Before I went to Kefalonia, my friend toured Greece, and brought back dirt from each place in tiny film canisters. He also got an ivy cutting from Byron's house on Kefalonia, and got it through customs by turning over some apples and oranges, so they were taken up with that and didn't ask what was in his pockets haha. I got my share of my sister's ashes through on an airline by covering them with seashells, like it was a beach souvenir. Maybe you could stay rooted by taking some dirt from your farm with you to the Czech Republic? Place, and embodiment in our place, is our strength. Still, it may be that a wave from the future is breaking over us and, as you say, something explosive is coming. I so dread Pride month, and the 250th both, July being when the low IQ rich pedophiles of the Bohemian Grove saturate N. California for Bastille Day, the legacy of the French Revolution being nemesis. I took to looking up what could be attacked like the World Cup, which is a bad worst case scenario mind quicksand way to ruminate.
Charles Tart, the late parapsychologist, thought we, like animals, know a bit of the future, but what he called Trans-Temporal Inhibition, the need to keep focused on the immediate world, mostly prevents us from knowing what we all know and it only comes to us tangentially or in dreams. So maybe focusing on what's beyond July can lift our hearts. Here's a little hymn for missing Sophia. (I love this fiddler and how he destroys his bow. My parents once heard a virtuoso violinist, perhaps Jascha Hefitz, in concert, who broke string after string and kept playing until the end of the piece on one string, which might be a good metaphor for what we are all doing lol) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D6YyoEfN4cg
As a teacher, the end of the school year often leaves me with a case of blues as well. Such a relief that the season is over, but at the same time a sense of loss and being ungrounded.
"When bringing a project like this to completion, there is a kind of post-partum depression for the author. That’s the best way I can explain it."
Yup: between completing my blog series last weekend (which I'm gonna edit into a manuscript) and finishing my job for the season on Friday, I've just been tired and even a little sick. Some sort of psychosomatic crash.
In the immortal words of that great social critic Foghorn Leghorn..."It was a joke son." But, as my old friend Doyal Wickham observed, "North of the Mason-Dixon line you need a search warrant to find a sense of humor."
Before I went to Kefalonia, my friend toured Greece, and brought back dirt from each place in tiny film canisters. He also got an ivy cutting from Byron's house on Kefalonia, and got it through customs by turning over some apples and oranges, so they were taken up with that and didn't ask what was in his pockets haha. I got my share of my sister's ashes through on an airline by covering them with seashells, like it was a beach souvenir. Maybe you could stay rooted by taking some dirt from your farm with you to the Czech Republic? Place, and embodiment in our place, is our strength. Still, it may be that a wave from the future is breaking over us and, as you say, something explosive is coming. I so dread Pride month, and the 250th both, July being when the low IQ rich pedophiles of the Bohemian Grove saturate N. California for Bastille Day, the legacy of the French Revolution being nemesis. I took to looking up what could be attacked like the World Cup, which is a bad worst case scenario mind quicksand way to ruminate.
Charles Tart, the late parapsychologist, thought we, like animals, know a bit of the future, but what he called Trans-Temporal Inhibition, the need to keep focused on the immediate world, mostly prevents us from knowing what we all know and it only comes to us tangentially or in dreams. So maybe focusing on what's beyond July can lift our hearts. Here's a little hymn for missing Sophia. (I love this fiddler and how he destroys his bow. My parents once heard a virtuoso violinist, perhaps Jascha Hefitz, in concert, who broke string after string and kept playing until the end of the piece on one string, which might be a good metaphor for what we are all doing lol) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D6YyoEfN4cg
As a teacher, the end of the school year often leaves me with a case of blues as well. Such a relief that the season is over, but at the same time a sense of loss and being ungrounded.
FR ANDREW LOUTH?! … hanging with the big guns ❤️🔥
Students just graduated last Thursday, been rather depressed ever since.
Looking forward to the book and the withering of the archons.
Congrats on the progress with the book!
thanks!
"When bringing a project like this to completion, there is a kind of post-partum depression for the author. That’s the best way I can explain it."
Yup: between completing my blog series last weekend (which I'm gonna edit into a manuscript) and finishing my job for the season on Friday, I've just been tired and even a little sick. Some sort of psychosomatic crash.
"But the planet ... is also at the end of a cycle..."
Dangerously close to dispensationalism
that was not what I had in mind, but it wouldn’t be the first time I was branded a heretic
have you been sneaking a peek at John Darby?
I have no idea who that is
google is your friend
Get thee behind me, Satan!
In the immortal words of that great social critic Foghorn Leghorn..."It was a joke son." But, as my old friend Doyal Wickham observed, "North of the Mason-Dixon line you need a search warrant to find a sense of humor."