Some of us are rooted, and some of us are nomads, like the thistle seed floating in the wind. My wife and I are of the floating seed variety. Less than a week ago now we left the cacophony, speed and spiritual vacuousness of Southern California and landed in a tiny village in the French countryside - three planes, three trains and one bus later. Our goal is to heal from the normalized everyday madness of Southern California, and to read, to learn and to write again. We will not own a car. We will walk and bus as need be.
What will be written remains unclear.
We had lived in village France six years earlier, only returning to America to help care for two young grandsons. We love our grandsons beyond words, yet we could not take root in that place. We knew years ago that we could never take root there, but love allows us to tolerate and to survive things we might otherwise not.
And so with the end of this summer, our seed pods formed, and though now in our 70's we have placed our trust in our fragile thistle parachutes to land us where ever it is that we need to be. As I write I am looking out the window of our temporary abode in a limestone home built in the 1500's in a little village filled with such homes. I am surrounded by ancient stone and timbers, and in the knowledge that untold generations have sat in this same spot looking out at the village center enjoying the morning sun. And I somehow feel "held" by the ancestors. If I can quiet my mind long enough - perhaps they will speak to me.
Do not quiet that beautiful mind - this beautiful adventure! Write it. It’s already an intriguing story. I want more. We want to know the voices in the walls of your story.
I long to escape this matrix of lies and fakery and intrigue too. I dream about throwing my laptop and phone away....going off-grid somewhere. Not witnessing every twist and turn of this plot any more.
In order to make myself feel safe(r) I feel compelled to gather the fragments of evidence and try to figure out what's just happened and what's likely to happen next.
It's such a dilemma. I don't want to ignore it all, because then aren't I functionally like one of the hypnotized? But I don't want to marinate constantly in the tech-provided "lies and fakery and intrigue," either. Balance, balance. Each of us has a unique balance point. I'm still finding mine.
I'm right with you. I don't thing hypervigilance is totally uncalled for in an unseen war, which is what I believe this is. How that vigilance is perceived by the body is the key, I think. ❤️
You bring together beautiful musings in such an artistic way. My heart soared on your magic carpet. I enjoyed the breeze of your passion and the wind in your face. How brave to show your heart as you do! Do not be silenced.
I have been wondering if the feeling of having to focus perpetually on all the devastating pieces is a trauma response. Scanning the room to see who is who, where will the next hit come from? Am I safe?
Maybe to a point it is needed.
Maybe it pushes forwards behaviors that are not healthy.
There has to be a sense of shared humanity amongst us, otherwise what are we standing up for, holding dear.
It is also dependent on where we live and what we are experiencing.
I am not in my writing flow and wonder where to direct my energy.
I will share a piece of mine that I have shared a few times, but wrote some months back. (although I think I need to write for myself just now, so I can dive deep... I think... ):
-----------------------
Hundreds, thousands, millions of years ago,
I walked this earth.
Feet on the ground, bare in the snow, naked in the rain.
I am older than the hills, worn down by time, rounded, softened.
I knew the warmth of love, for a time.
The brutality and betrayal of man.
I cried so many tears I was swept away by the furious currents as they curved around rocks, descending someplace unknown, spilling over my banks at times when I couldn't find my way.
My breath constricted, hardened, lost in my chest.
My grief was forgotten, denied, unseen.
I am older than the hills, layers and layers hardening through time.
You know how directors say, “bring your real pain into the character you are presenting,” think of what you are going through as something beyond yourself, something in which you find a story with resolution. Your journey is the pure, raw creativity of your optimism. Find it. May your path bring you resolve...and us...joy!
The invisible attack was vicious indeed. It’s the anger and hate brought forward by a dying energy and those beings who know they lost. It makes me think of an angry toddler who can’t play the game his way so sets out to destroy everything with no thought to the harm being done. The globalist don’t care as they are sociopaths, narcissistic spoiled rotten beings. It’s the end of an era, long and often miserable dark and manipulative. We suffered and will suffer a bit more unless we shift our attention to new already built and ready to go future. I suggest we stop looking at the ugly and see the future as a shimmering silvery time of great freedom and unity.
The old must crumble completely for the new to step forward. I hope many will be aware when this happens.
There is a distinct difference between "suspense" and "surprise," and yet many pictures continually confuse the two. I'll explain what I mean.
We are now having a very innocent little chat. Let's suppose that there is a bomb underneath this table between us. Nothing happens, and then all of a sudden, "Boom!" There is an explosion. The public is surprised, but prior to this surprise, it has seen an absolutely ordinary scene, of no special consequence. Now, let us take a suspense situation. The bomb is underneath the table and the public knows it, probably because they have seen the anarchist place it there. The public is aware the bomb is going to explode at one o'clock and there is a clock in the decor. The public can see that it is a quarter to one. In these conditions, the same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: "You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!"
In the first case we have given the public fifteen seconds of surprise at the moment of the explosion. In the second we have provided them with fifteen minutes of suspense. The conclusion is that whenever possible the public must be informed. Except when the surprise is a twist, that is, when the unexpected ending is, in itself, the highlight of the story.
It was well worth waiting for such a perfectly written column! I may have mentioned before that you are one of the best writers I know, now I am not so sure that I should still say “one of”.
Well, I knew you'd take us back there. It was evident at the time you were writing from there that you were in a happy place. No wonder, and thanks for sharing.
I was startled a little when I looked at the photo of the man and his children. It looked for a moment like someone in a prison cell looking thru the bars out at the world (s)he was locked out from and which she desperately wanted to be in.
I didn't think of that. But the simplicity of his comfort offered rose to a thought and later a piece of writing because it was so foreign to me. Not sure what to do with that. Or maybe I just did.
Well done, Celia. You are not the only one who tends to travel this way! I was the same whenever I went exploring this planet. To hopefully provide you with some free reassurance, noticing those moments matters, immensely. It's finding sincere moments and appreciating the space that they occupy, without caring about the time that they last. Many of our best memories can be found in those brief moments, experiencing simple things that our souls instinctively know can't be fabricated. Authenticity matters, and as you've demonstrated, sometimes it's a door, a street sign, or simply observing indicators of normalcy. They are a warm blanket for the soul, perhaps in these times more than any in living memory.
I was so moved by your recounting of the man and his two children. Not so much that he immediately comforted the one who was crying, but that he pulled both of them into the circle in the oneness of family.
“Silence is also important—saying nothing if you’re not sure what you can, with authority, say. What you can be sure of. Chekhov could be sure about that rifle because he hung it there in the first place.
The Chekhov quote is about a promise a writer makes: If I tell you something, or show you something, or display an object or a detail of any kind, it will be because you have trusted me to show you what I see and how I see it.”
I love to read about travel experiences. But I have to ask, are you planning on traveling the world and if so, how are you going to travel if many countries require proof of the jab? I'm just so unsure and confused about all of that. I love to travel and I have been putting off my excursions to Europe because of this issue. There is a you tuber that I watch, on occasion, that is from Sweden and his viewers wanted him to come over to the states to speak, but he said he could not because he wasn't jabbed and this country would refuse his entry. I didn't know this until he said it and I'm still baffled and wondering if this is true. If it is, it's very disheartening. Great to be reading your thoughtful insights again!
That was beautiful. I also am so tired of hearing how 'they' want to kill us all, blah, blah, blah. I just want to draw and garden and share art with the world. I want to make the world better with beauty and heart. Thank you for sharing this small and significant connection with us.
Some of us are rooted, and some of us are nomads, like the thistle seed floating in the wind. My wife and I are of the floating seed variety. Less than a week ago now we left the cacophony, speed and spiritual vacuousness of Southern California and landed in a tiny village in the French countryside - three planes, three trains and one bus later. Our goal is to heal from the normalized everyday madness of Southern California, and to read, to learn and to write again. We will not own a car. We will walk and bus as need be.
What will be written remains unclear.
We had lived in village France six years earlier, only returning to America to help care for two young grandsons. We love our grandsons beyond words, yet we could not take root in that place. We knew years ago that we could never take root there, but love allows us to tolerate and to survive things we might otherwise not.
And so with the end of this summer, our seed pods formed, and though now in our 70's we have placed our trust in our fragile thistle parachutes to land us where ever it is that we need to be. As I write I am looking out the window of our temporary abode in a limestone home built in the 1500's in a little village filled with such homes. I am surrounded by ancient stone and timbers, and in the knowledge that untold generations have sat in this same spot looking out at the village center enjoying the morning sun. And I somehow feel "held" by the ancestors. If I can quiet my mind long enough - perhaps they will speak to me.
Gary! Write for me. For us. I intend to pay every contributor. Start anywhere. A day in the life…details savored. We want to be there too.
Thank you Celia. Thank you for your inspiration and your humanity.
Do not quiet that beautiful mind - this beautiful adventure! Write it. It’s already an intriguing story. I want more. We want to know the voices in the walls of your story.
Thank you Kim.
You are living my dream, Gary! Please take me with you... Celia is so right. We want to be there, too.
I long to escape this matrix of lies and fakery and intrigue too. I dream about throwing my laptop and phone away....going off-grid somewhere. Not witnessing every twist and turn of this plot any more.
In order to make myself feel safe(r) I feel compelled to gather the fragments of evidence and try to figure out what's just happened and what's likely to happen next.
I'm sure it doesn't help.
That's exactly what I do too and mostly we all do. They locked us into a movie theater. The movie never ends. And certainly never ends well for us.
But to be fair to my neurosis....having observed the evil machinations of the pharmaceutical industry for many years....it did stand me in good stead.
I have an email from January 2020 where I asked a friend "Is this Chinese virus real, do you think? Or is it just a scam to force vaccinate everyone?"
It's such a dilemma. I don't want to ignore it all, because then aren't I functionally like one of the hypnotized? But I don't want to marinate constantly in the tech-provided "lies and fakery and intrigue," either. Balance, balance. Each of us has a unique balance point. I'm still finding mine.
Me too.
It's hard. I feel kind of traumatised by the last three years and I suspect it has made me hypervigilant.
I'm right with you. I don't thing hypervigilance is totally uncalled for in an unseen war, which is what I believe this is. How that vigilance is perceived by the body is the key, I think. ❤️
You bring together beautiful musings in such an artistic way. My heart soared on your magic carpet. I enjoyed the breeze of your passion and the wind in your face. How brave to show your heart as you do! Do not be silenced.
I’m dislocated, life wise. Still with you, Celia. 💜 I like the way you think.
Celia, I'm on the same page as you as well.
I have been wondering if the feeling of having to focus perpetually on all the devastating pieces is a trauma response. Scanning the room to see who is who, where will the next hit come from? Am I safe?
Maybe to a point it is needed.
Maybe it pushes forwards behaviors that are not healthy.
There has to be a sense of shared humanity amongst us, otherwise what are we standing up for, holding dear.
It is also dependent on where we live and what we are experiencing.
I am not in my writing flow and wonder where to direct my energy.
I will share a piece of mine that I have shared a few times, but wrote some months back. (although I think I need to write for myself just now, so I can dive deep... I think... ):
-----------------------
Hundreds, thousands, millions of years ago,
I walked this earth.
Feet on the ground, bare in the snow, naked in the rain.
I am older than the hills, worn down by time, rounded, softened.
I knew the warmth of love, for a time.
The brutality and betrayal of man.
I cried so many tears I was swept away by the furious currents as they curved around rocks, descending someplace unknown, spilling over my banks at times when I couldn't find my way.
My breath constricted, hardened, lost in my chest.
My grief was forgotten, denied, unseen.
I am older than the hills, layers and layers hardening through time.
This is a very moving piece, Elizabeth. I read it three times. Thank you.
Oh thank you Celia. ❤️
I read it over as well and find different meanings to it as well.
So Beautiful.... More and More! We we need you.
Oh thank you so much Kim! ❤️
I'm dealing with some pretty intense devastation. Need to do the work of it, find my way.
Maybe in there I will come back into my writing flow and find something of meaning to share.
Mostly I am audio journaling to find my way into feeling and move through pieces.
I really appreciate your support.
You know how directors say, “bring your real pain into the character you are presenting,” think of what you are going through as something beyond yourself, something in which you find a story with resolution. Your journey is the pure, raw creativity of your optimism. Find it. May your path bring you resolve...and us...joy!
Yes. This is so important. We are forced to double our pain by repressing it.
I understand what you say. I have been doing this for the past four years.
But at times sharing in public can alter my voice in a way that does not feel healthy.
There is also a looping reality to what we are going through and I have been repeating myself in a way that is not healthy for me.
I have some writings on my stack here and on a page on instagram (although that is an overwhelming app with it's ads and videos)
Both pages I don't have access to, but can be read.
I send you love and condolences in the devastation you are undergoing. Prayers. I did not mean to brush past your struggle. Namaste.
Thank you Kim.
The invisible attack was vicious indeed. It’s the anger and hate brought forward by a dying energy and those beings who know they lost. It makes me think of an angry toddler who can’t play the game his way so sets out to destroy everything with no thought to the harm being done. The globalist don’t care as they are sociopaths, narcissistic spoiled rotten beings. It’s the end of an era, long and often miserable dark and manipulative. We suffered and will suffer a bit more unless we shift our attention to new already built and ready to go future. I suggest we stop looking at the ugly and see the future as a shimmering silvery time of great freedom and unity.
The old must crumble completely for the new to step forward. I hope many will be aware when this happens.
Yes, let's do that.
Many of us are actually doing this. It’s time for earths restoration.
So wonderful to see you writing again!
I am reminded of this quote by Alfred Hitchcock.
There is a distinct difference between "suspense" and "surprise," and yet many pictures continually confuse the two. I'll explain what I mean.
We are now having a very innocent little chat. Let's suppose that there is a bomb underneath this table between us. Nothing happens, and then all of a sudden, "Boom!" There is an explosion. The public is surprised, but prior to this surprise, it has seen an absolutely ordinary scene, of no special consequence. Now, let us take a suspense situation. The bomb is underneath the table and the public knows it, probably because they have seen the anarchist place it there. The public is aware the bomb is going to explode at one o'clock and there is a clock in the decor. The public can see that it is a quarter to one. In these conditions, the same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: "You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!"
In the first case we have given the public fifteen seconds of surprise at the moment of the explosion. In the second we have provided them with fifteen minutes of suspense. The conclusion is that whenever possible the public must be informed. Except when the surprise is a twist, that is, when the unexpected ending is, in itself, the highlight of the story.
Alfred Hitchcock
He certainly was masterful at this. Did you hear Barry's interview with him that Bibi posted?
It was well worth waiting for such a perfectly written column! I may have mentioned before that you are one of the best writers I know, now I am not so sure that I should still say “one of”.
That's very kind of you Dale. You know which "travel" story is coming up...
Well, I knew you'd take us back there. It was evident at the time you were writing from there that you were in a happy place. No wonder, and thanks for sharing.
I was startled a little when I looked at the photo of the man and his children. It looked for a moment like someone in a prison cell looking thru the bars out at the world (s)he was locked out from and which she desperately wanted to be in.
It's kind of like that sometimes.
I didn't think of that. But the simplicity of his comfort offered rose to a thought and later a piece of writing because it was so foreign to me. Not sure what to do with that. Or maybe I just did.
Well done, Celia. You are not the only one who tends to travel this way! I was the same whenever I went exploring this planet. To hopefully provide you with some free reassurance, noticing those moments matters, immensely. It's finding sincere moments and appreciating the space that they occupy, without caring about the time that they last. Many of our best memories can be found in those brief moments, experiencing simple things that our souls instinctively know can't be fabricated. Authenticity matters, and as you've demonstrated, sometimes it's a door, a street sign, or simply observing indicators of normalcy. They are a warm blanket for the soul, perhaps in these times more than any in living memory.
How to move the needle. Thanks, Celia.
I was so moved by your recounting of the man and his two children. Not so much that he immediately comforted the one who was crying, but that he pulled both of them into the circle in the oneness of family.
Exactly George. It was huge. Thank you for articulating this.
Welcome back
Andalucia 🧡
“Silence is also important—saying nothing if you’re not sure what you can, with authority, say. What you can be sure of. Chekhov could be sure about that rifle because he hung it there in the first place.
The Chekhov quote is about a promise a writer makes: If I tell you something, or show you something, or display an object or a detail of any kind, it will be because you have trusted me to show you what I see and how I see it.”
Oh, yes! Thanks for this. It gives me a new perspective as I write Simple Christianity (https://simplechristianity.substack.com).
I love to read about travel experiences. But I have to ask, are you planning on traveling the world and if so, how are you going to travel if many countries require proof of the jab? I'm just so unsure and confused about all of that. I love to travel and I have been putting off my excursions to Europe because of this issue. There is a you tuber that I watch, on occasion, that is from Sweden and his viewers wanted him to come over to the states to speak, but he said he could not because he wasn't jabbed and this country would refuse his entry. I didn't know this until he said it and I'm still baffled and wondering if this is true. If it is, it's very disheartening. Great to be reading your thoughtful insights again!
That was beautiful. I also am so tired of hearing how 'they' want to kill us all, blah, blah, blah. I just want to draw and garden and share art with the world. I want to make the world better with beauty and heart. Thank you for sharing this small and significant connection with us.