I am quite restless now, waiting for the Thanksgiving vacation to begin. After being awoken in pain, again, last night. I took a hot bath, again, in the wee small hours of the morning. Mr. X and I traded places and I finally went to sleep again on the floor of the man cave around 4:30. He woke me up when he was getting ready for work. I went back to sleep, slept another hour or so, and finally got up around 9:30. I felt like a zombie, and was still crampy and achy. I made coffee this morning, but had no appetite.

I took a shower despite having just taken a hot soak a few hours previous because I felt grimy. I still have not eaten, and did not eat much yesterday. 

Trying to figure out what to pack for a 3-5 day weekend for two people, plus getting food stuffs ready to transport, and canning supplies for Friday, with virtually no luggage. The whole time I’m imagining Mr. X griping about how he doesn’t want the neighbors to know that we will be gone, doesn’t want them seeing us carrying out all that stuff. “How many clothes do you need? Are you really going to do your make-up for Thanksgiving? You’re just going to be watching football.” Hmmm.

I have to be more moderate. You see, there is no doubt he loves me, but, oh there is always the but. I guess with most others the doubt has consumed me, and I have been wont to choose passion over kindness. In the past, I’d have taken someone as caustic as myself, just to experience genuine intensity.

The boy I left behind to come home misses me, loves me, but my heart is here in the Cascades and Trinities, and he is for the south, so that is that.

I feel kind of stuck here. My job is becoming more and more a job, a means of income, a headache. The responsibilities I have and the things I do for the amount I get paid is absolutely ridiculous. I think people are insane to think the economy will recover. It’s been bad, and more bad for me since 2003. Last year I made more money than I ever had, but my standard of living hasn’t improved much. At least now Mr. X provides heat, so I’m not at risk of hypothermia on a daily basis, sitting in front of a space heater after a shower while I get dressed, and blow drying my hair every time I come inside. We have a dishwasher, and that’s certainly improved the quality of my life.

I decided not to apply to the job at the River Exchange. Something just didn’t feel right about it. I’m sure I’m supposed to be here right now, but why do I feel so stuck, and what would I do if I could do anything I wanted anyway?

New Mexico? Colorado? Nope. This is home. I dream of an old ranch house with decades old orchards being encroached on by recent subdivisions, but the remnant ranch is safe due to the economic collapse. We will have goats and I will learn how to grow peaches, almonds, and walnuts. Water rights will not be an issue, because La Nina winters will become the norm. We will build a shipping container tower with an art studio at the top. Mr. X will be the gunsmith of all the land. It will smell like linseed oil, leather, and tobacco.

My son will become a renowned trader and entertainer, crossing the Sierras fearlessly.

Meanwhile… It’s not snowing in Truckee and I bet I have to go back next week. I’d better figure out how to fill helium balloons and put on snow chains.

I meant to go buy vintage luggage today, because I seem to be traveling a lot. I have this little sphere I go about in: from the Pacific to Reno and the Bay to Bend. Last week I drove over 600 miles! EGADS!

There’s just this massive turmoil brewing, bubbling, and being down from the mountains, I am no longer immune to it. It’s the sort of feeling that makes your skin crawl, like there are giant chiggers underneath your skin moving about. The hollow feeling comes from the loss of archetypes. There are no stories left to tell, no dramas left to play. Have I been quarantined? Did I quarantine myself? Was every interaction just a vampiric energy exchange that ceased with Lise Renee’s 12-D command? Hmmm, yes, all of the above, and much more I cannot even begin to comprehend. I miss the feeling of eros. I miss the energetic states that used to be induced by music. I miss the ponderosa wireless.

Sometimes though, I feel like I am in the machine elf bubble, awash in light patterns, sacred geometry. Like I am in a womb, but a motherless womb. I can’t even explain it. After a year and a half, it’s still foreign to me. So foreign. Maybe this is a step to getting back to how things worked at home, but I don’t think free will was an issue at home. No one would ever choose to assert their will in a disharmonious manner. Nice to inhabit a body, and then to go into the forest collective like the living mycelia, to become completely one with a spring or an entire watershed, to become the blue roan mare.

But right now I feel caged within this body and mind. Because even before on Earth, this body, which I have put severe mileage on, was just a soul container, and it was easy enough to be in soul anywhere else I could imagine. Everywhere I used to go is… dead. Like an empty set to a play, devoid of living energy.

It is so frustrating to not be able to use sound to create energetic fields. How do I create? How do I know? or be? Nothing excites me anymore. It’s like I have some kind of spiritual post-tramatic stress disorder. It’s been a long war. Now I spaz out at the drop of a hat. Packing for a weekend is a complex task, which without maps, causes panic. Everything is nearly incomprehensible to me at this point. I am full of anxiety and panic. The peaceful center is only within me. There is no touchstone, and without anchor, I am totally at the mercy of the vast power of the ocean. Nothing I do effects, whatsoever, the external world, which I guess is an okay price to pay to have it have less effect upon me, but this is where the hollow feeling comes from. Co-creators? There are echoes. Echoes. Maybe this is what it feels like to be “left behind.” Although I more feel like I’m between worlds. Where I am going? No idea. But I’m not on the old Earth. I’m not home. I’m not in the unity of collective consciousness, in the New Earth where The Secret is operational. I am in the silent cloud. It’s lonely, unfulfilling, boring, exhausting, empty. You see why the humans chose drama and violence over this state? Oh yes, but this is not how I prefer things either.

At this rate it will be dark long before we get to Chico. That’s just depressing.


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