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birthday-journey-posts · 6 months ago

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Pascha Pumpkin Challenge

In the heart of the Enchanted Meadow of Moriah Hallow, there lives a remarkable bunny named Noam. His fur is as soft as the petals of spring flowers, and his eyes sparkled with the promise of adventure. Noam is no ordinary rabbit; he is the Easter Bunny, the keeper of faith, joy and wonder. Unlike most forest friends who thrive in spring, Noam loved the fall just as much. In the fall, his fur turns a warm blend of pastel colors, reminiscent of both blooming flowers and falling leaves

In autumn, the trees wear a golden crown, and the air carries the scent of cinnamon and apples.

Under the ancient boughs of the Whispering Holt Tree, Noam decides to host a celebration—a grand Pascha Pumpkin challenge. The meadow creatures, from chirping birds to fluttering butterflies, had received invitations adorned with golden ribbons. Each invitation bore the name of a friend who had shared in Noam’s whimsical forest tales throughout the seasons. As the sun dipped low, casting a warm glow over the meadow, Noam stood at the entrance to his cozy burrow. His paws held a miraculous book—the “Eggsciting Adventures” volume one—filled with recipes and secrets passed down through generations of Easter Bunnies. The pages whispered with anticipation, promising delights beyond imagination.

“Welcome, dear friends!” Noam’s voice echoed through the meadow. “Your laughter and kindness have woven the very fabric of our world. Today, we celebrate you!” The creatures gathered, their eyes shining with curiosity. Robin, with feathers as red as ripe strawberries, perched on a mossy stone. Owl, wise and dignified, hooted in approval. Even Hedgehog, bristling with quills, waddled forth, his heart soft as marshmallow fluff.

Noam served lavender-infused carrot cakes, rosemary honey biscuits, and nettle tea brewed from moonlit dewdrops. Each morsel held a dash of magic, a sprinkle of joy. The air hummed with laughter, and the Whispering Holt tree rustled its approval.

Noam spoke, ''as Halloween approaches, we gather to celebrate the harvesting of the Pascha pumpkins.'' These magical pumpkins are a significant role in our festivities. and the joy of sharing this special time with loved ones and friends.

Giving a Noam’s Pascha pumpkin is more than just sharing a treat—it’s an expression of God’s love.

With his gentle paws, Noam blessed each Pascha Pumpkin. These miraculous gourds symbolize God’s love and abundance. Their vibrant colors hold the essence of the changing seasons.

Sharing a Pascha pumpkin, it’s more than a treat—it’s a gesture of kindness and connection from the forest creatures to good people. When you receive one, it’s like receiving a warm hug from Moriah Hallow itself.

Just then—a delicate butterfly named Luna flew bye; Noam closed the Great book. Inside was the list of this year's winners of the Pascha Pumpkin. His whiskers twitched with delight. “Let us feast,” he declared, “and fill this meadow with laughter!” And feast they did. Acorn muffins disappeared in a flurry of nibbles, berry compotes vanished in a burst of flavor, and thistle-thorn pies melted into sweet memories.

The meadow echoed with tales of daring egg hunts, moonlit dances, and secret wishes whispered to the stars. As the moon ascended, bathing the meadow in silver, Noam sat amidst his friends. His once-pristine coat now bore traces of frosting and crumbs, but his heart soared. “This celebration,” he said, “is not just mine but ours.” And so, beneath the Whispering Holt tree, with the “Eggsciting Adventures” book by his side, Noam thanked his friends. For in their laughter, their camaraderie, and their simple “thank you,” he found the truest magic of all—the magic of friendship.

Embrace the wonder of Moriah Hallow, where magical creatures and seasonal celebrations intertwine! If you’d like to explore more, you can find “Noam Fall Garden” story of the Pascha Pumpkin

Hope you get one! Hope you find one!ReplyForward

#noam #fun facts #world news #Moriah Hallow #children books #pascha pumpkin #pumpkins #halloween #jack o lantern #christian broadcasting network #spooky aesthetic #halloween vibes #vintage halloween #all hallows eve #best seller books #day of the dead

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bookrabbit · 6 months ago

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Pascha Pumpkin Challenge

In autumn, the trees wear a golden crown, and the air carries the scent of cinnamon and apples.

Giving a Noam’s Pascha pumpkin is more than just sharing a treat—it’s an expression of God’s love.

With his gentle paws, Noam blessed each Pascha Pumpkin. These miraculous gourds symbolize God’s love and abundance. Their vibrant colors hold the essence of the changing seasons.

Embrace the wonder of Moriah Hallow, where magical creatures and seasonal celebrations intertwine! If you’d like to explore more, you can find “Noam Fall Garden” story of the Pascha Pumpkin

Hope you get one! Hope you find one!

#moriah hallow #noam #pumpkins #children books #halloween #books #rabbits #bunnies #christian books #best seller book #books and reading #fairy tales #Disney #walt disney

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noam-easter-bunny · 6 months ago

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Pascha Pumpkin Challenge

In autumn, the trees wear a golden crown, and the air carries the scent of cinnamon and apples.

Giving a Noam’s Pascha pumpkin is more than just sharing a treat—it’s an expression of God’s love.

With his gentle paws, Noam blessed each Pascha Pumpkin. These miraculous gourds symbolize God’s love and abundance. Their vibrant colors hold the essence of the changing seasons.

Embrace the wonder of Moriah Hallow, where magical creatures and seasonal celebrations intertwine! If you’d like to explore more, you can find “Noam Fall Garden” story of the Pascha Pumpkin

Hope you get one! Hope you find one!ReplyForward

Attendee panel closed

#Noam #Halloween #vintage halloween #fun facts #christian broadcasting network #history #moriah hallow #children's books #best seller books #pumpkins #random facts #interesting facts #challenge #Halloween Challenge

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kuroopaisen · 4 years ago

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tiny love || 12

➵ as tooru’s younger sister, falling in love with iwaizumi hajime is easy. your feelings aren’t ignored, either. this time, you both decided to tell your brother the truth.

warnings: f!reader

wc: 1k

m.list | ch. 11 ↞ ch. 12 ↠ ch. 13

Last time…

“Hey, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi swallowed, his face a tad paler than usual. “We have something to tell you.”

✧ ✧ ✧

“We?” Tooru chuckled, a familiar playful lilt to his voice.

“Hello,” you piped up before he had time to tease Iwaizumi about who ‘we’ might be.

“Ah!” The phone burst with joy, a pleasant tinkle to the way Oikawa called your name.

Your stomach plummeted.

“So, what’s up?” Tooru sighed. “You’re not about to tell me that you need to borrow some money, are you?”

“When have I ever asked you for money?” You grumbled, your free hand teasing the fabric of your pyjama shorts between your fingers. God, it’s too normal; a typical back-and-forth between siblings.

It was a strange contrast to the dread settling in your gut.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Tooru chirped. Blissfully unaware. You were almost envious.

You braved a glance at Iwaizumi. His jaw was taut, his lips pressed thin.

You tightened your grip around his hand, as if you were trying to instil a modicum of strength into him.

“Yeah, well…” Iwaizumi cleared his throat, blinking a little faster than usual.

“You sound so grim,” Tooru chuckles. “Come on then, out with it.”

Iwaizumi’s face turned a shade paler, his jaw taut.

This was hard for him. That much was obvious.

But he was trying.

And it was as hard for him as it was for you.

Everything within you stung, a tempest of nettles and thorns that refused to give you any respite. You’d been doing this – whatever this was, whatever Iwaizumi was ready to call this fondness between you – behind Tooru’s back for so long now.

High school. Years of bitterness. Downplaying just how much you hurt in order to maintain peace. A peace which you’d shattered with your own hands, on your own volition, when you had every opportunity not to.

But what’s done is done. You weren’t about to make the same mistakes you had in high school.

You had to tell him. You had to assert yourself, to show him that you matter too. That Iwaizumi meant something to you. That you meant something to him.

“We’re dating.”

It blurted out of your mouth with all the clumsiness and inelegance of a newborn foal. You just wanted to get it out, to shift the horrible tightness in your chest, to breathe out the burning in your gut.

Deathly silence followed.

It was worse than you’d feared.

Tooru was never silent. Whenever he was, it meant something bad had happened. Stagnation. Rejection. Fury.

Those were the only things that could render Tooru silent.

You wondered if you should fill the space with something else. But, there was nothing to say.

All this tension, all this discontent, stripped naked in two words.

“Is this a joke?” Tooru’s voice was a razor, thin and sharp and cold. “Because it’s not very funny.”

Your brother had never spoken to you like this. You’ve heard him talk about other people in this voice – a certain Kageyama Tobio comes to mind – but the ire had never been directed at you before.

You bit the inside of your cheek.

God, you just wished you wouldn’t take it all so seriously – why did this matter so much? Why was it causing you so much stress? What was wrong with y—

“It’s not,” Iwaizumi said. “She’s telling you the truth.”

He no longer had a ghostly pallor. A familiar crease lined his brow. You realised, not without a hint of irony, that it’s the look he always had in the middle of one of his high school games. That was when his tenacity always shone through the most.

“I asked you to keep an eye on her, not fuck her,” Tooru hissed.

It was like everything you knew gave way beneath you, like the thin ground above a pit in one of those adventure movies.

You weren’t you anymore. You were her. Not a person on your own accord, but something to be coddled, ‘protected’, prevented from making their own decisions.

A grievance.

“That’s out of line!” Iwaizumi’s voice boomed, speckled with rage. “Don’t talk about your sister like that!”

“Don’t tell me how I can or can’t talk about her!” Tooru’s voice was just as sharp, just as blue-hot. “She’s my sister, you, you—”

“I’m right here, Tooru,” you hissed, the corners of your eyes beginning to sting. What were you, a doll? A pet? A cup of fine china that had to be handled with care?

You were an adult, a woman, and Tooru needed to—

“You stay out of this,” he barked.

“No!”

The word scratched against your throat like gravel. You sounded like a petulant child – something you’d told yourself to avoid in this call.

But that was all Tooru saw you as – a child who couldn’t make her own choices. A child that needed to be protected.

The horrible realisation comes to you with an underwhelming mundanity.

Tooru didn’t see you as an individual. Not in the way you wanted him to. You were just his baby sister, silly and stupid and easily misled.

“Don’t talk about me like that!” Everything you wanted to say was gone, no matter how desperately you tried to wrangle them. Any well-thought out defence, or explanation, or appeal to his reason… all of it, gone.

A pressure was building in your head, angry and persistent. You felt like you were going to explode, spluttering out of your seams. It was all slipping away from you too fast, running like water through your hands.

“I don’t want to hear anything out of you!” Tooru yelled. “You should know better than to fuck around with my friends!”

“My feelings matter too!” You shouted back. “You don’t own Hajime—”

“Oh, Hajime?” Tooru scoffed. “Jesus Christ…”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, every inch of your skin burning. This was the worst possible outcome. Nothing could’ve prepared you for this. Nothing at all.

“You don’t get to control who I do and don’t date,” you said, a waver running through your words.

“You know what? I’m not having this conversation.”

“Tooru—”

The end tone blared out its steady march.

He was gone.

It was over before it’d even begun.

The silence enveloped you like a shroud, dank and oppressive and suffocating.

Tooru hadn’t even given you a chance to explain yourself. Not properly. He’d just shouted.

He’d never shouted at you before – not properly. Sure, there were petty fights over meaningless things neither of you could remember, but there’d never been a true falling out.

But there you sat, an ache in your chest that felt wholly unfamiliar. A new kind of aloneness, an isolation wholly different from anything you’d felt before. It wasn’t like getting your heart broken by the boy you had a ridiculously big crush on. It wasn’t like moving to a whole new country, throwing yourself into a perilous unknown.

No, this was a new pain, one you didn’t know how to name. The insurmountable rift had grown even wider. Now there was no chance of reaching him.

Your chest ached with how tight it was, your eyes stung with a startling ferociousness, your head pounded to the rhythm of your racing thoughts—

“Hajime—”

His arms encircled you as you croaked out his name. He pulled you towards him and pressed a firm kiss to your forehead. You let yourself fall against his chest, your cheek coming to rest against the soft cotton of his shirt. He was warm, like he always was. Firm, warm, steady.

He was safe. You were safe.

You let the tears bubble out. You needed it. All that fretting, all that waiting, only for it to turn out like this? Maybe you were just the punching bag in some great cosmic joke. Something so trivial, so human, causing this much strife…

For the first time in your life, you envied all those people out there with distant relationships with their siblings – even the ones who regarded their blood relatives with contempt. At least, then, it wouldn’t feel so much like you were the one holding the knife. Maybe then, you wouldn’t be tearing yourself apart from the inside out over something you shouldn’t even feel guilty about in the first place.

God, this was so stupid. And Hajime… poor Hajime…

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything. But you knew. You knew he would hold good on his promise. He wouldn’t run away this time.

He hadn’t.

Your heart was breaking all over again.

But this time, you weren’t alone.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu x reader #tiny love #I'M SO DUMB I HAD THIS DOWN AS CH 11 BUT IT'S 12

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mementofloreo-archived · 4 years ago

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@duskknightery || JESUS CRUST THIS IS SO LATE AUGH || gay people.

Nettle hasn't had as much opportunity to get acquainted with Diluc Ragnvindr as he would like- not outside of his occasional visits to Angel's Share, at least.

Even so, he's somehow managed to fumble his way onto the brusque fellow's good side...Diluc seems to find him agreeable, at the very least, so perhaps that means they've become friends.

Diluc knows his name, his usual order- the names of his sister and her wife, who sometimes go for drinks with Nettle. He's even committed the name of Nettle's nephew Briarly to memory now, despite never having properly met the little boy. They've exchanged enough small talk over the months since Nettle started going to the tavern that privately, Nettle considers him a friend despite not having seen him much of anywhere other than behind the bar.

He hasn't been to the tavern in some time now, though- mostly for lack of time and energy.The first week it was because Briarly was sick, and Nettle was lending an extra hand at the tailor shop so that his sister could excuse herself to take care of her son where necessary.

In the weeks since then, he's found himself busy helping his sister-in-law give first aid training to some inexperienced adventurers. Part of that has involved leading exploration parties for practical classes, learning to identify and use medicinal herbs in the field.

And so the only times he's seen Diluc the past month and a half are when he happens to pass by the tavern on the way from one task to the next. He'll manage a quick greeting and smile if he can, but aside of that they haven't even spoken.

Regardless,it's kind of a surprise when, while ambling home late from filling commissions, Diluc catches him by the wrist on a street corner. He looks like he's been running and Nettle is about to ask if something is wrong before he finds his voice stuck in his throat. It's hard to get a word out or even think once Diluc has dipped down to kiss him.

He's dizzy when Diluc pulls away, but he hears the words clearly all the same. I couldn't stop thinking about you. Nettle doesn't know how to respond. He isn't unhappy to hear it, but he's...very caught off guard. That Diluc might put any thought to him when he's not around has never occurred to him. And he's not blind- Nettle's been thankful for alcohol to explain the flush in his cheeks at times when they're talking, and glad for other customers to hold Diluc's attention when he finds himself staring a little too much.

“Uh, I...” he finally manages to fumble for something to say, “...I didn't...realize.”

His free hand has come up to clutch the fabric of his jacket over his heart and he feels the deep flush in his face.

“I guess it never struck me that you might miss me too.” Nettle's voice is small and shy, an admission both that Diluc was on his mind as well as the surprise at learning he's important to him.

Diluc's hand drifts down from Nettle's wrist to gently hold his hand instead. He realizes that he's not wearing his gloves.

“Sorry if I startled you with the...” Diluc's eyes flick away and Nettle feels his heart jump when he sees his cheeks grow a little pink. “...it was impulsive. I didn't even realize I was doing it until I pulled away.”

“I mean I was definitely surprised...” Nettle says, and he moves his hand so that he can hold Diluc's as well. “...but I think that...I kind of liked it. So you don't have to apologize.”

#「ʜᴇ'ꜱ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ ║ ʙᴜᴛ ꜰʀᴀyᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅꜱ⸝ ʜᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋꜱ」 [Nettle]#「ᴏᴜʀ ᴅɪsᴀᴘᴘᴏɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛs ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴇᴀʟ⸝ ᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛs ᴡɪʟʟ sᴘɪʟʟ║ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ⸝ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴍᴇ⸝ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜɪs」[Nettle🎔Diluc║duskknightery]

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garywonghc · 7 years ago

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How Will You See the Guru?

by Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse Rinpoche

Guru devotion is the head, heart, blood, spine, and breath of the incredible Vajrayana, the path of Buddhist tantra. The Vajrayana is not a safe stroll in the countryside. In fact, safety is probably the least of our concerns. The Vajrayana’s way of dealing with ego and the emotions is hazardous. The methods are sometimes even reckless. Therefore, the tantric path is the most adventurous of all Buddhist paths. If this is not an adventure, then there is no adventure.

Deciding to follow another human being — not a god, not a machine, not nature, not a system of governance, not the sun or the moon but a shower-taking, sleeping, yawning, shitting, moody, bribable being — is either the stupidest thing a person can do or the most rewarding. It is a gift to have this inclination and the tenacity to follow it. It is a gift to have doubtless confidence. It is a gift to be able to kill doubt with doubt. Not everyone has these gifts.

Nyoshul Lungtok’s student had these gifts. Once while doing the guru’s laundry, he found a shit stain and thought, “Oh, the Vajradhara shits.” But having received instructions on how a student must regard the teacher as Buddha, he immediately reprimanded himself, “How can I think the Vajradhara shits?” But then he reprimanded himself again, thinking, “Is this just me being a sycophant?” Then for a third time he reprimanded himself, coming to the conclusion that being a sycophant is just a concept, a fear. And after all these scoldings, he still followed the guru, not blindly but wholeheartedly.

Once you have started the journey of practicing Vajrayana, many things can happen, and you have to be prepared. It’s important to have faith, but it’s good to also have doubt and use reason. Often faith comes in the aftermath of doubt and doubt comes in the aftermath of faith. And the one that comes second is often much more powerful. In the end, we have to abandon both.

The Vajrayana is a path of the union of wisdom and method, the union of science and faith, the union of myth and truth, but even many Vajrayana practitioners find it difficult or don’t even think to try to marry these seemingly unmarriable qualities. For example, many apply the method, such as prostrating to the guru or offering a lotus flower, hands beautifully folded in anjali mudra, but they do so as a ritual without applying wisdom. Prostration is surrender, but very few people prostrate with genuine confidence; they don’t think, “I am prostrating to the deity who is none other than myself, and likewise the deity is prostrating to me.” Knowing that the deity and the prostrator are one and the same is the ultimate prostration.

The guru is actually like a horizon. A horizon is apparent — a line where earth and sky appear to meet. But in reality, they never meet. There is only an illusion of an ending point, a point of reference where we can stand and measure and assess. In this way, the guru is like a horizon between wisdom and method, myth and truth, science and faith.

THE OUTER GURU

In the Vajrayana, the guru has three aspects: the outer guru, the inner guru, and the secret guru. It’s important to be clear about these before entering a path that uses the guru as a method for awakening. The great Sakyapa master Könchok Lhundrup explained that the outer guru is the physical person you can see and communicate with, from whom you can receive verbal and symbolic teachings and instructions. The outer guru is “as Buddha as it gets.” The inner guru is the nature of your mind—in other words, a mind that is not thinking of a “thing” but is simply cognisant and undeniably present. And the secret guru is the emptiness of all phenomena.

The inner guru and the secret guru have no skin colour. They have no title and no seat. They have no form to be clad in silk brocade. They are not bound by moods, attitudes, or culture. And somehow the absence of these attributes adds to their value in our minds, and we hold them in higher esteem than the real McCoy. Outer gurus are invariably complicated entities because they are tangible and lovable. They have moods and attitudes and phone numbers. They are less mysterious because they yawn and go to sleep when they are tired. But all three manifestations of the guru — outer, inner, and secret — are equally valuable. There is no hierarchy.

We begin the path of the Vajrayana by imagining, fabricating, making believe, “meditating” on the outer guru as Buddha. By the power of our imagination, we see the colour of the guru’s skin as gold like Shakyamuni or lapis lazuli like Vajradhara. We may see the guru’s body with the extra arms of a tantric deity and the guru’s gender switching from male to female or female to male. After a while, we begin to see this living and breathing person as Buddha.

But this “seeing,” contrary to what you might think, doesn’t necessarily mean the guru will appear on your doorstep tanned with gold or encrusted with lapis lazuli. It means you will no longer interact with the guru as a dualistic ordinary being as you once did. How will you see the guru? The classic explanation is that interaction with the guru will be a direct experience of form as emptiness and emptiness as form; it will be a mingling with the jnanas and kayas. This explanation is not so far-fetched. Just think about how your perception of a person transforms from the moment you meet them as a stranger to when you fall in love to when they become your lover. As your perception changes, the experience changes.

By the time you manage to truly free yourself from your limited perception of the guru, you will also be free from the limited perception of colour and shape. Gold will be indistinguishable from the colour of a sponge mop. A thousand arms no longer stupefy or get in the way — in fact, it becomes almost ridiculous to think that a perfect human being would have only two arms. At this stage you stop worrying about all attributes — size, weight, gender, and so on; their significance melts away. It’s like nettle soup: once it’s cooked, you don’t worry about the stinging hairs anymore.

The guru is not a trophy, nor is seeing the guru as the Buddha the end of the story. To be happy with just that would be a contradiction of the Buddha’s words. To focus only on the Buddha would be like focusing on a finger that’s pointing to the moon instead of looking directly at the moon. When we recognise our own mind as the Buddha, that is the final victory. That’s when you become your own master; you no longer seek, find, venerate, follow, or obey one particular person or object — this is the glorious uniqueness of the Vajrayana. Without recognising your mind as the Buddha, the Vajrayana would be a defective path akin to Kim Jong-il-ism.

TWO SUPREME METHODS: THE PRACTICAL AND THE MORE PRACTICAL

The Vajrayana offers two supreme methods for accumulating merit: developing compassion for sentient beings and generating devotion for the guru. We can always accumulate merit through veneration of the Buddha, but for beginners this may be too abstract a concept: we have never seen the Buddha, and we haven’t met anyone who has met him. He’s purely our imagination. The guru whom you have encountered, on the other hand, has appeared before you within your own capacity, and you can communicate with him. You can think of him as a buddha — not Shakyamuni but your buddha, if that’s all your merit can handle. As your ability becomes more efficient, the projection of the guru becomes more sublime. Therefore, the guru is the perfect object through which to accumulate merit. With the guru, you have personal contact, a personal relationship; you can actually have an interaction. In the tantras it is said again and again that to venerate even one pore of the guru’s body has much more merit than making offerings to thousands and thousands of buddhas.

For many of us, generating compassion for all sentient beings is very abstract; devotion to the guru feels more practical and feasible. Even if we manage to generate a vague idea of what “all sentient beings” might mean, we might be able to sustain compassion for them for a day or two, but it’s difficult to feel compassion for all people at all times. Devotion to a guru whom we have chosen for ourselves is much more practicable. Our compassion for all sentient beings is always marred by partiality and projection. Devotion to a guru, however, is very personal and much less abstract. It can begin with admiration, awe, obedience, and inspiration, though they may all be sporadic.

MERIT DICTATES HOW WE PERCEIVE THE GURU

As Jigme Lingpa said, the moon has all the qualities necessary for its reflection to appear on the surface of a clear lake. If the moon did not have a shape or substance, and if it didn’t reflect the light of the sun, it would not be possible for it to appear on the water’s surface. Furthermore, the quality of clear water is that it can reflect, and when the moon and the water — wo entirely separate entities — are perfectly aligned without any obstruction between them, a reflection of the moon will appear effortlessly, without intention. Similarly, our inner Buddha has qualities that enable it to manifest effortlessly and without intention. When there are no obstacles, the Buddha will reflect spontaneously in sentient beings who have the merit.

Some beings have the merit to enjoy the reflection of the inner Buddha in the form of the outer historical Buddha Shakyamuni, who came 2,500 years ago. Some have the merit to enjoy the reflection of the inner Buddha in the form of a large fish during a time of famine. For others, the Buddha may be stone statues, paintings, a lotus, a garden, or any of the other material objects that give sentient beings temporary happiness. And those with the most supreme type of merit have the ability to see nondual bliss as the Buddha.

The process of relating to this reflection of the inner Buddha is called devotion. As long as there is the stream of thoughts, there is no end to the projection of samsara. Until the end of samsara, there is no end to the path. As long as there is a path, there is devotion. And as long as there is devotion, there is an outer teacher.

THE HUMAN BRIDGE

If the concept of the outer guru as Buddha is beyond comprehension, recognising the inner guru and the secret guru is even more vast. In the beginning, we can only form a hazy idea about any of these three aspects of the guru on an intellectual level. To truly understand the inner and secret gurus, we need a bridge that extends from one shore to the other — from ourselves to our inner and secret gurus. The only bridge is a person we can touch and see and with whom we can share experiences, who can be a reference and an example and who has the familiarity and knowledge to introduce the inner and secret gurus. The only bridge is the outer guru.

The relationship with a guru can never be simple. We human beings have a habit of hope and fear, and we each come saddled with our different cultures and characters. As long as we are bound by these distinctions, we are deluded, and as long as we are deluded, our relationships are complicated.

Through the veil of your everyday deluded perceptions, the outer guru may seem like an ordinary person. He shares your taste for pizza with anchovies but also drinks strong coffee, which you don’t like at all. He appears to get cranky when you don’t get it right. He’s a human being. But he wasn’t born in your neighborhood, so he’s exotic and interesting. The more exotic the better, especially if you’re a naive and gullible disciple easily impressed by colours, shapes, and races. The best is when his skin is a completely different shade. Then again, if it’s too exotic it doesn’t work.

BEYOND HUMAN

It’s difficult to accept a guru as “beyond” human because we practitioners are human beings ourselves; there is a part of us always looking for familiarity. We want our guru to be shaped like us and to like the same love songs as we do. On the other hand, we want our guru to be exceptional and sublime but not too exceptional or too sublime. If the guru had three eyes, we wouldn’t know how to handle that. We buy gifts for the guru and imagine how surprised and pleased he will be to receive them. At the same time, we want the guru to be clairvoyant, if not omniscient, so he will already know what we are bringing. It’s complicated, our mind. So the guru needs to serve both purposes: being an ordinary human who can make sense, and also being one who has all the skills to take you beyond the human state. The guru must be half ordinary being and half sublime being.

The work falls in your corner. You won’t have any trouble seeing the guru as a human being because that’s already your habit. But you’ll have to work to make that person a hybrid by “seeing” him or her as sublime. You have to do whatever it takes — educate yourself, habituate yourself — to see him or her as sublime. And most important, you have to have the merit and the ability to think that way. This is why we have mind training and guru yoga.

BEYOND DUALISM

While many err on the side of expecting too much of a guru — like constant worldly emotional support and advice — others reject a human guru altogether. It’s as if they are afraid to relate to a living being. They say things like “I am my own guru,” using the convenient and educated-sounding excuse that everything, including the guru, is the nature of mind. But after some questioning, it becomes clear that they don’t have even a faint understanding of what “nature of mind” means.

I’ve met many middle-aged Europeans who resent the Abrahamic religions they were brought up with for managing to infect them with the virus of guilt. At some point along the way, some managed to rebel, perhaps when they were teenagers during the post-World War II era. Some of these rebels managed to get excited about Buddhist teachings; they were turned on by concepts like “everything is mind” and “you are your own master,” and they remain excited to this day. These beliefs align with their rebellious nature and validate their resentment of organised religion. Intellectually, these ex-Abrahamic dharma seekers no longer believe in original sin, but because of their upbringing, the habit of feeling guilty and sinful is still strong. This type of person has a tendency to over enthusiastically wave the banner of inner and secret gurus.

This attitude — that the inner guru is enough — is often adopted by those whose intellectual orientation is slightly nihilistic or who are from very controlling, high- achieving families and resent the idea of yet another powerful person breathing down their necks.

Then there are others who like to be led. Even when it comes to mundane issues, they don’t trust their own judgment or inner voice. They can barely go to the grocery store without being full of doubt. They also tend to be a little bit lazy, asking the guru for advice on every little thing that pops into their heads. These types of people have to learn to trust themselves and rely less on the outer guru. They might find that the more they trust the inner and secret gurus, the more they rely on and love the outer guru.

Ultimately, the question of whether the inner guru is enough for you is irrelevant if your spiritual aim is to attain enlightenment. But there is an easy way to find the answer. If you can overcome any and all external circumstances, then maybe you don’t need the outer guru, because by then all appearance and experience arise as the guru anyway. On the other hand, if a practitioner is not able to control circumstances and situations, then all kinds of mind training are necessary. Therefore, one needs to be led, to be poked, to be spoon-fed.

To find out whether or not you are controlled by circumstances and situations, there are myriad things you can do, such as skip lunch. If you are a man, wear a bra and walk around in public. If you are a woman, go to a fancy party in your bedroom slippers. If you are married, see if you can tolerate someone pinching your spouse’s bottom. See if you are swayed by praise, criticism, being ignored, or being showered with attention. If you get agitated, embarrassed, or infuriated, then more than likely you are still under the spell of the conditions of habit and culture.

You are still a victim of causes and conditions. When a loved one dies or the life you are trying to build collapses, it’s likely that your understanding of the inner and secret gurus will not ease the pain. Nor will your understanding of “form is emptiness and emptiness is form” provide solace. In this case, you need to insert a new cause to counter these conditions. Because your understanding of the inner and secret gurus is only intellectual, you cannot call upon them. This is where the outer, physical, reachable guru is necessary.

As long as you dwell in a realm where externally existing friends and lovers are necessary, as long as you are bothered by externally existing obstacles like passions and moral judgments, you need a guru. Basically, as long as you have a dualistic mind, don’t kid yourself by thinking that an inner guru is enough. When you reach a point where you can actually communicate with your inner guru, you will have little or no more dualism. You will no longer be repelled by or attracted to an outer guru.

Therefore, the outer guru is necessary until you at least have the gist of the inner and secret gurus. When you realise the inner and secret gurus, you won’t even be able to find the outer guru anymore.

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winniecouturebg · 3 years ago

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Shopping For The Perfect Wedding Gown in Atlanta

If you are planning on shopping for your dream wedding gown and searching for the best wedding dresses from bridal shop in Atlanta, look no further than Winnie Couture Flagship Bridal Salon! Nestled in the upscale neighborhood of Buckhead, amongst some of the most premiere wedding dress boutiques and eateries in Atlanta, Winnie Couture is every brides’ ultimate shopping fantasy brought to life. The hypnotizing and inviting two story window display, seen from Piedmont Road, captures the glamorously feminine essence of the Winnie Couture flagship, and offers a bridal shopping experience like no other along with the most intricate and beautiful wedding gowns in Atlanta!

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With European lace, English tulle nettling, and Swarovski crystals, each Winnie Couture wedding gowns from our Atlanta Store is painstakingly handcrafted to highlight your figure and personality. Whether you are looking for an intricate, lace gown or a ball gown to make you truly feel like a princess, Winnie Couture has it all. But you can’t forget about the accessories, too! Winnie Couture Atlanta offers a wide variety of veils, sparkling jewelry, and dazzling headpieces that bring your look together, adding that final special touch.

Your stylist will make you feel like a queen throughout your entire experience. She will intently listen to the vision you have for not only your wedding dress but also your special day. You will receive a complimentary personalized styling service catered to your wants and desires, with special touches like detailed videos of the jaw-dropping wedding gowns prior to your appointment. She will become a member of your I Do Crew and will join you in celebrating once you say YES to the perfect wedding gown!

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strawberryasd · 5 years ago

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In case you haven't met before, say hello to Kya. She's now going to school and has a best friend called Martha. Both of them are on the autism spectrum, but each has a very different way of expressing herself. They both love school. But Kya is very quiet in class, while Martha is very talkative and likes to pretend she's the teacher. Both girls love touching things and textures are very important to them. Kya loves to explore the outside world, touching slimy slugs and stingy nettles. Martha wants to touch different clothes and fabrics, so her Mum made her a special bag with lots of different textures to feel. In many ways, they are very different. But that doesn't really matter. Every day is a brand new adventure and the important thing is to have friends to share it all with. The colourful and heartfelt story lets the reader into the magical world of two little girls, both who just happen to be autistic. Filled with expressive, lively illustrations, it is a joyous celebration of friendship, family and difference. With simple, clear language, it takes us through a typical day with all the routines and surprises that come with the unique view of a child with autism. And it is utterly captivating; just as captivating as the previous book, Through the Eyes of Me, which introduced us to beautiful Kya. This is a story filled with happiness. A welcome addition to your storytime bookshelf and simply perfect for building understanding of difference; which, if we're paying attention, we will notice may not be quite so different after all. A marvelous, wonderful book! https://www.graffeg.com/product/through-the-eyes-of-us-by-jon-roberts/ #Autism #autismgirlpower https://www.instagram.com/p/B1MiXZihduS/?igshid=107iltqebu7uw

#autism #autismgirlpower

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thereallygoodblogshow · 6 years ago

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MA Fashion and Textile Practices Major Project Path - 19th Feb

After our group meeting for TMA1402 - Creative Innovation and Entrepreneurship I headed off to the Richard Steinitz building as there was a Materials and Finishes Festival over 2 days - Monday and Tuesday 18-19th February. This mini festival incorporated a range of companies who are suppliers to the commercial world of Interiors, Architecture and Textiles ranging from floor, wall and ceiling surfaces. The companies were there to discuss with students the applications and possibilities of their products and how they could be utilsed within our projects.

The companies involved were:

Burmatex Flooring, Corian, Panaz, PolyFlor, Autex, Camira, Jaymart, Havwoods, Kvadrat, Waxman Ceramics, Formica.

Each company had a stand with information leaflets, samples, business cards and freebies. The company reps on each stand were really informative and helpful. I came away with quite a few bits and bobs!

I was particularly impressed by Formica and Camira.

Formica is a company synonymous with interiors for the past 100 years. In 1913 Daniel J. O'Conor filed a patent application for a process to make laminated insulators. O'Conor along with his business associates joined partnership as the "Formica Products Company" and went on to produce Formica laminate, a laminated composite material which was initially used to replace mica in electrical applications, it has since been manufactured for a variety of applications. The company's classic product: a heat-resistant, wipe-clean laminate of paper or textile with melamine resin is made of several layers of paper impregnated with melamine thermosetting resin. Which is then topped with a decorative layer protected by melamine, then compressed and cured with heat to make a hard, durable surface.

Formica, F. (2015). Brooks Stevens' Skylark pattern was launched in the 1950s. [Illustration]. Retrieved from http://www.formica.com/en-gb/the-history-of-formica-group.

Melanie really went in-depth on how the product was made, I didn’t know it was made from paper layers! Incidentally from renewable sources. What struck me the most was the sheer variety of textures and finishes you could have. It can be digitally printed with up to 2000 colours and the resolution and clarity looked amazing. I did think how I could utilise this within my Major Project and did think that I am looking at surface pattern more and more, so would love to see some of my prints in this format. I feel like I need to not restrict myself to using just fashion as a vehicle for my project, but to show patterns and graphics on a multitude of surfaces.

Website: Formica. (n.d). The World's Best Known High Pressure Laminate. Retrieved from https://www.formica.com/en-gb.

Camira were also really interesting and inspiring! They are a Yorkshire company (based in Mirfield, just down the road from me) who produce and supply fabric to commercial spaces and businesses such as offices, schools, trains, buses, shops and hospitals. They make over 8 million metres of fabric a year, in the UK and in Lithuania where they spin and dye yarn, grow bast fibre crops to blend with wool, and weave on over 100 dobby, jacquard and plush looms to create their fabrics. They really are textile innovators recognised for designing and manufacturing innovative, adventurous and environmentally sensitive fabrics. They are particularly well known for making fabrics from nettle and hemp, which they have been since the early 1990′s, long before it was a necessity to be an environmentally conscious manufacturer. In 2015 they were recognised for outstanding achievements in continuous environmental improvement and best in class performance with their second successive Queen’s Award for Sustainable Development. I did inquire with them regarding any opportunities after my degree and I was given the email address of Abigail Bomford who is the Creative Director at Camira. I feel they would be a great company to work for!

Website: Camira. (n.d). Camira. Retrieved from https://www.camirafabrics.com/.

Below is an example of their nettle fabric in commercial use:

Design, V. (2015). We love the Martin #bench covered in The Nettle Collection fabric @camira What do you think. [Photograph]. Retrieved from https://twitter.com/vercodesign/status/631042269886476288.

Camira, C. (2015). Nettle Traveller Roamer OWT02 . [Photograph]. Retrieved from https://www.camirafabrics.com/fabrics-and-samples/nettle-traveller/roamer.

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ancestryadventures · 8 years ago

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Ancient Structures: Perthshire, Scotland

After my time in Cumbria, I decided to head north, to Scotland!

Craigower Hill, Perthshire. Jan 2017

I did not intend to trace specific ancestral roots on this part of the journey. But nevertheless, the Holmes placename is still prevalent in this area:

I was invited up by a friend to stay at the foot of the Scottish Highlands, it was my first time to the area, and so I was keen to go on the hills. I was impressed by the pride the Scots have in their culture, without being nationalistic.

Black Spout

My first outing took me to a nearby waterfall called ‘Black Spout’ (’spout’ being an alternative Middle English term for waterfall).

Black Spout waterfalls, Perthshire. Jan 2017

This is a well-known site for an important Iron-Age homestead (aged between the 1st and 3rd century AD), first excavated in 2005. Various tools and objects have been found there and it is still under annual exploration.

Location of Pitlochry, Black Spout and Craigower, Perthshire.

Craigower

Most of the place names have a distinct Gaelic feel, very different to English names. My next stop, was to a local hill, called Craigower (’craig’ from Gaelic ‘creag’ or Middle English ‘crag’, meaning a cliff or mountainside).

Craigower Hill, Perthshire. Jan 2017

My main intention was to reach the viewpoint, to get a bearing of my surrounding mountains and perhaps see some of the nearby Lochs. So I was surprised when - walking off the track as I frequently do! - I came across what appeared to be another Iron Age homestead, consisting of nearly half-a-dozen adjoining buildings.

Craigower Hill, Perthshire. Jan 2017

I found some keep-sakes on the floor to contribute to my staff.

After spending some time at this find, I continued up the hill. Half an hour later, I came across a fantastic view; Mountain Schiehallion on the left, Loch Tummel in the middle, and the snow-capped peaks of the highlands in the distance. Landscape to take your breath away.

Craigower Hill, Perthshire. Jan 2017

Croft Moraig

Following my time on the hills, I returned to the valley and the following day I was guided by my host to a couple more sites of importance.

Croft Moraig stone circle, Perthshire. Jan 2017

Croft Moraig (meaning Mary’s Croft/Farm) stone circle was utilised over a 1,000-year period during the Neolithic and early Bronze Age (over 5,000 years ago). It consists of two circles, and the design has been changed over time as a result of the needs of the communities which used it for at the time.

Croft Moraig stone circle information point, Perthshire. Jan 2017

Croft Moraig stone circle, Perthshire. Jan 2017

Crannog at Loch Tay

The final settlement on this stage of the journey took me to Loch Tay (meaning ‘peaceful/still lake’ in Gaelic - and that it was).

Scottish Crannog Centre, Loch Tay, Perthshire. Jan 2017

This wooden structure leaning over the lake is a reconstruction of a traditional Iron Age building called a Crannog. It’s a replica of one of 18 lake-side dwellings found on the bed of the loch, in front of the village on the other side of the river.

Location of the Crannog, Loch Tay, Perthshire.

In the archaeological excavations, they found lots of information on the construction as well as the way of life of the people who lived there. The floor is supported by wooden beams are buried into the ground and covered by fern and bracken to insulate it. The walls and ceiling are made of woven hazel, and oak boards make the gangway to the shore.

Scottish Crannog Centre, Loch Tay, Perthshire. Jan 2017

Many other artefacts were incredibly well preserved at the original site, showing how these farmers ate, hunted and crafted. During the summer, the Scottish Scrannog Centre opens to the public, with an exhibition and live demonstrations - a fascinating insight into how ancient people used to live during this period of history.

Nettlecraft

But I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news... when walking my owner’s dog, I leant my staff up against my car to shut my car door. Upon doing so I heard a crack and saw my staff, split in two, lying on the car-park floor!

Of course, I wasn’t best pleased and spoke to my host about it. He said that nettle is a strong natural material and proceeded to show me a book. It referenced a nettle worker called Birte Ford, who lived only 15 minutes away!

We decided to pay her a visit at her house, and she generously showed us around and explained the nettle-working process, which I thought I would share with you.

1. Take the long stalks of the nettles and remove the leaves. Dry them for a year or two and lie flat and cover with a cloth.

2. Cover the cloth and bash the fibres until broken. Then use cards (wooden paddles with pins in) to strip the stalks...

...until you’re left with these wool-like fibres.

3. These fibres are now ready for spinning, either with a spinning wheel (below) or drop-spindle

4. And violá, you have your nettle thread!

5. These can now be used like wool to create fabrics and threads.

And the remaining pulp can be made into paper for painting

Or even cast into bowls and sprayed to retain their shape.

Odin Stone

I noticed, around Birte’s neck, and on the cover of her book, she had a necklace of a stone with a hole in. She remarked that these were called Odin Stones that she had collected on a visit back to her birth-land of Denmark. This immediately caught my interest, as Odin is a revered god in Germanic and Viking mythology, part of my ancestral heritage.

These stone holes are made through contact with other rocks and water rushing by, but in pagan traditions, they have been thought to be used for their powers to heal, protect and see fairies.

This chance encounter was a rich and interesting discussion, leading me to glean more evidence into some of my spiritual ancestry, and the skills to be able to spin the wool I got at Greenholme.

This concluded my exploration of Scotland, and so, the adventure continues...

#pitlochry #scotland #perthshire #ancestry #spirituality #crannog #stone circle #anthropolo #nettlecraft #loch tay

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zanystarlightcreator-blog · 7 years ago

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hey-i-wrote-a-story · 7 years ago

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Chapter 8 Fishing with Grandpa

Jacob Patterson loved being a grandfather. He didn’t think he would, what with that title marking his advancing years which he’d prefer to ignore, but he loved it all the same. He was able to dote on his grandson and shower him with treats, and gifts, and outdoor adventures without fear of spoiling him. He knew that his mother would see to all the discipline and denial and all that other parenting stuff. One of the perks of being the grandad was being the fun grownup. Besides, since his daughter’s marriage, he knew there wouldn’t be a man in the boy’s life, not in the traditional sense, so he could indulge in his old-fashioned notions from time to time with model building, playing catch, bicycle repair, and fishing trips. Today it was a fishing trip.

It had been a fun afternoon for the both of them. The learned grandad with his near-limitless knowledge of tying flies and casting rods and watching the water’s surface for signs of movement below, and the eager grandson with his excited yearning to match his elder’s skill, making progress with every attempt. In another hour or two, afternoon would give way to evening, and as much as both participants wanted to stay out until the sun set, mom had been promised that they’d be back on the shore and ready to head for home upon her arrival. Jacob already looked forward to climbing in the backseat as his grandson regaled those in the front with stories of his adventure of Fishing With Gramps as said gramps beamed with pride. But they had to get ashore first.

“Okay, that’s it for today, Grayson”, Jacob announced, doing his best to sound stern and authoritative. “It’s time to head back.”

“Aww, c’mon, grandpa”, Grayson whined. “Can’t we stay out for just one more cast? I’m getting really good at it, honest. Watch, and I’ll show you!”

Jacob rested a hand on Grayson’s small shoulder, stopping the lad from reeling back for a mighty cast of his line. “I know you’re getting good at it”, he grinned. “I’d say a fair sight better than I was at your age, as a matter of fact.”

“Really??”, Grayson glowed at the praise.

“Really. Why would I lie about a thing like that?”, Jacob asked, feigning offense. His white moustache bristled at the edges as he grinned. “But we’ll talk about it later after we’re on dry land. About face, kiddo!”

Grayson whirled around in the water and bobbed about a bit. Both he and his grandfather were in chest high fishing waders, the heavy-duty variety with the boots attached. Grayson loved them. He loved the waders and the vest with its many pockets for stashing lures, and bait, and a compass, and a wad of beef jerky. He was also inordinately fond of his heavy checkered shirt and his tattered cap. He loved them because his grandfather had picked everything out for him, and was dressed the same way. So if Grayson was stuck wearing a gorilla costume, he’d be delighted with that too, provided his beloved gramps was similarly attired.

“Now, remember how I taught you to walk in those”, Jacob cautioned. “I know you’ve got the life jacket on, but I don’t want you capsizing, all the same.”

“But it’s fun to jump when I walk”, Grayson insisted. “It feels like I’m floating on air every time I lift my foot up. It’s like I’m an astronaut on a planet with less gravity!”

Less gravity. The kid was sharp as a whip and getting smarter all the time. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be coaching his old gramps about new-fangled fishing techniques. “All the same, spaceman. I don’t want you going under.”

“You’d catch me”, Grayson said confidently.

“Not if it meant dropping this line of trout”, Jacob smirked. “Don’t overestimate your worth, there.”

“I wouldn’t sink anyways”, Grayson assured him. “I already tested it.”

“You did what?”

“I jumped off the dock once when I had my waders all buckled on. I floated. My feet stick up out of the water like a life raft, but I don’t sink.”

“When the Sam Hill did you do this, then??”

“Last time we went fishing. When you had to run up to the house and told me to wait at the dock. You never said if that meant on the dock or floating close by.” Grayson snickered as he kept hopping and bounding lightly along as the water receded from above the waist to below, to halfway down his thighs as they moved closer to shore.

“You stinker!” Jacob reached out and took hold of the back of Grayson’s life jacket and hefted him up off his feet, leaving the toes of his boots to drag in the sand and silt. “It’s dock fishing for you on our next time out, you wait and see.” Grayson laughed, amused as always when his soft-hearted gramps tried to act as if he were “taking charge” as he put it. Grayson threw his head back, snorting and giggling, trying to catch his gramps’ eye. He knew that if he met his eye while laughing, Gramps was a goner for sure and would wind up laughing right along with him, regardless how hard he resisted.

But the glint of the late afternoon sun on the water made Grayson squint. Eyes closed tight, the boy could still see a field of sparkling after-effects behind his eyelids. “Ack! Sun in the eyes!”, he cried.

“Well, get’cher head back down where it belongs”, Jacob scolded. “Don’t crane your neck like a…well, a crane. Here, we’re almost out anyways.” Jacob set his grandson back down on his feet but kept a guiding hand at the boy’s back. They were almost up on the thick grass beyond the shore at this point, the water now down to their ankles. “You alright?”

Grayson rubbed his eyes and found everything back to normal when he opened them. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay. I’m good now.” Only then did Jacob feel it was safe to remove his hand from his grandson’s back and leave him to stand on his own. For a brief time, they both just looked out at the lake, caught up in the beauty and serenity of the water, the grove of trees on the far side, and the occasional gull flying by.

“It’s really pretty out here”, Grayson said at last.

“It is that.”

“I like how it’s so quiet and you can just look at everything without having to really listen much.” He stood for another moment and did just that. “All the little flashes of light on the lake look kind of like jewels or something”, he observed.

“Yes, they rather do at that”, the grandfather said, reflecting on how often he’d thought the same thing after a day’s fishing.

“It’s cool”, Grayson offered, not yet having the words to convey his feelings about the quiet grace of nature. Then, “I like how some of the sparkles look like they’re floating up off the water. I never noticed that before.”

Jacob was about to tell his grandson about how the combination of the lake water and the fading light of late afternoon and evening can play tricks on your eyes. Or at least he was, until he saw them himself.

“I’ll be…”, he muttered. “What is that? That’s no trick of the light.”

Small sparkling puffs of energy blew lightly across the surface of the lake towards the two fishing companions and proceeded to float up to hover around their heads.

“Woooww…”, Grayson said quietly. “I’ve never seen anything like this before!”, he exclaimed. “What are these, grandpa?”

As the small cluster of energy puffs began to whisk around them, Jacob stared intently. That was a good question. What were they? Not mere seedlings or spores—they’d not glow like this if they were. Insects? They did swarm about like bugs.

“It’s way too early for these to be fireflies”, Grayson deduced. “I wonder if we can catch ‘em in jars like them, though.” He reached out a curious finger but his grandfather brought his arm back.

“Let’s not touch them just yet, Grayson. In case they have stingers or bite, like nettles or a chigger.” Something in Jacob’s mind sensed danger. The hair rose on the back of his neck as one of the glowing wisps zipped past his head. Firmly, he took hold of Grayson by the shoulder. “You know what? I’ll bet they look even better from the grass. All glowing and floating against the water like that. Let’s get out of the water all the way now.”

As Jacob began to hurry his grandson along—not much further to go—one of the energy puffs (nettles? thistles?) flew down and landed on Grayson’s waders.

“Hey look! I think it likes me.” Grayson reached down to his glowing passenger--perhaps it could be coaxed to climb into his hand--when a sharp spark shot for them glowing ball and burnt his finger. “Ow! Hey, watch it!”

Grayson tried to swat the glowing ball away, but it wouldn’t budge. “I think it’s stuck”, Grayson frowned. “G’wan, shoo!” After another ineffectual swat, there were half a dozen glowing nettles clinging to Grayson’s waders. “Gramps, they’re all over.”

Jacob tried to swipe the energy thistles away from his grandson, doing no more than gather some on himself, which clung to his sleeves and his vest.

“They’re sure sticky little devils”, Jacob chuckled, trying his best to hide the fear he felt rising inside him with a lighthearted tone of voice. “Let’s hurry now onto the grass and head uphill towards the cabin. See if that doesn’t discourage ‘em.”

As Jacob helped his grandson quickly lift his muddy boots from the shallows toward the soft grass, the thistles increased in number and in aggression. The buzz that was nearly silent from one or two of them became a rising hum that rang in the ears. In moments, both grandson and grandfather’s heavy waders were covered in the glistening thistles, which began to spark energy angrily, even as more of their number settled on their victim’s sleeves and caps.

“Grampa”, Grayson cried. “What ARE they? Why won’t they come off? Make them stop!”

“I’m tryin’, buddy! Just hold tight!” But Jacob’s words were hollow. He couldn’t brush the stinging thistles from himself, much less rescue his grandson. Jacob swung at the floating thistles with his fishing rod, hoping to sweep them away or swat them out of the air. Neither approach worked. Soon both were engulfed in a swarm of angry sparking lights. The smell of burning fabric and melting rubber began to assault the afternoon air. The stench of burning flesh and hair was not far behind.

“GRANDPA!!” Grayson thrashed wildly, having no more effect than anything else had. The young boy screamed for his grandfather’s help even as his eyes lost their natural color and surged with a sickly orange. The boy’s soft voice was replaced by something horrible; low, wet, and gurgling. His body stiffened and his fingers gnarled like claws. His small body jerked and spasmed so violently that it was punctuated by the sound of breaking bones.

Jacob screamed as well, but in defiance against these tiny creatures and out of fear for his grandson whom he adored beyond measure. The last conscious thing that Jacob Patterson did was rip his fishing vest from his back and attempt to drape its underside, still free from the attacking thistles, over his grandson like a cloak to protect him. He was still moving forward, arms outstretched and vest offered, as a cloud of thistles rushed in to cover his chest and back. Jacob’s eyes went orange and his shriek of pain melted into some kind of inhuman roar as he fell upon the writhing form of what had once been his beloved grandson.

Above, held aloft by the steady beat of huge leathery wings, the monster observed with dispassionate eyes. The destruction of these two beings was total. It was still not satisfied.

“Is that the right time? Is the clock on your dash right?”

The nervous mother tapped the small plastic disc on the dashboard, as if the jostling of her fingernail might prompt the clock’s hands to suddenly adjust themselves.

“Gretchen, I swear to God, you could make needless worrying a full-time career. We’re almost there. Just sit back and exhale already.”

Judith held the steering wheel with one hand and gently guided her wife back into her seat with her right. She offered a reassuring smile while keeping her eyes on the road. Gretchen began to chew on a fingernail.

“It’s just that we are running late”, Gretchen said, trying to justify her anxiety. “I don’t want Grayson to worry.”

“He’s fishing with your dad, for Pete’s sake”, Judith said. “The sun could set and rise again before he noticed the time. He loves it out there. Besides, we’re only five minutes late.”

“Closer to seven, actually.”

“Relax. Everything is fine. You’ll see.”

When the women pulled into the small dirt lot just off the boat launch, they both had a feeling that everything was most certainly not fine. Judith quickly turned off the engine and stepped out of the car. “Pop? Gray? You guys even in from the lake yet or are you hiding somewhere gobbling down your catch?”

Gretchen was less composed as she leapt from the car, leaving the door opened as she ventured onto the grass and across the lawn. “Grayson honey? Dad? Where are you?” Despite Judith’s jibes, it was unlike Grayson to not be waiting for his moms as they pulled up, waving the day’s catch in the air as his proud grandpa stood behind him. She hurried to the section of lawn that dipped down into the lake. It was her dad’s favorite spot to wade out into the water and cast his line. Every once in a great while, her father would be busy untangling lines or helping her son with the fish and would fall a bit behind in their schedule. But not today. Today there was no one. “Dad?”, she called with louder voice. “Grayson??”

“You suppose maybe they’ve gone up to the house?”, Judith offered, although that didn’t seem likely, as they rarely went inside before dark unless there was bad weather. There was an eerie quiet to the area, as if everything living or otherwise was holding its breath. “There’s not need to get all worked up”, Judith said, in a failed attempt to prevent her better half from doing just that. “It could be something as simple as your dad needing to get something from the neighbors. Or more likely, that Mrs. McGillicuddy has got them at her place and is stuffing Gray with cookies as reward for a successful outing on the lake.”

“Even so”, Gretchen said. “They wouldn’t have left these here.” She reached down and picked up a handsome string of trout from the ground, covered in sand and stray weeds.

Judith was now looking around with eyes as keen as Gretchen’s. “G, look. They wouldn’t have left these behind, either.” Judith stooped down and picked up two fishing rods, one child sized and one for an adult. There was also a handful of lures scattered along the sand.

They needed no further searching or discussion. Without another word, Judith was on her phone trying to reach Jacob. Gretchen was already dialing 9-1-1. At least one of them got an answer.

Nearby, out of sight of the two concerned mothers, two pairs of half-melted fishing waders drifted lazily down the shoreline toward the next dock. Stray bits of cloth and charred chunks of life jacket were either stuck to them or floated alongside. A glowing and stinking orange goo oozed slowly out of the ravaged waders, sinking down to settle on the lake bed below, raising a bit of sand, its lingering heat causing steam to rise off the lake surface and disturb the algae hovering around the odd plant. As it cooled, the odd orange substance mixed with the small stones and gravel along the sandy bottom, formless and luminescent, giving no indication it had ever been the doting Jacob Patterson and his young grandson.

High above, the monster soared. Its eyes sparked, small lances of electricity arced from one orb to the other. Things were so different now. The garb, the coverings these creatures wore, had changed drastically since last it had escaped its hellish confines. It knew now that no matter how fit its prey, lack of covering would result in its loss. And weightier skins would provide little protection were the subjects too old or too young. It was getting closer. At least there was that.

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thomasreedtn · 7 years ago

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More Mantis and Marmot Magic

After last week’s unusual animal sightings and interactions, the bizarre fun continues. The praying mantis who “reported for duty” last week is the friendliest insect I’ve come across. He (and it does seem to be a he, judging by size) landed on David’s arm on Sunday, and yesterday, I felt someone looking at me, only to discover it was my little mantis friend, hanging out on the cosmos! He said hi and then continued on his way. Today, he landed on my arm while I was planting strawberries and thyme. We both startled each other when I jumped, but after I apologized for flailing my arm, he turned his head and nodded at me.

David took down the dog run wire that had created a no-fly zone for hawks and eagles, and I didn’t see any groundhogs for a few days. This was compared to 3 or 4 sightings per day. The shed showed evidence of some kind of major tussle, but I don’t know who did what to whom. On the day I received 1.5 tons of soil, right before it arrived, I saw the old woodchuck out back. This is the more polite, grizzled one who just eats clover. He looked right at me through the window, kind of like a fat, old man saying, “Listen lady, I heard about you. Don’t mess with me.” When he got a little too close to the house for comfort, I opened and closed the window, which sent him lumbering away to the spruces.

Because David had recently trimmed the very bottoms of low hanging trees in order to make it easier for him to mow the lawn, I could see the groundhog, aka, “whistle pig,” aka Marmota monax, pop up in the far back, right corner of brush and trees. He just hung out there for awhile, and I went out front to await my soil drop off. Right before it arrived — and I mean immediately — who goes zipping from our neighbor’s backyard in a beeline across our driveway to the area across the street where I kept feeling a woodchuck? The very same one.

One scream later, I realized several things:

I don’t have to worry about the one I’d seen across the street suddenly finding our yard. This was a well traveled path.

The only reason he hadn’t seen my front yard garden was that it’s super stealth, hugging the treeline and he was moving fast.

The most likely predator of this particular groundhog might be a car. One barely missed him.

I don’t think it’s the same groundhog that ate my pepper plants, but it might be. For sure, I have seen this one on a regular basis, because he has very distinctive markings — almost distinguished with the white “beard.”

Once again, that uncanny groundhog timing was causing me to rethink an ambitious garden plan.

After the soil arrived on Monday morning, I started moving it to various beds, bags and in ground areas. Synchronously, my second 100 gallon original Big Bag Bed has still not yet arrived, and it was supposed to rain last night. It didn’t, but I used last night as my deadline to move all the soil off the driveway. I did fill another 50 gallon Big Bag Bed Jr. and a bunch of Smart Pots and Vivosun fabric pots. I’m experimenting to see which ones I like best, but they all mix and match sizes in a consistent black color that blends well with the edges of weeping trees:

Prior to seeing the groundhog jet across our driveway, I had planned to put the 100 gallon Big Bag Bed to the right of that second 10-gallon pot above and just to the left of the pots you see below, which are closer to the driveway:

The silver artemesia (wormwood) and lavender are both deer and groundhog resistant, possibly even repellent. I’m still ever so slightly considering the garden as planned with the 100-gallon circle just to the left of the leftmost artemesia; however, I have concerns that putting a larger bed out in the open, jutting forward into full sun from the treeline, will scream, “Hey, all you devouring critters, I’m gardening here! Free buffet.”

By getting greedy with the sunlight for more plants, I might jeopardize the entire front yard garden. If, on the other hand, I just continue hugging the treeline with the grow bags interspersed with mints, salvia, lavender and other highly fragrant and flowering herbs and deer/groundhog resistant butterfly plants, then maybe my front yard garden will remain stealth from not only groundhogs, but deer and humans, as well.

As I filled 20-gallon beds near the mailbox and readied the planter area for a bunch of butterfly friendly, deer repellent and drought tolerant plants, the woodchuck started going wild in the copse across the street. He was whistling so loud it sounded like a song. (I took this photo last evening, which is why it’s in the shade. Normally this area gets about 12 hours of direct sun per day, so these pots will house monarda (scarlet bee balm), catmint, and likely some daffodils. The pots unify the mailbox area with the birch tree guild closer to our house.)

Anyway, during the two days of soil moving, every time I thought about putting the 100-gallon bed up front, the groundhog would go crazy with excitement, whistling, singing and making bizarre woodchuck noises I’ve heard on youtube. Whenever I’d think of not doing that, he quieted down. Coincidence? Maybe, but since living here, I’ve noticed that groundhogs really do have impeccable timing. I’ve been eating from and enjoying this kitchen garden every day. I’d really prefer it remain off the radar. I’d also not like total devastation to be the first impression of our house if he or some of his friends finds the front yard garden. With plants hugging the treeline, damage is far less obvious.

Here’s where things get even more synchronous and magical. Part of this soil moving adventure involved filling eight 20-gallon Vivosun pots along our existing backyard hedge. Doing so meant moving the soil twice — once into a garden cart, hauling it around the side, through the gate, across the yard and then shoveling it a second time into each pot. They are too big to fit in the cart when full, so I would fill them up front just enough to hold shape, cart them back and then shovel the soil into them from the cart. It has been in the upper 80’s, sunny, and very, very humid. Let’s just say I got the full steam room treatment and a mini cleanse both days!

This hedge in front of the existing hedge will grow aronia berries, blueberries, strawberries, rhubarb and gooseberry, at least that’s the plan. After all that work hauling dirt, I now have some concerns that it may get sloshy and overflow during a hard rain. Once roots lock into the soil and give it structure, that will be less the case; however, we’re supposed to have four days of rain starting tonigh. Today, I realized I needed mulch, but I don’t want another delivery before all that rain. What to do, what to do … and I was still also wondering about that 100-gallon bed. Maybe I should put it out back, but if so, where? And plant it with what?

…And where could I get some wild ginger for the shady area up front? I checked around local nurseries and no one seems to have wild ginger, or at least not right now. It’s deer resistant, edible, and solves a ground cover situation up front. But where was it?! I looked all over online and finally found a bare root vendor on Amazon, but it’s very pricey for what ought to be free or close to it, since wild ginger grows like a weed in many places.

Anyway, dilemmas, dilemmas. Because of this groundhog situation in both front and back yards, I started wondering what would happen if I just put the Big Bag Bed to the west of the shed (on the side with the 20-gallon pots) and plant it with perennial onions, sea kale and whatever backups for the front yard crops I want. I could put my pot of nettles behind that bed and fill in the area behind the bed with more catmint and butterfly plants.

If that bed were to get devastated, I wouldn’t even be able to see it from most of the backyard. If it thrives, great! Sea kale might even wake up in spring before groundhogs do. Plus, I’ve been wanting an out of the way spot for garlic, Egyptian Walking Onions and a “magical” garden — some of whose plants can look a little weedy in an otherwise cultivated yard.

Today, I checked on that space multiple times to compare and contrast with the up front option. I think it gets ever so slightly less light than that full sun spot up front will, but it for sure will not scream, “Hey, I’m a garden!” because it will be tucked away and surrounded by and planted with repellent plants. I’d put it in an otherwise totally unused area, which is nowhere near our house foundation and close enough to the shed that no new tunnels would need to be dug.

While exploring that area again this afternoon and still pondering my mulch dilemma — too heavy to carry from the store while David’s in Goshen, don’t want a bulk delivery before the rain, really need something to moderate the soil moisture/overflow situation of my new fruit shrubs — the previous dumping ground for years of grass clippings suddenly caught my eye. This neglected, unseen area offered beautifully matted, dried grass clippings, perfect for mulching the 20-gallon bags! As I lifted literal pads of mulched grass clippings, I glanced in the shadiest back corner and saw several thriving wild ginger plants I can use for cuttings or transplant to the shady spot up front!

I also realized I could use the grass clippings to protect my new delphinium from having a landslide since I just threw in a 1 foot by 3 foot area of soil along the back trellis:

I planted some thyme as a groundcover/erosion control back there, but it will take awhile to establish. I don’t know that the grass clippings will totally solve the issue, but if they at least slow down the landslide until the roots get more established, then mission accomplished. That delphinium is groundhog repellent and should grow to 4 feet tall and 3 feet wide, filling in the center between the two established clematis.

I really can’t say that the groundhog is my official garden planner, but it’s quite eerie when every time I ponder a plan, a groundhog brings to light a wiser course of action. Perhaps it’s just permaculture in action: the problem is the solution. Maybe it’s the faeries.

In any case, I hauled 1.5 tons of soil in two days, some of it twice. A testament to just how hard I’ve been working since beginning to move out of the blue house/office on May 1, followed by our full relocation: even though I’ve been busy with sessions and literally working my butt off, this week still feels like a vacation. It feels good to have new plant friends, animal allies, and yes, nearly 2 tons of additional soil since moving here, with more on the way next week to fill that Big Bag Bed and more grow pots, wherever I decide they need to go.

It feels good to observe and learn our land, and it feels dangerously good to have an outdoor garden store, indoor hydroponics store and our favorite health food store all within a very short walk. I’ve had more synchronous encounters than I have time to blog or document. Sessions continue going well. All I can say is that I must really be tired of packing and unpacking, if hauling that much soil in 80+ degrees and high humidity feels like a vacation! But it does …

Wishing you and yours some garden magic — preferably without the marmot, but the mantis are fun! Blessed Be … and be the blessing!

from Thomas Reed https://laurabruno.wordpress.com/2017/07/19/more-mantis-and-marmot-magic/

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