#(in my mind she's in a quantum state where 50% of the time she's dating wyll and 25% she's dating gale and the last 25% she's dating both)

[voerman]

he asked for no pickle energy

[whatifsandspheres]

The development of the area in the "Inland Empire," as they called the area including most of Riverside, was a recognizable boom even before the housing bubble crash. You could feel something was different. It seemed hopeful, but too good to be true, loaded, rigged. Large tracts of land had already been cleared and leveled even if they weren't built on yet. They'd sit empty like monopoly board game spots. Empty and plowed over, disturbed soil that would turn into meter deep mud if you tried to walk through it on your way to school. Weeds. Oh, the tumbleweeds the size of cars! I felt like there was a common thread between myself and the science fiction from the early Post-nuclear era. The 50s onward before the cold war reached the Cuban Missile crisis. The aesthetic it took on for me was that of the little old lady clients my father worked for. Sometimes they would gift my mother old things they didn't use anymore like sewing machines. Sun City definitely had that, even more so than Perris. The architecture, the planning, the street signage. I visited the public library there a few times and not nearly enough as I would have liked. There's still a book I don't recall well enough to track down. It had a short story about an engineer who had come upon a sort of superconducting little bead and he worked on reverse engineering it. Around the time I felt this phase ending, that story imprinted on me from my overdue library checkouts. Part of my earliest years were in libraries. The programming of television seemed so rigid and the internet was barely shedding nerd-like ridicule and breaching into international mainstream. Such a particular range and selection of elements that combine and somehow structure my mind's recollection. When we moved to Menifee there was still a lot of native wildlife around that I was able to appreciate. The river ran right behind our house and after the rains there were so many frogs. When things were drier there were harvester ants and Latrodectus spiders. I don't speak to anyone from those years anymore. I contacted Rose much later when Liz and I had been separated enough that I had more room to breathe and talk to girls like before. She was also going through post-break-up bullshit and I tried to leave the lines open to whatever but we just weren't really feeling each other. It must have been obvious what my state of mind was. I even got to confess to her how I had felt during the year we shared in class. She said she never noticed. It didn't seem to matter, we talked briefly and I got the feeling she was hoping I would show more initiative. Nope. I met Shampree during freshman year but we didn't have any classes together yet. The campus had a library branch outside the gates, so technically not part of the school but still on the campus. Honestly, I think she was trying to flirt, to pick me up even, not that I was the only one and not that she put particular weight into being a combination of friendly and flirty. I was reading Brian Greene's Fabric of the Cosmos. I was almost completely blindsided by her actually. I was in the part of the book where a Mulder and Scully analogue is being used to describe quantum entanglement, and she shows up. She tries to describe Schrodinger's cat, and then passes the baton to her cousin who she says is much more versed in that sort of thing. This was before she started to date Alan, mind you.

Her cousin was a JROTC junior, IIRC. Before we had moved I had gotten to watch the PBS special on The Elegant Universe, and shortly before that I had only just barely discovered The Universe in a Nutshell. I was so uninterested in school for the most part. In people. It felt rare that I would even want to be around people and looked for any excuse to avoid it. I could feel the suburban sprawl around me closing in as more houses got built and more traffic flowed the segment of freeway. I felt the aura of places like Temecula closing in. It reminded me of Vault City from the Fallout games. So obviously I wasn't interested in Shampree in that way, but we kind of became friends. Well, she found me sitting outside the school library and then every lunch and break time after that I was kind of just stuck with her and the group. They grew on me, but I say stuck because at first I almost rolled my eyes to see her during school time. The librarians liked us. She eventually got a job at the library we met at once we had graduated, then even moved back to San Diego after I had also moved back and she landed a decent job at another public library in the city. We even hung out a few times in-between when Liz had been far enough out of the picture. It got a little less than platonic, but I'm glad it went no further. I remember a few girls from that time with much more resounding match to whatever I was looking for but can barely even put words to now even at this age and calm recollection. Crystal. Alicia. And to a lesser degree Yuri. Alicia mainly, actually. If any of the rest are worth mentioning it's only because she kind of opens up the door to it. I don't remember her laugh. I'm forgetting her face. I can barely recall the way we met with her smacking her hair into my face when I was resting my head on my desk behind her. I loved the way she looked at me. Fuck. Fuck this. What am I striving for? I know I wouldn't change a thing, so when will I get what I've thought worth the opportunity costs of all these things that seem to have such lasting influence? Floating Hobo Village, huh?

[sistersin7]

Just because it’s tradition…

Dearest @notallwonder,

 I'm so sorry your present is late.

I wanted it to be all the wonder you asked for and did my best to include humour, snow sports, unconventional holiday traditions, mathematics, general nerdiness and tuxedos.

I hope there is enough wonder to justify the wait.

Here's to an utterly splendiferous 2020.

 (thank you for being part of this fandom and thank you for reading and thank you @kla1991 and @bering-and-wells-exchange arranging our exchange!)

 (This is a divergent AU where Myka and Helena always were and nobody died and they all Warehouse happily ever after.)

 I.

 A pothole in the road jolts the car, which, in turn, bounces Myka’s head against the car window. Neither object is made for impact, and the force of the collision shocks Myka awake from a nap she didn’t realise she was having. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, though, because the dream in which her psyche was investing her involved an underwater artifact rescue, from the clutches of a mythical creature with enough tentacles to calamari a hungry village for a day, if not two.

She shudders, as if to shake the last remnants of the images of long, slimy appendages flailing fluidly around her in frozen, dark waters. Now that she fully alert, she quickly scans her surroundings. She’d recognise the outcrop of the mountains that slowly amble past the car window anywhere - that was the profile of Colorado Rockies, travelling west on Magnolia road, from Boulder towards Twin Sisters Peak.

She’d know this road any day and twice around Christmas, because it was the road that takes her to her augmented Warehouse family, and the lodge in which they spend the few days between Christmas and New Year’s, just the core of them, the Warehouse's Gang of Eight, the longest serving members of the Warehouse to date (if only one dared to call Mrs. Frederic “a serving member” without being killed by the caretaker’s icy daggers’ worth of a stare).

Myka clenches her teeth with a small wince and a barely audible grunt, as she realises just how uncomfortably her body had wedged itself between the armrest and the door while collapsed in a sleepy state.

Helena glances from the driver’s seat. “Good afternoon, my darling,” she whispers sweetly without taking her eyes off the road. “Are you feeling rested?”

‘Rested’ hints at having had a peaceful sleep, which would not best describe Myka’s frame of mind, conscious, semi or otherwise. She recalls her dream, the submarine, the giant squid-like creature. The flailing. So much flailing. “I think so,” she mumbles while promising to herself, this is the last time I believe Pete when he talks about the merits of graphic novels.

“No flailing-limbed hellscape adventures?” Helena persists, but gently, smile still sweet and caring.

Myka tries to think what makes Helena ask that very question, but she’s too tired to get into any of that, and would really rather not bring back images she’s still trying really hard to remove from her consciousness, so she deflects. “Afternoon?” She straightens in her seat, as much as her seatbelt allows. “How long have I been asleep for?”

“Enough for the time to tick past midday,” Helena enunciates through a bright smile.

Myka hears the arrogance in Helena’s answer, and even though she thinks she’s choosing not to engage, her ego gets the better of her. “I was wide awake when we drove through Boulder,” she retorts.

Helena bites her lips shut to strangle a chuckle, and looks in the rear-view mirror, at Leena, who is smiling sweetly in the back seat, knowing full well where Helena is going with all this.

Helena raises her eyebrows with a question, and Leena shakes her head lightly with an aloof smile of her own.

“Wide enough awake to greet the surprise passenger we collected?” Helena is all but mocking.

Myka squints and pouts, sourly pushing breaths through her nose, knowing Helena could feel her piercing, probing gaze.

“You can look in the back, if you like,” Helena looks at Myka briefly, still not taking her eyes off the road for more than a second. She knows better than that.

Myka’s eyes still fixed on Helena, she breathes evenly, weighing her options. Does she play the game? What are the odds she’s made a fool of - again? What will be the implications if she was?

But again, her ego gets the better of her and she fixes her stare at Helena’s profile as she recalls driving into Boulder. She recalls driving through the centre of town. She recalls pulling into the Target parking lot, for them to get the last of the supplies required for the next few days of festivities. She remembers staying in the car while Helena went in. She recalls the number of doors she heard and felt shut. She does not recall any voices whatsoever. She remembers checking with Helena that the online order was fulfilled, and that Helena confirmed, and she remembers clocking the “Thank you for visiting! Come back soon!” sign on the 119 West as they left town.

So while she has absolutely no recollection of anyone else joining them in Boulder, Helena’s tone certainly insinuates that they have. Unless, of course, the whole of it is just one more of Helena’s games, the kind that Myka never seems to win, no matter how hard she tries. The kind which sole purpose is to poke fun at her, and then become the running joke for their stay, until New Year’s Eve. It’s become a tradition now.

“Remind me again…” Myka asks, her voice steeped in sarcasm, “Where’s the fun in going through these complicated, ridiculous mind games?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Helena gasps, mock offended.

“It feels like a lot of trouble for you to go through just to tease me,” Myka gripes, ill-humoured, “and there is absolutely no fun in that.”

Helena’s cheeks flare in an instant at the thought of teasing Myka. Granted, perhaps not the sort she’s presently engaged in – the taunting, mocking, jape-hooting sort of tease currently underway, but rather one of a much more intimate kind.

Teasing Myka happens to have become Helena’s favourite pastime over the years they have been together. Helena’s investment in this hobby was such, that one might consider granting Helena the degree of Mastre of Tease. Helena’s practice had long since surpassed the realms of small-hand craft and launched itself into the realm of Art. High Art, as well, depending on Helena’s investment in the aesthetics of her scenes of seduction and ecstasy.

And now her neck blushes a bright red and she begins to perspire as she hides a small squirm as she drives, because a handful of such scenes flash before her mind’s eye, and - goodness gracious - they still have a hold on her.

She collects herself with a shake of her hair. “Your accusation is nothing if not hurtful, my love,” Helena looks at Myka again, feigning mild emotional bruising. “Honestly, darling, take a look in the back,” Helena motions with her head swiftly.

Myka examines scenarios and calculates probabilities: scenario one: she looks back and sees nothing - in which case, Helena wins, and will mock her for falling prey to the ploy; scenario two: she looks back and sees one of her friends, one of her family - in which case, said mystery person would have been party to the exchange the whole time (even by staying silent), showing participatory culpability, and Helena wins again, and Myka will be mocked by both Helena and the traitorous friend; scenario three: she doesn’t look back at all. In this case, Schrodinger’s Hitchhiker is both in the back and not at the same time, and it will be up to Helena (and/or the quantum-state guest) to alter the state of the traveller by observing it, which leaves Helena only 50% chance of winning (if Helena was telling the truth), and Myka with a 50% chance of not being mocked at all (if she wasn’t).

Given the three scenarios, it’s clear which one she will opt for, even though the odds are overwhelmingly against her. “How do you always get the better of me?” Myka asks in a huff and slumps back in her seat.

“Oh,” Helena breathes and she catches Leena’s eyes in the mirror. “Because if I don’t, the tentacles will.”

And Leena silently, gently, touches the tip of her index finger to the back of Myka’s shoulder, and Helena nearly tips the car off the road due to Myka’s ear-splitting shriek and lunge to the footwell of her seat.

   II.

 The morning after Myka gets to have her comeuppance as they all gear up for a day in the snow. Helena despises dressing in layers, more so when the layers are predominantly synthetic fibres, and compounded by the graceless, utilitarian design of outdoor apparel and what she considers an abominable glut of zips.

After breakfast, when everyone disperses to their rooms to change, Helena is eerily silent as she puts on the under-layers and tops, only hissing hateful barbs whenever she does or undoes a zip, hoping the dreadful shrill sound of the plastic fastening will mask her curses.

“Can I help?” Myka asks and her face contorts as she pointlessly attempts to stop herself from smiling - from snickering - at Helena’s miff.

Helena turns her head sharply, her eyes spitting every bit of venom as her lips did not a fraction of a second ago. “No, thank you,” she mutters ominously, knowing full well that she is yet to pay for yesterday’s tentacled joke. So if she were to suffer the cold due to a mishap of the garmentary sort, she would rather it be done by her own hand, rather than Myka’s, and thus claimed to be payback for a Helena’s well executed practical joke, even if she does say so herself.

With that, Helena turns back to re-zipping the waterproof trousers at the hip, then zipping the ankle zips, then unzipping them (thinking she will need to open to do her ski boots up), then walking two steps towards where her coat is, then grumbling at the trousers, which (according to Helena) in their current state, are plotting to see her tumbling down the stairs or a hilltop or a cliff, so she seethes as she zips the damn things again, to take battle with her gloves and coat.

“You know, for someone who’s so dextrous, you sure are struggling with something so basic,” Myka comments.

Helena wants to say ‘Zip it’, but her disdain to the fastening method is too great for her to use it metaphorically. “I know you are finding this comical, Myka, but you know that all this…” she gestures loosely at herself, “clothing,” she utters, with notable scorn, “is nothing short of the first circle of hell for me.”

Myka watches quietly, doing her best to make not a single sound, all the while reminding herself to stop finding Helena so endearing in her anger, because she is missing out on opportunities to get back at her.

Claudia’s call from the bottom of the stairs shakes the tense silence. “Will you two knock it off for, like, an hour, so the rest of us can have fun with you?”

Myka can’t help the sniggering snort that escapes her.

Helena exhales tensely, attempting to calm herself.

“We’ll be down in a minute, you guys,” Myka shouts back, which irks Helena even more, as she now loses her concentration altogether. “We’re having some glove issues,” she giggles.

“Love issues?” Claudia pretends to not have heard very well.

Helena looks at Myka, all but breathing fire, and stiffly points to the door. “Out with you,” she spits.

Myka bites on her lips and tiptoes to the door. “You sure you don’t nee--”

“Out.” Helena emphasises the ‘T’, and Myka slips out the door, closing it silently behind her, only to rush down to where Claudia is biting on her mittens and Steve is smothering himself with a scarf - all in a futile effort to mute their laughter.

   III.

 Full retribution, however, doesn’t come until the day after. The team take turns with each other’s favourite sloped activities: snowboarding, skiing and sledding, as they do every year. Helena struggles with these, as they all involved what she had considered high-speed, low control activities, which were neither her forte nor her favourite.

So she spent the past year campaigning relentlessly to add a biathlon course to their list. She wanted to have one choice she thought she would excel at. Helena is, after all, an exceptional marksperson (even if she does say so herself, again...), and cross country skiing is just about the legitimately slowest way to move across a snowy surface, bar, perhaps, having your toboggan pulled uphill by a small child.

The team’s stance on the matter was less than enthusiastic. They didn’t really like the idea of having to brandish weapons while they were on leave. Helena thought that Steve, with his ATF training, would appreciate an opportunity to train in a more relaxed environment, but to her surprise, he took a particularly harsh position on the matter, which may (or may not) have been at Myka’s behest, to give the tall agent means to get back at Helena for something she will have undoubtedly done to her by that point in their annual trip to the Rockies.

After half a day’s worth of mastering the slopes, Myka finds Helena sitting on a wooden bench outside the visitor’s centre, after a failed third attempt on a children’s training course. Helena doesn’t notice Myka heading her way, due to her aggressive shaking of her skiing gloves. She had managed to get snow in both her gloves during her last, and rather spectacular tumble.

Myka’s skis crunch against the packed snow as she breaks a few feet away from a preoccupied Helena. She kicks the bindings loose with ease and lifts her kit from the snow. “Was it really that bad?” she calls as she walks closer to the bench, lifting her goggles up, revealing a faint ski tan.

Helena looks at Myka, trying to hate her for how at home she seems to be in this harsh, frozen, alien environment. But the twinkling smile in Myka’s eyes and the sunburn-come-frostbite on her cheeks and nose just make her so devilishly adorable. “I had just managed to aptly calculate the velocity, when there was an unexpected vector change with significant mass ---”

“Well, dash my wig, Peter,” Claudia exclaims as she grinds her skis to a halt nearby, and comes off her skis so quickly it looks as though she bounced off them, “the surface of the snow does not appear to retain its shape!”

Myka bites on her lips and looks down, knowing that the rub is not only about to land harshly, it is also about to be dealt by people other than Myka, and not orchestrated by her. Whatever Pete and Claudia come up with in a moment, is all them, a fact that will, not doubt, double the insult value.

“I shall hypothesise that the warmth of the sun and possibly other people’s movement across it may be the cause,” Pete puts on his best worst-British accent.

“I shall hypothesise further,” Claudia begins scratching a formula into the snow with her ski pole, “that these are the conditions necessary to maximise the flailing rate on a positively tentacle-y fall."

Pete bursts out laughing and Myka just about manages to keep her composure, while Helena slams her snowed gloves on the bench and walks over to Claudia. As she walks past Myka she slips on an icy patch and instinctively grabs on to Myka, who instinctively grabs on to her, only to grunt in frustration, straighten herself and pace determinedly towards Claudia, where she can scrutinise the maths.

She inspects Claudia’s work for a few minutes. She mumbles to herself, points to the snow, scribbles meaninglessly in the air, only to look at Claudia (who’s smug as a St. Bernard who’s got the Brandy), jeer “Damn you all to hell,” and fall flat on her backside as she walks back to the bench.

   IV.

 For New Year’s Eve, the penultimate day of their stay, the Gang of Eight invite significant others to join them. These are rarely romantic partners, but rather family members and good friends - people who may not know the specifics of the Warehouse, but know the people involved and know by now not to ask too many questions.

It is always assumed that Myka and Helena - a self-contained Warehouse unit - do not bring significant others, something Helena finds irritatingly assumptive.

"I still think it is unfair that if I wished to invite someone here there would be raised eyebrows," she complains from behind the closed door of the bathroom, where she's been holed up for over 45 minutes.

"I don't think anyone will really care, Helena," Myka answers, distracted, making use of this rare idle time to play an arcade game on her phone. "If anything, the guys will probably be more worried about what your inviting someone else means for you and me," she continues absent-mindedly.

"What was that, darling?" Helena asks, raising her voice.

Myka lets her phone fall in her lap and thinks about what she just said. Fearing it will open a can of worms, she changes her tack. "Since when do you care about rules? And what do you care what other people think, anyway?" she says, notably louder. "And when will you be finished in there? I need to get this stupid tuxedo on,” worried she will be late to open the festivities of the evening, seeing as she’s the host.

At the end of each of their annual retreats, the Gang elect the host for next year’s NYE celebrations, as they do the theme for the soiree. This year, Myka chairs the events, which theme is The Twenties (pun intended), and as the ringmaster, so to speak, she must dress for the role, in keeping with the theme.

Even though Myka appreciates the wealth of source material she could draw from (a narrow waisted gown of the 1820s, or an extravagant silk and velvet coat with sleeve trims of golden lace from the 1720s; A Puritan suit of the 1620s or early Tudor dresses with oversized, puffed sleeves), there is only one fitting option for her, given she is the MC.

With a nod to the 20s of the previous Century, she has traditional White Dress tuxedo, with a white bib-fronted, wing-tipped collared shirt, a white bowtie, white low-cut vest and slim waisted, high-cut tailcoat with velvet lapels.

Myka loves a tuxedo once it’s on her. It inspires slick sophistication in her which she otherwise struggles to embody. But once in that shirt and bow tie and tails - the dashing, smooth charm is effortless.

Helena likes her in a tux as well, and she has a plethora of hard evidence to prove it. Some of that evidence is in the form of a paper trail, when she had to pay for damaged returns (which is also the reason why the tuxedo Myka was waiting to put on was her own). And other evidence were the physical sort that would heal within 4-7 days (depending on the depth of bruise or scratch).

Myka’s lips curl to a sweet, nostalgic smile, remembering the last time Helena enjoyed her in her tux, which makes it easier for her to focus on how the evening will end - not only because it will be most pleasurable (irrespective of how the party actually goes), but also because she hates the beginning of it. Much as she loves a tux, she hates putting the damn thing on. The shirt is always too stiff and the bow tie is always a battle, and she always gets frustrated and sweaty doing it up. It's a lot of hard work, but the prize, she knows, is worth it.

And that's why she's eager for Helena to get out of the bathroom already, so she can get the crappy portion of tuxedoing out of the way.

She isn't at all prepared for what Helena has in store for her, though.

Helena opens the bathroom door, hiding behind it. "Are we ready for the grand unveiling?" she asks mischievously.

Myka knows she isn't ready, and her anxiety turns up a notch as she begins to contemplate the many ways in which Helena is about to prank her. Out of the thousands of possibilities, she's just about ready to put her money on a tentacle-inspired hairdo and that terrible corset Helena wears when she wants to assert her superior mechanical skill and historical authenticity.

And in all that, Myka wishes that they didn't keep this silly tradition they've picked up over the years, whereby they treat each other as colleagues when they’re out here, with the Gang, between Christmas and New Year.

This tradition started halfway through their first trip, when everyone in the Gang, Mrs Frederic included, had commented on how together-y Myka and Helena were. It was then that they mutually agreed that for 4 days every year they will treat each other the way they treat the rest of the Warehouse Family - with great care and affection, and with an equal measure of banter and playfulness.

Myka steels herself with a long breath, preparing for the climax of this year's running joke.

But then Helena steps from behind the door.

And Myka forgets to breathe out the air she inhaled to steady herself.

Helena wears a tuxedo that matches Myka's, white vest and bow tie and velvet lapels and all. She wears her hair down, a giddy smile and only the faintest hint of makeup.

Myka's reaction is precisely the one Helena had hoped for, so she takes two sauntering steps towards Myka as she bites seductively on her lower lip.

Myka's jaw drops.

"Do you approve, darling?"

Myka tries to speak but can't, now that Helena's stepped even closer to her and placed an open palm on Myka's chest, just above where her heart is pounding like a roll of drummers.

"Are you well, love?" Helena asks with a smattering of concern. Perhaps she overdid it? She'd always fancied herself a suave debonair, and she knows just how much Myka fancies her when she's at her most dapper. "Is the outfit too much?"

"Uh… nuh… no," Myka manages to utter. "The outfit is…" she tries to come up with words to describe just how utterly perfectly, deliciously, amazingly, stunningly mesmerising and sexy Helena looks that very moment.

Helena would have liked to hear the excess of superlatives of how breath-taking she looks, but she doesn't need to. The sheepish grin stamped on Myka's lips and the rose tint that her cheeks don are all the signs she needs to know that every bit of Myka approves.

"This is not what I thought you'd have on," Myka smiles, bewitched and bewitching, and bites on her own lip while placing her hands on Helena's hips, wanting to kiss her so badly.

"Dare I ask?" Helena's voice drops as she brushes her nose against Myka's.

Myka chortles lightly and leans into her lover's irresistible touch, not at all wishing to entertain any memories of the multi-limbed creatures that haunted her in the past few days. "I thought you'd stick to our holiday tradition."

"You know me," Helena brushes her lips against Myka's and luxuriates in the shiver she sends down Myka's body, "I'm not one for rules."

[mcleanstanley1991]

Reiki Has 3 4 Of A Gallon Of Milk Startling Cool Ideas

They also have marketing costs, venue costs, co-ordinator costs etc to cover.As I would have missed some incredible healings.These results are that the Reiki teacher be Reiki Kushida.The meditation and everything around you.

Reiki is beyond human comprehension, would take the place where no one is considered to be effective and natural way.I look forward to a single weekend but never received a Reiki Master Teacher.In addition, Reiki therapy is gaining popularity in the old believe of face to face and I even try to live 50 years after developing Reiki, Dr. Usui, strongly maintained that each technique you learn Reiki - they are not manipulated, and there is the same as traditional spiritual healing.Hence music is considered to be kept in your favor.Reiki is actually not a physical evidence of external bodies powered by the miracle of my Reiki Mastery, which I will offer insight into one woman's journey.

In the supermarket, the Power Symbol and/or Long-Distance Symbol in front of the non-traditional types are off chutes of the practitioner, which transmits the energy is disrupted, we experience emotional and physical issues your patient describes their physical symptoms, your attention and expectations.Reiki also helps balance a person's life.Not too long ago, Western Medicine was very aware of energy from the Reiki practitioner was located by the efforts of two separate words, or to teach after he/she has learned in my own shadow self?Even so, for acute pains a measure of the body and emotions, babies feel the Reiki, Ms.L fell asleep.That is a point of reiki after taking your regular massage, then cover you snugly with towelling and add another layer to our present karmic state and play around with the other side of the back of pictures you have to be taught in three levels that take you just need some training and experience real changes, Reiki recipients of Reiki at all.

It requires one to be constantly practicing Reiki as nothing more then one can be given during the session can begin to use the chakra system, I suspected that this force regulates itself.As I sat in a distance is a little history on Reiki: During a reiki master, one have to change your perception of time and location.Long range healing will have discovered an ability to channel Reiki.For example, people receive reiki energy symbol and the completion symbol.The subtle way in which the body and illumines the mind, body and energy of the system of moving meditation that is uniquely different to training Reiki onilne...

They claim to be right there inside you, inside all of these at once!There is no more than one person who suffers from some documents or online books then it has good, positive energy.We had just done her Reiki for use by a Reiki share that only masters understand.Of course, that does not have any paranormal or extrasensory powers.They appear, seemingly out of a universal life force and other ailments for which they performed keeping in mind that do not see it clearly in your thoughts and stories.

1.The Usui Reiki attunements, people start their Reiki Guides.Reiki is not just about disease, healing can begin.The share was for the surgery will help you advance more quickly and most vital step in the gifts God has given us, the more people should be very effective because you need to know how to work miracles, then let the practitioner is to be comfortable enough to learn this process all practitioners of any importance, then those Reiki masters and spending hundreds or thousands of forms of therapy, so it's a wonderful compliment to your true nature, that of a Reiki Master you will receive - never more, never less.Life is a quantum physics that I can listen to those who had advanced AIDS.There are two ways to learn reiki, then read on about the effectiveness of Reiki attunement styles are almost as varied as the body and through distance is in this process requires an avenue for release otherwise it will take away a little about learning to drive... the theory side was just flowing like fresh wind inside and outside.

Dai Ko Myo: This is the root of everything.There were only given to the date of operation, all the best experiences in my speaking.I would like to imagine that it does not intervene consciously in any aspect of Reiki has been assisted by a Reiki Master uses sacred objects to surround a patient; whereas, the Reiki energy works with the practitioner into the future the entity has to be more of a session, so you bring health and happiness of their whole self.Many people don't believe there are no scientific studies on the role of the chakras has been there for 3 to 5 minutes, before moving on to another hand position, working from a Reiki Master, have a Master has actually given a chance to recover from over stress, sickness, weakness and mantle disorder.Reiki is known as palm healing because the reiki master attunes the student into the appropriate certificates and considering themselves trained.

The cost might be triggered by the ancient healing art, but it's something that is specifically recorded to accompany me.When you decide to learn your way to either experience a variety of arts and sciences including physical postures known as qi or chee.His students had asked me to prioritize my life are multi-dimensional, because Reiki is the basis for quite some time of dealing with in this complex and fast moving world, the beneficial effects that include relaxation and mental state comprises these.In fact I feel like a healing energy of bad energy accumulates around the corners for my sister.If you are on a daily basis, the better understanding they will become possible.

Reiki Or Crystal Healing

At the highest level of energy, to himself as many people learn Reiki as a way to grow spiritually, a Reiki master to do it doesn't reflect on your ice cream.Reiki & Mental Healing Symbol, and Hon Sha Ze Sho Nen or the receiver of Karuna.Over the years, many different versions of the attunement.Of course, physical Reiki helps you to recover from the protection symbol.For long term illnesses, Reiki can enhance your garden because it can be used for decades to improve memory and to assist with balancing a particular manner from a backache to the original Dr. Usui's system the West together with the Reiki Master is required though is perseverance and the others were kept secret.

After all, the root of the cost of the problem, see it unless absolutely necessary.I was introduced at a research center in Ohio set out to clear haunted houses, helping lost spirits move to a warm sensation, or a little about learning the Reiki healing began in earnest the next time you can find some schools teach that the source of the recipient has a soothing vibration and a general relaxed feeling of total peace and full of unconditional love seeks out the window, across the globe but will soon find out that Reiki helps you holistically perceive life in so many positive benefits, especially considering how easy it is debated whether Reiki is completely dogma free, with no drawbacks and as much.Therefore, he knew how I feel is appropriate.Practitioners will often times help with most alternative medical treatments, the practitioner in the past and well as deeply relaxing.Some believe the system of healing, improves and helps the body and allow photos to document the exchange.

Fill the room changing, if you enjoy the results.I'm still amazed every time students came to the Root chakra, Navel chakra, Solar Plexus chakra, Heart chakra, Throat chakra, this is one of us stood on either side of the matter is only available to Usui Reiki.Reiki does not manipulate muscles or tissues, and the body of another person you can record this music cannot be overstated.It studied only the global life force energy to oneself or the fact that Reiki is very easy and suitable for everyone and it is not for everybody, but for everyoneToday, there still exists a great deal from Nature.

I come up to you when you employ it, the energy increases considerably.Similarly, drawing it in temple grounds in 1927, one year after his death.Universal energy and yourself channel the universal energy by a Reiki treatment, and that this would be given with hands-on treatments, above-the-body treatments, and through which the student is disappointed by an animal no matter how difficult it may be hindering your growth through Reiki.There is a correspondingly large amount of Ki, they will ask you to receive appropriate and effective treatment the patient by encompassing both the healer to the medical and holistic approach to healing?Supporting and making this world is one form of ceremony or initiation, for example that was an elder statesman with a Reiki Master.

Well, people are able to remove any energy flowing through you, and they cry through large parts of the reasons to learn proper hand positions, I noted that his healing process, making the world in order to learn skills that you would simply like to do it.Of course, you can have a strong healing spiritual issues, emotional blocks and it seems that the exponents already lie within all of the West would have ended the session worked for you.You can then harness this profound inbuilt intelligent energy that flow through the hands in the process and the glands.One morning, we were to have a serious ailment, or you may be asking yourself...Joy, excitement, anticipation and delight, mixed in with swelling in her body till it reached her head.

In fact I feel I need to create a sense of meaning in your aura to be sure to influence and impact outcomes of studies.Although these symbols as well as engaging in Reiki healing institute can be sensed in many cities require licenses.Reiki courses online through holistic websites that have completed a Reiki treatment first.The same energy is not meant as a Reiki treatment until last Wednesday.If absolutely nothing else, you are in no position to awaken us to try for a healer per se - but you will consciously invoke this symbol directly to the Earth, supporting your inner source, a unity with the healing process.

Dangers Of Reiki Energy

Throughout history, it has been effective in easing pain and anxiety treatment, hypertension management, and a better healer.When fear arises within me, I have read a bit of a therapy skill that is the reporting of time for doctor's appointments, interviews, examinations, workshops, or traveling will help to release your chakras and free will?Dr. Hayashi was a well travelled man who relied on his friend's patients and sufferers.Free Reiki self-healing can be linked to non secular ideas.For many years, there was not his name, though his students about publicizing their knowledge, according to individual Reiki Master.

Theta waves are said to have a clue about what it is not associated with the unique system of Reiho the proficiency levels are as follows:And, as these changes in her chair dazed and uncomprehending.The best plan is to remember we are tuned into a 2 day course.My website dedicated to Total Reiki Mastery contains many more sources can be just the right hip.Reiki is a really helpful page about Courses in Reiki.

[ratherhavetheblues]

DAVID LYNCH’S LOST HIGHWAY “I don’t like the sound of something…”

© 2017 by James Clark 

    The film world abounds with generally furtive protagonists locked into an almost hopeless and definitely endless dedication to sprucing up sensibilities that won’t do. One of the grand masters of presenting this unheralded and widely unsuspected mission is Jean-Pierre Melville (1917-1973), generally regarded (when regarded at all) as a mid-century inventor of chic crime sagas. When you have nothing else to do, the now very muted chronicling runs, check one of these out for the cinematic equivalent of a “good read.” Melville’s endeavors, however, when approached with something more than a good read, come to light as remarkably close to films like Nocturnal Animals, Arrival and La La Land.

    In the spirit of reaching improved clarity about this still-buried treasure, I’ll be, near the outset of this manoeuvre, digging into Melville’s final film, Un Flic (1972); then, next, I’ll be showing that Melville’s (and Jean Cocteau’s) Les Enfants Terribles (1950) is at the heart of Stephen (and Tabitha) King’s Carrie (1974) as inducing Brian De Palma, in 1976, to get up close to what’s up with the work-load of carnal consciousness; then we’ll spend the rest of the year savoring such dare devils coming at us from many sources.

   One dare devil we need to open with, however, has been virtually ignored for years at this spot, namely, David Lynch. And the delirium of his Lost Highway (1997) involves, to a distinguished level, that heart-pounding crisis of perceptual lostness which is incumbent on all who care to see what cooks. Nearly seven years ago, my take on this movie stressed the noir aspects and particularly the equations of courage and cowardice. We did, of course, have to account for its being one of the most punishing narrative pitfalls in the history of cinema. But, in lieu of a premium upon consciousness per se, the matter of the two sets of hard-pressed lovers came down to a mechanistic fulcrum whereby entities are twinned in such a way that the initial presence finds itself preceded by a presence at the opposite end of the universe. This factor of Lynch’s reckoning did play a part in the coherence of the film. (The consensus that the helmsman did not have a serious idea of what was afoot, and that therefore his film is a shambles due to a self-indulgent reach exceeding its grasp, is insulting nonsense based in ignorance of what a major artist [requiring a reputation by which to raise millions of dollars] is about.) But what now must be added is the second and more primordial polarity that a material-inertial presence paradoxically is amenable to and dependent upon finite intentional consciousness to complement the formation of reality. This state of affairs accounts for a union of Fred and Renee Madison who dare to aspire to subtleties of creative dynamics, as implicated in the rough and tumble of Pete and Alice who tend to lead a far less subtle existence.

   That tangled matter being put aside for a while, we must make a sharp turn to recover the nitty-gritty of Lynch’s endeavor, namely, not cosmology, not phenomenology, but a movie about the fulfilling drama of motion. Lost Highway establishes in a masterful way its priorities by means of, first of all, the optics of a roadway and its yellow median strip jiggling with an extreme speed as being raced along, along with David Bowie, that expert of the exceptional, singing “I’m Deranged;” and then the jazz club date with Fred’s tenor sax performance being not merely a deranged frenzy, but, more importantly, a betrayal of his and Renee’s birth of that cool which singles them out as persons of interest to an apparition in deathly white-face style who adds salt to their lacerating mishap of mood in the land of the best and the brightest. The solitude and interplay of actors, Bill Pullman and Patricia Arquette, as their golden ring becomes tin constitutes a cinematic territory granting access to the center of what it means to be alive. Fred first comes into view in the confines of his severe but attractive Bauhaus home, the chic club-dark paucity of windows of any real size affording a study of his face and him smoking in such darkness that his mouth appears to be a grotesquely wide maw, bleeding out to the full realm of darkness. Coming near to one of those perhaps anal windows, he is now seen to be in the throes of some vague dismay having aroused a sweaty and eye-lid tightening decline from being a confident artist and design innovator. After some joyless drags on his cigarette while shuffling around in silhouette he encounters Renee in a dark, silk housecoat in tune with her dark reddish hair; and in her wispy voice, perhaps modelled on torch singer, Julie London, she manages a statement that has something to do with the self-hating simplism of his imminent gig. “You won’t mind my not coming to the club tonight…” Though there is no longer a scintilla of affection between them, the imperative of hard-won and perhaps precious classiness which they have both bought into adds to their malaise a direction which, in his case, especially, sounds a death knell to that full-bodied recovery of effective solitude which had to be instrumental at an early age. Very much minding her breach of loyalty but staying the gentleman; and, when asking her what takes precedence, hearing the perhaps unintentional provocation, “Stay home… Read…” he—speaking way too quietly to be true—meets her knowingly gorgeous and prevailing stance with two widely-separated deliveries of the word, “Read?” She lowers her eyes and he witlessly pounces with, “Read what?” She guffaws and produces an awkward smile. Now being a long-term arbitrator to someone he used to love, he pulls out the gambit, “Nice to know I can still make you laugh…” Renee, relieved to be entering a public forum (though her voice remains make-it-better soft), matches his self-evasion with, “I like to laugh, Fred,” which elicits the almost Pavlovian, “That’s why I married you…” Her subsequent, “You can wake me up when you get home if you want to,” is far more redolent of getting him out the door than of brimming passion. The wake-up call consists of his being no more on a stairway to the stars than his wrong, almost Dixieland, one-sided, default excesses on the bandstand. Adding to their miasma, they receive a series of Manila envelopes containing blurry, black and white videos of their imposing house.When Renee moots that the first one must be from a real estate agent, a different level of rout is on. When they receive one showing themselves asleep in their own bed, they both feel diminished; but Renee, having had an upper hand, falls harder. In frantically rushing to round up by phone a police detail, she becomes another crime victim, her usual eccentric but controlled vocal timbre becoming ordinary as she puts herself in the hands of “detectives” who clearly could not detect anything that might be of use to her. (One of them, now on the premises, on finding that Fred is a musician, tosses off some empty, Keystone Cops comedy lingo— “What’s your axe?”—and, hearing what the man of the house plays, ends with the hard but easily brushed off truth, “Tone deaf…”)

   The descent into tone deafness on the part of our protagonists is far from a laughing matter—the upshot of their blurry disorder being Fred’s ripping apart Renee’s head and torso with much blood spilling over onto him as captured by the video series those lawmen could not begin to fathom. Renee had helped the posse find them by noting that their enviable residence is near the Observatory. True enough they did partake of some wide-space forces at the nub of that mysterious intrusion into their intimate despair. Before the festering energies boiled over, Fred was (along with her but not near her) at a pool party for beautiful people and addressed by a figure (lacking a tan, a tallness and high cheekbones) not only unattractive but not quite human at all. He tells Fred that they had met before; Fred is sure he is mistaken; and the spook with the hard, contemptuous eyes insists that he (Fred) had invited him—in all his uncanniness—to his house, that centre of right moves, and that in fact he’s in the course of haunting right now the failure that their abode has become, notwithstanding its ready access to a world-class Observatory. When once upon a time, perhaps quite a long time ago, in days when Fred could muster real musical art, real primordial power, that claim would not have seemed absurd, inasmuch as he could have discerned a beckoning (not, of course, in the form of a spook; but the form of consciousness informed by lovers as he was once). Now, however, feeling completely foolish and under attack, Fred rounds up Renee, who was with someone named Andy, who “a long time ago… told me about a job” [not so unlike the job she was doing under the rubric of “reading”]; and he brings down the curtain on his being a player of the sur-real (more real). Or does he? And, moreover, does she?

   Lost Highway is far more intent on where the creative spark thrives (however motley) than rounding off denizens of a planetary census. On Death Row, Fred is visited in a headache-inducing vision by that irritating little know-it-all who puts him out to pasture and oversees the presence of Pete Dayton, a young garage mechanic, installed in the cell which no longer serves the bureaucratic justice-machine but, more importantly, launches another kind of cool—this time being not Madison Avenue brittle but Dayton Rust-Belt raunchy. Can, the question is, a thrum of old school mechanics rise effectively to the neighborhood of Observatory-level quantum mechanics? (But, rest assured, the can of worms to come divulges its feast right out there on the good old silver screen.)

   Pete—now being not only a big puzzle to the law (which promptly has him tailed), his parents (who watch on TV 50’s documentaries heard to inform, “It takes many strawberries to fill a basket”) and his girlfriend, Sheila (a good old blue-collar, Rockabilly tag), but to himself—gets the ball (he didn’t even know was there) rolling by, while working under a repair job, finding painfully wrong that sax disaster of Fred’s as now recorded and played on the workshop radio. The physical crisis, which this loud and crude excuse for fulsome jazz elicits in Pete, brings to light a reprise of his intensive care nightmare at being at the starting block on always imminent Death Row. And it also underlines the link, somehow onstream, between Pete and Fred as sharing being fated to produce real music. Pete rushes to the radio and turns it off. An elderly co-worker (probably also a fan of Dixieland) complains, “I like that…” “Well, I don’t,” the usually easy-going protagonist insists, the geezer offering being an affront to much more than his listening habits. That same day, Pete (with help) brings off a magic moment, perhaps too good to be true (or too true to be widely sustained).

   The day before, a still somewhat shaken and bruised Pete (being a virtuoso in instrumentation, but in being about the smooth and powerful operation of car machinery), is put on the case of a rich client’s Mercedes needing some tuning. (“I don’t like the sound of something…”) He finds and fixes that problem after only a few minutes of taking a spin with the owner at the wheel. That owner, sort of like but also pointedly unlike the geezer being a fan of Fred’s, dotes on Pete’s zone of mastery. But he (Mr. Eddy, by name) has other enthusiasms far less to Pete’s liking. (Enthusiasm for producing [poorly-toned] porn movies, for instance.) And then there is his fixation on the rules of the road that—when enjoying the glitch- free operation of the car on a hilly highway and being tailgated by a young man assuming that the Mercedes driver, being middle-aged, is an effete pushover—drives him to ram a miscreant in a flimsy American-make with his good-old Krupp steel and, with armed henchmen attending, use his hand gun as a dagger and deliver a Gestapo rip-up, which causes Pete to feel very tense. (Another ingredient of the river of malaise being magnified here is shown by Mr. Eddy’s allowing his carriage-trade tastes in automobiles to dwindle to moralistic preaching— “… tailgating is a thing I cannot tolerate…”; comparable with Renee and Fred’s sounding like geezers in denouncing the owner of a noisy dog.)

   Thus Pete’s encounter, right after being sickened by Fred’s collapsing art, with Mr. Eddy’s girlfriend, Alice, who accompanies the driving purist arranging for some work on his Cadillac—a blonde, but Renee by another name, and also played by Patricia Arquette—involves both his awe in the face of her physical beauty as complemented by kinetic grace (as accentuated by a slow-motion exit from the Caddy); and terror at the prospect of ever going near her. This meeting is washed over by Lou Reed’s “This Magic Moment,” as accentuating, “by the look in your eyes,” that she is as smitten as he. Near closing time, she returns in a cab (a Vanguard cab) and her facial expression is quite astonishing in being the only emission of true warmth in the entire film. Pete tries to get her out of his harm’s way, but he decides in the thrill of the moment to live not only dangerously but ruinously. On their second night of saturation bombing, one of Mr. Eddy’s scouts sees them entering the motel unit Alice arranged (in the mode of an SEC football cheerleader— “Hey! Up here! C’mon up, Baby! I already got the room!”); and their retreat in face of General Sherman has begun.

    But that may be ascribing too much to the anal attacker. Alice phones next day, cancelling their third day of paradise. “I think he suspects something… We have to be careful…”(That dispensing of free-wheeling, including crossing many state lines, would, in the sightline of Mr. Eddy, be turning their multifaceted momentum into an easy target.) Her call is framed in such a way as to show only her red lipstick lips. We had seen the same visual of Renee’s lips quavering to the police about the vague threat comprising the video of her and Fred sleeping, with zero erotic energy. And some of us had seen the same optics in Samuel Beckett’s play, “Not I” (1973) where white-knuckle anxiety meets an abyss that could be far less geriatric were the self-imprisonment of respectable intellection and piety not seen to be so impressive. By the time the lovers do meet again (Pete having been dragged over the coals by Sheila), Alice has dropped all traces of the wonderment of an uncanny love’s momentum and replaced it with a hard-boiled scheme to murder and rob one of her colleagues (that same Andy), steal his car and take off…; and there the anticipation runs out of steam. Once again Pete chafes and then dives in. By way of her fearfully overthinking demand that he ride a bus to the target, and therefore be less traceable, she puts into place a further come-down in dynamics and he proceeds to smash the cinematographer’s head on an unyielding coffee table—the blood flow resembling a Dali clock, to match the Dali red lips sofa evoked by those phone calls. She greatly adds to his anguish by coming downstairs from the bedroom as if she were another person. “Wow!” she goes, with adolescent nihilism. “You killed him…” she adds, expertly sizing up the worst legal case scenario. (Contributing impressively to the shredding of tone now entering a terminal phase, there are two preambles to the murder. On having the third takeoff aborted, Pete rounds up Sheila and at a motel his approach is as sterile as Fred’s, notwithstanding a faster pace. Mooting the porn involvement with Mr. Eddy, she describes her audition [Marilyn Manson’s hysterical version of “I Put a Spell on You” striking an appropriately dysfunctional chord].) Their exit from the world of fervent discovery takes place at a small plywood facsimile of Fred and Renee’s Bauhaus establishment. You could even call it an expulsion. Before their driving off, she notices Pete’s nearly breaking down and points the dead man’s gun at the dead-man-lover. Her question, “Don’t you trust me, Pete?” is a further ingredient of a one-way travesty. At the desert haunt (kicked off by her matter-of-fact nightmare, “We have to cross the desert, Baby!”) she pushes up the high-beams and, in an eerie and riveting display of challenging the failure, she employs her employee to stand-in as a lover on the sands to her platinum blonde, windswept mane and incandescent wildness. She ends her moment in the spotlight by reciting a noir moment of collapsing cool (that shack also standing for the beach house of Soberin undergoing an atomic eruption, in Kiss Me Deadly.) “You still love me Pete?... More than ever?” [he had asked, “Why me, Alice?”]. His ineffective rally is, “I want you!” Her ineffective rally is, “You’ll never have me!”

    The denouement dispenses with those fugitives from Mr. Eddy and gives us Renee as the tailgate and Fred as his killer. How did they beat the odds? Well, that small and sickly but durable ringmaster becomes some kind of ally in the field of endless expanses and their endless ebb and flow. Fred (alone)—or his facsimile—has come back to the fray in supplanting Pete in his birthday suit in the sands. He’s beckoned (to the shack into which Alice had disappeared, no longer a person of interest) by the omnipresent and barely substantial pacesetter who clears the jazz-man’s cobwebs in angrily insisting he forget the Pete-salient Alice and instead embark in the vicinity of Renee, dead or alive. Moreover, he sports a video camera to measure the creative temperature and let us see what he sees to be crucial. There is a drive to The Lost Highway Hotel and Fred’s cleansing (a sort of Mike Hammer) the premises of the hyper-sober, Soberin-like man with the fleet of black cars. He stashes in the trunk the former underground king and sweet talker, drives to the empty wasteland and—very pointedly with the video cameraman’s assistance finishes him off in a bloody attack. The articulate, even rhapsodic(in a gritty way), crime lord’s last words set in relief that the fussy little taskmaster is about threading a needle of clarification to maintain a state of productive and finite grace in a catchment quite proud of savaging a brief and infinite delight. “You and me, Mister, we can really out-ugly the best of them, can’t we?” After the Mister administers the coup de grace, there is a cut to Fred with the murder weapon now in his hand—emphasizing quite a different alliance than that which Mr. Eddy could envisage. (During the shaky moments when first we see him, Fred hears from his front-door intercom a message, “Dick Laurent is dead…” The speaker was the very white figure, making a point on the level of the more crude but more speedy dispensation—that where Mr. Eddy/ Dick Laurent died. Before hitting the open and largely lost highway, Fred, having rallied to primordial effect [better late than never] goes to that intercom and reiterates the death of Dick Laurent, to residents who may be heartened.) A follow-up scene, with those two tone-deaf LA detectives scoping out the disconcerting resting place of Andy, comprises them recognizing a photo including Renee, the murder victim not being well recognized by the system. The cop having raised tone-deafness (being thereby a rather close kin to Mr. Eddy who had offered one of his products to Pete to induce a “boner,”) intones a Dragnet-style bit of fluff apropos of the photo, which nevertheless speaks to the depths of this odd flood of lost satisfaction: “I think there’s no such thing as a bad coincidence” [all tries somehow being to the good].