Missing Woody Guthrie

“There’s a better world that’s a-coming
There’s a better world that’s a-coming
There’s a better world that’s a-coming
I’ll tell you why why why
And don’t you see see see
And don’t you know know know
Hey hey hey
There’s a better world that’s a-coming
I’ll tell you why why why
There’s a better world that’s a-coming
I’ll tell you why”

Lyrics from Woody Guthrie’s BETTER WORLD


Cat Dreams

For a long time cats were associated with evil, but the cats in my dream were friendly and more like dogs (not very mysterious, secretive or sly).  They were unusual breeds and, in the dream, were owned by well-t0-do people from another era.  One was purple, and looked just like a leopard. Another looked like a Dachshund dog.  And they moved together, like a little den of dogs might. (Actually, in Africa I learned that the cheetah actually has paws that reveal dog genes).

Astral Listening: Ghosts, Spirit Travelers and Hearing Impressions from Long Ago

Future and Past in Conversation/Enamel on wood/1985

This morning, as I began to wake, I felt that astral bliss—you are aware and conscious but still so relaxed, you begin to zip to places and experience an astral travel.  What happened is I remained still, but in that free-wheeling-about-to-zip-anywhere kind of feeling in my body (out of my body!) and I heard footsteps on the wooden floor. It was distinctive, important, solid and I knew I was hearing what would be like a recording of what happened in this house in the early 1900’s. And it sounded like, and felt like a man who was about to step out and mount a horse. The footsteps were heavy boots, riding boots.

Often we talk about ghosts or spirits and how they remain on the earth plane, or pass through as curious souls. But there is also I believe a phenomenon which is similar to our way of experiencing what once was through pictures and recordings. The photos are but captured shadows of what once was and recordings are captured sounds.  I felt during this astral experience that I was not hearing a ghost but that I was hearing a spiritual kind of recording about who lived here when this house was first built.  The reason I felt this way (rather than thinking it was a spirit who does not realize he has left his true earth body, going through the motions of putting his boots on and getting ready for the day) is because the feeling during the experience was, for lack of a better word, “thin”.  It was not dynamic, it felt like an impression I was witnessing through sound, rather than hearing a real noise.  Example: if you saw a picture of Elvis, you’d feel a thrill, but if you saw the real live Elvis, you’d be THRILLED beyond words! Same thing with hearing or seeing ghosts; if you see a real one, you know it. If you hear a real one, your hair stands on end a bit, the energy is strong. This was quieter energy. (I could be wrong, time will tell).

Past Lives and Cell Memory

My Cowboy Archetype sculpture

Sometimes in readings, past life or cell-memory information comes through. This means that whatever you’ve experienced in a prior life, or even what your ancestors went through and which may be recorded into your own cell structure, is vibrantly alive in your being today. (Some of my favorite books to read on the subject are by Dr. Brian Weiss and Michael Newton, LIFE BETWEEN LIVES.)  Once we become conscious of how our past life experiences may influence our current life perceptions, we are able to release whatever we’re unconsciously holding onto that keeps us from developing in new ways here and now.  In a recent reading, a surprising pioneer or pilgrim life came up for the subject. What was once experienced is now over, and yet the hardship and emotional angst involved in that life was so great, it is easy to see how there would be carry-over influence.

I myself have pioneer ancestors, and once in a past life regression hypnosis, a pioneer life unfolded like a miserable movie in my mind. It was not a pleasant experience, that life. But I still do love cowboys and their rough and ready independence and hope I can embody a certain fearless independence when I need to.

Summer Dreaming: Creating People

One of my favorite things to do since childhood, all year ’round but especially in summer days, was to draw people.  I made them up as I went along. Children do this naturally, create through drawing characters or objects they generate out of their imagination. (Sometimes I worry we don’t give children enough down time to get to that point where they spend a quiet morning or afternoon allowing for this kind of unfolding of ideas and manifesting of creative energy.)  I still make up people, I recognize them as gifts from some surprising realm of possibility, as though they existed all the time, but I had not met them until they came out of my pencil or pen or brush. Sometimes, they take on characteristics of people I’ve known (or will know?).  Sometimes I am not sure who they are, and have to ask them.

Who do you think this person is? (I’m interested in what comes to your mind and heart–who is this person, plus name, where this person lives, etc., life experiences, etc.)

The Path to Heathcliff

A photo I took of the pathway into the moor at Haworth

The sun was shining until we got up to the area of the moor where it is said Emily Brontë was inspired to write WUTHERING HEIGHTS.  I sat under a tree, “the Heathcliff tree” (actually, there were two and a stump where a third had been) near the ruins of an old stone farmhouse so many people imagine as Heathcliff and Cathy’s childhood home. The wind began to wail and dark clouds approached broadly overhead. It got wuthering for sure. I understood why the Brontë sisters wrote so much about spirits, ghosts, dreams, the wind and a sense of the other realms because listening to the wind move through moor grass was truly like slipping into a spiritual channel.  I relate because in Texas and Kansas (not so unlike the Yorkshire Dales) where I spent most of my childhood, the wind was always talking, hinting at something, urging. I said a few prayers of gratitude inwardly, feeling inspired by the looming, grey skies and spooky wind, but was called to return by my family (everyone was anticipating a hard rain). Reluctantly I followed, saying good bye to Emily and Charlotte and Heathcliff and Cathy and Rochester and Jane.  And as we walked along the path back to Haworth, the wind died down and the sun came out again, resolute and brilliant.

Standing Stones at Machrie Moor

One of my photos of the standing stones

I rarely post photos on illuminara.com but can’t help it now. I did bring the ipad to experiment with sketching the stones (will upload those soon), which felt so strange using it because the site is so ancient and there I was sketching away on a new technological tool. Years ago, I secretly brought a sculpture I made of an Edwardian gentleman (with bowler and umbrella) and placed him at the foot of the standing stones. Everyone gathered around the stones in hushed reverence until someone spotted the tiny gentleman. This time, I only had the ipad with me. After taking some photos and making some sketches, the wind sweeping through the heather and the summer sun lulled us into sleep on the grass below the stones (or nearly).  There is something that happens there, maybe it’s  the mystery of those who lived so long ago.  Somehow an ancient kind of awareness sinks into your bones.