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Alice. & Things.
Submitted by Alice on Tue, 04/13/2010 - 11:40pm.
INTRODUCTION TO DOWSING YOUR GUIDES
with Instructor, Christina M. Schumacher
I have spent most of my life studying different areas of the metaphysical. When I say, "most of my life," I mean from the age of eight to my current age of 46. I'm still not finished. Throughout these studies, I found that I was very much intrigued on the subject of channeling. Once I'd discovered channeling, in my early 20's, I purchased as many books as I could get my hands on. This included books written by Jane Roberts about Seth as well as books channeled to Jane Roberts by Seth. I bought "how to" books on channeling and meeting my guides, went to see a woman who channeled a group of beings, and watched DVD's of J. Z. Knight channeling Ramtha. Even now, I enjoy going online and listening to Kryon who is channeled by Lee Carroll.
Interestingly, Jane Roberts "met" Seth through the Ouija Board which did not have the reputation in 1963 as it seems to have now. Jane was a writer and a complete skeptic concerning anything of a metaphysical nature. However, as a writer, she had to "go with the flow" when it came to what kinds of things were in demand in the writer's market if she wanted to stay out there. When her publisher came to her and said new age material was "in demand," Jane was at a loss as these were areas she knew nothing about and really had no interest in. Not knowing where to start, she decided to try the Ouija Board as it was the most easily accessible item that she could think of. She sat down with her husband and they began working with the board.
It wasn't long and Seth came through. It was obvious to both Jane and her husband that he was a higher level being with a great deal of mental, physical, emotional and spiritual information to share. There wasn't any nonsense garbled language, but clear and concise messages full of love and understanding and knowledge about the universe. After awhile, as the Ouija Board became too slow for Seth's communications, he gave Jane exercises to do to expand her energy to allow him to come through her directly. Before long, Jane was channeling Seth through her own mouth while in a trance state. Her husband dictated every session and the books written by Jane Roberts and also those written by Seth were born.
This relationship between Jane Roberts and Seth began in 1963 and the Seth material is still out there. Just by Googling Jane Roberts, you can find multitudes of information and, believe me when I say, the books are well worth reading.
After reading the Seth books, my desire to channel made me continue reading up on everything I could to try to do what these people could do. Although I had a Ouija Board (an antique from 1915), according to the books, this was not necessary to learn to channel.
Part of the problem was that I was working a full time job and raising four children which did not give me a lot of time, or privacy, to do the exercises I would find in the books on how to channel. Every book that I found stated that I had to have a special room of my own to practice meditation and that it should be set up with the "right atmosphere" to allow the energy I would need to flow properly. If you're a parent, you know that an "extra room" can be hard to come by and that privacy for meditation can also be nearly impossible. Children (especially four of them) can require any number of things throughout all hours of the day and night. If you've ever been a parent on the phone when your kids are young (and sometimes in the teen years), you know exactly what I mean. They can be playing off by themselves but, as soon as you are on the phone, they magically appear and need all kinds of things. Try doing meditation. If they know you aren't supposed to be interrupted, they will find any manner of ways to make sure they have access to you.
After awhile, I knew that I had to wait until my children were older before I would be able to concentrate well enough and get the privacy I needed to be able to learn how to channel as I wanted to. In the meantime, I continued reading and learning about Spirit Guides - these higher level beings who were being channeled - all the time gaining more and more desire to meet my own guides. I didn't care, necessarily, how it came about, I just wanted to be able to communicate with them whenever I felt the need as I knew they would have amazing information to share.
In 2006, I discovered that it wasn't necessary for me to have that special room and all that quiet time to be able to communicate with my guides. I do not channel through my mouth as Jane Roberts, Lee Carroll and J. Z. Knight do, but I still have full communication with my guides. I also discovered that anyone could do it if they were given the right tools and had the desire to learn. This is what I am here to teach you - how to meet your guides and communicate with them without trying to learn methods of meditation and needing to build a new room onto your home. Your guides have a lot to share with you, so come in and meet them. It will change your life in a way that you never imagined possible!
»
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Notes of a Dirty Old Man
http://www.realitysandwich.com/notes_dirty_old_man
Notes of a Dirty Old Man
Charles Bukowski
The following is from Absence of the Hero: Uncollected Stories and Essays, Volume 2, 1946-1992, edited by David Stephen Calonne (City Lights).
LA Free Press August 22, 1975:
Down around Sunset, about Sunset and Wilton, near the freeway exit and by the gas station, you'll see them sometimes in their uniforms with swastika. They wear pleasant looks on very white faces and hand out literature. They also wear helmets and some of the boys are big enough to play for the L.A. Rams. They are ready: members of the American Nazi Party. Well, it's Hollywood and one thinks of it more like part of a grade B movie, but then there are those who will tell you that it began that way over there, too -- just a few guys standing around who should have been fingering girls in the back seat of the movie house. Next thing you knew they were sitting at the sidewalk cafes of Paris, getting it off. But then if you're going to allow the Communist Party and the Socialist Party and the Gay Party and the Demos and Repubs, you can't very well say, well, the Nazi Party has no right to exist. So there they are but they intend to get the average person more wrought up -- memories of ovens and Pathé Newsreels of Hitler screaming, and then they are wearing uniforms that don't exactly remind some of Jack Oakiein bell-bottoms.
Sometimes the police arrive in three or four squad cars. I was gassing up at the station one day when it got very goosey around there. There were seven or eight cops looking very nervous, unsure, grim. The Nazis were gathered in squad formation, standing at attention except for the leader who was speaking to one of the cops. Then back toward Wilton was gathered a group of New York Marxist intellectual types, thin, some Jewish, black-bearded; most were around 5'6", wore old black coats -- even in the heat of day -- with white wrinkled shirts open at the collar, and they were screaming: "Hey, go back to Glendale, you bastards! Go back to Munich!"
One could sense conflagration, moil, and murder just a tick away. One curious wrong word and they would all be together, upon each other: cops, Marxists, and Nazis.
Sitting there in my car the old thought came back to me: How was it possible for people to believe in such opposite things with such rigor, such energy, such righteousness? How could some people be so sure there was a God and others so sure there was not? How were people unlucky enough to believe in anything? And then if you didn't believe in anything wasn't that a belief? Ta lala.
I got out of my car and walked toward the Nazi leader and the cop he was talking to. The cop saw me approaching first and stopped talking to the Nazi. He watched me. He had red eyebrows and looked as if he were wearing suntan lotion. I stopped three feet away.
"What do you want, buddy?" the cop asked me.
"I want a pamphlet. I want to know what this man's ideology is."
"You can't have one."
"Why not?"
"Because I have given an order to disperse and anybody within this area in five minutes will be under arrest."
"But I'm getting gas."
"That your car at the pump?"
"Yes."
"All right. Fill up and get out."
Cops can kill you and I've been jailed often enough but I can't help getting a sense of the comical out of them. I do suppose that the very fact of their ultimate and unmolested power is what makes them ludicrous. One realizes that power when given even to one man is a very dangerous thing and that man must be of very good soul and mind not to misuse it, and to use it judiciously. Yet in a city like Los Angeles thousands of men are given this power and sent among us with guns, clubs, handcuffs, two-way radios, and high-powered cars; and helicopters, disguises, green-beret training, plus gas, dogs, and even more dangerous: women.
Yet the sense of the comic remains. Once I gave a party at my place and drank too much. I passed out on the rug and the party went on. Then somebody pulled at me and I regained consciousness."Bukowski, somebody's at the door and wants to talk to you." Still stretched on the rug I looked up. It was a policeman with cap tilted rakishly and smoking a cigar. "You own this place, pal?"
"No, officer, but I pay the rent."
"Well, look, pal, I know this place. I've been here before." He inhaled on his cigar and took it out of his mouth and looked at the red and glowing end of it. Then he put it back in his mouth. "I've been here before, pal, and I've got to tell you this: one more call and I'm throwing you in the slammer!"
"All right, officer, I understand..."
Back to the Nazis. I sat in my car and got gassed-up. As I did I saw the leader of the Nazis leave the cop and then stand in front of his troops. Then he gave some commands and they marched off down the street. The New York Marxists followed somewhat behind, still cursing but feeling some minor victory. The whole moil of them turned north up Wilton and I paid for my gas and followed slowly in my car. I couldn't understand what attracted me. I suppose it was only the action, like horses breaking out of the starting gate.
One block up Wilton the troops crossed the street and marched toward a large van. The doors opened in back and the Nazis entered in orderly fashion, sitting down and facing each other, very straight, on long ledges on each side of the van. The doors closed and the leader and one other Nazi got into the front seat. One of the Marxists threw a rock which hit against the rear of the van and fell into the street.
The van full of Nazis moved off. I followed them and behind me were two carloads of Marxists and a police car. I looked back and one of the Marxists hollered at me: "Let's get those sons of bitches!" I nodded and looked forward again. When we reached Franklin I made a sudden right. The disparate fellows continued north. Like fights with women, history never ended. Maybe the balance of everything was the secret: all lawn and no weeds or all weeds and no lawn, and we're really doomed: all spiders, no flies; all lambs, no lions; all me and no you and we were doomed.
I turned south down Western and drove into the liquor store. Two six-packs. All you and no me.
* 4-13-10
* Charles Bukowski's blog
happiness is a warm coke
happiness was actually printed on a can of coke
and it was shaped in their classic bottle design
(pretty exciting)
i'm getting fanta...
*
cent, you bastard!
and all you other juice stealers!
stop sucking on my juice...
(this is a private club)
Tough titty, scumsucker. xoxoxo xx(Y)xy(X) o o o O
(And I mean that in all earnestness. You know me.)
Here, have some non-beer-shit poetry (pretending to be beer-shit poetry)--or not. Maybe it is beer shit in earnest and not just bullshit beer shit.
=====
Lighthead's Guide to the Galaxy
by Terrance Hayes
Ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and children of the state,
I am here because I could never get the hang of Time.
This hour, for example, would be like all the others
were it not for the rain falling through the roof.
I'd better not be too explicit. My night is careless
with itself, troublesome as a woman wearing no bra
in winter. I believe everything is a metaphor for sex.
Lovemaking mimics the act of departure, moonlight
drips from the leaves. You can spend your whole life
doing no more than preparing for life and thinking.
"Is this all there is?" Thus, I am here where poets come
to drink a dark strong poison with tiny shards of ice,
something to loosen my primate tongue and its syllables
of debris. I know all words come from preexisting words
and divide until our pronouncements develop selves.
The small dog barking at the darkness has something to say
about the way we live. I'd rather have what my daddy calls
"skrimp." He says "discrete" and means the street
just out of sight. Not what you see, but what you perceive:
that's poetry. Not the noise, but its rhythm; an arrangement
of derangements; I'll eat you to live: that's poetry.
I wish I glowed like a brown-skinned pregnant woman.
I wish I could weep the way my teacher did as he read us
Molly Bloom's soliloquy of yes. When I kiss my wife,
sometimes I taste her caution. But let's not talk about that.
Maybe Art's only purpose is to preserve the Self.
Sometimes I play a game in which my primitive craft fires
upon an alien ship whose intention is the destruction
of the earth. Other times I fall in love with a word
like somberness. Or moonlight juicing naked branches.
All species have a notion of emptiness, and yet
the flowers don't quit opening. I am carrying the whimper
you can hear when the mouth is collapsed, the wisdom
of monkeys. Ask a glass of water why it pities
the rain. Ask the lunatic yard dog why it tolerates the leash.
Brothers and sisters, when you spend your nights
out on a limb, there's a chance you'll fall in your sleep.
---
sometimes even bear shit is good...
(No subject)
(No subject)
(No subject)
You probably already have this...
but just in case:
Original "Alice" manuscript via BoingBoing
Amy Crehore points to the original Alice story:
"What could be more beautiful than the original manuscript? This is the original version of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll, the pen-name of Charles Dodgson, an Oxford mathematician. It is called "Alice's Adventures Underground" and it is a treasure of the British Library. The book is in their online gallery and you can look at each hand-written, hand-drawn page (all 91 pages)."
http://www.bl.uk/onlinegallery/ttp/alice/accessible/page1.html#content
Through The Looking Glass: Queen Alice
http://www.archive.org/download/looking-glass_librivox/lookingglass_09_c...
----
This reading is kind of fun on two levels b/c the lady starts out sounding like a porn star (and not in a particularly good way) but by the end I think she gets quite good.
("You probably have this" also.)
* :D
Things...
under Ground
-You probably already have this...
Submitted by Cat Chew on Wed, 04/14/2010 - 10:48pm.-
Weirdly, my copy of the book came in the mail yesterday. I heard about it via gutenberg when we first started blogging it here it seems like...I was pretty sure that's what I saw....Then a few months ago it showed up as a rec from amazon and I ordered it...
When I picked it up yesterday, I had completely forgotten what it was exactly..wasn't sure if it was some re-written subversive alice story or what...It's sitting next to me now and there's your post, Cat Chew...solved the mystery for me...
I'm going to read the boing boing story now but I did open the book and I see it's a facsimile edition so it must be in Carroll's writing, an image of the manuscript I'm assuming..thanks for the link...The book is very nice and will be a great addition to my growing Alice book collection...
Recently I found a popup book of Jabberwocky..kinda cool.
This was on LIS news the other day
A Rare ‘Jungle Book’ Resurfaces in Britain
April 12, 2010 - 5:24pm — Bibliofuture Librarians for Britain’s National Trust have discovered a rare first edition of Rudyard Kipling’s “Jungle Book,” BBC News reported. Officials of the trust said the book contained a handwritten note from the author to his daughter Josephine, who died in 1899, when she was 6.
Full piece here
Here is another article that shows a picture of the inscription.
Wikipedia entry for The Jungle Book
Neat stuff on here
thanks, All.. :)
Dowsing
Have you ever taken a whack at learning how to hold a dowling rod (a/k/a "divining rod") and hearing its suggestions as you bend tension with your thumbs and palms? Awesome: there's life in there - some people still go to trees and break off the bendy crotches where the branches split into twigs (the dowling/diviniing rods) for the purpose of finding underground water; this practice is called "dowsing."
Man - you should so meet Elaine, with whom I did a class in exploring past lives by means of hypnosis, Six years ago. Stunning endeavor in its thentofore unrecognized relevance.
Seth sounds like a multifaceted soul who in life saw a big chunk of everything but then crossed over in the middle of an explanatory sentence. In life touched a lot of people - who in their recent lifetimes do their best to finish Seth's sentence.
Thanks.
Non-sequitur: taozen is someone who has fairly recently wandered into the Seder Saloon. Have you noticed that wight? Is the name pronounced like the American English "dowsin'"? Or maybe "dozin'"? What do you think?
In general.
- A
Hi ellwort
I have tried one before...P and I made these things once out of metal hangers. They are shaped like an L where you hold the shorter part in each of your hands, then you put straws on that part so the rods swing easily..when you get over 'something' the rods cross...trippy...
I used a pendulum to communicate for a long time..since I could never seem to consistently 'hear' things...the pendulum swing is very hmm..what's the word...strong..it moved very strong when I would ask it things...and also very weak sometimes too..maybe dependent on the 'connection' or maybe the strength of intention from where ever that comes from was why it would be weak at times...?
P's dad is big on map dowsing and is familiar with the diving rod dowsing..there is a dowsing conference soon that he may attend and a local group of dowsers in town here...but I think they think of it as something different than how I think of those tools...
I would like to meet Elaine...I like your word here -thentofore-...
-Seth sounds like a multifaceted soul who in life saw a big chunk of everything but then crossed over in the middle of an explanatory sentence. In life touched a lot of people - who in their recent lifetimes do their best to finish Seth's sentence.-
You may have to simplify this one for me to get what you're saying...
Re: TZ...I say it in my head like TAO ZEN...that didn't really explain it...Like Now and Then..Tao and Zen..like that.
Took an hour nap
as soon as I walked in the door tonight..now I will be up late and everything is ruined... :(
Sorta..
Hey Alice
Gotcha - 10-4
Jeez - Time for my nocturnal nap; thanks for reminding me. The sun comes up (again!?) in about three hours in these parts. That means I get a whole five-hour nap before being mister smartypants teacher tomorrow.
Now I'm dozin'.
Say hey to P for us.
& have a pleasant tomorrow.
LLR
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TcU57tAKzng
Let Love Rule, (Justice Remix) -mp3
Nightie nite meester smartee pants... xox
Oooh
Nice remix.
Can you believe this is the first chance I've had to listen to
it...it is nice...
.That Tree.
.
Snoop Dogg ft. Kid Cudi - mp3
.
Pent-R-Books, Inc.
- Sexual Pleasures
http://www.ubu.com/outsiders/365/2007/314.shtml
http://blog.wfmu.org/freeform/2007/07/365-days-197---.html
Momus - Hippopotamomus (1991)
Hippopotamomus, mp3
Bluestocking, mp3
http://www.ubu.com/sound/momus_hippo.html
Spank
IT
e.e. cummings
xix.
my girl’s tall with hard long eyes
as she stands,with her long hard hands keeping
silence on her dress,good for sleeping
is her long hard body filled with surprise
like a white shocking wire,when she smiles
a hard long smile it sometimes makes
gaily go clean through me tickling aches,
and the weak noise of her eyes easily files
my impatience to an edge—my girl’s tall
and taut,with thin legs just like a vine
that’s spent all of its life on a garden-wall,
and is going to die. When we grimly go to bed
with these legs she begins to heave and twine
about me,and to kiss my face and head.
Image: Courtesy of W. W. Norton & Company
Hoarding Cats
Burn
Lovers of a Blackened Heart by *kuksi
*
burn
don't look, don't look
the shadows breathe
whispering me away from you
don't wake at night to watch her sleep
you know that you will always see
this trembling, adored, toussled bird-mad girl
every night i burn
every night i call your name
every night i burn
every night i fall again
don't talk of love 'cause shadows blur
murmuring me away from you
don't talk of worlds that never were
the end is always ever true
there's nothing you can ever say
nothing you can ever do
still every night i burn
every night i scream your name
every night i burn
every night the dream's the same
every night i burn
waiting for my only friend
every night i burn
waiting for the world to end
just paint your face and shadow smile
slipping me away from you
oh it doesn't matter how you hide
find you if we're wanting to
so slide back down and close your eyes
sleep awhile - you must be tired
when every night i burn
every night i call your name
every night i burn
every night i fall again
every night i burn
scream the animal screams
every night i burn
dream the crow black dream
dream the crow black dream
Still every night I burn, every night I scream your name.
Every night I burn, Every night the dream's the same.
Every night I burn, screaming the animal scream
Every night I burn, dreaming the crow-black dream. yeah, yeah
Dreaming the crow-black dream...
"What's fixed will always be broken.............."
Skates of Wrath by ~GuitarAtomik
http://druzba.com/music/songs/Jens%20Lekman%20-%20Your%20Arms%20Around%2...
^
O Thou Dread Power, Robert Burns
O Thou dread Power, who reign'st above,
I know thou wilt me hear,
When for this scene of peace and love
I make this prayer sincere.
The hoary Sire - the mortal stroke,
Long, long be pleas'd to spare;
To bless his little filial flock,
And show what good men are.
She, who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears,
O bless her with a mother's joys,
But spare a mother's tears!
Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,
In manhood's dawning blush,
Bless him, Thou God of love and truth,
Up to a parent's wish.
The seauteous, seraph sister-band -
With earnest tears I pray -
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand,
Guide Thou their steps alway.
When, soon or late, they reach that coast,
O'er Life's rough ocean driven,
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost,
A family in Heaven