Shining through the Prevailing Gloom, THIS! As if the Dark was shot through with Light . .

March 5, 2026

Here’s what it looks like outside, this morning. Supposed to stop raining, for now, at around 9 AM. But who knows what’s next weatherwise, and when and for how long?

Meanwhile, I want to convey here an extraordinary encounter I had in my nearby bank branch during yesterday’s gloom. It’s as if the dark was shot through with light! With LOVE.

First, to set the stage:

Dogs are allowed. So Scampi (have been told he’s a “schnoodle”) trots in there like he owns the place. In fact, he garners so much attention that I’m surprised he’s still allowed in. Especially since, twice, in past month, when noticing a man in a uniform there (UPS driver), he barked, fiercely, twice each time, guarding the bank. And his bark, believe me, is awful: high, shrill, triggers my hair-trigger nervous system every time. Yesterday, when it happened for the second time, I joked, out loud, with a number of clerks nearby: “Hmmm. I wonder if he had another life in Nazi Germany . . .?”

Joking like that is endemic, for me. I simply can’t help myself. Just like the new code word that I must use when I call up my accounts: It is, shshsh, don’t tell . . . oops! I guess I shouldn’t say it here; but just know that it refers to my so-called social “status.”

And I say it, each time, very conspiratorially; the clerks love my calling out my advanced age in public.

So, yesterday, as I was doing my business, there was another man doing his business at the next window. I had noticed him briefly on the way in; old, like me, and looking somewhat excited, though hesitant, and even scared, as he walked around his small truck with camper atop it. Scampi of course, had gone up to him, and though distracted, he had stopped to offer his hand to Scampi’s curious nose.

So I went in, preceded by tiny King Scampi. And on up to one of the clerk stations. As I was doing my business, I happened to overhear the clerk next to mine ask, curiously, “Oh, and where are you going?”  That’s all. Didn’t hear the response. Didn’t think much of it. That nearby exchange had just blown through me, like the wind.

 

But then, when I  was done, and stepped aside, so did the old man, the two of us momentarily and inadvertently facing each other; divine timing, exact: as if the entire scene was staged.

I asked (like I so often do, engaging strangers in conversation): “Where are you going?”

And he told me: “Moss Beach,” which I picked up as located in some state east and south of here. Also picked up on his internal excitement.

“Oh, is it on the ocean?” I stood still, waiting . . .

“Yes!” To my look of curiosity, he continued, excitement now visible: “I am going to visit my cousin, whom I have not seen in 35 years!”

“Wow, 35 years! That got to me.

“How wonderful! Glad you’re still having adventures!”

His face was filling with joy.

I asked him how old he was. After a tiny moment of hesitation, he answered: “I’m 81.”

“Oh, well I’m 83!” I replied.

With this mutual admission, our communion was total. The two of us were one.

Yes, I couldn’t help but mind and heart meld with this wizened old man who, likely, had never engaged in a conversation such as the one we were having. My gaze had reached across the five foot chasm to his, and it was illuminated with joy, like that of an innocent child. I imagine my face appeared the same to him. Because I too, felt illumined with joy. The joy of discovery, moment by moment, that I am still alive!

Our communion was total. We had entered a higher, more soulful dimension, together, for a brief, but lingering moment in 3D. Both of us fully and utterly present, we had together, without even trying, opened space.

“SO GRATEFUL . . .” we both murmured, meaningfully, at once.

 

With that I wished him well, and to have a wonderful adventure.

His face was beginning to tear up as he turned away, embarrassed, murmuring, “Bless you.”

 

Wow, this little scene, standing in full public view, witnessed by others, in a bank! This moment of utter communion. Two beings, both aging, both growing old, rather than getting old, for one blessed moment, together, as One.

When unlikely scenes like this one are actual, what is not possible?

Remember, re-member:

OPENSPACE IS A VERB

 

 

 

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.