REFLECTIONS: On Re-Centering inside Iran Perplexity

March 4, 2026

I must admit . . . this Iran perplexity is getting to me. Is climbing inside me, coursing through me. Not what actually is happening “out there” — beyond any possibility of me understanding or picking up on “the Truth” in “the fog of war” — but the invisible atmospheric shift it has undoubtedly created. This war — how can one not now call it a WAR? — with unknown end date, widening, deepening consequences . . .

This new war — and I’m old enough to remember World War II, the Vietnam War, the many other wars, like Afghanistan, and who knows how many in the Mideast; and I’m remembering that the U.S. has around 750 military bases world-wide. Huh? And that’s just the start of what I used to pay attention to, back when I was a dogmatic peace activist.

Yes, though I attempt to maintain my center, and with it my focus on what I, personally, can do with the remainder of my long life, the global scene (no matter how fake or real) continuously tugs on us all, dragging  down the mood. Not just my own mood. I feel it in the air.

Much like when the Covid era began, I can feel currents of fear fear FEAR (False Evidence Appearing Real), guaranteed to ensure compliance from most people for whatever MK Ultra programming “they” want to insert next — coursing through the atmosphere, swirling, swirling . . . The entire body of humanity, our collective unconscious, infected with the fear virus. As if WE are the inhabitants of ancient towns about to be invaded, raped, pillaged, murdered, by Genghis Khan and his bloodthirsty hordes.

As one who resonates with my own past lives, I do sense that I, for one, have been here before . . .

So the focus remains: get and stay centered, grounded, uplifted, and radiant, Ann, no matter what.

 

Lots of rain here with much more projected over next few days. Feels like the very earth body is weeping.

This follows weird January and February weather extremes.

Here’s one photo documenting an overnight surprise in February —

These weather see-saws result of geo-engineering? Who knows. It might just be the way Earth, herself as a living conscious being, is processing our all-too-human bifurcations, both within the body/mind of each person, and between each of us and the (projected) Other.

By the way, the above photo was taken shortly after the amaryllis actually started to bloom. Those two leaves had been there, in front of the window, since mid-November, and only in early February did the plant begin to slowly shoot up the stem that now contains an actual bloom!

In fact, a few weeks later, it actually contained two blooms, which then bent over the plant with their weight so far that I had to cut both stems and insert in water. I was utterly shocked to notice that my physical and emotional — and spiritual? — bodies actually freaked out at cutting it. How must it feel for me to do that?

Furthermore, and more selfishly, I feared that the magnificent blooms would just wither and die. But here we are, today. No problem, even though both now sit in water on kitchen table, along with Kroger flowers on sale, plus Crone Chronicles magazines, which I still haven’t rehoused. See Monday’s post.

I remind myself that this is only March, early March. That likely, this year — since we seem to be ahead of ourselves all the time, everywhere, in every way —  spring showers in March, will likely bring April flowers . . .

I will conclude with a recent post from fb that I saved, I found it so wondrous. Contributed to the world by my dear friend and Green Acres Village resident (and garden manager) for about ten years, and who, for the last seven years or so, has been living in the west. Cherisse knows the earth body. She feels our extraordinary living host in her blood.

“BOMB BOMB BOMB IRAN”? What is really going on?

March 3, 2026

This morning, I again heard from Angela, wondering where exactly should she go on the island of Crete? I had been planning on sending her my essay reflecting my travels there, but then never got around to it. This morning I did, finally, send that essay.

THE RUINS OF TIME

Ye gods! Or, I should say, Ye Goddesses!

On re-reading it myself, I was stunned to realize that I had been traveling there in November 1990, during a previous terror-stricken time,  when the seemingly eternal mideast boil was about to erupt — again.

And yet . . .

Excerpt:

Time here is present as a continuum, forming a temporal spectrum as vast as the ocean that surrounds this fabled island. And yet, there is a heaviness to this experience of time, a gravity, almost a sense of oppression. The longer I remain in Greece, the more I feel in my bones how the past spreads its arms to receive, to condense, to crush, to stratify, to obliterate. Our mortality is an inescapable and haunting fact.

This fact is contrasted by another, opposite fact, one which astonishes me. For the heaviness of time’s duration is shot through with light. The light of human awareness shines through the gloom, leaving traces of itself along the way. These are the distillations of time, of memory, of culture — through the architects’ organization of space, the artists’ working of function and material into form; they bear silent testimony to that endless creative capacity which both expresses our humanity and lives on.

 

Yes, I was there with a friend in November 1990. The essay begins with my frantic search for an English paper in Athens, in order to read “the news.”

What strikes me now, however, is how I no longer relate to “the news” in the same manner.

Basically, I have absolutely no idea what is really going on. Or why. Or, the ever-enlarging contextual situation that dictates it, at least from some points of view. Though I sense the situation is terrible, I also realize that, for example, if a wild animal was about to attack me, or my kin, all my instincts aroused, I would fight back.

Although for many years, especially in my 40s, I saw myself as a “peace activist,” violently imposing my own dogmatic point of view about the coming apocalypse unless we can somehow reverse the nuclear arms race — those days are long past. Recognizing my own violence helped me to lay down my own arms and work coming into peace within myself.

At 83, after decades of tumultuous “work on myself,” I dwell within 5D presence, a spaciousness inside myself that allows for the pulsing presence of polarities without being pulled to identify with one side or another.

And yet. And yet.  As I said, IF a wild animal was about to attack me, or even, IF that animal was present, not far off, and I KNEW it would attack me and my kin sooner or later, I might be very tempted to figure out a way to neutralize this threat.

IS this what’s going on? I have absolutely no idea.

Jordan Sather echoes my attitude.