Here I am, it’s Tuesday, and I’m still trying to process Turkey Vulture poop from high above landing on my head twice in one day, while out walking. When I told my 60 year old son, Colin Cudmore, inventor of the Garden Tower (and paralyzed from waist down for nearly 2 years, with 24×7 nerve pain) about my Turkey Vulture gifting, he was so amazed that he calls it “the single most astonishing story” he’s ever heard. I’d like to think contemplating what “happened” to me blasted him free of his horrific pain-filled life for at least a few moments of utter wonder, utter astonishment at “the way the world works,” or I should say, the way a “higher order law” can and does intervene into this 3D world on occasion.

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!