“She doesn’t want to die!”

October 30, 2025

No. Not me. My car! Finally, after nearly 20 years, my sweet faithful black Prius, which I bought used (10,000) for $19K and drove nearly 9000 miles across this country giving workshops on processing grief for two months, way back in 2006-7, keeping a journal along the way . . .

On the Road with TVB 

Excerpt:

. . . is now headed for the graveyard.

But not without objecting. In fact, once the salvage guy got her started (she has been sitting in Marita’s driveway for awhile now, just too scary to drive, given thick rust on the bottom), she refused to turn off.

Here’s Marita with the salvage guy, trying to figure it out.

It turned out that not even Marita, who had driven her most recently, could get her to go.

Their mutual consternation made me yell out, laughing, “She doesn’t want to die!”

After this, I admit, somewhat emotional parting, I asked Marita if she would take a couple of photos of me, one with no expression on my face, and the other with (slight) expression as I pass by strangers . . .

. . . knowing that my neutrality (on the inside) actually comes across as meanness, or depression (on the outside), all due to gravity’s pull on the face!

Of course! I’m nearly 83 now, and with no plans to exit this body in the near future. So wow, I guess I am like my old Prius after all.

 

Meeting Sekhmet, again.

October 30, 2025

Note: technical issues kept me from posting yesterday. So I plan to post twice today, and once tomorrow, before taking my three days off per week.

 

When I came across a post on X about Sekhmet (see below), I was instantly looped back into memory.

Memory of my own uncanny visitation with the same Sekhmet statute.

And yet, when I read back through this 1997 essay on my experience of meeting Sekhmet,

Meeting Sekhmet

 

I discover that I did not actually state the strong telepathic communication I received from her. Huh?

I distinctly remember a strong internal voice (not my own), in that tiny stone room, facing the stone goddess, announcing, definitively:

“Who do you think you are?

War is MY problem.” 

In other words, not the problem of this puny little human.

The reason I post this now is because it resonates with that post on X that I saw a few days ago.

And a more immediate reason I think back on it now is because a dear  woman in her 40s whom I know well, and who is constantly terrified that war is going to rain down upon us all, asked me, two days ago, why “war” no longer bothers me. Or I should say, why I no longer take it to be MY personal problem, what I personally must address.

Rather, I pay close attention to my own fiery nature, which, if I’m not aware, can degenerate instantly into a fighting posture. As it did, back in the 1980s, when I finally recognized that I had turned into a “violent peace activist” and stopped, instantly, retreating to my yurt in the Tetons and initiating what became a seven-year dialogue/rumination/resonance with Orphan Annie, to uncover and release the (often projected) violence in my own psyche.

Yes, this X post on Sekhmet reminded me of that long ago essay, which (except for the quote above!) detailed my slowly dying/death/rebirth experience during a 1992 trip to Egypt in this life. It is an experience that rings a loud bell in memory whenever I think of it, because it was that trip that shifted me from FEAR into LOVE. Not automatically, and not all at once. But, following work with Orphan Annie, it was the ignition point.

Unlike most people, or perhaps like most people, the fear of nuclear war sits below active awareness always, the feverishly imagined hell with burning bodies that I was taught as a Catholic child to fear (in order to keep me following the rules) that got mirrored exactly in August 6, 1945, with the Hiroshima “demonstration.”

And yet, I’ve not identified with this fear for over 30 years now. Instead, in the meantime, I’ve learned to play with an expanded awareness, or, I should say, a 5D awareness that includes the fears of 3D awareness without identifying with them.

Not surprisingly, I’m certainly not the only one who has experienced the Sekhmet temple at Karnak in an utterly uncanny manner.