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  • #1705

    In reply to: Synchronicity

    Jib
    Participant

      I had a few syncs today too… not mentionning all these pooh stuffs…
      well yes I had a pooh synch today, I was to go to the drugstore to update my vital card (dunno how to tell it in english, but it’s a card that have some information about individuals concerning their health and stuffs…), I walk right with my left foot into a big shit… a funny signal to bring to my attention that I was not paying attention.
      That’s for the pooh synch…
      After that, I read that you mentionned pee in some comments… well I had a pee sync too when going to another drugstore this noon just before I came back home for lunch… there was that paper with a cutie pic of a Gibbon, and it mentionned the HURO project… uro being also a prefix for pee…
      When I got home I had mails from my parents… and they told me they had a new car (just for the record, the old car was red, the new car is… grey) and they had sent me the dvd of their wedding with a pic of my mother in wedding dress on the front…

      When I checked my emails, my father had sent me pictures of my mother in front of the new car… and she was holding a plush Gibbon in her hands :)) I may put the pic later.

      So many synchs :D

      #741
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Elvira was tucking into some reindeer stew left over from Becky and Sean’s wedding when she telepathically tuned into Becky’s distress signal. Chewing thoughtfully, Elvira tried to make sense of the visual imagery she was receiving. She seemed to be getting a mixed message; was it a nun, or was it a tart? She reminded herself to trust her impressions, and not discount them even if they seemed incongruous or unlikely, and accepted that Becky was indeed in some kind of tarty nun trouble. The question was, where was Becky.

        Elvira pushed her empty plate away, and focused on the situation. AHA! Nutley Park, 25th bush on the left.

        Boris, I’m going out, she said. Becky’s in a spot of tarty nun trouble in Nutley park.

        Right Ho, dear, shall I come and help?

        Another image of popped into Elvira’s head of the see-through black mini dress. Er, no Boris, I’ll handle this myself.

        And with that, Elvira, sprightly old crone that she was (and fortified with mushroom laced reindeer stew) bustled off to hail a gondola cab, carrying a large carpet bag containing a selection of hastily chosen clothing.

        #719
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          Becky put the butter back in the fridge and noticed a large casserole dish covered with a cloth. She peered into the dish, wondering what it was.

          Oof! said Becky, wrinking her nose in distaste. It was leftovers of that ghastly reindeer stew that Elvira and Boris had contributed to the wedding feast, made with Al’s gruesome green bacon.

          It’s a miracle we didn’t all die of food poisoning, thought Becky. That batty old crone Elvira was too old to be trusted in a kitchen, anyway. 121 years old, and showing no signs of kicking the bucket yet. Bring back euthanasia, she thought wickedly.

          Oh I don’t mean it really, she said to herself (out loud, in case Tina was remotely viewing her again). I love Elvira really.

          #703

          So you have requested audience… a deep voice, hoarse as a water’s torrent running and jumping on a river bed smothered with pebbles, asked from the darkness.

          Midora was not afraid of the darkness. As best as she could explain it, it was the void of creation, where everything came from, and where all was stripped of intrinsic meaning. It was from this place that she could reach for the answers.

          She knew this place, she felt memories swirling around, as uncatchable as a swarm of short-lived sparkles born from the reddish embers of a dying fire.
          In this lifetime, she was only a eleven year old girl, but she was as old as this voice within her. There was a time where she was playing with that voice, a time where her being was not yet, and yet a time which was in her future.
          She was pure consciousness in that dream time space, and yet, she was feeling more comfortable with physical symbols around herself. So she focused on one of the symbols that she knew would help her stabilize her vibration, and in doing so, all the small particles of golden light around her started to swirl and coalesced into a dream body.

          She was in front of a cave, in a mountainous area. This body provided her a slowing down of the stream of information that came to her, and she could manipulate more efficiently the interaction with that huge presence she felt. The precipitous rocky environment was a symbol of that steadiness and slowing down and also, for her benefit of her beliefs in that acquiring such information might be a difficult task.
          Now she had identified it, she could more easily dispel the obstacles on the path to the cave. The cave of course, was her symbol for reaching into her deep inner nature. And the darkness was only a fitting blank canvas for herself to project and translate the energy interactions.
          All of that she knew, as it was knowledge embedded into herself that she could more easily access into this trance-like state, in her room in that location in space and time of 2112 in New Venice. And she knew that also for she was taught by her parents, Bart and Oscar, on how to access it.

          The voice was inside the cave. And no sooner had she thought of it that she was finding the whole place morphing into a vast room built into the rock, in the middle of which a majestic golden dragon was slowly breathing.
          She had translated the vast energy as that of a dragon, but she knew when she felt into it that it had possible variations, one of which being that of a she-phoenix, of various sizes, where sizes where symbolic of its age and wisdom.

          You may call me Naasir the dragon grinned at Midora. You are right, in a sense, you can consider yourself being born from me, though in your true form, you are equally august and splendid as I am. You will, in time, have access to that form, again. But for now, I can provide some answers to your questions. The only thing is… Are your questions up to the challenge? he added with the most benevolent smirk his wide toothed grin could convey.

          Midora pondered for a moment, beholding the perfection of her translation of the energy. Each scale on the body of the dragon was a work of art. His half-closed eyes, with an amber shiny center, and teal border were equally mesmerizing.

          :fleuron:

          — What is the significance of these books I have inherited from my parents?

          As you know, this place is the place were significance fades away, or radiates, depending on the direction in which you look, only to be replaced by fulfillment. Your… books hence, have no significance, I would say, for me at least. What do you want to know about them?

          — They were passed from people to people, and as far as I understood, they started to be imprinted with these people’s stories, starting from my grand-parents Indy and Cuthbert. But there are still blank pages inside them, and no seeming order from one page to the other. I think that’s why my grand-parents grew tired of it.

          Continue…

          — What I mean is… I feel attracted to them, and yet I don’t understand how they work…

          These… are not mere books as your ancestors understood them. In fact, they were crafted by a distant civilization, not denizens from this dimension in which you are presently focused, but travelers, with whom you can still interact by means of this device. When the “books” traveled into this dimension, they retained their initial properties and functioning, but their initial shapes were translated into something as close as you could understand so that you would allow them to appear into your reality. This knowing might help you unravel their true nature.

          Another thing. Books are energy deposits, in your reality. There was a misunderstanding in that they were thought to be able to liber or to free your memory by imprinting it into the pages, but memories are alive and not separate from you. They live as you live and change them. So, the books are still being written, and that which you can read is the part of the book which is the most probable story in which you choose to insert yourself, so as to explore it. You can alter these probabilities, even if you might doubt it, but as you chose them, they are much a part of your design of your reality, that which you chose to explore. In short, a complete book means the end of your exploration, and prompts for a disengagement for you to continue other explorations, and on the contrary, a blank books means a boundless realm of probable explorations.

          — Can you tell me why there are two of them?

          They are more than a couple. These ones are the only known ones that your ancestors happen to have found. Most of them have been destroyed over time in this dimension, as their possibilities were heavily cloaked. They are all linked together, as you will find out. You may gather some answers in finding Badul

          And with that, Midora was once again floating in an intermediate state hung between space and time, longing for her physical body. She woke up strangely energized…

          #1670

          In reply to: Synchronicity

          F LoveF Love
          Participant

            :yahoo_big_hug:

            The other day .. yesterday … ? Raven’s name came up. Was it in relation to a dream of Sashi, Stasha, Sahahahahaha? … or something?

            Well no matter, the point is that Tracy mentioned him. Well I didn’t know much about Raven, just that he made me laugh. There are a couple of jokes we had that stood out for me, and I am sorry Tracy … but I have to be honest …. one was the picture of Tracy with a sort of funny head thing on with baubles on it she sometimes posted as her avatar. And Raven put a note in my blog saying “should we tell Tracy she is wearing a doily on her head?” and this joke went on for some time because we both found it hysterically funny. Well I am not sure if Tracy did. :yahoo_worried: He often posted funny pictures as well, one of these I had swiped off his blog at one point because I liked it. (It was a funny road sign )

            Well yesterday I had been thinking of Raven wondering where he had got to, and my sister sent me an email with an attachment of this same picture of RAven’s I had swiped. Then I went for a walk down the road and there was a woman with A DOILY ON HER HEAD! (It was a real doily, maybe she was trying to keep the sun from her head, I am not sure) anyway, thinking of Raven, I started laughing to myself, (quietly), and I swear I could sense Raven feeling delighted that I had got the joke.

            Hope that all makes sense, it is quite early and I am having trouble waking today. :yahoo_yawn:

            :yahoo_rose: a rose for the maligned doily

            #679
            Jib
            Participant

              Yann was introducing many magical aspects of his inner world in his everyday life world.
              It was becoming like an anime.

              He had been having images of a blond guy, often laughing and giggling. Really mischievous at times. Who was he? In his dreams he was with a weird fox, a nine-tailed fox. What on earth was the significance of that!?

              #1653

              In reply to: Synchronicity

              F LoveF Love
              Participant

                Tracy is making the most of not being able to post and asked me to post some synchs for her:

                Tracy: thanks for posting the comments!
                Francie: okay, i will do that other one
                Francie: you love it eh?
                Francie: it appeals your head counterpart side
                Tracy: lobe what?
                Francie: making me post for you
                Tracy: hahahaha yeah its like having staff

                :fleuron:

                Francie: i took george to vet today for check up
                Tracy: hows he doing?
                Francie: well while we were all discussing vaccinations, he nosed open the door and went careering around the vets
                Tracy: hahahaha
                Francie: down to visit all the sick dogs. Like a crazy thing
                Tracy: oh how funny. Oh I bet they all loved it
                Francie: oh yes hilarious
                Tracy: I kept thinking today that any distraction, was taking Bills mind off the pain
                Francie: yeah
                Tracy: and so was George!
                Francie: ahahahahha
                Tracy: ahhaah I synced with george!
                Francie: hahahah!
                Francie: yes
                Tracy: would you write that in syncs under my name please
                Francie: okay

                :fleuron:

                Francie: what does a jewel on the forehead signify?
                Tracy: A flock of coots is known in the US as a cover
                Tracy: um, not sure, like an Indian thing?
                Tracy: why?
                Francie: some of my frogs had jewels on their foreheads, and then i watched a movie with jewels on foreheads
                Tracy: is it a Sikh thing? Or is it the chakra
                Francie: don’t know
                Tracy: which chakra is that or is it the third eye… What colour jewels?
                Francie: tarotteachings blogspot
                Tracy: ralphmag
                Francie: there is another 8 synch in that tarot one
                Francie: oh wow, a magazine synch Tracy
                Tracy: she understands, with a profound and inherent wisdom, that the universe is a magical and abundant place.
                Tracy: thats cool huh… What?
                Francie: the link you gave me: read the last paragraph
                Tracy: I was thinking about the magazine yesterday… WOW F, the last paragraph!
                Francie: yes!
                Tracy: would you post it on syncs for me?
                Francie: yes
                Tracy: please
                Tracy: I missed that bit, I just noticed the ittiel
                Tracy: tille
                Tracy: title

                #667

                Number Four was dreaming, at least it was what he was feeling. The quality of his vision was blurred and he couldn’t really focus on details. He was in a dark room with another man. Despite the darkness, he could clearly see that the man was very pale. There was a third man, mad eyes and hysterical laugh, and a woman.

                The man mad was speaking and assigning them a mission. It was about… skulls? Crystal skulls :yahoo_idk:

                All of a sudden his hearing was crystal clear. He had heard the name of the woman… Carla… He was asking her to go and find a Viscountess, find the skull…

                Then he turned to the pale man.

                Robert, my dear Robber, hinhinhin! I trust you with the Hawaiian witch. Be careful she’s dangerous and very powerful. Don’t misjudge her words or her deeds. Never accept anything, be it food or liquid. Don’t let them touch you either. But I know you already know that. hinhinhin!!!”

                His horse-like laugh was unnerving, and Number Four was so excited, maybe he could learn his own name… why was it so slow!? He was looking at the Baron, watching him laugh showing his immense teeth and gum! Number Four almost lost his grip to the dream imagery.

                Breathe he told himself
                Breathe… Yes, Breathe deeply, YES, YES
                The Baron had finished laughing and was smiling like a vulture.

                When he turned his face toward Number Four, his eyes were swirling like hell, blazing hot red light…

                “My dear one 8-}, to you I trust the most difficult one… My old mad friend on his foolish Island. He has a foolish project, and you’ll serve as a guinea pig…”

                Number Four felt a strong twinge, his dream eye was blinking out of control.
                The Baron’s voice was thunderous and other dimensional.

                hinhinhin! My dear Claude……………………”

                The sound of his name was enough, enough of this insanity… all his memory was accessible now, and he began to feel the rage gather inside of him.

                He was fully awake now. He was in the middle of a nest, several birds were crying around, trying to raise the alarm.
                He gathered his will and released it at once in a fury.

                #1650

                In reply to: Synchronicity

                TracyTracy
                Participant

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

                  #665

                  Fine weather in Hawaii , he thought after the plane had landed at the Honolulu International Airport. He’d been offered an Orchid lei but didn’t really pay attention to it, almost discard it. Who had given it to him. He had no idea. Though the flowers were real now, and the smell was quite pleasant.

                  A man was waiting for him outside of the airport. Japanese breed.

                  Mr Langlade? My name is Isashi Mamoru. Aunt Alana was expecting you this morning.

                  Robert Langlade wasn’t here to apologize. She was the reason of his presence here, well what she possessed actually. The sooner he would meet her, the sooner he could continue his quest.

                  He got in the red car, and waited for the man to close the door.

                  :fleuron:

                  Harry was looking at his daughter walking on the beach with her new friend. She’d lived with her mother in Arizona since she was born and she was only visiting him on holidays… when she had time. She had a western style and he wouldn’t have changed her, it was her choice. He’d wanted to change his own when he was her age, more trouble than he had expected. But it was another life, it was another Harry. He was not from Hawaii himself though he was born here. His family was originating from Korea. His path had moved him away from them for many years. He eventually came back, but he was different now.

                  This evening he was feeling melancholy. 58 years old. What was the purpose of his choices?
                  His daughter that he called Makana, seemed happy with her friend. She’d told him she’d met him at a conference in Boston last December. But he was not very present to his perception. Though he respected her choices again.

                  Alana had told him about an old friend of his. She’d warned him. He was there to take something sacred. She had fear in her eyes.

                  :fleuron:

                  Narsila was swimming swiftly, following the direction of the calling. She knew others of her kind had heard the signal and were heading toward its origin. It was one of these emerging rocks where the humans had chosen to live.

                  The call was not directly connected with them though. It had been activated from another dream.

                  #1642

                  In reply to: Synchronicity

                  F LoveF Love
                  Participant

                    cool, I had a look at the trailers.

                    Bridal Goddess synch ….. was browsing through a Time magazine in cafe, our story popped into my head and I found myself anticipating something related to it. On the next page was a story on Vera Wang, a New York Bridal Designer. I googled her later, one of the first links I looked at said:

                    Fairytale wedding gowns, photographed at the stunning Dore Abbey, Gateway to happiness: Ivory, A-line, strapless gown with Lyon-lace appliqué on layers of tulle, organza and georgette, sizes 4-18, also in white, by Vera Wang, prices from £8,800, the Wedding Shop

                    As well as an 88 synch, I thought Dore Abbey sounded like a Dory/Becky synch. haha

                    #648
                    Jib
                    Participant

                      As soon as Anadron noticed the signal, he sent an energy thread to his friend Goldarny. The whole community was buzzing in the collective innernet of Asaris, the signal couldn’t have been clearer. It was one of the legendary devices sent to this world a few centuries ago. There were originally 9 of them. One had been broken or “lost”. The eight other devices had been silent for many years, and the Asarisi had thought the knowledge of these devices had been lost by the inhabitants.

                      Among many collective threads and more private ones, Anadron and Goldarny were exchanging energy.

                      The device had been lost for so many years that the Council had suspended the explorations to this world many years ago. Following the Salitre Massacre, their policy was if they were not contacted first they would not interfere. One of the eight remaining skulls had been almost activated for communication. Not quite yet. So they would not send anyone.

                      Both friends were thinking the same thing. Andrimiñ was currently away in another dimension, one with many portals… could he loose his way home? They were both quite novice at these explorations and they were indeed curious, very curious.

                      :fleuron:

                      What was considered a green star was shining upon the land of Nerumyil, giving the purple sand of the beaches some shimmering magpie shades. Falghrus had been observing the human since one of the Daughters of the Sea had brought him here. He couldn’t see any reason for her action… The Zentauras were discrete and respectful creatures… mostly respectful of one’s position in the society, and Falghrus was not one of the few Ambassadors of his People. Interfering would have been very misplaced. All he could do was send a magpie to alert the Council, and it would decide the right thing to do.

                      One of his first reactions would have been to kill the man. None of them was allowed in this territory. Nerumyil had been hidden to their perception long ago. If that creature of the Sea hadn’t brought him here, he could never have reached the beach on his own. He had respected his position until now, though he had tried to dissuade the man to stay longer with his mental abilities. He was one of the Gatherer, but he had a few skills that he could have developed if he had chosen the path of a Healer.

                      But that creature again had warned him, almost breaking the rule. The man was under her protection.
                      The beach was a neutral territory. Between the Land and the Sea, no soul should be harmed. This was usually respected between the Zentauras and the People of the Sea. The humans were not part of this rule. And Falghrus had them in particular distaste.

                      This one seemed quite weak. He would have helped him end his suffering without the protection she had decided to accord to him so graciously. But he won’t stop his observation… he would find a way.

                      #1873
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        :yahoo_peace_sign: :yahoo_kiss: :yahoo_whew:

                        #626
                        F LoveF Love
                        Participant

                          There was a tentative knock on the door and Finnley, the weekly cleaner popped her head around.

                          Oh Ms Tattler …. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here at… she checked the wootch on her wrist, 5:57 am .. but I saw the light on …. A horrified expression passed fleetingly over her face as she took in condition of the office.

                          Perhaps I shall come back later Ms Tattler, she said retreating, and making a note to have a word to the building supervisor, Mr Arak, as soon as possible. Mind you this wasn’t the first time she had spoken to Mr Arak about the issue of Ms Tattler living on the premises, to no avail. He was mad as Almad that man. Perhaps I will bloddy resign while I am at it too, she thought. Perhaps I will tell him to bugger his job, shove it where the sun doesn’t shine! Finnly cheered up greatly at the prospect.

                          Elizabeth, exhausted, only dimly registered the interruption, looking up for an instant she waved vaguely in the direction of the door, and then returned to her frenzied writing, eager to capture the last remnants of her dream before it faded.

                          #612

                          It’d been two hexades that the Abbot Hrih Chokyam Lin’potshee had been laying in bed in poor condition.
                          At first, he had wanted to be as strong as he had always been towards hardships, but he’d finally admitted that quelching the pain wasn’t doing any good to him. So he had agreed to be taken care of by a young monk, and to lay in bed as long as was necessary.
                          He knew that he was very likely not to get out of that bed but with his body covered by a white sheet, nevertheless, the thought was still something distant. The pain in his body was making him so present to himself that the only thing that was still blatant was that he was.
                          More than the body, it was all his faith that was shaken. He had thought he would leave this life without mess, without pain, probably very discreetly in his sleep… But now, his head was wincing at every noise, even the nature’s sounds that once felt like music to his ears, he was eschewing them now as much as he could. His very skin was hot and couldn’t bear even the soft contact of the bedsheets.
                          What was the point of all of this? He had never doubted that everything had its purpose, but now, he was doubting…
                          He was even trying to find some reasonable reasons for what was happening, he who never trusted in reasonable reasons in the first place. Perhaps that was because of his seating under the chilly air and the warm sun in front of the Meditation Wall, reading for all of the poems that had been written by the monks who had dared to write. Perhaps he had “taken cold”, whatever that means…
                          “Perhaps not” the voice kept saying softly in his head.

                          Now, his whole succession was feeling like a moot point. After all, he was not even capable of saving himself from anything, then how could what he created make the slightest difference? These were all like an extension of his body, bound to decay and come back to Earths.

                          Not so many monks had dared write upon the Wall about their highest truth. A few jokesters had begun at first, helping the others to participate.
                          One in particular had had Hrih laugh for quite a while.

                          A toad is a toad
                          Unless kissed
                          Endless Bliss

                          Then a dozen of others had flourished upon the wall, until Aum Geong decided to write his own. He’d not wanted to go first, to allow the others to express without the burden of comparison, and also to have some more time to write something deep and thoughtful. But that profusion of nonsense between some occasional pearls of wisdom made him write his own.

                          Unattainable is the Truth
                          For in the Dust of things
                          All in our View is bleak

                          Doing Wrong we forswear
                          For Dust to be lifted
                          And Wisdom we seek

                          In the deed of the Elders
                          And the Faith in the Community
                          Light and Trust bespeak

                          All the monks had been quite impressed, but Hrih had not been entirely satisfied by it… To be honest, he even completely disagreed with it.
                          Now, however, stuck in this bed, the poem was playing in his head and suggesting that the Worlds were something terrible that he had not yet understood, or be willing to avoid seeing. Perhaps Aum Geong was wiser than he was.
                          Perhaps all that Hrih had put as foundational to his life had all been Dust…
                          “There is no Dust, and you know that” the voice whispered softly.

                          Now that he is about to die, what difference will it make anyway…
                          He reach out for a bowl of water, and almost let it fall, as the weight of it surprised him. He was becoming so weak… He never had been so self-conscious in many many many years.

                          After he had propped himself up to drink a few burning swallows of the lukewarm water, he noticed something folded on his bedside, that had been put under the bowl… Young Franiel had been the one attending him with Jog Lam, so it must have been the doing of one of them. He intuited that was Franiel.

                          As he read the stanzas, tears were in his eyes…

                          I am the driftwood
                          the wave carried me
                          I was buried in sand

                          I am the flower
                          the butterfly touched me
                          I fell in love

                          I am the raindrop
                          the cloud released me
                          I became the ocean

                          The Young monk had probably not dared write it on the Wall, especially after most of the monks’ vocal appreciations of Aum Geong’s poem…
                          “Perhaps not” the voice again spoke.
                          Another reason for it formed into Hrih’s mind. Franiel perhaps didn’t feel ready for such responsibilities and his role and fulfillment in this community was not form rules nor to continue it.
                          It was more to inspire them, and perhaps to start his own discoveries.

                          Hrih wrote a note behind the paper. He wanted to leave something for Franiel, for him to keep faith in his coming adventures during these coming times of change.
                          After a deep breath, he took another paper that was with him for already such a long time, wrote down some words, and signed it, the aura of his hand burning a glyph that was his signature in the paper. He then called for Jog Lam.

                          — Jog Lam, my friend…
                          — Elder?
                          — I’m dying…
                          — I know Elder
                          — Let me continue. (Jog Lam nodded)
                          First, will you give that paper to Young Franiel after the cremation ceremonies. (Jog Lam nodded again)
                          Second, I want you to relay that I have made my decision, and that Aum Geog will succeed me (Jog Lam’s surprise was noticeable in his eye). He is, to date, the most adequate successor for this monastery.
                          — I will do as you want.
                          — Thank you my friend.
                          — Elder…
                          — Farewell, my friend, I am always with you.

                          When Jog Lam stoically left the room, Hrih Chokyam laid down, his eyes on the ceiling. His body was so weak that all he could do was to project behind his closed eyelids and see the starry sky, even if he would have wanted something different for his death. He would have loved something like a nap in a sunlit meadow with a little singing brook.
                          But seeing the actual World was something even more precious to him. The barren mountains of the icy season, the clear unclouded sky. His mind was so full of energy that his body lacked.

                          With a deep feeling of gratitude for his body, he bid it farewell.

                          #2098
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            hhhmmm 20:20 here now, that must be significant too

                            #2093
                            ÉricÉric
                            Keymaster

                              Might it be that I overlooked it being a significant clue? :-?
                              :magnify: Let me fumble into the cluebox :cluebox:

                              #1402
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                Me too! I’ll have a guinness :):yahoo_peace_sign:

                                #1575

                                In reply to: Synchronicity

                                F LoveF Love
                                Participant

                                  A Deep Purple synch with Eric’s Roger Glover, lovey dovey joyous song because Deep Purple may have been in my dream Armelle – meditations, dreams, synchs, thoughts # 2”. (Rod EVans being the name of the person who handcrafted the wand and a member of Deep Purple for a while, of course I don’t know that the Rod Evans in my dream was THE Rod Evans, actually I only knew that about DP because I googled the name, oh Paris is on the news as I write this, is that a synch? Also where is Rod Evans now? nobody knows. Maybe he is going incognito as that mystery stone carver bloke. And then of course there is the purple thing with Jib :yahoo_devil: purple, not devil).

                                  Hmmm well that is a weirdo synch, :yahoo_feeling_beat_up: but no stranger than some of them. :yahoo_oh_go_on:

                                  oh this is a truly rubbish synch :yahoo_blushing: the things I say to entertain you guys. :yahoo_chatterbox:

                                  And a rose for the maligned Rod Evans :yahoo_rose: wherever he may be hiding out now.

                                  :yahoo_peace_sign:

                                  Did Tracy notice her orange synch was comment 57?:yahoo_clown:

                                  I think you can overdo the icons.

                                  #1313

                                  In reply to: Yuki’s Livrary

                                  ÉricÉric
                                  Keymaster

                                    November 9 th

                                    For Yurick, or perhaps shall we say, The Artist Formerly Known As Quintin this sequence of sequence of 911 has the signification of a reminder to be paying attention to self, and being present to himself.
                                    The last few days have been, in appearance, quite devoid of exciting new installments of the story, yet, we nudge him not to judge this lack of activity on his part as categorically as he has been used to do. It was a time of self-retreat, a time we have shared with many other essences, as all is connected.
                                    A very fine point which has been brought forth by Elias a few days ago (in Yurick’s perception of time) has been that you want to appreciate the process. His illustration was that of a beautiful flower bud that you hold, and that you don’t want to tear open, but rather let itself reveal its splendor, and also, its surprises.

                                    It has prompted Yurick to remember something, which had lots of meaning to him.
                                    Some years ago, when he was in Kyoto’s forests, he picked up an acorn, as he liked to have seeds or tree corns in his pockets. Back from his trip, in his home, there was this big pot of earth were an old plant had died from the summer heat, and he planted the acorn in it.
                                    And he waited. Till he had to move, some months later, having renounced to have the acorn grow at all, as the soil’s surface was remaining desperately flat. Perhaps it had rotten altogether. Before leaving the apartment, Yurick started to rummage with his bare hands into the soil, to look for the remains of the acorn he believed had rotten, only to find it perfectly healthy. And even more, it had grown lots of long roots.
                                    So he took it back home, where it was planted and still continues to grow at a rapid rate.

                                    Looking at the now big sapling reminds Yurick how that process of growing roots was important for the plant, as they were essential for the oak to be able to survive the winters colds and the summers heats.

                                    Such is the importance of these moments were inspiration seem to be scarce, or away. It is ever present, growing its roots very carefully inside the soil of your being, and expanding your connexions, redefining some, bringing new nourishments to yourself… The effects are not always immediately visible, but things never cease to move.

                                    Be prepared to be amazed by the colors of the flowers and leaves your seed produces, for as Yurick’s oak was an unusual kind of oak (a chestnut oak ), the very seeds that are in your pockets or waiting in the soils of your dream gardens may reveal their own surprises…

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