That’s one of the messages that emerged about being unplugged for almost a week…it’s important to make time to see and feel what’s in our hearts.
In solitude, there is healing.
Speak to your soul.
Listen to your heart.
Sometimes in the absence of noise we find the answers.
Mirrored on the lagoon.
Another one of my secret spots to take a break, breathe, and reflect.
Looking west toward the ocean; peaceful, not a ripple.
**Quote from a lovely little inspirational book by Dodinsky.
I’ve had a really tough last few days. My WiFi broke on Thursday– I mean really broke. and there was nothing that the telephone tech could do to fix it so I had to schedule an appointment for a real, live human to appear in person.
The even worse news is that no one can come until Tuesday. TUESDAY.
That’s a lifetime, right? Nowadays, to be without internet access grinds our lives to a complete stop. I’m not sure that it’s a great idea to be so reliant on this technology.
I thought I was really smart and tethered my computer to my phone’s cellular data until I got the message that I was using too much data, so I had to untether…unplug completely.
In some ways, this really feels like the end; doomsday, my own personal day of reckoning. I guess I didn’t realize how totally dependent I’ve become on the internet — in every aspect of my life. I confess that I felt a level of anxiety, stressed out because it was as if I was marooned on a desert island, cut off from the rest of the world.
I was lucky enough to still have a radio because I couldn’t listen to music any other way. It was like turning the clock back more than thirty years.
No computer, no social media.
I had disconnected from cable TV a while ago but no WiFi meant that I didn’t have Prime or Netflix or Roku and I was stuck with only a handful of local stations. Crazy.
I found a couple books to read but it didn’t take me very long to finish both of them. I polished all the furniture, I washed windows, I cleaned out the refrigerator. I worked in the garden. I actually got a lot done, much more than if I had wasted time on the internet.
Psychology Today says excessive use of the internet is known to negatively impact a person’s mental health. It has been associated with mental health issues, such as loneliness, depression, anxiety, and attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. Cybersex and pornography hurts our minds, souls, and relationships in so many ways — it’s incredibly sad.
While the internet has completely revolutionized the way we live and work in the modern world and opened up opportunities, it’s also closed the world. I believe that, too.
The internet transformed communication, information dissemination, commerce, education, and social interactions in unprecedented ways, reimagining the way we live, work, and interact with one another.
In the old days, we used typewriters to write papers or letters — or we hand wrote them. If we wanted to read a book, we went to library — or the bookstore. There were no e-readers or digital downloads.
If we wanted to hear a song, we listened to it on the radio or we bought a vinyl record, tape, or disk.
If we wanted to watch a movie, we either went to the movie theater or watched whatever came on television, and later we had Blockbuster to rent movies, remember that?
Upon reflection (since I’ve had a lot of time to THINK) I think life was better because there was more one-on-one interaction. Being alive didn’t feel as disposable as it does now. We didn’t expect everything to happen instantaneously. We didn’t give up as easily on things. We didn’t discard things as quickly. We learned how to take care of them and mend them if they broke. We didn’t feel the need to rush out and buy the latest new thing that was being sold, and then obsessively track its every delivery movement. (That’s me.)
It hasn’t been easy, that’s for sure. I only lasted three days before I packed up my laptop and drove to the (empty) city parking lot to access their free internet.
This is where I am right now, sitting in my car, typing away on their signal. After this, I think I might hit up Amazon and look for a new table runner to accent my now beautifully polished and shiny dining room table.
The pain is real. How long could YOU last unplugged?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
— Edgar Allen Poe
So far, the world seems to have survived the solar eclipse, but on a personal level, my dream state have gone on a path of complete totality — into the BIZARRE.
First, as I was drifting off to sleep in that precarious and precious few moments called hypnagogia, the transitional state of consciousness between wakefulness and sleep, I felt my kitty daughter Bandit jump on the bed right next to me. I mean, I literally and truly FELT her body. This has happened during several lucid dreams, but NEVER as I’m stuck in limbo between two worlds. I know I’ve said it before…my Bandit died many years ago, so whatever/whoever jumped on my bed wasn’t actually Bandit, but her spirit.
Just like before, it totally freaked me out because it felt so REAL. Anyway, to rule out it wasn’t some other sort of creature (ick), I turned on the lamp next to my bed and there was nothing.
The light broke the spell of reconnection, but as Bandit jumped on me, I remember she asked a question, the same one she asked the last time I had a nocturnal visit. I responded exactly the same way I had during the lucid dream, “I don’t know, baby girl. I don’t know.”
I went to sleep after that –no more dreams about Bandit — BUT the last dream I recall is pretty unsettling. I dreamed that my nose was stuffed up. When I found a tissue to blow my nose, a bunch of snakes emerged, but only from the left side. (Gross, right?) They were quite small, mostly black with a white line running down the length of their bodies. Details, yuck! I continued to blow my nose and more snakes emerged, until I forced myself to wake up because OMG, I couldn’t let my subconscious continue on this strange path (of reptile totality).
My heart was RACING and you can be sure I doublechecked the comforter and sheets to make sure that I wasn’t lying in a nest of snakes. EWWW.
After a cup of coffee, I started researching snakes coming out of nose and to my complete surprise, it’s not at all uncommon. EWWW again.
There are way too many interpretations of snakes coming out one’s nose to determine whether my dream was good or bad, so I choose to believe the more positive explanations:
“Sometimes it can symbolize transformation, rebirth, and renewal. Dreaming about a snake crawling out of your body could be a sign that something hidden, or something that has been repressed, is coming out into the open. It could also be a sign of a transformation or a new beginning.”
“It might symbolize personal empowerment. You are striving for goals that seem beyond your reach. You are receptive to change. It also points at the moon, intuition, and the feminine aspects of yourself. You will play an integral role in an important upcoming project. Your dream is a metaphor for great harmony and heightened awareness toward some situation.”
Thank you very much, SOLAR ECLIPSE, for the strange ramblings of my subconscious. As much as I love to feel the poignant presence of my kitty daughter, it breaks my heart that she’s no longer alive. With regard to the snakes dream, I’m shaking my head. I have no earthly idea where that scenario came from. I’m not afraid of snakes (except rattlers) so it’s not like I have an ingrained snake phobia or anything like that.
Oh well…it’s a bright new day, and much too beautiful to dwell in the shadowy recesses of my submerged mind.
Dream info curated from Dreams Directory and Dreamopedia.
The full moon and lunar eclipse again wreaked havoc with my sleep – I woke up several times seemingly for no reason, but I looked out the window and said “goodnight, moon“, as if I were in Margaret Wise Brown’s classic book where the bunny says goodnight to various objects and creatures before drifting off to sleep.
I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better. –Mary Oliver
Cinderella by Frances Brundage
Bob Dylan and Aldous Huxley say pretty much the same thing!
“The secret of genius is to carry the spirit of the child into old age,
which means never losing your enthusiasm.”
— Aldous Huxley
May your heart always be joyful
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
— Bob Dylan
It’s my secret too, not that I think I’m a genius, but I’ve retained the childlike (not childish, there’s a difference) ability to revel in simple joys.
This is me at three and it’s really no different than the current me; same hair and same happy smile as I display a kitty balloon for the camera in my flower-sprigged nightgown.
Only now it’s Hello Kitty and whales and butterflies and seashells and daymoons that spark that pure bliss! (And Chanel.) And the Angels, of course.
I chose this version of Forever Young:
“I’m also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.”
Sending love and light on Valentine’s Day with a quote from one of my all time favorite rom-coms, Notting Hill. (Click on the title to see that clip of the film.)
Art credit to https://www.facebook.com/WorldofLovehearts
There’s an intangible, sort-of-cosmic backstory that might shed a bit of light…
It comes as a surprise to some who think I’m only all about shopping and seashells and being princess-like — when they find out I love football and camping and hiking. It might seem out of character, but I guess I’m a living, breathing contradiction, more faceted and complex than one might imagine.
For the first twenty-five years of my life, I didn’t care one way or another about football (or most sports) until I was pregnant with the one and only Original Angel Boy.
In a strangely illuminated memory, I will always recollect the fall of 1980. I was about four months pregnant and the disabling, extreme morning sickness had FINALLY abated, albeit without almost needing to be hospitalized for Hyperemesis gravidarum, just like Princess Catherine.
On this particular Sunday, I heard the sounds of football in the living room, which meant the San Diego Chargers and Dan Fouts were playing. I finished feeding the dogs or whatever I was doing in the kitchen and sat down to watch the game, drawn to it in a way I had had never been before that exact moment.
I asked question after question, hungering for each and every detail — what was a down or offsides or a running back. I was thirsty for knowledge.
After that day, I became a football fan, not to the point of wearing team apparel, but actually anticipating the next season and whether we’d make the playoffs or not. With the Chargers, it was mostly NOT.
It was that late October day that I knew beyond a shadow of any doubt — I was going to have a boy. It was all that testosterone, I was sure of it! In fact, I bet my doctor that my intuition was right. This was before ultrasounds were a routine diagnostic tool in pregnancy so there was no way to scientifically predict the sex of a baby. If it was medically necessary, I could have had amniocentesis, but that was a slightly risky procedure and not advised simply to win a wager.
However, right after I delivered my perfect boy a few months later, I said to the doc, “I told you so, I told you I was having a boy. I knew it.“
In 1994, the Chargers made their first and, so far, only Super Bowl appearance, against the 49ers in Super Bowl XXIX. Of course they lost to quarterback Steve Young and the amazing wide receiver Jerry Rice, but it was an exciting game.
Recently, Angel Boy, DIL, and I were having a conversation about the Seattle Seahawks and why they’re not doing so well this year. When DIL asked a question about quarterbacks, AB and I explained the details of a trade and coaching staff…not only did she have no idea that I harbor an affinity for the game, but she also had no idea that my son STILL, after all these years, had stat after stat stored up in that giant brain of his. She was gobsmacked, as the Brits like to say. It was funny to see her reaction. To me, she said, “How could you like football? It’s everything you hate; crowds and noise!” I told her there was something exciting about the energy of attending a game that was infectious (in a good way), to root for your team.
As I said, some people are surprised by me!
Here’s the psychology of it, and since she’s a neuroscientist, these facts appealed to her: Following a sports team can give us a tremendous sense of belonging, even if it comes with a bit of intensity, Much of the enjoyment we get from watching our team can be traced to the feel-good chemical, dopamine. For a short period of time, we are diverted away from personal problems and able to focus on things outside of ourselves.
All these memories are being stirred up because the AFL-NFL playoffs are on Sunday. Nope, the Chargers (in LA now) aren’t playing, but my other hometown team, the Detroit Lions, are in their first playoff game since 1992. At that time, Detroit faced Washington for the chance to advance to the Super Bowl, but couldn’t make it happen.
Until this year, the Lions have gone thirty-one seasons without reaching a championship round or winning another post-season playoff. I hope they win because I like to root for the underdog, but since they’re playing the 12-5 San Francisco 49rs, they probably won’t stand a chance.
The other playoff game is Kansas City Chiefs against the Baltimore Ravens. I don’t have an interest in either team but the frenzy surrounding Taylor Swift’s romance with Travis Kelce, the Chief’s tight end, makes it slightly appealing because the cameras love to show Taylor’s reactions while she’s in a private luxury box. “What’s Taylor doing? What’s she wearing?”, that kind of thing…
Whoever wins these games will meet at the Super Bowl on February 11.
Still rehabbing my poor little leg, I can’t do much walking or a whole lot of other physical activity until the sutures are removed, so I’m probably going to do nothing but watch football on Sunday.
Go LIONS!
If this is a crystal ball vision of 2024, I’m cheerfully apprehensive (or apprehensively cheerful) about what the next twelve months may bring…
Do you remember the Grimm fairytale, The Frog Prince? It’s about a princess who befriends a frog who was really a prince that had been turned into a frog by an evil witch. The princess’s transformative love was the remedy to break the spell.
I’m in the middle of living a real-life version of this story, but I have some basic issues that seem to be obstacles in the way of fulfilling this enchanted experience.
For the last few days, I’ve been hearing a frog croaking in the garden and every time I do, I run outside and try to find him. So far, I’ve been spectacularly unsuccessful.
The croaking seems to emanate from the lower hill that’s covered in a mass of California native plants and I simply can’t locate my frogprince, no matter how hard I try.
Maybe it’s some kind of weird, bizarre twin flame scenario; the more I chase, the more he runs away. Maybe I need to take a deep breath and allow him to come to me. What do you think?
He’s out there right now, beckoning me with his hypnotic, sexy croaking, and I can’t, not for the life of me, track him down.
It’s important to note that this is a highly unusual occurrence; we don’t normally have frogs around this mostly drought-y part of the world and I have heard them so infrequently that I can’t even remember when the last time there WAS a frog around here.
If you could see me running around the garden from one spot to another, you’d have serious doubts about my mental state, and I’d have to nod my head and agree with you.
Why is my prince hiding from me? I am a princess, after all…
While I’m waiting for my frog/prince transformation, here’s what I learned about the spiritual meaning of frogs…
🐸 Frogs symbolize water and land. They help to connect us with the natural world and our intuitive side. They have the power to transform, mature, and renew the soul.
🐸 A frog’s ability to transition from one element to another — depending on its environment — represents change and transformation, rebirth, and evolution.
🐸 Frogs are symbols of new beginnings and creativity because they hatch from eggs and emerge into the world as tiny tadpoles.
🐸 A frog’s spiritual meaning is associated with fertility, good luck, prosperity, money, transformation, new beginnings, love, and the Moon (due to its close connection with water).www.thepeculiarbrunette.com/frog-symbolism-spiritual-meaning/
🐸 Croaking is usually associated with mating and is used by males to attract females, although some frog species croak to mark their territory or indicate their presence. Frogs may also croak because they feel worried or stressed, warning other frogs around them.
I hope to discover what sort of magic is needed to find and befriend my froggy visitor for our very own happily-ever-after.
If you see me kissing a frog, don’t say a word, OK?
🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸🐸
“What’s magical, sometimes, has deeper roots than reason.”
Mary Oliver
Art curated from Pinterest
“December is a simple wish that brings spectacular moments.” — Unknown
Image from Pinterest
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 