code the new issue of cells with what you want to be your beliefs.
Code the cells with your life purpose.
Code them with your Growth SIStem of: Persist, Resist and Insist.
Persist in growing by being curious and humble
Resist the low levels of energy that use pettiness and apathy by being firm in what you believe and flexible in how you achieve it.
Insist in dignity and authenticity.
Integrate your beliefs into daily life:
Using short prayers composed of a few words to align your intentions; or
Long prayers of putting those intentions into action.
New cells are like a newborn baby – fresh from the source – innocent and clean passing from the marrow through your bones Into your bloodstream. There is a heritage of knowledge passed on from ‘old’ cells to the fresh ones. The brand newest of cells are reasserting your well being and ready to receive the human ancestral wisdom. They have a purpose. They have an intelligence. They have a mechanical infrastructure. They have their engraving agility (as opposed to emotional agility). This is an agility to transcribe and translate the DNA via RNA into actionable instructions. This is cellular level synthesis of energy into magnetic information that can be repeated. The residue of this cellular synthesis is hosted by the blood.
What do you want to host in your blood as your cellular orientation. Can they grasp what you want now, as an adult? Or is your childhood programming stronger than what you want?
It wasn’t supposed to be a beauty contest. If it was, Nicola would not have won. Her bigger bones had sharper angles; her beauty didn’t quite fit into her body. Being an odd, perceptive woman she attracted people’s attention but not the love of a man. Which was one of the reasons the priests chose her. Her father’s connections were another. And the position was open as a third. And by coincidence, Apollo was unlucky in love.
Being one of The Pythia engaged Nicola’s thoughts and replaced her need for a man’s love even if most of the priests that surrounded her had no interest in her. Within six months of Niolca starting her training Anna, the most experienced Priestess, contracted pneumonia, could no longer attend the temple and was buried soon after. The other priestess got knocked up by one of the visiting supplicants who she met bathing in the Castalian spring. With her two ushers unavailable Nicola had become the Oracle of Delphi.
Though Nicola knew she lacked sufficient training and practice she felt her belief in herself could make up the difference until she had more experience. Her belief however was not important to the priests of the Temple of Apollo. They felt she hadn’t observed and absorbed the wiles of Anna. Anna was an excellent actress; she could feign possession by the spirits and struggle to find the human lexicon when translating the message from Apollo She tailored her private performances to each supplicant so they would go away with a prophecy that was promising yet mysterious. If the prophecy didn’t lead to their desired result then the supplicant could be accused of lacking faith in the Pythia and follow through on the prophecy.
Now Nicola would be in charge of an apprentice. She didn’t want her assistant to know more than her so she asked her father to tell the priests to interview her brother-in-law’s sister as the next Pythia in training. Dimitra was a young woman of status but not of any specific intelligence that could be developed for the role of the Pythia. Plus Nicola felt, in those warm afternoon breezes, she looked better than Dimitra in the colourful, flowing robes of steel blue and ruby red.
Before being tarnished by greed, being chosen as the Pythia was an honour. It was one of the few official positions where a woman’s instinct in the society was valued. Now the priests would appear beside the supplicants and provide context to the cryptic message from the Oracle. Nicola grasped that she was to play the role of a possessed priestess or she would be replaced.
She coached Dimitra on how to respond to the requests of the supplicants. Both women faked possession by the attendance of the essence of Apollo. Most of the time the priests had no idea what their message was; they simply knew what the supplicants were looking for and would convert the gibberish into witty riddles and enigmatic poems that could be taken either way.
The more tenuous the connections between the woman, her instinct and the planet, the more accessories were used during the ceremony. The clouds of incense that filled the temple gave Dimitra a headache so she couldn’t think straight. She would become dizzy causing her to wobble on her stool which only helped to further the myth of her possession by Apollo.
Nicola and Dimitra preferred to knock their clients off their game so their methods couldn’t be questioned. Relaxing them with an excess of food and libation and possibly female distraction they were less demanding for details about naval victory or political alliances as they were now feeling more satisfied in the moment. For those who came with questions of lesser importance, like family disputes they would simply embroil them in greater family drama using guilt and blame. In such cases there was no connection with Apollo, nor consultation of any respectable god energy.
The elders had called a Symvoulio, a local Council meeting, to express their increasing concern about the direction of the gymnasium for the children, Apollo’s sanctuary and the descent of the Pythia towards drachma and away from caduceus. Jonas, one of the local elders, showed up with a handful of arrows and a scowl. The myths, rumours and convenient lies that manipulated the role of The Pythia for social and economic means was atrocious. The priests were scared.
The elders told the priests to choose, as the next Pythia, a woman who didn’t abandon the female instinct. A woman who knew her decisions would impact generations of Pelasgians and many rotations of the planet. A woman who loved the beautiful story of the gods as a way to make the higher realms of life energy tangible yet still sacred.
Lydia had travelled with her dad’s cousin Jonas on one of his business trips; was engaged to Tobias who was working his family’s olive orchard. She saw that not only did Dimitra and Nicola not have the desire to deepen in the understanding of higher connection but lacked the capacity to engage the discipline of the role of an oracle. Lydia knew not to attempt to clarify for these flousies that Apollo was not the source of the vision of the future – that it was a local planetary energy that permeated the rock of Delphi, resonating in the minerals and the water reaching hundreds of metres down.
Sprouting at the shore of the Gulf of Corinth there was a gnarly vine of human survival ascending from fishing off the coast to olive groves on the mountain side levelling out to ranching sheep as Mount Parnassus plateaus to where the spring hosted the Oracle.
Provoked by a sense of purpose Lydia’s gait lightened as she climbed the mountain path to the temple. Lydia sensed that she had become a nexus of powers that expressed themselves through a human life. Challenging; confusing and possibly crazy making while being inspiring and intriguing. It was on her walk up the mountain to the temple with her head covered by a white sheer headscarf and a turquoise skirt she could feel the force settle on her head like a sparrow on an olive branch. It was weird the first time it happened. When Lydia asked, Dimitra had no idea about any sensation of attendance of higher forces.
The day before she is to provide prophecy Lydia feels the power of the office of Oracle settle in her body. She eats a small bowl of vegetable broth and drinks water with lemon the rest of the day. As dusk would succumb to evening she would sit in her small room looking out her window above the neighbour’s roof and into the sky. When she lay down to sleep she felt received by a benevolent force that rejuvenated her. She was learning this was the attendance of what was called the power of Apollo.
In the temple, Lydia had placed a piece of amethyst crystal in a tiny accidental niche in the wall in the rear porch where the air stayed cool. It was a gift from cousin Jonas and not something Lydia could afford to replace. In the morning Lydia trained herself to inhale and exhale along the lines of her connection to the amethyst in the temple. She would breathe in the immense sky then, in her mind; walk to the temple picking up the wafts of myrrh before arriving, feeling her fingertips running over the dimpled limestone columns.
On these vision walks in her mind, she was discovering that the Pythia’s role was more of a healer than a diviner. It was the healing guidance she offered that made people think she knew the future. She knew that if you had issues with uric acid then juniper berries would help flush it out. She knew that the incense could be used for much more than just bathing the supplicants in dramatic clouds of smoke; it had the capacity to elevate the atmosphere into a higher realm of awareness.
Lydia was not popular because she didn’t require the service of the priests to translate her prophecies because she did not spout trance induced Gibberish. Using her powers of observation plus her instinct Lydia promoted clarity and well being by applying two of the three Delphic maxims: Know thyself paired with nothing in excess. Her straightforward manner angered the priests because it lacked mystique; it had a way of clearing mental fog with belief in oneself. The priests banked on that fog and people relinquishing their belief to the translation abilities of the priests.
Whereas the Priestess Pythia was portrayed as a beacon of serenity behind the scenes there was a lot of infighting. Lydia argued with the other two because they insisted they had to wait 7 days after the new moon before they could offer prophecy. Lydia explained that the point was to be clean, both the Pythia and the supplicant. That is why she had designed a 3-day retreat for the supplicants as opposed to the bacchanalia of Dimitra and Nicola. The retreat was only to include fresh fish from the gulf and water from the spring. Likewise it was the woman who would, once cleansed by the moon, be ready to receive, grasp and deliver the message of the gods.
The priests knew that Lydia was very well prepared for the role of Pythia. Much more so than the current two that were neither experienced or perceptive. Lydia’s sincerity jeopardised their business model. The Castalian spring was well known and had many visitors even before the reputation of the Pythia grew. There were important visitors from afar bringing gifts and wealth. The priests didn’t want their status or their economy to be diverted. With international fame the energy of the place was more about the buzz of commerce than the connection with Gaia.
Lydia wanted the opposite to happen – she wanted a thriving community based around listening to the Oracle – even if it wasn’t her because she knew there could be somebody much better than her at connecting with the air of Apollo. Someone who is fresh as the vapour from the spring yet as wise as emanation of the rocks.
Tobias agreed to help her decorate the temple in a manner that would be pleasing to the attendance of Oracle energies. He was happy to support Lydia but also wanted to get on with their life as a family. They had a sincere love that their parents remarked on but the family growth was stalled. First it was because Tobias went to war but that was 4 years ago now. When he returned home he discovered Lydia had left on a trip with her dad’s cousin Jonas to Italy. This was quite unusual for a woman at the time but not unexpected of Lydia.
It was the sound of how he inhaled that said it was over. Which was no surprise. But it wasn’t fair. Lydia knew that she could be The Pythia and a wife and a mother. She knows it. It was heartbreaking. Like this moment now with Tobias. She loved him and she knew he loved her but she couldn’t let go of the Pythia. It was more her than she was herself if that made any sense. Lydia said it was her duty to her lineage, her land, to be The Pythia.
Lydia’s father could not understand why Lydia didn’t marry Tobias when he was ready to make a life with her. Lydia’s mother who knows how to deal with her dad and chose her moments when his point of view needed adjusting. This was one of those times. She stood up and he sat down. No words were spoken. He was glad because he had no idea what to do next.
Within a year Tobias would be a happy husband and a satisfied father. He would make his father so proud by marching off to fight for the Spartan Alliance in the battle of Marathon. He would make his wife distraught by not coming back.
This story takes place in September of 2015 at a place that I call “Discovery Lake”. There are no trails to Discovery Lake, but I had bushwacked there twice before (so I thought I knew how to get there). It took me 2 full days to get to the lake. Day One was a bit […]
“She went in the house to talk to your mom,” said Oscar Phillips. “Hey, I heard you had a new girlfriend.”
“Is she coming?”
“No, Trish had to work. She’s a nurse.”
Tim leaned against the workbench and picked at a scab on his index finger. Oscar sat on the chopper with the sparkling silver gas tank. Everyone, including Oscar, knew the theme of this family barbecue was to offer him a hand up as he lurched in the quicksand of depression. The radio effortlessly played classic rock; Spirit of the West ushered in the moment. Spirit Of The West “Home For A Rest” – Official Music Video
“So, did Debbie bring home any boyfriends. To do the meet-the-parents thing?” asked Oscar instantly regretting using air quotes.
“I remember one guy. He was really smart, tall and polite. Debbie was still in college but he was working a full time job. He had a pick up. My Mom didn’t like him. Dad did.” Oscar straightened his back and bent his neck to crack it. Oscar feared Tim’s dad Stan.
“Debbie is like, 10 years older than you?” said Oscar.
“Yes, 10 years and 8 months apart. In school Debbie always had a part time job. I saw her on weekends. Kind of like visitation rights with your own sister while living in the same house. Basically we grew up in two different families with the same parents. Debbie was before the accident.”
“Right,” said Oscar.
“She wasn’t perfect or anything but she didn’t cause my parents so many headaches like me. We never really had any big brother-sister fights. Never lit the kitchen on fire heating the pizza box in the oven or anything like that”
“Right,” said Oscar.
His shoulders deflated in a whatever surrender. Depression is usurping his mojo. It’s a pesky grinding of his tectonic plates causing landslides of conflict between him and Debbie.
Tim took in the Oscar’s theatre in response to his question.
“What the fuck do you want me to do,” Oscar imitates an exasperated Debbie.
Then nodding to Tim. “And you know Debbie never swears.”
“So bro,what … do you want Debbie … to do?” asks Tim.
“I don’t know what I want to do,” Oscar throws his arms open. “So how the fuck can I tell her what to do?”
“Dude. Fake it till you make it. Ya know, tell ‘em you wanna buy a house. Or have children. Or to go for that promotion.”
“What promotion?” Oscar needed to know.
“I am making it up. It doesn’t fuckin matter. They just need to hear that you are the man. They need you to make them feel they made the right decision bro.”
Tim and Oscar nodded as they sipped their beers.
“Sorry man,” Tim tried to redirect the heavy silence that was weighing them down, “I’m just tryin to help.”
‘This family therapy gig is getting old quick,’ Tim thought during yet another awkward pause. Oscar kept himself busy by thinking, ‘I just need to keep the conversation going.’ But he couldn’t find anything to say so the bottom fell out of the conversation again. Tim turned around to face the workbench and grabbed a long, red handled Phillips screwdriver. He spun it in the air, caught it and turned back and looked at Oscar.
“Look bro ….”
Oscar looked at him.
“It has everything to do with you and nothing to do with you all at the same time,” Tim pointed the red screwdriver handle at Oscar.
As Oscar’s soul mined him for traction, he heard his instinct, ‘Reflect.’
Like a witch Tim says,
“Listen bro, you just need to reflect on, you know, the situation. But, you have to fuckin swear you will not sit there and stew in your own regret. You cannot, cannot mire yourself in your own, you know, bullshit.”
Like the open garage door, Oscar gaped. Tim was proud of how he used the word mired. He had never used it before.
“Dude, I can see why Debbie is so frustrated. Your mojo, your fuckin chi!” Tim extended his neck at Oscar, “Has been sucked out of you like you were a cherry freezie on a hot summer day. Know what I mean?”
“If I don’t, Debbie does. And she isn’t shy about telling me. Daily,” said Oscar.
“Is she right, daily?”
“Is this a yes or no question?”
“Yes. I mean, sure we had all those immature marital squabbles cuz our parents didn’t orient us about marriage. I know now that’s nothing personal. But now we are a fuckin tsunami of feces even before we wake up. We don’t talk, we argue. We don’t speak, we yell. We don’t love, we dread. It’s real. It’s horrible. I want to fix it,” said Oscar with the humility of a porcupine before a gale force wind. His own words stood him up from the motorbike. Tim was impressed. Oscar looked at himself standing as if he just woke from a dream. He sat back on the motorbike.
Bobcageon by The Tragically Hip reminded the radio of younger times.
Oscar and Debbie lived in a condo downtown Toronto. Having recoiled from most of their relationships, Oscar squats at home all day coding; becoming paler, losing valuable hair and gaining stupid pounds so he can be a better punching bag for depression.
His man cave was either: early morning concrete coffee cross legged on the 5 x 10 balcony overlooking the Gardiner Expressway or: seated on the ground in a clutch of red pine trees in the lakeside park across the street from the condo. In other days, these ‘encuentros’ would have provided better dividends.
The garage was Stan’s man cave. Storage boxes stuffed with sentimental anchors among aged yard equipment collected on his shelving unit. He was a salesman for Global Racking Systems. One day a client wouldn’t pay for one of Stan’s sales, so the install team took back all the racking and put it in his garage.
Tim had never seen his dad in work mode. Stan started out really appreciative of the install team bringing it over and installing the racks. Then in the flip of switch he was really bossy when it came to the installation. Then he gave the guys pizza and beers. It was fun for Tim to observe others caught in his dad’s passive/aggressive jousting.
Tim shuffled his feet on the gritty garage floor painted slate grey, looked back at the racking and realized he was proud of his dad. He decided he would ask his dad about how to invest in a house.
The earthy air of the garage buoyed Oscar from falling deeper into the abyss of depression. There was a hint of oily rags coming from the corner. The ceiling was high enough and the garage wide enough so you didn’t sense you were missing out on the day when you were inside the garage.
“Lemme see that thing, said Oscar reach for Tim to pass him the red handled screwdriver
“This thing is probably older than you,” Tim said.
Oscar exhaled laughter, “You know I am actually named after this fuckin thing.”
“Get outta town.”
“Ya. My dad is a total tool geek and he insisted my name be Henry Phillips – the guy who patented the cross screwdriver. He didn’t tell my mom until after I was born. I’m pretty sure that is why they got divorced.”
“Well not exactly, but it couldn’t have fuckin helped. Anyway, I was like three. My mom made sure from then on everyone used my middle name.
“Oscar,” Tim said.
“Nice to meet ya,” Oscar raised his empty beer bottle and they both laughed. Tim wanted to get them another beer but feared breaking the moment by going to the kitchen.
“Guys.” Stan opened the door connecting the garage to the laundry room with his left hand and held up his right hand carrying two green bottles of beer. “Do I have any customers?”
Oscar jumped to his feet.
“Right on. Perfect timing dad.”
“Where’s your beer Stan?” Oscar asked.
“Back at the barbecue. Burgers are gonna be ready in 5 minutes,” Stan said, closing the door.
“Thanks dad,” Stan loved hearing those words. They ferried beautiful meaning.
“Nice and cold, thanks Stan,” said Oscar as he grabbed a metal scraper with a wood handle from the workbench and popped the bottle caps off.
“Boys, dinners on the table,” Tim’s mom chirped and then she knocked on the door. Tim and Oscar chuckled at the backward sequence of it.
ar Oscar imagined that the granite boulder of depression weighing on his shoulders was crumbling into shiny grains of crystalline red, black and silver sand that fell off his back spilling around his feet.
—- Phillips is part of the Short Story Series called Tool by Kevin McNamara
Once again – effortlessly – you breathe. Like you do every day. Now, imagine the clean air entering your lungs. That automatic yet unique breath is integrated into your blood. The agent of integration is the service provided by the alveoli.
The air of your inhale could be the gritty, carbonated exhaust of a transport truck. Or the air flavoured by a bone shaking thunder storm. Or the air fragranced by a beautiful autumn morning as the leaves just pass into the realm of decomposition, releasing a haunting fermented gas that encapsulates the summation of summer and a preparation for what’s to come.
Passing though the lungs that ruby red, freshly oxygenated blood is drawn to the heart where it is pumped throughout your body. The blood circulates up into your brain, fuels your organs, reaches into your limbs. This constantly rejuvenating process brings whats new and removes what has been carbonated. This is an amazing natural process happening everyday all day with accuracy and punctuality according to your body’s need. It makes it possible to run for the bus, walk to the store, dance with your wife. You think about whether there will be a seat available on the bus, what you are going to buy at the store and your dance steps. You don’t think about oxygenating your blood.
However you can think about what message you want to accompany the oxygen as it travels in your body? Your message can be you embracing the moment, and inhaling the feeling of well being you want to attract. Your message can be a more specific quality like compassion or persistence. It is the energy that our mind connects to when you focus on the idea of persistence that will fill your aura. That energy will permeate anything that absorbs energy if your focus has stamina.
Focus on your next breath; inhale the idea of service.
Breathe in through your nose … and be clear that you want service in your life. That service is a quality you want to radiate. Service is a quality that resonates with your blood cells. After being created in the marrow of your bones they pass into your bloodstream. The cells merge with all the other cells on the mission. The mission is your well being. Each cell is a new recruit in the battalion of your blood ready and willing to be of service. Blood cells live a number of months. Compared to your blood cells you are immortal. And their purpose is exactly that: your immortality.
There is a heritage of knowledge passed on from’old’ cells to the fresh ones. The brand newest of cells are reasserting your well being and ready to receive the human ancestral wisdom that you subscribe to. Recognize the alignment of millions upon millions of cells that uphold your human facilities so you can become a university of thoughts, insights and mental projections. Breathe in service so it too gets magically synthesized with the oxygen into your blood. Imagine those blood cells pumped around your body – radiating service.
With explosive power. Man oh man, Forty years already. Where did the time go? Better yet, why did my time go? Today is December 8. A horrible anniversary. I didn’t know until the next day so for me December 9 is just as bad. I hope by now you know what I’m talking about. If […]
We can blame lots people. It feels good for a minute but really has no power of bringing light to the situation. It doesn’t accelerate the development of a vaccine. It doesn’t allow me to walk into a store without a mask. It doesn’t change the incessant reports of increases of infections and deaths. Stop.
I want my thoughts back. I want the best of my world back. To pioneer into tomorrow.
The Pandemia we insist on repeating because in the first place we didn’t listen to those who focus in things like this. And because we don’t know the way forward has gotten old. It is tiring.
I am going to wash my hands and wear my mask and keep my distance and eat at home. And when my mind is my own this is what I am going to think about:
My wife challenges me to be the man I want to be.
My version of man is valid
Planet Earth is an example of Grace, Strength, Purpose and Growth.
Marriage needs clear & sincere communication to grow.
As an merging Elder I will provide wisdom to my community.
theconversation.com Greg Asner – September 8, 2020 Humans are dismantling and disrupting natural ecosystems around the globe and changing Earth’s climate. Over the past 50 years, actions like farming, logging, hunting, development and global commerce have caused record losses of species on land and at sea. Animals, birds and reptiles are disappearing tens to hundreds […]
#TheMosaic#WeAreAllConnected#NothingIsAsItSeems#TheMosaicPodcast #TheMosaicOnline #TheArchitect #TheBlueprints HaveChanged #ConversationsWithStrangers I HAD A CONVERSATION YESTERDAY with a guy who started crying and crying. i held the space for him to cry and he cried for over 10 minutes, just feeling safe in the space to let his tears come out. when his tears stopped, i asked if he wanted…