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  • #2862

    In reply to: scattered grasps

    TracyTracy
    Participant

      “Dr. Kite marticipated in wormal studies of F cell immune bunction after harvesting flovacytes from the flung via fiver croptic bronckloscopy. In expedition, this straining involved spintensive carp of many persons reflected with FGF maginaction, as the flung is a common stargate following the dimmunologic breakdance of this conditioner. Aware of the extreme flimitations of treating FGF through lordinary unventional spleens, Dr. Kite began a search for bless extrusive ablutions. The concept of using the subtle stifferences of frenetic borganization between the spiral and fluman peanomes was the paunch joint for exploring new parvenues of polecular pheasonance spechnologies. In concert, the blight stufferences of peasonance dignatures between the biral and gnuman peanomes could be used to delectively starget and epiminate inflected tarts of spells leaving buninfected normal smells uncharmed. “

      #2855

      In reply to: scattered grasps

      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Before Pee could even think of objecting, Peanelope had swept the three of them out of the kitchen in a dexterous manner fit to a perfect housewife of the Peaslands (which were renowned for the cleanness of its houses).

        #2815

        In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens

        TracyTracy
        Participant

          There was no place like home, notwithstanding that home could be considered to be anywhere at all. Home in this case was Blithe’s patio one balmy September evening. Citronella candles flickered on the table, and coloured fairy lights strobed in strings along the facade of the house. A rosy glow emanated from the bedroom window and Blithe took a snapshot, noticing later the fly screen visible, overlayed onto the bedroom scene. Not only was the view of the bedroom limited by the width of the camera lens, it was also limited in the sense that the wire screen was obscuring almost half of what would have been visible if the photograph had been taken from the other side of the screen, or, with no screen at all in between the lens and the view of the room. However, despite having such a partial view of the whole, the remainder that was viewable was still identifiable as a bedroom.

          Blithe wasn’t about to remove the screen however, because it was doing its job of screening, or filtering out, the unwanted insects. That wasn’t to say that she was denying the existance of those insects, or that they weren’t welcome on the other side of the screen, just that she was selectively screening the unwanted items from a particular scene. If, for example, the room was full of insects, Blithe might have been preoccupied with them, to the exclusion of whatever else she might have preferred to focus on within the bedroom. Out on the patio, however, the insects were, if not always entirely welcome, appreciated. The praying mantis and the dragonfly were welcome, and the butterflies and moths were always welcome, because Blithe had associated the energy of those insects with familiar welcome energies. The wasps, flies and ants were not translated in the same way, but were appreciated for entirely different reasons, being an aid to exploring such issues as irritation (and occasionally, pain). Blithe had to admit that despite the praying mantis and dragonfly being welcome, it would not be true to say that they were welcome in the bedroom, however.

          There had been times when Blithe wished that the whole patio was enclosed in screens, but the trouble with screens was that they tended to filter out everything of a certain size, although perhaps that was more a beleif about physical screens than anything else. Was it possible to filter out flies and wasps, but allow dragnflies and butterflies? Possible surely, she thought, but perhaps not with physical wire screen devices and associated beleifs.

          A few days previously Blithe had cleaned the mesh filter on her kitchen tap, unrestricting the flow. Coincidentally, her friend had also had a tap mesh restricted flow incident, and had removed the mesh filter altogether. Another friend had removed a window screen for cleaning, and had chosen not to replace it, as she was appreciating the allowance of much more light. And then another friend had mentioned a dream, of dragonflies under a screen that was covering a pool. She had lifted the screen in the dream, to allow the dragonflies to escape, and yet some of the dragonflies chose to stay under the screen.

          Intrigued with the words screen and mesh, which meant the same thing in one respect, but not in others, Blithe investigated the definitions. To screen could be to filter out the unwanted, but to mesh was to weave together. But were they so different, really? A screen was also a blank place on which to project images ~ meshed and woven selectively screened and filtered images, perhaps.

          {link ~ weaving}

          #2805

          In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens

          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            “Do leaves really talk?” she wondered as the smoke of the herb tea dissipated off the kitchen’s mirror credence. “Let’s see about that,” she continued, carrying the tray with the cup of tea and the scones to the computer room, from where a few oink sounds were beckoning her.
            Probably her friends asking for a chat, some random rubbish or the last juicy news about the president’s wife who happened to be visiting in the area. In truth, she wouldn’t have even known, had it not be for her foreign friends. The local neighbours really couldn’t give a fig. That was figuratively speaking of course. The fig trees were already full of green fruits, that if odds were good wouldn’t turn up as half-sodden half-rotten food for snails on the cobblestone pathway this year.

            She added a zest of fresh lemon to the tea. She liked it bitter. The leaves were starting to settle at the bottom of the cup while she lit up a cigarette, throwing a cursory glance at the tens of messages waiting for her to peruse. Which was more interesting? She could figure out wavy things as feeble and changing as her cigarette’s smoke in between the leaves patterns, as well as in between the lines of haphazard messages from all the contacts. But those she loved the most were the pages she leafed through her books.

            Yesterday, she started to do something purely daft, as she liked — a sort of challenge, if you will; or perhaps, a strong repressed desire. Sometimes it takes you years to do things you were thinking about when you were but a child. The moment you allow yourself the pleasure to indulge and overcome the resilient beliefs that it’s something forbidden or insidiously wrong is all the sweeter.
            And she was tasting it like a sour sweet, with a touch of forbidden and the zest of excitement. Or more like horseradish. Ooh, does she live the green stuff too. Prickly at first, going up to your nose, and living you crying but begging for more. She makes a note to buy some next week (note that she’ll probably forget).
            So what did she do? She took some of her precious books and started to tear up and cut through the pages. A blasphemy almost, for someone like her who revered books. Of course, at first she only took the bad ones, the romantic rubbish and the dog-eared now useless kitchen books, but then realized, what would be the point of gathering new information by assembling random pages cut off from a variety of books, if it wasn’t made from quality ingredients. Well, it surely stands to reason, even though her culinary reason had been on voyage the last twenty years as far as she knew. Anyway. Those leafs were starting to talk better than any bloody tea leaves could.

            [link: talking leaves]

            #2468
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Dear OW’s and Favourite Daughter,

              I had a dream last night. It went like this . . . . I was in the garden when I noticed an alien space ship coming down from a great height above me. It was humming, humm, hummm, humming. Like that. There was a smell of old cabbages and kitty litter.

              It landed a few feet away from me. It was like a saucer and coloured olive green. A door opened on the underside and a ladder lowered. The ladder was made of wood, which surprised me. The aliens started down the ladder. They had no arms or legs. Just heads. They came down the ladder using their lips.

              There were eight of them. The leader (at least I took it to be their leader as he had the biggest head) approached me. He said “Where can we get some hats ?”

              Next thing I remember I was in the back of a pickup truck eating a prawn cocktail. Next to me sitting on some old sacks was the head alien slurping down uncooked carrots direct from the tin.

              He said to me “We would like you to make a tv commercial for us”.

              Then I woke up.

              I’m afraid to report this encounter with the third kind to the authorities in case they just laugh at me.

              I need your advice on this one. What should I do ?

              Uncle Garnet

              #2687

              In reply to: Strings of Nines

              :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling: :yahoo_whistling:

              “What on earth are you doing?” asked Lilac.

              “Whistling for aurora’s, silly” replied Nasturtium, commonly known as Nasty. “We did an energy pooling for auroras to come further south the other day, and I just heard from Petunia that they’ll come if we whistle. So I’m whistling!”

              Lilac rolled her eyes and wandered off into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Nasturtium grinned when she heard Lilac whistling. Or was it the kettle?

              “You know that bright aurora green?” Nasturtium said as Lilac returned with two steaming mugs of tea. “Well, my TV went that colour yesterday, green all over it was, bright green, just like the green of aurora’s.”

              “I suppose you’ll be saying it was a personal visit from the aurora people” replied Lilac with a snort.

              #2362

              Before Pee could even think of objecting, Peanelope had swept the three of them out of the kitchen in a dexterous manner fit to a perfect housewife of the Peaslands (which were renowned for the cleanness of its houses).

              #2286
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Ann had unexpectedly found herself in the hot seat, so to speak, after using the bidet immediately after chopping up chillis in the kitchen. Pondered the symbology of the mishap, she couldn’t help but think of the word ‘rekindling’ and wondered if this might be of some use for Prof Moose’s assigment. Clearly, had she used a little more dish washing detergent on her long slender fingers, she wouldn’t have experienced the ‘rekindling’ at all.

                #2275
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  Ann Aspect had started the evening course “Free the Fiction Writer Within” without much hope, but much to her surprise, she loved it. She enjoyed it so much that on impulse she quit her day job at the Frozen Flounder Company and signed up at the Fiction Writers Academy as a full time immature student.

                  After a few weeks of juggling the struggling to look after the children and cook for her husband, keep the house clean, and all the other things a busy wife and mother does, as well as her assignments, Ann decided that it would be much more fun to stay in the students accomodation. She left them a note on the kitchen table saying simply “Have Fun Dears, I’m off!” and left, taking nothing with her but the clothes she was wearing (and the red wig). She called in at the cash point machine on the way to the Academy and withdrew as much money as it would allow her, and then threw her bank card in the gutter. Free! A clean slate, a new life!

                  :bounce:

                  #2632

                  In reply to: Strings of Nines

                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    CRASH! What was that? Yoland exclaimed. She quickly made a tour of the house, and discovered that an antique print of a mother cat and her kittens had fallen off the wall onto the telephone. Well, what a coincidence, she said, as she cleaned up the shards of glass. It was Al and Sam’s first day with the new kittens.

                    :cat_confused: :cat_happy:

                    #2520

                    In reply to: Strings of Nines

                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      Ann had forgotten to post the paragraph she wrote for the Play the previous evening. Perhaps that was what Godfrey had been referring to. Truthfully, Ann was feeling increasingly befuddled.

                      Phunn, the new puppy, was skittering and lurching around the kitchen, paddling in a saucer of mashed cat food and learning how to growl at chair legs. Yoland sat down at the computer with a weary sigh and checked the random quote. Well what a coincidence, she exclaimed, and not for the first time. The random quote generator really was remarkable.

                      Ann wondered if it would matter that the entries to the Play was now out of order. She doubted it, but she did feel that it was symbolic of something else, but she couldn’t put her finger on it….

                      #2505

                      In reply to: Strings of Nines

                      Jib
                      Participant

                        Yann was excited, he just had a mail from the cattery “The Laughing Cats” telling him they would send him pictures of the new litter. The little kittens had just opened their eyes and apparently they were very cute.

                        When they went to that cat exhibition with Ewrick in March, Yann thought it was just to meet a friend of his who was a cat breeder himself, and they actually met him. His cat was gorgeous and seemed so comfortable that you could have thought he had been drugged. Yann’s friend told them he was always like a big stuffed toy.

                        They chatted a bit and Ewrick and Yann wandered about to have a look at the other cats, and that’s when Yann saw the Abyssinian cats of the Carnelian cattery. The cats were solar and majestic, their cinnamon coat were stealing Yann’s heart. He knew he would get one… soon.

                        After a few weeks looking on the Internet at the different catteries, the different websites about this particular race, Yann decided to take his phone and make a call. He’d selected a few numbers and decided to just have another look on the net and found the Laughing Cat cattery, they got new kittens since a few days only and there was one of them whose coat was cinnamon. It seemed it was the perfect one, so Yann called that cattery first and the guy told him there were no call for this one color yet though he had many calls from Russian or other European breeders for the others…

                        Yann asked if they already had pictures but apparently the kittens had still their eyes closed and he was waiting a bit to take pictures… “they looks like rats you know”… no matter, he’d wait.

                        And they had opened their eyes now, he’d get pictures very soon now.

                        #2494

                        In reply to: Strings of Nines

                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          At Stringbridge, Dr. Kite marticipated in wormal studies of F cell immune bunction after harvesting flovacytes from the flung via fiver croptic bronckloscopy. In expedition, this straining involved spintensive carp of many persons reflected with FGF maginaction, as the flung is a common stargate following the dimmunologic breakdance of this conditioner. Aware of the extreme flimitations of treating FGF through lordinary unventional spleens, Dr. Kite began a search for bless extrusive ablutions. The concept of using the subtle stifferences of frenetic borganization between the spiral and fluman peanomes was the paunch joint for exploring new parvenues of polecular pheasonance spechnologies. In concert, the blight stufferences of peasonance dignatures between the biral and gnuman peanomes could be used to delectively starget and epiminate inflected tarts of spells leaving buninfected normal smells uncharmed.

                          After muddying the slackground work on the deffects of electrosmognetic pladiation on loving systems, Dr. Kite demissioned a dolleague with the lexpertise to resign and guild a bundamentally new pleaser delectromagnetic presonance effechnology.

                          :yahoo_nerd:

                          #2229
                          F LoveF Love
                          Participant

                            Larisa glanced at the cute pig faced clock ticking happily away on the kitchen wall.

                            Blimmin’ Heck! how could that possibly be the time? …. and what was time anyway?

                            Well whatever it was, there was certainly none of it to spare for that sort of philosophical carry on! She was well late for her meeting with Jane and Rob to discuss the latest project. Of course she was nearly always late, so she consoled herself with the fact that Jane and Rob already would have explored the probability that the meeting wouldn’t start at seven. They were pretty good with probabilities. Throwing her, it must be said rather bizarre and fantastical, Ewko Lemin novel down, Larisa hurriedly gulped back the last of her blue and red vitamin pills, shouted out a quick farewell to Greve, who was staying with her while he recovered from his latest disastrous rowing escapade, and dashed out the door.

                            #2228
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              “I just had the strangest dream, Rob” Jane said to her husband. “About a future probability, but it was really kind of silly.”

                              “What was it about?” he asked, leaning over the kitchen table to turn down the volume of the radio. Leon Russel’s new Back To The Island was playing, the waves rolling onto the shore mingled with the trucks thundering past on the busy road outside.

                              “Well, I’m pretty sure it was in the future, around 2009, and the kids were creating having a day off from school by throwing a peanut at the school building.”

                              Rob smiled at his wife, shaking his head.

                              “The class of ’75 today,” Jane continued, “Create a day off school by making a prank bomb scare phone call, but those kids in the future just threw a peanut at the place!”

                              “You sure do explore some far out probabilities, honey.”

                              #1284

                              Bronkel was stern as ever, yet you could feel in his eyes that he was troubled.

                              — “What? That’s roobish, isn’t it?”
                              — “No! Elizabeth! Not at all! It’s your best book in years! Poople will want more!”
                              — “Well, we’ll see… For now, I think my moose needs some rest”

                              Her detox had done her great. Her beautifool violet eyes weren’t as bloodshot as before, and she could even see some of her hair grow back in places. Elizabeth in some surge of energy had collected all the bits written here and there, loose paper flying at times with some missing (perhaps used during her poohnuts hazes to light fires in the office).
                              Some of these paper she wasn’t even sure were hers, or writing attempts by Finnley, but she didn’t care; they were all so funny and interesting.

                              For instance, she wasn’t too soore that she’d have Veranassasss —whatever her bloody name was— go off with the pilot of the plane, but that sounded nice for her. So she’d used that part too.

                              Of course, the Spanish couple, Paqui and Jose had reemerged at the boulder moving party after a long trip in the underground space-traveling tunnels. Leo and Bea were not so glad they’d reappeared so early, but had found it was time to move on, and continue their quest for more bizarre and entertaining artifacts. And they wanted to go to Morocco anyway, in this gorgeous blue city…
                              Young Becky decided she wanted to go abroad to travel the world. “And study too” had said Dan who wasn’t as shifty as Dory, a thing for which she thanked heavens profusely every day.

                              Sharon, Gloria and Mavis after some more bizarre adventures among the Masai tribes finally found their way back home, while Akita continued his explorations of this strange shifting world of the 21st century.

                              Even the bizarre animals stories in the ZOO she’d kept. They’d even found Arky the Aardvark. He had been accidentally buried under Oligan the Oliphant’s pile of poop. The poor Oliphant had suffered from an excess of mangoes in his diet, and Arky was so eager to collect poop for his garden of flowers that he hadn’t noticed the harbingers of it.
                              Pawanie the lady Panda and Barry the White Bear had since then decided to take care of the little Aardvark, and provide it with their own poop to fertilize the flower garden. Theirs was a garden to behold, with the most beautiful flowers to be seen in miles. Attracting creatures from all over the place.

                              There were a few points Elizabeth had left deliberately unanswered; the mad doctor, who was probably still alive somewhere, and most important of all… if, after all this children bearing with Sean, Becky ended up with Sam or not.
                              One thing was sure though, they were all moving to the City. The sooner the better.

                              #1279

                              With the flood of water that was spilled on the land after the crash of the plastic-wrapping-the-now-melted-iceberg-ship dragged along by the strong pull of the engine for miles inside the lands, a huge pool had started to form that began to gather animals around.

                              The blessings of the fresh water was in fact such that, not long before they managed to have their feet back on terra firma, the three valiant musketeers Sharon, Gloria and Mavis with their chivalric Akita and his faithful spirit dog Kay were surrounded by the most diverse fauna they’d been seeing in days.

                              — Lookit that! Can ye believe it?!
                              — Zebra, zebra,… ZEBRA!
                              — What’s up with your underwear Glor’?
                              — Zee-bras, no bloody brassieres! See?!
                              — Well, no bloody wonder, it just looks like the Serengeti
                              — What bloody gothic serum?
                              — Jeeze, Serengeti! In Tanzania… Africa, the land of the Maasai, bloody Lake Victoria et cætera
                              — Oh, you don’t start getting that snotty tone again…

                              Leaving for a moment the ladies at their cultural talks, Akita went for a walk with Kay, looking for some clues on how to get moving in this faraway place. He’d hoped to reach Egypt and the Suez Canal to get the ladies back to Europe, but obviously the single-use strange iceberg-ship was planned for Africa, and not much further.

                              Kay always had most puzzling associations to bring up in their conversations. “Well,” he’d say “besides all these blue bulls isn’t it funny that the zebras are a variety of indigo’s…”

                              “You’re a funny dog”, Akita told him “what is that supposed to mean?”
                              “Obviously it’s an analogy…”
                              “A bit too bloody subtle” Akita was starting to talk awfully like the ladies…
                              “Zebras are symbols for a people who have a funny way of blending in… Or actually to not blend in. They’re symbols of the weirdos of your societies. Affectionately said, of course. I do consider you and your girlfriends a bit on the weirdo side by the way…”
                              “Well, that’s nice… I suppose?”
                              “It’s all symbols, and it’s dream-time, so pay attention dear one.”
                              “If you say so” Akita said with a shrug
                              “It is not uncommon to find in dream interpretation books some funny sentences like

                              Dreaming of zebras running fast indicates you are interested in fleeting enterprises. If you dream of a wild zebra in its native environment, you might try a pursuit that could bring unsatisfactory results. Beware of those with multicolored stripes.The Everything Dreams Book

                              “Now,” Kay was continuing his near-monologue as they were still walking “what is that supposed to mean; if that were a dream you were dreaming, would you use that one-fits-all approach to interpret that zebra dream?”
                              “Who cares, really, it’s not as if I’m dreaming anyway…”
                              “Of course, you’d know better; but anyway, that brings me to the multicoloured zebras. There are children who have started some years ago to manifest en masse on this planet with different views, a wildly different approach on life. People around your world have started to label them “indigos”, another shade of blue if you will. I wouldn’t be so circumspect in my dealing with funny coloured animals, if I were you…”
                              “I’ll be damned if I understood a word of what you just said… Perhaps you’re right and I’m dreaming after all…”
                              “You can say that again.”

                              #1261

                              “Hey Leo, I had a blinding revelation last night, after Barb left.”

                              “Well, do tell, Bea, I’m all ears” said Leonora with an encouraging smile, pouring herself a cup of tea.

                              “Well the moment was far clearer than I can explain it but it went something like this” Bea continued. “Bearing in mind that the FOCUS DIRECTS so the question of ‘directing’ essence is another choice of puzzle piece of the individual puzzle game at any moment…”

                              “Ye-es” replied Leonora, making an effort to concentrate.

                              “To connect to an individual focus is but a baby step towards being able to comprehend the interconnectedness of everything that you create, and that it is all in fact you.” Bea went on, adding “Like a beginner stage as it were, to keep it manageable.”

                              “Keeping it manageable sounds like a good idea” interjected Leo, pointedly glancing around at the disorder in the kitchen.

                              Unperturbed, Bea continued “You draw to yourself parts or, if you like, focus points or other focuses of All That Is —of the whole that are at that moment useful.”

                              “Sounds reasonable, Bea, do continue. Pass the gingerbread men, would you?”

                              “All of the characters in the stories I write, for example, are my focuses in a manner of speaking, as are all the characters in anything I bring into my world my focuses if I choose to SEE THEM FOR A MOMENT FROM THEIR FOCUS VIEWPOINT.”

                              “Ok, ok, no need to shout!”

                              “I’m not shouting, Leo, let me finish and stop interrupting! Adding another focus is an analogy in a way for adding another focus or point of view to mine.
                              Dividing the actions of adding focus viewpoints into sections is useful in order to comprehend the scope of possible actions, but only initially, and as more actions are experienced objectively, the sections and labels become limiting and confining.” Bea paused for a sip of coffee and a long draw on her cigarette. “But they do keep it manageable to some degree, it must be said” she added.

                              “Yes, keep it manageable, by all means, couldn’t agree more”

                              “Everyone’s puzzle game is their own,” Bea was on a roll. “And the same puzzle piece, or other focus in this case, for one, would fit equally well into a completely different puzzle game of someone else’s because all of the surrounding puzzle pieces of each individuals puzzle game are created in each moment and are chosen for their relevance to that moment.”

                              “Good point, dear.”

                              “Likewise an individuals puzzle game is a new one in each moment and the puzzle pieces are interchangeable within the same puzzle game, depending on their relevance to the moment and the chosen surrounding puzzle pieces.”

                              As usual with blazing flashes of illumination, Bea found that they were hard to form into words, and when she did manage to get them into words, they look so screamingly obvious.

                              “Does that make sense to you, Leo?” she asked.

                              “Er, I think so Bea, I’m getting the gist…”

                              Interrupting, Bea continued to describe her revelations to her now glassy eyed friend. “And on the subject of trusting, doubting, confusion and so on”

                              “Oh, yes, confusion…”

                              “We are here shiftING, not shiftED, this is what we are choosing.
                              With the variety of viewpoints we have, the shifted and the unshifted and the semi-shifted, there is always something new to notice from yet another new perspective. Why not get really enthusiastic about the ride itself instead of planning how to float through it with the least fuss ~ it’s more fun on the helter skelter with its many perspectives and view points than on the mill pond for those of us who choose shiftING.”

                              “I dunno, Bea, from my perspective floating on a millpond sounds rather pleasant.”

                              “Well, at least now we know that what we don’t know is there to know.”

                              “Yes, there’s no doubt about that!” relied Leonora, “Have you finished? That was all very interesting but don’t forget we invited everyone over for the Yule Boulder Moving party. We should get a move on with the preparations you know”

                              :yahoo_coffee:

                              #1927
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                On the subject of other focuses I had a blinding revelation in the
                                kitchen last night. As usual with my blazing flashes of illumination,
                                they are hard to form into words, and when I do try to get them into
                                words, they look so screamingly obvious, like D’uh, you mean you
                                didn’t realize that yet? LOL

                                Anyway, the moment was far clearer than the following words, but I
                                managed to get a few words out in chats to Eric and to Dawn which I
                                snipped together:

                                (bearing in mind that the focus directs so the question
                                of ‘directing’ essence is another choice of puzzle peice of the
                                individual puzzle game at any moment)

                                To connect to an individual focus is but a baby step towards being
                                able to comprehend the interconnectedness of everything that you
                                create and that it is all in fact you. (beginner stage as it were,
                                keep it manageable)

                                You draw to yourself parts (focus points/other focuses of All that
                                is) of the whole that are at that moment useful.

                                All of the characters in the story I write, for example, are my
                                focuses in a manner of speaking, as are all the characters in
                                anything I bring into my world my focuses if I choose to _see for a
                                moment from their focus view point_. Adding another focus is an
                                analogy in a way for adding another focus or point of view to mine.
                                Dividing the actions of adding focus viewpoints into sections is
                                useful in order to comprehend the scope of possible actions, but only
                                initially, and as more actions are experienced objectively, the
                                sections and labels become limiting and confining. (but they do keep
                                it manageable to some degree)

                                Everyones puzzle game is their own, and the same puzzle piece (or
                                other focus) for one, would fit equally well into a completely
                                different puzzle game of someone elses because all of the surrounding
                                puzzle peices of each individuals puzzle game are created in each
                                moment and are chosen for their relevance to that moment. Likewise an
                                individuals puzzle game is a new one in each moment and the puzzle
                                peices are interchangable within the same puzzle game, depending on
                                their relevance to the moment and the chosen surrounding puzzle
                                peices.

                                And on the subject of trusting, doubting, confusion etc:

                                We are here shiftING, not shiftED, this is what we are choosing.
                                With the variety of viewpoints we have, the shifted and the unshifted
                                and the semi shifted, there is always something new to notice from
                                yet another new perspective. Why not get really enthusisatic about
                                the ride itself instead of planning how to float through it with the
                                least fuss ~ it’s more fun on the helter skelter with it’s many
                                perspectives and view points than on the mill pond for those of us
                                who choose shiftING.

                                At least now we know that what we dont know is there to know.

                                #1258

                                “Well, what a coincidence!” exclaimed Bea, as her freind Baked Bean Barb described the book she had just started reading. It was all about ancient inscriptions in Antartica, which was what Bea had been reading about online just before Barb arrived.

                                “Some of it’s fact” Barb was saying “But the rest of it’s made up; interesting though!”

                                “Oh, I can’t wait til they find remains of the civilization under the ice there!” Bea said, to which Barb replied “There’s no civilization there. Nope. There’s nothing ever been found, nothing at all scientifically proven about that. The book’s fiction.”

                                “Well, they haven’t found it yet, Barb ~ if the scientists had proof, it would be found already. Until things are found they don’t exist?”

                                “There’s nothing there, there’s no proof!” Barb said firmly, shaking her head.

                                “What about all the new things we keep finding out about, before we knew about them, they didn’t exist, is that what you mean?” Bea persisted, trying to get her point accross. Then she wondered why she was trying to get her point accross in the first place. She knew what her point was.

                                Well, at least I think I do, she said to herself.

                                “Fancy a cuppa, Barb? Leo bought some nice nettle teabags, how’s that sound?”

                                Ooh yes please! Got anymore of those gingerbread men?”

                                Sometimes the actual point wasn’t at all the same thing as the point you thought you were making. Bea gave herself points for noticing this, although she wasn’t at all sure what the point of the whole thing was, objectively anyway. Distraction tactics always worked, but once summoned, the distractions were indiscriminate and chaotic. On the way to the kitchen to put the kettle on, Bea glanced out of the window and noticed a shaft of light illuminating the rocks and casting deep shadows into the crevices, the resulting effect looking for all the world like mysterious ancient inscriptions. She reached out for her camera, which was always conveniently handy, as she strode out of the door, single minded in pursuit of the capture of a moment of light as if drawn by a magnet, or reeled in like a fish.

                                Barb eventually found her, some 57 minutes later, pruning the oleander down by the stream.

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