1659 hours. I completed
the update on Grandma 10.
So you have. Add and post. – Amorella
***
Grandma’s Story 10 ©2014, rho, (final) GMG.One
Some aspects of human society
are as invisible as gravity as you will see in this little story that takes
place about three thousand years ago on the coast of East Africa in what is now
Kenya.
Rumbasant
stood at the edge of the forest inspecting the horizon beyond the great water
thinking. The horizon is not the end of things, as I am not standing at the
beginning of things. Our men leave this place by boats. Most do not return.
Always the sons of the chief or sons of his brothers leave on quests. It has been
that way for as many stars as there are in the night sky.
I
want to leave on a boat with one of my brothers. I will never leave for fear of
losing my blackened walking stick. The fire from the sky struck the tree I used
for shelter. This stick is from that tree. God's fire hit my left shoulder and
went down my right leg and into the ground. The fire is still in the ground
where I left it. I know what it is to have been touched by Sky Father’s fire.
It
was a great shock to the tribe. Older people say the Sky Father struck me for
being born to our Grand Chief first. I argued that if this was so, Sky Father
is an abusive father. We do not
strike each other or our children anymore. We are a peaceful people.
In
Grandma's the last story, Abbatoot and part of her clan had survived a terrible
storm, and I am brewing a typhoon not far from where Rumbasant is standing.
Rumbasant has been struck down once, what more can the Sky Father do? To be
struck by sky fire twice would be unprecedented. Would it not?
The
sunset appeared as a tunnel, a tube by which she could cross to the other side
of the world. A huge storm roared onto the beach during the night. The winds
grew steady to stay between fifty and seventy miles per hour. Rumbasant held
her sacred stick high as lightning struck nearby trees. Wind-driven and
stinging, sticky bleached sand hit Rumbasant’s face. Continuous thunderous
roars, ominous booms, green tinged sky, blue, and low purple bands of a mass
cloud.
She
shouted to the storm, “By Mother Earth and by her sacred marriage to Father
Sky, I command the winds and rain to cease!”
This
grew into a magical chant, a spontaneous ritual dance and a shout at the up-heaved
ocean. Only to be responded to by wind, rain, lightning and thunder. Rumbasant
unconsciously shortened the oath.
“By
Mother and Father, I command this water and wind to cease!”
The
night storm roared on and so did Rumbasant who shouted another spontaneously
created chant.
Arumba.
Arumba. Arumba.
Foam
of the mad dog.
Arumba.
Arumba. Arumba.
Foam
of a mad sea.
Arumba.
Arumba. Arumba.
Foam
to the mad wind.
Arumba.
Arumba. Arumba.
Mimicking
the storm Rumbasant roared on, “Arumba. Arumba. Arumba.” She shouted the word
with every other beat of her terrified and defiant heart. “Arumba. Arumba.
Arumba.”
Lightning strikes the Stick. Fire burst
forth and the Boom echoed into tribal memory for life.
Rumbasant
lies stirring and twitching. The smoking Stick lies nearby. Living is not
enough, thought Rumbasant, but I am enough alive to think.
Rumbasant clutched at Stick
and pulled herself up. As Rumbasant stood once again and raised Stick in right
defiant hand, a wall of lightning snapped at the bank of palms where the tribal
witnesses had recently stood.
“Stick
is what it is,” shouted Rumbasant to her tribe in the distance. "I am hammered twice by Sky Father’s fire
and I am alive!" The people came closer staring
at Rumbasant’s face in disbelief. Her right eye socket was empty. The tribal
people began a search for a shell with Rumbasant’s burnt eye in it. It was
never found.
Early one morning not long
after, Rumbasant discovered a perfectly white slightly oval shell in the water
near the beach. Rumbasant put the shell up to her empty eye socket, pulled open
the lids and slid it in for a welcome fit.
Rumbasant is called Shell Eye in stories along the Kenya
coast of East Africa still, in fact, the name Shell Eye was forged into a secret mystical language of the regions.
Taking
an eye for an eye or so it’s been said
Is
not quite the same as taking wine with bread.
To
see what story time remains to be seen,
One needs the depth of a one
eye threaded quite lean.
***
You watched “NCIS” and “Person of Interest”
tonight. Tomorrow you are meeting Patti for lunch at Max and Erma’s in
Westerville, then heading to Delaware to see Kim before dropping Carol off at Mary
Lou’s for supper out while you are at the gathering at Jimmy V’s in
Westerville. Afterwards, home. A surprise for Friday – Jim and Jeanne Shumaker
wrote and said they will be in Springboro and you four are going to the
Brazenhead Pub for supper Friday evening – that is unless they get lost along
the way to Mason.
2039 hours. Nothing comes to mind.
What’s the difference between a
transcendental meditative state and having nothing on your mind, boy? –
Amorella
That’s funny, Amorella. I don’t have
the foggiest idea. First, I need a definition of a transcendental meditative
state. This is not so easy to define; however ‘relaxation’ is one of the
benefits. After reading several articles to re-familiarize myself with TM and
can see that ‘nothing on my mind’ is a plus because with nothing on my mind I
remain neutral and open to most anything that comes my way.
A light hypnotic
trance would be more similar to a transcendental meditative state than nothing
on the mind, but it is not the same either, at least from my perspective, and
an outright transcendental state is better than any of the others. Such a state
is consciously being and not being both at once. This I have experienced. I could not have written the Merlyn
books without having personally experienced being and not being. The way this
is, in my mind is that I ‘understand’ what it is to have separated my
heartansoulanmind from my physical body and brain. This personal experience has
happened, more than once, but the deepest example of it was the moment late at
night that I stood and did a little dance, a jig to the back of the mind tune –
“Halva Nagila”.
The dance was slow and methodical, turning in slow circles from
right to left and left to right. The tune was in the distance from the back of
my head. I became aware of being (performing in the dance) but not being (aware
of the dance but not performing in it). I thought I was dancing within an Angel of G---D but there
was no intensity, no power, no revelation other than the realization that part
of myself was separate and attached at once. This was a ‘once’ a moment of
singularity. The singularity was the ‘glue’ that held the ‘parts’ together.
This is how it reforms within at the moment. No drugs, no alcohol.
Only in the
moment before, that is before I got up from the couch I felt a Presence in our
TV room in the carpeted basement floor of our bi-level Ryan home on Majken
Place in Mason. This happened in 1988. The books, the nugget of the books
branch and leaf from this core remembrance of a special ‘reality’ which I have
since used in the books as being alive and dead both at once. I thought it was being within
an Angel of G---D, and I come to find out, according to Amorella, that it was
she that I danced with; she was outside and came within during the dance. I don’t
think any of this is a matter of belief because it was/is an experience of
living. I exist in the real world. What brought this on, Amorella? (2125)
The ‘moment’ that is more than a remembrance
within. Post. - Amorella
Below is an addition to this written (in context to the above) on the 11 January 2014 blog posting. - rho
*** ***
Below is an addition to this written (in context to the above) on the 11 January 2014 blog posting. - rho
** **
Don’t forget to dig through those old
spiral notebooks, by the way how many of those to you have in the basement? –
Amorella
I don’t know, a couple of boxes. I am
uneasy digging in those notebooks. Fritz used to have copies. I always gave him
copies for backup and because I felt better knowing he could read and glance through
them at his leisure. He sent me notes a few times checking on where I was
going, sometimes worried I was drifting out into an esoteric mental landscape;
too close to leaving our fair sense of what shared reality actually is.
Post. – Amorella
1703 hours. I am an agnostic still,
Amorella, and I am a transcendental existentialist (existential
transcendentalist) too. I would never go so far to say G---D does not exist
because I cannot ‘know’ that. I am open-minded. If someone (anyone) said
sheorhe was visited by an Angel of G---D I would be the first to be highly skeptical
and suggest that the experience was more likely to be do to faulty mental
wiring. I would not necessarily deny the person’s sincerity and honesty. No one
knows these things and to say a subjective experience has not a whit of truth
to it one would have to put on a heavy coat of arrogance – as a human being
among many other human beings, I don’t think we know very much. I am not so
much interesting in knowing than in understanding.
You needed to get that out ever since your
last recall of the ‘dancing event with myself’. – Amorella
I don’t always know what to say. I may
know I need to say something but it is difficult coming up with the words and
sentences to express it with a sense of honest passion underlying the thoughts.
That’s why you would come up with the same
dead or alive, at least as far as these books and blog go. Now, post. -
Amorella
** **
No comments:
Post a Comment