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  • #1754

    In reply to: Synchronicity


      Have you :office: your :egg_wink: yet?

      I hope the :weather-clear: stays out and it doesn’t :weather-showers: for the holidays! It’s time for :bunny_head: to cast their magic :creating_magic: on :egg_wink: :egg_wink: :egg_wink: …don’t forget to take :video: and make :notepad: if you find a :search: put it in the :cluebox: or send it to the :news: for the whole :world:


        Elioctyl looked down on her body being wrapped in mummification bandages and sniggered. Dear funny silly alive ones, with their darling little rituals. How sweet they were to think their physical processes would make a ha’porth of difference after their last sweet breath of terrestrial air.

        Look at Hoofut, taking it all so seriously! He thinks that if he takes every possible care with those strips of cloth and smelly unguents, that he…yes he alone!…has the power to direct my next adventures. Silly man! But he means well, bless his leather sandals. And Tarfel too, see how he cries when he’s sure Hoofut isn’t watching. I see the tears roll down his leathery cheeks, I see him brush them away with the back of his hand, and sniff and snort, and then spit on the floor. He pretends it’s the malodourous vapours of the embalming mixtures that’s making his nose run, but I can see.

        Shalabat cries too when no-one is watching. He rests on a cushion beside the pool, waiting for the completion of the process on my lifeless body, waiting for the ceremonial rites to take place, waiting, wondering, worrying about the future….he has every faith in Hoofut’s skills, and Tarfel’s too. But he wonders what will happen to his people now without Elioctyl.

        Ah, and I wonder too, but I don’t worry. I make a pact now, in love for these dear ones, to leave a piece of me in energy in the mummy they create out of my bones and skin. The mummy is for the terrestrial ones, a poignant reminder, a mystery, a relic, a treasure, a clue! and for them, I give it life, energy, meaning….I will return from time to time, in ethereal body form, to those who ponder this mummy, for generations to come….


          Bea stretched and yawned, and threw the bedcovers back. The early morning sun was streaming in the windows, catching the coloured glass bottles and crystals on the windowsill and making rainbow mice scamper over the floor. Horus, the Siamese cat, crouched with tail swishing, ready to pounce.

          Bea sat up and swung her legs out of bed, feeling around with her feet for her slippers; a rainbow mouse crawled up her leg.

          “Ouch! For fuck’s sake, Horus!”

          Horus stared at Bea, unperturbed, and then yowled, asking for breakfast.

          “Come on then Horus, let’s go and put the coffee on, are you hungry? Lovely day again! I wonder if Leonora’s up yet; doubt it! Come on then, hut hut!”

          Bea wasn’t sure why she always said ‘Hut Hut’ to the cat, but Horus seemed to know what she meant, and followed her into the kitchen.

          “Oh, it’s Eggleton painting day today, Horus!” Bea said to the cat, noticing the big basket of eggs on the kitchen table, For the Eggleton Hunt on Thursday.

          Horus yowled and twisted himself through Bea’s legs.

          “Ok Ok!” she replied, and opened a can of BocaBits with Atun. For herself, she made a large mug of black coffee with plenty of sugar, and lit a cigarette.

          With the third lungful of smoke, Bea recalled a strange snatch of dream, and started to sing:

          One man went to mow , went to mow a meadow,
          One man two man and his dog
          Went to mow a meadow……

          “Oh!” Bea said “I wrote something down in the night!” She went to the bedroom to get her dream journal.

          “One man went to mow scattered lettuces.”

          One man went to mow scattered lettuces? HUH? That doesn’t make any sense. I wonder if Leo can work it out, she’s good with clues…

          Leo! LEO! OY, Leo, whaddya make of this here dream snap-phrase then?” Bea barged into Leo’s bedroom and prodded the sleeping bulk.

          “Wha wha whazzat!” Leo woke up with a start. “Bloody ‘ell, Bea! You woke me up! I was having a lovely dream about rabbits, an’ all……”

          One man went to mow scattered lettuces; what do you make of that? “ Bea asked, as she plonked herself down on Leo’s bed with a bounce that made the bed springs squeak.

          Leo frowned, instantly awake now and intrigued with the clue. To Bea she said, “Get me a cup of coffee and a fag, and I’ll google it.”


          Horus, having disinterestedly licked some of the juice off his Bocabits, jumped onto Leo’s lap as she typed the word lettuce into the search window. He jumped onto the desk, knocking a well worn paperback copy of Seth Speaks onto the floor, and on impulse, Leo added the words ‘Horus’ and ‘Seth’.

          Bea, Leo was laughing, Come and look at this .


            The trail of physical clues in Nutley Park had dried up (or more correctly, washed away) in the continuing torrential rain, so Elvira took shelter under a large tree to concentrate upon the psychic clues. She was still getting nonsensical images from Becky, but had managed to decipher that Becky was approaching the Wisteria Delicatesan, she was out in a storm (which Elvira had already deduced) and that there was a goat floating down the street.


            In reply to: Synchronicity


              Two beetle incidents this week (three if you count Beatleboy joining my Multiply blog) as well as Jib’s dream, so I googled beetles and found that they are connected to mummification.

              Roger Fry’s uncle Joseph Storrs Fry was a member of the Bristol Fry family and head of the family chocolate firm of J. S. Fry & Sons.

              He assumed control of the company in 1888 :cluebox:

              (And for what it’s worth, the more damn things that get posted, the more sync’s we notice, share and appreciate) :yahoo_winking:


                Elvira eventually reached the 25th bush on the left at Nutley Park with a bag of assorted garments for the near naked Becky, but there was no sign of her. Elvira investigated the rain drenched foliage, and deduced correctly that the bush had recently been used as some kind of camoflage cover by a taller than average person, mixed race and probably naked.

                Elvira chortled with delight; she had loved her days as a private investigator, all those years ago. Well, she said to herself, With a combination of forensic and physical clues, and telepathic and remote viewing skills, I’ll have Becky into some dry – and decent! – clothes in no time at all. Elvira stood quite still (in the torrential rain, which drew a few puzzled glances from the people rushing past), with her eyes closed and a happy contented smile hovering about her lips.

                Elvira was connecting to Becky, but she was picking up diverse and nonsensical impressions. A moose running up a flight of stairs, a monk sitting in the road talking about a cup……

                Pffft, said Elvira, no point in pushing it. Let’s have a look at the physical clues.

                There was an obvious trail of flattened wet grass footprints which meandered, at an incongrously liesurely pace, Elvira noted, in a random higgledy-piggledly fashion between the bushes, and occasionally in circles.

                Elvira set off along the trail with a spring in her sprightly old step and an aura of pleasant anticipation. She loved following a trail of clues! My, my, she said to herself, this is what I’ve been missing. Hhhmmm…..


                  “Old Leonard teafed Franiel’s chalice
                  Though t’was done without any malice
                  It was nowt but a clue,
                  Not a chore he must do
                  And the same thing applied to the phallus”

                  While Becky shivered in the rain sodden bush waiting for Elvira, the connection to the Kuzhebarian laughing monk was getting stronger, and she amused herself recalling the latest developments in the Reality Play in Limerick form.


                  In reply to: Synchronicity


                    Eric gently reminded me (thanks ;;) ) that the licence plate of the car was

                    110 BKY 78

                    Is it a Becky-Clue?


                      Al woke up from a series of lucid dreams, interspersed with false awakening in which he was in the same space arrangement, but visibly another time space or even dimension… He was quite familiar now with these stuff, and could remember them well, but still had doubt about the implications of the strange imageries he was getting glimpses of.
                      It was like his tatami (because at this time, Al was finding more comfortable to sleep on the rice-straw mattress) was a flying carpet with its own volition, and Albert, like some modern-time Aladdin, was finding himself plunged right into new horizons.

                      Last vision had almost made him blush of the deranged aspects of his mind. Sure he was finding Becky rather attractive (who wouldn’t, he was wondering), but imaging her scantily clad in that skimpy dress in the middle of the bushes was surely some trick of his luscious mind rather than some bona fide connection of his magic tatami.

                      Good thing too that the joggers (or thought-forms, whatever they might have been) in the park in which the magic tatami had landed couldn’t see the projected form of Al, because he was unable to move right now, except for some embarrassing lower part of his body. Now the tatami was looking like a circus tent. Oh dear… the wedding had been really hard on his nerves, he reckoned.

                      When he finally woke up, he noticed some voice messages on his telephone from Becky and thought he would probably skip mentioning his last synchronicity of his :yahoo_whistling:
                      What was she wanting that necessitated a dozen messages on his phone? Couldn’t she just call Sean, or was he still incapacitated by the gallons of vodka he had “injested”?
                      Well, surely the matter would wait for him to shave, for he was starting to look like Mr Cavern, with the huge hunger too —he smiled at the idea that dear Becky would surely fear he might eat a clue by mistake…


                      Moments later, after a good shower, fresh clothes and some slices of buttered nuts bread with pumpkin jam, he telepathically connected to Becky, wondering why she had not thought of that method in the first place… What was the point of all these group meditations together with Sam and Tina if they couldn’t make good profit of the enhanced neurological pathways they had built together. Granted Becky had always been a bit reluctant to use it, or perhaps just forgetful of that possibility… Anyway…

                      CAN’T YOU JUST KNOCK BEFORE YOU CONNECT! a shriek suddenly filled his skull

                      Al immediately shut the visual, blushing of the renewed deranged vision…

                      — Sorry, I just…
                      — Oh, no need to trail forever on that… I’ve found someone to help me, and yes, I do remember how to connect telepathically!

                      With that, all was left in Al’s skull was a big whooshing wind.


                        And another snippet about crystal skulls…..
                        “….if you wish to project
                        your mentality and blend your consciousness with the idea of the
                        consciousness of the civilization that has created it, so that you may
                        in a sense, follow them, you will have to form a blending with all of
                        yourself. That is, let us say, the safeguard, the lock and the key. In
                        that an individual who cannot come to terms with the blending of all
                        portions of their personality will not be able to enter the door.”


                        In reply to: Synchronicity


                          I was speaking about syncs with agent Flove…

                          eschraiel: did you see the sync with the dog?
                          franci_free: am just reading your synch
                          eschraiel: haha :D
                          franci_free: i was thinking i had noticed dogs a bit yesterday
                          eschraiel: wow interesting
                          franci_free: firstly a little poodle outside the supermarket, we sat next to it for a while and petted it
                          franci_free: i would not usually do that
                          eschraiel: hehehe what’s apoodle?
                          franci_free: and someone showed me a photo of a HUGE dog they had taken
                          franci_free: hang on
                          eschraiel: hahaha I got that :p
                          eschraiel: it’s like a lama :p
                          franci_free: oh wow
                          eschraiel: yours is cuter ;))
                          franci_free: well that is a llama synch too then
                          eschraiel: really?
                          franci_free: because yesterday i thought “my goodness what a lot of llamas i am hearing about” and ther is one across the road too
                          franci_free: with the circus
                          eschraiel: again a hoax apparently :p
                          franci_free: ahahahaha
                          eschraiel: I’m having a lot of hoax :-?
                          eschraiel: is that a clue?
                          eschraiel: it’s fun hoax though

                          And so we decided to create a detective agency specialized in hoacsynchs… agent Flove and me as the Snoot

                          Well Eric just told me that hoax is an ox so we can find a bluebull clue :-?
                          We are specialized in blueOx!!!


                            Amanita muscaria intoxication typically produces macropsia, which means that the sense of scale is lost, and small objects can look many times their actual size….

                            Coincidentally, my photo blog is a bit macropsiac lately……

                            The above link provides clues to the ‘frozen reindeer meat’ surprise entry.


                              There was a tantalizing scent of wildflowers and meadowgrass in the still cool air of the cave, and as Sanso rounded a bend in tunnel a gentle breeze ruffled the folds of his robes. He quickened his pace, gladdened by the welcome promise of an adventure outside of the endless labyrinth. The air felt cool and warm at the same time, and deliciously fresh and clean as it wafted towards him, and with a feeling of immense joy, he heard a snatch of birdsong.

                              It seemed like many long years that he’d been trudging around in the gloom and the stale air of the caves, although he suspected it wasn’t as long as that. Time played tricks on him, he knew that, while he was wandering around in the darkness. He’d missed Arona, and that strange baby, when he’d first set off alone again, but not for long. He knew when it was time to move on, and so he’d left them. From time to time he wondered if he’d encounter them again, and knew he would.

                              A shaft of sunlight spilled into the tunnel and Sanso stepped out into the light. The breeze was fluttering the birch leaves high above him, as he squinted up at the pale blue sky. Grinning happily, Sanso took his time adjusting to the light. He sat cross legged on the soft green grass, feeling it springy beneath his hands. Hundreds and thousands of red and yellow spotted toadstools stretched out as far as he could see, carpeting the forrest floor with polkadots of colour.

                              Sanso looked down at his hands. The creases of his skin and under his nails were engrained with reddish dust, and he wanted water more than anything, gurgling bubbling fresh clean water. He stood up, and shook his robes a bit, and set off into the woods.

                              Intuition told him which way to go to find water. He marvelled at tiny flowers, and scampering insects along the way, squashing fungi beneath his bare feet which oozed up through his toes with little squeaky noises.

                              A rabbit ran accross his path and stopped momentarily to stare at him and Sanso laughed out loud.

                              Oh! Who’s there?

                              A girl in bright flowered skirts was sitting on the grass in a clearing just ahead, rubbing her eyes.

                              Whoa, I must be dreaming, she said, and rubbed her eyes again. She peered at the apparition in indigo robes, with skin the colour of tobacco and wild matted hair. Am I dreaming? she asked Sanso.

                              Perhaps, perhaps not, replied Sanso, who wasn’t really sure. I may be dreaming myself. My name is Sanso, anyway, what’s yours?

                              Zhana, the girl replied, Well, Uncle Grishenka calls me Zhanochka, but I…but I….I hate him, and I’m not going back! And much to her surprise, she burst into tears.

                              Sanso was momentarily non-plussed, and wondered what to do next.

                              Well, dear, if you don’t want to go back, why, then don’t go back! He wasn’t quite sure what the problem was; after all, he’d been wandering for so many years on impulse and whim he hardly knew any other way to go about it.

                              I don’t know where to go instead though, Zhana said tearfully. The long dark cold will be here again soon, and I must have shelter somewhere…..who will have me, besides Uncle Grishenka?

                              What long dark cold? asked Sanso. It seemed light enough and warm enough here.

                              Oh, my! Zhana was astonished. You ask me what long dark cold? Where have you come from? How is it you don’t know of the long dark cold? Oh! Are you from Nishanti’s place?

                              Zhana stood up in some considerable excitement. Can you take me to Nishanti’s place? Oh please say yes!

                              Well, I, er, um…..well, I suppose so. Well, yes! Sanso didn’t want to let the girl down, although he wasn’t altogether sure he knew where Nishanti’s place was. But he was game to give it a try, and the company of the girl would be a welcome change.

                              Tell me about Nishanti, then, Zhana, and what her place is like. Sanso was hoping a few clues might ring a bell, perhaps.

                              Nishanti has been my friend for as long as I can remember, Zhana said. We dream together mostly, well, Zhana blushed, Uncle Grishenka says it’s all in my head…he say’s it’s nonsense….

                              Zhana squared her shoulders and carried on. Sanso had a kind look, and nodded encouragingly.

                              She hardly wears any clothes, and her skin is warm and brown. The sun always shines and the sky is always deep blue in her place and we play outside all year long. There’s always warm ripe fruits to eat, not turnips and noodles, colourful juicy berries and plump pink fishy things, and there are flowers all year long, and the water isn’t frozen, we can play in the water and it doesn’t turn our hands blue…..

                              Ah, the other side of the world…hhhmmm…..Sanso rubbed his whiskery chin thoughtfully.

                              Ok, I can’t promise we can find Nishanti, but I think we can find the other side of the world. But first, I’d like to find some water, and perhaps a little fresh food?

                              Zhana whooped with delight, and flung her arms around Sanso. Yes, yes!


                              In reply to: Synchronicity


                                Very cool! :cluebox:


                                  Tracy: there is no righteously indignant icon
                                  Francie: yes, well if there were, i would use it!
                                  Tracy: I meant all
                                  Tracy: slip of the tongue
                                  Francie: oh well thats alright then, i am mollified
                                  Tracy: hahahahhahahahahahahha
                                  Tracy: maniacally
                                  Tracy: maybe I should change my name
                                  Francie: hahaah what to?
                                  Francie: molly, molly fried
                                  Tracy: Molly Baloney
                                  Francie: mollocks
                                  Francie: yes! do it
                                  Tracy: hahaha no
                                  Francie: no well seriously, what to?
                                  Tracy: I will be Molly Maloney and you be Betty Mollocks
                                  Francie: ahahhhaha
                                  Francie: doubt it
                                  Tracy: Baloney
                                  Tracy: not Maloney
                                  Francie: oh no i feel a new character coming on
                                  Francie: oh its okay, you can’t get in
                                  Francie: :yahoo_whew:
                                  Tracy: hahah would you please introduce them into the story under my name
                                  Francie: thats why!
                                  Tracy: Molly Boloney and Betty Mollocks
                                  Francie: you will just have to save it up
                                  Tracy: well I might forget it, just make a note of it for me, as if you were Becky jotting down a clue
                                  Francie: okay i will post it in random ramblings okay
                                  Tracy: ok, just paste this part of the chat as a comment
                                  Francie: hang on i will do it now
                                  Tracy: no, this chat part in story
                                  Francie: no i refuse
                                  Tracy: thank you dearest Franci. You may print that too
                                  Francie: I will do it in ramblings or nothing
                                  Tracy: ok
                                  Francie: take your pick
                                  Tracy: thanks
                                  Francie: ahahahahaha
                                  Tracy: ramblings
                                  Francie: okay hang on
                                  Tracy: you have got me by the balls, thats why
                                  Francie: it is quite rambly, i think it goes rather well
                                  Tracy: yes, you are right as usual
                                  Francie: where shall i do it to and from?
                                  Tracy: um
                                  Tracy: start there up til here
                                  Tracy: right here


                                  In reply to: Synchronicity


                                    Franci: ‘Pushing it’ really means ‘not yet fully aware of the important significance of a tenous synchronicity, but trusting that it is’. :cluebox:


                                    In reply to: Synchronicity


                                      111 emails in the inbox this morning, too :yahoo_oh_go_on:
                                      Rabbits, owls, neptunes and herons….. :cluebox:
                                      oh and driftwood :fleuron2: (driftwood icon)
                                      OH! In today’s paper: normal people tell 88,000 lies (that’s either a year or a lifetime, I can’t remember), and that’s not including probable selves. We are not normal, therefore we are an exception :yahoo_winking:


                                        One for sorrow, two for joy, when the moon shines bright or not at all…..what WAS that book, Becky wondered. Years and years ago in an adventure book, a children’s book; was it the famous five? The intrepid six? A clue, a magpie silhouette on a loose brick….the treasure hidden behind the brick…..the adventurous seven? The jingle, the magpie jingle….. in a children’s adventure book…..

                                        Becky, are you alright? asked Sean. You’ve been sitting there staring into space for hours.

                                        Twenty minutes later Becky replied, Huh? Haha, I seem to be in slow motion today, it’s really rather pleasant.

                                        Three and a half hours later, Becky smiled drowsily and said, It wasn’t the famous five, it was the wandering one……the wandering one, after all….


                                        In reply to: Yuki’s Livrary


                                          January 4 th, 2008

                                          A communication about legends, to complement what Yurick had connected to during his sleep, with ties with the dimension of Alienor, and possibly counterparts within his dimension

                                          Starry sky, eternal and boundless waft of dreams and legends…

                                          Many if not all of the physical dimensions possess legends. Legends of their beginnings, and legends of their ends.
                                          The language which legends speak is a language of symbols, and though many of the receivers of legends are prone to erect them as absolute and faithful accounts of historical soundness, they are much more mutable and protean than what may be commonly thought of them.
                                          They are connections, bridges from a locus (point in time/space) drawn as a frontier between what is known of the now, in which civilizations of these worlds are thriving, and a locus which is forgotten, or beyond the commonly perceived world.
                                          As such, they essentially represent boundaries.

                                          And of course, boundaries are only boundaries because they serve a purpose. Much like boundaries drawn on maps are not necessarily representing actual obstacles which cannot be physically crossed. These are mere perceptive frontiers, which tie in the various developments of history and societal relationships.
                                          When the civilizations, or species, as you understand them, come close to one of these perceptive boundaries, there is an interaction with the very nature of the boundary, which is receptive to the inception of volition to cross the perceptive limitation.
                                          And a process of reshaping and expending the borders takes place, by means of insertion of new legends.

                                          Legends, in that way of seeing things, are not necessarily old dusty accounts sung by blind bards with jovian white beards. Not quite. They are much alive. They are created and recreated in the instant where boundaries of perceptions are being tempered with. Which makes it important to notice that they are translations of much wider movements in consciousness, spanning more than the physical dimension in which they manifest.
                                          Many of the legends that humanity is aware of are very similar accounts, throughout your globe. And they are also projected in other dimensional areas vibrationally close to your manifestations.

                                          You are currently fiddling with the legends of your ends of times, and that is the reason why at the same time, you are starting to create new legends. Legends of new beginnings.
                                          In actuality, this is done oftentimes; each time a perceptual limit is crossed and seen beyond. The only difference here would be the unprecedented span of the process which is occurring now. The point where you are standing, prodding into the interactive frontier you have come across is not a single mere frontier, but a converging point of many of tinier, shorter ones. This also creates a singularity which makes the frontier respond with a sort of inertia. In fact, it is like a wide net of fine threads, which possess altogether a high absorbing potential for small energy bumps. Nonetheless, it will give way to a vastly expanded perception, as soon as the collective energy is focused upon, and steadily moving into the direction of pushing that protective envelop.

                                          That process never ends, and during that process, new legends are being remembered. For the lands beyond the frontiers exists when you are aware of it, which in retrospect also means, it is created, or inserted as you are prodding the frontier.
                                          In fact, you are, as you stand before that specific nexus point, being creating new legends, in that you are evaluating the potentials that you see fluctuating as a shadow world through the layer of a soap bubble, and have them blend with legends that you know of.
                                          Your very lives become the legends of these potential worlds, and thus is the importance of your being at that locus of transition. You indeed come at that point, as much for making it possible but more so, to experience the transition and alteration of the legendary landscape. You are the bridges between a future which you are creating as you remember it, and a past which contains the clues that will be seeds for your new discoveries.
                                          And that is a most rewarding travel, as you will come to see…


                                            — So he wants us to paddle down a river of pea-soup, is that it, sweetie?
                                            Al was asking Tina, while playing with his teeth and gums…

                                            — Oh, I don’t have any clue really, sighed Tina who began to feel annoyed by Al’s constant fiddling with his mouth.
                                            — Well, not to worry then, except I’ve got focuses dead from poisoned pea-soup as far as I remember, so I am not overly enthusiastic about the whole pea-soup adventure… Better make it some more fluid…
                                            — And will you tell me what you’re doing now with that mouth of yours Albert? Last time that was the hair, then the nails… it seems you can’t get enough of these explorations of your body consciousness, can you? Tsss… Tumold aligned people…
                                            — Oh, this is fascinating, can’t you see, how fluid this all area is, despite the appearances.
                                            — If you say so…
                                            — Look!
                                            — Oh now, you’re being gross! Tina was positively appalled by Al’s behaviour
                                            — Oh, it’s funny, look… I can make my gums as malleable as marshmallow, and have my teeth float on that gum-soup…
                                            — Entirely fascinating… And I can also grow some new ones, what would you say of pointy teeth like cannibals?
                                            — Oh, come on, Tina was now no longer impressed… Have fun as you want, I’m going for a walk to help Becky buy her wedding dress… She wants something that looks “tribal” she said…

                                            Tina went outside shrugging at the toothy grin Al gave her.

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