a clairvoyant gift ??

greetings! So, I have been in a writing class and the following is from my first assignment, I had to pick from one of 5 sentances to start a story (I set to BOLD the sentence i was given to work with). I then had 5 minutes to write a story with a dialouge. This is what I created, hope you enjoy it.


Pat knew for a long time that a clairvoyant gift was like a thick slice of triple layer chocolate cake, warm, with vanilla iced cream on the side.
Sure, it sounds great but it comes with some downs to offset the ups. ugh! the treadmill..... Pat was sighing to herself.
Charlie distupted her thoughts by asking, "why do you think Iced Cream, instead of ice cream?"
"what?" Pat asked, shaking her head to free herself from the fog of thought she was in.
"IceD Cream, you thought, Iced Cream. Not ICE CREAM. What's with the 'D'?" asked Charlie.
Pat sighed outloud this time and begain an explination that seemed obvious to her, "Well, What IS it? It is Cream that is ICED, as in an action, you know a verb. You call it IceD tea because it's tea that has been Iced. I don't know why people call it ice cream..."
"have you always thought about it like that?" interupted Charlie.
"Yes, I have Charlie. Haven't you ever wondered about that yourself?" asked Pat, slightly annoyed.
"No, not really, but I guess it makes sense. Good call Pat." Stated Charlie "Anyway, go on with your thought about the cake"
"what?" said Pat "Cake?"
What was it that I was thinking about? Thought Pat to herself. Cake... cake.... hmmmm I think I better stop coming to all these Mind-reader annoymous meetings I can't complete a thought without...
"So, you are thinking about not coming anymore Pat?" interupted Barbara.
sigh. Thought Pat as she sat herself back up straigh in her chair.

A sleeping Dragon

It's been a while since I have blogged. A lot has happened, a birthday, a marriage (mine) and a lot of the small things that make up our lives however we choose.
Sure I have thought about writing, I think about it all of the time but the words do not always flow out of me. I keep a list of topics in a notebook (read on and a topic I have jotted notes on will reveal itself) and make plenty of notes but my thoughts and feelings sometimes get watered down or misinterpreted by the great miscommunicator (word). My favorite writers are the ones I feel I can connect to, the poems and stories and convey exactly where they are at that moment. For me its the joy of receiving a part of someones soul, not taken but gifted. Truly the greatest thing that can be done is giving people back to themselves through you own giving (not "sacrifice").
I am actually rambling on at the moment but it's not in vain. I am turned up-side-down at the moment from a news headline I read. A book "banned". Anyone who has read my bio on my Myspace or Urth.tv will note that under favorite books the simple children's book of "The Lorax" is listed. Dr. Seuss blessed the world with unique messages of trying new things (Green Eggs and Ham), that everyone counts (Horton Hears a Who), and the importance of our environment (The Lorax). Bed time stories of big time topics broken down into simple, positive messages for the child and the parent.
Like every story every written its not always about the facts of the tale but the MORAL of the tale. From children's books to the Bible we have pushed aside the the value and the lesson for the way the message was created. Not too many things make me ill but this I fear does.
The Lorax is being banned in areas because of the nature of its message. Anyone who believes the environment is not important, KEY to our survival and BEing is a fool and I dare to say has vested interest to "believe" such things.
I could rant on and on about how this seemingly meek move connects into a much larger impact (censorship) but who am I to tell anyone how to think? My hope is for each soul to take their life into their own hands, dare to learn, to educate yourself. No matter how strongly you think about something keep searching for the less biast source of the "other side" to know who you are you have to know who you are not. Anyone wanting and limiting this by banning media, thought, and expression is criminal beyond the law. They are against all that they and we are, they are denying "what separates us from the animals".
If you got to read this you are probably lucky. It won't stay up long as I prefer not to present myself in just a raw fashion, confusion can set in quickly and messages can be lost.

The Legend of Mustard Pants

The morning sun was just beginning to light the sky of eastern Long Island. We drove west in our blue mini van over the south shore bridge to where the Captri Star rested, docked at Captri Point. Excited for the day ahead we walked from the parking lot with hooded sweaters, My Father, Mother, My Brother, his Girlfriend, Tara, and I. The air was still cool as we walked the dock but the blue morning sky promised a warm sunny day. The breeze smelled of salt air and we could hear gulls calling in the distance, as if warning us, if only we had listened to their cries.
We climbed the stairs and boarded our vessel, which was being lapped by the in coming tide, and greeted all the familiar faces of our annual fishing trip. Joe, the man in charge, greets us with a hearty smile and takes some money from us for the friendly pool for the days largest (by weight) catch. Not too long after Mike skulked about taking more dollars for us for pools on every other thing imaginable from First fish caught and most fish caught to first NON-fish caught (shoe, crab, tire....) All in good fun.
Next we head to the back of the boat where we stake our claim on 5 good fishing spots, the same spots we have had year after year. Some swear to the front or port side, we take up the rear, for reasons of sun, roominess, and accessibility to both the cabin and upper deck. A strong breeze blew and we looked around, waiting for the boat to leave the dock. Just then, a boy with short hair and a thin face perked around the corner. the unfamiliar face caused a darting look from my brother to me. Something was not quite right. We were all dressed in our fishing best, old shirts, shorts, and sneakers; prepared to take the best fluids of a day of fishing, Salt water, bait juice, and the slime of a freshly caught fluke. This boy was dressed in pressed khakis colored pants and a sparkling clean tee shirt. The kind of shirt only a sk8ing poseur would wear someone who believed that their veriflex from Toys R Us was the real thing. Smiling he took note of our fishing rigs and us, the walked on. "What was that?", I asked my brother. A shrug and a sucker punch was my answer. The boat rumbled its idling engine and backed out of the slip, we were off. Shipmates brought us buckets of fluke belly and small silver bait fish to use on our lures. My brother proceeded to lay out some bait on the sunny boat ledge, swearing sun dried bait is the trick.
In the cabin bagels are set out for our breakfast and we head in for our ration and the first of many snapples for the day. As we came in the kid, from earlier, was picking at the bagels, picking them up and putting them back down one by one. My brother reached in quickly and picked out 4 bagels from the side not yet touched by the strange wandering hands. The next moment my brother was caught in the boys stare. He gleamed at my brother with eyes narrowing and intense. I grabbed a few snapples and headed to the upper deck were we ate our breakfast and enjoyed the weather. Seeing we were approaching our first fishing spot, Tara went down to prepare her line.
Suddenly a shriek from Tara sent us all rushing to where our lines lay. A piece of bait was missing from Evan's Sun drying collection and above on the rail the remains were found. An eye skillfully removed from the bait fish stared at us. As began to question what could have happened and why my brother finger flicked the eye off the rail and into the water and began to bait his hook. Deciding it was best to follow suit, I did the same, a small bit of belly and a fish pierced through its head. As I prepared my lure I found it difficult to shake the uneasy feeling in my stomach. Just then a horn sounded and lines simultaneously dropped from every part of the boat. I too dropped my line, but not before I spit on my baited hook, for luck.
A few fish were caught and we shed our hoodies into tee shirts as the summer air warmed. Laughing, bickering, and talking we fished away the morning hours. Another sound of the horn and we brought up our lines and started off to our afternoon spot. The ships crew put out several six foot heros with Macaroni and potato salad, Cole slaw, and condiments galore. Always for the pickles we went in early to grab our bounty only to find the young stranger ahead of us, once again. With a plate piled high he looked at us and smiled a sinister sneer. Chills ran down my spine, and I shook them off as best I could as he left. We served our plates up and ate, speaking of our high hopes for the second half. I has already caught a nice sized fluke to be placed in the largest fish pool.
Feeling the boat slow we returned again to our spots with our half finished snapples. No sooner than we returned the youngin' came around the corner looking in catch buckets. He looked in mine, then at me and said, "Big Fish, may be bigger than mine" with no response he soon followed up with saying, "I have a big catch to ya know". As if I had picked a fight with him. And with a sneer he went on looking in on all the other catches.
Signaled to drop our lines again we continued our day brushing off the odd events surrounding the young stranger. Requiring a bathroom break I went to the rest room as my brother and his girlfriend went to the upper deck to take a break and asked me to watch their lines when I returned. I agreed, I would.

After a good hand washing and I checked all of our lines, empty. With a now famous shrug of my shoulders and a sigh, I reached for my snapple, removed the cap and raised it up to take a swig. The suns rays lite up the amber colored liquid within the glass bottle making it slightly transparent and revealing a fish at the bottom of the bottle. As calm as I could, I called for my brother. As he climbed down to the fishing deck a cackling could be heard in the distance. He looked at me and asked, "What the hell was that?" I shrugged an ,"I don't know", and we both looked around to realize no one else had heard it. Looking down where our poles were we saw a bright yellow smear. Upon closer inspection and a smelling of the yellow material my Brother turned pale and as he looked at me I too realized it was Mustard. "Could it be?", I said. "I don't know", he answered with a worry look fixed on his brow.

Legend tells of a non fisherman boy of terror. Uncool to the core the boy is known by a large smear of mustard on his pants. He is a ghost of charter fishing boats, the lost soul to represent all those who do not know, who miss the point, who are truly competitive about the largest fish pool. A dork, in all the wrong ways, he ruins the time of those around him by his presence alone, annoying and stale he IS what no mother wants their child to bring home as a play mate. He is known as Mustard Pants.

"It's Mustard Pants! I know it Evan!", I yelled quietly. "Just calm down, we don't know that for sure. As of right now you seem to have the largest catch. That is the irritant of Mustard Pants but also the amulet against him", Evan said.

Later, the final long horn sounded telling us the fishing day was over. As we headed back to the dock all the Largest Fish Pool entries would be weighed and a winner decided. At the back of the boat the mates brought likely winners to the scale where two fish are hung and the fish that tilts the scale continues in the competition. Following closely behind the mate to the scale was our boy. Looking at all the fish as he passed, he looked at me and said, "I bet I won", with a smugness that gave me goose bumps. Just then my brother grabbed my arm and I looked at him. My brothers eyes were fixed on something and following his gaze I saw it, and fear consumed me. A large crusty smear of brown spicy mustard baked in the sun was on the boys pants. It WAS Mustard pants!

We watched terrified as his fish out weighed one after another. Soon it would be my turn. Would he win? Will he have succeeded in ruining our day of fun and frolic? Would the phrase, "Only the Geek shall survive", take on a whole new meaning?

The last fish to compete with Mustard Pants' was up, mine. His fluke hung on the hook from its gill. Mine was lifted out of its holding bucket and the mate gave me a nice nod as he took my prize and inserted a finger into his gill, prepping it for the hook. Shinning in the light and with two slimy eyes, glazed over, my fish was placed on the hook. The mate balanced out the scale and prepared to let my fish go from the grasp of his black rubber gloved hand. My fish was released from its hold and the scale swung down determining the winner....

Its just as important today as it was yesterday and will be tomorrow.

Part of learning is knowing when to bow to the master and let them teach you. So, for Valentine's Day and my Love Allow me to step down and let the immortal words of Lennon and McCartney lift you today. For EVERY day of the year should be about Love, INCLUDING this one.

Enjoy.

There's nothing you can do that can't be done.

Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.

Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game.

Nothing you can make that can't be made.

No one you can save that can't be saved.

Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.

Nothing you can know that isn't known.

Nothing you can see that isn't shown.

Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.

It's easy.

All you need is love.

And

Love is All you need.

"Joy, Truth, Love"

The Daily Storm

The waters are deep and tinted red, transparent yet not offering me a view of the bottom. Sometimes the waters are dark, black, seemingly calm on the surface. Each day I look into the glassy surface of the liquid peering hopefully into my day. Slowly clouds rise from the bottom and never in the same way. I recall days that the "rested" waters produce a swirl of clouds reminiscent of a hurricane, with an eye so defined I know that hitting land this storm would devastate and as quickly as it appears it disintegrates into a calm pool of creamy white. Other days bring a formation of clouds slowly building, mounding, rising to the surface I look upon. White tips mound down into crevasses of rich red, brown, and tan textures. On the best days the build is slow and rolling towards the surface, the cloud formation seemingly tottering below the depths, adding a rise and fall rocking motion to their magnificent formation. Slowly the surface is reached and the clouds stretch across the top like the rare lenticular formation of clouds. Is there a day that this doesn't bring even the smallest smile to my face? No. This moment, daily, is one that not even the people closest to me even know I experience. The wonder in my mind from the time I stare into my tea or coffee, pour my cream, watch my storm, then swirl it away with the tip of my silver spoon, always with grace.

Its the little things, that no one else needs to notice, that can bring so much to one's life.

How lucky am I?

"Excitabat fluctus in simpulo"

(He Stirred up waves in a wine ladle) ~Cicero

Ahh Memories

This is a little off the cuff, even for me. I was writing an E-mail to some buddies from my years at MSU and laughed so hard at myself, ehhh more than usual, I had to publish it. Trust me, if you don't find any humor here you will just have to believe that it is, in fact, funny.
When I first came to East Lansing, better known as the campus for Michigan State University (Go State!) I moved into the first floor of McDonel Hall (One East 4- Life), which consequently looked just like a TIE fighter from Star Wars. My humble room was a double occupancy (for 2 months). You want to know about my decor? Umm... OK, my decor was actually star wars sheets (Talk about Ironic), and a lot of Music posters (I had the GREATEST picture of Bob Marley EVER) and roll playing game decorations to die for, pretty standard, FOR A GUY (too bad I didn't get the memo quite yet that I am IN FACT a Women). Oh!, My roommate? What was she like? Glad you asked.
My roommate was not a small person. She in fact, took to eating entire pizza's while laying in her bed, how she accomplished this? I am not quite sure but I secretly admired her for it. Quickly, and I am talking the speed at which it takes an industrial fryer to flash fry an ox, my roommate got a nick name, "The Bear".
As it would turn out I would often come back to my room from class or work to find a note on the door telling me that she was having, yet another, Bible Study, and I was to come back in 2 hours. NICE. Now mind you, You probably have an idea that I have no problems with religion, but.... that's just irritating. To Further my case I will tell you that while doing my physics or Botany work she would be studying at her desk and Thanking the lord, himself, EVERY TIME she got an answer on her prep test correct. But anyway, that has everything and nothing to do with why I am writing about this.
Here's the Good Part about my roommate:
She LOVED Whitney Houston, had that creepy scrap book of every Whitney article ever, She showed it to me once. I was afraid. It was kept in the lower drawer of her filing cabinet that was full of snickers bars. No not the mini's the full sized ones.
She Blasted Whitney, ALL OF THE TIME! Oh She LOVED that women something fierce. She owned 4 CDs 3 of Whitney and 1 Gospel album (that I liked). Truth is that the constant Whitney brain worm has left me with a permanent tick. If I hear that voice singing out well, my eye twitches and I curl up on the floor. Now I will not lie, I was very depressed at that time of my life, ask anyone who knew me. Whitney was not the best thing for a girl who only fell asleep when she passed out from exhaustion and sleep deprivation.
So you can imagine my surprise to hear my new neighbor in the apt across from me is Pumping up the Whitney as we speak. I wonder if she too is going to come and tell me that I need to be saved and she is telling me that I am going to go to hell because she doesn't want Jesus saying to her (in heaven) "Tracy.... why didn't you tell your college roommate about me? Why didn't you TRY to save her soul?, She's in hell now" i would have to explain to her too that "I don't believe in hell or judgement, just love"

Ahhh.... Memories.
OH, You want to know what happened to my roommate? Swas scared of animals and I was about to inherit that 5 ft. Iguana from Andy who lived on the fifth floor. Why the Hell did He leave me his Iguana? The Scorpions I had probably didn't help either.
Hmmm.....

Fire and Ice

February 2 marks the Festival of the Celtic Goddess Brigid, also known as the Imbolic, and the Quickening Full Moon. The Imbolic celebrates one of Brigids two elements, fire, the growing light within, and the lengthening of days. Lighting Candles and sacred fires also begins the preparations for spring and planting as nature itself begins to wake from its winter slumber. Offerings to the sacred waters and the element of water, the second element of Brigid, brings blessings to the New year. A Patron of poets, healers, and smiths Brigid was a triple Goddess of duel elements. Her offerings to the world are wisdom, Skill, craftmanship, inspiration, imagination, and energy balance and restoration. Blessings from her protected the fire of a new life growing within the watery belly of a Mother.
The Quickening moon of February offers purification and illumination. Traditionally on the night of the full moon candles are lit and a bowl of snow or ice is brought in the home. Upon the bowl of snow/ice thoughts of old habits that no longer work for your life are placed. When the snow/ice is melted the water is poured down the drain or upon the earth releasing the old habits and opening the door of new possibilities. Brush your hands, give thanks, and look with hope to the spring.

"Be transformed like the rose, into rosewater of be like thorns cast into the fire"

An Idea

Thinking about it for a moment what I need. What do I need? The only answer that makes absolute sense to me is, nothing. Nothing I don't already hold. All the things are just that. What to I need to become? Nothing. There is nothing I have to be other than what I am. In being right now, being true to my spirit, my truth I will not be rejected. I will not be thrown away. I will be cherished, held dear, and in my wildest dream inspiring. That may be "all" but it is also everything to me. I could think about where I would like to be right now, in arms I love to rest in, but then I would miss all the glory in THIS moment here. And when I am in those arms, resting, I would not be resting taking in the love being freely given, I would be thinking of when I would no longer be there, dreading it, fearing it. Caught forever in the future, wanting what I have known from the past, and missing the present. Yesterday and Tomorrow are figments, manifestations of the mind. Everything that has, is, or will ever happen will always Happen Now. Waiting for a moment only causes us to miss it, for the minute it arrives we throw it by the way side to worry about when it will end and when will the next moment occur. If we would just BE we would embrace it. That is the trick all masters know, to always do the same thing, just be. I will be in those arms again and rest. And until then I will be Here. Happy. Content. Hopeful. Loving. And being loved. "Be a bringer of Light. For your light can do more than illuminate your own path. Your light can be the light which truly lights the world."