The Return of the Animals
I confess to being a springtime scrooge. When everyone else is oohing and aahing over the warm weather, welcoming it and delighting in it, I cringe, knowing that, despite the fact that there are some magnificent days in April, May and early June, Spring is the harbinger of the dreaded hot-humid-hazy, lazy days of summer. Admittedly, this is a terrible attitude and a worse way to think, not living in the present at all.
April may be the cruelest month as T.S. Elliot writes, and I concur in many aspects, except for the return of the animals. Why? Because the animals work their unique and miraculous magic on depressed souls and bring joy. I once read that animals were natural anti-depressants… a very astute observation. How a child’s face lights up with joy to touch an animal or observe one up close. Adults, too, are wooed by their innocence. Animals bring enchantment, enrich our lives. That is why therapy dogs and other animals do such good work in hospitals, prisons, hospices for the dying, wherever there is misery.
The return of the animals brings music to the air, replacing the ominous gale winds of winter and the blanketed silence of snows. Insects hum and buzz. Birds sing and chirp. Windows are opened wide to allow sweet- smelling, soporific breezes to blow through our houses. Little green shoots become beautiful flowers in our gardens, along side roads, in the fields. Trees come to life again, gods of greenery. Fat, red-breasted robins perk up the lawn in their search for worms. And we no longer have to worry about animals starving. The deer we see mid-March in groups, scavenging for food are thin and weak. And the squirrels have run out of their stores as well, raiding the bird feeder which they normally leave to the birds. A late Spring means animals will starve and die with no edible items.
And yet, with all the pleasure the return of the animals brings us, do we welcome them with open arms? No, we fumigate our land and spread pesticides all over their territory. Many species of birds are heading towards extinction due to our use of pesticides and, generally speaking, our “development” of the land. We destroy vernal pools, thinking them mere puddles rather than the breeding place of frogs and salamanders. We take the babies of spring– the lambs, the calves– away from their mothers and slaughter them. Sometimes with abject cruelty, in full view of the mothers. The mothers wail in anguish. We break bonds stronger than the supposedly solid bond of human matrimony that nowadays fails as often as it succeeds.
In The Letter Writer, famed author, Isaac Bashevis Singer wrote: “In his thoughts, Herman spoke a eulogy for the mouse who had shared a portion of her life with him and who because of him, had left this earth. “What do they know–all these scholars, all these philosophers, all the leaders of the world–about such as you? They have convinced themselves that man, the worst transgressor of all the species, is the crown of creation. All other creatures were created merely to provide him with food, pelts, to be tormented, exterminated. In relation to them, all people are Nazis; for the animals it is an eternal Treblinka.”
This is how we repay those who bring us such joy, such love, such purity– those who uplift, save lives, care for us. It has been said that a dog is the only creature who loves his caretaker more than he loves himself. Dogs have it over us in this.
Spring is almost here and, with it, the return of the animals. Let us open our hearts to our fellow creatures and show them the appreciation they so deserve, for without them there truly will be, as Rachel Carson direly predicted, a “silent spring”.
For contributing to Michael’s home for street children in Uganda, click link below picture of Michael and Angie…
https://www.gofundme.com/f/sustainability-support-for-the-makindye-foundation
Last of the Informal Show
These photographs are the last to go to Michaels Makindye Foundation for street orphans and homeless children in Uganda. See reference at end for information and donations…
Some of my India pictures are going as well… see “India” on the blog. One appears below…
Delhi Market
Makindye children
Michael and Angie
Click on link below to see Michael’s charity:
https://www.gofundme.com/f/sustainability-support-for-the-makindye-foundation
Jeepers Peepers
Above: the vernal pool not yet unfrozen and below: the YouTube video to hear the song of the Spring Peepers
It is late afternoon and it is spring according to the calendar although still quite cool. I have just spent the late afternoon listening to “music.” Some have likened it to the sound to bells. Others to bird song. And still others, with unimaginable disdain, to “some kind of nature noise.” For me it is one of the happiest of sounds. The act of creation transformed into sound decibels for all to hear. A sound that comes from the earth and resounds to the heavens, unwittingly praising the Almighty. I hate to leave, and wish I lived even closer to the pond, so that the sound would surround me totally, filling my ears every evening with the sound of perhaps the single-most highlight of spring for me. The siren song of the Spring Peepers.
How have they cast their spell over so many? I cannot say except that their song is uplifting and filled with hope despite the natural perils they face daily. For, as true of all of us, they may die at any moment– say as a meal for a nearby perching crow or underneath murky waters eaten by a snapping turtle. They call for a mate without ceasing, without fear, single-mindedly, without a thought for their own safety. It is nature at its most elemental, in its most singular scope. They all sing out vying to be heard– so many voices. In some spots, I am told, their song is deafening. How nice to be there; I cannot get enough of their sweet music. It moves me to tears– these tiny creatures singing out their heart’s desire.
As I return home to family “situations” and domestic duties, I yearn for the simplicity of their song. Their total fervor. For if they sing then all is right in that small part of the world. Progress has not paved over their pond. Disdainful humans have not drained a “vernal pool.” David Carroll writes about vernal pools in one of his books on turtles called The Swampwalker’s Journal. As the title suggests, Carroll walks through such places in search of turtles and other amphibians. He defines a vernal pool as a pool of water that fills up in Fall and Winter and freezes, swells in the Spring and often dries up by end of Summer. But a vernal pool is utmost a place of magic, not only where turtles lurk, but also where mating frogs deposit gelatinous eggs, which turn first into tadpoles, and then, later, become frogs. Vernal pool habitats hold a galaxy of small things that come to life the instant ice and snow turn back into water. And after a requisite series of warm days, followed by spring rains, on the first dark night, vernal pools become the site of the “salamander night.” Salamanders leave their hibernacula to go for a night of endless mating and then return to leaf litter in the woods to disappear for the rest of the year. Some people, who know nothing of vernal pools and their function, deem them a nuisance, a “big puddle” to be filled in or drained. Some people know little of spring peepers except that they are “noisy,” “like some sort of insect.” (Poor insects being made out to be the pesky lowest of the low.) The natural symphony of hormonal, harmonic sounds sometimes falls on deaf ears.
And when, after finishing my evening chores, I try to read, I find the haunting sound of the spring peepers deep within my psyche, making me restless and anxious and wishing to be at that pond, surrounded on all sides by their sex song, inebriated by the unbridled joy in the air, immersed in the utter power of nature manifesting in one of her gentler forms. In the song of the Spring Peepers nature celebrates life-to-be rather than taking lives away. For most of all the song of the Spring Peepers is a song of tremendous faith, faith in love, and faith that love will propagate and new life will emerge untouched by the often destructive hand of man.
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To read about and/or give to Michael’s foundation for orphan and street children in Uganda, click on the link below the picture of Michael and Angie:
http://www.gofundme.com/f/sustainability-support-for-the-Makindye-Foundation
Informal Show… paintings and photographs
In May the art work below will be going to Michael’s home for homeless and street children in Kampala, Uganda, The Makindye Foundation. For more picture links and information on donations etc. click on link below…
http://www.gofundme.com/f/sustainability-support-for-the-makindye-foundation
(Click on all images to enlarge)
“Bontecou Lake”, Millbrook, New York (Photograph)
“Wildflowers by the Roadside”, Millbrook, New York (Photograph)
“Weeping Willow”, Lucasville, Ohio (Photograph)
“Reflections of Hills” Millbrook, New York (Abstract watercolor)
“Sunny Hills” Millbrook, New York (Abstract Watercolor)
“Trees in Winter” Millbrook, New York (Photograph)
“Moonlight” Millbrook, New York (Photograph)
“Sunlight over Trees” Millbrook, New York (Watercolor)
Some of the children in Michael’s Makindye Foundation…
(see link at top)
Synchronicity
The Oxford dictionary describes “synchronicity” as “the simultaneous occurrence of events which appear significantly related but have no discernible causal connection.”
Wikipedia has a longer definition: “Synchronicity (German: Synchronizität) is a concept first introduced by analytical psychologist Carl G. Jung “to describe circumstances that appear meaningfully related yet lack a causal connection.”[1] In contemporary research, synchronicity experiences refer to one’s subjective experience whereby coincidences between events in one’s mind and the outside world may be causally unrelated to each other yet have some other unknown connection.[2] Jung held that this was a healthy, even necessary, function of the human mind that can become harmful within psychosis.[3]“
As a Bipolar 1 woman who was not diagnosed, let alone medicated, until I was 28 years old, my life was full of synchronicity. I was working as a clerk in Columbia University libraries, cataloging art books. My family did not “believe” in psychiatry nor in mental illness. I kept everything secret from them until I could no longer, when I had my breakdown at age 28. At that point I went for emergency care to the Columbia Counseling Service and was told to stay with my family for a week or go to hospital. I was lucky enough to be able to go to my parents for a week . I had begun therapy with the psychiatrist I would wind up staying with until age 74. But at the time I was all alone. I had a best friend from grammar school who was living in France at this time. She and I corresponded every week. We remained close until she died at age 39. I had a few friends at work, but I lived alone and was isolated. And I became psychotic at times. Synchronicity ruled my life. Parts of a song on the radio, or a program on the TV, a man singing in the street… they all had special messages for me. I thought of people in the street as “teachers” for me to learn from and the people who worked with me, as “mystics,” who understood me, and who were trying to train me.
It was exhilarating when the teachers were happy with my progress but terribly depressing when I did wrong. There were “signs” for me to interpret all over the place. And at work, I regarded every book I catalogued as something that held secrets to help me get mentally well or learn truths about life. I would do my job faithfully, most of the time, but while doing it, I was on the constant look-out for special messages meant for me. I did what I called “readings”. I would find some lesson in each book. One book I was working on held a special secret about the womb and the egg and the sperm uniting and becoming a zygote. I pictured the uniting of the egg and the sperm as fireworks. (Thirty years later, saner and married and actively creating art, and, writing a newspaper column upstate on the side, I created an abstract photograph called “Conception”.) But in the library, I did what I called “time travels.” I didn’t talk to people much during this period. I listened to co-workers and street people, read extensively and deciphered messages. People would come up to me at work to actually talk to me sometimes, to be nice, I guess, and I would leave the world of the womb, and zygotes or some such thing, and talk to them normally as if I were in their world. I was not!!
In other words, to put it in professional terms, I was WACKO!
That is all behind me now and fortunately, though I have had some hard times, but they have occurred within the realm of a marriage, to be 35 years long this May. It has offered me the only stability and deep love in my life. Gone is the world of readings and messages. Gone is the synchronicity. Sometimes I miss it but not the craziness that went with it. Now I have more meaningful, everyday experiences of sanity. There are still some epiphanies, but not like the old days.
Before I close I must add, there was at least one incident that was truly synchronicity… that was not delusional… that felt distinctly like a message from God, the Universe. I was working at my desk and suddenly my scalp felt prickles all over it. I grew alarmed and so decided to go to the reference room for one of my “readings.” Clearly this warranted research. I went to the Reference Room of the library and found a one volume encyclopedia which I pulled off the shelf. In order for the reading to give answers impartially, I had to open it at random and then put my finger on the page. So that’s what I did whilst my scalp prickled. My finger pointed to a picture. It was a print of Christ with a crown of thorns. I was stunned. I felt like it was a message from God. And to this day I think it was. It was a message of hope and love.
Yesterday I wrote to a fellow blogger, Anneta Pinto-Young, at Devotionalinspirations.com, who is a Social Worker and a Christian Minister and recounted this story briefly in response to her post on coincidences in her series on “Hearing God Speak.” She told me something very wise. She said that religion and science have always clashed over these type of things. Sure, I was delusional for much of the time, but I did have occasional experiences like this one. And, she said, that was God sending me a message of his love and encouragement. I felt that then and I feel it today.
Maybe I don’t need the secret messages any more. God’s word comes through friends now and most definitely through my long-suffering husband.
What can I say but look out for synchronicities and see what message there is for you.
Energy of Spirit, Life of the Mind and a Sense of the Ineffable
What does the magnetic energy of the earth have to do with the mind and spirit? Well, as it turns out… EVERYTHING!
Hypnosis, creative inspiration, meditation, mysticism– all of these states have something in common. They are all related to states of mind with the same pattern that have been measured by scientists to be found in the alpha pattern of brain waves. The alpha state.
There are 4 states of consciousness. First there is the beta state or normal waking consciousness which is measured by scientists at 13-30 herz or cycles per second. Herz is the measurement for 1 cycle per second. 13-30 herz is associated with the everyday state of awareness. There is the theta state of dreaming which is measured at 4-8 herz or cycles per second and the delta state of sleep at 1-4 cycles per second. This is associated with sleep and dreaming along with the delta state. Then there is the gamma state which weighs in at 25-80 herz. This state is associated with when the brain is hard at work in the waking state. And finally there is the alpha state of consciousness at 8-13 herz or cycles per second, peaking at 10. This is the state that we will focus on here. It is the state present during hypnosis, creative inspiration, meditation, mysticism and religious states of awareness.
The alpha brain wave pattern resonates with the magnetic rhthyms of the earth which also are most concentrated at 10 cyles per second. Here’s the thing– states of mind in the alpha state are vibrating with the same rhythm as the magnetic rhythms of the earth. These alpha states have long been associated with meditation, spiritual states, mysticism and A FEELING OF ONENESS WITH ALL!! Scientists differ as to whether or not humans are affected by the magnetic rhthyms of the earth. It seems to me that the feeling of oneness, the feeling of the ineffable and unity, is experienced in alpha states due to its synchronicity with the peak magnetic rhythms of the earth. Think of how synchronous feelings of oneness occur when the mind listens to music or pulses to the beat, witness a beautiful sunset or engages in religious ceremony.
We are talking of a feeling of oneness with all, unity with the earth. Eastern religions, in particular Hinduism, talk about oneness with all, unity. As my Indian friend, Anjali, has told me, Indian temples have long been built purposely on places on earth where the magnetic energy is strongest so the temple visitors may feel the energy. And Indians are instructed to wear silk to temple because it is a strong conductor of energy. In addition, the YouTube video, “101 Amazing Facts about India, the Indian population and Indian Culture” put out by FactsNet, says that Indian temples have copper plates to absorb the energy of the earth. The spirituality of India is the energy that is in synch with the rhythms of the earth. These bring about a feeling of oneness, closeness to God and all nature. The Hindus plug into the feeling of oneness with nature and the earth because their brains are sychronized to the rhythms of the earth. I have talked about nature as it relates to religion very often with my private guru, Sachin. For Hindus energy is all important. Because our minds cannot really easily fathom praying to energy, there are many Hindu gods and also no “head” god as Christians believe in a personal God. It is hard to think of praying to energy. I connect through nature and think of God as a personal God just to pray to “Him” but I believe Energy is our God. That is just my thing. Things that bring on the alpha state connect to the earth, connect to the Energy of the earth, connect us to our apprehension of the holy.
It seems ironic that in this day and age, with the scientific developments and advances that have been made, we know so little on the nature of man’s waking state of consciousness… so little on the potential of the human mind in altered states of consciousness. ASC’s include some of the highest states of mind known– creativity, higher consciousness, cosmic consciousness, religious and mystical states, peak experiences. Out of such states of mind come some of our greatest achievements. We all can share in this greatness, taste the sublime, through alterations in the waking state of consciousness. People feel their lives profoundly changed for the better by what Maslow has termed “peak experiences.” And people best able to accept death are those who have experienced transcendence. And for well over millions of years, people have spent centuries passing on written and oral traditions down through the ancients, ideas on consciousness and the need to develop higher consciousness, isn’t it time for the rest of us to pay heed ?
Just Renters
The house that we think of as “our” house does not belong to us. Not because we are still paying the mortgage on it. This becomes evident one morning while sitting in a moment of calm before the day has begun, watching the bird feeder which my husband lovingly is filling. He has dumped out the seeds too big to fit through the wire mesh of the feeder. About 10 little birds, sparrows and juncos and sometimes a dashing male cardinal, are feeding on the seeds on the snow-covered ground. They are not scared off by the lone squirrel who comes to eat the peanuts from the mix. Larger birds flock to the now-full feeder. The largest birds, too big to land on the feeder, sometime take over the small bird territory, eating seeds on the ground.
The snow is falling as we prepare to go to work, cleaning up the kitchen and locking up the house. The birds fly around in my mind. So vulnerable they seem yet so brave, so tiny yet enormous in their freedom to take to the air. I want to hold them in my hand and stroke their soft, downy feathers, give them love. But truth is, this is purely a selfish wish on my part for they don’t need my love. They don’t really even need the bird seed my husband religiously puts in the feeder. There are bushes out back with berries which they love. It is I who need them, to make me feel happy, to make me feel loving, to make me feel alive and connected to something larger than myself.
As we pull out of the driveway I take another lingering look at the birds in the brightening light. And then it hits me. They get to stay there all day as we drive off through the snow to our respective jobs in the cement jungle of a nearby city. We drive past horses, grazing in a neighboring meadow. Same deal. Often I make an effort to remember the birds and the squirrels and the horses to bring calm to a fraught work day. Yet I usually get so caught up in my frenetic, little life that I forget to think of them. Or if I manage to conjure them up, the image of them in my mind is thin, pale and lacking in substance.
I imagine the animals laughing at us as we have to drive off to go to work. Our house belongs to them. Sometimes they even invade our living quarters. When we first bought the house, it had 50 or so little brown bats in the attic who would occasionally fly around the bedroom at night. One year we had a pair of squirrels. We even had the company of a milk snake one afternoon. And every fall as the weather turns frigid, the field mice run in.
A little more thought on the subject reveals to me that in actuality we own nothing. Not our house, our spouse, our children nor our pets, not even the body we inhabit. All of these things are on loan to us, rented to us if you will, by the Maker of the sun and the moon and the stars. Such a wealth of beauteous bounty is there for us, ours to enjoy for the mere act of attention. The trees, the summer breeze, the blanket of snow in winter, the flowers of summer, the butterflies, the deer who eat our lilies, the possum, the ever-changing species of birds, the occasional coyote and the thousands, if not millions of insects underfoot in a terrestrial universe, to say nothing of the universe above our heads and the trillions or gazillions of stars, the planets, the sun, the moon. And yet we are so caught up in the dramas of our mundane lives that we fail to duly honor the ever-present gifts except in periodic snatches, when we turn our attention outside ourselves to the piece of earth we rent. We may pay a sum to rent a piece of the earth but that piece contains a seemingly infinite multitude of gifts given for the taking. Or rather, I should say, for the renting.
A Short Winter’s Tale
I cry red berries
wash them with teardrops
So you can eat them in the morning
with your breakfast
as you listen so intently
to the news on the TV
I want lifetimes
with you…
Without you
I would be
shivering in the snow
tearless
berryless
bereft.
The Trees of Winter
Every year what budded in autumn, blossoms full blown in winter– my love affair with trees. Trees that were drop-dead gorgeous in their fall colors are now bare, with the exception of evergreens and a few stray deciduous trees that refuse to relinquish their leaves. Now the trees are stripped down to their souls and their souls sing a siren song to the universe.
The tops of trees lift my spirit; brushlike they paint the sky the baby pinks and blues of mornings, and the majestic magentas and violets of day’s end. Each tree has its signature shape against the sky, like a fingerprint or a snowflake, similar yet each unique. Some treetops in their bare state are shaped like a fancy coiffure; others look like wrought iron filigree. On distant mountains, against the snowy ground, some look like stubble on an old man’s unshaven face.
It is the colorful winter sky showing through, and showing off, the bare branches that woo me. The bare curvaceous branches are stark, dark lines against the bright of day and the inky sky of night. These resplendent creatures are living lines that explode. Branches tangle like the lines in a Jackson Pollock painting. Others curve in the sensuous lines of a Brancusi sculpture. Buxom tree trunks stand strong surrounded by their dead blossoms and their burgeoning offspring like a Renaissance Madonna. In truth these trees are not like art at all. Rather art imitates them– their beauty provides the timeless inspiration for artists, writers and poets of all ages and styles.
Trees not only inspire, they themselves are paragons of diversity. One look out of a car window while driving on the Taconic and one can see squat pines alongside towering majestic firs, birches interspersed with maple and oak. And together the different brown and tan barks interspersed with evergreens create not only a mosaic of contrasting colors, but display an example to inspire humans to live together in peaceful unity.
These beneficent beings carry the heavy, dark grey clouds of winter. When it snows the tree trunks become canvases for the abstract patterns of windblown-snow, while the serpentine branches are outlined in white. In ice storms their branches become chandeliers, each enveloped in glassine ice, tinkling in the wind. While in the melancholy of a winter rain, the branches become oiled skins of snakes weeping to the ground below. And finally, in the night sky, the branches hold the stars in their arms, those with leaves holding them in their hands, as they nurse the moon.
All trees, no matter what their species, age or height, stand tall in proud humility, their arms reaching up to the Heavens to our Creator in prayer– soft-spoken beings of peace and tranquility towering over us, while the little creatures race around distractedly below.
The Blues Greats are all Dying off… Buddy Guy gives us some of the Greats here when he was younger, he’s now 87. God bless them all for all the love they gave us through their soulful sounds. Glad to be going with them.
Below Buddy Guy at around 75…
Hard Times
These are hard times… all over the world. Nothing like the blues to fill that ache and find joy inside….
Just a Closer Walk with Thee
When you sing as well as Mahalia, it doesn’t matter if your hair falls in your face!
Beings of Light
(Click to enlarge)
(Click to enlarge)
December is my favorite time of year. In this month of darkness, in this the darkest month, the light of the human spirit shines forth in a fullness shown by so many, in so many ways. As the days grow shorter in North America, houses and trees are decorated, and snow falls. In the hushed silence of the nights, lights shine in windows, and the beauty is shared by passersby. For this season of giving brings the festivals of lights: Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, Diwali. Each tradition incorporates light in its ceremonies and decorations.
A neighbor friend of mine who lived down the road, a donkey in his stable, reminds me of the story of another manger over 2000 years ago. And seeing him snug in his stable with snow on the ground gave the illusion that all was right in the world. But all is not well. Thousands know no peace in any season. Millions are cold and starving. Racism and religious wars prevail. Climate change advances in leaps and bounds, faster than most predicted.
Those who live closer to the land are especially blessed. They share their lives with animals who are constant reminders of humility and simplicity in this rapid, complex, multi-tasking world. They can drive around on a December night and see houses covered in lights with illuminated trees, houses warmed by fires, filled with laughter and conversation and love, and feel blessed. Blessed to have so much when others have so little. Blessed to be able to celebrate as they wish when others cannot. Yet even those living in the worst conditions show the light of the human spirit and celebrate the season of light in personal ways. For the human spirit is indomitable.
Einstein said: “A human being is part of the whole, called by us the ‘Universe”– a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts, and feelings, as something separated from the rest– a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.” We are all cut from the same cloth and our inner light unites us.
In December’s darkness we light lights. For we are beings of light. A light glows within each one of us. And, at the most basic level, we are beings of light because we are made from stardust. Perhaps that is why the stars hold such majesty for us– we are all—Muslim, Christian, Jew, Hindu, African, whatever– we are all made from star material.
And in this holiday season we behold the night sky as Christians say shepherds did over two thousand years ago on the birth of the holy infant, in a stable like the one down the road where my donkey friend lives. On that night they say a star lit the whole sky to guide the shepherds to the stable of the infant, Jesus, the son of God.
In these deep, long, silent nights as we light our houses, our candles, our trees, let us look inside ourselves and find the glow that may guide us each, alone but akin, to THE Light!
(Click to enlarge)
A Growing Movement on WordPress
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My blog started out as a mental health blog because I am Bipolar. I started it to showcase my book on Amazon, “Eye-locks and Other Fearsome Things.” But I found little interest in mental health subjects and the blog soon morphed into a forum for my nature columns, photographs and paintings, recording the beauty of nature, trying to best describe and display God’s creation. Recently I have found that there are those who have used this platform to set themselves up as self-proclaimed experts, putting down others’ religious leanings and telling readers what they should do with their lives and what they should believe. In all fairness, everyone is entitled to say whatever on this platform although I don’t appreciate pornography which occasionally appears. Most bloggers have been tremendously responsive and I thank my many followers for their prayers during my husband’s surgery in whatever religion they subscribe to and their following. I thank them wholeheartedly and will not forget them. But recently I find posts putting down the religious practices of others. These comments and blog posts seem judgemental and possibly intolerant. Someone actually wrote all meditation is self-hypnosis, arguing against the many religions that use this in their practices, saying to follow his guidance. This sort of arrogance is astounding to me, and seems unduly prejudiced specifically against Hinduism. Another blogger told me to go out and heal the world… never mind that I no longer believe in the healing power of some alternative medical practices, have a major mental illness and am a recluse due to limited mobility. I had always thought WordPress to be a generous forum but apparently the growing conservativism across the planet has meant it is now okay to tell people what to do and how to live. I think in times of such utterly dreadful conflict and anger between peoples around the world, and in the spirit of the holiday season, we should refrain from such divisive comments. So to my 1, 120 followers, I am not following WordPress for awhile. I am really disheartened by these developments on this platform. I may visit to look at the posts I follow… or not. But I will think long and hard about posting again.
May you all be blessed this holiday season!
MOONSIDE 
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