Astrologer, published author, conference presenter, world traveler, founder & editor of Crone Chronicles: A Journal of Conscious Aging (1989-2001) , and founding visionary of Green Acres Permaculture Village (2010 to present).
Forgot to put a title on this until today, several days later . . .
Amidst the gathering horror, the continuous expurgation of death, destruction, dirty deeds by formerly beloved “celebrity” figures . . . and other yucky stuff as indicated on my twitter/X feed, I remain astonished by the contrast I sometimes feel between the awfulness that keeps getting beamed out via social media and life on earth here, my own experience. Just today, while walking with puppy Scampi, I came across truck drivers, bus drivers, and garbage drivers, all of them with warm, genuine smiles in response to my own grin of recognition — one human being to another.
I make it my practice to write up a daily post charting my paralyzed and nerve-damaged 58-year-old son Colin’s healing process.
It’s been over a year ago now, since his aortic dissection that should have killed him, but instead, and paradoxically, has opened him wide. As he tells me, “my heart exploded open . . .”
Our conversation today was really fun and uplifting, and brings to mind the idea that “the world” is much larger than that of which we are aware.
I told Colin this afternoon that I wasn’t going to ask him about his poop again. That this would take care of my end of the obsession. If he wants to speak about it, great. If not, that’s fine. He thought that was a good idea, and said he’s just not going to worry about it anymore; not even pay attention to it, unless he feels uncomfortable. Good!
Then he wanted to tell me his new idea: calling in benevolent ETs to heal the nerve pain! I know this sounds crazy to some people, but he and I really did have an extraordinary experience, about a dozen years ago, of being with a bunch of people out on a field in the country who were calling in the benevolent ETs, and had been for five nights in a row.
On the final night, once again there were definitely blinking lights (not planes and not satellites), and sometimes moving (with 90° turns!) lights in the sky, more than on any of the other nights; but the definitive moment came when Colin and I stood up (earlier than others; I don’t want to stay up late) to drive home, and he was so appreciative of the beings who were visiting us that he looked up and dramatically lifted his arms wide to the sky, saying “THANK YOU!!!” as a sort of joke, he thought.
But wait! Just then, just as he did that, an enormous light burst came from directly above where we were all circled in lawn chairs, and . . . it was not just momentary, but its fading out took several long seconds, long enough for all of us to see each other on this new moon night.
WHAT?!
We were all flabbergasted. What a demonstration of presence! For Colin, the occasion was so extraordinary that he tells me now it changed his life.
So, this afternoon, sitting in his park inverted, he tells me he’s going to ask to make contact with star beings, knowing it might take awhile, perhaps meditating in supplication for hours at a time on successive days, while gazing at the sky (easy to do when you’re inverted, and he’s had many a day when he wished he was a cartoonist, so amazing are the figures he sees in the clouds). Why not? Might as well! What’s he got to lose?
Then we segued to the many ways his stuck state (referring to nerve pain that, post-op, after six weeks has not yet retreated to the point where he can return to the kinds of exercises he wants to do, and must spend most of his days inverted) is “actually fortunate.” He gets to sit there and investigate with his mind; he gets to listen to podcasts or music; he simply has no other responsibilities, other than to work on lessening his nerve pain.
“Can you imagine how freeing that is?” he asks. To have no other responsibilities in life? How many people are as fortunate as I am?”
Oh my . . . Here we are on October 1, first day of “Red October,” and the port strike, and weather warfare. The month we’ve been wait for. One month prior to the “final”? 2024 election. False flags and other psyops abound. “World War III” threatens to spark in many places at once, all the while idiots guard the helms of so-called “power.”.
All we know for sure is that the dynamics of whatever simulacrum we’re inside of has speeded up, suddenly, enormously. As if we just hurtled over Niagra Falls — along with all the oil drums and houses and dead bodies tumbled about by Hurricane Helene just about everywhere in the American southeast. Most horrific natural event in 1000 years? Swollen rivers crumbling roads, hills, houses, washing away memories, along with structures, families, traditions . . . and even yesterday, today, this past hour! . . .
I want my nap to be a calming tradition, and it always threatens not to be, since I am still addicted to the internet, via my ipad, when I tune into somebody’s podcast to lure/lull me to sleep.
So yes, I went down for my “traditional” one hour nap today, curious, as usual; I just can’t seem to stop my swollen brain — to drink in the latest Clif High:
It’s useless
And found myself pulled under into nowhere. All I know is I “woke up” (sort of; still groggy due to not enough sleep most nights and naps for how long now? Ten days, months, years? decades? — and all I remember hearing as I drifted off was Clif saying there was a “timeline.” White board behind his dear figure seemed to confirm. . .
(Oh, I know, I know. He’s esoteric as hell. Stamps our common language into his own unique brand.)
Hmmm . . . seems that his maelstrom timeline is for the next six months. What many of us have been feeling, the lead up to, absorption of, and then reactions to, “the 2024 election,” if, indeed, it occurs. What are the chances, 50/50? Does it depend on which timeline we’re on? Are there two timelines, battling it out, crashing, drowning, sputtering as we careen down the temporal river?
The next thing I remember, after coming out of my flooded flog (oops! fog) at the end of his 56-minute long video, was Clif’s final remark, after dissing “all the channelers” . . . Made me laugh out loud.
We’re in the swirlies.
Hopefully they won’t flush.
And actually, I wish I could actually flush the detritus out of my sorry brain.
I need a brand new, a fresh start, after the buraucratic hell hole that I and my Green Acres Neighborhood peers have endured for the past three months. (See past posts. Don’t want to spend time finding them.)
A fresh start? At nearly 82 years of age?
Yes. About a month ago, I bit the bullet, began to eat only twice a day, with no snacks. Now up to what intermittent (I keep saying “interruptive”) fasters identify as an 18/6 schedule, having started at 16/8, and gradually increased the time between, so that my body could actually begin to consume its own waste products in a fabulous process called autophagy . . .
Yes, a month ago, I started over again in the most basic of ways. Something I have not done, ever.
(It’s astonishing how both my disciplined practices (to which I now include eating besides walking, yoga, taichi/chikung) and my out of control old-lady antics seem to co-exist, and quite easily!)
And BTW: Except for one apple a day, I no longer buy or consume sweets of any kind, even my beloved little rice puddings that I used as comfort food, one a day. Plus, all the other little extras that I thought I needed to keep me going in a life-long habit of basically eating, snacking all the time! Mostly fresh veggies and protein now, preferably meat, eggs, and cheese, with lots of coconut oil, avocado oil, and MCT oil. No “bad carbs” (bread, noodles, etc.). (That one wasn’t hard, since I’ve been gluten-free for nearly 30 years.) Inadvertently, I’m actually “saving money” by no longer indulging in all my little privileged specialties as we begin the long haul downhill into the swirling immensity of chaos.
In chaos, opportunity. Correct?
Do I consciously remember his stream well enough to comment now? Not really. But I do know that, along with other info/misinfo/disinfo I pick up along the way, especially from X, it sits, germinating, fermenting, inside a swirling mental/emotional pool that threatens to focus intense energy inside or outside at the strangest moment!
Such is the life of one near-82-year old, supposedly “conscious” woman, near the turn of the quarter century — a century she did not expect to ever be moving through; the world was supposed to end, said the channelers — in 1960! then 1984? then 2001? 2012! — meanwhile, still aiming to get and keep my own physical body attuned to this climactic period in his-story enough to be able to not only participate in this accelerating cosmic dance we humans have contracted to enjoy/endure, but to help shape it so that my own grandchildren may benefit.
”And you? My teacher looked up, his left eyebrow arched, pencil poised. 'I want to do a paper on the concept of time.’” I mumbled, timidly. 'Time?' He sniffed. “I wouldn’t touch the subject. Too difficult.” — AK, 1967
Ph.D. 83
Astrologer, published author, conference presenter, world traveler, founder & editor of Crone Chronicles: A Journal of Conscious Aging (1989-2001) , and founding visionary of Green Acres Permaculture Village (2010 to present).
Copyright © 2025 All rights reserved.
Hey Ben! Remind me of our connection. When and where,…