Remember, “they” have to get and keep us in F.E.A.R. (False Evidence Appearing Real) in order to ensure compliance with whatever they want to do to us next.

[Of course the question is, who’s “they”? Or maybe whose “they”? Usually, if traced way back, we end up with “the reptilians.” Any more questions?]

So is this latest doomer narrative also a con?

Well, yes; IF we assume right/left brain integration, rather than just focusing on left brain data.

On the other hand, that’s hard to assume, given that the entire education (indoctrination) system focuses entirely on training left brain logic and data mining. Or, I should say, just about entirely. Of course there are courses in school called “art,” but they are considered adjunct, even frivolous, compared to the other.

For me: I tend to use AI when I want to investigate something, not to discover/uncover/recover “The Truth,” but to summarize the vast panoply of what humans, so far, think is The Truth.” I see AI as scouring the droppings of the collective left brain, which obviously, has some (though limited) value for anyone seeking to portray the (infinitely) larger, ongoing context of whatever is being focused on  at a certain moment in time/space.

I.e., if what I’m focusing on lies within my “Overton Window,” then AI can be utilized to situate that frame within a larger context, i.e., put that window/frame in perspective — which, of course, is itself always changing, evolving, etc.

I think of Jung’s “collective unconscious” here, as what is being mined moment by moment, by various AIs (chatdtp, gemini ai, grok, etc.).

The key is, remember! We humans are blessed with two brains: left and right.

If the left brain utilizes logic and empirical info gathered from five external senses — then the right brain, when open, utilizes intuition to access/range across unlimited “source” within the universal mystery.

How to attune to right brain intuition? Through dreams, visions, synchronicities, hunches, sudden revelations out of nowhere.

Important: don’t get “caught up” in left brain machinations! It’s all  fluff, moving fast, faster, so fast that without right brain to harness it, then yes, we are heading for the cliff of doom.

Here’s a Joe Allen piece relevant to what I speak of here. Note that it does not discuss the epistemological relevance of distinguishing left from right brain.

Don’t Call Me A Doomer, Whitey!

Meanwhile, check these out:

The right brain vs the left brain — do we have a choice?

Are you left brain or right brain?

Hmm. How about both! Not just one or the other. With left brain logic and data serving right brain hunches, questions, explorations.

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Over and over again, paragraph by paragraph, I discovered, uncovered, recovered insights that I, at that age, seemingly knew better than I do now! Grateful.

_Getting Older vs Growing Older_

Or maybe it’s just that the language I use is degrading over time. I find myself  linguistically “taking shortcuts;” or at least I think that’s how my self in 2007 would see my writing now.

In which case, I’m doubly glad that I have these older references to contemplate as I continue this archetypal Crone process of “growing older.”

Truly, it does feel as if everything I talk about I have, at some level, always known. Or at least since I began the profound work of looking deeply into myself to discover its mysterious multidimensionality.

I just decided to take this photo. Whew! So many wrinkles! Ego self says it’s so ugly I shouldn’t post it. But to hell with ego!

Or at least, Ann, make it smaller.

Nope. Here “I” am, folks. Today. With less than three months to go before my 84th birthday.

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As we turned and walked on, I couldn’t help but reply: “That’s a profound statement! Yes, keep moving to stay alive.”  

That short, authentic, interpersonal encounter left me, as they always do on these morning walks, with an uplifted heart.

And in this case, it wasn’t just my resonance, but their resonance too.

Yeah . . .

I “started living” a long time ago. In fact, back when I was 26. I knew I was to dismantle the cultural programming that had me trapped in roles. The decision was sudden, abrupt (thanks to the altered perception of my first LSD trip) — and to my surprise, took years to enact; in fact, the process of dismantling is ongoing.

So. “Abruptly decides to start living . . .” Hmmm . . . what about these folks? Might they “abruptly decide to start living?”

Or is it just too late. Did the “covid years” erase the aliveness from our world?

Yeah, during those years, thanks to my own decades-long deprogramming, I was decidedly a tin foil hat wearer . . .

But: IS it too late?

It’s never too late.

To begin the transformation, just remember:

Always true. Start noticing the voices. What do they say? Are they keeping you down or lifting you up? If the former, notice where they originate. In your childhood? In social media? Where?

Probably some kind of conglomeration.

In which case, please realize: in order to shift from negative to positive, we need to surrender to, engage in, relatively long term personal processing. Here’s how I did it.

Personal Processing

Yep. Time for transformation. And what’s relevant here: though at first it feels like a lonely journey, at some point we realize we are one among many. MANY.

On an intuitive hunch, I just asked gemini AI: has ” ‘personal transformation’ increased in usage over time?” Here’s the response:

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Let’s add the phenomenon of “consciousness,” “awareness” to the situation. Addiction is the tendency to unconsciously repeat. But then, what’s wrong with that? We all need to make some behaviors automatic, so that when we are driving a car, for example, we can also be thinking about all sorts of things other than driving.

Okay, so let’s divide the situation further into Good Addictions and Bad Addictions. What’s a good addiction? Well, see above. The ability to drive a car. It’s automatic; and only when another car does something unexpected, nearly causing us to crash, do we wake up to the moment, and take conscious charge of our driving.

Our daily routines are addictions, and can be good or bad.

Let’s take “bad” first. These addictions are ones that make us feel guilty, dragged down, stuck, bored, ashamed, and so on. Whether substance abuse, or simply not getting nearly enough sleep at night, or alternatively, getting too much sleep, or “on screen” constantly instead, these bad habits make us feel yucky, as if we are wasting our lives away — which we are!

If good, then these addictions help center us while giving meaning and purpose to our days. For example: At this point, I reserve two hours in late morning for these ak.net posts. Or something having to do with my writing projects, including especially now, adding more content to tendrepress.com. It feels good to have a purpose, and a routine designed to get me where I want to go. I also reserve the first two hours of my morning for my chai tea elixir (altered a few years ago to chai coffee (two ounces) elixir), after   initial exercises, followed by a 3-4 mile walk.

In any case, just know that, as an addictive personality, I’ve had to wrestle, forever, asking for conscious awareness of “bad habits.” Asking myself to look at any habit, and decide whether it’s good or bad, and whether I want to continue it. This process is lifelong. I sense that my amazing health at this point in my long life has much to do with my increasing awareness of what habits contribute to health; what kinds and amounts of nutrition, exercise, and daily practices of all kinds contribute to not just longevity, but sheer, aliveness! As long as I’m here, I want to truly BE HERE. NOW.

Here’s the ebook I just created (using combinepdf.com) of all sorts of essays related to the phenomenon of addiction in one way or another. MY SECRET LIFE: Ten Tools for Transformation, contains yet another essay, “Taking Charge of Addictions” not included in this new Addiction ebook.

Oh wow. I just realized that I added this ebook months ago to tendrepress! Oh well! I need to keep better lists . . .

ADDICTION E-BOOK

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Aries Full Moon ~ September 26, 2026

She sets the chart for Washington, D.C., which puts the 3° Libra Sun on the 1° Libra MC opposite Neptune and Moon at 2° and 3° Aries on the IC. Both path and root activated. Plus note the grand trine that I pointed to in the Equinox chart post. 

Autumn Equinox (0°00 Libra Sun) late the 22nd; Full Moon (2-3° Aries conjunct Neptune) the 26th.

Aries, Aries, Aries: NEW BEGINNINGS.

It sure does seem that the entire political, social, cultural world is being reconfigured.

Wow. Are we in for some profound (Pluto) rollicking (Uranus) times, all set within a visionary (Neptune) reach that spins out to infinity!

Make sure your intuitive right brain is actually active, as it will be necessary as we go forward. Gone are the days when we could just count on the left brain’s logic to both assess our situation and determine the direction forward.

That “direction forward” is spreading, dissolving, increasing, eluding, immersing, moment by moment!

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What a morning! What a lucky one am I!

We walked on the south side of the lake. An extraordinary adventure. Not all trails are shown above. Usually Scampi and I walk the “Hiking Trail” on the north side of the lake.

Bloomington is full of wonderful places to walk or hike. Another example, Goat Park to Olcott Park, which we do, twice weekly. A seven-minute drive to get there.

This morning, Scampi, our scout, was always ahead, but stopped at each trail crossing, to wait and see which way to go next.

Walking and hiking for me, are akin to breathing. Been doin’ it since I was a teenager, many miles each day. At first Carissa wondered if I was aware of roots under fallen leaves, etc. etc., but soon realized that if anyone fell on our walk, it would probably be her.

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OPENSPACE IS A VERB

The essays collected into this ebook were published as weekly columns in late 1977, at the invitation of the newspaper publisher when I returned to my hometown, Twin Falls, Idaho, back in my early 30s.

After the seventh column, the publisher took me out to lunch to explain that he couldn’t continue publishing my columns, because his phone was ringing off the hook with either outraged or thrilled locals, and the newsroom itself had been permeated with my vibration (I’m sure he did not use that word “vibration,” but you get the gist.) So the final column I had prepared got axed. I include it here, underneath the ebook.

Coming Back Home

EYES ARE LIGHT SENSITIVE.pdf

This article (above) was published a few years later in a publication I started and ran, local news for locals, for two years (prior to leaving town again.)

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The timing could not be more precise. Fall Equinox occurs tomorrow,  September 22, at 6:15 PM. EDT.

Lots of interest here. First of all, and this sets the tone, the atmosphere of the Equinox: one planet on an angle: Saturn in Aries in 12th, approaching 15° Ascendant. Brand new beginnings, proceeding slowly, deliberately.

Note, on this very Equinox day, the Sun at 0°00 Libra is forms an opposition with Neptune at 3°05 Aries. The need for harmony in one to one relationships is both fraught with tension and yet tending to blend in with dreamy Neptune in Aries. In other words, our efforts at connecting with “the enemy” manifest when we empathize with what “the enemy” is going through, feeling.

Or even better: as this meme points out: healing in ourselves the projection that we unconsciously placed upon the other which attracted him or her to us in the first place!

But especially, I’d say, note the grand trine in air, and this incudes the Sun at 0°00 Libra (the degree and minute that always denotes the Fall Equinox): Uranus at 5° Gemini, with Pluto at 3° Aquarius. Both outer planets, moving extremely slowly, and now in harmony, signifying long-term, deeply unconscious, ultimately welcome shifts; and, in this case, since all three planets are in communicative, informative air, shifts of of PERSPECTIVE.

Add to this the “mystic rectangle,” also involving, once again, the 0°00 Libra Sun, with both Mars at nearly 27° Cancer, Neptune at 3° Aries, and, again, Pluto at 3° Aquarius. This aspect pattern includes two tense oppositions: Pluto with Mars, Sun with Neptune, those oppositions enveloped/protected by four harmonious aspects — two trines and two sextiles. Tensions dissolve when we recognize not just our human species as a whole (Pluto in Aquarius) but actually feel our common humanity. What is it like to be a human being, here, anywhere? For you, for me?

We are all in this together, whatever it is; all we know is we are sailing through infinite space, encouraged and protected at this Autumn Equinox by the grand trine in air while challenged by the mystic rectangle that includes and harmonizes two contentious oppositions.

And remember: both these larger patterns include the Sun, on this Autumn Equinox, at 0°00 Libra.

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I originally called it my “Recapitulation Project.” And after a hiatus from that name too, I bring it back to life.

All along, in order to do this, I’ve had to pull essays out of old periodicals (some of which I was the publisher for, some not), or off shelves, or out of file drawers, etc. etc., make google docs of them, and then file as pdfs into categories for tendrepress. The list of categories is still incomplete . . . That’s what I’m working on now, as I go back through the essays.

Why am I doing this? Basically, because this work is actually a labor of love, in that it helps me complete my life cycle. I do it for myself, at least, and at best! Most of my written work is both philosophical and personal, so going back through these articles brings up memories, some of which I had “forgotten”? And more I remember, the richer my life process.

A note about “philosophical and personal” — this is a rare combination. But obviously guided for one such as myself, a triple Sagittarian (Sun, Ascendant, and Mars), who cannot help but speak from personal experience about abstract matters. The first two are in the first house of self-expression; the third, Mars, is in the 12th house — so I’m continuously delving into the unconscious to pull up and out more and more!

Mars itself opposes Uranus exactly, in my natal chart. Which is interesting in itself, since I am at present experiencing the mysterious expanse of the Uranus Return, when this planet curves back around its 84 year cycle for the first (and only) time. If you have not lived as long as I have, you have no way of understanding what I’m going through! So in a sense, this business of completing a cycle longer than most people’s lifetime is inherently lonely — if I choose to experience it that way. Another way to experience it is to see/feel/endure/celebrate the mysterious spaciousness that  explosively opens with the return of this planetary cycle.

Today I feature here a long-winded essay that I wrote back in 1981, at age 39, when I was undergoing the half-cycle of Uranus! This may have been the first essay I wrote since I completed and defended my PhD dissertation, at age 28 (first Saturn Return).

(If you are not one who tracks your life through astrological cycles, I highly recommend learning how to do this, as one deeply mysterious and meaningful way of “making sense” of the continuously swirling opening.)

So here’s the essay, and it is a doozy. A gushing forth of what I had been holding within. I can look back now and see that it contains most or all of themes and preoccupations that have driven me ever since.

LIGHT STRIKES THE PINEAL GLAND AT BIRTH

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Since then I’ve added one new phrase to my lexicon when speaking about sexuality and gender: “biological essentialism.”

I am a biological essentialist.

Has _Celebrating Diversity_ Devolved into _Identity Politics__

The post I still haven’t changed my mind about the trans and other nonsense. appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

I Wish People Would Ask, _Why Were You Unable to Mother Your Own Children__

Here’s an e-book I created from various essays on the subject.

On Mothering

The post Essays on Processing Pain as a New Mother appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Then there were the ones standing, waiting for a bus, all together and each one isolated, busy with his or her cell phone.

I wish I had some photos of what I saw. Not that you too don’t see it every day (unless you too are busy on your phone). But wait: I can’t get photos unless I have my cell phone with me on walk! So forget that!

I’m of an age that remembers seeing my first “personal computer” in someone’s home; must have been back in the late ’70s, and an entire corner of a room was devoted to it.

I’m also one who was married (from 1990 until he died in 2003) to Jeff Joel, whose dad, Amos Joel, invented the cell phone . . . 

And now, they’re literally everywhere. Demanding attention, each isolated person’s fleeting attention, flitting from one thing to another, and another and another. . .

This morning, I don’t remember seeing anyone walking without at least a pocketed cell phone. And I’d say that at least 80% had their cell phones in their hands, with at least 50% of the 80% focusing on them while walking. 

Usually I’m more focused on the trees, the twittering birds at their very tippy tops, the squirrels scampering up and down. But today? No. I found myself disturbed by cell phones. Disturbed by, not only the anonymity, but the actual anomie this phenomenon has introduced into society, so that, not only “anything goes,” but who knows what’s real?

I’m real. Are you?

.

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Ever since I returned from trip to North Carolina for the Crone gathering, I’ve noticed that I must be allergic to something. This is rare for me; in fact, I hardly remember being allergic to anything ever. But runny nose, sinus involvement, and weird coughing to clear my throat tell me it’s true.

Which means, I have a feeling, that for some reason my immune system is not working as well as it should.

Which is not surprising, given that the week with daughter-in-law Sue feels like a whirlwind that finally blew over. While we had a great time, I’m not used to such intensity for days on end.

At nearly 84 years old, I’d much rather be “at peace,” thank you!

Which means, I have a feeling, that my days as a long-distance traveler are over, or nearly over. I remember an aunt of mine, how she used to travel with groups long distance. I wonder how old she was when she stopped. Was she my age now? Older?

Today, after the third bad night’s sleep in a row (too much sneezing, coughing), I walked as usual this morning with Scampi. Before the sun came up. In fact, we got home after 3.5 miles just as the sun was peeking above the horizon. I noticed while walking, that my usual fast morning stride has slowed. Indeed, I have to remind myself to speed it up when I notice how slowly I’m walking. This unnerves me.

Growing older, yes, is not for sissies.

I hope to get a nap later this morning, so that I can go over to the nearby mall at 11:30, and the Endright Center for Aging, to sign up for a “health screen.” (Offered free, every six months.) On the other hand, should I do it now? Or should I wait until I feel more myself, more alive. Hmmm . . .

If I DO get a health screen, it will be the first time in many months of trying to figure out how I would go about it, the first time that I was able to actually check my health through the usual allopathic metrics. And, it would be the first time in at least ten years that I was inside, even briefly, the American medical system.

LATER:

I did go over to the Endright Center, and I did get a nap beforehand. That nap, in fact, seemed to have “cured” my  lingering malaise.

Meanwhile, my health indicators are A+! (I asked the nurse to add the A+).

I wonder if the nap itself shifted the metrics.

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On the final day, yesterday, Sue and I decided to tour the Eskenazi Museum of Art, before going to lunch at FARM Bloomington.

IM Pei design. Lots of galleries. We figured our tour might take about an hour. Oh? Are you kidding? This must be one of the world’s major collections, with gigantic winding rooms featuring contemporary, medieval, african, oriental, etc. etc. art. Part way through we decided that we’d better just glance at most of the stuff, and stop before what really grabbed us. Here’s two that grabbed me:

I used to be able to go for weeks with an intense schedule; I remember especially the years when I would drive to Salt Lake, or San Francisco (from where I lived in a yurt in Jackson Hole), and stay with a friend a week or more, doing three or four “charts” (i.e., astrological readings) a day. And that included figuring them out, setting them up, and then making good copy on parchment paper for the client! This was prior to internet programming.

The reason I would travel when I did was because my taxes were due, or I wanted to go overseas.

Two nights ago, I barely slept; I mean slept maybe 45 minutes three times at three hour intervals. My body was stuck on our week-long adrenalized rush. Couldn’t turn it off.

Today IS better. Scampi and I walked, fast, at 6:30 AM for an hour, arriving back home just as the sun rose. Then I  made soup, starting with bone broth that I made last night from frozen chicken bones (from several twice-monthly Green Acres Community Dinners). This morning I chopped up, with great difficulty, a “porcelain doll pink pumpkin” that the squirrels had begun to to chew on and dropped it into the broth.

Not that I wanted to make the soup.

But I didn’t want to lose the squash.

There’s one more out there. Hope somebody else gets it before the squirrels do.

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I was struck by just how authentic women are when we gather together, especially older women, women who’ve “been around the block” and have nothing more to prove. By turns hilarious and deeply serious, every scheduled event, whether it was my 7-member Wisdom Circle meeting once each day, or our morning Story-Telling times, or Friday evening’s  “Honoring the Elders” ceremony (13 of us, over 80, with one 94), or Saturday evening’s “Murder by Chocolate” followed by “Folies” — we retired each day bleary-eyed, exhausted, and utterly thrilled for this annual opportunity to gather, in this case, “Together We Rise,” the theme of the gathering.

I was especially moved by how many women came up to me personally to say how they had always wanted to meet me, on and on and on. By the fact that I DO indeed have “celebrity status” in this crone movement to bring her back into this culture to take her rightful place as a Woman of Wisdom, or at least as a woman who has lived long enough to know that she knows nothing, but that she feels everything, all of it, not just her own feelings, but those within her reach as well, while having learned how, also, through rough times, to hold her own, to maintain her boundaries.

And why do I have celebrity status? Because I had the temerity, back in 1989, to follow the long-term direction of a numinous Dream: of Raven, clawing on my shoulders, cawing “Wake Up! It’s time!

And what’s amazing to me now, is to see the word Crone, if you search for it on google. . .

I took no photos at the gathering, though I’m sure there will be photos incoming on the Crone Awakening Wisdom website. I just asked daughter-in-law Sue to email me one photo, of the glorious sight that met our eyes one early morning when we looked east over the top of The Mountain,” where we were gathered.

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WOW. So wonderful that my own daughter-in-law wants to go with me. I never would have thought to ask her!

https://croneawakeningwisdom.wildapricot.org/In-Person-Gatherings

For me, this will be like coming home, to a part of myself that erupted from within, via a numinous dream that startled me awake, back in July 1989. That’s 37 years ago! The dream: of an enormous raven, standing on my shoulders, cawing, WAKE UP! IT’S TIME!

I tend to see myself as the one who unearthed the Crone archetype from her burial, long ago, in the collective unconscious. But of course, I’m not the only one. As usual, with any event or timeline destined to be culturally significant, many others awakened at the same time. That’s just the way it works!  And I just happened to have the skills, time, and determination to ignite the crone movement. Via, at first, a magazine, Crone Chronicles: A Journal of Conscious Aging which ran for 12 years (one Jupiter cycle) and then, three years later, finding Shauna Adix, then director of the Women’s Center at the University of Utah, to begin the annual Crone Counsels, which ran for 30 years (one Saturn cycle). Now a new cohort is carrying on the tradition, with new energy, awakening us further to the wisdom that has been missing for so long. Notice, BTW: that this new beginning carries the Raven energy forward, thanks to the CAW initials for “Crone Awakening Wisdom”!

Two essays that give the flavor of my own Crone awakening:

Reworking Memory, Invoking Crone

THE CRONE CHRONICLES EXPERIMENT

What’s terrifically exciting to me is that Sue wanted to come! The mother of my grandchildren has now reached her own Crone stage; so good to be introducing another generation to this august Crone presence.

We leave tomorrow at 6 AM, hopefully to arrive by 2:30 PM. Back Sunday night. No posts here until Monday.

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How can we NOT real-eyes we have been MK Ultra programmed?

I “woke up” at 26, and since then have never totally succumbed to the cultural programming. Though I did come close, especially during the second wave of “feminism” years and their aftermath.

What is, and has always been, my soul-ution: two full hours of “physical culture” wherein I get and remain grounded. Yoga, chikung, taichi, daily. Plus walk four  to five miles daily, all senses alive, absorbing and appreciating the birds, the bees, the trees, the breeze. Plus internally: notice my body as it moves through space, its long, purposeful, rhythmic stride.

So grateful!

GRATITUDE IS MY ATTITUDE!

No matter how instinctively paranoid (i.e., pattern-seeking) my busy brain, walking shifts me into pronoia.

For if paranoia is preparing for the worst (related to “anxiety”), pronoia is preparing for the best (“optimism”).

Yes. For decades now, the universe bends in the direction of my intent.

Here and now, in my little world. The only one I know. The one that counts.

Meanwhile, there are times, like today, when someone joins me on my walk. Usually I help that person work through whatever is up for them during this storied time. Appropriate work for an 83-year-old elder.

And I always say, to others, and to myself: “If you think you’ve got it bad, notice what the next person is going through!” Instant perspectival shifting! Our noticing is empathic. We recognize that none of us is immune to the pressure of suddenly emerging karmic lessons.

Please remember, re-member (put yourself back together again!) the larger context of whatever is the overton window frame through which you are perceiving. This context is always, always, infinitely expanding!

Neptune in Aries, since late January 2026, and for the next 14 years.

We begin again, by opening, truly opening, to Mystery as we DARE TO DO OUR THING.

https://valerietejeda.substack.com/p/the-last-time-neptune-moved-through

Excerpt:

The post From Clancy-fied to Captivating appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

No abortion for him.

Of course as a ’60s feminist, there was a time when I was all for abortion, if needed for the mother’s health, whether mental or physical. In fact I too, had one abortion, back in 1973.

On the surface, at the time, I thought nothing of it.

Deep down, it bothered me immensely.

So here we are:

Have you noticed, whenever there is a “hot-button issue” that grabs everybody, no matter what “side” you’re on, memes ignite and spread like wildfire?

A few more:

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BTW: I am among those who thank the “lone male juror” who held out in the Clancy case, refusing to let her go free. And I feel for him. No doubt, he will be outed. And then what?

First, on a lighter note, this entire scenario may help some people realize:

And then, on a not so lighter note, but instead note the weird synchronicity with the death of one of the icons for my “second wave” feminist generation: Gloria Steinem.

And yeah, I’d say I fell for that (CIA) psy-op, opening a path for me to actually leave 6 and 8 year old sons with their narcissistic dad for most of the year —  a desertion which then, once I woke up, necessitated a decades’ long forgiveness ritual. In fact, I’d say it’s still ongoing.

Meanwhile, here’s an ultra-long, detailed twitter post that, I feel, captures the horrific cascading marauding essence of the ghastly spell that the Clancy psy-op has cast over humanity.

It begins:

Let’s face it: we’ve entered truly horrifying territory.

Let us pray that we can emerge from this psy-op hell eventually, with each of us as an individual, male or female, and especially with each child forever treasured and protected, as well as all of us humans as a species, united in our return to sanity.

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Here’s her latest.

She also refers to another recent case, where a Frankfort Illinois mother supposedly hung her two year-old child, after being psy-oped by the Clancy case.

Yuck.

I’m reminded of my own experience, back in the ’60s when my two sons were small and I felt trapped in a loveless marriage.

I too, felt murderous at times! You bet! Anyone who cares for children that they did not want in the first place, and who has no one to speak to about their inner predicament, cannot help but feel frustrated to the point of rage. For my own part, I am ashamed now to say that, luckily for my sons, I had a cat that I used to throw against the wall.

I have collected some of my essays on Mothering, here.

ON MOTHERING

For some reason, this morning, as I was looking back, I remembered that my own problem with “playing a role”   began during the time my kids were very small.

And that memory suddenly then collided with another one, of the psychiatrist R.D. Laing’s first book, The Divided Self (1960). This book blew my mind wide open, helped me immeasurably to begin to work internally with the various compartmentalized parts of my embodied self. His mental bifurcation between the role we have learned to play for others and the existential inner self made total sense. That book was my life raft.

Okay, fast forward to now, when “being crazy” is considered an excuse for murder. Geez!

So, whatever happened to the storied concept of free will? Are we simply soulless automatons, acting out whatever impulses are pumped through us from wherever? No personal responsibility, for anything? Really?

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Whenever I walk into nearby Kroger, I’m confronted with a large sign advertising FREE FLU SHOTS. Yuck.

Kroger’s flu sign reminds me so much of those “storied” covid years, starting in 2020 precisely on my dead doctor dad’s birthday, March 11, when the corporate media suddenly mind-controlled the American public into total F.E.A.R. (false evidence appearing real), via a world-wide rollout of weird phrases. . .

Geez! Just reading through the above list makes me feel weirdly, psychically and emotionally, contaminated.

If I had been “alienated” from society before, that rollout and its poisonous aftermath trajected me into the stratosphere!

It’s been going on seven years, and I still see people with masks driving alone in closed cars. It’s rare, but it does happen. Meanwhile, we endured the “fifth amendment Fauci” display 113 times. But then, what did I expect? How many people in this life are capable of admitting mistakes? Am I?

I still wonder what my doctor Dad would have said about that massive cultural psy-op. Given that he was utterly against what he saw coming, the integration of independent physicians into a “medical system,” I have a sense that the two of us — who had devolved into total polarity, with, for example, him lambasting me for “wasting your good brain” on astrology — would have been utterly sympatico in this arena.

Meanwhile, after many decades of working holistically with my own health (while remaining totally “insured”), at one point this year I decided to see if I could re-enter the medical SYSTEM. Just for a check-up. What a fool. Still stymied. To hell with it.

The post I look back on the Crazed Covid Crapola era appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

We “second-wave feminists” are exiting this plane.

Which pulls me back into remembering . . .

1964. I was married to Patrick, who was pursuing his MA in Architecture from Harvard. Not quite 22 years old, with two small sons, we had just arrived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and I was, as usual, in the doldrums. What had become of my life? It was obviously not my life; pregnancy had “forced” me to marry (given my then allegiance to strict Catholic upbringing), and basically, I personally saw no future that was actually mine. I was a functionary, period.

Enter Nancy, the wife of another Harvard student, classmate of Patrick. She and I began to have coffee together, in the mornings at my kitchen table with a view of the Charles River, 20 stories below. I could and sometimes do, date the beginning of my real life to those morning coffee dates with Nancy.

It didn’t take long before we were speaking intimately, finding ourselves digging deeper and deeper, divulging personal feelings about our lives, the direction they were taking, our mutual frustration. Indeed, we were, without consciously realizing it, beginning to see our lives sociologically, in terms of the “roles” we were playing.

Note: we weren’t “blaming” men. That way of twerking the situation, and the inevitable politization, polarization, was NOT what we had in mind. Our men were in “roles” too. And, likely, none of us, male or female if we really looked deeply, were happy about it.

I had never thought about “roles” before! Nor had Nancy.

One might say now, that we were actually seeing how we were “plugged into the matrix.”

Or: one might say that we were seeing, getting an actual perspective on, the “framework,” the “overton window” through which we perceived the external world.

Get it? This was a HUGE DEAL. Anytime we step outside a limited frame, to notice the frame itself, we open to infinity. Or we can. But very people realize this. It’s too scary. So most people just place each frame within another larger one. But what if, instead, we use that opening to let go of limits of any kind?

Glorida Steinem was one of the pioneers who played a role for us. But Betty Friedan, at least for me, her book, The Feminine Mystique, was my own personal wake-up call.

Her femous remark, “the problem that has no name,” haunted me. I read this book before we landed in Cambridge, while we were living in the D.C. area, right after it was published, in February 1963. I was still completing my B.A., had one child already, with another on the way.

There was no one, I repeat, no one, with whom I could discuss this “problem.” I was alone, and desperate for company.

My morning coffees with Nancy, in 1964, without our realizing it — all we knew was that we were so glad to connected in a real way, stripping off the masks — were among of thousands of tiny, but it turned out, extremely fertile seeds that evolved into “the women’s movement.”

Our two-person connection was soon joined by “consciousness-raising” groups everywhere.

The post Gloria Steinem Death prompts reflections on my own personal “origin story” as a “feminist” appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

For decades now, my life has been rhythmically patterned, with daily walks and exercise primary. What I call my “two hours of physical culture.”  Without this grounding, nothing else gets done. Without it, I would probably be dead by now, or at least, given my fiery temperament, completely crazed.

DETAILED DAILY HEALTH ROUTINE: because, “at 83, the alternative is entropy”

BTW: from now on, when I refer, even obliquely in this blog, to my astrological chart, I’m going to direct the reader to its online presence, just in case readers are interested in this symbolic language which maps the unique signature moment when the soul chooses to re-enter this material world. I remain eternally grateful for my attraction, indeed, to what became my fascination, over 60 years ago, with this extraordinarily powerful language, that can help make sense of the lives of even the weirdest among us!

AK Astrology

Today, on my morning walk with Scampi, I happened to notice that my schedule, my daily pattern, is, once again, mutating. Now, I spend only one to two hours with daily compositions, usually posted here. That’s now, in the morning, 10 AM to 12 PM.

This is way down from even a few years ago. I do seem to be retiring to a more relaxed form of life.

Well, I’d say, yes, and NO. I’m German, after all, possibly genetically programmed to live my life with purpose — not just randomly, not just “holding on until I die.”

So, in lieu of so much computerizing, I’ve recently instituted a new 1 to 2 hour slot: and that is, after my one hour nap (1-2 PM), I aim, for the near future, to tackle one clean-up or reorganization project. For today? Clean up the front porch — especially the shelves. This, despite the extreme heat (expected to go peak at 94° this afternoon). Will I make it outside? Or will I change to a clean-up project inside. We’ll see. The porch does have a ceiling fan.

During heat waves, I always walk Scampi even earlier than usual in the morning, starting out just prior to sunrise. And for our shorter evening walk, we wait until almost sunset, when it does begin to cool off. In these habits, not surprisingly, I pass by many many other early morning and evening walkers!

The post “ROUTINE BUILDS CHARACTER” . . . I notice gradually shifting priorities appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

FLEA TRAPS

For the last few months I’ve been dealing with fleas inside the house. Both dog and cat are indoor/outdoor, so no wonder. Plus, both dog and cat are supposedly protected from fleas and ticks due to expensive flea collar (just put on a second one this year on Scampi) and other monthly, expensive poisons squeezed onto the backs of their necks. Yuck!

Plus, Marita keeps the grass mowed outside, and sprays an essential oil mix on that area weekly.

This problem is nothing new. I always deal with fleas during hot humid Indiana summers. But for some strange reason, this year I completely forgot the most important remedy of all. FLEA TRAPS!

Instead, I’ve been vacuuming, the entire house, daily. That takes a full hour each time, including underneath couch cushions, etc., plus washing blankets on couch and my own sitting chair over and over and over again. Plus constantly puffing way too much diotomaceous earth everywhere. Plus combing through Scampi’s hair twice a day. . . Usually find five to seven fleas . . .

An endless Sisyphusian task. And what’s really weird. I wondered why do I have so many fleas this year? Why do these little critters dominate my day no matter what I do?

Then yesterday, I suddenly remembered the flea traps. Seven of them altogether, one per room, two for living room. I’ve been using flea traps each summer forever!

Is this significant memory hole just to be expected as I age? I wonder.

So I got the stored flea traps out, and brought them upstairs. seven in all. Put new sticky mats in each one, made sure each light worked, and set them into dark corners of various rooms. A big plus: I didn’t even have to go to the hardware to get either lights or sticky mats; I had extras here of both. (That’s a first. Usually, I have to do this also, in prep.) So thank you, Ann. For your forward thinking attitude at the end of last summer!

Which reminds me: Wendell Berry, who passed yesterday at 92, was a hero and model for all of us who see our purpose helping to regenerate this beautiful Earth, beginning where we live, right here, right now, at home, place-based. For me, that’s right here in Green Acres Permaculture Village. Thank you Wendell, for the far-reaching, revisionary template you created. You left New York for Kentucky in the 1960s, to move back to the place that birthed generations of Berrys, and in so doing, helped birth the “back to the land” movement, as well as may other hippie values, including, at least for me, an old hippie, this way of putting it into words:  “Money is a mere scrim upon Nature.”

Kentucky writer, farmer and advocate Wendell Berry dies at 92

I find it interesting that he passed only slightly more than two months after Trump signed the regenerative agriculture bill.

https://www.whitehouse.gov/presidential-actions/2026/06/advancing-regenerative-agriculture-and-strengthening-american-farm-resilience/

The post I Discover an actual HOLE in my MEMORY! PLUS, RIP WENDELL BERRY appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

 Thank goodness for other people!

Thank goodness that “all my relations” includes not just the natural world but fellow humans too!

Mitakuye Oyasin!

I have a sense that most of us see this Lakota phrase as helpful for us to feel our interconnectedness, our “interbeing,” with all more or less fleeting forces within the ever flowing web of life; every creature or any size or temperament, every structure and process in this mysterious multiverse. I’ve long identified with this phrase, and find Nature herself deeply welcoming.

But other people! That’s where I fall short.

Very short.

Even so, I realize that the only way I learn about myself is through relations with others. And am eternally grateful for the mirrors they provide.

I see the origins of what seems to be my lifelong tendency to snarkiness as stemming from my Libran mother. Not that she’s “to blame” for my snarkiness, but she too, was quite capable of this kind of behavior (her Mars in Scorpio). When I was young, my siblings noticed this; I, however, did not. Even though I was the oldest. And it may be because I was the oldest, born so early on. My Dad left for the WWII when I was only nine months old. So it was just the two of us, Mom and me. This, in contrast to my sisters and brothers, all but one of whom who were born after the war, and so by that time, human relations in family life were growing more complex, with more personalities involved, more chances for each of us so see how certain behaviors from others, both sibs and mother, were not helpful in getting along!

In any case, whatever the origins, I do of course, also utilize the language of astrology for self-analysis and development. My own chart happens to include a rare triangular formation called a YOD. It includes first house Capricorn Mercury/Venus square (90° friction) (very public) Libra Neptune/MC, plus inconjuncts (150° uncomfortable, constant adjustment) to both primal, generational Pluto in Leo and stern taskmaster Saturn in Gemini, themselves in a harmonious 60° sextile . . .

Here’s the kicker: This entire, and in my case, very tight, difficult triangular YOD formation (with Mercury/Venus/Neptune/MC/Saturn/Pluto)  is also known as a “FINGER OF GOd.” In other words, get with it Ann! Learn this lesson before you die!

Meanwhile, my snarky egocentric self is, and has always been, always just a hair’s breadth away. And can infect any atmosphere, like it tried to do in yesterday’s group discussion. Luckily, the other three present were having none of it; and their subtle reach to include me in an atmosphere of kindness, forgiveness, etc. managed to soften my “stance.”

As I said, thank goodness for the “others” in my life! Without them I would not even notice my own projections!

I am so “sick and tired” of my controlling nature!

The good news: on today’s early morning walk with Scampi, I noticed what happened yesterday more fully, and then noticed, way more fully than usual, THAT I HAD NOT FORGIVEN MYSELF FOR THAT SUDDEN, ERUPTIVE, EGOCENTRIC BEHAVIOR.

THAT second, higher level noticing, was impactful. In fact, it may be that this was the very first time I noticed it so quickly! I thank my daily, decades-long walking routine, my strong, resilient, 83-year-old body’s daily immersion into the natural world — striding under gigantic sheltering oak trees, myriad twittering birds, scampering squirrels, shadows on pavement with the rising sun —  for my sudden eruptive (Uranus!) capacity to thoroughly forgive myself.

For this was, as usual, the crucial step needed to begin again.

Mitakuye Oyasin!

The post Mitakuye Oyasin! I find that even my snarky ego can be forgiven. . . appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

When I opened the admin for this site yesterday I noticed that the post for the day before (August 27), was still in draft form. Feeling disgusted with myself, I instantly posted it. This was just prior to yesterday’s post, about our morning visit to Griffy trails. The post for August 27, published on August 28, also referred to my morning . . . but it was a different morning.

Okay, that latest befuddlement of once-in-a-lifetime transit Neptune opposite Neptune gaff out of the way, here’s another post, this one also looking like I’m confused; and I am! Recent memories fragment and swirl around; case in point: This morning (August 29), I was at Bloomingfoods Coop, when a man walked in, greeted Scampi, then looked up at me, and said “Hi! Remember me? I met you at Bryan Park when we were walking our dogs.” I was flummoxed by his instant friendliness, first of all. Flummoxed by the fact that he remembered something while I did not; or rather, I have a vague memory of a recent Bryan Park walk; but when was it? Two weeks ago? Just can’t recall. We walk long distances each day, and are constantly meeting up with people and their dogs.

So while to him, I probably just appeared a bit lost, perhaps even in the first stages of dementia, what actually went on within me then was I did remember him, in the sense that his face was very familiar. I wish I would have said that; instead, I just looked startled.

Hmm . . . am I entering the “first stages of dementia”? Somehow I doubt it. I do think, however, that I am fully participating in the collective unconscious confusion during this time, when “things” (including the incorporation of AI into Life on Earth) are moving faster and faster and literally nobody can keep up. What does it even mean to “keep up”???!? in what feels more and more like “the singularity,” catapulting from 3D space/time into  . . . what? WHAT? A black hole? A dimension beyond anything we have even considered? Because it’s too much, just too much?

Some humans, I realize — call them NPCs?— are into their own little worlds, blind to whatever mystery swirls beyond their tiny, solipsistic bubbles.

I envy them . . .

For more on this theme and beyond . . . check out Elizabeth Nickson’s latest:

Unfortunately, with visionary, idealistic Neptune at the my natal Midheaven, square (in friction with) both Venus and Mercury in Capricorn in the first house of my chart, I naturally, and always, want to (Venus), give linguistic (Mercury) form (Capricorn) to the atmosphere, aura, invisible collective unconscious mood, currently infecting/infecting (Neptune at Midheaven) Life on Earth.

(Come on, Ann! As if the map could ever be the territory!)

And since Neptune, for my generation (born 1942-1957), is oriented towards personal relationships (Libra), including those I encounter in daily life, like the friendly man who felt so familiar this morning — a few moments after our sudden, fast moving (Neptune in ARIES) encounter, I was startled to realize that he HAD remembered where we met (Bryan Park), even though that was a couple of weeks ago. Does he walk his dog every day in that park? So that our encounter would be more likely to stick with him, since I walk in so many different places each morning?

Would that make the difference between my memory and his?

The post A NEPTUNIAN TALE: And yes, my world? the world? is swirling swirling . . . appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

I knew I needed to get back in the forest. To feel the generous spacious blessing in the presence of trees, all invisibly conjoined, underground, feeding each other nutrients. I knew I had to remember that we humans are also trees, rooted Below, open to the surround, seeking the mysterious Above; for when we DO manage to halt, for a few moments — or even a few minutes (if we’re lucky) — that frantic busy bee monkey mind, or I should say, feel through the barrier monkey mind presents, to deeply sense our own mysterious bodily interior, that spacious presence in which our bodies, each one like a tree, an antenna for Earth, is enveloped, like a prayer, a blessing — then my forest walk would bear fruit.

Which it did. It always does. Always.

And of course, I couldn’t help but stop and reverently place my forehead on one of the tall standing trees, remain there for nearly a minute, until the usual incipient dizziness pushed me back.

Some photos. Shown in chronological order.

Here we are having already taken the trail to the top of the hill, the morning light hinting: yes, follow the trail east!

Here we are going along the top of the trail, the forest light-filled.

Here we are, at the top, with Griffy Creek down below. Notice BTW, the small, nearly lime green space in the middle of the photo. Even before I took it I wondered: what is this? Well, it turns out it is part of the creek, below, though it looks like it’s elevated. Strange. Of course, I go through my usual wondering: do we exist in some kind of simulation?

By this time we’re on our way down the other side, and have been weaving through massive destruction on both sides of trail. I wonder, some kind of straight-line, massive wind that accompanied one of the recent thunder storms? A tiny dericho? There were times on this section of the trail that I felt “lost,” given that the usual landmarks were no longer present, the partly recent destruction had upended my sense of familiarity.

Beautiful mushrooms at base of big tree. What kind?

Here we are,  along the creek, nearly the finish line.

The post MORNING WALK: Griffy Creek trail. appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Meanwhile, this morning, I was busy appreciating the internet, rather than my usual judgmental posture knocking it. Everything we could possibly wish for, in terms of mind-stuff, at our fingertips! For example, I couldn’t help but skim this wonderful list, bookmarked a few days ago. The fact that it suddenly appeared on Twitter/X in another language doesn’t matter. This list will serve me and millions of others as a curriculum until kingdom come!

Though it may seem like whatever comes up on screen is bashing whatever “seems to be” good, sometimes there really IS good; in fact, I’d say that most of us are really good people. Here’s a great little story, about a young man who actually trusted prisoners, and they proved worthy of his trust. Amazing.

https://x.com/mertmetindev/status/2091146828137791887?s=61&t=aUBDiSUrvn0aSlRBtZx0wQ

Yes, read the signals . . . Stay open!

This morning, in my usual tending towards frantic state, while backing out into the street I almost hit a parked car. I say almost. Because my car came within a hair’s breath of hitting it. Not because I realized, just in time — no. A mysterious signal from nowhere suddenly electrified my body and brain: STOP!

How can I NOT trust the universe, when this keeps happening to me? This just-in-time avoidance of something that, in my volatile, distracted state, I almost collided with. Given how unpredictable my ongoing Uranus Return (after nearly 84 years) is, likely I’ve been assigned extra angels, just to make sure I don’t blow it.

So thank you, thank you!

GRATITUDE IS MY ATTITUDE.

The post Overall, I must tell you: GRATITUDE IS MY ATTITUDE appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

I had told him I would take a look at his astro chart before he left, so I did that, mid-morning.

Before all that, and after my four mile morning walk, I happened to pick up my ipad and notice the death of Dolly Parton, plus this strange message from Trump:

This (originally truth social) Trump message has me flummoxed: why “lower the American flag throughout the United States for a one week period beginning tonight (yesterday) at 6:00 PM”???????!!??

No matter what her status as an icon, Trump’s presidential directive for a seven-day flag-lowering is utterly unprecedented, Frankly, because of the extravagance of that message I couldn’t help but wonder if it is some kind of com.

Is Trump using this seven day period for other purposes, utilizing “Dolly Parton death” as both cover and distraction? Likely.

Of course, I couldn’t help but go down the massive rabbit hole that instantly opened up re: this huge news of Dolly Parton’s demise.

Here’s the longest, most complicated, and to me, fascinating thread . . . it also works with Q posts. On my!

https://x.com/SirCensorLot/status/2092484438219264246?s=61&t=aUBDiSUrvn0aSlRBtZx0wQ

2:40 PM, time of Trump’s Truth Social message. Hmmm. . .

Well, look at that, the Moon at 4° 53 Aquarius has just crossed over death/rebirth Pluto at 3°37 Aquarius, lighting up the rare, ongoing, amazingly powerful, and ultimately positive “minor grand trine” configuration among the three outer planets: (eruptive, innovative) Uranus/(visionary, empathic) Neptune /(death/rebirth, total transformation) Pluto.

Oh my, and only two days prior to the upcoming lunar eclipse . . .

The post DOLLY PARTON DEATH: What are we to make of TRUMP’S SEVEN DAY FLAG LOWERING?????! appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

I especially loved O’Conner’s deft, sly, wavering, epistemological ruminations, for example, p. 245:

“Terence, in the manner of Kant’s ne plus ultra, or “nothing further beyond,” bemoaned the limitations of any organized system of knowledge while admitting simultaneously the impossibility of rejecting any system altogether. His beliefs were malleable, his footing in the world ambidextrous. In this respect, we’re not so unlike him. Our beliefs, characterized by doubt as much as by certainty, tend to shape-shift. Even Mr. Egghead Extraordinaire, Ludwig Wittgenstein. . .

[Note: whose works I personally wrestled with in my PhD dissertation entitled This Is NOT A Book About Wittgenstein. Wittgenstein was, you might say, my McKenna. Or better: my O’Conner’s version of McKenna!]

. . . widely considered the 20th century’s most important thinker, generally refrained from making definitive statements about truth or falsity and, by extension, what he did or didn’t believe, sensing it’d lead to theoretical cul-de-sacs. Terence Likewise. Much of the time, we know so little about reality, he suggested, that we don’t even know how little we know. But we know enough to know that some of what we know, even if unknowable, se still sorta know, you know? All of us, I’d argue, are caught in the same bottomless, gravitational tug-of-war, both committed and uncommitted — polyamorous, if you will — to our beliefs.”

 

To quote O’Conner one more time: “Belief is a moving target, its whereabouts unknown.”

Now apply the above to current, increasing epistemological weirdness — in any area, politics, health, education, religion, media, etc. — inside me, inside you, coursing, no, tumbling, twisting into ephemeral macabre shapes —  through all of us. Frankly, I wonder if anyone who still “firmly believes” in anything is not suffering from “cognitive dissonance.” This goes especially for those who want to cling to the dogmas of whatever their religion.

And in saying that, yes, I admit I suffer from my own reflexively arrogant “judgmental” attitude, itself totally dogmatic!

The post ALT-EPISTEMOLOGY, to the Max! Author John O’Conner’s “Terence McKenna” appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

And then, noticed how my mistake triggered that instant emotional reaction. Showing me that I’m still, even at 83 years of age, liable to see myself as I imagine others do rather than just be myself, no matter what!

Okay, so here’s a story that illustrates the above and then some!

When out and about, I am beginning to notice that I am either very social (open), or very distant (closed). Yesterday, in the mall, I was in my social mode. Meaning, I walked around continuously, and in a relaxed manner, expressing through eyes and face and aura, the LOVE coursing through my heart.

This easily attained social mode is new. I sure don’t remember it in my 30s, or 40s, or 50s, or 60s, or even 70s. But now! What is it that’s changed? Why am I no longer always closed off, in public, apt to “keep my distance”?

I do think that, at least in part, it’s because I no longer care what people think of me. .  .

Oh yeah? Then what was that “shameful” moment about? 

Well, usually, I don’t care anymore what people think of me, how they do or do not see me. I am an old woman, accustomed to being ignored. But: that only happens when there is no expression on my face! For without expression, a lined old face “falls,” so that I appear stern, mean and/or depressed; so much so that others are likely to steer clear around me!

But, when I “light up,” when I “come alive,” then instantly, so do others. As if they can relax: “She’s not a bitter old woman after all.”

In my “on” mode, I’m often full of humor, making fun especially of myself, out loud, in public! For example, I’ve been noticing that I swear a lot these days, which surprises me, since I thought I had left that habit behind. Yesterday, in the mall shoe store I walked into to see if I could find, on sale, a second pair of walking shoes, I found myself swearing, noticed it, and said so, laughing to the clerk, a young black dude with dreads, who seemed hesitant, uncomfortable, unsure of himself. I likely instinctively realized this, and used humor to “break the ice.” It worked. Sort of. I think!

As he was holding and investigating the sale shoe I had picked off the shelf, I happened to glance down at his shoes, to see that, wow, they were huge, black, and beautiful. I said so. Then, oops! Immediately prior to saying so, I had also noticed that he had on an ankle monitor, just above the left shoe. Also black. Easy to NOT see. But I DID see it.

And so, when I humorously mentioned his shoes to him, because I had also just then, while in the act of mentioning, noticed his ankle monitor. . . did he realize I had seen the monitor too? Likely, but I’m not sure. In any case, that moment, now awkward for me, due to my inadvertent noticing, seemed to stretch on and on. Did it for him as well? I really don’t know.

He did seem hesitant, awkward himself, throughout our encounter, and now his hesitancy was making more sense. I wondered when he had been hired for this job. I wondered how long had he been on probation and what was was his possible “crime”?

A part of me, of course, as an old white woman in a financial transaction with a young black man, was automatically paying close attention to our interaction, and yes, making sure that I wouldn’t be “cheated.” I needn’t have worried. The black dude handed the shoes over to the other man working there, likely his boss.

But though, I must admit, “suspicion” was wafting through my awareness, it wasn’t nearly as prominent as the prevailing humor, which continued until I completed my purchase and left the store.

P.S. I do think, in the end, that his instinctive fear of me had also been eased by the unexpected tone of our encounter.

The post OLD WOMAN BUYS NEW SHOES: An All-Too-Human Encounter appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

But it does seem that one of my purposes here on planet Earth at this seemingly? climactic time in our all-too-human history, is to document how the swirling chaotic energies are affecting/unravelling me as a person.

Here are two posts that may help give perspective on what’s going on, as I continue to document my own tumultuous personal journey as one tiny fractal of the Larger (rapidly unravelling) (Dis)Order. . .

First, a very relevant post from friend Laura Bruno:

(I actually took some melatonin last night. Didn’t help.)

Insomnia

Second, if you’re like me, and have been somewhat puzzled by what “4D” on the way to 5D actually looks and feels like, its ontological and epistemological “status,” this next MatrixMasters33 twitter/X post helped me immensely make sense of my own travails as exemplary of one who’s apparently moving in and out of 4D, that weird ultra strange . . . what? What?  How to pin the squirreling weasel down? Reminds me of strange LSD transmogrifications, which I still reverberate to, after nearly 60 years. 

Great question, eh?

Meanwhile, on a walk with Scampi through the nearby mall this morning, encountering, in a loving, smiling, heart-lifting manner, one after another after another authentically smiling and utterly present human beings, I couldn’t help but feel utterly in communion with the whole.

Hmmm . . . are we all — already! — becoming capable of entering a loving, utterly present, bubble that includes everyone we meet? Already ascended to 5D? Already leaving 4D chaos behind?

Nirvana lasted until I got home and had to deal with another pesky, stupid, self-created situation that I thought I had already left behind. NOPE.

But, you know? It didn’t bother me nearly as much as it would have, a few weeks ago.

The post PERSPECTIVES on my journey as One Tiny Fractal of the Rapidly Unravelling (Dis)Order appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

This lack of full feeling, as well as my simultaneous awareness of the lack, as you can imagine, disturbed me greatly.

Seven years later, I would move from the east coast to the west coast, leaving my two sons with their father. For the next twelve long years, I would see them only in summers.

Now cut to August 16, 2023, when my second son Colin Cudmore, born 1/31/66, suffered an aortic dissection of both ascending and descending branches — and lived. Since then, slightly over three years now, he has been both paralyzed from the waist down and suffers from tremendous nerve damage.

(See Colin Cudmore Healing, caringbridge.org.)

August 16, 2023 happened to be the day when the transit of eruptive Uranus made an exact conjunction with my natal 23° Taurus Moon. I have been working with this ever-changing, always fraught, and incredibly inspiring, drama ever since, and will be until the end of March 2028, when we plan to move to Colorado to be with Colin’s brother Sean. (See Colin Cudmore Healing, caringbridge.org.)

Okay. Here’s what happened.

Yesterday evening, as I was showering, my finger instinctively felt into my deep, round belly button.

Something I don’t ordinarily do.

It was as if my finger was exploring an unknown cave, with lots of micro-crevasses in it. Weird. Plus, there was a weird bump. A BUMP. Has a tick gotten in there and latched on?!? YEEKS!

My panicky finger tried to yank or twist or otherwise worry it off. But the tick, if it was a tick, was persistent. All it did was create a  bad belly button sore spot.

WOW!

At some point I realized that I had actually, on a subliminal level, been preoccupied with my belly button for the past few days. Had been thinking about dosing it with castor oil and DMSO, in order to penetrate the skin in that vulnerable spot, which would from there work its way into the entire abdominal region. I’ve used large castor oil packs before, on the liver, to soothe and calm the liver, back in my menopausal fury. So I know they are effective.

And interestingly enough, as I write this, I realize that for the past few days, my voice has been erupting with “FUCK!” “FUCK!!” “FUCK!!!” Something I used to do, but had largely eliminated from my vocabulary over the past 20 years. Over and over again, Sagittarian fire aroused (natal Mars in Sag opposite Saturn/Uranus in Gemini, crossed by transit Uranus) I’ve felt liverish, any time I’m frustrated: “FUCK!”

So perhaps a liver castor oil pack is called for again?

Perhaps my weird subliminal focus on the navel is actually misplaced by a few inches . . .

Or: perhaps it really is time to work again with, this time, my entire abdominal region, using castor oil packs, buttressed with DMSO, which helps drive it into the interior.

BTW: afterwards, after I had put a drop of castor oil plus a drop of DMSO in my navel, and covered it, lying down, waiting, waiting, for the combo to penetrate and begin its healing journey, I began to actually focus on the fact that the navel is the actual origin of life; that I am symbolically returning to when the umbilical cord was cut shortly after my own birth.

I recall how I had a subliminal awareness of a sore behind my knee for a few days before the turkey vulture incident, which alerted me to the fact that I needed to actually look directly at that sore, and pay attention. Because yes, there WAS a tick there, and it had latched on, days earlier, creating a target, inside a large red sore area.

This time I didn’t need any turkey vulture help to finally notice what I thought was possibly a tick, but it turned out, not to be.

Transit Neptune opposite Natal Neptune/MC!

And wow, the navel, center of the third chakra of PERSONAL POWER.

Transit Pluto opposite Natal Pluto! 

What power? I, who have “processed” a lifetime of trying and failing to utilize my personal power to control both my own bodily desires (as a good Catholic), and my relations with others (as a good hippie, “bad” mother, and fleeting wife, four times . . .) am utterly powerless in the face of this ongoing . . . what? what? WHAT?

Transit Neptune at the root of my chart right now, opposite its natal place. I seem to be full of delusions, mostly regarding my physical body, and yet I do manage to work my way through them. So aha! Yes, let me finally recognize and honor the navel, the belly button, as what remains from when my physical body was originally rooted into physical life, through the umbilical cord’s link to my own also fearful mother’s womb.

All of which reminds me: Lying abed, I listened to a podcast last night wherein someone (can’t remember who) talked about the current quality of time as not only one in which the entire culture is purging all the dark gunk, both current and historical, bringing it to the light, but that this same process is working through each individual.

(Or, I would add, working through each person who is at all awake; and when not awake, is simply causing unimaginable suffering.)

DUH! Why didn’t I make that utterly obvious connection myself?

(Okay, Ann. Stop judging yourself! Just stop it!)

Yes, I, personally, am “going through a process” where I simply must let go of all the gunk in my personal history that still has me caught, stuck; and of course, I tend to assume that, as usual — after all, this part of my ego “identity,” what I’m “known,” for —  I need to (continue to) process it, i.e., “face it, embrace it, erase it.”

But NO! this mysterious voice said not to worry about “processing” any of the gunk.

Forget embracing it; it’s what has embraced me, its gravity (double meaning) holding me down. (Moon in earthy Taurus, Uranus/Saturn in airy Gemini/opposite Mars in Sagittarius: transit Uranus now crossing over the latter two.)

Instead, said the mysterious voice over the internet, we must simply let it go; clear it out of the way.

PTSD from your fucked-up mothering? So what? Clear it. WAKE UP!

Yep. No time for “processing,” at this point,

in humanity’s rapidly accelerating, chaotic —

ending/new beginning —

death/resurrection—

into what?

We have no idea.

Stop trying to figure it out.

Just clear it. NOW

The post ANOTHER URANIAN SHOCK . . . this one involving the navel. WHAT?!? appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

I found his comment stimulating, and said so, and that I would respond in today’s post. So here goes.

First, shorthand version.

I both direct my attention to the “present moment,” and situate my small, personal self’s more or less conscious experience within the mysterious, cosmic, ever-changing panorama, by utilizing the symbolic language of astrology. Thus, I both live inside the present moment, and, given my intense (double Sagittarian) seeking nature, I also long to notice, give words to, its continuous, meaningful state of becoming.

Plus: since one’s experience of “the moment” can itself stretch, one might say that ultimately the distinction between space and time collapses:  the TWO, the moment, and the cosmic panorama, are ONE.

Which they are, of course, as is any polarity that we play out during our embodied lives here on planet earth.

Next, extended version.

To me it’s obvious, given the astonishing astrology of these times, when the cycles of all three of the outer planets (Pluto, Neptune and Uranus) are making a rare, harmonious “minor grand trine” aspect pattern with each other (last one was nearly 50 years ago), that we are in a period of ultimately harmonious change.

Then, for people around my age (83), these planets while aspecting each other, are also also making rare, strong geometric aspects to their natal positions (Pluto opposite Pluto, Neptune opposite Neptune, Uranus conjunct Uranus), these years are especially noteworthy, directing us to see our entire lives within the auras of three new meaningful cyclic understandings.

For we who were born during parts of 1942, and into 1943, when Uranus was in early Gemini, these years of the Uranus Return are especially remarkable; especially for one such as myself, whose natal Uranus is belongs to a “difficult” aspect pattern with Moon, Mars and Saturn that proved to be by far the most difficult of my life!  So yes, I am observing larger understandings of — new meanings given to — my entire life so far — making the entire procession through the years appear divinely and harmoniously ordered. However:

Given the massive breakdown/breakthrough eruptive force of Uranus (by the way, Bruce, I don’t call it “bad”), is it no surprise that I find myself even more than usually internally directed towards getting and staying in, the miraculous present moment, no matter what? Because I well know that, no matter what, this can and likely will include moments that will shock me to the point where at first I won’t know if I can keep on, so drastic will be the change.

Thus does the practice of meditation help, so very much, in staying present. For me, my meditative practice is walking, not sitting. This morning’s four-five mile walk is when, for me, the moment expands, to include all the smells and sounds and rhythmic movements of my body, Scampi’s more or less continuous pulling on his leash, the rustling waving chirping scuttling trees, bushes, birds, squirrels, voles, moles below and the mysterious sky above. Remember the turkey vulture circling high above that flashed its “shit” on the top of my head, twice in one day? How is that not a miracle of the moment!

Something that, frankly, I’ve learned to almost “expect,” given the astonishing astrology of these times. And I do think that such “miracles” are simply our minds and hearts and souls opening to synchronicity, i.e., opening to include way more than the current Overton Window we are supposed to remain within or behind, as a frame, or screen, screening out the infinity of mysteries that just go on and on and on!

Oh, and the Sun, the Sun! Moving east and west, moving north and south, moving in hidden concert with the Moon, the Moon! And, yes, THE WINKING STARS, their human-created patterns! Geez! How could I help but be astonished, utterly grateful, all of the time!

Or at least, when I wake up! over and over again; at least when I manage to get and remain present, conscious, connected, and not caught, deluded, behind the illusive trappings of ego.

Don’t know if I “answered” your question. But I certainly did find myself responding to it!

Thanks for the opportunity!

I do think that by attuning to the mysterious signals offered by the cycles of the planets, especially the outer planets, we can vastly increase our gratitude for the present moment reverberating outwards and inwards forever.

The post READER’S COMMENT: “How can you be in the moment when you ‘know’ that a bad cycle is happening?” appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

On this morning’s long daily walk, I was with a dear neighbor, who, when I ask how she’s doing, says she’s “anxious.”

Me: “So you’re projecting into the future.”

She nods.

“You’re continuously projecting into the future, trying to figure out what will happen.”

Yes.

And her kids are always demanding things of her, right now, right now, right now!

And she has numerous decisions to make, this week!

I told her what I do to let go of anxiety: and that is to wake up! — and return to the present moment, over and over again. How? First of all, by stopping to indulge in a long slow breath. At least one. Maybe more. Notice how my nervous system then begins to calm down too. Because of course, it has been participating in the hyper-aroused anxious state.

In breathing deeply, at least once, by thus returning to the present moment, and then, remembering to fully appreciate that present moment stretching into infinity, I move into gratitude. Deep, all pervasive gratitude. For everything, the entire kit and kaboodle.

Okay, well and good. But how to stay there? How to remain in the state of gratitude?

All I can do is to keep breathing and opening. Opening to the present moment. In doing so I cultivate another, “higher awareness,” one which notices all of what is going on “down below,” my usual frantic busyness, extreme to the point of utter panic.

Of course, that “lower self” keeps on intruding, trying to pull me back into its fraught, tumultuous 3-D life; of course! And 5D higher self, that fair witness to all that the lower self is going through, just keeps on noticing, not judging, not being furious (that I would get so upset!) or judgmental (there I go again!), but simply noticing, no emotion, neutral. Calm, peaceful. As peaceful as the wide open sky.

This is a lifetime practice, of course. Even at 83 years of age, I seldom dwell for more than a few fleeting seconds actually, truly, in the present moment, that portal into Mystery.

What’s changed is that it takes me only a millisecond to remember, to open that door again, to return to HERE, and NOW.

Forever.

The post Countering Anxiety with Gratitude appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

This scar, on my left leg, is what remains from the nasty wound I received on July 13, just over a month ago.

URANUS RETURNS (story): Yesterday’s hysterical “adventure” resulted in bleeding wound.

I spent about three weeks caring for this wound, delicately administering a healing salve and then covering it, twice daily, with time off each day for about an hour of sunlight. Others who saw it were surprised I didn’t go to IU Urgent Care for stitches. But I wanted to do it my way. It’s so damn interesting watching my brilliant body heal itself, how it goes about it. And I knew I would have to take great care, lest the wound become infected. At one point I even snipped off what had shriveled into dead skin.

Anyway, I bring this up here because I realized yesterday that this scar is probably not ever going away. And with this realization, sudden illumination, to wit:

I will designate this scar as my version of a tattoo, except that it’s not something deliberately stamped onto the skin, but what the body did to heal an accidental skin wound. Much more interesting than any tat!

And what fascinates me, is that the shape of this scar reminds me of Lake Baikal, in Siberia. Similarly shaped, long and irregular.

I traveled to Siberia and Mongolia back in 2017 and on that journey, camped for a few days on the shore of Lake Baikal.

While there we participated in an unforgettable shamanic ceremony.

Siberia/Mongolia, 2017

I will carry this scar, this memory map, happily, for as long as I live.

The post My body features an unforgettable SCAR, rather than a fashionable TATTOO appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

The reason I walked there to ask in the first place was because I recently (finally) went to a “holistic” MD to speak to her about my situation: 83 years old, take care of my own health, no meds, no doc, etc. Told her about the (brief, and ultimately absurd), long ago, “health crisis” I underwent, where, after a CT scan, I was told I had “cysts in both ovaries and a large mass in the uterus with a larger blood supply than we’d like to see.” (Plus, it turned out, “a 6-inch growth in the pancreas.” What? No. That was a mistake. It was actually in the liver, “where it’s probably no big deal.”)

I told the holistic doc that this drama began the longer saga of agreeing to see a doc once a year for a pelvic ultrasound: to determine whether or not especially the “large mass in the uterus” was growing. That doc died just prior to my fourth appointment. . .

I had told her from the start that I assumed it was NOT growing, since I had likely had all of these “peculiarities” (i.e., my brilliant body had found these ways of successfully absorbing massive stress) since child-bearing age. . .

— see 89-page e-book On Mothering —

. . . and that I would likely die WITH them, rather than OF them. 

I currently seek official records of that strange, unusual for me, long ago medical adventure, and remembered that I had written about it, and what followed, in what transmogrified into a multidimensional, multidisciplinary multi-everything “perspective,” starting back when the event occurred, and writing on and on, for months! Clearly, I cannot help but be interested in, even utterly determined, both personally and culturally, to bridge and ultimately integrate, unify, make whole again, the utterly false and horrifically tragic Cartesian split between mind and body!

BACK WHEN I WAS DYING (1)

Aha! So I see now that happened in 2008, eighteen years ago! Actually, I doubt IU health keeps records for that long.

I had thought I’d see if I could resurrect that old CT scan, because I’m going to have another pelvic exam as soon as a new gynecologist comes to town that the female doc I consulted says is worthy of my trust. Might as well, eh? Even though there have been no changes as far as I can detect.

Just trying to be “responsible” for my health. But actually, maybe I should just forget the whole endeavor. I’ve done so well with non-allopathic ways of being with my body that what am I “worried” about? Or am I  “worried.” No. Not really. I will die when I die. And meanwhile, I will live.

Paralyzed, nerve-damaged, inventor son Colin Cudmore and I will share a meal downtown late this afternoon, to “celebrate”  (the eve of) the three-year anniversary of what I call Colin’s Catastrophe, which occurred on August 16, 2023, the exact day my transit Uranus returned for the first time, to begin its saga of moving over first my Moon, then Uranus (exactly opposite Mars), and finally Saturn — in the 6th (Virgo’s natural) house that governs daily health routines . . . for me, two full hours of “physical culture” (four-mile walk, yoga, chikung, taichi, intermittent fasting 18/6, no processed food, etc.). This eruptive Uranian procession over the most stressful part of my chart (transit Uranus at 5° currently approaching Saturn) not to finalize until March 2028, when we plan to (or finalize plans to) move from Bloomington to be with brother Sean in Colorado.

The post NAVIGATING HEALTH as an 83-year old “contrarian,” an apparently endless saga appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

I had driven to the downtown Bloomington public library, and found all the parking spots taken in the library lot. I would have to park on the street. Okay. Right away, I snagged a parking space on the left side of the one-way street facing the entrance to the library parking lot. Good!

Then I began the process of parking.

And that is where this saga begins.

I have never? seldom? parked on the left side of a one-way street. And found myself, right away, having trouble backing in correctly, turning the wheel and slowly going forward again, slowly backing up again, etc. Not getting very far. Still a vast space between my car and the curb. Plus, despite close attention,  I had inadvertently bumped the bumper of the gigantic new black truck behind me.

I got out to check out the situation. At which point, the driver of that magnificent truck, a young man, got out also!

I didn’t know he was in there! Felt instantly guilty!

So of course I admitted that I had bumped him, but that I didn’t see any damage, and he said yes, he didn’t see any either. I then said, but not too strongly, lest I offend him, “After all, that’s what bumpers are for!” Not sure he appreciated that remark, but in any case, we seemed to be getting along. He had obviously noticed my difficulty in parking, and so, without my asking, waited while I got back in and instructed me just how far I could go, forward and backward, just which way to strongly turn the front wheels each time, etc. So that I soon got parked without the side of my car standing out beyond any of the other cars from the street. (Luckily this car, what had been my paralyzed nerve-damaged son Colin’s car, an old VW GTI, is not large.)

I was so glad that encounter was over! Got out, opened the back door to get out the seven books I had borrowed (in case I wanted to read any of them, and I did read two of them), and started lugging them across the street to the library.

Oops! Suddenly remembered that I hadn’t put a quarter in the meter. So doubled back and did that.

This whole time my current highly charged Uranian nervous-system had been triggered, and my not remembering to put the quarter in the meter alerted me to that.

So did the fact that the tremor — which I first noticed over 20 years ago, and keep at a low level with yoga/chikung/taichi — in my right hand amped up, as it always does when I’m stressed, making it difficult to both get out the quarter from the purse and to insert it into the meter.) All of which I’m sure the young man in the black truck behind me noticed.

Okay, so then I walked into the library, put the books I was returning on the desk, and quickly went to nearby standing shelves with “new arrivals,” picked out five, checked them out, and walked back outside. Not even ten minutes had passed. Didn’t want to linger, because “puppy” Scampi was in the car with the windows cracked. (Luckily it was not that hot a day, or I would have left him home.)

I walked across the street to the car, and as I was about to get back in, noticed that the driver of the black truck behind me (I mean a truck so gigantic that its hood was at the same level as the top of the VW) was still inside! His window was open, so I said, “Were you waiting until I returned so you could also help me get out of the parking spot?” I meant this remark to be humorous, but inside I felt a bit weird. What’s going on? Is something going on?

The young man then got out of the car and came up to me, saying, gently, I don’t want to file an accident report, and I don’t see anything wrong, but just in case, I would like to know your insurance. He seemed somewhat apologetic, as if he didn’t want to disturb me further, but this was the right thing to do. “Progressive,” I told him, “though I don’t have the card on me. I can get the info for you if you email me when I get home.” Instantly, he whipped out his phone, and I spelled out for him, both my name and my email address.

Then he again stood guard while I maneuvered to get out of the parking spot without bumping either front or back vehicles. No big deal.

As I drove off, I thought, “Damn! Should not have gone to the library this afternoon. This, what seemed like not a big deal at all — small bumper bump, at a crawling pace, resulting no visible damage whatsoever — may turn into a big legal and/or insurance mess!”

So yes, the entire incident had triggered me.

Okay. What happened next?

Ten minutes went by.

I had just sat down in my usual living room chair when I noticed someone coming up the stairs outside the picture window.  A COP!

As I noticed him, he had simultaneously seen me through the window, yelled: “Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble!”

As I made my way through the porch door outside onto the platformed steps with kiwi vines overhead, I noticed that there were not one, but three cops, from two cop cars, both having swerved to park on the street in front of the house.

The first cop was so handsome he could have been Central Casting.

To my confused look of high alert, he first repeated, soothingly: “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.” And then proceeded to tell me that they had received a call from someone who thought maybe I was somewhat lost and confused. And I certainly was! By the weirdness of the entire experience! Although what they had in mind was dementia. This was a “wellness check” (on an old woman — although they didn’t say that.)

After I told them what the experience was like for me, how kind and attentive the young man was, how I’m not used to parking on the left side of a one-way street, and so on, they relaxed. Then a second cop mentioned the extraordinarily thick vine that grows up on the side of the platform to the plant covering above.

That’s a kiwi vine, I said. And pointed above to a few kiwis above, about ready for harvest.

He asked how long the vine had been there. I responded, “About 15 years.”

“Wow!” He exclaimed; “You don’t often see a vine like that in Bloomington.”

I then proceeded to tell all three of them about the three-homes-plus-gardens known as Green Acres Urban Farm (greenacresvillage.org), what we are trying to do here, establish a tiny template for the transformation of the suburbs.

They were entranced, even thrilled.  Since they were “on duty,” I had to resist the temptation to offer what we call “The Tour.”

After they left, I came inside, feeling utterly and powerfully protected. Both by the young man in his big beautiful black truck who had waited for me to come back out of the library, because, it turned out, he wanted to make sure I was okay, and by the three cops who pulled up to my house within minutes of my arrival back home, and said, right away, “Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble.”

Wow.

BTW: not just Uranus is returning for the first and only time since I was born, but two more outer planet transits are occurring for the first and only time in my long life: transit Neptune opposing both itself and the Midheaven, transit Pluto opposing itself. Plus, Laura Bruno just pointed out to me, the transiting nodes have just conjuncted my original nodes, but in reverse: natal Leo north node opposing Aquarius/Chiron south node: transited by their opposites! I choose to focus mostly on Uranus in these posts, because, given its difficult position in my natal chart, my Uranus Return is by far the most obvious, overwhelming me with its eruptive, intensely surprising energy. But I’d say that my likewise intense feeling of protection — no matter what — is signaled by both the Neptune transit as well as the Pluto transit. Plus, now that I think of it, the nodal transit emphasizes the polarity between individual (Leo north node) and community (Aquarius south node). That they were reversed during this event signals to me that I, an individual (Leo North node conjunct Chiron)) who originally felt the need to be healed, am utterly protected by my Bloomington community (Aquarius)!

The post Two days ago, an astonishing, decidedly unlikely, three hour saga appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Who among us does NOT have a “dark side”?

Fellow astrologer and blogger Laura Bruno alerted me to this hilarious post today.

https://x.com/EricLDaugh/status/2087316404005405124?s=20

I almost just posted this one comment, “Let’s compromise,” (originally in response the above post), without any reference, thinking just about everybody I know will have been alerted to the Rubio dietary “sin.” But then decided, well, maybe not everybody.

What’s your dark side, re: nutrition.

Mine’s still the need to wrestle with just how much caffeine will my system tolerate? I once was being “treated” by a female healer who worked with a frequency machine. She told me my body is allergic to caffeine! I wonder now, is this still true? Was it ever true?

She has since died.

Another time, when I walked into her office and sat down, she told me, right away. “You need to give up marijuana.”

“WHAT?” I exploded, as I stood up irately:  “YOU ARE MY ENEMY!”

Even I was surprised at my extreme reaction.

BTW: not too much time went by, before I found myself no longer even interested in marijuana.

But caffeine? After several years without, I’ve re-introduced it, in the form of a half a cup of iced coffee a day, stirred into my morning elixir. Experimenting . . .

DETAILED DAILY HEALTH ROUTINE: because, “at 83, the alternative is entropy”

The post Rubio nails it. Or rather, his wife nails HIM . . . appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Looking back through this ak.net website, searching for “right/left brain,” I see an enormous number of posts that just scroll on and on. Rather than trying to count ’em (a left brain activity), I just chose the most recent one to repost here:

REFLECTIONS: mostly detailed rant on how long daily walks dissolve left-brain doom-scrolling harm and invigorate right-brain/heart (and soul!)

If I were to go back through the exopermaculture.com archival site, no doubt I would discover the same preoccupation! But I “don’t have time” for that.

The reason I bring this subject of right/brain integration up here again, is thanks to Clif High on X this morning.

Instantly mesmerized, I found myself reading through both the original substack article and all the comments to it that directly address this right/left brain integration issue and brilliantly situate it within both historical, and current polticial and cultural context.

https://wendywilliamson.substack.com/p/the-intellectual-architecture-of-trumpism

And just so you know: Williamson is not “blaming” anyone, including Trump, in her deep assessment of what we western humans have willingly, though mostly unconsciously, subjected ourselves to, seemingly forever. The “blame game’ is part of the architecture she identifies.

Don’t forget to read the comment section. Also deeply informative, offering many perspectives. And the way Wendy Williamson replies to comments is also deeply informative. She is thanking critics; she is seeking relationship; her communication in the comment section offers a living example of what she and I both advocate (though I feel like a fool including myself, a former “violent peace activist,”  within her mastery): left brain logic and analysis working in service to the holistic, loving right brain. She succeeds here in personally exemplifying what she says she wants, HUMAN UNITY, rather than polarity, in this fractionated world where nasty division is still the name of the game.

And in fact, if we don’t wake up soon to what unites us, we’re more and more likely to blow ourselves up.

As we all know.

So let’s not.

BTW: her assessment of what we need to do to regenerate this sorry world of ours fits beautifully into the template we have created here in Green Acres Village. Our motto: Growing Community from the Ground Up.

https://www.greenacresvillage.org/

The post WENDY WILLIAMSON: On the utter necessity of restoring right/left brain integration. appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

BTW: Please read beyond its stated “political” context, as I think distinctive moral compasses emerge from some kind of deeply personal/sociological context that lies way underneath such surface phenomena. 

And wow, just noticed: truth-telling is not one of Haidt’s “moral foundations.” Huh? Or maybe once we get into epistemology, we’re at a different level than authenticity, so that authenticity is the foundation of truth-telling. . . Oh wow, wait a minute. Now I notice that not even authenticity is a foundation, in Haidt’s analysis. So maybe sanctity will fit the bill?

Okay, let’s look at the Ten Commandments, many of which make at least an indirect reference to being and behaving in a real, rather than fake manner, i.e. authentic.

In any case, here’s the post I promised above.

https://x.com/Rothmus/status/2086642819716755890?s=61&t=aUBDiSUrvn0aSlRBtZx0wQ

Re: moral “relativity:”

Thinking again about my mom: her mom would not let her meet her own grandparents, even though they lived in the same town: Rochester, Minnesota. Why? Because meeting them would somehow expose the fact that she was Jewish!

I remember, as a kid, when the Rosenberg treason trial was being held, asking Mom if her name was Jewish? No! She instantly replied. “That’s Rosenberg, not Rosenberger.”

The strangeness of her obviously uneasy denial stuck with me, and makes her irate denial that she did NOT dent her son-in-law’s car, despite a witness, understandable.

Jordan Peterson had more to say on the subject of lying.

https://x.com/newstart_2024/status/2085488175934243059?s=61&t=aUBDiSUrvn0aSlRBtZx0wQ

And so here we are today, when not even biological essentialism is acknowledged by a portion of the populace as real. Anybody can “change genders” at any time, and demand others use (their) “correct” pronouns. Maybe we can lessen the severity of what to me would be the “sin” and call this attitude pretending, rather than lying?

The post Ruminating on the Relativity(?) of “Moral Compasses” appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

“All set. I talked to them at length and I got the whole thing canceled.

You can finally relax; I will explain tomorrow. I really can’t talk anymore today.”

If you recall, Colin is the son (paralyzed from waist down and with extreme nerve damage since August 16, 2023 when he suffered an aortic dissection from which he was supposed to die, and didn’t) whose ongoing suffering and inspiration I update daily on caringbridge.com.

He can only talk for a short while each day before nerve pain ramps up.

BTW: this entire ongoing Uranus drama began on that very day, August 16, 2023, when transit Uranus reached my natal Moon at 23° Taurus.

Okay! So it’s true! He’s right! After receiving that text, I could and did begin to relax. Colin did it. He knows how to do it. How to work with this kind of emergency.

In fact, as I told him this morning, when he called to let me know what happened: “I appreciate so much both your and brother Sean’s ability to work through this kind of problem for and with me. In fact, the two of you could have been attorneys, with your own law firm: Sean behind the scenes, knowing how to ask really penetrating questions, and you as the attorney who handles the public face of the firm.”

Frankly, I was truly amazed. And even as the situation was “going down,” I marveled at how this drama illustrated just how much both sons in their 60s are there for me, in my 80s. I felt completely protected, frankly, even though I did freak out, constantly, Uranus erupting over and over again, when I discovered the firm intended to charge me $5 K for incorrectly canceling a contract.

He told me he had decided to call them every half hour yesterday, after they did not return the call he made to them within minutes of me telling him their “accountant” had tried to call me, because I had “Breached a Contract.” Finally, Colin had a phone number, so he could return the call. This had been missing, despite numerous attempts to get one.

(I’m condensing, simplifying here, so as not to bore either myself or my readers with the tangled web of details.)

“Here,” he told me this late this morning, “is what happened.”

Their accountant finally called back, after he had called about four times in a row. She simply said: “Please tell me what you think happened.” Great way to begin! Then she simply listened to him as he spelled out the situation, starting with the back story of me sending $8K in cash twice to a stranger in a strange land three years ago, when I was 80 years old.

That set the tone. The rest of the very complex tale followed easily. Colin said he spoke in a calm, detached manner, detail by detail, until done.

After he was done, ending with the remark that he would be willing to take the situation to court if necessary, she simply said, “Okay, I’ll just cancel the contract.”

I was stunned at how efficiently he dealt with this difficult situation. But then he went on to tell me that when he worked with his small company, Garden Tower Project, he was always the one to call back customers who were furious at the company for some reason. He’d say, “Hello, I’m Colin, the inventor of the Garden Tower and founder of the Garden Tower Project, and I’ve been given a message that you are unhappy for some reason.” That he began this way never failed to deflate any fury that had been present originally. Then he’d simply ask them to tell him what was going on. (Just like the accountant did yesterday). Without interrupting, he’d listen until the customer was done, and then simply say something like, “Wow. If that had happened to me, I’d be furious too!” It always had to do with the company not including some part or other in the package. While he was with them, they sold 80000 towers in 18 years, so you can imagine just how many packages did go out incomplete.

In fact, he says he relished being the one to return especially calls from the most furious customers (and of course offer to send what they had thought they had asked for in the first place, and more, free, at times even sending it overnight.) That he had great fun inviting them, especially through his calm, even tone, to tone down their fury. And he concluded this story by saying that there was one case where his company had sent the wrong or incomplete product, three different times! That was the absolute worst case. But by the time he and the irate customer completed their call, she told him that if he ever traveled to Nashville, Tennessee, would he please look her up?

So I’ve been “in good hands,” with both my sons, during this entire drama.

BTW: Colin tells me that aside from the weird, forgotten $8K drama, twice, three years ago, he is not aware of me actually beginning to “lose my memory.”

Now I look back and begin to recall in a hazy way some sort of situation during that year that made me feel utterly ashamed, guilty, and so on. That’s likely the incident I “don’t remember.” Because I don’t. It just dropped out of my awareness.

I do wonder if there have been other times when something truly important on the material plane has simply disappeared from my memory. And likely, it’s true; there are holes in my memory. Or if not already, then there will be at some point.

I spoke to sister Kristin last night, and she and I talked a bit about how Mom entered that undesirable state of age-related dementia, sometime in her mid-80s. But Mom’s attitude was not mine — To Right Every Wrong — at least so far. Here’s one story Kris tells from that deep past.

Mom had taken the car (at 86 years of age) to church. When she got there, she accidentally bumped, and dented, the car belonging to her son-in-law. And what she did not realize: someone had witnessed that accident. When everybody came out of church, and her relatives pointed to her son-in-law’s car, what she had done to it, she denied it irately. “I didn’t do that!”).

She never did admit it.

I wonder if that’s when she actually began to lose her memory. Is dementia sometimes the result of people not wanting to remember situations in their lives where they felt guilty or ashamed?

The post Happy Ending to One Uranian Drama: Son Colin to the Rescue appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

After spending way too much time on the phone with both my sons, sometimes together, sometimes one at a time, I feel both comforted (that they are totally there for me), and upset (that I put them through my drama).

But then, I’m 83, as son Colin reminded me today.

Colin also reminded me today of another horrid drama also involving money, even more money than the $5K which I will either have to pay or not, depending on what Colin’s attorney tells him on Monday, one that happened a few years ago, and involved me sending $8000 cash, to a man in India who gave me a sob story, and who insisted on cash, rather than another form of payment. Through the mail. What? And get this: not once, but twice! He claimed he didn’t get the first one. So $16K altogether. Though, after much concentration today, I can conjure a vague memory of feeling both confused and guilty after some transaction, I cannot for the life of me figure out what that was about, how it started, what was the sob story that lured me in the first place.

(My natal Neptune, in Libra, at the Midheaven: I’m a sucker for sob stories. Transit Neptune this year, in Aries at the IC root point, directly opposite its birth position.)

And only then, afterwards, did I tell my sons about what happened. Son Sean had to foot the bill.

No wonder my sons now “talk about me behind my back.”

That I signed something I shouldn’t have a few days ago, and the drama that ensued, is abhorent to me; but that I did this only a few years ago to an even more extreme extent, and DO NOT REMEMBER, is terrifying.

THERE ARE HOLES IN MY MEMORY.

It is time to seriously begin to wind down my all too busy life.

Way more busy than anyone’s I know, no matter what their age.

Not sure how that is going to proceed. What will need to go first.

A VERY sad, Saturn time, at least for now. And this first ever Uranus transit over both itself and Saturn, will not even begin to ease up until March, 2028, when it finalizes this once-in-a-lifetime transit. I told both my sons this, and they both agreed to help work with my astrological timing — even though Sean thinks astrology “nonsense.”

And we’re talking about winding down my entire life in Bloomington Indiana, in preparation for Colin’s and my move to live with Sean in Colorado.

The post The latest Saturn/Uranus drama continues. . . and deepens . . . appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

But I did feel weirdly uneasy . . .

And then, wouldn’t you know, just like that, I got a phone call about a (SATURN!) contract I had apparently signed online with my ipad early this summer (to add a battery to solar panels on roof of one of the houses; I’m leaving details out here) informing me that if I DON’T follow through with it (I was SURE I had cancelled it within the three day grace period, and have an email as evidence), I will owe 1/3 of the cost anyway. That’s $5K. Well, you can imagine how my Uranus erupted.

WHAT?

WHAT?

WHAT?!!?

I’ve always had to work very hard to continuously calm my extremely volatile nervous system (Mars in Sagittarius opposite Uranus/Saturn in Gemini) so that it doesn’t blow up. Thus my two hours of “physical culture” (4-5 mile walk, plus yoga, chikung, taichi) daily.

Wow! Sudden Uranian recognition, one I’ve never had before! I could view my original childhood terror of nuclear war as a massive projection of my hidden terror that my nervous, finely calibrated mind would suddenly go nuclear and blow me up.

So anyway, with help from both my sons, we’re working to figure out how to deal with this intensely Saturnine situation, with no or minimal economic cost.

For one thing: this morning I dragged two rolling garbage bins from each of our three Green Acres Village homes to line the end of the driveway of that house, in case they try to just drop off the battery . . .

And I await a promised call from “the Vice-President” of the company this morning, which I will immediately turn over to my sons to deal with.

And yes, at 83, I am seriously “playing the age card” with this sudden Saturn/Uranus emergency.

The post What? WHAT? WHAT???! Facing (not yet embracing, and certainly not yet erasing) a sudden Saturn/Uranus eruption . . . appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Carol is nearly 83, same era as myself. The two of them had been together for 40 years. One half Uranus cycle. One half a Uranus cycle ago, they got together, and when Uranus then closed its lifetime loop for her, he died.

And left her alone, stunned, still in shock.

I called her when I got the message, and we spoke yesterday, when she told me I forgot to send her the book I wrote during the year after my husband Jeff died.

The way she spoke of Jon’s death and dying process, reminded me of my own uncanny experiences with husband Jeff Joel. He did not leave. In fact, for at least that first year of grieving, Jeff was even more present than he had been when in body! Many strange, decidedly paranormal occurrences during that year. I have a feeling Carol should be prepared for, and will utterly welcome, the same.

And I finally mailed her the book, this morning, via media mail. To arrive in about a week.

On our phone call, she told me they were going to bury him in the ground in a simple shroud, according to his wishes. And will do this “green burial” near where she lives, in a wonderful community of mostly oldsters.

His Buddhist burial scheduled for 11 AM, on 8/11/26.

Carol and I met in the early ’90s, at a peace conference in Washington DC, where she was a famous featured speaker and I was publishing the quarterly, Crone Chronicles. Once we met, she contributed to every issue of the magazine until it ended in 2001.

She wants me to do an astro chart for the burial time. So I will do this today.

Given what she’s already told me about his death and dying, the miracles involved, I know she will be very much in tune with TVB. And of course, I’m not surprised.

This is what sisterhood is all about! Grieving together. Loving together. Across vast distances. In the same pregnant space. Reminds me of our Sisters of Earth meeting last weekend in Cincinnati! Carol would have felt right at home with us, capable of solemnity and hilarity, moment by moment, after a lifetime of extraordinary experiences during which we could not help but learn both our limits and our vast potential.

Now? No inhibitions. Living from the inside out, as we eat our own shadows, to emerge, sooner or later, whole, ready to die, like Jon was, having lived a very full life and, in his case, loving one singular woman totally, thoroughly, and always, with every fiber of his gentle, steadfast being.

The post I speak with soul sister CAROL ROSIN upon the death of her husband. appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

BTW: she got the new roof by getting an estimate from the company that’s doing lots of new roofs in this neighborhood, and found out they would  charge her nearly $20K, though they contract with Mexican laborers who work for much much less. But: she was lucky, she said; somehow she got hold of one of the laborers, and contracted directly with him, taking about $12K off the price. (She promised to send me his contact info.)

Meanwhile, I asked about her situation now, with the ghastly, monstrous”duplex” development just behind her on North Jefferson Street.

And that took us on a conversational journey, while standing on my front porch.

This woman is  among the many authentic, caring humans who are being not only being pushed aside, but invaded;  indeed, our lovely, treed, flowery, grassy, old time, small home neighborhood is in the first stages of being detonated eradicated, by what I can only call the prevailing, more and more ravenous, Greed Virus.

The street behind (west) of her, North Jefferson, which used to feature wonderful small homes built by returning GIs and their families after World War II, fronts a massive parking lot that forms the eastern edge of Indiana University. One block of that street now features eight two-story “duplexes,” five bedrooms and five bathrooms per unit. Very expensive, each bedroom. 10 bedrooms per building, 80 bedrooms (likely for IU students) on a single block! And cars! But of course! No problem! They can park in the IU parking lot!

I can’t find my photo of the street before all the small homes were demolished.

Nor can I find my photo of the all eight monstrous duplexes that now hunker on that single block.

But you get the gist.

Okay. Yesterday, this old woman who lives on the street in back of these duplexes tells me she has been affected already by standing water after rains, and the situation promises to get worse, once they fix the flooding on the alley side of her fence.

BTW: she speaks of her situation without even a trace of victim attitude. Rather, realism. She’s totally realistic about what is going on, and says it’s utterly inevitable. That “there’s nothing we can do.”

For now, she said, as of only two weeks ago, the same developer has bought the two houses side by side next to her —  one of which has a brand new roof! — and says they are both to be demolished, replaced by two more of these identical monstrosities.

As she said, “they don’t care” about the people who currently live where they are “developing” (i.e., investing in financial “returns”), and to hell with everybody else.

I’m going to end up, she told me, like the woman depicted in the movie “UP.”

When she mentioned that the two houses next to hers sold for over $400,000 each, I confess I got excited: “Wow. Maybe sell your house!”

In other words, I too, was suddenly infected by the Greed Virus.

Of course, she said “NO.” And not with the emphasis I give the word here. Simply, “no.”

It took me a few minutes before I recognized my own brief complicity.

WOW!

And to think that I was the one who composed the passionate introduction to our Green Acres Neighborhood Plan, in 2007.

Intro to Foreward to 2007 Plan copy.1

Green Acres Neighborhood Plan (2006)

That was back in 2006. Twenty years later, I’m 20 years older, and wondering just how much longer either Green Acres Neighborhood or myself will still be here, on planet Earth!

Or are we, as a species, (assuming we don’t blow ourselves up first), about to climb out of Earth’s play pen and  “lift off” into the wild blue yonder?

The post THE GREED VIRUS COMES FOR MY NEIGHBORHOOD appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Especially this one. This one where the shadow of the man is shown right next to the light.

And when will we recognize that we are Fauci? That there is a part of each of us that lies in shadow, and that it terrifies us to bring it to the surface?

We should thank Fauci, for serving as the role model for so-called “science”, so called  “expertise” that knows nothing and yet tries to foist it on the rest of us.

Fauci is every man and every woman who ever walked this earth. In a future lifetime, he might recognize that he served as the mouthpiece for all of humanity that refuses to acknowledge what lurks inside us.

Yes. The old, ever-present Manichean distinction: Good vs. Evil.

But is it really “evil”? Is Evil real? Or is ignorance, always, ultimately, “to blame.”

I’d say no, certainly not in the case of the Fraud-ci.

More savage memes: Check what’s on this site . . .

Dr. Anthony Fauci Meme Gallery

The light at the end of this long dark all-too-human tunnel begins to flood the atmosphere, even so.

As my friend Laura Bruno puts it. we are. . . .

Clandestine (aka Jacob Creech) has always impressed me with his perspective. Likewise here:

Fauci’s Diary Exposes the Plot

Now who, if anyone, will actually apologize?

Who among even my family, and yours?

Is an apology too much to ask? Probably.

Certainly, there’s no way that all the bad guys can be executed or imprisoned. The world would depopulate by what, one-third? one-half? No. There has to be another way.

Besides, I keep reminding myself, anyone refusing to apologize is not my business.

Taking the 5th is their stuff, not yours, and not mine. I feel for them, I can imagine myself in their shoes, quaking with fear at being found out.

Moreover, how many times did I personally just remain silent when others around me were acting in fear?

Only as we acknowledge our own complicity, do we even begin to heal.

The post Facing Fraud Fauci Fallout appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

I’m only beginning to reflect on the likely reverberating import of the tiny (maybe 40 participants?) Sisters of Earth gathering at a University run by the Sisters of Charity in Cincinnati over this past weekend.

Sisters of Earth: human females oriented to the Earth body. All of us with a purpose beyond our own individual lives.

Sisters of Earth: mostly old women, and way more than half of us nuns!, but none of them in “habits.”

Sisters of Earth nuns: called Sisters of Charity. (Though looking around the internet, there seem to be several types of Sisters of Charity. Three of the women featured on the home page here, I recognize from the weekend:)

https://www.srcharitycinti.org/

While there I discovered that they view both Thomas Berry and Joanna Macy, two of my heroes, as forerunners.

My experience over the weekend:

I found myself taking long walks with various old “nuns” and asking them about origins: how and when did you personally decide to become a nun, to dedicate your entire life to God? I was fascinated with their stories, of the decision, at usually, a very early age, to head in that direction, and with no regrets, over the decades. One of them even spoke of being 18, and hearing a voice, for the first and only time, as she was debating which of three young men to agree to give her hand: “Come. Follow me.”

That evening, at dinner with her family, when her Mom goaded her, saying it was past time for her to choose between the three men (one a classmate in high school, one in college, one even older), she responded, “the voice” having totally transformed her intention:  “I’ve decided to become a nun,” a remark which, when she heard it, caused her sister to spit out her food: ‘WHAT?” Yes, it was that unexpected.

I was fascinated, because I really did discover that it was impossible for me to ascertain who among this group was a “nun” and who was not! I find that fact utterly astonishing, since those who did became nuns and the rest of us have obviously led very different lives!

As if we  have lived in two different universes, side by side, but with very similar emotional/spiritual trajectories. Living with purpose. Connected to the Earth body. Deeply serious in our intent, but also hilariously, uproariously funny — BOTH! AND WITH SIMILAR INTENSITY! As a group we exhibited both attitudes, and to extremes! One more example of what I call the pulsing presence between polarities.

The experience reminds me of how I experience Crone, as she who lives from the inside out; and especially, she who eats her own shadow.

For both these old nuns-without-habits, and those who call themselves crones, exhibit a similar intensity, and with a capacity to live fearlessly, so much so that what can we do ultimately but laugh — intensely — gut-wrenching belly laughs, at our all-too-human predicament in living upon this good, degrading Earth — which we love beyond measure!

I will post more on this event, as soon as I hear back from organizer (and nun) Maureen, who is going to be making a PP (power point) with lots of photos. (I did not use my phone as a camera this weekend.)

The post Sisters of Earth Event Blew My Mind into My Heart appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

We will be doing lots of walking outside, including the Cincinnati Zoo and Botanical Garden.

Maybe I will take pictures. Who knows?

Going with a friend, who agreed to drive. Leave here in about an hour.

The post Today: Off to Sisters of Earth Gathering in Cincinnati appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

So did not see it live. Though I see later that he invoked the 5th over 70 times (or was it 100 times?) in two hours.

Then, at noon, I went out to lunch with both my sons, one of whom returns to Colorado tomorrow.

So for the FAUCI FARCE I’m just going to rely on substack posts by Celia Farber — she’s keeping track of the situation and putting it into various perspectives. Grateful!

When I got home from my early walk, instead of watching more of the hearing which, BTW, was scheduled for the very day Jupiter and the Sun conjunct exactly at 6°+ Leo, I sat down to look at two charts. One for today’s 8:30 AM Senate hearing and another for a possible chart for Fauci (we don’t know his birthtime, so I plugged in what I wanted to see: a chart with Pluto on the Ascendant . . .)

The first chart: today.

Sabian symbol for Sun/Jupiter at 7° Leo (next whole degree):

The constellation of stars shine brilliantly in the night sky.

Whew!

7°+ Leo also happens to be the very degree, of my own natal Pluto. (No wonder I, as a double Sagittarian with a PhD in philosophy, transformed into a professional astrologer!)

Important to note:

I share this narcissistic Pluto in Leo position with all members of my Pluto in Leo generation, born between 1938 and 1958.

Primal Pluto governs total transformation, both death and rebirth, at every level. Fauci’s refusal to answer the questions, to “admit his mistakes,” (as Rand Paul oh so kindly put it), his pleading the 5th to apparently every single one of them, after first stopping to read each one through slowly (my sons tell me at lunch) . . . how many of us still alive, proud Pluto in Leo narcissists unconsciously resonate with Fauci’s refusal to take full responsibility for intentions and actions over the course of our long lives?

In a sense this hearing is like a generational confession, symbolized by Fauci’s refusal to confess.

And this, just after his very obviously narcissistic diaries were published for all to see?!!?

Here’s an essay published back in 1987, way before I knew about Fauci and AIDS. (For his real role in the AIDS era, cf both Celia Farber and especially, the late Jon Rappoport, plus RFK’s 2021 book, THE REAL ANTHONY FAUCI.

Open this essay and you will see the full title:

“PLUTO IN LEO: AIDS and the Me Generation.” 

Pluto in Leo Generation

Pluto in Leo: signature of the generation born between 1938 and 1958.

Yes. Fauci and I share the generational signature of primal death/rebirth 248-year cycle of Pluto in the “look at me” sign of Leo.

THE TWO CHARTS

Here’s the one for the hearing itself:

Note the 3° Virgo Ascendant. Rand Paul spoke for 15 minutes to start it off, narrating, in great detail, Fauci’s actions and intentions over the decades.

Note the Jupiter/Sun conjunction, as referred to above. Then note the Moon at 5+° Aquarius, within one degree of exact opposition to Sun/Jupiter!

Whew! FULL MOON —

its personal and collectively emotionality enhanced by

not just Jupiter, but Pluto! Because . . .

Moon conjunct Pluto at 4° Aquarius within one degree!

More:

Note the Venus/Mars square, exact: Venus in Virgo 21+ Virgo square Mars 21°+ Gemini!

Note Uranus, at 4°+ Gemini, widely conjunct the 29°49 Taurus Midheaven. The FINAL degree of that stubborn, materialistic sign. The final stonewalling of what’s already been revealed, drop by drop, and now flooding . . . I’d say that the human spirit just needed Fauci — and my entire now-dying-off Pluto in Leo generation — to admit its own flaws, mistakes, shadows, etc.

Yes, that is how I’m thinking about this matter.

Here’s my chart for Fauci, speculative, since birthtime unknown. So why not place Pluto, conjunct wounded healer Chiron, conjunct  the Ascendant?

Note both Moon and Mars, in hidden, Mars/Pluto ruled sign of Scorpio.

Note Mars opposition to Uranus, exact!

Note Saturn/Jupiter conjunction in Taurus opposite Mars in Scorpio!

Oh yeah, and “demonic” rebellious Lilith herself near the MC at 21° Aries!

(Fauci: I’m going to do whatever I want and to hell with everybody else!)

And, finally, note the unusually powerful synchronization between the two charts:

Saturn/Jupiter conjunct in Taurus opposite Moon in Scorpio square Pluto/Ascendent in extremely tense T-square of Fauci’s chart with the Leo Sun/Jupiter conjunction opposite the Scorpio Pluto/Moon conjunction of the chart for when the hearing began, today!

Like an ancient engine at full throttle:

GRAND CROSS WITH ALL FOUR FIXED SIGNS ACTIVATED.

Maybe I’ll post more on this intensely deep, complex, fixed astrological mass tomorrow . . . or not.

In any case,

I do wonder if this Fauci Farce

for 8:30 AM 7/29/26

is/was one of those dates and times

“the powers that be” chose

very carefully and precisely

FOR  . . .

MAXIMUM COLLECTIVE AND ASTROLOGICAL IMPACT —

the reverberations of which will shudder steadily through the fixed sign ethers

backwards and forwards,

above and below,

demolishing what remains

— the remains —

of our so-called

western

“civil-ization”

for eons.

The post Quick notes on TODAY’S FAUCI FARCE: Pluto in Leo’s comeuppance? appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Colin had called around 1 PM, as usual. We expected him to say that he was ready to go to lunch with us. Instead, the phone call was an emergency. Charley kitty was in great distress, a fact that had become more and more obvious over the previous 48 hours (although, Colin said, he seemed to be better yesterday afternoon).

So much so that we needed to get him emergency vet care immediately.

So that set up another one of my Uranian dramas, as transit Uranus, for the first time in my life, closes its first (and only) full 84 year cycle. Transit Uranus has now moved from conjuncting itself to forming a second ever conjunction with natal Saturn.

I’m speaking here astrologically, hoping that at least one new reader begins to make larger sense of his or her life via the lenses of various long-term cycles as described by the symbolic language of astrology, where each cycle, when it closes for the first time, both completes a long-term meaningful resonance of a certain kind, and begins again, hopefully having learned from the first time around.

And of course, the longer the cycle, the more meaningful . . .

For me, Uranus at 1+° and Saturn at 6+° were conjunct in airy, mental Gemini within five degrees at my birth, both of them also opposing Mars at 2+° of fiery, far-reaching Sagittarius. Moreover, all three of these planets occupied the 6th/12th house opposition of health and disease, both individual and collective.

For me, death has ALWAYS walked by my side. Ever since Hiroshima, which I was acutely aware of, at the age of two and a half.

Death came after a long, grinding ordeal yesterday, both for Colin’s kitty, and for Sean and myself, who had discovered an emergency and urgent care vet here in Bloomington.

Here’s an excerpt from yesterday evening’s caringbridge post, in case you are interested in the awful details.

Yes, burying Colin’s kitty had occurred exactly on top of my wonderful dog Shadow’s grave. Shadow was with me for 13 years, ever since he was two years old. My present dog Scampi (who looks like Shadow’s shadow, same size and color, but with longer legs, a more wiry body, and a spirited, rather than soulful presence) is now seven years old. Those long, springy, tiny-boned legs, that jump on and off my high bed with no problem . . . yet.

I wonder, of course, what I will do if and when Scampi breaks a bone. Assuming I take him to the vet, and pay for what would be a high expense out of my limited budget, what would be his prognosis, really? Would he even endure the time it took for his bone to heal? Would I, instead, just “put him down?”

Given my German heritage, images of Nazis crowd into my thoughts. Past lives dictating who lives and who dies?

Yes, these are the kinds of thoughts that have been invading me over the past 24 hours, as transit Uranus, proceeds ever so slowly, back and forth, towards its next full contact, natal Saturn. The sense of finality, “term limits,” future goals, discipline, decision-making, limitation, form — all these Saturnian descriptors and more were breathing down my neck, as I struggled to invoke the presence of trees on this early morning’s daily four-mile walk. stopping to hold onto the trunk of a massive 180 year old bur oak, invoking its mighty and spacious presence into my interior, no matter what.

No matter what the “future” brings. And we know that, given the present tumultuous currents on every level, involving the extraordinary geometric — ultimately, remember, harmonious! — sextile/trine configuration involving Uranus, Pluto, Neptune and, over the past few days joined by generous, lucky Jupiter conjunct the Sun in Leo! . . .

. . . which today is nearly exactly conjunct my own powerful death/rebirth natal Pluto at 6° Leo.

Come’on Ann, “level up!” your awareness. Move from 3D to 5D, which I have been doing for quite awhile, going back and forth. It’s time for 5D to take over. Period. Let ‘er rip!

Not just me, but everyone on earth. Let us learn to both occupy, and especially, notice, over and over again, moment to moment to moment — our awareness of the infinite spacious 5D presence with equanimity, as both individually and collectively we learn to expertly surf the roiling emotional waves of 3D .

The post Reflecting on the CHOSEN Death of my son Colin’s kitty appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

https://x.com/search?q=Shadow%20of%20Ezra&src=typed_query

A coming time then, I would add, when, our material needs supplied, each of us can finally concentrate our full attention on re-membering and responding to our old childhood questions:

Who Am I?

Why am I here? 

What larger purpose is each of us meant to fulfill on this good earth — and beyond?

I do think Elon is correct.

I asked gemini AI “What is the original purpose of money?”

Once money goes down, the complex, complicated, deeply entertwined top-down structures that govern this 3D world, both material and spiritual, will simply dissolve.

The post SCARCITY VS ABUNDANCE: What is the Purpose of Money? Is this Purpose about to Dissolve? appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

A wonderful young woman, now 35, who lived here in our Green Acres Village ten years ago, came to visit me this morning on her way back to the town where she now lives after a weekend excursion in Bloomington. We sat on the front screened-in porch, and talked for quite awhile, ranging far and wide, and agreeing wholeheartedly that little moments between strangers, can yield wonders.

She had been worried about not getting enough human interaction in one of her day to day jobs, which is to watch at a supermarket while people do their own check-out. She expected the job to be boring, but it isn’t! Each time she goes to help someone who’s stuck, the two of them tend to briefly connect, in an authentic manner, with the customer being grateful for her help and she happy to be of help.

“You probably have these moments on your walks with your dog,” she said. Oh yes! Which prompted me to go on and on, how strangers, thanks to our dogs, for one glorious moment, tend to re-member our shared humanity.

We also talked about the amazing signs that nature gives us, or that our own bodies give us, when we need them most. Like, for example, I pointed out to her, the day a couple of months ago when twice within a couple of hours, a turkey buzzard, flying high above, dropped a load of shit on the top of my head! Huh? What are the odds?

The turkey vulture prompted me to finally look at and deal with the weird sore in back of my knee from a couple of days earlier, which, when I finally did, looked like a target, with radiating rings. In the center, oops! A tick bite!

Immediately, I had to turn my attention to healing my own body.

She, like myself, is utterly blown away that a turkey vulture would do that. Twice! Utterly astonished by how Nature teaches us, exactly the lesson we need to learn, and just when we need it.

The post I speak with a welcome visitor appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Did you happen to tune into this event last night? I certainly didn’t mean to, but then I found myself mesmerized, while lying on my side with my ipad, watching Trump, live, speak to an audience in a gold-plated, chandeliered White House room.

(I was pissed. My fascination was robbing me of needed sleep!)

In case you want to watch it now:

https://x.com/aureliusstoic1/status/2080857299711590770?s=61&t=aUBDiSUrvn0aSlRBtZx0wQ

At first I was puzzled, shocked. Both at the snide, sly, dismissive attitude of his remarks (though Trump’s the king of shock, and does so regularly), and at the weirdness of the audience reaction, or lack of reaction, to many of his remarks meant as jokes. He would subtly note that they did not laugh, or clap, and then just shrug his shoulders and plough on.

During the longish, obviously off-the-cuff speech, where he let loose with whatever, over and over again — to the audience of beautifully coiffed, manicured, and dressed young women with their men at dinner tables, over and over again craning their necks to seek each other’s eyes, embarrassed, stunned, in one way or another. Their men more stalwart, no expression, some of them rudely on their iphones.

Then, I realized, aha, this is . . . They had tried to stage this annual event earlier, at another venue, only to experience another likely (white hat? black hat?) psy-op “with lone shooter”? — muffled shots fired backstage?, with Trump rushed off the stage, and the audience ducking or scattering. Remember that one?

During the remarks that followed his own last night, Trump was seated onstage next to Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt, her motherly attitude consoling him for what he knew he needed to do, and doing it; deliberately agreeing to serve as target of their endless hostility, his sacrifice includes even welcoming in the usual, boring, endless TDS.

More and more, to me, Trump looks exhausted by the role he has courageously agreed to play, taking all the heat as the deep state is oh so gradually being exposed and ultimately dismantled.

The post At first, I had no idea what I was watching . . . appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Remember this experiment? This failed experiment?

https://x.com/SamaHoole/status/2080246967712596474?s=61&t=aUBDiSUrvn0aSlRBtZx0wQ

But isn’t that the point of an experiment, to see what else must be addressed in the next experiment?

Here’s an interesting six-year-old take on Biosphere 2’s two year human and technological drama:

https://www.theguardian.com/film/2020/jul/13/spaceship-earth-arizona-biosphere-2-lockdown

And here’s a video of what to expect from the movie. Have not watched it yet.

It would be interesting to get Elon to look at what happened, and why. I bet he would say instantly that because it was a closed system, of course it wouldn’t work.

For me, ever since I awakened to my own inner life, including my shadow, which I had been projecting out onto the world, OpenSpace has always been a verb.

OPENSPACE IS A VERB

Actually, the very first magazine I ever produced was even called OpenSpace, back in 1978.

Last night, at our twice monthly Community Dinner — open to neighbors, relatives, friends, and strangers who express an interest — two people participated who have not come before, Holly and Rukus (left and right, at opposite end of table) — plus my older son Sean, here from Colorado to visit younger (paralyzed, nerve-damaged) son Colin and myself for a week — and the intense conversation that ensued grabbed us all for nearly two hours — mostly having to do with the immense variety of ways people did and do and have and might come together to actually live “in community” — past, present, and future, here and elsewhere. Because, as everyone agreed, so many many people these days are and/or feel so isolated, lonely . . . loneliness is a silent, invisible malignant virus infecting contemporary life in America.

Individual vs. Community is one of the “pulsing presence” polarities I am fond of contemplating, and at times addressing, in experiments like the this one in which I have lived in since before it gradually evolved, beginning in 2009, into our tiny three-home-plus-gardens paradise,  Green Acres Permaculture Village, inside Green Acres Neighborhood, in Bloomington, IN.

Yesterday evening I found myself telling Rukus, a very dynamic woman who has lived through hell and come out the other side, now wanting to help undo for others what was done to her, that when you do create your own community, make sure its boundaries are permeable. Make it like a biological cell with a membrane, through which all sorts of energies are allowed to flow through.

The failed Biosphere 2  experiment is extremely instructive. Reminds me of  . . .

The same thing could happen here on our tiny biosphere, Earth. Many of us were and are thrilled and very very surprised that it hasn’t happened already! And figure that there must have been some kind of divine (or ET? “or does “divine” really mean ET?) intervention else our beautiful Earth would have already been blown to smithereens.

Let us remember, yes

Let us re-member

Re-member ourselves

Put ourselves back together again

Each one whole, holy,

All together

NOW

HOW?

Release FEAR. (False Evidence Appearing Real).

Fear contracts.

Love expands!

Let us direct our creative attention

to LOVE

centering in the heart

OPENING!

deepening into the oceanic depths

expanding into the mysterious vastness

holding, nourishing

THANKING!

this

sacred space

this

DIVINE EMBRACE

The post OPEN SYSTEMS: Essential for Life on Earth and Beyond . . . appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Books that I get from the local public library, perusing their many shelves of new releases, and leaning usually, toward books that combine the personal with the historical: either autobiographical, where the author tells his or her own story within a certain historical context, or biographical, where a seasoned author tells the contextualized life story of someone they likely deeply admire.

I’m shocked to recognize how my inner life is mutating now that I’m reading one of these books daily for at least one hour, and usually two. It’s as if I’ve re-entered a much richer, deeper understanding, resonant with history, and how what human beings do on this planet, is repeat, repeat, repeat!

I don’t even have to force myself to read printed books! I thought I would have to force myself, so much has my usual focus been fractured into a zillion fissioning bits flying into space.

Somehow, to help ground — not my body (I do that daily, with two full hours of “physical culture”) but my mind! — I needed the ability to concentrate on the larger, longer, much more textured and resonant reality of a printed book; and, voila! Once I made the decision to develop this ability, it turned out I didn’t need to develop it! I just needed to ask my brain to remember it! To remember this old old way of concentrating within 3D reality. This old way that I learned as a child, and kept alive, easily, until computers took over, for me, back in the mid-1980s.

Of course I was happy I got that old used Apple 2E computer; it meant that ideas, which for this very fiery double-Sagittarian soul, fly through like lightning, could actually, finally, flow through my fingers unimpeded. I’m still extraordinarily grateful for this technology, for this reason, for me.

But let’s get up to date. Let’s realize how hi-tech communication is also robbing us of personal connection, communion. Instead of authentic, heartfelt connection, we get attention. And attention flits from one item to another, without ceasing, without pausing to ascertain the meaning (whatever that means); we don’t care about meaning; we just keep going. Is it any wonder there is a rapacious mental virus infecting our human world?

Every time I’m out for my morning walk with Scampi, I pass by IU students on their way to somewhere else, usually head down, open phone in hand. I’d say at least 50%  fit into that category; another 30% have their phones in hand, like a baby bottle; and some of both in these categories, plus probably 15% more, stride along with ear buttons, listening. Not here, but there. As long as they have their phone, they can walk in peace! But phones are not like pacifiers. Instead, unless we put on dreamy amnesiac playlists, they stir us into stormy emotions, which we either express openly as volatility, or try to contain. Contained, depressed, the emotions settle into fat on the body, as we hungrily eat what does not satisfy.

All of which makes me happy to have my little ambassador of Love, Scampi, by my side, prancing along, meeting whoever tears their attention away to glance down, a flicker of joy spreading across their face, as they plunge into childhood memories of their own pet dog. Sometimes, of course, they stop, look up, ask me if they can pet him. YES!

Sometimes, Scampi manages to actually interrupt the robotic digital acceleration we are all subjected to, all day and all night long.

So, to return to books, and the fact that I have actually resurrected the habit of, and the ability to, actually concentrate on the entirety of a printed book.

So many current reverberations from becoming more familiar with history!

For example, the book I’m currently pursuing, THE WAR FOR MIDDLE EARTH: J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis confront the Gathering Storm, 1933-1945. 

I wrote this post specifically to draw your attention to two tiny nearly adjacent quotes from this book, ones which I copied into my journal this morning . . .

p. 25:

“Indeed, the moral necessity of war — as a check upon great evil — would emerge as a dominant theme common to the works of both authors.”

For .. .

“Though both men had reasons to despise what Tolkien called “the utter stupid waste of war,” they were both rooted in traditions that offered a more complex perspective on war and the human condition.”

 

This is how I feel about current “war” fronts, especially Iran, once again, heating up.

From my journal, in response:

“This is Trump’s point of view. Stalwart, determined, and if necessary, self-sacrificing.”

Yes, when confronted with great evil, the only option is to crush it.

It’s as if I’ve plunged my fingers into very fertile soil, crawling with worms and seeds and roots, literary, linguistic, cultural, the crawling and speeding centuries disgorging their complexified fullness.

I’m using metaphor here to try to convey just how very very different it is to read a printed book.

The post I now read printed books “for a living.” Translation: to feel my aliveness. appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Then, this morning, while at the check-out counter in the nearby Dollar Tree store (for more twice-daily “treats” to satisfy 7-year-old “puppy” Scampi’s addiction to fierce chewing), and while I was busy taking 7 packages of treats out of the bag the clerk had put them in and stuffing them instead, one by one into my backpack — the man in line behind me (old, skinny, hauling several stuffed cloth bags, looking beaten-down by the world, wouldn’t make eye contact) — had his card “rejected.”

The middle-aged woman behind him, waiting for this transaction to end, with a composed face showing no emotion, looked on as the old man, flustered, embarrassed, asked the clerk what he should do with the stuff he had hoped to buy (I didn’t notice what it was), and she, empathizing with his plight, embarrassed for him, was trying to explain to him, pointing, “Put it over there,” etc., — when the woman behind him in line remarked, in an even voice:

“Just put it on my bill.”  And again, “Just add it to my bill.”

Well, you can imagine the hoopla that caused within the man, and the clerk as well: “Thank you, thank you,” erupting over and over again from their mouths, both obviously surprised and full of gratitude.

I turned away at that point to leave the store, noticing how witnessing that encounter had suddenly shifted the entire world into blessing. And, made me feel guilty. “Why didn’t I offer too, or first?” Or, was I simply feeling competitive, ego involved?

But the lady who paid for the man’s goods did not make a big deal out of it. Not at all. I doubt she felt proud of herself for doing so. Maybe she just wanted the line to move along so she could get out of there faster? Possibly. And/or  perhaps she had just spontaneously opened her heart to the man, obviously distressed beyond all measure. A fact that I, personally, did not really register until I looked back on the encounter.

I wonder how many spontaneous, or seemingly spontaneous gestures to help others are happening? In the Dollar Treat store, in my neighborhood, in Bloomington, regionally, nationally, everywhere fractious individuals live in  fractious community?  Wonder if more generosity, or less, than usual?

I remember back in 1974, when I was newly married to the man who had been my high school boyfriend 12 years earlier. I was back in my hometown, Twin Falls, Idaho, where he was the Editor of the local paper. While out riding my bike, I had been noticing the many ways passerbys help each other, give way to each other, smile in greeting hello. Then one day I after witnessing a particularly generous scene, I suddenly asked my new husband why his newspaper doesn’t report the good news? Why only bad news? To which he replied, “Because that’s what sells papers.”

It would be wonderful if someone would try to obtain metrics that show “unexpected, good deeds, gestures of generosity” in some location, for a certain amount of time? Would that be possible? For example, at Aldi’s. So many many times when I shop there I notice myself either offering or receiving this kind of generosity, when needing a quarter to get a basket. So many times we leave each other our baskets, smiling and waving “no” when the other offers  the quarter in exchange. No. Pay it forward!

Aldi’s may indeed offer this kind of metric, if someone bothers to map it. Meanwhile, let us remember: generosity is an attitude, the attitude of Love, rather than Fear, and ultimately, its expression does not lend itself to being reduced to data points. And, these days during the likely final climax of materialism, which depends on the perception of scarcity, if Elon is correct and abundance is in the offing (search, for example, google’s Gemini AI: “Elon Musk on Scarcity vs Abundance”), it may be that pretty soon, such metrics won’t matter in the least. Everyone will get what they want. So the question is, when robbed of scarcity, when confronted with abundance, what will happen next. How much “stuff” do we really want, when so much of that stuff burdensome, and moreover, will no longer serve to create and maintain social hierarchy?

At this point, and for many decades at least, most humans have been indoctrinated into seeing the societal world hierarchically, with themselves at the bottom of the pyramid, numbed to their own latent aliveness, laboring ceaselessly for “the man,” with no recourse but starvation, death.

What happens if people are freed up to follow their own purpose? How many among us have ever even conceived of having one? Of seeing oneself as a true individual, with a life path as shown by our unique astrological chart, configured for that time, that date, that place? A chart our soul agreed to prior to birth:  with the date, time, and place exactly needed to express our own unique nature, this time around, as it unfolds through time and space?

This kind of question is not usually asked. Not yet.

In any case, what the lady did in the Dollar Tree: would that fall under the rubric socialism or capitalism? Obviously capitalism. She did it, spontaneously of her own free will. Nobody asking, nobody expecting. And the result was what socialists often preach the absence of unless socialism is instituted.

The post Capitalism, Socialism, and the Lady at the Dollar Tree appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

And this morning, I found time to put them all, plus others, into my usual weekly blogpost for greenacresvillage.org.

Should have said “store room,” not “dark room.” Oh well!

Meanwhile, my intrepid 60-year-old son Colin Cudmore, who has been paralyzed from the waist down and with more or less extreme peripheral neuropathy 24/7 for nearly 3 years, is now very excited. His older brother Sean recently ordered him a particular red light therapy apparatus (the one referred to in a post by Redacted), though it is not expected to arrive for three to six weeks. But:  one of the packages came today! We’re hoping the other is on its way too.

I just went next door to take a picture of it. Redlife is the name. I know it’s the most expensive brand, so it’s likely the one Sean bought for his brother.

I told Colin I would be down to his apartment to use it as well! He loves the idea. Who knows, maybe there will be an entire parade of folks who regularly traipse down to Colin’s apartment for red light therapy! He, ever the Aquarian extravert, loves the idea.

As soon as the other package arrives we’ll take them to him so he can begin to undergo cellular repair. Maybe the other one will even come during time Sean is here for his regular biannual visit, to arrive from Colorado this Wednesday for one week.

Colin said to me today that he dreamed last night of being able to walk again . . .

Frankly, I would not be surprised.

It may be that this three year saga will become just a blip in Colin’s life story. A huge blip, of course, in which he has had to learn to make moment by moment peace with either death or purgatory while alive, over and over and over again, and did so. (BTW: Colin happens to have perhaps the most difficult astrological chart I’ve ever seen . . .)

Meanwhile, I’m noticing in myself, the same thing I’ve noticed all my life: how I project onto others what’s actually going on inside me. Judge them internally, for it, unmercifully. While never saying a thing, of course. I’m a good girl. And noticing once again, how these judgments are, each time I take one back, actually obvious qualities within myself.

Each time, of course, the lesson is to accept and integrate the insight offered by the projection, and in fact to feel utterly grateful for it. How else am I to learn the intricacies of my own stubborn shadow?

I’m convinced that the main reason we incarnate in bodies is to learn about ourselves through relationships with others.

The post Goings on in Green Acres Village and Beyond — AND WITHIN! appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Meanwhile, there was one source I tried, and failed, desperately and repeatedly, to remember. Then voila! This morning, a new substack via email from longtime investigative journalist Elizabeth Nickson. Her substack, Welcome to Absurdistan, may well be at the very top of my current list of sources.

Her magnificent new offering, a long long piece, I presume written in response to Trump’s speech, includes at least a dozen references to both pieces she’s written about election fraud since 2022, plus videos and reposts from others, including her heroes, for example, Scott Pressler, Tina Peters, Naomi Wolf, and Seth Kessler.

Thunder and Lightning in Election Fraud Land

Hope to pursue it later today.

This morning, I google searched “trump speech election fraud” basically, just trying to remember exactly when he gave it. Aha, only two evenings ago, on July 16! But that search led to an extraordinary number of videos and commentaries on how Trump was lying, or exaggerating, or didn’t know what he was talking about, etc. Of course to be expected from the mainstream “press,” which is, as he let us know in no uncertain terms early on, FAKE NEWS. In this assessment he was echoing very recently suddenly deceased independent investigative reporter Jon Rappoport’s nomorefakenews.com, which Rappoport put online in 2001!

I remember back in 2020, stunned by the election results. Totally stunned. No way that could be real. I remember posting this image several times, not so much furious as heartbroken, desolate.

The idea that senile idiot Biden could have actually won the presidential election just seemed impossible! In one swell swoop, whatever remained of belief in the so called American system of government, with free and fair elections every four years, plummeted to hell.

As the years trickled by, and Biden’s (or his clone’s or his doubles’) senile stupidity became more and more evident, his blank look mouthing and slurring words on the teleprompter, stumbling, forgetting how to leave the stage, being “handled”  — by whom? Likely Obama, I thought. Or, deeper: the technocratic machine that includes Obama as point man.

Or, I should say, Biden was a manchurian candidate (so obviously senile he didn’t even need to be MKUltra mind controlled), and I did wonder, given my tendency to multi-level conspiratorial thinking, if there might have been a larger purpose behind placing this all too obvious buffoon in the exalted office of the “President of the United States.”

Geez, I remember a time when, though Independent, having leaned Democratic my entire voting life, I was actually swayed by Obama, in 2008, his Hope and Change mantra; that nonsense didn’t last long, But the Biden nonsense? that was front and center obvious from the get go.

So it’s no wonder that those of us who were not TDSers, but instead, realized that if the Deep State (a term that has come into common parlance over the last what, decade or so?) hates him so virulently, he must be doing something right. That their rabid vitriol was a measure of his unflappable courage, and unbreakable determination to undue what has been done to us over who knows how many (s)election cycles?

The post WELCOME TO ABSURDISTAN digs into recent history of election fraud appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Meanwhile, I’ve been meaning to update Some Sources  for awhile, even though it’s  been less than a year since I put it up. Some sources there I no longer follow, mainly because it’s all too much! And, in the case of the next three: because I fancy myself as able to pretty much predict the bones of what they will say, given their consistent attitude. Kerry Cassidy, Alex Jones, and Mike Adams, all pretty much doomers.

Plus, this is still my tendency, and why. Good to remain cognizant of mutating F.E.A.R.s (False Evidence Appearing Real) of the collective unconscious!

I have added some new (or new to me?) particularly interesting sources from twitter/X, still my go-to:

Mr. Pool

Dustin

Saggezza Eterna

Though I still do subscribe to a few substacks. Examples:

Lies are Unbekoming

Maureen Richmond (The Astrology of World Events)

Not as many on twitter/X as listed earlier. And notice, Jon Rappoport is now dead; who else? Who else has left this ephemeral stage? I notice that on twitter/X, certain fascinating characters who posted often and at length not too long ago, are basically done? Example: Quantum Tumbler.

Here are a few more interesting ones on X:

Observing Consciousness

Massimo

Bravael Le Pogam

Sama Hoole

Paul White Gold Eagle (though I read with a very skeptical eye)

Krzysztof Szczawinski

And a few more, still current, twitter/X regulars:

JoeM

JoeLange

clif is antiselenite

Philippe T

Shadow of Ezra

I’m about to remove Prolotario, even though he was on my original list and I subscribed up until now. Basically, tired of his off-putting vibe.

I’ve been reading books lately, much more than since I got addicted to the internet. Once I forced myself to get into the habit of reading actual printed matter again — and not just glancing off the page — I find it not just easy, but extremely rewarding, especially biographies and personal memoirs — noticing where they do and do not remind me of my own life. Noticing the various contexts the authors live within, and how that informs their perspective.

In other words, thanks to reading, holding a steady focus has now returned, if the material is interesting enough. Something that I, and millions of others whose hunger to enlarge personal perspective is inborn, had done especially since the introduction of free public libraries in the late 19th century, thanks to Carnegie! And notice: unlike the internet, printed books invite us to expand our imaginative reach. We dip into the book. We get lost in another world.

Sudden memory: of me as a child (many times), curled up with a book, Mom calling me to come set the table for dinner. I simply couldn’t hear her — until she came closer and called out again, louder . . .

Unfortunately, in this relatively new (old, remembered) practice, I’m still an outlier:

The post ON THE FLY: “Some Sources” Update appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Have to keep on freshly noticing her foul moods (why?), her fury (at what?). What is blocking me? Then, given my tendency to paranoia, the question comes up: Is my internal state really mine? Is there any situation in my life that would actually warrant such a nasty mood? (Which, being a good girl, I keep hidden, of course. It’s just me who knows my inner state.)

Then, as usual, instantly I expanded my personal focus to all of humanity. Is this inner turbulence — which all too often results in external conflict, violence, death — what we’re all going through at this time in history? And, worse: is it being engineered. Is there a continuous “voice to skull” message beaming through all of us? If so, by whom? Or what?

If so, I need to protect myself. NOW. Banish the poison; then create a impenetrable bubble of personal protection.

Suddenly, I happen to look down. Down at the street. And guess what immediately pops into view:

A few feet later, another one:

Ommigod, it’s a rune! Which one?

When I returned home I looked it up.

Going back later and taking two photos, I notice that this chalk marking is made to signal “continue” to workmen between two chalked marked signs indicating start here and stop here.

And one could say the same about what Eihwaz means for me.

Continue. Just continue.

Or, as we hippies used to intone:

Don’t worry, be happy.

Eihwaz points the way.

Thanks, universe!

The post CROTCHETY CRONE: gifted with synchronicity at dawn, linking street mark to rune. Wow. appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

And that has nothing to do with Uranus. That, my friends, is dreamy, visionary, unifying, inspiring, confusing, atmospheric Neptune at work. And the powerful, deepening profundity of each drama, which seems to force to the surface so much “unhealed business,” no matter how much we’ve tried like hell to bury it forever, is the work of primal, death/rebirth Pluto.

All three outer planets are and have been, for awhile now, configured into an harmonious astrological triangle in which they are either sextile (60°) or trine (120°) the other two. Uranus in Gemini, Neptune in Aries, and Pluto in Aquarius: two in air, the other in fire. Worldwide, the human condition, as set by the collective unconscious, is both volatile (Aries, Uranus), and continuously spewing “narratives” (Gemini, Pluto in Aquarius) in all-too-human — ultimately failing — attempts to control (Pluto) both the process and the outcome.

Against this outer planet background, coming right up: Jupiter, in Leo, about to contact this three way (ultimately) harmonious configuration, and to steady and magnify it (fixed sign Leo). Generous, lucky Jupiter to settle, or even “lord it over” the overall drama of dramas in a way that will seem — at least for awhile, since the four-planet configuration to be temporarily produced is at 4° — to have added another harmonious aspect to the original three,

Anyone with major planets or Ascendant/Descendant, or MC/IC configured with any of these four planets, will be especially affected.

Like me. All four planets figure prominently for my natal chart. No wonder, the Uranian experience of yesterday. No wonder my feeling of being protected (Neptune), and of somehow accessing the primal power (Pluto) to work with whatever is the next unexpected (Uranus) drama to pop up! Jupiter, the frosting on this collective unconscious cake, will be aspecting the three planet configuration during the second half of this month. On July 19-21, it will reach exactitude: opposite Pluto, trine Neptune, and sextile Saturn, all four at 4°+ of their respective signs.

For more on the background context, see this:

The Uranus Neptune Pluto Triangle of 2024–2028

Now add Jupiter to the mix:

Yep, it appears we are driving pell-mell, kicking and screaming “No! NO!” into

a decisive “relaunch of civilization,”

with each of us not only affected,

but acting as a change agent. 

The post THE WIDENING (harmonious!) CONTEXT: Uranus, joined by Neptune, Pluto, and, very soon, JUPITER! appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

The drama was inherently difficult, first of all, because I am one who, except for eyes (cataract surgery), teeth (still figuring that one out), and orthopedics (two broken bones in 15 years), works with my own health holistically. I strive to get and stay in tune with my own nearly 84-year-old body which always knows what it needs — IF I can stop my mind long enough to listen! For I too, of course, am a scientistic descendent of the culture of Descartes, for whom mind and  body are split — as in “I think, therefore I am” — to which I tend to conclude: “therefore only my thinking is me!”

And secondly, the drama was difficult because, though I don’t have a “primary doctor,” I’ve recently decided I probably need to get one, at least to establish an allopathic baseline at my advanced age. But who? Being so fiscally responsible, I already pay $250 extra per month for insurance beyond what’s covered by social security. I would rather find a doc who’s independent, i.e., not “in the system” (IU Health). And I did find one, only to call this morning, and discover his services are cash only, no insurance — and he charges $500 for just the first consultation!

But back to yesterday.

I had finally made my peace with getting Scampi his required vaccination. Went down to where the Monroe County Human Society had scheduled a mobile vet stop, from 1-3 PM, yesterday, at a location I had tremendous trouble getting to, understanding exactly where it was, despite having kind of figured out the address (in a Section 8 Housing complex) beforehand. Because I worried that I’d have to go back on map quest to look, I also brought ipad and iphone along. And, just in case, a tiny note on which I had scribbled directions.

Anyway, enough of that. I finally got to the correct address, by driving round and round the large apartment complex, thinking I had blown it, when suddenly I saw where a tent had been set up and I could make out gobs of people with leashed dogs.

Whew! First obstacle overcome. I found the place! (Somehow I suspected (actually, intuitively knew) beforehand that I would be faced with many obstacles, since I was doing what I did not want to do, but instead obeying the state law.)

Tentatively triumphant, I parked the car, filled out the form that a Humane Society volunteer handed me, and went to get in line. A long long line. A line winding around on a sidewalk until disappearing through the front door of an apartment building. A line which had a single small canopy covering part of the sidewalk, and the rest of the line standing in blazing, extremely humid, hot sun.  All the dogs, and some people had as many as three, were panting of course, since, without sweat glands, the tongue is their only avenue for cooling down.

The line was silent, outwardly polite, owners paying attention to their own dog(s), making sure leashes didn’t get tangled, with some also on their phones; everybody waiting, waiting . . .

I joined the line, asked the obese youngish woman with three large, long-haired, panting dogs (she was obviously suffering more than most humans in the sweltering heat) next to me how long she had been waiting there. “50 minutes,” she responded, her friendly face sweating. Oh boy . . . and this event was only scheduled for 1-3 PM? (I had left the house at about 1:05, took 20 minutes to find the location, and was now finally in line, with Scampi, who at first freaked at the unaccustomed dog melee, but quickly figured it out, and stood patiently by my side.

Within a few minutes, I realized I would need to pee during the wait, and told this same woman. She said, “Oh you can do that. Just go inside.” The kind, sweet-faced young man right behind me who had joined with only one dog agreed to hold Scampi’s leash. I told Scampi and he did not freak, which surprised me.

So I went inside the cool air-conditioned building, where there were lots more people with dogs, plus a few more Humane Society volunteers. Suddenly I realized that one of them was my old veterinarian. The one I had loved! He had retired probably ten years ago, but was now volunteering. Shocked to see him — my ongoing volatile, unpredictable Uranus Return abruptly activated — and utterly thrilled, I went right up to remind him that once when I was there with one of my dogs, he had picked him up, and while holding him gently, said to me, plaintively, “And they say animals don’t have souls?”

I sensed he was a bit embarrassed to hear this tender story from his professional past, in the presence of another woman who was listening. But that didn’t stop me. In fact, from then on I was thoroughly Uranian-ized.

What happened next upped the ante:

I had gone into the bathroom, and came out. Then, suddenly realizing I must have left my purse (which I wear draped over my shoulder) there, I hastened back in to get it. Looked around. No purse. What? It wasn’t there. IT WASN’T THERE! (Inside, worming into class-bound consciousness: “This is Section 8 housing: who knows who lives here? Could someone have stolen it that fast?”)

Tried again, and again. Hastening back to the bathroom, then out in the large community room with all the animals and people, muttering frantically: “I can’t find my purse! Anyone seen a purse?”

Uranus had erupted into full-blown hysterics. I rushed back outside, muttered loudly to everybody out there, both in the line and at the intro table staffed with volunteers, “I lost my purse! Have you seen my purse!” —  then stopped at my place in the still growing line. Asked the obese woman and the young man if they had seen my purse? Both had said they hadn’t noticed a purse.

I ran to the car, ommigod it was open! It was supposed to be locked! but thank god it’s open. My purse must be in there! But it wasn’t. However, the black case with both my ipad and iphone was in there, in the unlocked car, in a sketchy neighborhood . . .

F.E.A.R. (False Evidence Appearing Real) had taken me by storm. Now what! What can I do! I don’t even have the key to the car; it’s in my purse! — Nor do I have an extra key at home!

I started running from the parked cars back to the line, so desperately that I didn’t notice the iron hitch that the top front of the calf of my left leg suddenly scraped against. After a few feet I stopped, looked down. A bleeding scrape, about three inches long. Went over to my place in line. The friendly obese woman, staring at my bleeding leg, picking up on my hysteria, freaked out: “Was the hitch rusty?? Need a tetanus shot!”

Ohh no . . . not gonna go there. Instead, I ran right into the building and into the bathroom again, and of course, looked again for the missing purse first, then grabbed toilet paper to thoroughly clean the wound with soap and water. Several times, grabbing more toilet paper, rinsing and covering it with soap, rubbing it on the wound to increase, encourage the bleeding in case there was any poison in there.. Tried to pat it dry.

Went back out. But now my leg was very obviously bleeding . . . I went over to the Human Society Volunteer who had checked me in. My purse was not there. Decided to go back inside to clean the scrape again, and maybe get it to stop bleeding? And of course, to look again for the purse.

Did that, but with blood still trickling out, started back, obviously utterly totally desperate, by this time I had caused such a ruckus that the whole crowd was restless . . . when that same volunteer who had signed me in was now standing inside the door.

She said to me, authoritatively. “YOU stay here, I will go look.” Repeated this command, several times. “You stay here.”  Then she handed me a large bandaid that would perfectly cover the bleeding wound. Huh?! I gaped in surprise. “I just happened to have it in my pocket,” she muttered softly as she disappeared into the hall for the bathroom.

And came back out with the purse! THE PURSE! MY PURSE! I was so astonished and grateful I couldn’t help but hug her, long and hard, everybody watching.

The purse had been on a hook on the back of the door. Somehow I had missed it, twice, three times, four?

So now I could go clean the wound one more time and this time, cover it.

I did that, went outside with my purse, and resumed my place in line with the others, a line that had advanced considerably. All this time Scampi had been waiting patiently, seeming to know what’s up — both what we were doing there in this strange situation with so many people with leashed panting dogs, and what was going on within me.

And, by this time, those in line were beginning to converse with others, “Look at that wonderful puppy!” “Oh wow, what a great dog you have!” etc. I added to the mix by announcing loudly, and humorously every time a dog or dogs with their owners came out of the building, “All right. One more done. Not so many more to go!”

At one point I was under the canopy tent with others and encouraged yet another person to join us there, by moving over slightly. We were all enlivened now, each of us feisty, but normally shy individuals, as a single flowing current, actually having fun, waiting in the sweltering sun.

Once I got Scampi inside, the wait for the volunteer to bring him back to me was not even a minute long.

This Uranian experience, which put me on the side of the law (natal Uranus conjunct Saturn, with transit Uranus now only 2° away from it’s first ever conjunction with natal  Saturn), did truly feel like the “slaying the dragon” part of the “hero’s journey.” I had decided not to be an “outlaw,” at least for now, and in this manner. And had succeeded, while causing a huge Uranian ruckus, thanks to mental hysteria (natal Uranus/Saturn in Gemini), and helped by many others all the while, each one just exactly when I needed him or her.

The entire experience, which felt like a lifetime, lasted only two hours.

The post URANUS RETURNS (story): Yesterday’s hysterical “adventure” resulted in bleeding wound. appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

But then, a week or so prior to his death, I decided not to pay in the small amount, but to continue a free subscription, and still look at it once in a while. It seemed to me that his deeply doomer attitude was not something I needed to encourage in myself.

Then the news. He was stopping his posts. All of a sudden. The final post written not by him, but by his “producer,” Tom Kudla, who had been with him for a long time and was busy archiving all his work.

https://jonrappoport.substack.com/p/jons-prerecorded-farewell-message

This final post also contained a number of photos of Rappoport, young and handsome, in his heyday —

and lately.

I consider that final image terrifying. As if he had seen, analyzed, and divulged so very much about the mental poison that has infected our culture that his written “corpus” ended up eating him alive. As if he was mocking us for still be-LIE-ving in the medical/pharmaceutical profession.

Back in the early ’80s, I was still brainwashed. Not totally, but to some extent. So when the AIDs fear porn began to course through society, specifically targeting gay men, I didn’t pay much attention — until I went to San Francisco as an astrological consultant for friends of a friend of mine in the Castro District. Most of her very dear friends were gay men!

I wondered, geez? Should I get tested? My friend convinced me not to. Said I didn’t need it. I believed her.

But, nagging in the back of my mind: a few years earlier I had been briefly involved with a sweet, kind man, a medical doctor, who I discovered later, was actually gay. In other words, I functioned for awhile as his “beard.” We never discussed his proclivities, though we came close to doing so. Nor did I speak of them to others for decades. (He died many years later.)

I mention this from my own herstory, just to introduce the fact that I, among millions of people, recognized at some point in our lives that we had been fear porned, scammed, by so-called “AIDS” (and it’s poisonous “cure,” AZT).

No wonder it was so obvious to me from the beginning that so-called “covid” was a total con, and that the vaccine would be not the cure but the poison.

Way back then, independent investigative journalist Jon Rappoport, who had already been exposing as bullshit other so-called “disease outbreaks,” gradually introduced the culture to his caustic contention: that horribly scary AIDS was not actually a single “disease,” but just a large and varied collection of “symptoms” (due to any number of poisons, life style, etc.) that someone in the CDC officially named “AIDS,” back in 1981. His book, AIDS Inc, was published in 1988.

In 2006, journalist Celia Farber looked again at AIDS, in detail, from an historical point of view. See the description of her book on Amazon.

Celia Farber has penned an initial response to the seemingly sudden news of Jon Rappoport’s death, on Wednesday, July 6.

https://celiafarber.substack.com/p/farewell-to-a-friend-ally-war-buddy

And “Unbekoming” has published a remarkable tribute, one which I particularly resonate with.

https://www.unbekoming.com/p/jon-rappoport-reporter

[It begins: and notice the intro material  ends with the first “disease” he’s going to check out: AIDS, 1988.]

The post Cultural Change Agent Jon Rappoport died Wednesday, July 8, 2026 appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

As one of the few remaining World War II babies (born 1942), I actually, personally, remember the contaminated atmosphere of our world in total shit way way before I started to consciously recall that it went to shit. Remembering it before it went to shit is likely the Boomer generation’s experience. The ’50s, especially, when comfortable middle class family life stabilized the (pulsing) center between the rapacious way-too-rich, and the ghastly way-too-poor.

But then of course, as everything changes, stabilization turned into stagnation, finally wrenching the culture in the opposite direction: what the few remaining my age and boomers now remember, nostalgically, as “the (turbulent, free-love, do your thing) ’60s.”

Yes, I remember World War II, the F.E.A.R (False Evidence Appearing Real) her husband (my father) would not return, how it paralyzed my mother, so that she was unable to emotionally nourish me, much less to breast feed me. That stopped the very day he left home, and I seem to recall her own mother recommended that she wean me to a cup rather than a bottle. No wonder I was addicted to cigarettes for so long!

I know I’ve detailed this before, here, ad nauseam!  And no wonder. This was my PTSD imprint. What was yours? Because we all have one, some experience, or ongoing situation, or both, when we were very young and impressionable, that stamped us for life, rigidifying attitudes, values, etc., unless and until we begin to “process” what happened to us. And even then, there’s no way to erase. Rather soften into spaciousness as much as possible.

Personal Processing

BTW: her mother, my grandmother, never let her children meet their grandparents, even though they lived in the same town. Why? Because they were obviously “Jewish.” Not that I ever knew this, while growing up. Our Jewish ancestry was successfully hidden for me, until a few years ago! Jewish meant “bad.” Jewish meant contaminated.

So, you might say, the world has been going to shit forever! And resurrecting, regenerating, forever!

And it’s not just generational, racial, cultural wars. How about those drat “flock” cameras? Our current city council finally got word about the flock cameras having been introduced to Bloomington, and they started a local movement to have them removed! YES!

https://bloomington.in.gov/news/2026/04/15/6521

Bloomington is by far not the only town. At least 85 towns across this nation have NOT renewed their flock contracts.

Meanwhile, some contrarians don’t bother to wait for legal means.

It may be that flock cameras, and other applications, technologies, of the AI driven technocratic state, will be the trigger that unites us all, to finally see and feel beyond our increasingly polarized left-right divide.

Bah humbug to all that! We are all human beings, deserving of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

The post Crotchety Crone: Signs of Renewed Life appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

I guess she found the notes early this morning. She always works early morning in the garden, and usually we have summer’s abundance to share with neighbors.

Here’s what’s there now, by the road. Likely be gone by this evening.

Seeing that first photo she sent flipped my crotchety mood instantly.

Suddenly (thanks ,Uranus!) I was returned to my much more customary state, radiating a penumbra of intense gratitude for all that life continues to shower upon me, including this tiny three home village inside a suburban neighborhood in Bloomington, IN.

greenacresvillage.org

I post on that site once a week, tracking both weekly Sunday morning Work Parties (I document, but do not join) and twice a month Thursday Community Dinners (which I host, alternating with Elisha, either on the patio or in one of our houses). Both regular occasions are open to one and all, not just those who live here (seven total, currently), and I send out an email notice to a still-growing list the Tuesday beforehand.

This tiny, potent place, and these already long-standing traditions (15 years now, one half of a Saturn cycle!) that have gradually seeded, grew, continue to blossom after I moved to this town, this neighborhood, this street corner, in 2003, to nourish both me and others (natal Jupiter 23° Cancer, being currently crossed by transit Jupiter!) feels wonderfully dynamic, alive: like a tree, my welcoming home base centers me, spine rooted into earth and lifting to the sky, branches waving, welcoming one and all.

And yet, as usual, I see what I have created in in Bloomington over the last 23 years, as an experiment, just as my life is itself an experiment. This one, not just abstract and philosophical (Sun, Ascendant, Mars in Sagittarius), but located in the material world (natal Moon in steady, grounded Taurus), its dynamic pulsing center encouraging both individuals and community in a psychic and sociological blending of both as a polarized pair. Lean too much one way, and the result is competition, anarchy, even chaos. Lean too much the other way, and the result is hive mind, commune, collectivism.

And, for  this extremely energetic double Sagittarian, who gets easily bored without ongoing challenges, of course I’ve enjoyed/endured other experiments. You might say experimentation is my middle name!

Experimentation with ignition and nourishment of all sorts of structures and processes, and these include living in many different kinds of communities inhabited by other contrarians like myself!

Example: “Munchkin House,” back in Twin Falls Idaho, my home town, where I returned to marry my high school boyfriend in my very early 30s, and then divorced, lovingly, two years later. “Munchkin House” was owned by a rich boy friend, gifted to me for my use. I quickly gathered lonely contrarians in that conservative town and started a volunteer local magazine, Open Space, which soon took over both living room and basement. (Sorry. Lousy picture. Took it just now on the fly. You get the gist.!)

OPENSPACE IS A VERB

In any case, I’m aware today that my crotchety attitude of the past two days stemmed mostly from being pissed that my thumbs no longer work the way they used to; that I now have to make sure I hold on to railing with both hands when descending steep basement stairs; that my sleep is even more sporadic the older I get (oops, I mean the older I grow). In short, I’ve had to pay attention! Slow down lest I fall! Damn it!

Rather than going gently into this good night, I instinctively rage at the first discernible traces of the inevitable dying of the light inside me. My fiery spirit wants to just continue on, forever, here on this beautiful planet, doing what I’ve always done, stirring up all sorts of attitudes, blessings, controversies, both inside me and out.

Of course, they say, “growing old is not for sissies.” — Though that phrase really annoys me. . . Of course it does! Probably because I was NOT the one who invented it. Ego still rules, way too much of the time. And ego wants what it wants, now. And when that nut butter jar is just too much for me to open, requiring me to ask someone else to do it — well, I get pissed, rather than empathize with my dear body, and how it has carried me through all sorts of perils and panaceas, for going on 84 years.

Here’s an interview that reviews another one of my ignitions, again a community formed through a magazine, that one to unite and celebrate older women (1989-2001) as individuals.

THE CRONE CHRONICLES EXPERIMENT

Let’s face it, Ann.

YOU are the one who needs to live up to the intense, archetypal value of the Crone stage of a woman’s life that you helped to introduce to this culture when you were only 46 years old.

Getting ahead of myself back then?

And now, looking back at myself?

But still here, still kicking

(though with less force)

— and usually,

intensely grateful

for every single risky adventure

I’ve had the temerity to,

or had been forced to,

undertake.

The post (Suddenly) GRATEFUL CRONE! and here’s why appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

And yes, the sight disturbed me. How could it not, given what I (think I) know? When we began our walk, at about 8:15, the sky was clear blue (though, had I looked carefully, I would have seen spidery remains of still visible very early morning chemtrails.)

I’m used to this, of course. All of us are used to these kinds of chemical assaults in air, water, food, soil, contaminating all of life on this most sacred planet.

And that’s not even to mention processed food, processed perceptions, processed (MK Ultra altered) “opinions.”

Here’s another shot, showing especially the chemtrail haze. I took both these photos after I got back from my walk. Ran outside to get them. Not to worry, the darkness in the top section of this one is my thumb . . .

Okay. So where am I in my crotchety status? How shall I respond, rather than react, this time, to the chemtrails? In my little world, very few people are interested in looking up. As an astrologer, of course, I’ve been “looking up” for decades! Looking up, especially at night to note the earth as centered within the solar system and winking stars beyond, reverberating with the whole of not just nature on earth, but with the mysterious inhabitants of the sky.

As a kid, I remember one afternoon lying down in the grass and gazing into infinity, wondering what’s beyond, is there an end to the sky? When all of a sudden, coursing through heart and soul, an intense gratitude that the sky was blue, when it could have been any other color! No. It was blue! Clear, beautiful BLUE. My favorite color, by far. It’s calming effect helped me let go, if briefly, of my PTSD’ed, war-baby (WWII) self.

What’s the experience of today’s children? How often are skies really, truly BLUE?

And that’s not even to mention our “visitors from above” (or “below,” in tunnels, DUMBS; or “within” various dimensions). We used to call them ETs, and it was just us weirdos who frequented UFO conferences. Looking back, I’d say we attendees were being freshly MK Ultra-ed ourselves, to believe in various contradictory theories, perspectives; this, made possible by our egocentric pride in having opened to the larger universe.

And then of course, there’s the usual question: good or bad???

Are ETs here to help us, join us, or are they here to harm us, harvest us. If the former, there are still plenty of “channels” around that will tell us about the benefits of listening to their “wisdom.” If the latter, well, then, likely all part of the F.E.A.R (False Evidence Appearing Real) porn, designed to freak us out, corral us into the technocratic New World Order while increasing the revenues of the MIC (Military Industrial Complex), as we prepare to fight, fight, fight!

Or of course, we might ask, Is life beyond earth just like life on earth, with both positive and negative ETs? But what’s positive for one being may be negative for another! For example, those ETs who supposedly want to harvest us? Just like we harvest cattle? Think about that. The universe is full of beings eating each other for sustenance!

Or maybe they just want to harvest our “loosh”? (Look it up.)

The relevant vocabulary has increased in especially the last few years: NHI, ultraterrestrials, aliens, space beings, etc. with these beings taking many forms: hybrid humans, plasma beings, reptilians morphing in and out of human form . . . on and on.

Meanwhile, I stand here, in my 84th year, capturing chemtrails as usual. Still wondering who flies those planes, and for whom? I mean, of course I know: the Deep State, a phrase which came into the vernacular in 2016, thanks to Trump, from a 2014 book by Peter Dale Scott called American Deep State.

But what does Deep State talk mean here, specifically.

If you want to get up to speed, watch Dane Wigington’s THE DIMMING, which he released in 2021.

The post Crotchety Crone Looks Up . . . appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

. . . but then realized I have no idea what’s “really” going on even here in my own neighborhood, given that every facet of 3D materialistic “reality,” large or small, vast or too tiny to actually perceive “directly” with no (obvious) filters with one’s five external senses, seems to have been morphing, dissolving, disappearing, thanks to internet, AI, screens of all kinds, and other fakery.

Which is now being exposed, or sorta, kinda. Cf. the “congressional hearings” on MK ULTRA.

Of course the notion of a congressional hearing is itself a structural frame/process that belongs to the old 3D world of institutions, forms, frames to direct human energy of all kinds, originally meant to be more or less “permanent,” or at least to last for a “long” “time.” And then for us to congratulate ourselves when we reach a certain temporal marker re: any of these frames. E.g. the 3D space/time configuration we “celebrated” during the just-passed “250th anniversary of the U.S.  Declaration of Independence.”

And that’s not even to address specifically human fakery, also rampant. Whatever happened to “authentic connections?” The word “performative,” which I only noticed in common use recently, is one linguistic indicator of the rampant role-playing that has pervaded this culture; since when, forever? I first noticed it when I supposedly turned into a “wife,” for the first time, back in 1963.

An obviously narcissistic image comes to mind: of a young woman walking down the street, holding her phone in front of her face as she walks, so as to “capture” — for herself? For men? other young women? for “social media,” who knows? In any case, performative has replaced personal, fleeting attention has replaced genuine connection.

This is a crone in her 84th year speaking; keep that in mind! The older I get I do seem to be getting more crotchety. The fact that I am only rarely pleased about something I notice in the 3D world is something I’m not pleased about. That’s for sure! My prevailing mood is less than desirable; put it that way.

Okay. But it helps to write it out. As it always did for me. I seem to be driven to share my personal experience with the larger world, something I have done forever, in one way or another. The essays I wrote beginning especially in 1986 when I got my first computer, so that the keyboard could keep up with electrically flowing ideas (Uranus in Gemini opposite Mars in Sagittarius!). These essays and e-book essay collections are gradually being transferred to my literary archive, tendrepress.com. They nearly always reflect on the larger meaning of personal experience, contextualized into larger and larger impersonal cycles of one kind or another. That’s how I was made, apparently; and some would say, including myself: that’s why my soul chose to embody itself on a specific date, time, and place: December 19, 1942, at 8:02 AM, in San Antonio, TX. (Astrologers, see chart here.)

To me, the most important learning from my study of and practice of astrology especially (seeing it as one way of symbolizing the the multidimensional frame/process that seems to govern our lives), has been transform my understanding of linear time and space, into continuously, ever-increasing looping, cycles within cycles within cycles. . . Time and space are curved; together they curl, spiral, the way nature does. No “straight lines” in nature! WE are the ones who create straight lines; WE are the ones who have constructed this four-square “reality.”

Nothing on a 3D “causal” level holds my interest in the face of awareness of continuous synchronistic resonance. As I used to tell clients, and still tell those when they come to me for advice: Follow your own unique path. Do not worry about what anyone else thinks of you. Just be yourself, fully. The universe will thank you for it.

Even better: follow your nature, and nature will take care of you. 

Yes: follow my own natural path too, no matter how increasingly weird, lit by ever-arising synchronicities winking in and out like fireflies.

The post Confessions of a Crotchety Crone appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

I’ve pursued this essay once, and will do so again, not to just even begin to  “get the gist,” — my usual approach — but to peer closely, paragraph by paragraph, in an attempt to unravel and rethread, and ultimately comprehend! — its dense webbed complexity.

https://burningbright.substack.com/p/of-founders-and-foundations

The post Burning Bright’s Multi-layered Linguistic Analysis/Synthesis of Our Present Moment. appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

I’ve been inundated by internal Uranian explosive turbulence ever since it began to make its one and only (unless I live to be 168 years old . . . ha!) 84-year return to its own natal place — first in the summer of 2025, and now, summer 2026, with the entire process to finish up in March 2027 (while heading directly into its first ever conjunction with my natal Saturn; — so this once in a lifetime ordeal is nowhere near done).

Uranus was conjunct Saturn at my birth (1-7° Gemini), a rare generational signature that occurs about every 45 years. Those born around 1988 also have it. For them the conjunction occurs in early Capricorn, Saturn’s sign. Anyone with this dynamically polarized combination must, through often painful experience, learn how to consciously channel, direct (Saturn) the explosive Uranian energy. For my Saturn/Uranus generation, in mental Gemini (most of us now dead or dying), is it no wonder I am constantly describing in language my Saturn/Uranus experiences?

I have written at least 15 posts that deal with this topic, the closure of the first cycle of Uranus (“Uranus Return”), likely one that most of my readers have not lived through, whether or not they are familiar with astrology. So, you might say, I am documenting how the closing of this immense cycle is being lived through by one conscious being.

Okay, so on to today, which happens to be July 4, 2026, the 250th anniversary of the birth of the U.S.A. It’s also the final day (in a three day process or so), that the transit of fiery, impulsive Mars (an 18-month to 2 year cycle), is exactly conjuncting transit Uranus at 3°+ Gemini. . . .

This conjunction also happens to echo my own chart, where my original Uranus (at 1°36 Gemini) sits, opposite my natal Mars at 2°42 Sagittarius! So, for me, all my life, sudden shocking (Uranus) events are to be expected (Saturn)!

Given the volatile temper of the times, and also for me personally, I am more than usually careful when driving, and usually avoid it, if possible. Who knows what Uranian accident is waiting to happen?

On the other hand, I’m aware that I am protected, that intuitive guidance has always steered me out of the way of dangerous situations.

Or it usually does.

So, what happened this morning.

Out on my usual early morning walk with Scampi, I saw a young man ahead on the path with a large black hound of some kind. As usual, I called out, “Okay if they meet?” — expecting that he would say “sure!” or “yes!” or “okay.” Which he did, after first hesitating (something I didn’t notice at the time). As we came close he dropped the leash. An unusual move, but okay. That way their leashes wouldn’t get tangled up.

Suddenly, instead of nosing down to Scampi who was eagerly trotting up to meet him, his dog swerved, came up to me, so suddenly and powerfully that I worried he might, in his eagerness, jump up and accidentally knock me down. Looking back, I have a sense that this instinctive fear in me triggered his aggressive nature, because he suddenly bit me on the upper right arm, hard!

He then tried to attack Scampi too, as his owner, having retrieved the leash, was dragging him away from both of us.

Of course I was shocked, looking at my arm. The young man, right as it occurred said, alarmed, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I responded. The bite did not break the skin.”

The two of us, with our restrained dogs, looked at each other, both trying to digest what had just occurred, as the young man murmured, “Yes, sometimes he’s . . .”

So that’s why he hesitated in the first place!

Whew! Of course both of us were relieved. And of course, I was concerned about his dog, and he knew it. And he felt bad. And likely wished he had said to begin with, while steering around us, “I don’t think so. He’s not predictable.” Something this does happen once in a while on our walks, and of course Scampi and I honor it,  both parties steering a wide birth.

In any case, I bring this up to illustrate the sudden shocking, dangerous event that happened to me on our walk, on July 4th, as transit Uranus was being conjuncted by transit Mars at 3° Gemini — which just happens to resonate with the Mars/Uranus positions in my original chart.

It’s not just when driving that I need to be careful . . .

BTW: dog attacks are a recurrent part of my long herstory, three of them vicious and long-lasting, with two of these involving multiple dogs! Only once was I actually seriously bitten. Hmmm . . . Should I look back and see what was going on with transiting Saturn and Uranus on those occasions?

The post Shocking personal fireworks on July 4th early morning walk appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

If you’re like me, you’ve never thought seriously about, or even noticed, paid close attention to, both the fact that the founders had to operate in total secrecy, as well as how this fact correlates with the Cancer stellium the U.S. chart!  

She points out that Sun, Jupiter, Mercury and Venus — all in Cancer — guaranteed that Americans would be not just home-loving and protective, but tending to exhibit as well the Cancerian quality of secrecy, wanting to keep things private . . . This secretive tendency has played out in many ways, of course, not all nefarious — and given the original design of the U.S. chart, as long as we remain an intact country, she views secrecy as bound to continue.

In other words, and this is me talking: there’s no sense in judging this quality of secrecy as inherently bad, evil, nefarious, to be avoided — which is what I tend to do!

https://maureenrichmond.substack.com/p/the-birth-of-a-nation-july-2-4-1776

Excerpts:

Cancer is an introspective and self-protective sign. It does not give up information about itself willingly. Retrograde Mercury in Cancer opposite Pluto in Capricorn in the natal chart of the USA has manifested in numerous ways, but most often in the dynamic of secrecy. The nation itself was born in the most urgent form of secrecy, as colonists met behind locked doors and communicated by code and sign as they contrived to buck the greatest economic and military power of the world at that time. Their lives on the line, the rebelling colonists could do no other than hide their true intentions.

The business of hiding the truth would continue as the nation evolved. In 2026, some of the hidden truth has bubbled to the surface in the form of Congressional hearings on suppressed information, including presidential assassinations, elimination of racial leaders, devious CIA programs, ufo materials, and more. Though the nation was born in a secrecy necessary at the time, that secrecy spawned by natal retrograde Mercury in Cancer opposite Pluto in Capricorn has continued in deeply problematic forms in the years, decades, and centuries since the founding. Perhaps with Pluto again in Aquarius just like it was throughout the Revolutionary War, a different management of the natal chart will emerge. Aquarius is the sign of the people, the demos, the mass of persons – a stark contrast to Capricorn with its emphasis on power, prestige, status, and elitism. As Aquarius is emphasized via the transit of Pluto in that sign throughout the early twenty-first century, the USA natal Moon in Aquarius will be made to shine more brightly.

 

She then points to an amazing set of synchronicites:

As is evident, the sign of Cancer figures largely in the natal astrology of the American nation, with the Sun, Mercury, Venus, and Jupiter in that sign. Gemini weighs in as a secondary influence, with Mars and Uranus positioned in that sign. It is of note that again at the 250^th Anniversary, not only is Mercury back in Cancer and recently turned retrograde at 26 Cancer as before, but also are Mars and Uranus back in Gemini. And to beat all, not only are Mars and Gemini back in Gemini, they are also precisely conjunct on July 4, 2026 – an astounding synchronicity to say the very least.

WHEW! Much to unpack here, and she does a lot of it. Grateful for both her perspective that denotes not just idealism, but realism — in her detailed recounting of our beloved nation through time.

The post Astrologer Maureen Richmond considers “THE (secretive) BIRTH OF A NATION: 1776-2026” appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Then I found him otherwise. And now, this remarkable man, one of the most prominent original interpreters of the Q material, is again on X. He has now re-visited Q, in light of this administration’s numerous recent references to that remarkably weird, stand-out, enigmatic (prophetic?) material that started posting on October 28, 2017  and ended on December 30, 2020.

I discovered the Q drops just as they began, sensed them as being entirely out of the ordinary. Not just what they seemed to be saying, but also intrigued by the intensity of their urgency and cryptic linguistic creativity. As if needing to communicate an enormous and complex volume of material in a very short time. As if a secret door had been located and opened to a vast mysterious time/space realm, inviting, yes enticing readers to continuously research the entire Q corpus for accuracy and implication.

Both baffled and extremely intrigued, I eagerly read each drop, one by one, as it came in (on various platforms over the years), nearly 5000 of them, seeding DJT’s first term with mystery. (During the final months, however, the drops were less frequent and frankly, appeared to have been corrupted.)

Now, when searching for the drops in their entirety, I notice Q is usually referred to as “Q anon,” and that at websites on at least the first page of a google search for “q drops archive” always dismiss this “conspiracy theory” as absurd.

So why then, has the debunked Q material suddenly come up for review in the second DJT administration? 

I have yet to pursue these three posts, but am determined to find the time to do so. (Pant pant.)

Here is Martin, on twitter/X again, in three parts.

Part I

https://x.com/martingeddes/status/2071723531789095293?s=20

Part 2

https://x.com/martingeddes/status/2071939434056986701?s=20

Part 3

https://x.com/martingeddes/status/2072486858274062760?s=20

And see Martin’s book, first published in 2020. The phrase “The Great Awakening” was first mentioned in the Q drops on November 4, 2017. And truly, doesn’t it appear now, to a dynamically increasing portion of the population, not just in America, but world-wide, that every shocking, thudding piece of “news” that destroys yet one more reputation, shibboleth, institution or authority of any kind, is wrenching our minds wide open to the universe?

There is nothing left to stand upon, lean against, or pray to; no permanent 3D frame to enclose ourselves within. Each of us is on our own, flying free, to uncover, discover, explore, create. The universe bends in the direction of our intent.

Yes. Doesn’t it seem like The Great Awakening IS taking place during the second DJT administration?

The post Martin Geddes notices the DJT administration’s sudden and increasing reference to the (supposedly debunked) Q material, and asks WHY?. appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

A local friend of mine asked if she could bring a friend of hers to our recently instituted — and unfortunately canceled for June — lunch meeting for local crones. Because she wanted to understand the philosophy behind Green Acres Village.

Our “crone group” began in early spring, when, at the local Farmer’s Market, one 65 year old crone asked me and another crone (the “local friend” above) if we could meet sometimes, that she is so lonely. So far we’ve met twice. WE want this to continue as an intimate group, so no more than five or six. So far we have the original three — with two more wanting to join us. But when monthly meetings are canceled due to unforeseen circumstances?

I told the local friend that I would prepare something to send to her friend about this place. And when I read through the following piece, I realized that it is extremely relevant for all of us, no matter who we are, what we’re about, or where we live. Why? Because . . .

Too often, we think in 3D dichotomies: example, re: Immigration:

“The world is one, all borders are unnecessary and cruel; people need to be able to go and live wherever they want.”

Or:

“Borders must to be policed and enforced everywhere, with impenetrable walls, whether in a neighborhood or between religions, ideologies, nations, etc.

Pics are not included, but you can find plenty of pics on the greenacresvillage.org site.

THRESHOLDS IN TIME AND SPACE

Excerpt

The post THRESHOLDS IN TIME AND SPACE. A Multidimensional Philosophical Reflection Applied to the Material World appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

https://x.com/rainmaker1973/status/2069448508856291780?s=61&t=aUBDiSUrvn0aSlRBtZx0wQ

So here’s yesterday’s post.

It’s as if we live in a rain forest . . .

Oh my . . . I was going to get to looking at the charts of both DJT and USA, but then the deer feast in the back yard brought me down low. They continue to munch at night. Both Stargazer lily and gladiolas . . .

Meanwhile, I just now finished a long post, full of photos, for greenacresvillage.org.  It shoulda been titled Garden Work Party . . . But it’s fun, and that turns it into a party!

As I sit here, having actually turned on the AC at 11 AM today for the second day in a row, I’m wondering: with the long spell ahead this week, will the electric grid go down?

An unexplainable feeling of unease. Is it just mine?

The post GREEN ACRES VILLAGE plants love the humid heat. appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

. . . came under attack last night. By a deer, of course, at just the right height for them . . . chewed off two blossoms. (Also took the beautiful single red rose that had recently blossomed.)

We figured the combination of fencing (not eight feet high, however) — and especially dogs (two), one of which definitely senses trouble and comes out, barking, at night) — was keeping out the deer who roam the neighborhood.

No longer!

Beauty destroyed. Just like that!

C’est la vie!

Impermanence!

Meanwhile, impermanence is producing huge bounty in our large, well fenced vegetable garden. Today’s surplus for those who walk by:

For more on garden goings’ on, see posts on greenacresvillage.org. I’m about to begin to create a new post on today’s work party . . .

It’s been so cloudy, rainy, and foggy and especially, unbelievably humid, for so long now (humidity at 100% at times; I didn’t know humidity could exist that high without rain!), that I’ve begun to call Bloomington “Gloomington.” And gearing up for the next few days . . . up to 95° temps . . .

Like living in a rain forest. And the plants all love it.

The post IMPERMANENCE . . . in “Gloomington” appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

At this point I’m thoroughly confused. Not surprising, given the complexity of what I seem to have embarked upon. Perhaps this foolish project, an attempt to “understand” both the USA and DJT,  and their relationship — their synergy? —  will take me through these upcoming holidays. Pulling out and chewing on little bits at a time.

What got me going was sitting with a neighbor — I’ll call her Sybil — outside on her porch a few blocks away. This was the second time we had sat together. Both times on my evening walks. The first time she had yelled “Ann” from across the street. The second time, yesterday, I saw her out there again, waved, and Scampi, pulling on the leash, pranced me over to her side as she reached down from her chair for him.

Sybil: “I’m going to have to get some dog treats!”

Ann: “Yes. You are!”

I had been barely acquainted with Sybil, many years ago, when she seemed more distant, even stern, in her demeanor — while displaying an unusually beautiful and tasteful design for both front and back yards (that someone else cares for). She is clearly an artist, though she has a PhD and taught something technological at Indiana University!

So thus was a croneversation born between an 83-year-old and a 94-year-old, both still conscious and alive, though Sybil is obviously more halting than I am, and has to adjust her ear pieces to hear me.

The first evening, she had mentioned Trump in a disparaging manner, as if, of course we have that in common. Everyone in this town agrees: Trump is the problem. Period.

I just didn’t respond.

Yesterday evening, when she did it again . . .

I said I actually supported Trump.

WHAT?

But she didn’t bat an eye. Good for her!

Then I called Trump a bloviating narcissist, while still supporting him. She loved that!

She wondered how I felt about Mamdani, thinking of course I would support him? I just said, I’m not a socialist. Equal opportunity, YES! But not equal ownership of everything. Because of course, we’re all different, with different skills and talents and backgrounds. It’s up to each of us to set our goals and work towards them without feeling like victims.

She didn’t pursue it.

At one point she asked, “Do you read the New York Times?” Like, of course I would. I’m not an idiot.

“I did until a few years ago,” I said.

This last was on our way out of her yard. Scampi wanted to get home. But it reminded me of when I did stop the NYT, and turned to the internet instead. To pick up on a gigantic range of sources that opened my mind to infinity. Whew! And then of course, the endless epistemological conundrum: what’s fake and what’s real, what can be trusted, what not, and why? And what else do I need to hear or see about this to grok it more thoroughly. What’s the source, the context, etc. And of course any context is, or can be, endlessly increasing and deepening. There is no fixed Overton Window, a concept I will introduce her to next time.

At any rate. Thank you, Sybil, for your sudden, growing friendship at this late date in our all-too-human lives.

P.S. She told me during our first conversation, and then again yesterday, each time with a impish grin, that she’s hoping to die suddenly, in her sleep, like many of her relatives managed to do.

The post Astrological Wanderings (USA, DJT); plus croneversation appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

For months, I had been planning to attend the Midwest Permaculture Convergence. Had even paid for a camping spot.

But plans didn’t ever jell in terms of actually getting there and back. My car has a problem which the mechanic can’t fix until July 3. Plus, just looking at the long way up there (4.5 hours) on that (awful, very crowded, with narrow to non-existent shoulders) —  six lane freeway bordering Indianapolis on the east, made me think twice anyway. Plus, we’d be camping. Do I still have a tent? Not sure. Plus, if I went, I’d rather sleep in the car, etc. etc.

I could have pursued car-pooling with others, but surprised myself with only half-hearted attempts.

So I woke up on the morning that I had planned to go up there, mainly to see my permaculture teachers from over 15 years ago again for the first time, and instead, I was still here; stuck here.

And boy was I stuck! In the muck. Internally. Extreme gloom. Gloom which I noticed. Gloom which I did not identify with, though it still got to me, somewhat. Gloom that the fair witness in me was amazed by; how a single, sustained emotion can still spread its poison throughout my entire mind/body/soul/spirit. The witness watched, bemused, risking obliteration by the gloom that held ego in thrall.

An even deeper part of me noticed, and was fascinated by this double consciousness (fair witness/gloomy ego).  In fact, utterly amazed. Have I ever been able to hold a double consciousness before in such a sustained manner? Because it lasted throughout my hour-long morning walk with Scampi.

But the amazement didn’t stop the gloom.

I had taken a raincoat with me in case I needed it (turns out I didn’t) and on the way back home went over to a beautiful beech tree and stood with my forehead to its trunk for many many seconds: the gloom temporarily evaporated to admit the overwhelming embrace and infusion of the tree’s patient, silent, stalwart, spreading presence. Grateful.

But that mysterious, mystical interruption was momentary.

The gloom returned, took over.

Poor me.

Then, when I returned, I decided to drive to nearby Target, for a soup pot, since the one I have is not only very very old, but its top screw will no longer keep the handle in place (I had gone to the hardware store yesterday to get another screw, but it didn’t do the trick.) I had made bone broth yesterday in the old pot from chicken bones frozen from several Community Dinners, and today decided to also boil some extra veggies from our gardens in it, and plan mush the whole thing up later this afternoon.

Yes. I went to Target to see if I could find a similar pot.

And right away, as I entered the store, with this aim in mind, the gloom lifted . . .

“What?” Said the witness part of me. “Does ‘shopping’ serve as a dopamine rush even for one such as me, who thinks of herself  ‘above’ such nonsense?  If so, how disgusting.”

So now, I was furious with myself for not feeling gloomy?

In any case, I got the pot, though not as big as the one that it’s replacing, and then, when I left Target, for the large nearly full parking lot — and damn it, I had forgotten to note where I had parked the car! — I was faced with a deluge. Massive, continuing buckets of rain instantly flooding everything.

And I was going to find my car, with purchase in hand, in that deluge?

Yep. Did it; in fact spotted it right away! Though by the time I ran to the car and opened the door, I was already utterly drenched, and I mean even my underwear.

Suddenly, and I mean just then, right then, I noticed that the gloom had vanished! GONE!

To me, it was as if my internal state had precipitated the outside deluge. 

Then I came home, and, once the rain let up, went outside to take this photo.

Whew! The single bloom of several days ago is now joined by many others!

And bursting buds promising more to come!

Oh wow, and I just looked up their name: STARGAZER LILIES!

I could riff on how gazing at the stars above is polar opposite to feeling gloomy for any reason down here below.

But I won’t.

The post DOUBLE CONSCIOUSNESS this morning: Ego’s GLOOM vs FAIR WITNESS appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Astrology of World Events, June 2026, by Maureen Richmond. 

Excerpt:

Astrologer Richmond is right. Between July 4 and 24, everyone on planet earth will be bathed in an astonishing six planet harmonious geometric configuration that synergizes personal, social/cultural and archetypal energies. The personal energy is Mars, which will lend the configuration tremendous energy.

Mars leaves steady, solid Taurus for speedy mental Gemini on June 29th. Then, on July 4 Mars conjuncts transit Uranus at 3° Gemini!

Let me repeat that. Mars conjuncts Uranus on July 4th! 

It’s as if the signers of the Declaration of Independence way back on July 4 1776 were divinely instructed to sign it on that day so that on the 250th anniversary of that history-making event, this six planet configuration would manifest, powered by Mars!

Geez!

What a phenomenal herald for the 250th anniversary of the U.S.A.!

I bought a 250th anniversary T-shirt, and need to decide when to begin wearing it. What makes me hesitate: I wonder if people in this town will identify the 250th anniversary with Trump, in which case, I will need to gear-up for whatever some are tempted to throw at me.

Hope I’m wrong!

Which reminds me: I still need to make a T-shirt that reads

The post JULY 2026: It’s as if “The heavens declare the glory of God!” appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

The post No words . . . appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Here it is again, on X.

https://x.com/DcLidstone/status/2068467292544102855

This video blew me away way back then, as it did millions of others. If you recall, the Q drops began in late 2017. And frankly, I remain stunned by their content, and the numerous times “future proves past” seemed to prove true.

But of course, Gemini AI is biased against Q.

Yup. (Mere)”conspiracy theory.” I.e., not true. Oh? If you recall, the phrase (mere) “conspiracy theory” gained traction  after people started questioning the Warren Commission, established after JFK’s assasination. That was back in 1963!

Remember: the word “conspiracy,” literally, means: “to breathe together.”  i.e., lots of folks, thinking the same thing.

Given the onrushing flood of formerly hidden info ever since then, how can I NOT appreciate the Q drops? “Vaguely predictive,” yes. And that was enough to restructure my intelligence and, of course, place me on-screen and searching for TRUTH many more hours a day than before.

And yet, of course, at this point, I simply must throw up my hands, realizing that I know way less now than I thought I did before. And that the constant fractionating, dopamining search floods my mind with flecks, fragments, patterns that may or may not make sense, layers upon layers, but of what?

Instead, I’m learning how to disconnect, by going back to read actual printed books.  Ones that interest me, often biographies or memoirs of people I’ve long appreciated.

But’s hard, very hard. Because:

https://x.com/aprajitanefes/status/2068332936253084064?s=61&t=aUBDiSUrvn0aSlRBtZx0wQ

Excerpt:

And yet, despite appearances . . .

Let us pray that it be so.

The post So. ARE WE “THE PLAN”??? appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Scampi and I headed out about 7:30, and the Sun was already about 20° up into the northerly eastern sky. Wow! The Sun rose in Bloomington at 6:18 AM, and the actual Solstice occurred at 4:24 AM.

We drove to Goat Farm Park, for the second morning in a week. Scampi mostly ran free. I carried my phone for photos. Wanted to capture early morning light in this beautiful park. And yes, glorious.

What I always notice most about InDiana IS the woodlands. Such a tangled web we weave!

And Jackson Creek, murmuring . . .

Oops! Recent fracture . . .

The above occurred in this section of the trail . . .

A big storm about a month ago sent this big tree downstream. Still caught under bridge . . .

I’ll end with flowers, their color startling to the eye.

The post HAPPY SUMMER SOLSTICE! InDiana Photos appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Well, of course I loitered, talking to people — on my way to and inside the Co-op!

Didn’t mean to or want to; it just happened.

The first time someone in a car approached me from behind and stopped. Another crone. I’ll call her “Sylvia.” Yelled out “Ann!” Wow! haven’t seen Sylvia in many many months! She used to ride her bike round and round her apartment complex every morning, and I would often run into her on my walks. Usually, she didn’t stop however, just waved and rode on.

And I had wondered how she was doing.

Well, it turns out that she tripped and fell on her rocking chair, wounding the calf of her left leg. The of course very thin skin burst open, and damn, it’s taking many weeks to close up. So no bike riding for her, lest someone run into her and she falls.

At this point I told her my own experience: not having ridden a bike for about 12 years (due to daily dog walking), I decided I wanted to ride again. So I started to get on the bike. Oops! Sudden realization: My body did not remember how to ride a bike. Can you believe? I thought my body would remember forever. And at that point, this was a few years ago, I realized: Ann, you should not re-learn how to ride a bike. Because you might fall in the learning process; and break something: leg, ankle, knee, hip. At this age you do not want to fall. Period.

So, stunned to have to acknowledge this fact, I gave up the idea.

Sylvia nodded her head the whole time, and told me about the time, a few years ago, when she tried to get back on ice skates after a number of years, thinking it would be no big deal. But geez! She was instantly wobbly, and decided, regretfully, to forget it.

I stood there, and she idled her car there, for about 20 minutes. We’ve never talked for so long nonstop.

Okay, then, a few blocks later, Scampi and I saw a giant black dog with a slight woman way up at the other end of a long long street, walking toward us. As we got closer, with Scampi of course very excited, I called out: “Can they meet?” She had stopped, instructed her dog to sit and wait for us to pass. But at my invitation she was thrilled.

“Yes!”

So the dogs met, and the two of us met as well. I’ll call her “Mary.” She’s another crone, and walks four to five miles daily with her dog. YES! Makes me wonder how many of us crone long walkers are out there. Then she told me the story of how her dog was named. Her husband thought of the name “Ronan”; she thought of the name “Ronen.” When he told her the (unusual) name he came up with she was floored, given that it was almost the same (unusual) name as the one she came up with.

Me: “So who won?”

Mary: “Me. Of course!”

Then, once I got into the Co-op, standing at the herbs and spices section, I ran into another old one, this time a mild, sweet man. He looked familiar.

“I think I’ve met you before,” I offered.

To which he immediately replied: “I was in the group that took the permaculture workshops at your house many years ago!” (Wow. When was that, 18 years ago?) See: https://www.greenacresvillage.org/

I told him about our twice-monthly Community Dinners; he was eager to be put on the list.

Then I asked him if he might consider driving with me to the Midwest Permaculture Convergence next weekend, in southern Michigan. Three days. We’d be camping. . . Told him I’d send him the info.

He looked tempted; however, “the idea of camping at my age” . . .

“I know. I feel the same way. But mainly, I don’t want to travel to Michigan alone.”

So we’ll see if that happens, for either or both of us. We did exchange names, emails and phone numbers.

Then we started talking about the benefits of urine therapy for plants.

I told him I’ve even been known to drink my own urine. . . known as Shivambu in ancient eastern texts. . . . (Searching the internet just now, I see that this practice is largely frowned upon in the west.)

Just then an employee at the Co-op came up; I told him we were just talking about drinking our own urine. He didn’t miss a beat. “Aha. Typical conversation at the Co-op. . .” Of course the three of us guffawed like crazy.

The post Fun with Three Oldsters on Today’s Morning Walk appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

It pissed me off, this longing. Pissed me off that I couldn’t just permanently adjust to the constraints I’ve put myself under, all in the interests of continued good health, and avoidance of allopathic medicine. As if I was still a little kid, wanting to sneak and do something bad.

But: I was a very very good girl back then, too.

Okay, enough ranting. Here is how I decided to satisfy that longing. I got this Protein Frappe (Mocha) at Aldi yesterday, held it overnight in the fridge, wanting to wait until the midpoint of this 84th year, which would be the 19th of June, and opened it just a few minutes ago.

BTW. It’s not very good. Not nearly as good as the chilled Starbucks Frappuchino I get at a gas station whenever I embark on a road trip.

But seriously. What is this need to balance good with bad? Or at least to allow a tiny sliver of it to leak/sneak in? Well, I should have known. Of course! It’s yin/yang!

I mean DUH!

Get a grip, girl!

Of course! I knew this. I’ve known this. In fact, I’ve dictacted (new word?) forever on the need to continuously engage and balance the opposites, that there is never one without the other, that the creative impulse ignites in the space between them.

For example, here’s an excerpt from a farily recent post on socialism:

11/11/25. I reflect on Socialism . . .

Excerpt:

And that’s what’s going on within me now. The “obvious polarity within mind and body;” which includes: “Notice, both these poles are mentally generated”!!

Given that I’m 83.5 years old (as of today!), and so want to prolong good health as long as possible, the (double Sagittarian) mind has been determined to take charge of the willful (Moon in Taurus) body, via various daily practices that I call “physical culture,” — and has done so, quite successfully! But the body — and by that I really mean the unconscious, which I consider to be coterminous with the body — senses the whole, not just the part: not just good girl, but bad girl; not just discipline, but freedom.

Or, as google’s Gemini AI puts it:

Given that I was born into the generation with Uranus/Saturn conjunct in Gemini (1942-43), the tension between freedom and discipline is both strong and lifelong. Plus, since it’s in Gemini, I’m continuously rolling this tension around in my mind, trying to make sense of it, noticing how it affects every area of my life!

Mea culpa, for those who are bored with my preoccupation!

The post I’ve been so damn GOOD that I just had to do something BAD appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

TT 2 WALKING and where it leads

Back in my mid-20s, on my usual four miles a day walk — a habit I had ignited in high school — but now with two small sons with me, one lying in buggy, one sitting on top, I remember very clearly, like it was yesterday, the day when I saw an old woman approach from the other direction on the narrow sidewalk. She looked scared, defeated. As if she knew she would be ignored.

My mind, usually so busy I hardly noticed what was going on around me, inexplicably let go. I stopped, and rolled slightly to one side, enough to make it easy for her to pass. As she did there was such a shining light of appreciation in her eyes. Her opened heart found my heart — and opened it. Lifted me out of daily doldrums. An astonishing moment.

Ever since then, I’ve been enjoying hugely these chance meetings with folks who are walking in the opposite direction. Usually, they at least respond to my smile, by smiling themselves. Our hearts lift, briefly, mutually. I’d say about 95% of passers-by do greet me. Once in a while of course, there is the outlier, who basically finds me, an old woman much like the one I stopped for nearly 60 years ago, invisible. And, yes, these days, there’s likely something in his or her ears, occupying attention otherwise.

That happened this morning. But it is so exceedingly rare! And here’s what’s weird: every time it does, I am still crestfallen! Luckily, I also notice my automatic reaction; so do not take it personally.

And of course, having Scampi with me is key to an almost guaranteed repartee, IF the other person also walks with a dog. As we approach, I ask, “Okay if we say hello?” Usually, the other is eager. Once in a blue moon, the walker says his dog is too rambunctious, or “doesn’t like other dogs.” But even that refusal sometimes dissolves, thanks to Scampi’s curiosity, his fearless approach to another dog, no matter what its size, or temperament.

And when we dog walkers do meet and talk, often while continuously uncrossing the leashes our dogs are continuously crossing in their utter eagerness to get to know each other, of course, our conversation centers on our dogs. Their names, ages, breeds, how long we’ve had them, etc. This “factual” conversation hides something much more profound: connection, real, genuine, authentic connection between two human beings who are learning from their dogs how to be real, in the moment, no matter what.

P.S. Yes. GOD IS DOG SPELLED BACKWARDS.

The post Meditation on My Early Morning Walk appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

MY LIFELONG QUEST FOR FREEDOM FROM ADDICTION

Meanwhile, and I didn’t realize this until this very morning, during this same time period I actually weaned myself from another addiction, to screens! Not that I don’t get on my computer (like now), or ipad any more. However, I’ve broken through the neurological pattern that had made it impossible for me to actually focus on reading a printed book all the way through.

This refusal, this instant restlessness, when I tried to pick up an actual book and read it, word by word, paragraph by paragraph, absorbing its meaning over the time it took to read it, had been there for years. Many years. I remember first noticing it, and grew alarmed. But that didn’t stop me from staying addicted to screens, and foregoing actual printed books.

In other words, I had become afflicted with, what is it called, ADD? Attention Deficit Disorder. Couldn’t sustain a focus. Just couldn’t. Would become restless, almost immediately.

But! Over the past week to ten days I have found myself actually able to focus in a sustained manner. So far, have absorbed three books, all during times when I would otherwise have been onscreen, continuously distracted,  attention flitting from one thing to another.

And yes, this renewed focus on printed books has calmed me down. I’m no longer just seeking the latest dopamine rush, over and over again.

Another serious addiction busted. YES!

Grateful.

The post While Creating E-Book on ADDICTION, I Released a Serious Addiction! appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Well, no; but certainly I am advocating that we do begin to energize ourselves. Especially men.

Indeed I remember even back in my old “peace activist” days, in Jackson Wyoming, having joined the movement to keep Reagan’s new MX “Peacekeeper” missile from being installed near Cheyenne. Even then, back in the 1980s, I noticed the men in our movement were softies, not energized. In fact, I briefly looked at the idea of making a pin, “Wimps for Peace” — but thought better of it.

Reading through this AI description, I ask myself, what’s changed? What’s really changed? Trump is another “Peace through Strength” president, just like Reagan.

And how much money does this nation spend on the military? What percentage of our GDP?

According to this website: 

Then I remember Gandhi, his philosophy of non-violence, what steered me in the direction of peace activism in the first place.

At this point, frankly, I’m seriously confused.

The post From “peace activist” to UFC advocacy? Huh? appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Yes. It’s our world. All of ours. Every person in every country. No exceptions. It’s time to “fight.” Each of us to re-ignite his or her divine purpose, which will automatically open the door for the love that fills and fuels the universe to flow through, vertically aligning you with the sky above and the earth below, spreading your arms to embrace one and all.

We’re done with stupid polarity. It’s time to wake up.

Do we think the founders of this country were soy boys?

Back story: I had no idea what the UFC was. Didn’t know it involved fighting  not confined to either boxing or wrestling. Had no idea of the kind of gloves worn, or that they fight barefoot, or who had started it all, or, of course, what the fuck is a UFC octagon doing on the White House lawn?

But even before it happened, I had a sense that this was another extraordinary, deeply purposeful Trumpian move, meant to reignite the fighting spirit that founded this country, timed for Trump’s 80th birthday, as a part of the now ongoing 250th anniversary celebration.

Oh, and did you know: The UFC celebratory event ended at 1 AM; and then, at 3 AM Trump boarded a plane for France. What person of any age can match his trajectory, his momentum?

Some on twitter/X go much further. For example.

Shorter version:

Or was this just a matter of bread and circuses? I don’t think so.

The post Did the White House UFC Freedom 250 event re-ignite U.S. fighting spirit? appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Even more relevant: Sometimes I wonder how I managed to actually stay embodied, and in fact, shed most of the personal “stuff” that dragged me down, over these eight plus decades. In fact, at this point, I’m basically a free being, no longer subject to oral addictions of any kind.

My oral addictions were rooted in my particular version of PTSD: weaned from the breast to a cup at nine months old, the day my father left for World War II. I imagine, looking back, that Mom’s milk dried up, so traumatized was she by his departure. But then, why wean me to a cup? Why not a bottle?

So grateful that my personal path led me to study astrology, and ponder my own birth chart, with its placement of the  security-oriented Taurus Moon (my child self) and its relationship to nearby eruptive Uranus and stern Saturn.

In any case, that little girl, “Orphan Annie” has been present, ever since I named her, and started working with her, back when transit Uranus opposed its original position at 1+° Gemini (ages 38 to 42).

That was half a lifetime ago. This year (age 83+) Uranus has moved another half cycle, to return to the degree it occupied at my birth.

See my many Uranus Return posts.

And wow, I’m still here! My oral addictions did not manage to kill me!

For which I am extremely grateful! And astonished, actually.

On the other hand, I could say that my addictive tendency has now corralled me into a very strict daily schedule, especially in regards to exercise and nutrition. Perhaps too strict? Should I declare one day off each week? In other words, I’m starting to utilize eruptive Uranus to disobey stern Saturn!

Mulling that one over.

Looking over hundreds of essays I have written, and paying attention to themes, I notice that all sorts of them have to do with addiction, in one way or another. So I’ve decided to make an e-book of them. Six essays, so far, with probably at least several more.

Here’s what I’ll put on the cover:

And maybe with this quote:

“I had to change, and I couldn’t.”

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I broke the other wrist about ten years before that, that one due to stumbling over a root on a forest trail. And did the same thing, got medical attention. In fact, I’ve always said that I trust orthopedics, but not much else.

So yes, I am definitely a contrarian, when it comes to my physical health. I so much prefer to “do my own thing,” and by that I mean pay close attention to what my body is telling me at any point, treating physical symptoms as also mental, emotional and spiritual symbols — meanwhile, above all, stay in motion.

When I’m sitting, no crouching, on my “stool” (formerly my husband Jeff’s stool, and he’s been dead 23 years) at my desk, with knees up and feet where knees are supposed to go), I never seem to crouch more than 20 minutes before getting up to do something else for at least a minute or two.

The stool crouch is due to the need to keep blood circulating. I’ve always needed to get my feet up, my whole life!

Okay, so here I am, 83.5 years old on June 19, and wondering: should I get some tests? Blood tests? What other kind of tests? Get a “primary physican,” just in case?

Searching for local holistic health practioners, I see where I need to go. One of them IS an MD, who used to work for IU Health, and then converted to a more holistic approach, many years ago.

So I’ve decided that before I turn 84, I will get a session with her, more to get the possible “tests” I could use than anything else. And to see what she says about my ten daily supplements.

Meanwhile: I keep up my daily practices, also known as “physical culture,” two full hours worth, knowing that “the body is primary,” that without the body in prime condition, I am of no use to this world. These practices include 4-5 mile walk, yoga, chikung and taichi.

And meanwhile, I continue with intermittent fasting (18/6). Eating at noon, and again at 5 PM, with special attention to getting enough protein (chicken and beef, eggs, nuts), since muscles tend to atrophy with age. Plus, of course, olive oil, avos, greens and other veggies (many from our garden) and one piece of gluten-free bread at lunch from Muddy Fork Bakery, whose owners used to live next door, and a bit of rice at dinner. Oh yes, and I top off each meal with a small amount of fruit, local if possible.

Oh, and BTW: I have more muscle now than I did three years ago!

Plus, and this is relatively new, my dental routine, 

For about four months I’ve been following the (seemingly counterintuitive) morning and evening protocol of Ellie Phillips, drinking pretty much only with meals, and making sure saliva is at all times alkaline, rather than acidic. (I’m shocked to realize just how acidic I kept my mouth when younger, eating all sorts of citrus, including lemon in the morning. It felt good, like each time I was cleaning them, i.e, making sure to limit tendency to slimy tooth surfaces. But, it turns out, the slimy saliva coating is what heals!)

So, BTW: following that small piece of fruit (leaving mouth acidic), I top it off with an alkaline rinse. And then top it off with another xylitol mint.

And I must say, after about four months, my gums never bleed anymore. (They have bled, all my life!) So I know it’s working.

And meanwhile, for contrast:

I have daily calls with my younger son, Colin Cudmore, inventor of the Garden Tower, now 60 years old, and who, nearly three years go — since August 16, 2023, the very day transit Uranus conjuncted my Moon (symbolizes mothering and children) for the first time since I was born) —  endured aortic dissections (delaminations) of both ascending and descending branches of the aorta. And what shocked everybody involved: Colin lived. However, the required operations left him paralyzed from the waist down and with nerve pain 24×7. Frankly, I’ve never known of a person who endures this much suffering, every single minute,  of every single day and night, and still choses to live. He figures that if the aortic dissections didn’t kill him, then there must be some reason why not.

I detail my daily interactions with Colin  on caringbridge.org.

Here’s my ebook On Mothering, in case you are interested. BTW: My own fiery Sagittarian need for freedom was so strong that I left my two children with their  father when they were five and seven years old, seeing them only in the summers. Our resulting healing process has been, as you can imagine, lifelong.

On Mothering

The post Advice from a Crone: STAY IN MOTION! and more . . . appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Excerpt:

But, today’s youth have a great deal in common with that history, as if it is rising in their souls, like a fierce unstoppable fire. And that is because Fabian culture stripped life of meaning, purpose, sacredness, eternity.

And, it turns out, we can’t live without it.

To the Puritans, life had meaning, history had direction, individuals were accountable to God, and every action mattered eternally. That produced a very different human being than a culture organized around comfort or consumption.

We’re sick of consumption. We’re sick of our sexuality being inflamed, by porn, by public erotic writhing, by the sickening sexuality of public figures. We are sick of comfort. There are entire TikTok series from random young women saying my life is so convenient, comfortable and easy, I have never been more miserable.

The Puritans were scholars, all of them. They believed that everyone must read, must study. That is happening now among the young. As our true history opens up, they are interested again, and they are consuming massive amounts of information, all of it impossible at this point to censor. Hollywood and publishing are dying because their audience has fled to the margins where they find fascination. The rabbit hole is the new university.

The Puritans were willing to suffer, to get right up to starving, to clear fields, to work and work and work, and that ethic too is rising. Within a few generations of that, they produced publishing houses, universities, constitutional government, global trade systems, scientific institutions, industrialization, missionary networks, and eventually the cultural machinery that shaped the modern world.

Contrast that to the fruit of modernism: the rape of hundreds of thousands of children a year. While boomers, GenXers, and even Millennials ignore it, the younger generations do not.

The rebellion against our current civilizational filth means that they are starting to see their time and work as sacred. And that is far far better than chasing the ghastly prizes of modernism.

I wondered how old Elizabeth is. She looks so very young! But she’s not. Born “around 1950.”

Meanwhile, I found myself searching for her bio.

And came upon this:

Twenty Years A Fool: My Long Journey Home from the Left

[Before I excerpt from this tale, just know that her conversion occurred within a dense personal history that would overwhelm most of us in its intricacy, depth and breadth. Plus, I was interested in the title itself, because I have long wondered about my own Long Journey Home from the Left. When exactly, did I switch?

Short version: Well, wouldn’t you know, as a “feminist,” of course I loved Hillary. Until I didn’t.]

Excerpt

Those revivals – and they are vital, exciting, and filled with extraordinary music and spirit – dragged me out of the Buddhist passivity that is the only approved spiritual attitude on the left. No one who is even a little open to the idea of God can go to these gatherings and not be suffused with grace.

This final lesson popped me right out of the cultural left where I had made my home. It was now clear to me that our contemporary story tellers were telling lies. They had utterly corrupted our idea of our country and culture, religion and past. They misread the very ground of human character. They had taught us that with few exceptions, we came from exploiters, oppressors of natives and blacks. All the “great” writers of our time read to me now as depressives caught in an almost demonic fiction, charlatans who had seized the criminal and disaffected and made of them the norm that must be defeated and replaced by another system. And that system was inevitably command and control socialism.

Oh, and check this out. Something I came across lately elsewhere, and echoes Nickson.

Gemini AI:

The post Welcome to Absurdistan: “The rabbit hole is the new university.” appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Rather than letting this be one of the “issues” that divides us, let’s just go back to what we all have in common, shall we? And what we all have in common — at least! — is that we were all conceived and born from the union between one man and one woman.

Oh yeah, I know. What about clones, human-alien hybrids, and so on? Let’s just leave that one alone for now. At least for now. Let’s concentrate on what unites us, rather than what divides us.

https://www.ipm.org/2026-06-02/indiana-governor-declares-pride-month-nuclear-family-month

The post Take Back the Rainbow! YES!!! appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

SKY SHOW

Lots goin’ on above us. Especially, as dark falls, take note of Venus conjunct Jupiter at 24° both in home-loving CANCER until June 13, when Venus moves past. Plus Mercury which moved into CANCER from Gemini yesterday, is approaching both, and continues to approach Jupiter as Venus starts to leave. Mercury then turns, to go Rx, on June 29, at 25° CANCER, still four degrees away from Jupiter, which will have moved on to 29° CANCER. On and on. And there’s more, more, in this Cancerian string of night-sky lights above. Including Regulus! And of course, the Moon, and the Summer Solstice itself. Here we go.

https://x.com/chopsyturvey/status/2061811496406192267?s=61&t=aUBDiSUrvn0aSlRBtZx0wQ

EARTH SHOW

Springtime here in Bloomington Indiana has been utterly glorious. Very hard to ignore, Just go outside!

(And forget your phone!)

Just drink it all in, with all your senses! Notice the twittering squirrels, the chirping, or soaring birds!

Take off your shoes.

Place both hands for at least ten seconds on a large, rooted tree. I guarantee you will SWOON to feel the currents of aliveness coursing through your body/mind/spirit, in tune with all, above, below, and into the surround as Tree anchors you into the living Earth while reaching for the infinite Sky and helping to hold and nourish all nearby trees and plants and squirrels and birds and insects in its welcoming, stabilizing, micellial roots and branches.

Leaves wave to me in the breeze . . . hello! hello!

So very grateful to be ALIVE, and conscious, and still in my physical prime at 83, on this magical, glorious day. Thank you Tree, thank you.

Yes, Sky and Earth both say, today, WELCOME HOME!

The post SKY SHOW/EARTH SHOW June 2026. Welcome HOME! appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Good one, eh?

I remember, back in the late ’60s and early ’70s, sitting around a table with my newly “feminist” friends, probably smoking weed. Perhaps others would have labeled our intense revelatory discussions as “gossip,” but we knew that what we were doing was putting teeth and roots into gossip — “talk about others in their absence” — not to criticize, but to empathize; to recognize what we had in common; to feel ourselves into whatever they were going through, sensing their inner turmoil as also ours.

Yes. Over just a few years, we had opened up to the squirming, pulsing reality hidden behind the “roles” we had been playing: good girl, good wife, good mother, and so on.

In other words, we had rescued “gossip” from what it had gradually, over the centuries, transmogrified into, nasty talk about others, to signify its original meaning and purpose: authentic intimacy between familiars.

Here’s Gemini’s AI on the etymology of the word.

I’m curious how young women speak of others among themselves now. It seems to me that over the last half century our culture has devolved, simultaneously, into both hive mind tyranny of the One, and toxic narcissism of the Many.

Yuck.

These, thanks, in large measure, to both screens and the internet, where anything and everything can spread, like lightning, and with no accountability, no concern for authenticity. “Fake it ’til you make it.” Or don’t even bother making it, when faking it will do.

So yes, say whatever you wish about me. Why not? I’m still here, underneath all your projections . . . Especially at the “ripe old” age of 83; I’ve heard it all, I’ve seen it all, and likely, I’ve been through it all, too.

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And all the time, the Uranus Return is flavored with, softened by the fact that transit Neptune is also, during this first and only time in my life, conjunct the IC root point and opposing its natal position at the Midheaven.

Yes, I cannot help but both insert awakening (Uranus) and radiate love (Neptune) into very social occasion.

Case in point: yesterday.

At my local branch of the IU Credit Union. Sitting there with five others, having signed in, and awaiting my turn to see a bank clerk about a technical issue. First time I’ve ever seen so many people sitting around that waiting area shaped as three 90° sides of a square. Because of that shape, we could easily — in fact we could not help but — see each other, despite phones. Why again? Because puppy Scampi (who I was told a long time ago, can come with me into the bank) functions as both  disruptor and attractor, seducing everyone around the little waiting area into a smile, a laugh, or at least a top of the reading glasses slight grin.

He seems to go up first to the one who needs it most. Wagging his little metronome tail. Perky. Looking bright and happy. It’s hard not to respond. Fingers reach out to his nose to let him sniff, then when he accepts, crawl up to his neck, and even back to his hind end, which of course he loves most to be scratched.

Or, fingers reach out and try to scratch him without letting him sniff their fingers first. That does NOT work.

So I have to explain. I have to talk. To let them know how to greet Scampi, since he’s both easily freaked and yet friendly.  Which gets them talking. Soon, we’re all opening, at ease.

Including:

And these are most problematic: two very very dark men, I assume not originally American (I note their seemingly habitual furtive attitude), but at least trying to be friendly — though one of them soon left the bank, signaling the other to follow, which he did.

One I imagine trans woman, i.e., biological male, big, thick, powerful, dressed in a skirt and very very sweet. This one felt instantly at ease with Scampi, and told me (s)he works in a doggie day care center — and then with a faraway look of hope — but wants to become a dog trainer. Is in fact, next in line for training. Yes! I support this wonderful dream, and made that obvious.

One old woman, obviously used to being totally ignored, and I sense as a matter of habit making herself as invisible as possible, while sitting there with her phone; but not really on it, just pretending.

Suddenly, she arose and came over to me, said she remembered me from the time when we both took pottery classes! That was 24 years ago, back in 2003; I had arrived only months earlier in Bloomington.

As she spoke, memories of her then-face that still signalled from her very wrinkled, pinched face wafted through. I greeted her warmly, and we spoke of those wonderful times back when.

I told her I still display my bowls and hand-made sculptures; she said she doesn’t have room in her small apartment.

A wonderful greeting from long ago. Finally, we asked each other? “And what is your name?”

Ann.

Betty.

Then she said to us all that she had to leave, couldn’t wait her turn, as she has another appointment.

Then there is the old man sitting next to the chair she had occupied. Really old. Has a cane with him. I didn’t pay much attention to him until another old woman suddenly came up to join us, recognized him, went over to sit where Betty had sat.

She asked him about his injury, how long it had been, the operations, he had had. They segued into the travails of getting older, what exercises they do to help themselves from becoming more frail than necessary at their age.

I joined them, told them about my “two hours of physical culture a day”; asked how old each one was, prefacing it by saying, “I’m 83.” Well, this floored them, excited them.

“I’m 80!”

“I’m 80!”

They were observing my obviously prime physical condition, and hugely, openly admiring.

I asked the man what happened to his knee to cause such an injury. Was it a fall?

“Yes.”

I commiserated with him at this point, telling him that the one thing I know I must do is NOT fall. That an injury to my knee or foot or ankle or leg of hip would stop my daily walks, which are utterly essential for my health, at every level. That I’ve been walking long distances since my teen years, and credit this practice to both my longevity, and especially for not having slipped into depression or gone crazy.

(Both of which are very possible possible for one who is both fiery (crazy), and originally trained to be a good, obedient girl (depression, when fire NOT expressed).)

Both the woman and the man were listening, eager.

The others in our little group had since either had their name called or walked out, impatient. We had managed to sit there for 45 minutes. Rather than focusing in silent fury (at having to wait) on our tiny personal screens, we had engaged in conversation, and found our time waiting in the bank meaningful.

This then, is an example, of how I’m utilizing, more than ever, both my Uranus Return at 1°36 Gemini which makes words fly out of my mouth exactly at the time needed to ignite and energize another all-too-human interaction, and my transit Neptune opposite to itself at 3° Aries; our common human ignition occurs within a softening, welcoming atmosphere (Neptune), so that people relax, let their guard down (Neptune), without even thinking about doing it (Uranus), and all, thanks in part, to Scampi’s innocent eagerness to meet and greet one and all.

Oops. And almost forgot Jupiter, currently crossing, for the seventh time in my life, its own natal position at 23° Cancer.

Family.

We are the human family.

All of us.

One.

BTW: hopefully, by tomorrow, I will have let this Uranus fixation go. With any luck (Jupiter), I will do ceremony tomorrow celebrating tonight’s “Once in a Blue Moon.”

For Laura Bruno’s ruminations, see this:

Blue Moon in Sagittarius ~ May 31, 2026

The post URANUS RETURN/NEPTUNE OPPOSITION: What happened yesterday in the bank. appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

So I sat down yesterday, lit a candle, meditated for a bit, and then tossed the coins.

Oops!

Could there be a more Uranian announcement?

Read this hexagram through and you’ll know why this reading ignited a deeper process within myself regarding my Uranus Return.

Deeper in the sense that I simply must deal with two opposing value systems (of course! what’s new?) flowing through me internally: they simply must be reconciled within me as I go forward.

One is the whole business of “intergenerational wealth” (which I saw somewhere, is a “Jewish” tradition, as I discovered recently also, that I am “Jewish”!) All three of the homes in Green Acres Village were purchased, starting 23 years ago, with intergenerational wealth, one each from my deceased husband, father, and mother, in that order. That’s how I chose to use what was gifted to me. To create something both real and inspirational in the material world.

Not that I knew what I was doing. This was definitely a situation that permaculturists have now formally recognized as “Emergent Design.” Little by little, one decision leading to the next, the incipient vision gradually materializing.

BTW: according to (definitely  doomer) Kathryn Austin Fitts, what she calls “Mr. Global,” or, “the committee that runs the world,” is “intergenerational wealth!” I just saw her talking about this, in a tiny clip taken from a much longer podcast.

So why would I happen to see this clip now, now during my Uranus Return, when the two value systems happen also to be glaringly apparent, very much up for conscious review?

You guessed it. The other value system is community-oriented. How to preserve Green Acres Village in the event of my death?

My much preferred alternative is for each of the three homes to be sold to a person or people who are as deeply invested in this “tiny paradise” as I am. Have already sold the third house, to Elisha, a long-time Community Dinner participant who, when she bought it, completely transformed our common garden into a real showcase. I mean we’ve got an eight-pound cabbage this spring, already! This was a total surprise. I had no idea she was so incredibly talented and experienced. Not just with the land, but with friends and neighbors who are now working with us in the garden.

This hexagram reminded me of what’s going on now, at a deeper level. For it’s true, I must set things in order, to guarantee, as far as possible, that my death will not disrupt the evolution of Green Acres Village and its homeopathic effect on this neighborhood and beyond. Does this mean I have to set up some kind of a land trust? I sure hope not. Why? Because I’ve learned that “Intergenerational wealth” is still somewhat of an issue in my family. Don’t want to go against that value system either! Which is why I would much rather be assured that two individuals in our community would want to step up to the plate in the event of my sudden death. (Sell both homes for a bit less than market value, like I did with the first one.)

After all, what is more worthwhile than our Green Acres Village motto?

GROWING COMMUNITY FROM THE GROUND UP.

And who would be more of a fool than one who dies without having even made that further evolution possible?

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Similarly, when Coming Back Home in terms of the first and only (unless I live twice as long as now: joke?) Uranus Return, while nearing my 84th birthday: the road has felt and still feels winding; I never know what’s just around the next corner; and the corners are not just 90° turns, they are infinitesimal, magical, subtle. A one degree difference makes all the difference! Have you noticed? Truly, we are spiraling, rather than merely cycling.

Okay, now here’s what I want to speak of today. My Coming Back Home series that I composed and published in the local newspaper when I again lived in my home town of Twin Falls, Idaho, back in 1976. The series was read by all sorts of people, and very much either appreciated or denigrated. Finally, after the 7th one the publisher took me to lunch to say that there were simply too many important people in town who did NOT appreciate the series, and that he would have to stop it, now.

Here’s the ebook I composed of this series.

Coming Back Home

Two years later, I found myself leaving another publication, one that I had started myself, and then, of course, as is my way, grew restless.

Here’s the piece I wrote in OpenSpace, about my life’s journey back then.

EYES ARE LIGHT SENSITIVE

I wrote that essay as the final column for the newspaper, and then, when it was not published, shelved it for two years.

It begins:

Plato tells the story of a people who lived in a cave. All day long these people sit, backs to the door, staring at reflections on the wall. These reflections — dancing shadow and light — the people take to be real, the real world, the facts.

Ever so often one of these people stares at the wall for too long. He grows hypnotized: the wall disappears, his orientation dissolves; he is left lost, lost and confused. 

Usually, the strange one returns to his normal state of staring in time. Nobody notices. Nobody gets embarrassed . . .

I was talking about myself. . .

Another excerpt:

We come into this world, says Plato, trailing clouds of glory, knowing all and everything. Yet we leave it knowing only “the facts,” mere shadows. Why. How does this happen.

Thus the story of the cave.

Here’s the drawing that accompanied this article:

Wow. I just this morning realize that this drawing includes me! (taken from a photo that I remember well). I have no memory of who did the drawing . . .

A bit more from that old essay, which even now, I find utterly remarkable. So amazing, to have lived one’s life consciously, learning, learning, learning, both from experience, and how to express linguistically. So very grateful.

And if the path from the shadows to the door is full of pitfalls, then the path ahead is infinitely steeper, longer: the distance form earth to the sun.

Our seeker has turned, his body now faces the door. Slowly, surely, and of its own accord, that body moves through the door and into the light. A living body seeks to warm itself. This is only natural. But eyes were not made to turn to the sun. Eyes are light-sensitive; too much sun can blind. These blind ones are our burnt-out cases.

In order to turn to the sun, and not go blind, our seeker must look obliquely, as if only in passing. There is no direct path to the truth. This seeker is mortal. Mortals have bodies. Human bodies have eyes. Eyes are light-sensitive.

Our seeker has seen the light.

And the light has made him changed. And he is full of light now, compassionate.

He returns to his homeland, the cave. But his fellows do not recognize him. They stare as he walks by. 

And he looks at them, and sees their stares, and feels strange. He is a stranger, and this is a strange land, his homeland, a land he no longer feels at home in.

 

The post As URANUS RETURNS, I’m “Coming Back Home” appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Oops. At least I “think” it’s today, on the basis of charts that I set up now on astro-seek. My natal chart there shows Uranus at 1°35′ Gemini. And yet a chart I set up a long time ago with a different program and website shows natal Uranus at 1°36′ Gemini. So does the printed 20th century ephemeris I have had since forever.

So who knows. Who the fuck knows?

Meanwhile, just went on astro-seek to make sure today is when Uranus returns to 1°35′ and guess what? It’s already (at 11:20 AM) at 1° 38′! Oops . . . wait a minute. Where was Uranus a day ago, same time. Aha! At 1°34′. So between now and sometime yesterday, Uranus passed over the exact degree and minute of my natal chart, if it’s either 1°35′ or 1°36′.

I mention this to demonstrate how, no matter how we try to nail the messy outside world down with our words, symbols, diagrams, etc: the map is not the territory; never has been, never will be. Nature always squirrels out from under our attempts to (conceptually or otherwise) mirror it exactly.

(My Uranus gets off on that “fact”; my Saturn hates it.)

My four day ceremonial protocol pretending to align NOW with the position of Uranus at my birth has been, however, I’d say, immensely successful — in that it has left me utterly transformed. 

Remember, as I’ve tried to indicate (no longer have patience for long-winded explanations . . .), I was born during the years when Saturn and Uranus were both in the early degrees of Gemini, like all those born between mid-May 1942 through 1943.

We came in craving own individual ways of thought and expression, but we did so within certain constraints which those of us who have individuated, realize were inside us. Rather than projecting those constraints lifelong, we managed to learn how to stop blaming anything or anyone outside — for our internal drama, and instead take responsibility; i.e., consciously respond, rather than unconsciously react!

I am one of those who managed to individuate, and did so by finally facing and embracing deep, intensely difficult lessons provided by the 90° turning points of Uranus.

At first, I felt those constraints merely as the culture and training I was born into.

Reviewing the first and second turnings, I now recognize that with each turning, I began by hijacking the needed evolution with constraints formed via relationship with a (dark) male figure — not realizing that I needed to see those attractions as projections!

Yes. What I must still continuously learn how to do is integrate dark and light, male and female, conscious and unconscious, mind and body, Sagittarius and Taurus, as well as any other polarity I notice, and then tend to identify with one pole while projecting the other pole out, as in “Out! Out! Damn spot!”

Okay. Here’s what’s already become clear as I complete this Uranus process. The closing of this cycle spans, for me, remember, from August 2023, when Uranus conjuncted my 23° Taurus Moon and then moved further to now conjunct 1°+ Gemini, and soon to conjunct natal Saturn at 6°+ Gemini. The entire process to last about five years, through 2028.

Will I still be alive by that time? Or will I have moved on. Who knows?

What I do know is that it’s time for me to unleash my Uranus fully, and not let Saturn corral it at all. Instead, utilize Saturn differently. Just how, not sure yet, beyond announcing my new (Saturn) plan.

Which means, for these blogposts, I will publish another one whenever it occurs to me to do so. Sometimes a lot, and sometimes not at all. No more four mornings (Monday through Thursday) weekly in obedience to a routine I set in motion a few years ago, and then was determined to stick to.

Notice: I’ve already inaugurated this new way of working with this week’s posts lasting from Monday through Sunday! Still not sure of whether or not I even need any other kind of ritual (sitting down with prayer rug, plus Tarot/Runes/I Ching, journal, etc.) today or tomorrow to complete this ceremonial initiation. Right now, that feels confining. We’ll see.

Meanwhile, I leave you with this quote, from an old journal, April 16, 2003 (right after Jeff died; right when I was initiating the final quarter cycle that would bring Uranus home to itself, TODAY.

I now function as a lightning rod,

linking the deep bass,

slow rumble below

to the light and high frequency above.

My body the rod.  

The post URANUS (in Gemini) RETURNS, exactly, to both degree and minute: TODAY! appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

This morning I spent another few hours going back through old journals and writings to help me remember the four years of the final 90° turning point — 2001 through 2005 — in my 84-year Uranus Return cycle.

Those years began with a sudden jolt: the final issue, #46,  of the quarterly, Crone Chronicles (founded in July 1989)

Now what?

What would I do after what was likely to have been the most impactful “project” of my lifetime?

Oh no. Back up. More likely, the most significant “project” is my living legacy, grandchildren. Both of them born for the rapidly accelerating future.

Drew, now 23, as a coder in the DC area, who works at an intensely high level with AI.

And especially, for me, Kiera, nearly 26, born in the summer of 2000. So, when CC died, in 2001, she would have been not even a year old, and already crawling, climbing over everything; very fiery, intensely fiery (Sun early Leo, conjunct Mars in late Cancer, all trine Moon in Aries), and would break out in utter fury whenever her extraordinary will was corralled in any way.

That fiery child has now evolved into an intensely creative and independent being, whose fire is directed to work successfully on many levels, where she lives in Boulder, Colorado. Completely at ease with the fiendish complexity that contemporary life demands, son Colin told me today that his niece has just applied for a position at Apple. . .

Fiery Kiera was me. That too intense fire burned through to the third generation. But with a big difference. When I was a kid, I was much more “shut down,” functioning as a good obedient girl, until my own wake up call, which began in earnest when I left home and went to college and married and had a child — all during the first, intense, four-year 90° turning of the Uranus cycle. The first Uranus square. No fun. Growing up in the ’40s and ’50s, I was trained not to express Uranian individuality. Given how I hemmed my fiery self in, of course I felt totally shut down. Saturn dominant. Uranus curdling inside.

Little Kiera, luckily, had me as her Grannie Annie, who would instruct her parents how to work with their fearless, fiery child so that they did NOT shut her down. Instead, whenever she exploded, just gently lead her by the hand to her room, where she was welcome to scream as much and as long, as she needed to. And then, when she calmed down, she was welcome to re-enter family life.

In other words, don’t stop the fire; that will lead to horrors, as my own life attested.

As a double Sagittarian (Mars also in that sign, exactly opposed to Uranus in Gemini), fire is my middle name, and outbursts, had they been allowed when I was young. . .

Not only that, but given that I have Moon in Taurus, the dichotomy between the fiery expressive self and persona and the earthy, security-seeking, slow-moving emotional self couldn’t have been more difficult to integrate.

Which reminds me. Back in 1996, I wrote this essay

Marriage between Sun and Moon

and it describes very clearly, the difficulty I faced, both internally and with male partners, during the extended period in which I finally learned how to integrate those two divergent facets of my own individuality and personality: seven very full and at times agonizing years of “processing” (via journals, dreams, and co-counseling with close female friends). Yes.

Personal Processing

my inner child, whom, during those years, I named “Orphan Annie.”

Wow: I just read through

Marriage between Sun and Moon

again. And so glad I did!  I needed to read through it to remember that I forgot that I finally let go of my horrific addiction to cigarettes — begun during the first turning of Uranus (see post from two days ago) — during the second turning of Uranus! (see yesterday’s post). And, that this personal victory over a powerful addiction that had me gobsmacked was probably the most important of my lifetime, freeing me from slavery, fueling everything since then!

My husband of 12 years (one Jupiter cycle) Jeff Joel died on January 4, 2003, during that third Uranus turning . . . My book, This Vast Being (contact me if you’d like a copy), chronicled my deeply personal response to his passing.

Looking through a journal from 2004, during the third Uranus turning, when I was already deeply into the extended process of healing — from his death, but especially from my own extended death-in-life, I found this little riff today, besides which I had scrawled: “my first poem.” It directly addresses what I was facing for so long, projected into cigarettes, and at times, men! The terrible Cartesian split between mind and body.

Mind hesitates, turns back

Body barrels on —

Which to follow?

Mind turns and turns again

Calibrating

According to various

strict criteria

squeezing itself

spiralling to a point

Not Knowing

Ever Judging

This?

Or that?

Meanwhile, body sure

as a stallion plunges

against the leash

a terrible grinning

sure-footed

nose to the ground.

That third turning of Uranus (2001-2005) occurred during the years Uranus was in Pisces. No wonder the voice I received during that time, asking me to “Cultivate Gentleness.”

And actually, just ask my 60-year-old paralyzed, nerve damaged son Colin Cudmore: it does seem I managed to do that. Too bad I wasn’t there for him, when he was small. Luckily for me, I’m there for him now. As he has always been there, for me.

Oh, and one more note: After Jeff died, of course, given my craving, given the hole in my being, given the tendency to project my animus — I tried to get together with a man again. Whereas Jeff had laughed at me whenever I tried to control him, just left the room laughing (which infuriated me further), this final man, another controller himself, tried to put me in my place for one year, and of course, failed. But so did I fail myself, by further postponing the necessary, and fiendishly difficult integration of authentic individuality (no matter how “divided” the self), that the cycle of Uranus demands.

No wonder most people don’t live this long!

P.S. I notice that this third post is more flowing, less ratchety (is that a word?) than either of the first two, and especially the first one; might that reflect a growing ability to work with the Uranian energy over time, much time, an extremely long time, nearly 84 years?

I wonder, I do wonder, what comes next. What is out there beyond this 84 year cycle, this bubble that I’m finally popping in 2026?

The post Uranus (in Gemini) Return: Day Three, of Four Day Documentation, glimmers of integration . . . appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Whew! So glad I began this documentation process! I gleaned new and very significant understanding from just the first 90° Uranus and Uranus/Saturn turning, and now, from the second 90° turning, between the ages of 38 and 42, (Uranus opposite Uranus) I punctuate that first understanding by recognizing it as the first indication of a powerful, self-sabotaging personal pattern.

Okay, to begin.

This early morning, having trouble centering memory back to investigate what happened, both to me and through me, during the years needed, I went to my cabinet and pulled out some old notes, where, I thought I remembered, and it turns out, I did!— I had already documented some crucial Uranus transits!

Plus, going back through these old notes refreshed the aura that I have always felt myself living within, that of Neptune, at the natal Midheaven no less see my chart, and look again? transit Neptune, with its 165 year cycle, now sits directly opposite itself at the IC.

Yes. Neptune in Aries: I’m rooted into a new beginning, but confused, visioning, delusional? — and so on. But: I’d say that at last, despite other social experiments in decades past, each time creating or co-creating a Neptunian “paradise” that lasted only a year or two, this one, Green Acres Permaculture Village, does seem to have sunk in its roots deep into Mother Earth. (Hard to say when GAPV started. Rather, it gradually emerged . . . through a series of tiny, idealistic (i.e., impractical) decisions, beginning in 2009.)

And guess what further!

Here’s the natal chart for the USA that I pulled up from those same notes. Made back when I was living in a yurt in Jackson Hole (sometime in the 1990s) Notice that its MC sits in the identical degree as my own natal Neptune, close to my own MC, which means transit Neptune also has been conjuncting the IC, the root point, of the U.S.A. 

Yep. The U.S. Neptune in Aries: beginning again, but confused, visioning, delusional? — and so on.

Need I say more regarding the current larger, political, cultural drama?

Okay, back to me.

I’ve always been highly aware — or, I should say, ever since I began to actually absorb the symbolic language of astrology, as a way to help me make sense of why I was fired at 30 (Saturn Return), in 1973 — from an experimental college!, “for being too experimental”! — of the fact that what was going on back then was extremely Uranian!

BUT: there weren’t any significant Uranus transits to my chart then. On the other hand, there was a once-in-a-lifetime extended transit of transformational, death/rebirth PLUTO over both natal Neptune and Midheaven, during those years, which included both succeeding in getting my PhD (despite dissertation that called the entire history of western philosophy into question), and being hired (over 560 other applicants) by this same California college that fired me (the college itself lost its accreditation after several more decades). So my doubly Sagittarian self was very definitely, full-of-it back then. I could do anything and get away with it. Right? Pluto, in Leo!

Wrong.

My Saturn Return would initiate an entirely other 30 year-cycle. I had to learn to pay attention to my own fiery Sagittarian ego, and not let it get out of hand.

But what’s interesting here, and would be for anyone studying astrology, is that, in my natal chart, Pluto in Leo has harmonious aspects (60° and 120°) to natal Neptune/MC, Saturn, and Mars/Uranus! Huh?

Pluto also has problematic aspects as well, 150° inconjuncts with both Mercury and Venus, both in Capricorn.

So the point is, whatever powerful Pluto does both natally and by transit, resonates with everything else Pluto is connected to. (And yes: even its harmonious aspects require transformation.)

The larger point is: the natal chart, just like our very selves, works as a synergistic, integrated whole. I’m attempting to isolate certain aspects and transits, but they all inevitably bleed into one another. In order to “make sense” of such a living example (my own) of how the ignition of one person’s (my) life at a certain time and place (documented in the birth chart), I focus on certain experiences, yes, and how to correlate what is or was “happening” with the abstractions produced by this mysterious, radiating symbolic language.

Not easy to do. And even more difficult to convey, much less explain to another.

But notice: I am deeply immersed in this process. And it IS changing me. I can feel it.

Here’s the takeaway from today’s focus on the second Uranus 90° transit: Uranus opposite Uranus, between the ages of 38 and 42:

It began just after I had begun an experimental (Uranus) local magazine with the very Neptunian name: OpenSpace.

. 

That was in November, 1978. I has been with this magazine for about a year before I began to get restless . . .yep, Uranus rearing its volatile head, demanding change. Okay. I turned it over to others, and decided I would go to Findhorn, a very experimental (and long-lasting) intentional community in Scotland — and present a workshop on starting a community magazine there!

Yes. Big, Neptunian dreams, for this double Sagittarian who, of course, always wanted to travel to distant lands and never had. . . (I did manage to travel extensively, to even Siberia!, but not for another few decades).

Yep, you guessed it. Something interrupted my big Neptunian dream . . .

Sigh. Here goes . . .

1980. 20th reunion of my high school class of 1960.

There, I ended up getting together with our class version of “bad boy” Jimmy Dean.

Phil had gone into the military, as a “Black Beret,” before Vietnam, where, he told me, he was a long-distance assassin (he was a crack shot). But whether he was telling the truth or not, the main thing is, he had been traumatized, and I discovered over the next few weeks, had a bleeding ulcer that, over and over again, threatened to take his life. Hospital emergency rooms with loss of most of his blood. That would be what punctuated our one year together.

Perfect match! I could get together with him, heal his body, change his mind, heal his soul!

Oh yeah?

Here we go again. The “I can do anything” meme.

(Geez! Shades of 60-year old son Colin Cudmore’s horrific, long-term predicament, and my daily devotion to his possible healing! See my near-daily posts on Caring Bridge.)

Thank you Phil (who died several years later), for your service — and your service also to me; bringing me, my ego, up short, once again.

And meanwhile, wrecking (Mars/Uranus/Saturn) my big Neptunian dream (Findhorn).

I did not include in yesterday’s post that what had precipitated the ultimately wrong-headed journey I went on with the Uranian inventor, a choice I made, when presented with two men who both wanted my hand (the other being my old high school boyfriend). This choice, presenting itself as a polarity, was actually something that I could have addressed differently, by actually facing and embracing the open space between the two poles — the two men — that space being an unknown future, willingly taken by my 19-year-old self.

I remember the occasion well; though I’d rather I didn’t. . .

There I was, sitting at the kitchen table I shared with roommates, alone, and thinking, that this was the only real, that is, authentic, choice: to say no to both men, and to stretch out on my own. But that choice would take courage, which I did not have. And I knew it. So, instead, feeling utterly cynical about my own cowardice, I flipped a coin. Yes, I flipped a coin. And Patrick, the inventor, won. Thus did I hijack my own freedom to be myself, as well as marry a man in bad faith.

So here too, with the second Uranian square (Uranus opposite Uranus): This time I could envision (Neptune) an alternative future; it was not just a blank space, like it was when I was so young. This time it was Findhorn! Scotland! I would take off into the wild blue yonder, bearing a project (OpenSpace magazine) I had already shown worked! But then the dark figure, Phil, suddenly loomed large.

I got together with Phil, hijacked myself (Mars/Uranus/Saturn) from going to paradise.

In both cases, in Jungian terms, an animus projection onto a man, one experimental, inventive, but selfish as hell (Patrick), the other brilliant and iconoclastic, but dark, and decidedly troubled (Phil). Both aspects of myself that I was unwilling to face. Or, I should say, it never even occurred to me, either in my early 20s or as I was turning 40, to face them.

That’s why some of us live long. So that we can actually manage to learn how to turn around, at some point, and not only investigate, but ultimately consciously notice and process how we have created the life path we’ve been on, and how our own fantastically complex nature, for me, at least, as symbolized by astrology, “makes sense” of that life, so that I may begin to glean its deepening, widening, labyrinthian MEANING — while still alive, embodied! Rather than as the purported “life review” afterwards. . .

The post URANUS (in Gemini) RETURN: Day 2 of four-day documentation. Geez! appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Yesterday, this peculiar ambivalence that I tried to express in that post continued, all day and into the evening, and during my wake-up periods last night (seven times, more than usual); Uranus interruptus!

But then this morning, when I sat down for my usual elixir, I brought an extra pad and pen with me. I had decided to start documenting (Uranus in Gemini!) “what happened” during the quarter cycle turns of Uranus, at 21 years, 42 years, and 63 years. Why? Because, as an astrologer, I’ve long been familiar with how the quarter turns (90°) of especially outer planet cycles mark significant “turning points” in both experience and comprehension. Because with each one, we “begin to see around the corner” to what’s next.

This decision felt good. Necessary. I’ve always been a person who, despite my contrarian (Uranian) nature, needs discipline (Saturn), routine (natal Saturn/Uranus conjunct); and in this case, an actual protocol to follow during the once-in-a-lifetime completion of this wild Uranian process.

Halfway through documenting the first quarter cycle of Uranus, I realized that if I did one quarter cycle each day, May 21 through 24th, then by the 24th, and the exact completion of the first (and only full) Uranus cycle, I would also complete my documentation.

In other words, my ritualistic, ceremonial celebration of the completion of the 84-year Uranus cycle begins today, with the first (very Gemini) documentation.

Hopefully, by consciously paying close attention to and processing the first three turning points under my belt, the fourth one I am undergoing now won’t feel so very uncomfortable, weird, spacey, etc.

BTW: I do this because I’m an unusually “confessional” (always recovering Catholic) “narcissist,” yes. (Sagittarius in first house!). I also do this in expectation that it may help others to begin to contemplate especially long cycles in terms of their turning points, in order to glean their larger meaning.

Let’s face it: finding and fulfilling meaning, for me, as well as, I imagine, for everyone who is not content with living like a robot, is the purpose for which I was incarnated.

I took a photo of my notes to myself this morning:

Notice especially the “overall” note:

Sense of being locked in to a locational and psychological whirlwind with unknown direction and consequences while shouldering way too early responsibilities of marriage (to a Uranian figure) and motherhood. 

Bingo. Very Uranian (whirlwind, Uranian (inventor) husband) and very Saturnian (motherhood), at once.

So, that was the first quarter cycle, spanning the years  1961-64 (ages 18-21). I will continue to document these turnings, day by day, in the early mornings, and post my notes on each cycle here. (Unless I decide to wait until Monday for all of them. Unknown at this point.)

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I know I must sound crazy, to talk like this. Why am I speaking of something so obvious? Furthermore, so what?

Well, I do think this has to do with a situation that few people ever live long enough to face. Most people die before they are 84 years old, when unpredictable, volatile Uranus returns to the exact degree and minute it occupied at the hour and minute of birth.

I just checked my natal chart with transits this morning. Might it be that Uranus is now, this very day, occupying that exact degree and minute, 1°35 Gemini?

Oops. No. Not yet. Today Uranus is at 1°24 Gemini. Closing in, but not quite there.

Last summer Uranus got even closer, but then turned to go backwards on September 6 at 1°27 Gemini.

So this coming moment, which happens on May 24, when Uranus will, for the very first and last time, hit 1°35 Gemini, is a day that I will do some kind of personal ceremony, to mark the closing of a cycle so long that most people never get a chance to reach it.

So I should be grateful. Right? Grateful that I have lived long enough to experience this extraordinary completion of a cycle so long that most people die before its done.

Perhaps my extreme noticing of the Uranus cycle today is connected to the fact that transit Mercury today, sits at 6°53 Gemini, pressing in on natal Saturn at 7°37 Gemini.

(For a five part series contemplating the combination of strict, disciplined Saturn conjunct unpredictable, volatile Uranus in Gemini (a conjunction which occurred for everyone born during 1942-1943), see exopermaculture.com.)

Wow.

Noticing (Mercury) just how hemmed in, slowed down (Saturn) I feel on this day.

Ever since Uranus began its reach for completion, back in July last year, when it finally crossed into 0° Gemini for the first time in my life, I’ve been on the lookout, extreme lookout, for car crashes. That would be a very Uranian event, both sudden and devastating. A part of me wonders if I should drive during this time, but then again, I DO feel protected, and have felt so, for many many years.

I think back to the day when I was walking on a Pacific beach in northern California, having sat on a small cliff where the Russian River met the sea for hours, watching the wheeling wild life below, and suddenly, but very very softly, a feminine voice in my left ear: “I am with you always.”

What?

I sluffed it off and kept walking, paying attention to the tide as it receded to and from the shore. After about ten minutes, came to the place where I had made my way down from the parked car, and was about to ascend, when a rogue wave suddenly rose up and crashed over my body up to my chest.

But the wave did not take me down.

I remained standing. (Thank you chikung and taichi!)

I did not get carried out to sea.

I am with you always. 

Not even the keys in my pants pocket were dislodged.

As I made my way up the path, I noticed a sign that I had not noticed on my way down.

“DANGER: ROGUE WAVES.”

This post feels incomplete. Just as the Uranus return is still incomplete. Once it completes, will everything in my entire life snap into place? Will I experience a magnificent, meaningful AHA!— one that echoes on and on?

And what will that have to do with the sense that I want to be done with this material reality; want to fly off, into space. Am I not to begin a new Uranian cycle again?

If I am to begin a new cycle, then what is it for? Who am I? Why am I still here?

The post URANUS RETURNS: “I am with you always.” appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Note: See last two posts, for which this is a follow-up.

I was wrong. My next dental appointment was today at 9 AM. Tuesday, not Monday. . .

Home now, feeling immensely satisfied.

All weekend long I had been kvetching; should I just cancel it? Should I go and do what he wants to do (clean my teeth)? But Dr. Ellie says teeth need the (slightly slimy) “biofilm” that’s on them, so shouldn’t be cleaned.

Hmmm. Should I go and, hopefully, mostly talk with him?

I didn’t want to just cancel. I’m not into cancel culture. Think it rude. To me, it’s axiomatic: treat others as people, not as functionaries, no matter what their role happens to be which, in this case, involves a financial transaction as well as big philosophical decisions on what dental care I want going into the future.

But I was constantly tempted to cancel! To just forgetaboutit.

And I’m so very glad I did not.

The minute I walked in the door, it was obvious he and his receptionist wife had been undergoing their own transformation. The weird, defensive atmosphere was gone. Instead, welcoming. They were fully prepared for whatever!

I wanted to go and have another, deeper conversation with him, if possible. And to ask just where the tartar buildup was, and do I really need to have it scraped off now?

At first I spoke with her, told her how I almost canceled, but didn’t want to, given that we are all human beings. On and on. Said I wanted to continue with Dr. Ellie’s protocol for now, despite the tartar (calculus) build-up — which he told me today, is on front and back of front bottom teeth, the very ones for which he had, probably five years ago, expertly fashioned some kind of a permanent prosthetic, to “fix” the hole where the tooth had fallen out.

It turns out that the bottom front teeth tartar buildup is also where saliva inters the mouth.

He and I did end up deep in conversation, both about my own confusion, and his. My dentist is now 70 years old, and his own dad had also been a dentist, the “old school” kind, he said.

Most of what we talked about had to do with the saliva, and how it’s deeply and complexly interwoven into to the entire bodily ecosystem. Yes, he confirmed, my tartar buildup was caused by too much alkalinity — the opposite, too much acidity, would lead to cavities; how to get it to be slightly less than now? And moreover should I have him scrape off the existing tartar (calculus)?

We talked about the fact, he said, that the blood always wants to be slightly alkaline (just very slightly!), and will go to any lengths to achieve that — including robbing calcium from the bones.

I eat lots of meat. He said maybe change that somewhat.

Hmmm. (Gemini AI)

Okay, it looks like that theory is “old school.” My dentist kind of (and I think he would agree) straddles the line between old and “new.”

It was a fascinating conversation, and I wish I had taped it, to go over it, sentence by sentence. Because truly, this business about the mouth, and how it feeds into everything else, has me hooked. I want to know more, more!

I told him the four-step protocol of Dr. Ellie, and he says he basically agrees with it. Told him also, that it is so weird that I put away all the Dr. Ellie stuff before anyone comes to visit me. (Example: What? you use Crest anti-cavity toothpaste which has fluoride in it?)

We talked for about 35 minutes

To the question of whether or not he should scrape off the tartar on and between the front teeth:

Him: “Should we try an experiment?”

Me, of course: “YES!”

We agreed that I would continue Dr. Ellie’s protocol (and further refine my approach to it) for the next four months, and see him again then. Meanwhile, I would eat slightly less meat and instead, more eggs, cheese, nuts. Because of course, at 83, I need to be pushing protein, to continue to build muscle, which would be wasting away without continuous replenishment.

Oh yeah, he did say that this idea of eating less meat was “old school . . .” And he too confesses to being confused as to what’s really going on.

We briefly discussed the role of genetics in mouth health; his brother, a biochemist, says everything is due to genetics. Both of us disagreed.

What was so cool: this discussion, far deeper than before, and with give and take on both sides, was, to me, deeply satisfying. We ended with a big hug.

I insisted on paying, even though he didn’t touch my mouth.

The charge: $50, though his receptionist wife suggested that I might at least get the tartar scraped off, to make the charge worth it.

Oh no.

It was well worth it.

The post MY DENTIST: “Shall we try an experiment?” appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

As I said in my last post, I hadn’t been to my dear dentist for about two years, instead, going to a dental practice which was in-the-system. So when I did go, I noticed immediately, the very different feeling of the little office, compared to those two years.

People who go to this dentist have gone to him for a long time. His receptionist wife is equally caring — but I sense, chronically frustrated, since she has to deal with all the godawful insurance stuff. The dentist himself, is both kind, deeply serious, and sweet-natured.

When the “patient” before me finally left (I waited an unusually long time for this office, probably 20 minutes), she ushered me into an examining room and into its chair, telling me that she had looked “briefly” at the Dr. Ellie info and that he did too. Which made me feel good.

But then, when he walked in the room, totally masked, and sat behind me, taking notes while I talked with him about what had been going on with me during the last two years, the situation felt utterly weird. What notes was he taking, I wondered? He started taking them even before I said anything. At one point he did get up, still masked (though mask below his nostrils), which drove me crazy internally, reminding me of the covid con years when masking made it impossible to see the other person’s face and therefore expression!

Then it was time for the check-up. He agreed with me that my gums looked good, not at all red or swollen. Also, that none of my teeth were loose (despite serious gum recession, ongoing for decades, and due, I wonder now, mostly to  daily pre-breakfast (acidic) lemon juice, to help my digestion . . .)

But then, right away, he found his “aha!” for that is what it felt like. “You do have some plaque.”

Crestfallen, of course, I asked what that meant. And he wants to know too; says tooth decay (which Dr. Ellie’s protocol definitely defies) and plaque formation are opposite conditions. That the first is too acidic, and the other too alkaline?

But then I just asked ai: tartar is hardened plaque. So I guess he meant tartar formation, not plaque. (And maybe he actually said that; by this time, my attention had been blurred by his “bad news.”)

I asked, “Plaque (tartar) is caused by too acidic an environment?  Which means that if you treat for one, you end up with the other?” I asked, puzzled. “And so the problem seems to be that there needs to be some kind of balancing act?”

At this point, he did begin to remove his mask down, below his mouth even, and looked both as puzzled and perturbed as I felt.

Then he too said so; and his “defeated-looking” body language proved the point: he’d been trying to figure out how to understand and work with this balancing act for years; that it’s what he’s been focused on, but to no avail.

Dr. Ellie uses the term “biofilm” for plaque, and says it’s important to leave it on there, because its soft stickiness protects the enamel of the teeth . . . so don’t have the dentist clean your teeth!

But then if plaque hardens, and mineralizes, into tartar, then do have dentist remove it, she says.

Which I’m going to do.

Looking back, I can see that I’m still confused. But that I now know my way forward. Go to this appointment; have him remove hardened plaque (tartar); tell him not to floss; and not to clean off the (plaque) biofilm otherwise! I’ve already made another appointment for four months from now, but will likely change that, push it way back while I continue, and refine, Dr. Ellie’s protocol.

BTW: at first I felt defeated; then I didn’t. But it took many hours of coming to terms with the situation, feeling for both myself and my dear original dentist!

The post (Confused?) Update on Dental . . . appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

At age 83 I’m increasingly aware that, no matter what I do to stay in prime condition I also have a lifelong dental “liability.” And that, no matter what I do or don’t do, it’s likely to take me out in some way at some time. But obviously, something will take me out; and I’m totally willing to go NOW, if necessary. But would rather not. I still “have stuff to do.”

Okay. So the reason I bring this up is because I have an 11:00 AM appointment this morning with my old dentist. We’re billing it as a “consult.” Not sure what will come of it.

Back story:

I had been with this dentist ever since I arrived in Bloomington Indiana, nearly 24 years ago now. And I was always a good girl, getting my teeth cleaned every four months. Then, at his suggestion, I made a sudden, drastic change.

Further back: I had braces as a kid, due to big teeth in small mouth, so buck teeth. Plus many mercury fillings. Sometime in the 80s (I think it was), I had those fillings removed, and crowns (gold and/or porcelain) put on each tooth, with a continuous Vitamin C infusion during the entire procedure each time.

So, at least I got rid of the mercury!

All these decades, besides getting teeth cleaned regularly, I’ve brushed my teeth daily, and flossed each time I brushed them.

At one point a front bottom tooth got so loose that it finally came out. My dear dentist constructed something down there so that you can’t even tell it happened.

(Huge back story to why that tooth was loose, having to do with clenching my teeth in my late 30s to the point where my left jaw got infected during a toxic male/female relationship.)

When I, or anyone, looks at the history of our mouths, and the teeth we use to bite and chew our food, I’m sure the back story is endless, fascinating, and likely, infuriating as well. Plus, of course, the mouth is where we express ourselves linguistically, in song, and through guttural sounds into the world, creating relationships that aren’t just physical, but mental, emotional, spiritual.

Okay, back to the back story.

About two years ago, my dear dentist and his wife (who serves as his receptionist and assistant in his very private practice),  told me I should probably get a dentist that is “in the system,” so that I could get delta dental insurance.

In other words, that they wanted the best for me, no matter what it meant for their practice.

Okay, I searched around and found a dental office that takes the dental insurance I was supposed to have.

Spent two years with that office, which had two actual dentists, plus numerous assistants, techies, receptionists, billing people, etc. A VERY busy place, and tightly scheduled.

The very first thing this new dentist did was look at the situation on the back top right side, and say “these three teeth have to come out, right away.”

Wow. These were the teeth where admittedly, a deep hole had developed between two of them, and I was both doing oil pulling three times a day, plus my old dentist’s meticulous work to clear out bacteria there each time I saw him.

So, being a good girl, I made an appointment with the oral surgeon, got those teeth out the very next day.

Ever since then, I can only chew on the left side.

Which is important, since the next thing that happened was, according to my new dental office, I needed to get a root canal on the crowned bottom left molar. What? Yuck. I’ve always heard bad things about root canals. But one good thing here: this dental office sent me to the “best endodontist in Indiana,” who happens to live in Columbus, one hour from here. And yes, the procedure was done there, and I have to admit, it felt right; the dentist was done in one hour, both precise and exacting.

Plus, I hardly felt any pain afterwards, which apparently is quite unusual.

Of course I could have chosen to simply yank the tooth out, but that would mean the only side where I can still chew would be compromised. So I opted for the root canal.

(BTW: my jaw bone structure is so eroded that I cannot have implants. Which I’m glad about, having learned since that they are a bad idea.)

Okay, so the next time I went to the new dental office, I was told I needed a filling, also on the left side, but above, near the front.

This of course after X-rays, over and over through the years. My mouth is permanently radiated. . .

A tiny filling, but they claimed I needed it.

By about this time I was beginning to get concerned, seeing myself eventually toothless, having to eat baby food until I died.

It was about then that I discovered Ellie Phillips, a dentist with an entirely other way of working with teeth, and oral health in general.

I began to follow her protocol.

I’ve already written one post that refers to her.

And today is the day I see the dentist, a different dentist, my old dentist, the one who is NOT in any system. I will tell him the saga of what’s happened since I left him, tell him about my new protocol, and ask him to look at my teeth. Do they really need to be cleaned? That is the question; because if they do, then I’ve been on the wrong track.

Will report back on Monday.

The post History of and Possible Prognosis for my Lifelong “Dental Liability” appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

https://www.youtube.com/@safeaiforever

(I plan to listen to this during my “nap” this afternoon.)

I wrote a post on the Supper Club I attended where Dave spoke. Please read, as what I suggest there applies not only to AI, but to the current hantavirus con that once again, threatens to infect the mass consciousness with F.E.A.R. (False Evidence Appearing Real), and thus corral us all into compliance with their so-called, much ballyhooed, long planned “New World Order.”

Brownstone Supper Club discussion: WHAT IS AI, AND DOES IT INVITE EXTINCTION?

Re-member folks, to stay with what we have in common. Our common-sensing, common sense. Let go of left brain fever dreams.

And to do so, we need to meet each other, in person, not on screens. Need to sense each other as do animals sense us, knowing instinctively who to trust and who not.

At least for now. Stay real.

BTW: Notice how memes are once again, dominating X, now that “hantavirus” is ascendant. A good meme, BTW, is a product of both left and right brains, operating as one.

This morning, I gave this prompt to grok: “Advantages of memes over discourse.” Check it out. Spells out just why we use memes now. To not just stay current with the chaotic acceleration of so-called data supporting any con “they” want to clog up our fevered brains, but to get ahead of the con — i.e., drop a creative, humorous, conceptual/visual frame over it that dissolves the con without further ado.

The post In an era of exponentially increasing total bullshit, STAY REAL. appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Well, well, Ann. Welcome to your 84 year Uranus Return, your personal experience of what it’s like to not only stay alive, but to mostly thrive through over eight many decades of interruptive living. Yes, for that is the function of Uranus, to erupt, to disrupt, whatever we have set in place; our plans, our intentions, etc., especially for one such as myself, who, along with others born during 1942-43, have planet Uranus conjunct restrictive, goal-oriented, disciplined, and yes, hopefully, patient Saturn in our natal charts.

Since Uranus (84 years) has a much longer cycle than Saturn (30 years), its meaning, once a full cycle is reached, is also much fuller, deeper, more encompassing. Now that the cycle is completing, I can very much appreciate how my generation, born in 1942-43 — with natal Saturn/Uranus conjunct in early Gemini (for me, at 1° and 7°) — came in to disrupt old mental, cultural programs, and welcome the free conception and expression of ideas.

For 1985-1987 conjunction opposite where it was at my birth, see

CONCEPTUAL REPATTERNING: SaturnUranus in Sagittarius

Transit Uranus now, and for the near future, sits at 1° Gemini, the degree it occupied at my birth.

So, needless to say, I took that near-drastic spill this morning to heart; drove very very carefully down to see Colin. But then, couldn’t even follow through with my Saturnian plan, to tell him about my Uranian experience this morning — due to another Uranus interruption, Colin having mistakenly double-booked us with his nurse’s bi-weekly visit. He would have loved that spill story. Oh well!

Here’s today’s post on the daily blog I keep re: Colin’s seemingly endless paralyzed journey through fiery nerve-damaged hell on earth during which, even so, he somehow manages to inspire all those with whom he comes in contact.

The post MOTHERS DAY DATE, two days late appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Oh wait. But first, the great Deborah Birx. P.S. Tighten your scarf, please.

Okay. Here goes . . .

First, the overview:

Oh yeah, remember the bullshit about PCR tests?

Yeah, this is basically a refresher course on bullshit. Must you run the same playbook all over again? Huh? So BORING!

Oh wow. Who woulda guessed?

Let’s just stop; okay?

Remember, remember.

Re-member: put yourself back together again. All the parts that go flying off with every clickbait fear-mongering “phenomenon.” (P.S. have you notice this word, “phenomenon” is constantly used, these days. Reminds me of phenomenology, the study of how things APPEAR to us, personally.)

The key is, the most important advice is, laugh. Just laugh. Break the spell! We oldsters have mastered this trick. Young ones need to learn it.

The post Hantavirus Plandemic Nonsense appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Elon Musk, in his advice for young people, urges them to learn as much as they can about as much as they can in order to set a direction for their lives.

Well, that’s one obvious cleavage between Elon and me. As a kid, I also started to read the encyclopedia, figuring that if I did I’d know everything. (As a double Sagittarian, I sure did want to know everything!)

But I failed. Didn’t get beyond “C.” That “failure,” can you believe? — still haunts me.

Elon, apparently, can focus intensely, one step at a time, on each of his massive, wide-ranging projects, one after another, for all of his waking hours, which some people say, is why he is so unlike all the rest of us. Or maybe: all the rest of us except nearly 80-year-old Trump, who also seems to be able to direct intensely focused and seemingly multidimensional energy for as long as it takes to get whatever he wants done, done.

The rest of us? Or at least, me?

I’m no Elon, and I’m no Trump. My morning hours are the best, at this point in my 83 years. After a long wonderful walk, I can squeeze two hours of intense focus into pouring energy through my fingers onto the keyboard, and then, the entire rest of the day, slip into a muffled, dreamy, mostly enjoyable state of consciousness — eating, napping, cleaning, erranding — getting stuff done, moving stuff around, all required in 3D embodiment.

Yes, muffled and dreamy with however, exceptions. Like scheduled events with others that I’ve signed up for, a few of them going back two decades. Like, for example, our Green Acres Village Community Dinners. Twice monthly, on Thursdays, pitch-in, friends, family, neighbors all invited. Tonight we hope to have it again on the patio, if the weather holds. Otherwise, it’s in my house this time. Email this AM to those who live here in this three-home urban village: “Come out at 6:00 to clean up patio and put out tablecloths, silverware, plates, cups.” Then, we gather again at 7:00 to meet, greet, and eat with whoever shows up! Sometimes it’s 8 people, other times it’s 15; once, 25!  You never know. What you DO know, is that our Community Dinner will happen, no matter what.

The only interruption and/or weirdness we’ve had, except for holiday season and weather events: the covid con years. In fact for the first year we hardly met at all, and when we did, most of those who dared to leave home and come were masked, muffled, filled with F.E.A.R. (False Evidence Appearing Real).

So now, will the hantavirus prove to be another covid con? Can “they” actually pull it off again? Five years later? Celia Farber, for one, is alarmed. And I’ve seen so many posts in the past few days, on X, and in my substack emails, that all say the same thing. Yep! Another rollout of F.E.A.R.!

Yuck! Don’t want to give it energy here.

What I do want to give energy, is how I think we’re being technologically bamboozled by twitter/X at this point. Bamboozled into staying within the algorithmic lane that X has so “kindly” provided for each of us. I mean: geez! Every post I see there at this point I want to either like or repost! And I know for damn sure that’s not because the world is waking up. Or maybe it is waking up, but certainly not via any algorithm.

Am I about to let go of twitter/X?

Wow? What would I do? There goes my encyclopedia, my primary news source. Oh wait. Not! Remember Ann, you’re captured by the definition of yourself you’ve given to X by the types of posts you either like or repost. No wonder at this point everything I see there I basically agree with!

BORING.

And if there’s one thing that turns me off, it’s being consciously or algorithmically corralled, or groomed, allowed to see only what’s streaming (or screaming) across an Overton Window I myself, inadvertently constructed!

All because of the internet yes. That’s why there are no longer any facts. Plus, the encyclopedia itself can be scarfed up by an LLM.  The intuitive assertion I made in my 1972 PhD dissertation, that “There’s a fine line between fiction and fact,” is no longer mysterious, it’s obvious. In fact, the line has basically disappeared. We’re here, with Neptune in Aries for the first time in 165 years, starting over again, inside a mysterious fog. Saturn in Aries too, but moving ahead (Neptune at 3°, Saturn at 9°), trying, and failing, to direct or corral the fog with its inevitably porous walls, its rules that mean nothing, it’s laughable attempts to control.

Yes. How to actually direct one’s attention in a fog of unknowing?

We’re here for awhile folks. Get used to it.

The post NEPTUNE IN ARIES: Starting Over; Lost in Fog of Unknowing appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

In any case, I keep running across X posts that point to Bill Gates as the villain of this subdrama within the larger lyme disease drama:

And this new drama does make sense; especially the alpha-gal phenomenon, so that once bitten by a certain tick you can’t eat red meat ever again! Wow! Fits right in with the so-called climate change agenda still rolling out, with less and less success (I think).

https://x.com/jackdangerlive/status/2051772390460596605?s=61&t=aUBDiSUrvn0aSlRBtZx0wQ

Every morning, on my four mile walks with Scampi, it’s as if I have to bat away a continuous internal stream of fears, F.E.A.R.s (False Evidence Appearing Real), my one hour of X doom-scrolling beforehand having contaminated my very soul. Luckily, the walks strip out the emotional mentation, as one arched foot after another, at my usual fast, rhythmic pace, all muscles, tendons, joins, working in unison, block after block, mile after mile, takes over.

And meanwhile, my eyes and ears and nose absorb springtime garden profusion, eager chatter of songbirds, tiny lavender stems I break off for a quick, dizzying sniff. Oh, and then there are the trees! Guardians of the earth plane, tall, rooted, now leafy branches lifting and spreading. And the hilarious chatter and scatter of squirrels running up and down them. All species (including bugs — ticks!) interwoven, mutually embedded, both giving and receiving LIFE, on Planet Earth.

But for how much longer, my screaming left brain asks! Is Elon Musk right, that in order to survive, the human race must “go interplanetary,” lift off this good earth? Is Elon Musk actually anchored into his own body? Or is his body robotic (I mean, really).

Then, again, thinking, thinking, while walking, of the polarity between scarcity and abundance; and how Lord of the Flies scarcity consciousness has, apparently, driven humanity to this point where, in order to not kill each other off, and instead create abundance for all, we must lift off Earth? Give me a break.

Without scarcity consciousness, there would be no point in hoarding, trying to get the best of others, valuing “money” above all else.

Elon has many provocative things to say. I won’t bother to list the many X posts he puts up here. One that really does “get” me, however, is his notion that most people derive meaning in their lives through the jobs that they do. And that AI takes over more and more jobs, meaning will be lost.

And that’s likely true. As a contrarian who never held a 40-hour week job — instead, given my right-brain obsession with learning astrology for my own sake (who am I? Geez, please tell me!) — I then naturally segued into working for decades as an independent consultant in that field — I can only begin to glimmer what that (false) notion of “purpose” must be like.

For the last 23 years of my residence here in Bloomington IN, I’ve been in the habit of asking IU students who step inside our Green Acres Permaculture sanctuary here in this academic town, “WHAT WOULD YOU BE DOING IF THERE WERE NO OBSTACLES IN YOUR WAY?”

That usually stumps them. At first. Sometimes, as the shock wears off, I notice glimmers of aliveness sparking  their eyes. Sometimes we even enter into passionate conversation. Deeply satisfying.

What is your creative leap into the unknown? What has got your curiosity so aroused that it turns into an obsession? Because that’s where the essence of our humanity will distinguish itself from AI. If each of us can ask and respond to that one question, if each of our souls can light up the robotic night that threatens to engulf us all, we will set the human-centered future of AI, as each of us gives the prompts needed to set the direction and accomplish tasks that our unique, original purpose demands.

I will end this post with another X post, one that really got me thinking. Which is always good!

Oops! I see that this binji is still working within the old scarcity value system . . .

The post REFLECTIONS: mostly detailed rant on how long daily walks dissolve left-brain doom-scrolling harm and invigorate right-brain/heart (and soul!) appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Elizabeth NicksonHere’s how it starts:

Unbekoming (for his identity, see below)

The lie: symptoms reported were identical with those caused by mustard gas, not radiation . . .

Who is Unbekoming?

Given that I grew up PTSD’ed into chronic fear, due to having been present at age 2.5 with my mom for the radio broadcast of the August 1945 Hiroshima event, this Unbekoming substack struck me especially hard.

On the one hand, I’m glad it wasn’t nuclear! On the other hand, I’m pissed that of course I fell for the lie. And yet on the other other hand, I wonder what’s next? What’s always next, over and over again.

The veils are being stripped away, leaving what in their place?

Is there any such thing as “reality”?

Once again, stay home, Ann. Focus on right here, right now.

Work party in our garden last Sunday . . . (See greenacresvillage.org, for more).

The post Two substackers who lift veils for me: Elizabeth Nickson and Unbekoming appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Well, that the occasion was “set-up” before it actually happened; that the whole thing went according to some “script;” that there were those “in the know” and “those not.” That it matters. That it does not matter. That whatever is going on, we sure don’t know what it is, given that nothing is real anymore; or if it is, who knows what “real” means? Does it mean “3D,” i.e., in the material world? And does “staged” mean witnessed from above in a dimension larger than 3D. In which case, is everything in 3D staged, from 5D overton window??

The above questions just flowed out of my hand the way they would probably flow out of yours too, were you to ask that question about “staged.”

None of us are innocent anymore. That time has passed when we could “believe” whatever was put in front of us on screen.

Was, for example, this photo, which went immediately viral, “staged”?

Frankly, I don’t think so. As the bee might not have cooperated. Thank goodness the natural world still  nourishes our embodied souls; thank goodness, we still, if we but relax and breathe, enjoy our aliveness beneath all the confusing tomfoolery that our chronically, comically “busy bee” human mind is capable of. And always, these days, the mental goal seems to be to try to “fool” others; in order to “get the best of them.” In order to “win.”

Yuck.

Which brings me to the latest example of everybody and his uncle thinking this third assassination attempt at the Press Club event was “staged.” It sure looks like it, given that Trump immediately took advantage of the situation to declare that this is the very reason why the (currently stopped), seemingly extravagent White House ballroom addition must go through — because of security; dumbskulls! Obviously, the press event was NOT secure, or this wouldn’t have happened. Or, it would have because that was the intent; to set up a fake (staged) “assasination attempt” with one of its goals (they are usually multifaceted) to make sure that Ballroom gets built!

But then I came across a video that to me makes total sense. From a behavioral analyst whose friend was the man standing with a piece of paper between Trump and Melania when the shots were (supposedly?) fired. His friend told him that he had been doing a “mentalist” trick aimed at Caroline Leavitt, asking her to think of her new baby’s name, which he would then write down on a piece of paper and show it to her. Which is what happened.

The name? Vivian. Aliveness!

When this narrative is plugged in, then the scenario makes an entirely different kind of sense.

Meanwhile, speaking of staged, I find it interesting that Michael Jaco agrees with Kerry Cassidy, that the David Wilcock “suicide” was a psy-op; that he did not kill himself after a supposed drastic decline in both financial and mental health; that the four people  who claimed he did, are dead wrong. That David, like many many others who have gotten way too close to the free energy phenomenon, had to go into hiding, witness protection. Jaco also made the (to me very interesting) point that‚ because of his years as a CIA security operative, he knows that it is much less expensive to disappear people into witness protection than it is to give them security when they remain at large.

And one final possibly staged event: yesterday’s Kentucky Derby, when the horse that began last, ended up first, beating Renegade, the betting favorite. His name: Golden Tempo. But what are the odds? Is it possible to control the animal world that completely? 

“Those who are awake know that all sports are rigged, and these horses in the running are picked based on current events. No coincidences.” —  Paul White Gold Eagle, on twitter/X

Maybe. In any case, it’s better for me to stick closer to home. Yesterday,  sanity returned when I planted, on my knees with bare hands in the moist, welcoming soil, 16 tiny native pollinators. To feed the bees!

The post “STAGED”? Examples: Trump’s bee photo, assasination attempt, Wilcock “suicide” appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Including humans? Yes. Of course. Just like all embodied creatures inside this 3D world, we exist to both serve ourselves and serve others. What’s crucial is the balance between them. In the natural world, experts can denote the “health” of an ecosystem by just how balanced it is, on all levels.

When I lived in Jackson Hole, there was a time when wolves were reintroduced to nearby Yellowstone, after having been hunted nearly to extinction. The result, an astonishing “trophic cascade.”

Increase species diversity, and the entire ecosystem becomes more sustainable.

At least that’s what supposed to happen. And does, when nature is left alone.

The concept of ‘diversity” however, for humans, the supposed top predator, has become both narrowly framed and weaponized, thanks to DEI, which fingers the lack of it as “politically incorrect.”

Meanwhile, conspiracy theorists opine that lyme disease was deliberately introduced via ticks on Plumb Island. In that case, rather like the covid “virus,” and the jab, conspiracy theorists also opine that it was introduced to cull humans.

I tend to agree with the second theory but not the first. But who knows? I sure don’t.

Meanwhile, going with the theme of this week’s Monday through Thursday posts, today I aim to take a “birds-eye” view of the situation, and invoke my permaculture training to remember just how interwoven into the web of life are all species, both obviously alive, and supposedly dead — though I cannot help but assume that consciousness, being an infinite field, both fills and fuels the universe, flowing through everything, even so-called “dead” rocks and planets. And that includes ticks!

So I’m busy this spring, figuring out the best way to work with this seemingly unprecedented situation, wherein ticks arrived early, and are flourishing, function to both feed and cull — and to terrify the hell out of me until I come to terms with them.

I want to include both my animals in my protocol, and not banish them because I fear what they “carry.” Did put the collar on Scampi yesterday. Unfortunate. Still assuming Tiger will take care of his own body, since he’s constantly grooming himself.

Meanwhile, I continue to rub a mixture of  healing clay moistened with anti-bacterial (“nature’s penicillin”) usnea tincture on the formerly tick-embedded area behind my left knee that is still reddened, but not so angry, and not nearly as swollen, with the outlook promising. Plus, I continue to take apis mellifica homeopathic three times a day. Those two things, especially, plus of course showers at night that include my entire body.

Oh yeah, and my bottle of

arrived yesterday, thanks to Amazon Prime.

BTW: A few days ago, I noticed another reddish somewhat swollen spot under my left arm, but it has no tick embedded, and I presume will recede on its own over time.

The point is, fear, FEAR, F.E.A.R. (False Evidence Appearing Real) is the killer. When I fear something, my entire biological system glitches into stress. Not good!

And given that as a child, I was chronically fearful, of nuclear war, I’m frankly surprised that I’m still here, still alive in this body at 83.

Likely the protocols I adopted early on, first walking long distances, then yoga, and later chi kung and tai chi,  formalized nearly 25 years ago into “two hours of physical culture a day,” (see detailed daily health routine) ignited the correction I needed to create balance, despite my chronically overheated PTSD’ed imagination that,

let’s face it

embrace it

erase it!

F.E.A.R. will always threaten to hijack.

Remember, Ann.

It’s either Fear or LOVE,

either contraction or expansion.

Them’s the choices.

Period.

The post A LARGER PERSPECTIVE ON MY TICK TRAUMA appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

And I have two animals, a small dog and an indoor/outdoor cat, who sleep with me.

(Am about to put the tick/flea collar on puppy Scampi, but dread what its side effects must do to him. Hoping Tiger kitty can take care of himself.)

Plus, today I recognized a tick bite on the back of one leg with the tick still embedded. I had ignored it for the first couple of days, not realizing that’s what it was. Looking back now, I realized I was delusional, thinking the Turkey Vulture drama was a blessing, when it may have been a warning! Especially the insect trying to get in my ear! A warning from Nature, about another insect in Nature? Instructing me to pay attention?)

See Monday and Tuesday posts, this week.

I have been making sure I took a shower every evening, and washed hair each time, just in case. But clearly, that wasn’t enough.

This morning, increasing discomfort instructed me to look at the sore spot directly. Oops. Dug out a tiny tick from the center of the very red swollen area (about an inch wide). Checked grok ai for any recent info, and got out a bunch of my old remedies (some from decades ago, unfortunately), and am applying them. Will go to store for more recent remedies later this afternoon. Plus taking a homeopathic. And have ordered a six-months supply of an immune formula specific for ticks to prevent disease (assuming the tiny ones will bite me over and over again this year.)

It’s strange. I’ve long poo-pooed internal “bugs” that “cause” dis-ease, figuring if I support my immune system I’ll be fine. And I have been. The covid era left me entirely unscathed.

But, here in the Midwest, for the last 23 years I have been utterly freaked out about external bugs! Back in Jackson Hole Wyoming, we did have one large tick species; but mostly went on alert when out hiking to possible presence of large animals (bears, wolves, bison, moose, etc.). Respected all of them; gave them all a wide birth.

But how can we give a wide birth to something we may not even see, it’s so tiny! And it may lodge somewhere on the back of our body, where, when we live alone, we can’t see it!

Clearly, I need to upgrade some of my present protocols.

The post TICK TRAUMA: Inside or Outside, they are all BUGS! So pay attention! appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Of course, I pray that higher laws will intervene in his life, and heal him, preferably suddenly, all at once.

But “the world doesn’t work that way, Ann.”

Well, not usually. But the Turkey Vulture poop phenomenon, once again, has landed me within the world of Mystery, where anything is possible, anything.

My life, indeed, has been filled with such miracles. As I presume, others’ lives are also so filled. Usually, we ignore them, don’t realize that “what just happened” should not have, were the usual Newtonian/Cartesian laws to hold. But they don’t hold. Not always. Not even usually, especially to one such as myself who has led a life of experimentation and risk, over and over again, and been rewarded, for my audacity.

Like the time when, having stuck my thumb out, with only $1 remaining to my name, in my pocket, and hitchhiked (for the very first time) up Highway 101 with no destination known back in the early ’70s. I had been lying prone, depressed, in the basement of an apartment that two of my former students were renting, having been unceremoniously fired, from the only academic job I ever held, a few months prior, as “too experimental” for that “experimental college,” New College of California.

And this, after an improbable success in getting my doctoral dissertation in philosophy (which called the entire history of western philosophy into question) astonishingly passed, by the dissertation committee — after a long and fascinating fight — back at Boston University.

So then, being hired, by New College, because of a statement I wrote that the experimental students there utterly loved: “I want to help undo what was done to me.” Well, I was on top of the world. My 30-year-old ego not just intact, but exploding.

Long story, of course. But yes, I was, after one year, fired. My second Saturn cycle (30 to 60) would prove to be utterly unlike the first one (as it should be; having learned from the first 30, we begin again; and then again! at 60!)

THE SATURN RETURN

Yes, it took me many years to process that ignominious experience that horrific “fall from grace;” processing not just being fired, but what led up to it, how my own over-the top actions and attitude had made it inevitable. Now I’d call being fired from New College an early example of what I since learned to call “whiplash karma.”

I got up out of my depressed state, knowing that only by forcing myself to do something utterly impossible, only by risking my life, would I come back to life.

And it worked! Long story, of course.

I came across a post on twitter/X yesterday that strikes me as very very real.

As a soul, I’ve learned to register experience more and more quickly, so that (linear) “time” has appeared to move faster and faster. What took me many years to process, i.e., to recognize both its inevitability and its value, took less and less “time” as my life went on.

Now? At 83? The minute I notice one of my own projections (into cold-hearted, superior-attitude judgment of someone or something, usually), I instantly release it, move from left to right brain, into utter compassion.

Yes, inside the millisecond that links “cause” and “effect,” of “linear time” I can now interrupt the process. Move from ego to heart.

For when I do “take it back,” there I am, once again, immersed in the entangled beauty and presence of the eternal NOW. Of how Nature takes care of her own, and how I, personally, as an embodied soul, am embraced in her springtime splendor.

Yes, the recent Turkey Vulture poop miracle continues to pour its mysterious blessings, to resonate further and further, deeper and deeper, lighting up shadows I didn’t even know were still there.

I am so grateful!

The post REFLECTIONS ON Turkey Vulture Poop Blessings appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Yes, I was suckered into paying close attention to the David Wilcock death psy-op. Not that his tragic suicide isn’t true, because it probably is, but because of the way so many who both knew him and did not are weighing in, that the entire scenario has degenerated into a morass of conflicting stories, tailor-made for distraction, whether or not intended, by “black hats” or “white hats” or both. Thus, a deliberately confusing “psychological operation.” Or: maybe not? WHO KNOWS? WHAT IS REAL?

(Hmmm . . . My PhD philosophy, focused on epistemology, which at the time, to others, seemed ridiculous, is proving extremely relevant, now, over 50 years later!)

Okay, so given that current epistemological i.e., twitter background, here’s something that jolted me into a reality below/above/within/without/human constructs of any kind.

THIS:

Yesterday, twice, Nature herself spoke to me. Or maybe I should say, “the divine,” or “source” spoke to me, beaming down through the human-generated fog of mental war, once again, to say “WAKE UP! IT’S TIME!” This phrase I’ve already mentioned, probably on this blog: how it was generated also by Nature, but in a dream, of a giant raven sitting on my shoulders, cawing “WAKE UP! IT’S TIME!” Thus was Crone Chronicles: a Journal of Conscious Aging, born, when I was 46, and lasted for 30 years.

This time, again a bird visited me. But not in a dream (where it’s easier for those in 3D to deny as meaningful), but when awake . . .

What Happened

I was on my second walk of the day, this one shorter, in the early evening, with sun low in the western sky. Suddenly, “out of the blue,” I felt a cold wetness plop onto my head, my hair. What? I was not under trees. The sky was clear, no clouds. Nor was I drugged in any way, pharmaceutically or otherwise. This was my alert waking state.

I felt a cold wetness plop onto my hair, and then suddenly remembered: it had happened that morning also, but I hadn’t “picked up” on it, simply went on with my day — only to see hours later that my hair was whitened in a certain spot, by a dry white powder. WHAT?

SO YES, IT HAPPENED. TWICE YESTERDAY. And only when it happened the second time did I actually look up, to see several circling Turkey Vultures, 100s of feet above, one of them just past being directly over me.

WHAT?

So a Turkey Vulture had contacted me, twice. . . And I was trying to absorb this extraordinary information, suddenly some kind of large insect buzzed my ear, tried to climb inside (as if to say, “did you get the message?!?”)

(Luckily my hand automatically reached up in time.)

Yes, Nature speaks to us in ways that we do not speak to each other.

“Truth” and “Falsity” are not relevant here.

These are times when all we can do is surrender, succumb to wonder.

I mean, “what are the odds?”

When I got home I searched both gemini and grok for “symbolic meaning of turkey buzzard dropping poop on  head from hundreds of feet up,” something like that. Check it out . . . Can’t remember the exact prompt I used.

The internet is full of stuff relating to this very much out-of-the-ordinary experience. Nature’s wisdom trumps human vicissitudes. Reminds me that, despite increasingly chaotic “appearances,” my embodied being is safe, secure, in the nourishing arms of Mother Nature.