We are Family

[curt]

We don't need another / a new discussion to prove it.

It is as it is.

Let this "fred" (discussion thread) live under the theme .......

long live this family

brothers, sisters, brethern, dogs, cats and birds, ants and flees, water and air and gas and Clare and Jim and him and the window Simm (??) and you and me and he and she and we and them and us and puss (???) and fish and the dish (it's on) and paper and pen.

Yip.

[Mouse]

Thank you my friends.

What happened next was she became terribly ill on Saturday night and on Sunday they operated, using keyhole surgery, and removed her appendix, which was in a terrible state. So there we are. Thank goodness for that, at last she's out of danger.

Elation, tears and all that here. She so improved is back home with baby now. I've been very tearful here today. All so frightening in its slow way, the helplessness. Hope to see them tomorrow if I'm allowed. They are safe in their burrow recovering and finding some new feet.

[BO]

Good call, Cal.

I'm seeing you for all my health problems from now on.

[Cal]

My father was a gynaecologist ... something about Mouse's description rang a distant bell about one of his patients. You might want to try someone with another specialist background Bo -:)

[Cal]

Merry Xmas everybody!

I think I'll be experiencing the actual day earlier than most of you (not sure about Curt)
... and it being midsummer here I'll be warmer than y'all.

May we all weather 2009 well.

[waldopaper]

here it is again... because I don't know how to bake fruit cake... the Christmas Story for 2008:

Little Black Duck Shingebis
(on Christmas Eve, 2008)

This is not a story of Mumbo or Jumbo or even Black; tigers racing around butter, pancakes or grim son souls, eukaryotes and liner notes, or little lambs eat ivy. Nope. This is the straight-up reason those dark little thoughts and worries avoid Shingebis. One time, the little dark hassles were once a great Ghost Howler, but were hammered and split into impish little things to bedevil humans who have forgotten.

Long after the dream-time, but long before now, the rust-heaps in the Iron Ranges were shiny toys of spoiled children. No matter, for it was long before then that the Great Ghost Howler with the fierce ice-face saw Shingebis cooking fish and singing to the fire. Shingebis had only four logs, but each would burn for a full moon. This was long before spirits and woodland creatures and human beings thought they were separate things.

But not little Shingebis! Shingebis remembered the stories that came down from the Old Ones still animated in the dream-time, and the Howler with terrible ice-face and flight thought it was powerful indeed, for its breath could kill. But Shingebis was not afraid! When all the others fled, Shingebis stayed on alone because the four stories were warm and light. The others cut thousands of stories, but none could last.

Shingebis stories were not special or different. Like all the others, with tight grain and rings that told other stories of other moons, Shingebis coaxed out the dreams that kept the small lodge warm and set the pot to sing and skillet to sizzle, and how that annoyed the Wendigo Howler- flown down from the cold and terrible night! Poor Howler, thinking its power gave it life when just the opposite was so! Shingebis knew this.

So down from the ice came the Howler, higher than the moon and wider than the sea, standing in the doorway. Shingebis was not afraid to push what little she had into the light. Up danced the light, and the great ice-face began to flow like tears. How is this? Howler has no heart and never weeps. But things that live beyond the sky can come to us and show us why we are all one and other know…another story, long ago.

The tears the mean old Howler shed fell on the ice and snow and fled to darkened corners of the days we live in now. And once the rays of starlight shown upon the Wise who follow it home. So bless the eyes that see the Truth and ears that hear the stories tell there is no fear of things we think we do not know. It happened this way long ago when Shingebis could sing and stand. The Budding Moon came back to land.

Spirit, human, hunter and game dance in the circle all the same. We came from starlight long ago and will return, and before we go to pass the tails from comet suns to house tomorrow, little ones. The tiny bird that dips and dives lives all alone and somehow thrives to tell the story, sing the song, and help the fearful back along the trail of tears we call our time. One small creature knew all this.

Who so free as Shingebis!

(and something extra... another story whipped up especially for Uncle Dave)...


GBW writes for his brother, David Cole on the occasion of:
The Christmas of AD 2008.
All rights and revenues belong to DC until the stones melt.
Until whenever it is that he stops working late. Then we go.

To Uncle Dave’s Cabin

We Remember the Time When

The Great Lake Superior heaved and hushed
And rushed to bubble long waves ashore too Poe
To spare but a rattle of pebble sand drinking
Gave way to rising land humus invading
All ground down to hard scrabble land.

There conifers rise in a mantle of treasure
In fire haze tamed and tended for pleasure
And dancing as tiny sparks rise to the stars and the forest now hardened
By flame over years now above a flat carpet
Of needles and humus and sand.

High on a dune is Uncle Dave’s Cabin, built by an architect long, long ago.
There the old ones remember him; few as they are now, were dozens of children
Back in the day when the cabin was weathered and scorched some, but standing
As strong as the tallest pines, Druids of elders who came through famine, fire and snow.
To the Upper Peninsula, fewer possessions endured on the dunes and freshwater seas.

Snug in the cabin they studied their Zen, those children now old, bent like a bow
Singing arrows of younger minds into the future, to center on target invisible Tao.
Yet seen through another I, far ancient wisdom alight in the forest for children too fallow
To carry the baggage of Newberry railroads and sounds the stars make rushing noise
Night from the sky over trees.

Ojibwe woman foretold his arrival with willow-wand woman and ghost dogs dancing
School craft of horses with bright eyes side-glancing to stop the red reaper
Religion enhancing the skin-walker Wendigo up from below the straight narrow lancing
The heart of the five generations to follow the stigmergic buzz on the network of meteors
Harvesting starlight like bees.

Fly pie doughty amber in moments like these.


Our Story Has Element Meme Myrrh Trees:

Uncle Dave’s cabin served five generations, they say maybe more, and just like before
There are tales in timber surrounding the setting of planning and wiring and sometimes
Forgetting the fractal direction of consequence, left unintended to dream a selection
Stage was set down long before the election of any one number particular drawing
Upon the stacked deck on the fast solar serf boats sound down the Agawa for words.

Some read in the loft, meditated in darkness, weaving the network as wee spiders will
The future to come born in Uncle Dave’s cabin, unanticipated in nature and form
Crossed over the line in the eye of the storm, weather up from the shoreline or roadway
To capture the essence of Zen in the shelter, white out below zero, black fly swelter
They ran way from the Wendigo herds.

They say if you had the Zen you could float through walls, you could see the unseen
In hidden dimensions and travel through time, you could counsel and heal the unclean.
Floating up from the flooring and whispered in walls, spoken silence, students be hearing
In Uncle Dave’s cabin, there in the clearing, Mojo was scattered like crumbs upon snow.
They alighted on Wisdom like birds.

There was one of the brightest, Luckwun she was called, fairest of form and could read.
Her original name muse along been forgotten, was one of the old at the time
When canoes from the stars surfed down on the lightning in night above Uncle Dave’s
The product of hands now beyond the horizon
Like wind bending spray upon haze.

You meet Gichigami out on the water, a passage for sons, but never for daughters
Until the girl Luckwun set out in a surf boat, under the Beaver Moon storm.
Oh they thought she was lost, yes they did, and they called in the wind the girl name
That has long been forgotten, for Luckwun had heard Gichimanitou voice
She remembered it all of her days.

She would say it was in the way wind moved on water, but this kind of wind blew
Far beyond stars you could hear it, she said, in Manitou voice if you let it
Speak to you first and never forget it. The girl came ashore after Beaver Moon storm
As a weak frosty son arose out on the Big Lake as calm as a mirror as bold as you please
The girl climbed the dune and another and found the cabin they call Uncle Dave’s.

It has long been forgotten why they remembered the name of one who created the cabin
They called him the Raven clan, those who maintained it, and Raven Clan possessed
All the records and drawings and books and equipment, the purpose was anyone’s guess.
Until the girl Luckwun came up from the water, she could read, remember we know
That she taught the Raven to read and to cipher hundreds of seasons ago.

Real peats tape a stray, say it is sew.

Luckwun Dew What She Do

Now the Raven they knew everything in the dunes, see it with help from the birds.
What the Raven had then was the sky, ground and water. What they did not have yet
Where the words of Ojibwe granddaughter Luckwun unlocked up Zen they are teaching
Among twenty mountains is blackbird big brother-eye some greenhorns call Crow.
Raven the Trickster school craft in the cabin that made all them Wabeno grow.

Some call them Wabeno, some call it Science and most call it just fucking strange
When canoes from the stars surfed down on the lightning and made Learning frightening
Phenomenon flew from conceptual range. So goes the story, you learn it and say it.
But first you must hear it, know it and pray it. The road to download everything
Trace winds up to runes on the back of the dunes. Come down to earth and let go.

Some say they where white stone canoes, but that’s lunatic. No one like that understands
The power torch-dreams throw into the future if even from failing hands.
For lo! It is written that Uncle Dave’s cabin was lodge of a great Pau-Puk-Keewis.
The text is so old but the writing is real stating this very thing as the thesis
Beyond conceptual range it is so:

They taught the Longfellow, shorter texts too, but one particular piece was quoted:
On the shores of Gitche Gumee,
On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water
Stood the lodge of Pau-Puk-Keewis.
It was he who in his frenzy
Whirled these drifting sands together,
On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo,
When, among the guests assembled,
He so merrily and madly
Danced at Hiawatha's wedding,
Danced the Beggar's Dance to please them.
-- Longfellow’s Song of Hiawatha
Dance the Beggar, secret slaves, drawn taut in the brain-games at Uncle Dave’s.

Some of the old disapproved of the gaming, some of the new cited scripture and worse.
But most still around took pleasure to watch them Wabeno out of conceptual range,
Shifting shape, they do, but not like the Wendigo people below the strait and narrow.
Wabeno it is good, and can take on the form of water or wind or waves.
Surfing the storm, they fly like an arrow to the cabin that was Uncle Dave’s.

They read in the lofts, they poke in the fire, in winter Moons between the leaves
Flying dreams above ashes, voices in wind creatures dancing in shingles and eaves
Song tide the sailing machines: they would greet them between the water and trees,
The Agawa people, preserving technology meeting the Raven and bumble biology

Be it forevermore true.

To a Broad Arrow -like Yew:

Ebbing and flowing round Uncle Dave’s Cabin, circuit is splicing, well tautology.

High lee! Now the aircraft, swift as a shadow, landing in clearings and gathering berries.
Hay Io! Now solar surf boats, it is said, traded secrets with meteors elves and ferries
The timber and minerals deep in the mountain Agawa is hiding Canadian Shield.
So they say. But anyway, something did happen. It was something quite strange,
Something wonderful did happen down round the point of the story. Hail and glory.

The empire collapsed. When it did, all kinds of things were set free and beyond.
Our conceptual range right now, but we will imagine it soon enough. We have to.
And time will produce such a future we can not imagine right now. But we have to.
And we will soon enough, when the Nature and flavor of meme sprinkles out summers
And it falls to our schematic salad. Precipitates and lands, out of the grinder of reason.

Eyes swish Buddha pest udder season.

[BO]

Merry Christmas my friends. Honored to have rubbed pixels with y'all all these years.

Tom Waits - Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis

[littleoldme]

Merry Christmas everyone.

[Mouse]

I've been holding a baby much of the time of course, shhh....

Wonderful stories up there for us, thank you for those especially Waldo, such a beautiful surprise to open in the evening.

[waldopaper]

Here Comes the Sun King:

http://www.asianews.it/index.php?l=en&art=14060&size=A
Re: Things seen/ unseen:

5And the glory of the LORD shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together: for the mouth of the LORD hath spoken it.
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=isaiah%2040&version=9

A Paradox! Dangerous Knowledge:
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-5122859998068380459&hl=en

The last video takes an hour. It's worth it! No hoolah doolah mumbo jumbo. It's the sunrise!

As the Dawkins-Gould debate continues (even without Gould present- in a form we understand anyway), I can certainly see Dawkins' point that "Religion" is rubbish... at best useless and at worst dangerous. However, I maintain with Gould that what we have now is simply "bad religion" (which some would see as redundant). What I mean is, this discipline (theology) is roughly at the same state mathematics was before they came up with the concept of zero as an integer.

So in this season of the cycle as the Sun returns to us (in the "Northern" hemisphere, Cal! At its greatest glory "down under")... I see a time when "sacred text" will be critically examined as poetry and literature... instead of the pudding-headed "church business," which is a form of darkness that has beset the "western" world for about 6 thousand years.

A snappy new beer to all my very dear cyber-friends!

[Mouse]

Golly, that was ages ago, when we were all young.

What exactly does it mean when you phone your daughter from your landline and she, answering, says "Why are you phoning from a mobile?" because the number appearing on her little screen is that of a mobile phone unknown to her and me. I don't have one or want one.
It seems my call was sent via this mobile. How can that be? Hmm?
We have the number.

[Cal]

Not sure how it works but our phones at work are the same way ... sometimes the no. appearing is the landline no. & other times it is being routed via a mobile.

[Mouse]

It seems highly suspicious to me.