Page 5 - THE PORTAL
WINGS OF LOVE
I'm glad you bought those Tarot cards. I may need you to read my cards! Strange
things are happening. For one thing, my basement apartment is coming alive with
sounds. This apartment isn't the greatest place I've ever lived. I
have to burn incense to mask the smell of it being old and damp. Also, the
heater is down here with me, and I can always hear it turning on and off. The
refrigerator makes a whining noise when it comes on and the plumbing rattles
when anyone in the house uses it. But these sounds aren't really often or
loud. Lately, I've noticed the heater frequently makes the heater turning-on
sound, but the heater doesn't turn on. And this sound is slightly different;
it's mellow. The refrigerator makes the refrigerator coming-on sound but it
doesn't come on, either. And the sound it makes is also slightly different;
it's pleasant. There are some tap, rap and crack noises I have never noticed
before, but these noises are almost comforting. It's like they are more
companions than sounds.
Then, the other day, I went into the bathroom and saw haze in there about
head-high, like the haze in Susan's hallway. Just as I saw the haze, it zipped
away and disappeared. But I definitely saw it! This morning, I went into the
bathroom to shower and I saw two of my cloth ponytail bands on the bathroom
floor. The elastic is gone, the cloth is frayed and I never wear them. One is
pink and the other is blue. I don't know why I don't throw them out. The blue
one is really useless, with no elastic left. I picked them up and that's when
I realized I had picked them up twice before in the mornings, I just hadn't
wondered until now how they got on the floor.
As I put the bands back on the shelf in the hall, I noticed that the pink one
was knotted into a tight ball, like a rubber band with too much elastic. Then,
when I stepped into the shower, I had a flashback of a dream memory, and I
remembered standing in front of the bathroom door and holding the pink ponytail
band. In the dream I was knotting it, trying to form it into the shape of a
key. I needed the key to unlock the bathroom door. But there's no door
there, just a portal. In the dream I couldn't pass through the portal because
it was "thicker" than my dream body was. So, I tried to make a key out of the
ponytail band to unlock the portal. It must have worked because I've been
finding the bands on the bathroom floor rather than on the hallway shelf. It
happens in the middle of the night as I'm dreaming. If I had a roommate who
happened to get up to go the bathroom at the same time I'm making a key, they
would see the ponytail band floating in mid-air! Or they would see me standing there and then disappearing into a portal.
I took my shower and stepped out of the tub. There on the floor, in the shape
of a figure 8, was the blue band I had just put back on the shelf in the hallway. In Tarot, the figure 8 is a lemniscate and
symbolizes infinity. According to my Tarot book, it also means that process is
eternal. (I guess that means this spiritual stuff is never going end. Well, I
don't want it to.) I picked up the band carefully, so as to preserve it's
figure 8 shape, but it seemed permanently fixed in that shape, like someone
ironed it. Then, I noticed that it had been "healed"--the cloth was no longer
frayed and the elastic was good.
BENE HA ELOHIM
Out loud I asked, "How did you do that?" I knew I hadn't done it. I was in
the shower when it happened. An invisible being did it. I listened for an
answer. No one answered. You know what? I think I have a spirit guide who
lives in the bathroom. I have been researching spirit guides. Did you know
that Pythagoras had spirit guides? He called them his
"Heavenly Partners." Socrates and Plato also had Heavenly Partners.
Pythagoras said the Heavenly Partner and the individual merge in a mystical way
to form a marriage of beinghood, out of which is born a new person. According to the Tarot cards, my heavenly partner is Water Brother (Page of Cups, Jack of Hearts),
which means "Wings of Love." The card says the Wings of Love is the
lemniscate! On the card, Water Brother is pictured as a man in astral body,
rising from a pool of water, like me getting out of the shower, I guess.
Isn't this a wonderful symmetry! While I am taking a shower and thinking about
how I travel in astral body, a spiritual being named Water Brother, also in
astral body, is placing a symbol on my floor, a figure 8 that means Wings of
Love! Can this be the lover I called for? I really thought he was going to be
physical when he got here. Furthermore, I must have over-invoked when I laid
on my spell calling for a lover because I think I have more than one Heavenly
Partner here. The invisible people who were in Susan's hallway are also in my
apartment, surrounding me, watching me and connecting with me. Maybe they need
me or something. I wonder what they could need me for?
Speaking of watching me, these Heavenly Partners never sleep. If I wake during
the night, I am aware they also are awake and watching over me. In my dreams I
sometimes see them as giants towering over me. I found something about them in
Angels: An Endangered Species
by Malcolm Godwin. According to him, I am now in
the presence of the Bene ha Elohim, the "Sons of God," also called the
"Watchers or the "Grigori." These are mysterious guardian angels that are said
to be gigantic and that are of an essence different from the other angels. They
are "those who watch, "those who are awake" and "the ones who never sleep."
They are "nearer in form, genes and sexual enthusiasm to humankind." This
describes my partners, including the part about sexual enthusiasm. From the
beginning of our meeting, I had the distinct impression that my partners are
sexually active! That's probably why the old Biblical patriarchs claim they
are of a different essence than the other angels. Godwin says that the angels
have always been sexually inclined and that the clergy have always tried to
hide it or explain it away. I bet they have! Who ever heard of sexy angels?
It just ain't Christian!
According to the legend of Enoch, says Godwin, the Watchers descended to Mt.
Harmon about 12,000 years ago to assist the Archangels in the creation of Eden
and to teach humanity the arts of civilization. They enthusiastically embraced
their work but some of them were overcome with love and desire for earth women,
the "daughters of Eve." Uh-Oh! These angels are supposed to be the only ones
who have the physical wherewithal to have a sexual relationship with a human.
I have to argue with this patriarchal Jewish material a little bit; it speaks
of the Watchers as if they were all male. Some of my partners are females and
I get the impression that most of them are androgynous. They do a lot of shape-shifting and gender shifting. In
Godwin refers his readers to Genesis 6:1-4, wherein the Bible tells of the
And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and
daughters were born unto them, That the sons of God saw the daughters of men
that they were fair, and they took them wives of all which they chose. And they
said, My spirit shall not always strive with him, for that he also is
flesh: yet his days shall be an hundred and twenty years. There were giants in
the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto
the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty
men which were of old, men of renown.
In all accounts of them, the Watchers have "a genuine friendship and a desire
to teach humans the secrets of heaven." (Godwin) Well, good for them. They
have found an eager student in me! Maybe that's why they're here, to teach me.
Ever heard the saying, "When the student is ready, the teacher arrives?" I'm
ready. Write soon.
When I was in the grocery store the other day at the treadmill-counter, where
you are surrounded with self-improvement magazines and rag press, I read that
someone had been impregnated by Steve McQueen's ghost, and I thought, "I hope
it wasn't Claire!' (And I hope that somewhere in the afterlife, our high school
English teacher-tyrant has to diagram that sentence.)
I don't know about this Heavenly Partners thing. Every time I think about a
Heavenly Partner, all the cards come up reversed. I have two tables for
reading cards that ought to attract the spirits. One is a cherry Federal tilt
top and the other one is a 1920's black wood card table that some forger
decoupaged onto a Maxfield Parrish print--The Waterfall--which is neat, even
if it is a fake. I just got up and waxed that cherry table because Wade gave
it to me when he knew he was going to die and he would nag me if I let it get
dirty. And at least my cards are going to like lying on this gorgeous, shiny
old table. The only recently departed suitable spirit I know is Wade. And
although he was great fun and I miss him more than I can say, and although he
would just love this sort of thing, given his bent for pageantry and love of
dressing up, I don't know if I could trust him. He'd be pretty apt to tell
anybody who inquired that he was sitting there having coffee with Abbie Hoffman
and Attila the Hun, whether he was or not. "Come on, Carol, I'll introduce you
to Oscar Wilde."
Oh, the Mundane is sad today about the Great Dane! The animal control man just
came and put my Dane, Harlow, to sleep. She was the last of my five Danes. I
kept them all when their mother China died giving birth to them and from that
moment on I was their mother. They were Harlow, Scarla O'Horror, Wizzy,
Panzer, and Tai, their daddy. I raised them as if they were my very own little
children. They never did understand why the school bus didn't stop to pick
them up. And they behaved like spoiled dog-siblings would behave. Do you
remember the movie Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? The Danes got along like
the Hudson sisters.
Harlow was 13 and eaten up with cancer. I've cried off and on for two months
and steady for the last two weeks. For ten bucks they'll come out to your
house so you won't have to take the dog somewhere that's strange to the dog, so
the dog won't be scared. The man who did the job was black, and so nice, with
seven dogs of his own and a real understanding that the urge to jump in the
grave behind the dog runs high in a south Georgia girl. He said they always
sent him to people's houses to put dogs to sleep. He said a lot of animal
control people couldn't stand to put down a dog with the owner watching, but
that he didn't feel that way. He said that he felt like when a dog had been as
loyal as a dog could be for 10 or 12 years that the owner owed it to the dog to
be with them. That was just respect. He told me that when you took the dog
off from the owner and gave it the medicine (Sodium Pentothal), the dog was
scared and it ran and it twitched and it whined while it was going under. And
he said that when somebody who loved it was rubbing it and talking sweet to it,
that it just went on off to sleep. And it wasn't thinking nothing but good
thoughts. And I guess that's what happened to my old dog. I hope so, anyway.
I had some half-baked idea that I should get the medicine from the vet and give
it to Harlow myself. I can be such a fool sometimes. For some reason, nursing
transforms people so that they think they can do things that they have no
business doing, like brain surgery. What made me think I would ever be able to
stick a vein while squalling like a baby? Anyway, I got up this morning and
drank a pot of coffee and read the cards. They told me, "No, Debbie Allen was
not going to sell me the sodium pen," even though she has sold me almost every
other drug I have ever asked for, whether she has seen the animal it was for or
not. The more I look at the cards, the more I can see, but I can also see that
I should have been reading them all my life if I was ever going to be any good
To help assuage my grief, I bought myself a Resistol hat. They aren't very
pretty, but the other kinds of hats fly off while you are cantering or while
the horse is in the process of trying to throw you. The wide brim also hides
how scared you are if the horse does something bizarre, which Moore enjoys
doing frequently. I also want some chaps.
I forgot to tell you in my last letter that we are the proud, newly gifted
owners of a black calf named Sarah. We have fattened Sarah up considerably so
that she looks like a midget cow instead of a calf. She is so fat that her
little cloven hooves are very cloved apart in an effort to support her weight,
and my friend Tony keeps making unnatural remarks about how delicious she would
be and how long she would last in the freezer. (A long time, I point out to
him, since Jessie and I would not eat her, and I would not cook her.) Do not
despair for her safety, however. Tony says it is a good idea for me to eat my
chickens and sell the extra ones to the Viet Cong, but he is mistaken about
Jessie and I are watching The Wescuers Down Unner again. George C. Scott
(McLeach the Poacher) is singing "Home, home on the range/Where the bears are
tied up in chains./I cut through their sides/And I rip off their hides/And the
next day I do it again." Sheesh. Talk about going from the sublime to the
obscene. I guess it's supposed to program into the minds of the little
children an innate objection to the slaughter of animals for their hides. I
When we are not watching Wescuers, we are in a flurry of activity getting ready
for the fair. Jessie is entering a dish garden, which I had to plant because
she did not want to get dirt on her hands. (She did put in the lava rocks and
the dinosaurs.) She's entering a macaroni necklace and a hand-painted tee
shirt. And perhaps a couple of chickens. I don't know whether Roy Rooster
wants to go to the fair but I would guess not. He is however a very beautiful
Rhode Island Red with feathers that just glisten. I'm changing his name to
Stretch because of the way he stretches his head up and down when he wants to
show his hen harem, who follow him everywhere, the wonderful bugs he has found
for them to eat.
Kris brought me some eggs that her Silky hen had quit setting, which may (or
may not) hatch in about a week. Silkies are neat; they have down instead of
feathers and they have it on their feet. They are built real low to the
ground, like some of those Japanese pick-up trucks. Did I mention that they
have blue skin?
I am trying to limit Jessie to one band-aid a day, and it is a hard task. She
tried Mickey Mouse band-aids but she didn't like them because they stick too
tight. Now I have to wear them. She has moved on to Neons, which is a real
happening kind of band-aid in bright pink and bright yellow and bright orange.
And she is steadily searching her body for a hint of a boo boo which might need
The new biddies are hatching and it is pouring down rain. Oh, well. A
beautiful day with a brilliant sun would just be too much to bear. I guess I
had better close. I have to go change the paper in the brooder, again. And
check on the eggs in the incubator, again. And I can't think of a single
illness that would prevent me from cleaning the rock shrimp, and I am a nurse.
I told Wade once that I was scared to death the whole time I was around anybody
sick when I was a nurse. Wade said it was because I was potentially the
Stephen King of nursing. Write soon.
Things are happening so fast, now, that I hardly know where to begin or how to
tell you what is going on! I am beginning to meet the individual spirits who
were in Susan's hallway during the seance. Not only are they making sounds all
around me but they are appearing to me in dreams and talking with me, telling
me things and introducing themselves to me. A few nights ago I had the most
amazing dream. It
began when I flew through my spirit tunnel. The walls were all glittering with
tiny, white stars. The light in the distance was brighter and closer, but I
fell asleep before I could reach it. When I came awake in the dream, I was
sitting on the passenger side of a pick-up truck that was parked in front of a
house. A man came out of the house, got in the truck on the driver's side,
smiled at me and said, "Hello." It seemed I knew him well but didn't recognize
him. I called him Bobby. I couldn't see his face very well, but I could see he
was good-looking. And modern looking, too. He wore jeans, tennis shoes and a
long-sleeved shirt rolled up to the elbows. (I finally identified him as I saw him so often in many variations, but always recognizable to me as Bobby. He said his name was Baba but in the dreamstate, when your ears might not hear so well, I thought he said Bobby. Here is a picture of him as Babaji, the young man on the right, when he was physical.)
As we drove along in the truck, he told me he had been living in Mexico. He
said that a group of his friends was staying there. More of his friends wanted
to go stay there, he said, but they all had to take turns, one at a time. I
told him, "Well, why don't you all just go together and rent your own place?"
He looked at me and said it was a good idea, one he hadn't thought of. I asked
him, "Where are we going?" He smiled and said, "Mexico."
We chatted as we drove along. He told me he had made love to 400 women. I
laughed and said, "Oh, right! Nobody has made love to 400 women." He said,
suavely and with a smile, "I have." He drove the truck along a mountain range
and through a portal, which was a big semicircular Roman arch. It didn't have
any physical arches but just the idea of arches. When we drove through it I
heard a sizzling sound like the sound old TV's make when they're just turned on.
On the other side of the portal was downtown Mexico City. I have never been
there physically but I recognized it right away. Also, even though I was
dreaming at night, in my dream it was bright daylight. We drove along a busy
street during rush hour and we got stuck in traffic. How beautiful and
colorful and real it all was! And there was so much to see! People were
walking along the street shopping. I could even see inside the windows of the
shops. I saw all the merchandise, the salespeople and the customers. It was a
happening world! I turned to Bobby and, this time, I could see him fairly
clearly. Oh, he was handsome all right, and for some embarrassing reason, I
just reached myself over and put my hand right in the crotch of his pants! And
I did not come up empty-handed, either. We started kissing and caressing right
in that pick-up truck, stuck in a traffic jam, in downtown Mexico City. What a
dream! In all the excitement, I awoke. I guess all lovers are not standard
issue, especially if you call for them with Tarot cards! He wasn't physical,
although he felt totally physical. But he definitely was real. I guess I'm gonna be number 401.
LORD PACAL AND THE MAYA
The next night I went to Mexico again, only this time I didn't go in a truck, I
walked through a portal out in the jungle and along a sidewalk. I materialized
myself into the home of a family of well to do South American Indians. Not
that they had a big house or a lot of furniture, but that they seemed like
royalty. There were 4 young sons, and I was to marry one of them. His mother
showed me his picture, like a driver's license picture, and he was definitely
an Indian. But he was too young, only 9, and I told her I didn't want to marry
a kid. The boys were strong and physical. They had just come in from playing
ball. Their mother was encouraging their ball game competition. I really liked
her, too. Then, with someone beside me and a little behind me, I walked
through another one of those portals and I saw a great man in an amphitheater.
Several hundred Indians were milling around and talking, and thousands were in
the hills behind me.
With all these Indians everywhere I felt lucky to have a place to sit. I was
barefoot and sitting cross-legged on the ground in an upper level area. I was
sitting with some people who were strangers to me. When the great person came
out, the crowd stood up and roared and cheered and yelled in honor of him. He
was like a god to them. He walked through the parting crowd and everyone got
back! No one dared touch him! He walked through the bleachers up to my level.
He walked through one of those portals and came straight towards me like he
knew me. He stood in front of me and held out his hand to me.
I thought he was going to help me stand up, so I held out my hand to him. When
I did, he pushed aside his loincloth and he put his hard dick right in my
hand! Holy Erections! I flipped out inwardly, but outwardly I was very cool about
it! It's a miracle I didn't wake up. I didn't get angry or offended, like you
would in "real" life, or threaten to whack his pecker off if he ever did that
again. (Karate really does give one skills for emergencies like
this.) And, I'm proud to say I didn't snatch it off his body either, which I
might have perservely done, and waved it in the air, saying, "Check your loincloth, dream dude, I've got your dick in my hand!" The truth was, I was
fascinated by how real it felt. I mean, I knew it was a dream dick, I just
couldn't get over how real it felt. Plus, I had the impression he was bragging
to me, like he was saying, "See. I can be your new lover. I've got one of
these to prove it!" Was that Bobby putting the moves on me like he might in a dream to make me number 401?
Then I thought, "Maybe he's really an Indian chief and this is how he chooses who he will sleep with.
Mr. Real Important Indian, whoever he is. And these confused Indians think
he's conferring some kind of honor on them when he selects one of their
daughters this way. What a jerk!" I politely withdrew my hand from his private
parts, and he lost interest and continued on his way.
But then, something extraordinary happened. As he walked
away, I just stood up and magically called out to him, "Pacal!" He turned
around and looked at me, and when he did I gave him a signal. With the fist of
my right hand against the center of my chest, I pushed my fist straight out in
front of me to arm's length and I moved my arm forward in three circles, like
casting a fishing rod three times. I asked him, in a loud voice, just like I
knew what I was saying, "Don't you remember me?" As I was doing these weird
things, I was wondering why in the world I was making those circles. I felt
silly and I offered a lame explanation of my actions. I said, "We used to go
fishing together." I couldn't imagine any other reason why I was doing this
fishing signal and talking to this man as if I knew him or something.
But it didn't matter what I was thinking, because when he saw me give the
signal, he was so surprised he stumbled back a couple of steps. Then, he
walked toward me and studied me closely like he was making sure I was who he
thought I was. He took me by the hand and led me gently down the stone steps.
His eyes never left mine, as though he thought that by staring into my eyes he
could hold me there and that I wouldn't suddenly disappear. Just as he was
leading me down the steps, I looked around me and I saw that I was surrounded
by hundreds of South American Indians. Were they Inca or Aztec or Maya? I
didn't know, and they did not appear to be "after" me but I panicked, anyway.
The next instant and poof! I was standing outside my apartment at the flower
embankment. I looked at the sidewalk, at the lighted street and at the parked
cars. Then, poof! I woke up in my bed. I went straight to the bathroom to
look at the portal and to see if my ponytail bands were on the floor. They
were not. But I stood there for a while and marveled that on the other side of
that bathroom portal was Mexico. I wondered where else I might go by walking
through that portal.
The next day, I went straight to the library to look up anything on Central and
South American Indians, to see if I could figure out where I had been. I looked
through several books until I saw it: The Sarcophagus of Lord Pacal. This 5-ton
stone slab covers the coffin of the great Mayan king who died in 683 CE and
whose sarcophagus has yet to be deciphered. At the center of this carving is
the man I called "Pacal," the man I made the signal to, the man I asked, "Don't
you remember me?" He has been dead now for 1,310 years, but I can say without
doubt that he is not very dead. Not only that, but I had the definite
impression I was going to marry him.
I decided to trace the sarcophagus to get a better idea of it, like maybe tracing it I could understand it somehow. So I xeroxed the page in the book and brought it home and got out the prismacolor pencils my Mom gave me that I have never used before. You know, it's not a bad idea to do something like this when you are trying to open yourself up spiritually. There's no telling how the color helps and just tracing the lines of something might open up a portal in the subconscious mind.
Reading further, I learned that he was a Mayan king who lived in Palenque,
Mexico. He has a nice palace with a tower, and opposite his palace he built a
75-foot high Temple of Inscriptions, where he was buried in 683 CE. In 1952,
after 3 years of work removing the rubble and boulders that had been pushed
down the tunnel, archeologists found his sarcophagus in a 30 x 13-foot burial
chamber at the bottom of the tunnel. Inside the vaulted tomb was a "fantastic,
ethereal sight, a huge magic grotto carved out of ice, the walls sparkling and
glistening like snow crystals. Stalactites hung like tassels of a curtain, and
the stalagmites on the floor looked like the dripping from a great candle."
These visual effects were created by the lime dripping from the walls and
ceiling. When archeologists lifted the slab from the coffin, they saw his body
covered with a thousand pieces of jade.
"The great man--he was probably a priest--had no gold ornaments, but here
were quantities of jade objects--beads, rings on every finger, bracelets, ear
ornaments, and exquisitely carved figurines. These were in the form of
flowers, little gourds, bats, snake heads, and human figures with the
characteristics of certain Mayan gods. The buried man had a jade ornament in
each hand and another in his mouth; his neck and shoulders were covered with a
huge collar and breast ornament of jade beads. On his face were the remnants
of a mask of jade mosaic."
Also found were the bodies of a woman and 4 men, apparent sacrificial victims.
Plaster portraits of Lord Pacal were found in the chamber, along with one of
his son Chan Bahlum, who became the king when his father died at age 80.
You know what? I think I know what some of the inscriptions mean on the
sarcophagus. For example, the first thing I noticed is that Pacal, who is at
the center of the lid, is holding his hands in the shape of the lemniscate!
Wings of Love. Oh, got to run. I hear my landlady knocking at my door.
Wonder what she wants? Write soon.
Tony went to South America several times, but he had to buy plane tickets and
reserve motel rooms. I much prefer your method of travel, so much cheaper.
And you don't have to stay in strange motel rooms. This makes a wonderful
vacation package, doesn't it? "Visit Central America but spend the night in
your bedroom at home!" And what a nice, sexy partner you have. I like a boy
who knows what's really important--sex and pickup trucks. I am so pleased to
learn they have pick-up trucks in the afterlife. I do so love them. How awful
to die and find out you have to drive a Japanese import instead of a Ford
truck. This is heartening news. Was it a Ford or a Chevrolet, or did you
happen to notice? These little details are very important, so please try to
pay closer attention to them. I admit I looked rather askance at your letter.
I wonder if I will be able to take up the veil to the extent of believing the
Mayan civilization still exists somewhere in time? However, the part about the
pick-up truck warms me to the idea.
What about that signal you gave Lord Pacal? I have to remind you, Watson, that
you have spent nearly your whole life fishing. That you would cast a fishing
rod in your dreams doesn't surprise me, but I don't think you should use the
motion as a qualifier. What would you have done if he hadn't recognized your
fishing signal? I wonder what signal you would give for those other sports you have engaged in, like boar hunting or deer
stalking? How about fly-casting? Or coon running? I hope you got your signal
right or next dream you might find yourself knee deep in a swamp and gigging for
We have a new dog, named Molly. Jessie and I found her starving out in the
woods on my way to Kris' place. We fed her Ritz crackers 'til we got her home.
She's about a year old and 40 pounds and willing to let Jessie saw her in half,
and she has gone from living in the woods to living in the house. She chases
the cats a little, but not enough so that she might get thrown out, no matter
how that hateful Emil baits her. She's white with dark spots, has a brindle
head and looks kind of like a bulldog, among other things. Lots of other
thing. Probably a Pit Beagle.
Poor Molly. I can see that her life as only dog is going to be awful, awful
hard. Jessie adored Hah-yo. And although I explained to her that Harlow was
very old and very sick and that she had died, I don't know how much of it she
caught onto. But I bathed Molly and brought her inside so that she can stay
with Jessie, since they seem to love each other so much. And when I asked
Jessie what she wanted for breakfast, she said, "Sheese and cwackers." And when
I asked her why she wanted such a strange thing for breakfast, she replied,
"Molly like." She has read a story to Molly and doctored her with all her
medical instruments from the Fischer Price Doctor Bag. I caught Molly trying
to sneak off while wearing a cast on her leg. Now Molly is asleep and Jessie
keeps going over and prying her eyes open.
Jessie thinks Molly's name is Molly Heel, from my trying to teach Molly to
heel. I let Molly Heel out, and she went through the fence and chased some
children (she was only trying to play with them, but they didn't know it)
before I could catch her and bring her back. I've often thought of keeping
aquarium fish rather than dogs. At least they never get out of the aquarium
and chase the neighbors' chirren.
I spent part of the day playing with Moore and I feel wonderful. Horses are
very basic. Hay. Oats. Brush. Run and play. My soul is renewed when I play
with horses. Dogs are not the same. If a dog is happy, he goes to sleep. A
cared-for horse stands around looking so pleased with you and himself. It is
impossible to please a cat.
Moore has adopted Sarah as his own baby calf and herds her along with him
everywhere he goes in the pasture. She is never allowed out of his sight.
Molly decided to chase Sarah, and Moore taught Molly never to do that again.
Moore banged his leg in the stall the other night and was real lame on it, and
so I put a clay poultice on it and wrapped it. That was big juju to Jessie.
The next morning I had to talk her out of going out there with the medical kit
and taking his blood pressure. I tied him to a tree so I could clean his
stall, and when I looked up from what I was doing, Jessie was over there
wrapping his leg. She was doing a pretty good job, too. She had the right leg
and she had the quilt wrap on, but she was having trouble getting the standing
wrap started. Moore is so careful around The Princess, I can't believe it's
really him. He treats her with all the care and deference that he would give
to anybody who is stealing her mother's golden delicious apples and smuggling
them out to him daily.
According to Emil's new vet, who will probably refuse to see him again, Emil is
losing his hair due to a nervous condition. I am losing my hair due to the
plumbing. I have been trying to clean up my language. Any profanity Jessie is
going to learn from me will probably contain the word Emil.
Spring is enthroned here with its infinite shades of green. We have mourning
doves and cardinals and flycatchers and towhees, bluejays, hawks,
mockingbirds, and owls. And by September, the biggest spiders I've ever seen.
And scorpions of the terribly painful but non-deadly variety. And more roaches
than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio. Florida has 28 varieties and
now there is a new one from Haiti. I can hardly wait. This morning I saw a
huge Pileated Woodpecker pecking on one of my trees, and last week, when I was
out at the hole full of cattails by the barn, I flushed a pair of baby Great
Blue Herons. Only their bodies had the blue feathers. Their heads and necks
still had pinfeathers, and they were so new to flight I thought they weren't
going to make it to the Oak tree. They were squawking to each other in
absolute terror. What a great sight! And here I had been thinking the cattail
hole wasn't good for anything.
I guess I had better close. Miss Manners says that anyone who writes letters
longer than three pages should be observed for other signs of insanity. But I
have never been able to contain myself to three pages without great effort. I
feel that I am more interesting than the average person. As for your letters,
they are epistles of which St. Paul would be envious. Write soon.
Page 1 - How I Wrote This Book | The Root Doctor
Page 2 - A Spell is Cast | The Voodoo Priestess | Psychic Healing
Page 3 - Sudden Death | A Hole in the Wall | Crystal Woman
Page 4 - The Seance | The Light
Page 5 - The Portal |
Wings of Love | Bene Ha Elohim
Lord Pacal and the Maya
Page 6 - Pacal's Bride | Wacah Chan | A Murder was Committed
The Mysterious Woman | A Swarm of Sparks
Page 7 - The Vortex |
Portal in the Cathedral | Guede Cosmo
The Androgyny | The Philosopher's Stone
Page 8 - Sexual Alchemy | Tantra Yoga | Feng Shui
Page 9 - Keys in the Enochian Language | The River of Life
Page 10 - The Number Four | The Phaistos Disk
The Star of David
Page 11 - Sacred Indian Ground |
Rules of Congaylia | The Heaven Plane
Page 12 - The Lovers | Ancash-Tica
Page 13 - Searchable Index | Bibliography
Copyright Notice - Text and images copyrighted March 21, 1994-2015, Claire Watson, M.S.T., U.S. Copyright Heavenly Partners and under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998, Claire Grace Watson, M.S.T. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, including the web page itself and the html/dhtml programming.
Copyright Notice - Disk of the World - Text and images copyrighted March 21, 1993-2017,
Claire Grace Watson, B.A., M.S.T., U.S. Copyright and under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998, All rights reserved. No part of this web page may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.