The Fifth World of Jubiliese Braverman
Prologue: The Hopi Bear Clan Prophecy
Bob Frissel, in his book, "Something In This Book is True…" (Frog Ltd.; Berkeley, California; 1997) relates a story told by Reverend David Young about an encounter in the 1950's.
While driving through a desert in the Southwest, Rev. Young picked up a remarkable Hopi Elder and soon the two began a long conversation about spiritual matters.
“I am White Feather, a Hopi of the ancient Bear Clan. In my long life I have traveled through this land, seeking out my brothers, and learning from them many things filled with wisdom. I have followed the sacred paths of my people, who inhabit the forests and many lakes in the east, the land of ice and long nights in the north, and the places of holy altars of stone built many years ago by my brothers' fathers in the south. From all these I have heard the stories of the past, and the prophecies of the future. Today, many of the prophecies have turned to stories, and few are left -- the past grows longer, and the future grows shorter.
And now White Feather is dying. His sons have all joined his ancestors, and soon he too shall be with them. But there is no one left, no one to recite and pass on the ancient wisdom. My people have tired of the old ways -- the great ceremonies that tell of our origins, of our emergence into the Fourth World, are almost all abandoned, forgotten, yet even this has been foretold.
The time grows short.
My people await Pahana, the lost White Brother [from the stars], as do all our brothers in the land. He will not be like the white men we know now, who are cruel and greedy. We were told of their coming long ago. But still we await Pahana.
He will bring with him the symbols, and the missing piece of that sacred tablet now kept by the elders, given to him when he left, that shall identify him as our True White Brother.
The Fourth World shall end soon, and the Fifth World will begin. This the elders everywhere know. The Signs over many years have been fulfilled, and so few are left.
This is the First Sign: We are told of the coming of the white-skinned men, like Pahana, but not living like Pahana -- men who took the land that was not theirs. And men who struck their enemies with thunder. [First sign of guns.]
This is the Second Sign: Our lands will see the coming of spinning wheels filled with voices. In his youth, my father saw this prophecy come true with his eyes -- the white men bringing their families in wagons across the prairies.
This is the Third Sign: A strange beast like a buffalo but with great long horns will overrun the land in large numbers. These, White Feather saw with his eyes - the coming of the white men's cattle.
This is the Fourth Sign: The land will be crossed by snakes of iron. [Railroad tracks]
This is the Fifth Sign: The land shall be crisscrossed by a giant spider's web. [Electric power and telephone lines]
This is the Sixth Sign: The land shall be crisscrossed with rivers of stone that make pictures in the sun. [Highways and their mirage-producing effects]
This is the Seventh Sign: You will hear of the sea turning black, and many living things dying because of it. [Oil spills in the ocean]
This is the Eighth Sign: You will see many youth, who wear their hair long like my people, come and join the tribal nations, to learn their ways and wisdom. ["Hippie Movement" of the 1960s]
And this is the Ninth and Last Sign: You will hear of a dwelling-place in the heavens, above the earth, that shall fall with a great crash. It will appear as a blue star. Very soon after this, the ceremonies of my people will cease. [The Ninth Sign was the U.S. Space Station Skylab, which fell to Earth in 1979. According to Australian eyewitnesses, it appeared to be burning blue.]
These are the Signs that great destruction is coming. The world shall rock to and fro. The white man will battle against other people in other lands -- with those who possessed the first light of wisdom [Israel?]. There will be many columns of smoke and fire such as White Feather has seen the white man make in the deserts not far from here. [Atomic Bomb] Only those which come will cause disease and a great dying. Many of my people, understanding the prophecies, shall be safe. Those who stay and live in the places of my people also shall be safe. Then there will be much to rebuild. And soon -- very soon afterward -- Pahana will return. He shall bring with him the dawn of the Fifth World. He shall plant the seeds of his wisdom in their hearts. Even now the seeds are being planted. These shall smooth the way to the Emergence into the Fifth World.
But White Feather shall not see it. I am old and dying. Perhaps you will see it. In time, in time....”
The old Indian fell silent. They had arrived at his destination, and Reverend David Young stopped to let him out of the car. They never met again. Reverend Young died in 1976, so he did not live to see the further fulfillment of this remarkable prophecy.
HOPI ELDERS SPEAK
"You have been telling the people that this is the Eleventh Hour. Now you must go back and tell the people that this is the Hour. And there are things to be considered:
Where are you living?
What are you doing?
What are your relationships?
Are you in right relation?
Where is your water?
Know your garden.
It is time to speak your Truth.
Create your community.
Be good to each other.
And do not look outside yourself for the leader.
This could be a good time!
There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are being torn apart, and they will suffer greatly.
Know the river has its destination. The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above the water. See who is in there with you and celebrate.
At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally. Least of all, ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt. The time of the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves!
Banish the word struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary.
All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration. We are the ones we've been waiting for."
The Elders, Hopi Nation, Oraibi, Arizona – 2002
Source: Manataka American Indian Council
My eyelids are thick, heavy. They don’t want to open. I know I need to wake up, but the will isn’t yet there. I easily glide back into dream mode, hoping to capture whatever it was that was so intriguing. Enfolded in twinkling stars tossed like a fistful of sugar into the blackness for night candy, I drift and float over an aurora below, a swirling, draping, whorling, exquisitely personal production, utterly silent, magnificent greens, purples, reds… Smoke. The odor tickles my nostrils, putting my flight or fight system on high alert. The eyelids instantly comply.
Struggling to focus, I make an unsuccessful attempt to sit up. Any movement sets my head to a metronome throb. Everything is a blur. Holy crap, Dante, which circle of Hell is this? I try again and nearly faint from the raw pain. Okay, Jubiegirl, just lie here for a minute. Get a grip. Be patient. More smoke. I might not have time to ease into this. With enormous effort I manage to get up on one elbow, unable to stifle a yelp. I can’t even tell what’s hurt; pain is surging from all sides. My surroundings are an ocean of blear. I feel a softness wash over me; I am dimming. No! I will not pass out. There is no time. Forcing myself into reality, I will my eyes and senses awake, gritting my teeth against the fresh onslaught of agony. Breathe, damn it! Breathe!
Nearby objects begin to clear. I am on the ground, lying near a shallow trench, shovel a few feet away. The trench! Somehow I know I dug it, but can’t remember why. I am on the southeast side of a small hill covered with low, tortured bushes. Southeast? How the hell do I know this? Squinting mightily, I will the far surroundings to come into view. The smoke. It’s rising in columns from everywhere, only a slight breeze carrying the scent of it to where I am. Ranchlands and what used to be woods splay out like a wagon wheel from my hill. Trees torn up by their roots are scattered like deer corn. A couple of homesteads are leveled, their remains burning, wreckage of barns, fences, vehicles piled like driftwood against the base of another hill. No movement, no sound, just faint crackling from the fires, which is - mysteriously comforting.
I must still be dreaming. Low, dark clouds in the distance are quickly moving in. It is daylight, and by the position of the sun must be around 3:00 PM. Scanning the other horizon, my heart nearly stops. Holy Mother of us all. Encroaching clouds have not yet covered the huge planet taking up a third of the sky, red, surrounded by glowing dust. Above, an eerie whistling perks my ears and I look up to see a huge, glowing meteor streaking to ground on the ranchlands. As it hits, the jolting tremor sets off every wounded nerve in my body. I scream. The explosion sets off a massive fireball reaching toward heaven. Oh, God, just let me live through this. I will myself to not become hysterical, but can’t staunch the sobs. Oh, shit – I remember! This is the Hill Country. “I’m a Texas chick” I blubber aloud, “I will deal with this.” After crying enough to thoroughly put out all the fires, my body stills. I have to know what this is all about. Are you kidding me? In the midst of this terror, you’re curious? Prioritize! I gingerly begin, toe by toe, rib by screaming rib, assessing my physical damage.
--Jo VonBargen 2012
do not say how I pierced
and abstracted your
I seduced you, stupid.
do not ebb to that place
where our gists converged for
additional syncs of lasting import.
ever hear of the heat of the moment?
do not give more than its worth
to the supposed entelechy
of my affection.
I always look my prey right in the eye.
do not plethora me whys to tuck
you more inward or aggrandize
your space for my essence.
don't waste your time on a snake!
I must have time to calibrate your
fragrance, to perch with my
countenance gyred to your orb.
ahh, the stench of you, googoo eyes!
I must have time to rote
this aesthetic vulgate you breeze,
to translate this stir in my crux.
you talk too much, you're giving me gas!
do not finesse my quick acquiesce
for I would burgeon, bloom
prematurely and wither the vine
whence all this joy.
um..yeah, sure. I'll call you...
--Jo VonBargen 2012
Books by Jo VonBargen at right. Follow on Twitter @jvonbargen
Photo by Jo's son, Ken Phillips
THE CRADLING WOMB
oh, it was no crusted, briny
necropolis, then, of scuttled yardarm
and mast, but the pitch
and yaw of cradling womb – those
billion years forming,
dream-breath on hold, hearts
idled down to a purr
dawn: the bubbling plasma
a miniscule group huddled together
in schools of darkness –
a dank storm cellar, almost.
here, all kinds.
no distinguishing eye
had yet crowned the brute groin
of its crude, metastatic
what would one day be
ebony, ivory, saffron, sienna
meandered the seas til mudborne:
a glissando of slow subterraneans –
amphibian, worm -
who then changed key
(no pestilence, we!)
synapsids up one scale,
even better: no status, no rank!
simple and pure.
BELLOWS OF LUNG
ribcage protracted, bellows
of lung –
whirring of air!
to quicken, to
balance, to stir those clear
stars with pleased
this is why?
good as any reason
a dream, a dune, a blue
shot of sky – hard
for my molecules to
details unclear, it's been
zodiacs twirled - one knows
that the sun did rise!
this, above and before
a pubescent world
came into her moon –
imagined fruition bloomed!
no pregnant pause:
her profile proclaimed
a burgeoning virgin,
innocence of inertia, shall
we say, lost.
mother sea slipped into
act one: it began
sprouts turned for energy
upward, outward –
their love of crepuscular
noted occurrence: hair!
oh, the sun’s orthodoxy!
a reason, a season
all space surrounding her
up in the east,
westerly down –
the soundtrack (listen!)
hums soil and leaves
dream of the briny?
From This Far Time is a labor of love. It was envisioned to be a poetry "time capsule" for future generations who might have some curiosity about the first part of human history. It would be impossible, of course, to include the whole of that story, so the author has simply touched on significant events that have had an impact on her own life and millions of others. It begins from the sea with the mud-borne and continues on through the war-torn. This is her fiercest writing to date, taut and terse as bleached bones! The intent is to give future societies a glimpse and a taste of where we so miserably failed, with the hope that they will remember...and do better.
Click on the photo to purchase & read reviews of FROM THIS FAR TIME on Amazon.com.
--Jo VonBargen 2012
Let there be just one beginning, one middle
and end to this story. Another syllabic
mutation called meaning. Don't you
understand? I simply want life
to be corrected. Punched
right in the damned
mouth. I've been writing
this same sentence all
my life, just with
different words. You what?
Look, you moron,
I love you is a bleepin' bullet
after years in a marriage alone. Just do
what you do, and leave my heart
in its sandbag fort. I planned to
phone up and tell anyone everything.
Yammer far, far into the night.
But the candles, Jack
Daniels, thunder and rain made me
shut the glow, conjure up
the old you, and move his
mouth south til
--Jo VonBargen 2012
absorbed and pale, you sit in front of a burning
mirror and ponder.
see how you breathe
without body or voice, betrayed
look how you've gnawed and swallowed
the rust is so bitter.
you are travail, an apocalypse,
sun going down.
someone has hung their gasps in
your eyes, brushing
your hair with stony silence
the evil you note is a strangled brook, still
gurgling, the curl of the shriveled
leaf, a fallen deer.
as for good there is only divine
indifference, the drowse
the soaring wren
you are a benediction,
a destruction, gone mad
in the light
--Jo VonBargen 2012
*Note: A piece of history. There were days and weeks like this. Not so much anymore.
what's a girl like you doing
at McDuffy's Hotel all
alone in Alaska, for
God's sake, asked
an adventure, said I, not
even sure that was
why, gazing out at the loneliness
of black crows against
this is no place for
weak and inquisitive
girls, barked the grizzled old
fart, snake in gnarled
hand, voice whiskey
what makes you
think I'm either, I sniffed,
well, I'm not
sure about the one, but you've
got that curiosity
eyes, said he with
hmmph! I snorted, with
total disdain, I'm curious
about that little tinge
of misogyny in
your blue ones
shaking his head,
he deftly unplugged
the pipe, in a hurry
to get home and look that
...and smoke it
--Jo VonBargen 2012
Let's take a moment to look at our lives and this wonderful Earth with new eyes, ignoring boundaries and all we've been taught, in an effort to find our center, the pulse of our unbounded selves. No matter how skeptical we are, it's in there! I'm a huge fan of Christina Carson's writings on her lifelong quest to discover why it is "We are extraordinary beings, we humans, but we know next to nothing about ourselves." So in that vein, let's look at some things with the eyes of a child - a child who has not yet been steeped in hogwash nor had his/her natural intuitive sense ripped away.
Do we ever really pause to see, eyes wide in wonder, the preciousness of all life, the awesome gifts of rivers and land, mountains and trees, the wisdom of nature in every form of wildlife, that same wisdom innate in ourselves? Except for the occasional get-away, it doesn't seem we do. For this we need our inner sight and a stillness within to gently sense the silent, pure life consciousness, our own individuality indeed having been sparked by that Absolute force.
With inner sight we can feel the entire body of the life force - resonating, glowing - from this cradle called Earth with its wellspring of infinite energy. We rise with joy, with freedom, into a vast ocean of boundless, pure consciousness. It is silent, infinite, without fathom.
In the depths of this pure consciousness, we see that every creature, every person, is uniquely vital, illuminated by the light of the same sun, each being one more beautiful element of the Absolute mind. As we sink more deeply into a silent awareness we sense its omnipresence as we soar on its Infinite wings, entirely free, watching the whole of creation emanating, resonating, phasing from its Light, manifesting Earth, space, air - and us.
We rise way, way, above mountains into the sky, gazing back upon this beautiful, blue orb shining in a sea of unbounded being, and we see that she is awake and our great symbol of Love, which is what we are – little units of love’s essence! And we fill with that love as we look upon her and all that is.
Looking past Earth into stretches of infinite, galactic space, we see that this perfect pulse of the Absolute has manifested the wonder and fullness of a vast cosmos, stretching forever without end or beginning, and all of this, too, is alive and awake.
The farther we venture into this quiet, we begin to perceive that each created thing is a perfect astral light from which it then becomes solidified, resonating from the finest, purest celestial to its fully physical form of differentiated life, and from that astral light comes the magnetic field, electricity, subatomic particles, atoms, molecules, matter, space, our own beings.
Within each created object is a perfect tone, sweetly harmonic, resonating, each separate tone uniquely pure, and each object is imbued with all tones, all thoughts, all knowledge, so that even a blade of grass is a doorway to the Absolute, the unbounded consciousness. This is not airy-fairy, idealistic nonsense, it's actually quantum physics!
With these thoughts in mind, we lift the Earth up that she should be made whole again, as we honor the potential and worth in each created thing, from the grain of sand to the person, from the tree to the mighty sea, from the cow to the coyote. From our child state, we call for a return to joy, that we all might bask in the perfect light of peace, knowledge and understanding; and where there is suffering, let it be the instinctive, common goal to provide help and healing.
What we were born with, but never allowed to develop to any significant degree, is intuition, a strong inner light, which (had it been nurtured and allowed to develop) guides us with a knowledge that answers are not 'out there' or 'up there', but within our own natural force connected to the Absolute whole. As Christina often says, the truth is always amazingly simple. So, per Captain Picard, let us 'Make it so'.
--Jo VonBargen 2012
Amazon Book Description:
"As a sophomore in college Samantha Reddick meets Tony Amaya, a brokenhearted young man, whose written words she keeps as a memento of a weekend long affair. The words, written on the back of a paper place mat, become her only solid ground during a tumultuous decade that nearly destroys her, leaving her searching for answers at the bottom of the bottle. Haunted by guilt and the constant menace from a man she once loved, Samantha searches for Tony and inserts herself into his life through an online friend request to his wife, Gwen. Mutual curiosity opens the door to an unexpected friendship that becomes the catalyst of an inner battle between the better woman Samantha longs to be, and the Samantha who despises her own gaze."
Javier Robayo has written a masterpiece in 'The Gaze', one that is already showing as a top-grossing, all-engrossing, unforgettable movie in my mind, and I'm almost positive those who've read it feel the same way. Think 'Gone With The Wind' on steroids.Think...well...no...don't think. There isn't a movie in the annals that can match a film made from 'The Gaze'. There is no equal in the book world that could have been made into such a movie. Author Robayo has given screenwriters everywhere a screenwriter's dream. Even his English dialogue in the British vernacular is spot-on. From dialogue to detail, to every stray hair tucked behind an ear, to a thousand-mile stare and that gaze boring deep into the soul, it's all there. Just put it in screenplay format and voilà!
Of course, the ideal is to have real people from which to mold realistic on-screen characters as you have that person's history and demeanor right in front of you. Nothing has to be fashioned from imagination. Author Robayo's characters in no way fly in the face of that. They ARE real people. Instead of living next door, they have moved into the one little cul-de-sac in your mind that has no picket fence of disbelief. You are compelled, even after finishing the book, to observe these fascinating, deeply complex people from behind your elegant sheers in the front window. How does he do that? I'm a writer and damned if I know.
Having read hundreds, perhaps thousands, of books in my life, never has there been one this impactful, this vastly memorable, this addictive...for me. Author Robayo has given us something magical, something so rare there is naught with which to compare it. The plot twists, story line, pace and flow are flawless. Clearly, parts of his own fascinating life are woven in, but you'll never see the seams. In my mind this is an utterly, utterly fascinating read.
I've been researching lately how profoundly we are what we think, and how we are builders of our own worlds. On Javier Robayo's website, he occasionally tosses up yet another famous actor, his dream choice to play a character in his book for the film to come. He clearly has a big dream, as most of us do, but in his case, the dream is destined to become real. He has the incredible chops, so he has already finely fashioned his future. What a fine inspiration to writers everywhere! If the unique quality of your work matches the vast expanse of your dream, you will have found the secret to it all. As simple as that.
Buy the book. Savor it, like I did. Then buy 'The Next Chapter'. He has already written it, both literally and figuratively. Start saving your money to take everyone you know to the movies. The day 'The Gaze' premiers will be one fine day, indeed. Coming soon, to a theater and theatre near you.
--Jo VonBargen 2012
This post, I'm embarrassed to say, is way, way overdue. As recently as 8-9 months ago, my life was a very different one to what it is now. I have always been a seeker, but I had somehow lost my anchor and my purpose and was headed in a totally wrong direction. My outlook was more than bleak.
I can pinpoint the exact moment that all changed, and it was a day when I was scanning the Twitter timeline for something, anything to give me some oxygen. I happened upon a tweet from Bert Carson, a link to his blog. Reading his wonderful post, something stirred in my gut and I immediately added him to my Twitter connections. In his reply, he signed his thanks for the add, "Yours to count on, Bert". You have no idea what those five little words mean to a drowning spirit. And so the journey began.
Shortly thereafter, I added his beautiful wife, Christina, as they both had left lovely comments on my blog posts. From that day to this, these two amazing people have been in my corner, urging me onward and teaching me the most incredible things through their blog posts, their comments, their emails. One day I even received a package in the mail. They had sent me a copy of Nevil Shute's book, Round The Bend, a beautiful story plum rich with observation and understanding. What an inspiring read! I've never in my life met such thoughtful and supportive people. And their novels? Stunning. Life-altering. I owe them my life for their huge part in making me who I am today, and for their steadiness in holding up lamps along the way.
Bert's Amazon Author Page
Bert Carson's writing grabbed me by the gut, slung me into a world I couldn't know, and left me gasping at his soulful, creative brilliance. He has lived that stuff; he has birthed characters from his own harrowing Vietnam experiences and brought them to credible life.
Bert is a natural-born raconteur....on any subject. Ask anyone who knows him. If he'd been born in West Africa, he would have been the highly revered griot, traveling from village to village relating the stories and lore of the times, never ever missing a detail, a fact or a beat.
All of his writing has a wonderful, redemptive quality. Even when he's taking you down through the dark, harrowing valleys of human experience, you can rest assured he will get you to the other side renewed, refreshed and ready to climb with hope and vigor up to the mountain top, where the light of the universe has transformed him and thereby, you.
Bert Carson has an amazing intellect which shines through all his work, and a wonderful humility and soulfulness which touches us all deeply. If I had to submit a mold to the Creator from which to fashion the ideal man, no question I would hand over Bert.
Christina's Amazon Author Page
Until Christina, I had never met a woman so thought-provoking and relevant to my own life. She is a deep thinker and a story-teller of unequaled talent. I've read many writings of hers, always coming away taller, more peaceful and imbued with a greater sense of dignity than before. Having grown up in the Southwest, I hail from a beautiful tri-culture that allows me to see her writing as being deeply infused with what I call "coyote wisdom" (about soul and mind), as she brings one along on a journey filled with insights and images that break us out of our frozen-heart places and fully transform our awareness. Hers is truly a deep and profound intelligence.I have five brothers, but was never blessed with a sister. Now that I know and adore Christina, that blessing is indeed mine.
Consider this memorable passage that Christina wrote in Books That Disturb Us. It is regarding the book inspired by a man named Chunksa Yuha of the Dakotah Sioux, called Hanta Yo. Her words have haunted me since:
"We mistakenly think that the world exists, and we come along and describe it through language. What if it were the other way round, that we create the world with our thoughts and words; that rather than scribes, we are artists?
In the Dakotah language, the following words, plus the concepts for which they stood, did not exist: admit, assume, because, believe, could, doubt, end, expect, faith, forget, forgive, guilt, how, it, mercy, pest, promise, should, sorry, storm, them, us, waste, we, weed. Notice what notions you'd have to abandon to accommodate that list.
We as writers are the keepers of language and thus the most active creators of worlds. That's a great deal to be answerable for. What would a Dakotah Sioux have suggested in the face of such responsibility? Well since they didn’t have the concepts supported by words like because, sorry, assume or end, for starters, they likely would have said something like: Be as you are. Know what that is. Live only that."
When I first read that passage, the light was so bright I had to look away.
--Jo VonBargen 2012
I was reading a post by Javier Robayo this morning, You Called Me ‘Home’, and once I tossed all the wet Kleenex, it set me to thinking again. (We writers seem to all be riffing off each other lately!) Javier and his family are making a move from Pennsylvania to Connecticut soon and we all know how heart-wrenching leaving home can be. I sincerely hope that the family can feel the inevitable sadness and let it wash over quickly. Wallowing in it will only prolong the agony. There is always joy to be found on the journey (and that's what this life is), and I have a feeling Javier will lead them to it!
On this planet, because it’s the only one the physical ‘me’ knows right now, I believe humans are sparked with a soul, a higher self quite apart from the mortal body – one which defines and directs said human’s journey and decides the daily lesson plan in accordance with the soul’s union with the divine. I believe the soul is an immortal essence, despite the fact that I don’t embrace religion, or religiosity (as I like to call it), though I do have great respect for the Bible and all the ‘Good Books’ of the world. They all contain essential universal truths. It wasn’t until mankind got hold of them and self-servingly skewed them that the trouble began.
To me, the soul (immortal essence) cannot die. Not sure why I think this, it’s just something my spirit feels in my gut. Perhaps because the soul is light, is energy. Mortal death is not something I fear, for according to physics, energy, once created, can never cease to exist. It might change form, but it’s still energy. Once my body dies, maybe my essence will crop up in a human newborn. Or it could plop into some sentient octopus on a water-world planet. Whatever. I’ll still take names and kick ass, and who couldn’t use more arms?
So, back to the journey. It's possible Javier’s soul and the souls of his family have made a joint decision, outside of their individual mortal thinking, to leave everything they’ve known for many years and move far away, closer to his lovely Mother and Father. There is a reason… there’s always a reason, and we usually don’t know it until later when we develop hindsight. And it will be a good one. Perhaps the Pockylips is imminent and the universe wants its incredible talents to be in a safe place. After all, someone would be needed to scribble the account of it on cave walls. ¿Quién sabe? We humans are here on this lovely blue planet hanging in space to learn. Our schooling takes place usually against our mortal will – we’re stubborn like that. Trust me, the Divine, the Absolute, however you choose to define it, knows what it’s doing. We can’t get a leg up into the next dimension of awareness without learning the lessons that are to be had. Don’t we use that concept in high school? Sure. One day, Javier and family will be looking back at all this and laughing themselves silly. And will be wiser, to boot.
I love thinking about this stuff. Living mostly inside my own mind, I find it fascinating to ponder. Guess I’m a classic muller. My own life has been a spectacular soap-opera, and I began self-examination and lesson-learning almost too late. But now that I’m learning, I don’t think they should call the grave-digger just yet. All this schooling would be wasted, and just so you know, my Soul, this mortal chick is kinda iffy about being under water for too long. Nevertheless, when it’s time, and wherever you take me, I’ll suck it up and go.
--Jo VonBargen 2012