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I Have Never Been "Alone"

I have never been alone. I remember the very day and moment I awakened in this body. There are memories of being a baby, crawling on the oak floors of the house in which I was born. And there are memories of being two and three and four, but it was not until I was five that I "wakened".

I was up a tree in my Sunday clothes. I knew I was going to get a blistering because I had broken the buckle on my patent leather shoes and torn my dress. It was May and I was hot. My long hair was the color of corn silk in the sun and, at that moment, I hated the way it caught the light because I was trying to be invisible among the branches and leaves of the oak tree I had climbed. The Little Voice that had always warned me of danger had been strangely imposing that day. It had told me to climb the tree. Told me not to hide in the shrubbery this time because the old man would find me there. It warned me as I looked at my slick soled shoes that climbing would be dangerous, that I must take care. It showed me every nook into which I should place my hands and feet on the climb so that I would not slip. And now it was warning me not to move as I watched the old man come 'round the corner of the house and look into the shrubs. I hated the way my hair was sticking in the sweaty creases of my neck and under my arms, and I wanted to move and pull it back. But the Little Voice warned me of the light playing off my hair and that I had not yet climbed high enough: The old man would not see me if I moved.

I was so frightened. I think that must have been the very moment God had chosen to drive fear from my heart entirely. In that moment I decided I could stand any emotion except fear. The Little Voice had gone to such trouble to tell me what to do to keep me safe from the old man, my "granduncle Alfred", and there I was on the brink of spoiling all of it by wetting myself at the sheer horror of what might happen were he to look up and see me.

If I wet myself it will fall down on him and then --

Hush... I will not let him find you. Be still now and wait...

I'm gonna be in so much trouble because I'm hiding and I broke my very best shoes and tore my dress and Daddy is gonna be so mad at me --

That's alright... None of that can really hurt you. Be still...

Alfred did not find me that day. After he left the Little Voice changed. It became a feeling of loving presence that swallowed my awareness, lifting me out of my anger and fear and blessing me with a peace so deep and sacred that I knew nothing could ever defile or even touch that crystalline palace hidden within my being. While my body scintillated with ecstatic chills and my skin rose in gooseflesh, I wept at the unspeakable beauty of the feeling, its depth and clarity and the invulnerable strength of its tenderness. In that moment, I awakened -- knowing I would never, ever, be alone. I was accompanied. Look at the picture in my profile of me at five and you'll see in that child's eyes the presence of one much older than her years.

Little Voice has never left me. In fact my life has been one long revelatory experience designed, it seems, to teach me to hear Him and to follow Him. He has taught me many things but above all other lessons He has taught me two: He has taught me the complete invulnerability of Love that is given for the sake of loving itself -- without need of anything in return. And He has taught me that living in tribute to love by choosing to "do the right thing regardless of the consequences" is the only real escape.

If there were one thing I could tell you that you would "get" it is that we all have our own Little Voice and learning to hear it and follow it are the most crucial things you can do with this life.

I have never been alone. Neither have you.

I love you all. teddybear heart wings
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Pardon the Laryngitis

I was pulling out of date stock all day yesterday and so my sinuses are goobered and my pipes are crusty. But I found a way to do this so I thought I'd sing you all a little tune...

Xes and Ohs, y'all...



I'll do better next time. bouquet
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My new Man Friend Liam...

...Came into the store today. I looked up from my work and saw him and said "Hey Sweetie." He gave me a hug straigh away. Christ! Ya never know how nice it is to get hugs until you don't get them for a long while. He said he was sorry he hadn't called but he'd been working. "No worries," I assured him. He told me he really enjoyed my company and asked if we could get together this week. I told him I really enjoyed him too and that I'd be free most of the week until Friday and Saturday. We chit chatted briefly and he asked if he looked terrible. I told him "Not at all but you do look really tired". He told me he's having a hard time sleeping. I instantly wanted to take him home and feed him and put him to bed. I am such a mother hen. (Spoiler.) When we went out Thursday I had been the one to initiate the hug to break the ice because he is very soft spoken and gentlemanly. (Old school. I live in the Bible belt here.) Before he left he gave me another hug. Gosh that was nice...

Here's the kicker: I work with his cousin and, until today, I have been having a variety of problems with her. (More on that another time.) Today she was fun to work with and she pitched in to help me with my (BIG) task when I mistakingly did a couple of hers for her. I usually try to help her, especially with heavy work or work outside in the heat because she is 68 and soon to retire and she's not in good shape. Usually she kinda dumps her assigned work on me and then tries to make it look to the boss like she did it. Today, when I did her tasks and got behind on my own, she jumpped in to help me and she was fun and funny and sympathetic. If this keeps up we may end up friends! I'd like that. I hate being at odds with anyone. I found a big floppy black witch's hat in the Hallow e'en section and wore it while I worked. It made people laugh including Liam's cousin whom we shall call "Matilda". I had nice day, even though parts of my body hurt badly enough that I was (from time to time) praying under my breath to die. "Please, sweet Jaysus... dead would be so much easier than this. I ain't scared and I've been a good girl..."

Looks like I have a new friend and like maybe a former potential enemy may be changing her mind about me. I'll keep you posted! Go hug somebody. It may change their entire headspace and make their day. teddybear
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Had my first date last night...

Went out for a movie with a new manfriend last night. He's a local I met at work and was very polite and considerate: very gentlemanly. There may be hope yet for this country. If nothing more it's good to finally start making friends in this area. I think I must be a bit of a hermit. Takes me a long time to mingle with the indigenous. cool

I do not recommend however, the movie "Escape Plan", although it had very good casting and it's probably the best Sly Stallone film yet. He's learned to articulate! doh
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Ones and Zeros

An old friend found this (below) and sent it to me. It's a great blast from the past: something I wrote when my brother in law Brian and Chris bought me Netscape and then welcomed me to the internet back in 1990. I had just begun writing for self amusement. It is my response to Brian's welcome to the internet missive which he ended, "Don't worry. It's only ones and zeros". I hope you get a laugh out of it.

Dearest Brian,

Thanx for your welcome. As you see, I finally got into my mail bag. In regard to it only being ones and zeros: Well, isn't that where all the trouble started in the first place? You start by messing with ones and zeros, but it doesn't stop there. Pretty soon you're hooked and you move on to harder numbers: Whole Numbers and Integers lead inevitably to Real and Irrational Numbers. And you wake up one day with your eyes bloodshot, your head spinning and a nasty case of bacterial scum on every surface in your mouth. That's when you realize: You're hooked on higher math. Addition, subtraction, multiplication, division and even geometry and algebra just won't do it for you anymore. It's been so long since you got a good math ya-ya that you think you're going into Trig. withdrawals. But you haven't hit bottom yet -- Noooo, NO. There's still room to dicker with the devil that's got your number(s). That's when you move on to Calculus and Jacobean Math. It's just a matter of years, maybe months before you can no longer hide your addiction from the world. By then you'll be sweating out those lonely nights alone. Now just doing math doesn't satisfy you. You've gotta know "what it's FOR". "What's it all MEAN?" you ask yourself. "What is it all any good for?"

After that moment, and you'll know when you've reached it because your perceptions twist and, suddenly, it's just not the same world anymore. Simultaneous equations are everywhere you turn. You're surrounded by a dynamic and fluctuating world of Chaos where everything affects everything else and YOU WANT TO QUANTIFY IT. Operational definitions that aren't quantifiable are meaningless! The addiction's run rampant and you begin using machines to help you develop equations to express the incredible mind-altered state through which you perceive the world. Soon you realize that other people's equations just aren't adequate to communicate your vision of the universe and you suspect that the only way out now, out of this nightmare of addiction to quantification, is to ride the Stephen Hawkings Express into certain oblivion or learn to program!

"Eureka!" you think. "Light at the end of the rabbit hole! There is a life in which a nasty numbers addiction is adaptive and beneficial. I can be a geek!" You start keeping time with geeks, looking to them for the confidence you need to take that first step and learn to program for yourself. You're scared, really terrified. After all, what if you fail? But those multiplying nights have become too long to endure alone, and one dreary evening you finally take that C++ manual down from the shelf and hesitantly turn the pages -- and that's when the FINAL irony comes. That's when you find out what a twisted lot mankind really is, because it's all just ones and zeros...

The headlines the next day read something like: "Twenty-Three Dead as Geek Goes Berserk in Suburban Library. Numbers Addiction Suspected".

So don't even TRY to pull ME into your dark, ugly sickness, Buster! Don't try to give me that "It's oooonly ones and zeros" crap because I KNOW the kind of codependence and treachery YOU'RE peddling, and I have SEEN the kind of pitiful and ineffectual lowlife YOU plan to make of me, you, YOU, GEEK!!!

Have a nice day... grin
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There's a Way to Say

Some of you may have noticed my love of language. I love all language and am interested in all of them but the so called "romance languages" really excite me. Of late I have been listening to the tune below and learning to translate it. It is sung in Portuguese and Italian together and the subtitles are in both languages. The female singer (Dulce) is singing in Portuguese. What an acoustically interesting language for an audiophile like moi! And I love the metaphor. My favorite line is "Ao longe a barca louca perde o norte". It means "At length" (Ao longe) "a rougue ship" (a barca louca - literally "ship crazy") "loses its direction/bearing" (perde o norte - literally "loses the north"). So, the song is speaking of love and says "Eventually, the unpiloted ship loses its direction (and is lost)." What splendid metaphor! I am enamored again - and of a language I am only now visiting. "Que bellisima la mujer satisfecha!" ("How beautiful is the satisfied woman!")

Aye, "safisfied" indeed. I have at last recognized the Beloved who has never left me. My Navigator, the captain of this heart, hasn't even a body, but He has guided me always to delights that have nourished and intrigued and taught me how to be entirely happy and satisfied independant of the external situation. And I rest assured that this ship will not be lost due to lack of guidance.

There is a way to say "I love you" that need never mention the word love: "I have never left you. Nor shall I ever."

THAT is all I need to know. heart wings

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What Do We Want in Our Partner?

That's easy: I want a male version of my self, with these sentiments precisely: "Whatever you ask for, that's what I'll be." Because that is precisely what I feel. There is NOTHING MY Beloved could ask of me that I'd refuse. That kind of committment is rare in my experience -- which makes it all the more precious.

I want something SACRED. And I won't settle for less. What is it you want (/are willing to give/commit) -- in a nutshell?



Once I get my hands on that man, he's gonna be useless to any other woman. Spoil, SPOIL, SPOIL!
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Decisions

A regular at the store where I was working last night, I had never met her before. First the cashier at front checkout came to me & asked me to look in on her. I went to the makeup wall where she stood, wavering on her feet. I asked if she needed help finding anything. Her response allowed me to verify that she was quite drugged. But she wasn't causing a problem so I invited her to let me know if I could help her in any way & went back to store business. 15 minutes later, the same cashier told me that the pharmacy team wanted to know if I would call the police to handle her. I asked if she was causing a problem. The answer was an unequivocal "No, & she is a regular. We've never seen her like this".

"Well, if she causes a problem, let me know but, so long as she is just hanging out brousing, we should respect her right to do as she pleases. I am not willing to embarrass her unnecessarily."

30 minutes later, a pharmacy tech came up front & asked me to get her out of the store. They just didn't like her loitering. I went back out to chat with her.

"Hi," I greeted & smiled. "You've been here a long while. Is the pharmacy keeping you waiting?"

"Yeah," she slurred. "They say that I'm too early for a refill."

"Well they can't, by law, refill certain controlled substances early without a doctor's authorization, & you're obviously impaired right now. They can't give you anything that might hurt you were you to take it incorrectly because of your impaired state."

"I'm not high," she sighed & her eyes welled. "I'm on sedatives because I'm depressed & have anxiety attacks. Did I cause a problem?"

"You're fine. You haven't caused a problem. We're just concerned about you & we're almost ready to close so we're worried about how you'll get home. How did you get here," I asked.

"I rode my bike."

"Would you mind telling me your name?"

"Melissa."

"Hi Melissa," I whispered with a smile. "I understand about the depression & anxiety. I've been through that too. You've been no trouble at all, but we want to help you get home safely. Is there someone, your parents or a friend we can call to come & get you?" Tears welled in her eyes & rolled to stripe her cheeks.

"No," she sighed, "They're dead & I'm alone."

"I'm sorry, Melissa, I know how that feels. Would you like a hug?"

"No, but thank you. I'm just so depressed."

"Yes, I see that & its breaking my heart. How far away do you live?"

"Just a few blocks."

"Well, if you'll wait outside, I'll be happy to give you a lift home. I'm not comfortable with you riding a bike in this condition."

"I can do it," she squeaked.

"No, Melissa, you really shouldn't ride your bike. You're a bit more impaired than you think. Can you walk your bike home? Or will you maybe wait a little while for me to close up the shop & take you home?"

"I'll walk my bike home. But thank you for your concern."

"No worries, Melissa. If you change your mind and decide to wait I'll take you home in about 20 minutes," I offered again as I walked her out the door.

"Thanks again for your concern," she sighed as she walked away.

15 minutes later the intersection was FULL of emergency vehicles: Police cars, ambulances filled the intersection as I looked out. A city police officer was leading her by the arm back to his cruiser. He opened the back seat door & she got in.

"Well," I shrugged at the cashier, "At least she's unhurt & on her feet & the officer isn't arresting her or she'd be cuffed."

We all go through depressing times. I was a little surprised that the pharmacy team so quickly wanted to call the police. I was sure that would have wrecked Melissa's day, if not her whole month. A customer came in and told us Melissa had fallen off her bike in the intersection. In my opinion, Melissa was planning to use the meds we did not sell her to end her despair quietly, at home, alone last night. I don't know what more I might have done for her.
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Excerpt "Chalice" by Callaghan Grant

Passion has no place in the haversack of an assassin. An effective accountant for The Fiddler must be singularly dispassionate. But I had personal issues to settle with Philip, and no cool-tempered, preprogrammed alter ego was gonna steal my thunder. In retrospect, I suppose I'd have to say that pride really does precede a fall.

Philip had moved to within ten horizontal feet of my position when I "thought loudly" at him, imagining a rustling in the shrubbery to his back. He lurched about, careless in his growing fear and frustration. This was the Philip I knew, and the rage I'd been suppressing since our last encounter gushed into awareness. My emotions hardened, solidifying to frozen contempt, and I was instantly visible again.

I suppose part of me had taken Philip's behavior a little too personally. It was that ego involvement that divided my agendas and blew my cover. I knew that when he turned back, Philip would see me. But somehow, I just didn't care. Somehow, I wanted him to see me.

All-ye-all-ye-out-come-free…

“...You stupid phucker."

The strange, resonant voice burbled from my throat, and Philip reeled to face the sound. Rage twisted his face as he glared up at me, wondering why the Hell he hadn't seen me there before. I saw the enmity in his expression give way to terror as his face was lit by the muzzle flash from the Browning hi-power.

The first round hit him dead center of the chest, knocking him into a back step. The next two rounds tore through his torso just below the left shoulder and spun him as his legs began to buckle. Rapt in a furor, my vision narrowed to a tunnel and locked on Philip. I lost myself in the moment and leapt headlong down out of the tree. Slamming his right upper body with my left shoulder, we tumbled head over feet. He came up to his knees, while I rolled back to my feet behind him. I let fly with two more rounds as I closed in on him.

Mercy!

The Little Voice in my head was shrieking at me as I wrapped my left arm around his neck and shoved the muzzle of my weapon between his shoulder blades. All to no avail. Erinn Cailín was not the one in charge of the body at the moment. Fear had given way to rage and some monster within me had taken over. A sickle of pain arched through my chest as I plunged my teeth into the right side of Philip's throat. It might as well have been a mere pinprick for all the attention I paid it.

Tout que va, vien aussi, eh cousin?

I heard some part of my psyche deriding the boy telepathically as I shot him twice more. He stopped moving, save for his heart, which sputtered out the last of its contractions.

Damn, vampyres are hard to kill, I considered. Little Voice had gone conspicuously silent, but myriad other voices filled my head, and my consciousness reeled with the confessional death banter of Philip's departing soul.

Regret was what he was made of, abject and self-loathing. He had never intended to harm me and had been drawn in helplessly after that first night in my room. Aware that he was dying, he wanted me to know that he'd been unable to stop himself from injuring me. He warned me of Stuart's presence and intentions. His contrition found me yet in a cold, murderous fury: indifferent to his appeals. But he wasn't asking me to let him live. It was mercy and forgiveness he wanted. At the moment, I had none to offer.

As death billowed from his chest, I wrenched my blood teeth free of his throat, and then I broke his neck.

"I am the water. You are but stone..." Yet livid, I heard myself hissing vengeance. I let his body drop and stood there panting, my head spinning, as I tried to get a grip on myself...
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The Last Moment

Reality becomes its Self as a series of events cascading to inevitable consequence. Recently I have been reviewing the physics of the emerging conceptualizations of dimensionality. The mathematics of "String Theory" and "M Theory" point towards 11 dimensions. (Please don't take this to indicate I understand the maths involved.) While I have not entirely groked the full 11 dimensions (I can grok a far as 9 dimensions.) it occurs to me that physicists are examining the constructs of dimensionality from within the context of dimensionality itself and this might not be so useful. If we consider the universe as we know it one "probable dream" of how things would turn out given an initial set of parameters at some imagined instant we call "The Big Bang" (a theory I am not fond of) then understanding dimensionality from within the context of said dream only allows us to navigate through that dream: We can place ourselves anywhere in "space-time" and our identity will shift to be whomever (or whatever) is there to serve as "The Observer". (Tricky business.) In this frame of reference "The Observer" must be ubiquitous in order for the dream to even hold together, but The Observer is defined by location in space-time and it may be a bug or an amoeba. Bug, amoeba, dog, cat, horse, cow, human: These are all iterations of The Observer.

I call the universe as we know it one "probable dream" based upon the premise that Reality becomes its Self as a series of events cascading to inevitable consequence. Change the initial conditions and you change the outcomes: You change the dream. That is to say, while we are imagining a multitude of dimensions from within a particular iteration of the Universe's "story", we can navigate across dreams into alternative Universal Stories by simply redefining the initial conditions. And you can accomplish this with many less references to dimensionality in order to define which iteration of The Observer you care to be. More precisely, you can do it with compacted or "nested" references as to your choice of iterations of "The Observer".

For instance, some of you know I was once "dead". I died at the age of 19 in a freak accident with a horse. While I was out of my body (which equaled "outside of the probable universe dream and outside of space-time) I saw that my life(/story) had been, essentially, just a dream: "I" had experienced a story of a probable universe as a particular iteration of "The Observer" named "Cailin". That story was no more or less "real"(/valid) than any other iteration. Once I decided to "get back into the dream" this understanding became scary: How does one enter(/re-enter) a dream? As it turned out it was remarkably easy. All I had to know was "the last moment". This was all I needed to know in order to locate my chosen "self" (iteration of "The Observer"), and this was so because "Reality becomes its Self as a series of events cascading to inevitable consequence". If you know the last moment you know everything you need to know to locate your chosen probable self in space an time and story line. I find this fascinating because, when I awakened back in my body, I kept asking the same question: "What happened?" This question not only defines "the last moment" it has just as much to do with the relevance of the last moment in terms of how the story is to play out: how events will cascade to inevitable consequence and render an "outcome" which will be the "Ultimate Last Moment": "death".

(Continued and finished in my first comment.)
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Excerpt "Beacon"

I had dreamt that I was but dreaming and awakened with a start. My heart thundering in my chest, I gasped for air, staring into the darkness. Faint faces rippled like photographic negatives in the space above, looking down at me, and I could not move. Their eyes blinked and the specters dissolved, quenching air seaping into my lungs as they opened.

Erinn-nn-nn… I thought I heard someone call me and rose from the bed. The hum of electric water pumps droned with chant-like monotony, and I followed the sound down the stairs to the screened room.

Drip… splat… Water trickled all around, dropping through the stand pipes in the aquariums and down into the wet-dry filter systems beneath them.

Erinn Cailín… A voice in my mind called to me and I understood what I was looking for was not to be found in the space surrounding me. It was not in the world “outside”. I was going to have to go within to find the one who called me, and I let my body down to the cool concrete floor and allowed the sleep that still clouded my mind to take me deeper.

“You asked me to go,” he breathed and wrapped me in his embrace. “You wanted time to just be safe and happy and loved and, because you were happy then, I allowed you that semblance of separation. But you are no longer happy, my love, and I have returned to you because you are mine and I am yours. We are a part of one another and so we can never be apart from one another.”

“Who are you?” I whispered, rafted away on the waves of his ardor and swallowed in the power of his presence.

“I am he who has ever been with you, your Shepherd and guide. I am your husband and you’re your brother, the one who sent you into time and the one who rescues you from it. I am the voice that has directed you, calling you always closer to me. I am your truth and your destiny. I am yours and you are mine.”

“Michael,” I whispered the name and remembered him whose love had always been, whose comfort had always attended me, who loved me across lives and worlds. He squeezed me to his chest and I heard his heart beating with my own and I knew I had to find a way to bring our separate universes together. “I Will, my love. I Will with you, and if I must build myself the world we will be in together, I will accomplish it,” I vowed, and he kissed me on the brow, his arms unraveling as his presence dissipated. And then I dreamt I was awake and I rose from the floor and went back upstairs to my office and sat before the computer – a stranger in my own story – waiting until the words began to flow, and I typed them like a woman possessed of a daemon spirit: The blacker the water, the more obliging the fear…

“Are you awake?” I heard a voice ask and I turned to see his shining chestnut eyes regarding me with concern.

Rob…

“Of course I’m awake,” I answered and wondered if it was really true.

Dreams seem real while they last…

He eased over next to me and placed his hands on my shoulders.

“You always say that,” he chuckled, “even when you’re sleep walking. I don’t know why I still bother to ask you.” He laughed and kissed the top of my head. “Writing at 3 AM?” he sighed. Your muse is more of a task master than I am. He doesn’t allow you much sleep.” I scoffed at the observation.

Who’s to say which worlds are real, who is sleeping, and who is awake?
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Want Ads...

Describe here, if you care too, your ideal partner/relationship. MINE goes like this:

I want a best friend who has my interests at heart: one who will never try to control/manipulate me except by whatever sway simply loving me honestly would allow him -- because I trust his motivations. A man who will reason with me when I am being rash; who will enjoy my ardor and enthusiasm and adventure with me. A man who will trust me implicitly and about whom I can feel the same. Someone brilliant and tender and rational and wild and playful who would never consider striking me even when driven to distraction by some wreckless thing I'd done. I want a man's who smiles despite himself when he thinks of me, whose eyes shine when he looks at me, and whose arms ache to hold me; a real man, who knows that tenderness and self control are very manly indeed and who sees opportunities to indulge me/us as delightful tributes to the depth of his passion. And I mean to recognize and reward his every gesture of affection and esteem.

With all of that, we ought to be able to build a relationship that elevates life from delightful to ecstatic.

Your turn, if you care to be so bold. Or you can be silly. I like silly/whimsy very much. grin teddybear bouquet
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