Basilica Luminisced
We kicked off the season of family events for the holidays with a pre-Thanksgiving night out last night for dinner in downtown Minneapolis at Crave restaurant before seeing a performance of LUMINISCENCE at The Basilica of Saint Mary on Hennepin Avenue.
What a spectacle! 360° 3D projection set to a recorded track of dialogue and music, interwoven with a live choral performance. The light show was ever-changing, but Cyndie captured some samples that show a little of the variety of impressions they are able to create.
There were seven of us in attendance, including our kids and Cyndie’s mom. Somehow, we navigated getting us all to the restaurant and then into and out of the Basilica with relative ease. That’s a little surprising since there was a second show after ours and people were coming in as we were trying to get out, both from the Basilica and in the parking lot.
We had a little help from Marie’s superpower of advanced age, using her handicapped parking permit and being allowed to use the handicap accessible entrance and elevator to get to the sanctuary.
Elysa and her cousin, Althea, had been out the night before to hear music at The Palace Theatre and turned to find Elysa’s cousin, Monty, from the Hays side of the family. Julian reported having attended a different music show on Friday night, and Althea said her brother, Trygve, had also attended the same show.
I won’t be surprised if I learn there were other family members at last night’s Basilica show that we didn’t know about. In three days, we’ll be with more of Cyndie’s side of the family for Thanksgiving.
It definitely feels like holiday family time is off to a good start for us this year.
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Granting Permission
During the nine days of the deer hunting season, the properties on either side of us become occupied by blaze-orange-clad individuals, and we adjust our travel patterns to avoid the edges of our woods. It becomes rare that we spot any deer wandering around.
When we first moved here, we quickly learned how important deer hunting is to the folks around us. The neighbor just to our south introduced himself to us by stating more than asking, “You’re not going to post your property ‘No Hunting’(.)?”
Our little subdivided plot was originally part of his family’s land, where he has hunted his entire life. We were okay with allowing him to continue his tradition and were interested in avoiding the awkward situation of dealing with the issue if we did object steadfastly.
I think he recognized right away that hunting was not something we were inclined toward, and he has always been respectful of that. One time, long ago, right before the season opened, he checked with us to confirm permission to cross into our woods if a deer that had been shot ran off. That was an easy request to grant.
He’s never checked again since, but long-term permission was implied, and only one time in 13 years have people from his collective of hunters needed to drive their 4-wheeler into our woods to retrieve a carcass. It’s been relatively quiet over the last five years, in terms of hunting activities around us.
Yesterday, while Cyndie was walking Asher down by the road, the neighbor stopped his pickup truck and asked her if he could hunt from within the edge of our woods. Cyndie said there was an awkward pause while she tried to figure out a response.
Our preference would be that we wouldn’t need to constrain our walks in the woods, but we do that anyway during the hunting season, so that doesn’t really make a difference. There is a small wish that our land could be a safe zone for deer to bed down to avoid hunters, but we own a dog that is always excited to make chase after wildlife, so it’s not ever really all that safe.
Cyndie said her response after the delay was a slow, uncertain vocalization of acceptance. It’s only nine days.
After the fact, I suggested she could have ditzily said yes right away, but add that she just didn’t want him to fire his rifle because the loud bang would upset the dog and horses from that close of a distance.
I almost got a deer yesterday evening while traveling over 60 mph on the way to a dinner party in the Cities. At that speed, I wasn’t going to be able to change the outcome, but the buck hesitated just enough at the last second so that our car raced past without impact. I could have reached out and touched him. It was nerve-rattling.
We are in his debt for granting us permission to pass before he continued his way across the road.
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Universal Consciousness
Once again, I refer you to the mind-expanding podcast, “The Telepathy Tapes,” which has significantly rekindled Cyndie’s and my frames of mind in recent weeks. In season one, the evidence of non-verbal autistic individuals picking up information telepathically is demonstrated. From there, additional fascinating happenings unfold, logical conclusions, really, given how they relate, but also continuing to push the boundaries of our modern-day perceptions of reality.
Season two just keeps on going. Once you wrap your mind around the idea that thoughts can be perceived, it’s not that hard to figure out how animals seem to behave as if they know what we are thinking. It’s a shame that the mechanisms of modern society have distanced the human race so far from a spiritual reverence for all living things and even the Earth, in its entirety –Mother Earth, to many Indigenous people.
Why wouldn’t we carve into the body of our mother to mine minerals that allow us to transmit electric signals and create pocket computers that enable us to doom scroll addictively for hours out of a day?
I suppose there might be a balance to be had in there somewhere, but I hope you get my point. There are energies in the world we can’t see without microscopes or electronic devices. At one time, people didn’t know bacteria were infecting us that were undetectable to the naked eye. Today, that is well understood as an obvious fact.
Maybe someday enough people will accept the mounting evidence of consciousness existing in a plane beyond what our eyes and ears perceive that it will be seen as a given by everyone to the same degree.
Despite Cyndie’s many “tricks” to hide the fact that we were planning to pack for a trip to the lake place, Asher always begins his clingy behavior at the time she begins thinking about what she needs to do in preparation. It is totally understandable to us now, given the verifying evidence presented in The Telepathy Tapes episodes.
As I’ve written before, we were already inclined to accept the incredible concepts of interspecies communication because Cyndie has experienced it with horses on multiple occasions. Just because we believe it doesn’t mean we totally understand it.
I shouldn’t be surprised, really. Why have most people lost their ability to detect and understand the universal consciousness that radiates throughout the world?
This morning, I wonder why deer don’t all pick up on the thoughts of hunters waiting in their stands and stay away. We heard plenty of gunshots around sunrise this morning. The horses are definitely on higher alert.
Throw out some extra love into the universal consciousness today. I guarantee there are living beings who are perceiving the energy and will welcome your contribution.
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Detecting Numinosity
Cyndie and John
The initial attraction was mutual and undeniable. In our early years of exploring a relationship as potential significant others, there were plenty of twists and turns. Cyndie was a year older than me and in the high school class ahead of mine. In many ways, we were opposites. She was more of a go-getter. I was more inclined to wait for things or opportunities to show up in my life.
I bailed on our relationship several times, thinking it was unlikely to survive the ravages of time. However, the magnetic pull between us was relentless. She was all I ever wanted, so it was easy for me to give it another go.
Cyndie pursued multiple university degrees; I sought the least expensive and shortest path to a trade that offered stable employment. We shared an equal passion for similar music, certain foods, and an empathy for the plights of others. I took pride in fulfilling the [at the time] non-traditional role of supporting her career as she repeatedly climbed higher and higher in educational administration positions, being the only woman among numerous old-boy networks.
Somehow, together we managed to raise two intelligent, well-adjusted children while simultaneously unraveling and resolving our own personal issues that originated unconsciously in each of our formative years and grew with us into our adult minds and relationship dysfunctions.
She let me go off on bicycling adventures on my own; I enjoyed being allowed to stay home when she wanted to travel to distant shores. No one seems able to fathom how or why I would pass up a trip to Italy. I consider having gotten permission to stay home one of my great accomplishments. (No offense intended, Italy.) Cyndie says it was one of her favorite trips.
I experience greater pleasure from saving money than spending it. Cyndie is uncomfortable with tight constraints on our expenditures.
We have benefited immeasurably from more than a year of work with a couple’s therapist.
Cyndie was always more of an optimist, while I was a classically trained pessimist. We have rubbed off on each other enough at this point that I occasionally am able to note the switch for her.
When Cyndie came home from a training session with horses and reported receiving physical sensations and eventually messages in her mind transmitted by the animals, I was dumbfounded. I had no reason to doubt her experience –even though she was unsure about what was happening herself– but it took some time to reconcile the unbelievable aspect with which we were suddenly presented.
We’ve been through a lot together. Today, we share an equally strong understanding of the presence of a divine loving energy around us in every direction and in all creatures, plants, and materials in the universe. We understand telepathy is a reality because we have experienced it.
Looking back from where we are today, I better understand that magnetic attraction that was relentlessly drawing us toward our eventual long-term relationship. Nothing short of numinous.
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November Scenes
The scenery around here has developed a significant November hue now that we are over halfway through the month.
Cyndie’s perennial garden still has a variety of autumn colors on display. The skinny leaves of the willow tree are almost smothering the grass. The grassy plant in the foreground is turning white. The young oak tree on the left is holding onto its dark brown leaves. The farm field in the background that was planted for hay last season and didn’t get tilled after the final cut shows up green, clearly visible behind our natural border fence of brush we’ve cut from fallen trees.
I came upon the horses looking like they were having some kind of meeting. Mix appeared to be losing interest in whatever the topic of discussion was. On second thought, it looks much more like they were just hanging out together on a Tuesday afternoon.
It was beautiful.
I would love to have been able to telepathically view whatever might have been going on in their communication with each other in that moment. Do they engage in idle banter? Seems a little beneath such noble creatures.
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Calamities Dodged
Sometimes, I feel as though the horses must think we make the silliest decisions. I have no idea how much sense they have about approaching weather systems. We are greatly influenced by forecasts from meteorologists. When the weather service issues a winter weather advisory, we consider how it will affect the horses.
Monday afternoon, we put their rain covers on due to the likelihood of a rain/sleet/snow mixture falling overnight into Tuesday morning. It held off just to our south overnight, but sleet finally started falling just as we were feeding them yesterday morning.
Invasive Garlic Mustard is easy to spot in November.
It was hard to tell whether they appreciated the extra protection or not. Now the extended forecast is showing highs for the week in the mid-to-upper 40s(F) with mostly sunny skies. When it dried up by late afternoon yesterday, I decided to remove their rain sheets.
Cyndie was in the Cities overnight with friends, so I was on my own with the horses. Mix was first and seemed very eager to have the shell removed. Mia came up as soon as she saw what was happening, so I offered to help her out of her cover next. She was fine with me undoing the clips in front and stood mostly still while I disconnected the two straps around her belly. Then, she decided to bolt before I could unclip the small strap on the back.
With the blanket open at the front, it blew into the air as she took off, and Mia just stepped her back legs free of the rest of it as she ran. I walked down the slope to pick the sheet up off the dusty ground, trying to act like it was the normal procedure.
“Nothing to see here. Carry on.”
Mia’s little burst of energy got Swings and Light to come up to get in on the action. I unclipped the front of Light’s raincoat and one of the two belly straps before she decided to copy Mia and suddenly took off running, kicking her way out of the rest of the still-clipped straps.
“Really?”
Thankfully, Swings, the oldest and calmest of the four, stood in place while I wrangled the clips apart and slid the cover completely off her back. As a group, they seemed like they were of a mind that they didn’t need the extra protection we went through the trouble of providing.
We prefer taking precautions, in contrast to waiting to try and help them after they get wet and cold if conditions turn sour.
So, we dodged a few potential calamities this time, as Light kicked dangerously while Cyndie was in the vicinity, situating the back of Light’s cover, and the two horses bolted with straps still attached while I was in the process of removing them.
It serves as a fresh reminder to keep alert to risks every time we are interacting with these huge and sometimes unpredictable beauties.
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Mind Bending
It’s like when you reach to flip a light switch and it doesn’t toggle all the way over, and you notice instantly that it didn’t. So you react instantaneously and flail at it a second time. But it still bounces back because you didn’t get any closer on your second flail. How ridiculous it is to find yourself spastically flapping away at a switch, three or even four times, to finally achieve what you successfully do dozens of times a day without a thought.
Yeah, that’s never happened to me.
Cyndie and I were out to dinner and a music show with Barb and Mike, and Barb brought up the Telepathy Tapes podcast we had told her about. She was listening to season 2. We told her we had already listened to the whole season. We listened to it right away after we finished the first season.
Except we hadn’t.
Funny that we both had the same incorrect perception. When we figured out that we hadn’t, it became a priority. I don’t know if it is fair to write about this podcast, other than to try to convince everyone else in the world to give it their full attention at the earliest opportunity. I’d love to share the wonder and glory of the concepts being explored with anyone who has already absorbed the mind-expanding possibilities it reveals.
The theme of telepathy is not a difficult one for Cyndie and me to reconcile, as we have both experienced it at different times in our lives. What weighs on my mind is how beyond my reach it is on the regular, despite completely believing the concept. One phrase that is used when they talk about communication with people who have died is that they are on the “other side.” I wish they wouldn’t use those words because it’s not really another side. It’s right here all the time, all around us, unconstrained by physical limitations.
If you have started watching the Apple TV series, “Pluribus,” that show depicts humanity joined in a hive mind; the telepathy realm is a little like that, and most of us are like the lead character, who hasn’t melded with the rest of the all-knowing others.
To the [mostly] non-verbal people featured in the Telepathy Tapes episodes, the “place” where telepaths commune has been dubbed “the hill.” I don’t believe that “hill” or the “other side” where past souls are speaking with mediums are separated from the rest of us. It is an energy of love that is everywhere.
One feature of the Telepathy Tapes stories that I particularly enjoy is the number of people whose stories start with their lack of belief that any such thing is possible. After instances with a non-verbal child mastering a letter board to communicate or an encounter with otherworldly energies in a near-death experience where they report verifiable telepathic situations, non-believers find themselves willing to consider expanding their understanding.
Yes, it’s a lot like religion, minus a human-translated textbook of confusing divine orders or finance-fixated institutions with power hierarchies controlling subordinate groups of followers. It’s imbued with the one thing all the various attempts at religion in the world seem to share: LOVE.
Try to bend your mind around that.
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Week Before
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‘Twas the weekend before deer hunting opener, and all through our valley
Neighboring hunters were sighting rifles, firing sequences of annoying volleys
With a snap and a caar-ACK!, the serenity kept being interrupted
Our precious peace and quiet, over and over was corrupted
For some reason, this year the gunshots appear to unsettle Asher more than we’ve seen in the past. The horses always get a little jumpy about the discharge of firearms. The annoying repetition of startling rifle reports is a fact of life around here this time of year, but this weekend was particularly bothersome. From the sound of it, the neighbors who hunt must have spent a chunk of money on ammunition this weekend.
I assume the reason the shooting was so noticeable is that they were doing the sight aligning in closer proximity to their residences and not off in the woods in their deer stands. The week before the deer opener is probably more unsettling than the two weeks of the actual hunting season.
We don’t have a heavy influx of gun-toting hunters flooding our area, so the numbers are limited, and the sounds of shots being fired tend to be restricted to the hours around dusk and dawn. Plus, they are only shooting when they see a deer, unlike what we experienced over the weekend.
You’d think all this shooting would chase away the deer to far safer places to hide.
I’m guessing it’s a buck who has been rubbing the bark off the young poplar trees in the north loop field, but I haven’t spotted him yet. In six days, the Wisconsin deer herds will begin having their numbers reduced. I wonder if someone will get him. It’s an annual event that has never been a part of my life. Since living here, it’s become a minor nuisance we observe for two weeks in November just beyond our borders.
The weekend before hunting season serves as a warning to our nerves and a reminder that it’s time to pull out the blaze orange outerwear.
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Cat Rehomed
After just one night of housing the friendly little stray, we found someone who wanted to claim the beautiful orange cat that showed up on our property. Cyndie was asked to help treat an ailing horse of a frequent This Old Horse volunteer and now friend, Michelle, first thing in the morning. In a whim of afterthought, upon completing the horse care, Cyndie brought up the story of this cat that showed up at our place.
When she showed Michelle pictures of the cat climbing on me, the reaction was instant. It looked just like Michelle’s beloved cat, which had died some months ago. She asked if she could come by later that morning to pick it up.
Done.
After checking with neighbors to confirm the cat was not one of theirs, we decided the affectionate feline was a possible victim of being dropped in the country to fend for itself. It was definitely not feral. A sad reality that is visited upon rural property owners with disgraceful regularity.
Asher seems to recognize that the cat has left the premises. He still checks mechanically on the scent around the hay shed, but without the manic fixation of the previous week.
I can’t deny that the purring ginger furball took a little piece of our hearts after just the briefest of encounters.
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Fool’s Errand
Backstory: My initial lesson in how water flows across our land was after the first winter we moved here, in the spring of 2013. It is a powerful thing to witness large amounts of water begin to flow toward the next lowest spot on the way to the nearest river.
When the big melt started that spring, snow had filled the main drainage swale along the southern border of our property. It was impossible to see the water moving beneath the snow cover, but when the flow became too much for the situation, that snow became a dam. The water backed up until it spilled over the bank and flooded our neighbor’s farm field.
It became obvious to me that neglected growth had begun to clog up the western end of the drainage path. That caused the snow to jam against the little trees and thick underbrush until it formed the blockage.
Every year since, I have endeavored to keep our span of the drainage path clear before snow season starts.
Nowadays, most of the flow happens during heavy downbursts of rainstorms, but just in case a big snowfall might still happen, I continue to clear growth from the center of the swale.
Yesterday, I used the string trimmer to carve a path down the middle, instead of the brush cutter pulled by the big diesel tractor. The big tractor flattens much of the tall grass, and then the brush cutter just passes over that without actually mowing it.
Clearing the path right down the center is the fool’s errand, because the flow of water doesn’t care that I want it to stay in the middle and follow the lane I have carved. Runoff carries a lot of organic debris and silt. Anywhere the flow slows, floating material settles out, creating a high spot, so the water then moves around it. Water carves its own path.
So the actual washed-out gully that forms zigs and zags on and off the path I cut. As long as the tall outer sides of the swale are intact, the ultimate purpose is achieved. My choosing to cut the path down the middle is meant to guarantee there will be nothing to collect snow if that situation were to occur again.
Another fool’s errand happens indoors with our dog, Asher. When we picked him up from his foster home, it was obvious he LOVED being on their furniture. We weren’t sure about giving his large 90-pound frame free range on our furniture, but he won us over to a partial degree. Our bed is off limits, and he learned that right away. Cyndie bought covers for the couch and one chair in the living room.
Lately, he’s decided he’d rather choose the tight confines of an uncovered chair.
We can’t resist his sweet little face and don’t really care –his hair is everywhere, regardless– but it is comical that he seems to flow wherever the spirit moves him, regardless of our attempts to guide him.
Seems a little like the water in our drainage swale.
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Relative Something 