right and yes cannabis has been on the planet for thousands of years. It was a common plant with many uses….. Which is a plant that can make paper, rope, oxygen, food, medicine etc etc…if I keep writing I’ll just get mad.
I will say that in Seattle I was glad.
So why can’t I go to a store and buy it Indiana and when will someone run that will put it on a ballot so I can vote for them?
I get really touchy when I think of the following….
-
How can you be a US citizen and obtain marijuana legally and why you can be a US citizen and not obtain marijuana legally?
-
Why can people buy alcohol which cause many deaths per year.. If a US citizen can buy a bottle of wine, why can’t I grow I smoke or eat or drink a plant? Remember the Tea Party?
(I really don’t)
🙂
-
Cigarettes are legal and they cause cancer and marijuana is not legal and it can help those who suffer with cancer?
I do see the light at the end of the tunnel. Many states are seeing the revenue and how it can help create jobs and taxes for the community and even education, not to mention sick people and taking crime of the equation which is a biGGie!
I’m a bit touchy today because I live in Indiana. A state that is predicted to be the last state to approve medical marijuana. And that makes me sad.
But everyone is already smoking and there is the lawyer neighbor next door who is a great father and wonderful husband who enjoys a toke in the evening with his wife after kids go to bed….so, yea
But he is too scared to come out of the closet and let people know he wants change. Maybe it’s not that long away after all.
But the marijuana God’s shine upon those who need it.
A kind family friend always gives what I need as I have depression and nightmares and PTSD. She knows it’s the only thing that works when things get bad.
The last week I have had night terrors. Often marijuana helps one sleep and not dream so much at night. It certainly helped me out of bed today.
She gives me what I need and never asks for a dime.
So why is this all a crime?
One day this post will be history.
I’m sure.
Thank You God for that Green Plant that will now help my aching back after writing and making this video for four hours which I would not do this week because of my depression.
For more information on cannabis:
Norml.org.
This was a public service announcement that you never see on TV.
Thank you Pearl Jam for letting me steal one of your songs.
GOT SOME!
Sacred Cleaning
She looks around the apartment. One can tell a depressed person lived there. Although there is art and color and hope all around, it appears that the jewelry thrown on the floor and phone off hook show a darker side of this existence.
So as an act of compassion for another, who will eventually come by, she does the dishes.
She picks up the unwashed clothes on the floor and hangs them neatly in the closet.
She dusts her angels and her talisman.
She over waters her little tree and jade plant.
She notices the hamster has little food, so she feeds it the whole bag.
The kitchen floor has not been clean for a long time because there is no mop. She scrubs it with her best french linen until her hands crack and bleed. She is happy she is just being.
After vacuuming, sanitizing the tub and toilets, she is tired.
She remembers the video of the dying fish where a dog tried putting water on it with it’s paw, but to no avail. She sees the worlds pain and decides, today is not the day for it.
She meditates.
She writes a letter for her son she never intended to send and leaves it on the unused dining room table. She feels better.
She plays new age music to calm her.
She turns off her phone and decides to get in the bath. She wonders why turn off phone, it never rings much anyway, but feels it’s better because when it rings it’s only someone shaming her for feeling bad.
The pillow and flowered down comforter actually makes the bath tub quite comfortable.
Briefly her mind floats back to the days of torture. She stays with the memory of the forced unknown restraints in the ER where she almost died and saw purgatory. Surely this is better than that day and much more comfortable. At least she can be free to know, those days of insanity were caused by the hands of psychiatrist who succeeded in poisoning her and brain washing her hopes and gifts to something that should be purged. Waste in her brain.
She thinks about how God or something maybe mental illness planted a searching inside her and condemns the thing that put it there. And wonders if there is nothing but star dust, her own twisted brain did it to her and that is too much to bare. To rot away for another 30 years or so keeping this all inside seems overwhelming. But it that feeling passes too slowly.
But in the bath, it’s safe. The music is calming and she imagines angels anointing her with oils, although they aren’t really there, it’s just now she’s getting cold.
At least she knows she can feel shameless because there won’t be much cleaning up for the people that will eventually find her, which will only be the maintenance staff whom she requested two months ago to fix her leaking facet.
They won’t even have to shampoo the carpet, I’m sure they will wonder who they will charge for the tub clean up however.
……as she leaves her biological body suit, her real ethereal family waits with a proper bath.
The Church of Phish
Phishin At The Creek
Summer of ’97
I’m sitting on the lawn at Deer Creek Music Center ready to experience my first Phish concert. Three years ago, I saw the Grateful Dead. At that time, there were fans of all types: families, yuppies and Heads. Today. Deer Creek’s lawn is blanketed with a surreal version of that crowd, only younger. I don’t think I see anyone over 30.
I feel old – and I have to pee really bad! Do I go to the bathroom now or wait until the show starts?
My bladder wins the battle. My companion, John, grabs my arm in a panic, “You can’t leave now! They could start any minute!” He shakes his head as I pull away, venturing through the crowd to the women’s bathroom. There’s a long line of about 60 “Phunky Bitches.” As I wait, I hear the crowd let out a roar of welcome. Phish has walked on stage. Just my luck. With the first chord, the women in the line fling themselves from the queue. Wide eyed hippies, all of them cheering, speed past me as if running from a fire. Cool! Sitting on the porcelain throne, I realize I’m now the only one in here.
Walking back to the lawn, my eyes and ears have been stimulated. I stop just outside pavilion, and witness a giant pulsating crowd of people, dancing to a funny little tune called “Bathtub Gin.” The crowd appear to be a giant organism – no individuals, just a mass of movement. The mass is jumping, whirling, a gyration in unison. Here’s the most amazing part: The only way I can find John is to dance my way back. If I didn’t, I’d look out of place.
The walkway that separates the lawn from the pavilion is no longer a sidewalk. It’s an anaconda of bouncing humanity, snaking it’s way to and fro. People have big smiles and spin like dervishes. I begin to laugh out loud from sheer nervousness – afraid I have lost John in the mob. As if guided by some magnificent force from above, miraculously I find our spot, although it’s not a spot at all, just another small place to dance.
A Phish newsgroup posting uses the following analogy:
“Phish is the water hose, we are the flowers.”
They were right, I had to dance. I think of lemmings – but in a warm and fuzzy way. I spot pixie-like girls twirling in circles. After three hours the most incredible light show and musical insanity, the show is over. The experience was unforgettable, but I wasn’t too sure of the improvised and sometimes disjointed jams that constitute the band’s unique sound. This is a genre of music I can appreciate, but not necessarily enjoy on the home stereo. We left with the thousands of fans. There is a point at the exit at the end that narrows down to small funnel and so it takes quite awhile to get to the last gate. I get a bit panicky as I don’t like tight crowds. Then someone begins to “moo” like a cow. Everyone else joins in. Now, this is funny! and my anxiety goes away. Hundreds of fans would stay behind for fellowship and grilled cheese and goo balls. Many will walk the cornfield lined country road back to their campgrounds. Local residents with big spaces, offer there property to these nomads. The ones that travel from show to show. I felt a twinge of isolation inside. Part of me wanted to stay.
I wanted to know what goes on at those campgrounds after the show. What is it these people understand that I don’t? Maybe if I ate nothing but homemade hippie food for days I would be enlightened too?
Summer of ’98
Just like a reoccurring cold sore or a Jehovah’s Witness at your front door, this band keeps popping into my life. I’m a hard core Pearl Jam fan. The memories of seeing them at Deer Creek were close to my heart and I never could find someone that loved them as much as I did. Phish doesn’t get much radio play in Indiana – or anywhere else for that matter. Why do I hear of them so often? It’s those dam Phish missionaries – people who find Phish and want you to find them as well.
I had been working with John at the local planetarium and he played their music their music for almost every evening opening to our laser shows. I had kinda had enough. He left and I took over his job to manage and perform laser shows to rock music for the public. Prior to each show, I played walk-in music while the crowd was being seated. For once this music was my own choice and depending on the show, sometimes I played Pearl Jam. I had heard enough of Phish intros. It was here, under the constellation of Aries, that I met yet another Phish missionary. A new laserist I hired. I knew he was a Phish Head before he told me by the macrame choker he wore to an interview. Charlie mentioned he was a Phish fan and wanted the job, but also wanted time off for summer to go on Phish tour. That was a funny thing to say in an interview to someone who needed a laserist right away, against my better judgment, I hired him and worked out the schedule so he could tour as well.
I got to know Charlie. Some people collect baseball cards; Charlie collects ticket stubs of music concerts of all kinds. There are literally hundreds. His collection is neatly preserved in plastic the same way an original Babe Ruth card would be. I understood this because Phish’s tickets are works of art. (Pearl Jam’s are as well. Blatant combative competition thought just now.)
One day while waiting for the matinee crowd with children in the group enter the planetarium, Charlie is in charge of the show. I believe it was a Motown show for all ages. He was allowed to pick his own entry music for the families to enjoy while they waited for the show. I’m not really listening because I’m outside the entrance to the planetarium taking tickets. Suddenly, a woman dressed like she just came from a junior league charity luncheon rudely comes up to me and demands: “Could you please turn that music off inside the planetarium; it’s making my husband very nervous!” My attention focuses on the sounds reverberating from the top of the dome. It sounds like Frank Zappa wired on a double espresso while reading “Dr. Suess!
I run inside and ask Charlie; “what the hell are you playing?” Holy shit! It was LSD inspired fragmented Phish that frankly, was just not appropriate for the crowd full of kids. Thaat song ended and then another came on. It was awkward to the show to stop it at this point. We were lucky the song that came on was called ‘Weigh” which is very childlike and fun.
I’d like to cut your head off so I could weigh it, what do ya say?
Five pounds, six, pounds, seven pounds
Kids begin to laugh. So I agree to let him continue.
I’d like to go to your house and gather all your razors and pick all the
little prickly hairs so I can weigh them, what do ya say?
Five pounds, six pounds, seven pounds
I’d like to gather all your friends and squish them all into a small
swimming pool so I can weigh them, what do ya say?
Five pounds, six pounds, seven pounds
Why weigh on a sunny day?
So much to do so why, why weigh?
On a sunny day, why wei-igh-hey?
Why weigh, why weigh?
I’d like to hear my options, so I can weigh them, what do ya say?
Five pounds, six pounds, seven pounds
Why weigh on a sunny day?
So much to do, so why, why weigh?
On a sunny day, why wei-gh-hey?
I remember hearing Phish for the first time when I was married years before. We had gone to a friend of a friend’s home. Cute couple who owned a tie dye screen printing company. They put on the album “Rift” by Phish. The first Phish song I had ever heard was “Fast Enough” which isn’t fast or fragmented like the future Phish I was to experience. I later bought that CD not knowing that in time they would evolve into a digital psychedelic wall of sound. There was even one track on the CD that was merely the sound of some guy sleeping! 🙂
Fast forward to the planetarium days, I ask Charlie later not to play such deep and tripped out tunes for a conservation Children’s Museum group. The night time shows with adults only would have been a better setting for mind blowing. He kinda gave me a look as if I didn’t understand. I shot one back basically like this “hey, I’m the boss, so I get the last word.” I did however feel my love/hate relationship could be compared to one scene from the film “Amadeus”
too many notes indeed.
Summer Of ’99
Again, sigh, I find myself stuck in traffic in a shuttle van packed with about 70 phish fans and Charlie. Waaaa! I wanted to be going to a Pearl Jam show. How the hell did I get here again? I got claustrophobic. I felt like I was going up the hill on a roller coaster and about ready to die. I had not been feeling well when I boarded the shuttle for three reasons; I had a heavy workload, I had had the flu earlier in the week and I took _ _ _! …….. Against my better judgment. So getting into that van was already a nightmare. Panic set in and I thought I would never make it through the night.
Many fans walk the 20 minute journey from the camp site to the venue. I was not going to walk in this heat. So here I was on the bus and it took an hour! Outside it was 95 degrees with 100% humidity. Inside the but it was about 150 degrees. I try to distract myself by listening to others talk. Long conversations about set lists dominate the chatter. A cacophony of another language to my ears.
We arrive and our group gathers on the lawn: Two laserists, my old friend John, Charlie and his old friend and me. When the music starts Charlie flashes a cheesy Cheshire cat grin. The place is on fire and so am I. Just before the set break, Charlie and his friend go up front. I opt to stay where I am. The second set begins. Soon, I start to over-heat so I sit down. Wrong idea. There is no air on the ground because everyone is standing and packed tightly around me. All I can smell is hippy body order. I stand up again, and that doesn’t help either.
Then it happens. I see myself in space looking down from a ship of some kind. Other beings are with me and they are looking through some microscope at Earth. They zoom into the spot where I stand that is now pulsating with color. One being says to the other “what is that strange array of lights and why are all those cells dancing around it?” Holy crap! Where was I? At that moment I felt as tiny as a atom. I was back on Earthy a minuscule piece of nothing. I didn’t like that vision. I was feeling fragmented and segmented like broken glass. This was no mushroom salad I can tell you that.
These is where Phish scares the hell outta me. The music is too extreme. It’s not Pearl Jam. This would not be happening if it were Eddie Vedder up there being angry and crooning out ballads that CAME TO AN END. I would be a kite flying happily above the crowd vibrating with baritone or dancing my ass off. Something funny happened inside my mind. I said to myself “Where’s my Eddie when I need him?” I looked around riducuiously and saw him. Not him obviously but a vision of him and he said “it’s ok.”
Phish keeps going. God will this song every end. No air. No water. No place to sit. This is not what I expected. An internal dialog of terror and judgment begins. I’m a single mom. I don’t belong here. Who are these people? I’m too old to be doing this. I began to look at all these young people in disdain. This was not a Grateful Dead crowd.. There were no hippy moms holding babies in slings. Everyone was exactly the same age and wearing exactly the same thing. This was not Woodstock either. No one was bathing in the river naked to cool off. I thought “all these people need rehab.” There was nothing I could do about any of it and I felt completely isolated and kinda started to pray to God or those beings or whatever to get me outta there. I’m losing it! My skin is clammy and I feel nauseous. One of my laserists puts her arm around me and says “are you OK?” I say nothing. She knows. Eddie? lol… We rock back and forth. My head is going to burst and the music is getting louder and LouDeR and LOUDER! For God’s sake!?
Then…as if some prayer were heard, Phish does what they always do. They play a ballad. I listen to the lyrics and I start to float away from fear.
Need I mention the song I refer to is 6 minutes and 55 seconds on the album. Since they never stop and go right into one song, thus that video was over 20 minutes long. You get my drift.
I am laughing inside from complete disbelief. God does listen to what I say and she has a sense of humor! My panic washes away. The song is like a cool bath. The band members are up to something and the fans know it! I got it. I look up to see all my friends standing around me, smiling. They had been there the whole time watching over me. John sits down next to me and says “I told you they were like God.”
With my regained strength. We leave the show. The crowd is quiet. Deadly silent after all those notes. Almost uncomfortably silent. I say to my friend, “dam, now it’s too quiet and my ears are ringing.” It’s dark and crowded and I know it’s gonna take awhile to get out of this herd of cows who moo again at just the right time. As we walk through what was once a the dancing anaconda, now it’s just a huge line to leave. Exit music is playing. I don’t know what it was, maybe the Dead. Like magic, a young girl dances in front of me with a green glow stick in her hand. I watch her, mesmerized, and wonder if I have found a guide because I was now enlightened by something. The girl with the green glow stick twirls her way through the crowd like a flashing persistence of vision map as if you’re in your car and hit every green light. She waves her glow stick through the crowd like Tinkerbell.
Effortlessly I follow her.
Phishin At The Creek
by
Deborah Machon
Written for Nuvo Newsweekly, issue: July 6-13, 2000
July 9, 2014
Disclaimer: Searching through my “Hopeless Chest” I find a souvenir of my life. My first published story I hardly ever read because I knew it sucked. The artwork is offline and the colors have yellowed a bit. This story was the only cover story I ever did in my life and was lucky Nuvo even let me write it after presenting the idea, since I was not a writer on staff. It took me weeks to write and had to be really cleaned up by editors. There was also things I wanted to say that I could not due to word count requirements and lets face it, I over describe stuff and repeat myself, repeat myself.
So here, almost 16 years later I think, fuck it. I will just re write the story the way I would have written it and take out the narcissistic need to promote a certain person in it who I once loved, who later kept over 25 bundles of 50 each of this issue, so he could someday sell them on Ebay to Phish fans. He hauled them all the way out to Seattle and kept them in basement. I got tired of his hoarding AND thinking he was going to sell my papers and my story. I was the distribution manager for awhile and he only got those because I gave them to him. So years and years later in Seattle, he went to see some Nascar race out of town. I was pissed at him so while he was gone, I took everyone of the bundles to be recycled. *Except for the numerous ones we used to kill our lawn in Seattle to create a garden. It’s easy really and not chemically harmful. You take newspaper. Cover the area of grass you want to kill with many layers of papers. So we used this story as the ground for a garden. Then you cover the whole area with tons of mulch. Voila! A few weeks later, you have fertile soil to plant living things like stick trees from The Arbor Day Foundation.
I did give Charlie two copies to save and two for myself. It’s always good to let go of the past.
What’s this got to do with the story. Nothing, but I’m in charge this time and I can be whoever I want to be. Even if I’m just some cell dancing in the light.
That’s the kinda writing Nuvo never cared about nor has anyone else, yet.
p.s. I don’t care about typos and incorrect grammer and neither did Kerouac. That’s not my job. I’m lucky I had the attention span or interest to retype this ancient attempt at trying to express myself starting at 6:30 am. Three hours of work. And people don’t understand why some writers make a shit load of money. It’s hard work to sit in a freaking chair for hours and constantly edit yourself and focus on nothing else. I’m exhausted.
k.
bye.
🙂
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