Glowed in the Dark

There used to be, and possibly still is, a deep sea exhibit at the Milwaukee Public Museum. The museum was one of my favorite places, but I only got to go there once or twice a year, if that. Every night before the trip, I would get all excited about going to the deep sea exhibit, solely because it had a black light, because I was utterly entranced by things that glowed. I was also obsessed with fireflies, glow sticks, glow-in-the-dark stickers, etc. (This is what I’m thinking about as I am not falling asleep).

This reminds me of another field trip that we took to the airport. I was probably in 2nd grade. I remember that we got to see a plane come in for landing, and (whoa! and what do I just hear? a plane coming into land!) saying, “I hope it crashes.” So my mother and some of my friends’ mothers were completely appalled.

Disconcerted mother: That’s a terrible thing to say.

Me: But why? It would be cool to see it crash.

Mother: There are people on that plane. What do you suppose might happen to them if the plane crashed?

Me: Well, I suppose they would get hurt and some of them might die.

Mother: Well why would you wish that?

Me: I just wanted to see it.

So then I feel bad because I’ve obviously said something inappropriate and now have the scornful disapproval of not only my own mother, but one or two of my friends’ mothers. Clearly, I was an emotionally disturbed child because I didn’t have any value to human life. I thought it was expendable, that I was expendable. I thought that if people were doing bad things, they should just be killed and removed to be kept from hurting other people. I never, ever that day thought about those peoples’ loved ones. At that point in my life it was inconceivable to me that anyone would care very much if someone were to die. This is also one of those days where I learned that it was best to just keep my mouth shut, because I always seemed to garner this sort of response whenever I spoke my mind. My desires, musings, and analyses were not welcomed, even when they were not so abhorrent. They were uncomfortable to everyone around me. I make people uncomfortable. While I may not have been a devil child, the concept of changeling does hold some appeal. The wanton destructive of human life for my own amusement was okay, but cutting the branches off of a tree to make room for a power-line made me physically ill. Okay, go figure.

But the whole reason I was thinking about the glow-in-the-dark thing is that I went to Mt. Shasta today. I stopped at Tauhindauli Park on the way up, but they had taken the port-a-potties out for the winter already. I had been planning to sit on my rock and finish reading The Alchemist, and maybe take a pear for a snack, but I had to pee so freaking bad, so I just walked to the rock, saw it was there as it should be, and proceeded back to the Chevron to relieve my bladder.

I was feeling tired and like, “Hey, who am I kidding? I don’t belong here anymore. I can’t believe I have to drive up to a small alpine town to get freaking laundry soap because no place in Redding sells Era. We don’t really need black-strap molasses anyhow.” There’s those pesky persistent contrails making the sky all milky, and everything’s hazy. The fall foliage is a dried-out yellow or brown color as there hasn’t been a frost yet.

Get to Mt. Shasta. Find Era at Ray’s. Sweet, I do not have to drive to Yreka. Discover Mountain Song is gone. Proceed to Berryvale. Now my mood begins to lighten, because they were totally cool about pre-weighing mason jars so I could put bulk foods in them. The beggar outside is not some pathetic leach, but merely a partially toothless lady who seemed reasonably intelligent, so I didn’t begrudge giving her a dollar.

Here the big leaf maples are a little more colorful. I go to the Shasta house and Joe is waiting outside. We exchange books and I stick around long enough to make sure Arron Rodgers gets the Pack back on top. When I leave, I feel perfectly peaceful and rejuvenated. The house, Joe, and Mt. Shasta all together…

I mean, I’ve been agitated plenty of times while living in Mt. Shasta, but it never could last long. There’s just peace bubbles and natural beauty and love blasting you in your own bubble. People have these little pillars connecting them to their higher selves and to the collective, and in Mt. Shasta, those little light pillars are generally much purer. People just are more laid back, self-aware, and kind. I come down out of Mountain Gate and I’m hit with the full force of all the sorrow and ignorance of the central valley. My neighbors are mostly crazy, and while I think they are generally kind, like they aren’t likely to get off on other people’s suffering, or at least on random strangers’ suffering, they are dirty, lost, addicted, petty…

Here I feel crowded and agitated. That’s the general ambiance.

In Mt. Shasta it is impossible to forget that everything is inherently holy. Everything happens so synchronistically that it would be beyond belief if you were aware of all the coincidences, but not aware of how they work.

Reading The Alchemist, dude’s all like, “Follow your heart. Follow your heart.”

Well, fucking A! My heart is in Mt. Shasta. I think it’s like in the backyard at that house. It’s on top of Soda Creek Ridge. It’s at AH-DI-NAH. It’s in the upper Sacramento River canyon. I measured my days by how the mountain changed. Could I see it? How much snow was there? Was it pink, orange, blue, brown, gray, purple, violet? How strong was its astral twin and the violet ray?

Something profound happened to me there. After I finished the mission to which I’d been dreamed for, suddenly there I am completely responsible now for my own dream. It no longer was or is written by the hand of god. I lived out my personal mythos, and to continue trying to live out the stories of the place from where I came and where I wish with all my heart and soul to return to now, would be like banging my head against a wall. It’s done. The story was told and it was embodied. The word was made flesh and dwelt among us. Okay, right the Christ story is another big thing. There’s the big umbrella of Source but there are multitudes of layers of divinity in between. I feel like now, an angel with training wheels. I don’t think that angels need cell phones, because they just do everything as Spirit compels them and as it is given by God. So listening to your heart is good, because God can speak through your heart. However, once you’ve completed your quest and found the holy grail, you can’t keep trying to live your “Personal Legend”. You did it. Yay! Go you!

So sometimes it would be nice to ring up Matt. “Hey Matt, how did you figure out this guardian/angel thing?”

Haha! So, Matt says, “Nadeanna, you have always been a guardian. You just no longer need a guardian.

Nadeanna: Wow Matt, that was fast! I didn’t think I’d been hearing from you so easily like that again.

Matt: That I could answer.

So getting to what I hope is my final musing for the day or week, my heart does not in fact lie with a person. Of course I had some great enamor-ment for my dreamer which thankfully has matured into primarily respect. There’s still longing and love, but it’s different. The urgency and ego clingy-ness of it is gone. I’m starting to make up words now, look out! But I find that more than any one person, my heart is here in a place I’d never been to before I got here. I belong to forest and rivers, not to any human heart. Now I am more sleepy, so hopefully I can rest.


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