I recently wrote about the intense lightning storm we had the other night. The astonishing and relentless strings of flashes that seemed to reach into our bedroom from all directions to shake us awake were intensely brilliant. And I know I mentioned it before, but the lack of accompanying thunder was eerie.
Today, I was sitting on our porch writing when I looked up and noticed some very bruised looking clouds amassing on the western horizon. In only a few minutes, the wind started whipping around, flinging our Christmas tree (which we leave outside near the feeders to give shelter to the birds through the springtime) into the side of Karl’s car and slamming our front door open. I ran to shut that door again and as I returned to the porch I saw a burst of searing brilliance at the corner of our road as a transformer blew.
Seeing those sparks arc halfway across the roadway made me realize just how different this social isolation would be if all of us weren’t so connected in so many other ways. Hail started clattering onto the porch and bouncing off our kitchen door.
Brilliant Sunshine
Only a few hours later, Karl and I were back out taking our daily perambulation. The only remnants of the wildness of the earlier storms were the literal logs that had broken off in the maelstrom and been strewn in the roadway in at least three places.
But the day was crystal clear and all the pollen had been wiped clean from every leaf.
Too bad I couldn’t capture in a photo the lightning of the other evening. But I did manage to ‘snag’ a shot of a different type of lightning. I call it ‘tree lightning,’ which is – well, certainly safer photograph!
Time for me to get to bed. I stayed up way too late last night, feeling sure the glitch in my server would be fixed at any moment and I’d be able to publish my post in a timely manner.
Guess I had that wrong.
But I’d be remiss if I didn’t include at least one rainbow photo from the day before yesterday. The colors were simply breathtaking. Surely the rainbows were a message that we must not give in to the sadness, worry, and fear all around us. We must dig deep and find our hope.
Yesterday Karl and I made a point of taking our walk a little later than the day before, when we knew we would have the best chance to witness the rise of the vaunted Super Pink Moon. We walked along one of the roads near our home that meanders through several fields belonging to a horse farm that sits atop a ridge. It’s a vast expanse of land and is a great place to observe all sorts of celestial events. It’s one of my favorite ‘go-to’ places when meteor showers, eclipses, and other such happenings are taking place in the night sky, although this turned out to be a somewhat strange evening.
As we waited for the moon to rise, we were distracted and intrigued by some unique cloud formations. Most noticeable were a handful of lenticular clouds that almost seemed to be moving ‘against the grain’ of the greater cloudbank behind them.
UFO clouds 2 – Photo: L. Weikel
Missing Time
The funny thing is, we were both hell bent on catching a glimpse of the moon rise, and by that I mean we wanted to catch sight of it as it rose above the horizon, since we knew it was supposed to be the largest ‘super moon’ of 2020. As a result, we were fixated on constantly checking the horizon line.
Meanwhile, these lenticular clouds were quite distracting – at least to me. The clouds seemed to be moving in relation to one another, in a more conscious than usual manner. I’m not entirely sure why they kept drawing my attention, but they did. And it felt as though they were communicating with each other. It was an odd feeling.
Photo: L. Weikel
Eventually, though, we decided that perhaps there was more of an overcast pall to the horizon than appeared to our eyes. So we decided to resume our walk, after having hung out at this spot for a good 20-25 minutes. As we started resuming our trek, one of the horses came galloping across the field toward us. I’d brought a carrot just in case, and walked back toward where the mare was now standing, grazing nonchalantly, pretending she didn’t really want any attention.
I called to the beautiful creature, holding out the carrot, when all of a sudden she arched her tail and took off like a shot, tearing across the field away from me like she was being chased by the devil.
All in all, an odd reaction that was completely unexpected.
I left the carrot inside the fence and caught up with Karl and the pups. We continued walking for about five minutes when – all of a sudden – I glanced to my left and there she was: Grandmother Moon in all her full, Super Pink glory, a beacon of glowing orange gorgeousness already a substantial distance above the horizon.
Karl and I just marveled at her magnificence. How in the world had we missed her slipping above the horizon?
It was as if we’d lost almost an hour of time. Between the odd clouds, the spooked horse, and the lost span of time between the moon rising above the horizon to when she became obvious to us, it just didn’t feel as though it added up quite right.
Finale
And as a grand finale last evening, after writing and publishing my post, I went outside with Sheila to give her one last opportunity to tinkle before bed. The sky was bright, and I knew where the moon should be – but once again, she was nowhere to be seen. The night sky was so uniform in appearance that it didn’t even appear to be cloudy. But it had to be. There were no stars. No moon in sight. And yet, as I said, it was ‘bright.’ Sheila, oddly, turned right around without doing a thing and made a bee-line for the door, as if to say, “Nope. Not peeing. Let’s get outta here.” (That’s significant for her, since she’s always good for a tinkle.)
We immediately went upstairs and got into bed. I read for about ten minutes and, falling asleep sitting up, turned my light out. It couldn’t have been half an hour later when I was awakened by flashes of really bright light. No thunder. Just lights. Lighting up our room. My first thoughts were of ambulances, weirdly, or search lights. But then I realized it was lightning – yet it seemed to be coming in all four of our bedroom windows. It was as if we were surrounded by lightning. And there was no thunder. I woke Karl briefly so he could at least fleetingly verify my perceptions.
Suddenly, rain pelted the roof. But the lightning didn’t relent. The flashing was almost kaleidoscopic. Yet somehow, in the midst of all of this, I just ‘decided’ to just go back to sleep.
The whole experience qualified as a very strange evening. And when I awakened, I could feel I’d slept hard – and deeply. It took a long while and a couple cups of coffee to feel fully ‘in’ my body.
Super Pink Moon w/cloud halo – Photo: L.Weikel
**And another layer of strangeness? Tonight’s post was the FIRST post in 514 days that I was unable to get published before I went to bed. My website’s server was down for over THIRTEEN HOURS.
Aroooo! It’s the Call of the Wild. Or is it the Hounds of the Baskervilles? You’d be forgiven if you involuntarily shuddered, felt goosebumps prickling along your arms, and sensed the hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention.
Once again, I wish you could put your finger on the photo below so you could hear the audio that accompanies this ‘live’ photo I took with my iPhone. Alas, you cannot. So you’ll just have to trust me – and trust your own imagination – when I tell you these Wolfhounds create a cacophony of howling, baying, woofing, barking, and growling each and every time we walk past their enclosed fields. Which means pretty much almost every single day.
Tonight was even more special, though. Not only did this guy (or gal, I don’t get close enough to inspect) perform some impressive full moon inspired antics as it bounced its way along the fence spanning the entire stretch of its masters’ property line, but it also got its brothers, sisters, and parents too (we surmise) riled up by extension. The unbelievably hair-raising moans and howls coming from their shelters up by the main house was preternatural – and a perfect accompaniment to the rising Super Pink Moon.
Wolfhound – Photo: L. Weikel
A Quiet Meander
After running the gauntlet of the Howlers this evening, we deliberately took our time walking home this evening. The moon was stunning. Every time we looked at her, a different perspective begged to be exclaimed over, preserved, and shared.
Most of our walk was in silence. The pull of this moon is profound.
Even now, as I write these couple of words to you this evening, I can see her brilliance lighting up the sky as I glance out the window. I sense her presence outside and above me every bit as much as I know, without seeing them in this moment, the shadows her reflected light casts all about us.
We’re All Affected
Let’s face it, we’re comprised more of water than anything else. It stands to reason that we’re profoundly influenced by the magnetic pull of this amazing satellite. I think it’s just that some of us are more aware of her subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) embrace than others.
I hope you had a chance to appreciate her beauty and presence this evening.
Imagine how surprised I was to hear even Brian Williams sign off his “11th Hour with Brian Williams” program on MSNBC tonight with an entreaty that all of us get outside and appreciate the Super Pink Moon.
What an unexpected joy to hear a news program sign off with the value of delighting in gazing at the moon. And even better? He foreshadowed the coming alignment of Jupiter, Saturn, Mars, and the moon in mid-April. Knock me over with a feather.
Super Pink Moon – almost looking like Saturn – Photo: L. Weikel
Nearly full moon – late afternoon – Photo: L. Weikel
Super Pink Moon
Wow. We’ve already had two ‘super’ full moons in 2020, with tomorrow’s Super Pink Moon promising to be the ‘biggest’ of them all. That’s because our celestial little sister will be closer to the Earth for tomorrow night’s display than it’s been for the first two.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve found the full moons since this past December particularly intense. Between eclipses and super moons, in a lot of ways it’s felt as though we’ve been whipsawed from one challenging (and I use that word charitably) experience to another.
And now, of course…here we find ourselves. In uncharted territory, to put it mildly.
Pluto and Jupiter’s Added Influence
As if most of us don’t already notice an uptick in sensitivity or perhaps emotional volatility near the full moon, tomorrow’s cosmic event is almost guaranteed to hit us with a good thwack. That’s because in addition to the Super Pink Moon being the one that will appear biggest and most beautiful (and thus almost certainly tug on our heads and hearts most powerfully), it is occurring while Jupiter and Pluto are sitting practically on top of each other (known as being ‘conjunct’ with each other).
Just to give you a thumbnail sketch, Pluto is the ruler of life/death/rebirth, dramatic upheaval, destruction, and transformation. Jupiter basically makes everything ‘bigger.’ And in 2020, these two planets will be ‘conjunct’ with each other three times: April 4th (yes, here we are, just starting to realize the utter enormity of Covid-19’s impact on our entire world), June 30th, and then November 12th (oh goody – nine days after our scheduled presidential election). What could go wrong!?
Given everything we’re going through at the moment, here’s an especially intriguing article.
A Monumental Time
I’m pointing all of this out because I find it fascinating how so much of what we’re experiencing is reflected in the cosmos. And I, at least, find it helpful to try to bear in mind that knowledge is power.
No, we may not be able to shift the alignment of the planets or avoid (or prevent) the impact of these celestial conjunctions and the emotional wallop a super full moon might have on our experience and perception of everything that’s going on around us. But realizing that all of this is unfolding and impacting how we feel about it all can temper its impact – even if just a little bit.
And right now? We need all the awareness, compassion, and kindness toward ourselves, each other, and our collective emotions as we can muster.
So, please. As the next couple days unfold, remember the gigantic forces at play right now and be gentle – with yourselves and with everyone you encounter (which hopefully will not be all that many people since we’re supposed to be staying home!).
Give yourself a chance to check out that Super Moon as it rises tomorrow. And as you do, perhaps you can close your eyes and tap into the energies you may have seen or felt when you did that global meditation the other evening. Open your heart to love and healing. And let us all hold onto our hope.
As I sit here trying to think of something to write this evening, I keep dismissing each idea that pops into my head. Nope. Not that. Nope. Not that, either. I annoy myself as I nix each thought. Until I realize: I’m holding my breath.
Literally and figuratively.
So I write that as the working title to my post and I realize with the force of a whack upside the head that this awful freaking virus is all about our breath. It’s all about breath and breathing. Or not being able to take one or enjoy doing it anymore.
I make a point to take a deep breath – if only to notice it, relish it, be grateful for it.
Momentous Week
Why am I holding my breath? Because I, too, feel this week will bring shock and sadness to so many of us. To any and all of us who are paying attention.
And it will only be the beginning.
We thought we were witnessing the beginning recently? No. We weren’t. We were just watching the opening credits.
Now is when the rough stuff really starts unfolding, when the images we see playing out before us slam into the vision of reality that we insist on pretending we see. This is when we find out whether the center can hold – on whether our centers can hold. This is when we are faced with the consequences of our choices and the choices of others.
We’re In This Together
Because, yet again, we’re in this together. The dire predictions for New York City are probably going to start manifesting this week. But the real shock is going to come when it happens elsewhere.
Everyone expects NYC to get slammed. Many who are intimidated by the intensity and startling diversity of NYC look at NYC in smug judgment. But what about other cities that are not quite as diverse? Rural areas? Our small towns and villages where people think they’re immune to the consequences of policies enacted in Washington D. C.? Something tells me they’re in for a terrible surprise.
So…yeah. I’m holding my breath. I don’t want the dire predictions to play out. And I wish we didn’t have to live through such cataclysm in order to force us to change our ways.
But as long as we insist on thinking we’re special or it won’t happen to us we perpetuate the spread of this misery.
There is a solution. There is a lesson. It’s the realization on the most profound of levels (from the seemingly insignificant to the obviously momentous) that we’re really and truly all connected. We are all related. And we need to start acting like it, from the ground up. I’m holding my breath (again) – for all of us.
In case you’re wondering, yes, I did stop what I was doing this evening at 10:40 p.m. so I could sit with people worldwide in 20 minutes of meditation. If and when I suggest others do something for themselves or the greater good, I do my best to follow through and do it myself as well. Karl joined me, and I’m grateful.
My Experience
Obviously, everyone who engaged in this process had their own unique experience. A substantial part of my ‘time’ felt like it was spent connecting to other people I know who are mesa carriers, as well as people I know, love, and care about. People I do not know personally, but whose hearts I recognize. I saw myself connecting to each of you and beyond, connecting through the warp and weft of brilliant golden threads that spread across our beautiful Mother Earth in pattern after pattern of the flower of life. I felt myself joining countless others weaving these golden threads of light together and reinvigorating not only the cekes (streams of light) that join us heart to heart, but also the ley lines spanning our beloved planet.
I imagined the collective dross conjured by humanity, the ‘hucha,’ the heaviness, the greed and cruelty, the disease, pain, and profound grief. I saw this lack of light in its chokehold over our world and then witnessed it breaking apart, exploding into a massive black powder that dissipated into thin air.
There was a palpable sense of all of us joining together to raise our collective vibration up a notch or two (or more?) creating a higher vibration of caring and compassion for each other and all beings with whom we share this planet (including Mother Earth herself). I flew over all the healthcare workers not only here in the U.S., but across the world, doing their best to alleviate the suffering of others and sent them gratitude and peace.
I thanked the souls who are choosing to leave the planet at this time, hoping their sacrifices call attention to the insanity of our way of life so they will be catalysts for profound change.
Interesting Discovery
When I searched just now for an imagine to include with this post, I tried to find something that reflected what I saw in my mind’s eye. I was led to the image I’ve included, which is linked to this web site. I’ve not read anything on it yet, but it looks intriguing.
But the image was so strikingly similar to what my meditation envisioned, I just had to include it. And it was only fair to include a link to the website itself.
Thank you – each of you – who participated this evening. I know I felt the connection, and I hope you did as well.
I’ve noticed myself having an odd impulse lately and I’m not quite sure what to make of it. It’s probably nothing. But the urge is definitely there, palpable and a little bit strange.
It happened again just this morning.
I was doing the dishes, contemplating life and all its complicated intricacies. Thinking about how long the strictest aspects of this surreal situation will probably need to remain in place. Wondering what parts of our lives will never be the same again.
All of a sudden I caught myself thinking, “I need to call Mommy and see how she’s doing. I wonder what she thinks of all this.” In that moment, I could literally feel and imagine myself speaking to my mother on the phone, each of us marveling at the dramatic shifts in our reality.
An Impossibility
When I realized exactly what I was imagining, I sort of jolted back to this moment in time, my hands once again in the hot, soapy dishwater – not holding the receiver of a telephone. I recalled a similar fleeting sense of being oh-so-close to having a conversation with her having passed over me only a day or so earlier, as well.
The trouble with those fleeting thoughts lay in the fact that my mother passed away in 1991.
Perspective
I’m reminded that she was two years old when the Spanish Flu of 1918 hit our country. Surely she must have heard stories about that horrible event, even though she herself was too young to recall its effects.
And yet I don’t recall hearing even one story about that time in our country’s history.
I wonder: did my grandparents discuss the situation with my aunt and uncle, who were both much older than my mother? Did any of them wear masks when they went outside? Did they make a point to ‘stay at home?’
I wonder if that epidemic influenced my aunt, who was thirteen years old at the time of the 1918 flu, to ultimately major in microbiology and serve in Massachusetts’s public health system.
And how is this global disruption of our lives and the way we interact with each other influencing the strands of destiny of each and every one of us? How weird is it to think that the babies being born right now will never know life without this pandemic as the beginning of a new normal that we have yet to imagine?
Sometimes we just want to talk to our mothers, I guess. And now is one of those times for me.
The other day I mentioned the Biodiversity Project I participate in every 1st day of the month. It’s a simple activity that uses only 10 drops of something called Essence of Perelandra and calls upon Nature to use those drops and the power of intention to come into a state of balance vis-à-vis climate change.
I want everyone to know that I do not gain a single thing by suggesting you join me in this endeavor. I don’t receive any recognition or remuneration from Perelandra. (They don’t even know I am promoting them and their products.) The only reason I encourage you to check out their website, the gardens, their operation as a whole, and how it got started is because I find it fascinating, supportive of my own health, deeply ecologically sound, and respectful of Mother Earth and Nature.
I suggested you take the five minutes to engage in the Biodiversity Project because it is something tangible that we can all do to make a difference.
Saturday, April 4th, 2020
Which leads me to another activity that you can choose to embrace: a global meditation this Saturday, April 4th. The aim of the organizers is to have 1 million people sitting quietly and focusing their attention on and “anchor in the energies of Peace, Harmony, Abundance, Freedom, Healing, and the most positive Ascension Timeline imaginable.”
Lofty, but certainly admirable, energies to be welcoming into our collective imagination and consciousness.
The organizers are requesting that we engage in this group meditation at exactly the same time around the globe, specifically, 10:45 p.m. EST for 20 minutes. As I’m typing this, it occurs to me that they almost certainly mean DST, and simply didn’t realize that by April 4th Daylight Savings Time would’ve kicked in.
There are specific instructions which you can find here. My intention, however, will be simply to focus on those qualities I listed above manifesting here on Earth for the highest good of Mother Earth and all her children, including us (humanity).
I want to be clear: I do not necessarily ascribe to some of the concepts put forth by the organizers of this event. Indeed, some of what is written seems a bit ‘out there’ and conspiratorial for my taste. As always, I suggest you use your discernment.
But the idea of getting as many people as possible to quiet their minds and focus their intentions on raising their consciousness, calling forth those qualities of Peace, Harmony, Abundance, Freedom, and Healing, feels useful, hopeful, and potentially quite powerful. Hence, I don’t think we should ‘throw the baby out with the bathwater.’
I remember when Karl and I participated in the “Harmonic Convergence,” a similar world-wide consciousness raising gathering back in 1987. The celestial event that prompted that global effort took place during the daytime here in Pennsylvania and I remember we sat outside in the sun on the towpath beside the Delaware River.
At 10:45 p.m. this Saturday evening, when Pluto and Jupiter ‘conjunct,’ I will be tucked inside my home, giving Mother Earth and all of us who live upon her 20 minutes of my own peace of mind, focus, love, and attention.
I’ll give it a chance – who knows what the power of potentially a million others with the same intention can do to effect change? It’s worth a try.
Christmas Lights in April (2020) – Photo: L.Weikel
Christmas Lights
I walked outside this evening and was entranced by the exquisite clarity of the night sky. A cool breeze wrapped around me, but I noticed that it wasn’t harboring a cold edge. Rather, it was refreshing and soothing; it almost seemed happy to see me outside, looking up, drinking in the brilliance of the half moon above me. The stars seemed unusually bright and twinkly.
The wind sighed in the massive boughs of the pines across the road.
I don’t know what it was about this evening that felt so different. But it did. And it does.
I went outside for the express purpose of taking a photo of our smattering of Christmas lights which we never took down and recently decided to reignite for a bit. Obviously, my purpose in venturing outside to take a photo of the lights was to share them with you.
Giving and Receiving
There’s probably something to that – a connection between my desire to share the simple pleasure of colorful lights decorating the darkness and the unexpected blessing of feeling seen and greeted, dazzled even, by the totality of the Earth, wind, sky, moon, and stars.
The entire experience has left me near tears. Perhaps just more of those weird feelings. Or perhaps its something else. Something bigger.
It feels bigger. The stillness feels bigger. The precious interconnection between everything – all of us – feels more acute to me.
My Intention
The point of tonight’s post was simply to share the joy it gave Karl and me to turn our Christmas lights back on and bring some color and whimsy to the darkness.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the night; I love darkness, especially when our eyes adjust and we realize it’s not dark at all.
But right now it feels like we could all use a little reminder. It’s funny. The lights we strung outside this past Christmas season were not traditional Christmas colors at all. And lighting up the night right now, they seem particularly appropriate: orange, green, blue and red. What an odd conglomeration. Brilliant colors nevertheless – illuminating the night.
And if I hadn’t chosen to write this post tonight and wanted to include a photo of our Christmas lights, I never would have experienced the embrace of Nature I received.
It’s the first day of April by the time any of you read this, since I know I won’t get it published until after midnight. I’m sure you share with me the inclination to cock your head and ask, “Really? It’s April? What year?”
Nothing is normal anymore. Every single day we plunge deeper and deeper into an abyss of horror. “Surely,” we say to each other, “surely this is some vast apocalyptic nightmare movie that we’re all playing bit parts in. We’re extras in a movie starring Donald Trump, right?”
We’d be excused for thinking so – for thinking that we are no more than walk-on extras who are expendable in every way, as long as the star gets his due.
But I didn’t want to go there, so you can just forget these first couple of paragraphs. On to something tangible we can do.
Perelandra’s Biodiversity Project
I’ve written about this before – a number of times. The first explanation I gave of this very simply procedure that takes no more than five minutes, using ten drops of the elixir called Essence of Perelandra is in this post. I provide you with a variety of links to the Perelandra site and other interesting references in that post.
Hopefully, you’ve invested in a bottle or two of Essence of Perelandra so you can participate in taking a small but significant to Nature step in bringing humanity into balance with Nature.
It’s interesting to me that my first post on this subject was instigated by the fires in the Amazon. When I wrote about the lungs of Mother Earth being burned – and suggested we take this step to begin bringing us back into balance.
Hmm. Mother Earth’s lungs were burning, and humanity was in no small way complicit in that happening. And now our lungs are filling up and drowning thousands of us.
I dare say – there’s a correlation. On a lot of levels.
This Isn’t a Joke
So please – take five minutes on April 1st (today), and the first day of every month, to recognize and speak with Mother Earth/Nature – and do something proactive, profound, and yet oh-so-simple to bring us into balance with our home and the sentience that surrounds us.
It’s something you can do. And it’s not a joke.
And while you’re there, I urge you to check out the solutions being recommended that will build your immunity. (MBP solutions: Respiratory, Lymphatic, and Immune – and the Virus solution.) Read about the concepts underpinning these solutions. It’s all about creating a balance in your body and energetic field. Don’t take my word for it, though – read about it yourself. Make up your own mind.
