Black Bear Calling Synchronicity, Part I

BlackBear1

Encouraged by my friend to tell the story:

A story in parts. A true story.

The year may have been 1997, or 1998. This is a test telling, and the specifics can be confirmed later.

I had recently returned from the tunnel with the bright, white light at the end. I shot through it at breakneck speed, feet first, roaring like the finest locomotive, clanging, head banging, roughed up yet lightning smooth. I did not return by that same route. The return route included an encounter, an experience, a wandering of sorts, an observation, a question and a concern, before “snap,” I was back, pulling the oxygen mask from my mouth and nose, facing them, eyes to eyes to eyes, seeing their deep fear, hearing it in their quivering, anxious voices. I am apologizing. I am wondering…

“Don’t go home alone.”

It was after “the blood transfusion.” Three pints. I was still adjusting, transitioning, melding…the strangers blood with my own, up close and personal. Strange, new tastes in foods, and sudden repulsion in the presence of some of my favorites…and the compromises, who would win out, how could we find a way, who is this stranger within, who are you, who were you? The smell of the juicy steak, now rotten, like death on a platter. The rejuvenating cells coursing through my body, making repairs in places, medicine never before known, new habits, and the weakening, the alterations, things dying and being replaced by someone else’s things, some better some worse, it’s how it must be. I am no longer who I once was, and yet I am still here.

“Don’t go home alone.”

I cannot tell you how much of the change was by the blood or by the light.

The feeling of suffocation, the urgency, time is being wasted, the realization, in the blink of an eye, I can’t catch my breath, the heaviness of this earthbound body, just like that, death comes. I’m so angry. I never knew how close it walks beside me, how thin the veil. Who gave you permission to save me?

“Don’t go home alone.”

Part I of A Story in Parts, with permission.

Brenda and Tanya
Black Bear Crossing

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Last Words

Last Words I have been privileged to witness:

“Baby Girl, if you hadn’t woke me up, I don’t think I would’ve woke up.”

“I’m not feeling so well, I think I’ll just go on out to the car.”

“I’m going home today.”

“Wven I see him, I tell him, you guhd girl.”

“Will you miss me when I leave in June?” “No.” “Oh come on, you know you’re going to miss me.” “No I won’t, either, cuz I won’t be here.”

“Angel.”

“Mommy’s going to be okay.”

“I do wish you would just listen to Sarah Palin.”

“Oh Lord. Be with me.”

“I put on my new watch today because I’m going home.”

“Mommy.”

“She’s with me all the time now, and she won’t leave.”

“Mother.”

“Did you see her?”

“Catch you on the flip side.”

“Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.”

“I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“I’m just tired now, so very tired.”

“I think I’d rather go with that one there.” (pointing to the ceiling)

“I see it.”

“When you get married for real, you can wear this ring.” (removing her wedding ring)

“He’s sitting in the chair over there, waiting for me.”

“The doctor said I’m going to be just fine.”

“Tell my babies I love them.”

“Who is that man over there?”

“The little baby is crying over there. Go pick him up and bring him to me.”

“You’re an angel, aren’t you?”

“Thank you.”

“Turn around. I want to see your angel wings.”

“I’m going to take a long nap.”

“It will be better in the morning.”

“Christmas!”

“I just saw my Mommy. She told me she loves me. But, she was always deaf and mute. Her smile was beautiful. I’ve never heard her voice before.”

-Tanya

Paranthropology, An Anthropological Approach to the Paranormal; Guest Edited by Mark A. Schroll, PhD

Volume 8, Issue 1 includes my commentary, “Catalysts that Initiate Embodied Knowing,” beginning page 56.

Free Download and Print Copies Available for $7.71.

https://www.lulu.com/shop/view-cart.ep

http://paranthropologyjournal.weebly.com/free-pdf.html

Contents:

Editor’s Introduction: Revisiting Cultural Evolution and Technological Evolution in Consciousness Studies – Mark A. Schroll

A Quest for a Temple to Sleep In – Sarah Janes

The Big Dream and Archaeo-Geo-Neuro-Pharmaco-Parapsychological Theories – David Luke

Odin: Wandering Shaman Seeking Truth – Mark A. Schroll

Commentary: Dreams, Drugs and the Engines of Creativity – Ryan Hurd

Nature Awareness and Psychedelics: Report and Commentary on a Presentation by Ralph Metzner and Kathleen Harrison – Heather Walker

REVIEW: Dr. Strange: A Cinematic Journey into the Multiverse and Otherworldly Realities – Mark A. Schroll

REVIEW: Cultural Perspectives on Mental Wellbeing: Spiritual Interpretations of Symptoms in Medical Practices by Natalie Tobert – Teresa McLaren

Revisiting the Meaning of Chief Seattle’s Speech – Mark A. Schroll

The Meaning of the Cover Design: Envisioning a Cosmic Archetypal Model of Personality – Mark A. Schroll

The Meaning of the Hourglass Symbol – Regina U. Hess

The Archetypal Cauldron: A Clinical Application of the Anti-Hero in Transpersonal Art Therapy and the Hebraic Lore of the Golem – Claire Polansky

Catalysts that Initiate Embodied Knowing: Reflection on Individuation, Synchronicity and Ritual Space – Tanya Hurst

Reply to Tanya Hurst & Wendy E. Cousins – Claire Polansky

Commentary: Reflections on the Supernatural and its Relation to Spiritual Emergency/Emergence – Claire Polansky

Escaping the Night of the Living Dead: Toward a Transpersonal Ecosophy – Mark A. Schroll

 

Animal Body

WOLF

I thought I understood. I did not.

I am learning what it means to be in my body, my animal body.

I have always risen above the darkness, left my body. So I did not “feel” the darkness. I am not accustomed to feeling in this way. I am raw.

My animal body, my instincts, are here to protect me, to warn me of danger, to keep me alive.

I have always associated “instinct” with “intuition.” This is a different knowing.

This is the ears of a doe, hearing the leaves crackle under the hunter’s foot. These are the yellow eyes that can see in the dark. This is my wolf snout, snotty and tracking the scent. This is the wind in my mane. This is my nerve endings going taught, and my fur bristling.

I am animal. I am animal. I am animal.

How did I forget?

I know the smell of the bear on the bark, and I know the smell of blood, and…I could eat you alive, tear the tendon right off your bones, and crunch you between my teeth.

This is why I have come to this place.

-Tanya

 

Hot Sea Glass

Sea Glass
Things little mellow
No pink cry.
Words to the sudden
Sea shell green
Safe jar.

There are blue
Bleeds that
Can swim red
Trees in the
Heart heron dark.

Grace me night gold
See between moon.
I will through fare
An earthy fate fight
Wormwind soil.

Hurricane salve.
Wait for warm summer
Tea leaves.
Can Soul cure
All a lifetime cloud

Honey sweet.
Last long into a star
Arms heart
Solace hold bitter peace
Blanket me space.

Sacred plea spoon
Red broken china song
Sugar cup.
Truth sighs a safe house
Blue willow deep bend.

Roots Ginger
On a forehead freckle
Cool fever sweat
Breath dress boardwalk
Stretch sand over toes.

Mountain leagues.
Voice whispers
Low singing sea lions
On a deep wave roll.
Rock salt, taffy sign, wine

And a fly fishing pony.

– Tanya

Library in the Window

WINDOWSILL
Library in the Window

It’s story time and the little ones gather around her knee

On a soft pink rug for rugged knees in tattered jeans from too much playing at

escapist art.

The setting where we venture in some wild adventure into the land of man or animal or Buddha, maybe it was Geisha then,
or an Amethyst with a name

in the windowsill, or in the wood, or in the box, or in the wardrobe,

who knows, as our minds wander in the morning sun, warmed by the fire
of lost boys,
or girls or puppy breath,
or what’s next and then

the plot we know not.

This one stands for majesty, an oak of understanding or

Was it sparkle pump in the profile then, no

the Buddha girl with curly peppered hair who said a circle of friend, just one, with a little help from that book of music.

Oh how they mingle in the windowsill, branches touching in some unspoken meaningful array of

Cobwebs hanging on a wing touched by Oklahoma, no

A tortoise shell, I’ll tell you.

This one stands for then and that one stands for now passing on the mystery to some future girl of tiny gifts in a tiny town invited.

To gaze at a windowsill in wonder, swaying pines, newspaper clad artifacts, and handmade cloaks in closets above a green box of mementos more

lost.
I gather you.

The singing trunks in guitar tunes in the wind of my imagination singing Wagon Wheel over air plants two and two in blue clouds on glass.

Tears marching under the palm of that angel, little tyrants hell bent on a sugar compost high.

Oh and that one with football shoulders playing scrabble carrying dust to the sea anemone to the left of the quartz, or quarterback or

Was it a tick filled skull.

Ouch that hurts.

Dusting things with watered down resin.

I’ll carry that with me forever and you have a peach seed in your pocket now.

How did the story go tell me? Shhh. Let the windowsill speak of the circle of elders watching above a gnomes home in June.

Whistle whistle.
Girl in the Tree.
I’ll be there but I might not be me

Sporting gray buns smelling like bay leaves over
medicine smoke come
healing, loving,
healing, loving,
tall time tales.

Rocking back and forth in a fork of solace on the mountain where we met in apple picking days

stacked on the shelf,
telling children that never came, I died before the guests arrived.

– Tanya

For the Ecosophist

Mark A. Schroll’s “Ecology, Cosmos, and Consciousness: Myths, Comicbook Lore, Dreams, and Inquires Into Various Other Radical Transpersonal Ecosophical States” will be published in the coming month and I’m told that one of my writings is included inside. I’m looking forward to reading Mark’s work on Transpersonal Ecosophy and hope you will check it out too. I will post a link when it’s available.
Ecology Cosmos Book Cover
Ecology Cosmos Book Back

Finding Treasure

My mom has been dead 9 years, and…she used to record and send me movies, which I rarely got the chance to watch.

Its amazing and very hard for me to admit, how many things my mother sent to me, that I basically treated as trivial, and overlooked. You know, it’s just a kid movie, not my thing, I’ll watch it later. Only later ended up being way later.

The first I watched after returning home from the funeral, “The Last Mimzy.”

Then when she was gone, I put them away for a long time, so way later got even later.

I found her book of poetry, which had a poem written to me many years ago. She’d read the poem to me before, but never included the title, “To Tanya, My Daughter,” so I never realized it was a personal apology to me until after her death.

I’ve been gradually watching one of the movies here or there of late. It seems, they each express a sense of her experience.

Yesterday I watched, “What’s Eating Gilbert Grape.”

My mom had Multiple Sclerosis, and was often confined to the house when I’m sure she would have preferred to be on a family outing, maybe. I recall she was unable to go to the Cherokee Nation the last time, or the Pow Wow, (but insisted we go) because the walking and heat would have caused an exacerbation that would have taken her down for days or weeks. Only, she wouldn’t say this was the reason. Instead, she would create a big scene and imagined slight, and then refuse to go in an angry storm. I’m sure she felt herself to be a burden at times, both physically and emotionally.

I wish I’d seen the movies while she was here, but even so, I think I would not have received the messages in the same way then. She was not one to admit weakness.

I’m sure there is a lesson in here. I guess, someone can be aware of a thing, yet be unable to, or unaware how to, address or change it. So things go denied, are left unsaid, and then time runs out. My mom was never a burden, physically, but because of her perceived sense of being a burden, and her own feelings of worthlessness, she was often a burden, emotionally, creating scenes that were very unpleasant. In fact, she was very valued and adored, in spite of herself.

I guess the lesson is, to ask for what you need, to be willing to have the difficult conversations for clarity, and to not put things off, consider everything a gift, to be opened, immediately.

Still uncovering jewels here.

God’s Mirror

Gods Mirror

The Steps that led to the showers were difficult to navigate

Not believing in such things

Two flying things in the monks shower stall

When the earthquake came

It picked up the one

Dashing it to its death in a powerful water fall

The second flying thing

Just watched

Undaunted

So courageous

I say the second flying thing had faith

In the earthquake

Do you want to know which one writes the poetry,

And which is the poem?

Ask the chanting monk.
MONKS