The Last Night of the Year

These are the last thoughts.... and you shone your love through the light of the stars...



Loreena McKennitt singing "Dante's Prayer"

Happy New Year Everyone!

Final Countdown

I have been up since 5:30 this morning -- in fact-- this has been my regular wake up time for the past several weeks (on average). I feel much more awake the rest of the day when I do.

Those of you that have been reading (and I know there are some of you *wink) the blog for a bit, know that I have had some career issues. In that I have been trying to decide what to do with myself. And I made a pact with the divine about certain prospects and what agreements and commitments I was willing to make and what has come about due to our discussions is that:

I will not be returning to finish my MA in Literature. I know this is a bit of a turn about from my November blog ... but as of now I am letting go. I am refocusing my desires and heading down a new path. One I have actually been suppressing due to fear of all number of things. I have been so depressed for years and didn't know it. I had pushed all of my fears and stress deep into my musculature and wondered why life felt stiff and immobile and stagnant.

Including life decisions and career decisions.

I have been miserable for the last year and a half because I find this academia to be so disconnected. At least for me. I really don't care a giant hoot's worth whether Freud's Oedipal complex is running rampant through Victorian Literature or classical Greek tragedy. Although it is interesting to read about the historicity of the novel and the extensive biography of the author -- I find, all in all -- being able to deconstruct a text does not increase my enjoyment of it as a story... pretty much, never. I need something that speaks to me on a soul level... and books always will -- but I don't want to pull things apart anymore -- I want to put the pieces back together. I want to stop being scared and being timid and actually build a life that will make me happy, rather than just practical. What has been amazing is that as soon as I actually felt myself release my sense of obligation to finish in order to receive a piece of paper testifying that I had read enough and written enough to be qualified to talk about reading and writing (har) -- I began to feel light and giddy and I even giggled. I felt happy. Genuine happy. I have so many more options now. I feel free... I had forgotten what that felt like...

And this is one of the reasons why I deleted my post from yesterday about Bhutto, well, I did it for a number of reasons. But they are all in alignment to the same end goal, I feel.

1) I do not feel it is my best light to focus on fearful things.

2) this does not mean that I do not feel it is a tragedy and not horrible and terribly indicative of the consciousness on the planet but -- I want this blog to be about good things. About creative things.

3) I want this blog to be about uplifting and inspiring and sharing and not about setting out to dispel ignorance in a way that is confrontational. It never works anyways. The only thing that ever works is to challenge people to actually feel. To sit with them in such a way that they are open to exploring what drives them. Fear is always the case. In some way or another, always... all ways.

4) I want to start the New Year out in such a way that it speaks only to the person I want to be.

Thus I am seeking to begin with light and love and a sense of freedom from who I thought I was supposed to be and allowing myself instead to become who I actually am. I feel like I have been so stuck in my head, my masculine side, my intellectual obsessions that I have become completely disconnected from my body and my somatic intelligence. So this year will be the year of Becoming Lindsay and one spent actually living in the body, versus trying to escape it.

GOALS

* I want a steady daily yoga practice (I was gifted a 30-Day pass so I will begin in the New Year)
* I want a deep & beautiful daily meditation practice
* I want open lungs, heart, mind & hips
* I want to be more in tune with nature
* I want to grow my own garden (when the weather is warmer, of course)
* I want to live in a manner that rebuilds the temple.
* I want to explore a more conscious and living food lifestyle
* I want to meet David Wolfe & Gabriel Cousens
* I want to spend time at Tree of Life Rejuvenation Center (In February!!)
* I want to travel and see and experience amazing things
* I want the best life ever
* I want to read books & write books & make books & draw books (& finish books)!
* I want to be an artist again
* I want to meet Neil Gaiman

(getting married, of course, is already on the books!) So that's my "beginning." My Goals for the year of 2008 and L'année de Moi.

And as I sit here, drinking my morning juice of celery-apple-cucumber-lemon-kale -- I think this will be a most amazing year indeed. The Best Year Ever! I am so excited to begin.

New for New Years

I am, as of late, in the business of creating a New Me. I no longer wish to be nipped at the heels by past doubts, obsessions and down-trodden thinking. As the year of 2007 is headed for a close, it seems to be the perfect time. 2007, in numerology translates to an energy number of 9 -- a number of completion. and 2008, being a "10" (or a 1) is all about New Beginnings. It makes sense to close a chapter and start clean and fresh in a whole new way. 2007 marks my last year of school, it marks my last year of writing "single" or "unmarried" on taxes or other forms. I am 27 and I am also experiencing my own year of completion. I have decided that I am beginning a new Be-ing for New Years.

I have spent all afternoon cleaning out files from my computer and old emails. I even changed mine. I am throwing out old magazines and giving away books that no longer add to my understanding of the world. My Bookshelves are far too full and because of this, I am energetically blocking out new Ideas! I am going to give a lot away, I decided today.

I am making plans to go to The Tree of Life center in Patagonia, AZ sometime in February and March. I am planning travel and have signed up for more Art Classes. I feel happy just thinking about this... I haven't felt this way: this free for a long long time. I have found that I am no longer willing to be miserable for the sake of practicality and society's definitions of success. I want to be me to the fullest degree and so I am not going to settle a year, month, day longer.

When I step into 2008 I will bring with me only what is needed. No baggage, no clutter, and No Negativity. What you put your attention on Grows and so I am only willing to attract into my life those things and those people and those ideas which assist me in fulfilling my highest potential and purpose, everything else is merely road blocks and detours. I feel like I have stalled long enough. Whether I am have been fearful of failure (or success?), I feel somewhere inside that their is a bigger life for me and so. Here I go. I am seeking a new sense of Be-ing.

Mayan Calendar

So I know that the talk of the Mayan Calendar is really popular right now, but I feel that it's very important and the more I research and study it, the more accurate I find it to be. I am posting a lecture by Ian Xel Lungold who, sadly, died in 2005. Please sit and watch the whole seminar when you have time, and for more info, then track down Mayan Majix. He is very kind hearted, patient and makes this so easy to understand. Of course, he recommends, as I do, that you do more in depth research on your own. Here's the seminar from Whitehorse in 2004, and I apologize for the foreign captioning.

Part 1



Part 2

Abraham-Hicks

"What better way could anyone spend money than back into the economy which gives more people work? What you call your economy is the exchange of human Energy. And so, think back a few hundred years about what your economy was in this nation. And what has changed? Have more resources been trucked in from other planets? Or have more people, over more time, just identified more things that they desire -- and the Nonphysical Energy that is endless and infinite supplies that? We never hear any of you say, "Well, I have been well for so many years, that I've decided that I'm going to be sick for a while to allow some other people to be well." Because you know that whether you're well or not doesn't have anything to do with them not getting enough wellness. You're not using up the wellness and depriving them of it. And it is the same thing with the abundance. People that have managed to find vibrational harmony with abundance, so that it is flowing to them and through them -- are not depriving anyone else of that abundance."

Excerpted from one of their workshops in Orlando, FL on Sunday, January 10th, 1999

If you have not already inquired into this click here to learn how to purchase "The Law of Attraction 5CD series" It's so wonderful, amazing, consider it a requirement -- AND it goes so much farther than "The Secret" -- which I consider to be dangerous, because it does not discuss the nature of things as deeply as they should be understood. What Abraham Hicks touches on is the ABSOLUTE requirement to create from the heart space, that is: with feeling, lest you invite the duality of creativity.

Feathers in the Windows

"Standing before Stacy’s large glass windows this morning, I saw that they were gloriously ground by the frost. I never saw such beautiful feather and fir-like frosting. His windows are filled with fancy articles and toys for Christmas and New Year’s presents, but this delicate and graceful outside frosting surpassed them all infinitely. I saw countless feathers with very distinct midribs and fine pinnae. The half of a trunk seemed to rise in each case up along the sash, and these feathers branched off from it all the way, sometimes nearly horizontally. Other crystals looked like pine plumes the size of life. If glass could be ground to look like this, how glorious it would be!" - Henry David Thoreau - Journal, 1857

Happy Holidays Everyone! And I'll leave it to Mr. Lennon to share any other sentiments:

FrequenSea

This is so incredible: you'll just have to trust me and discover FrequenSea yourselves. Please take 15 minutes and hear what they have to say. I wonder how this compares to David Wolfe's "Ocean's Alive" product, or krill oil. Anybody have any ideas or knowledge in these areas?

Food Not Lawns!

The Homegrown Revolution!



Urban Homestead



and please, if this sets you aglow, even a little, then visit the website, click Path to Freedom, to get there.

Green Grow The Rushes O!

I am writing today to inform you (and perhaps share in the inspiration) of this intention. I have been watching some David Jubb videos recently and he was saying that we have harvested 90% of the shade of the planet -- in that it is no longer there.

I found that this went very much in kind with Derrick Jensen talking about the vast Cedar forests that used to shade the Middle East, and even our Old Growth and Redwoods in the Pacific Northwest. We have deforested most of the planet to support our civilization and global expansion. What are the consequences of this, you may ask?

Besides fewer trees to balance the amount of CO2 in the air, it causes our water levels to drop. It causes Iraq and Iranian and Palestinian water shortages and high salt soil. How can you solve the problem? Plant more trees, it will raise the water table again, making viable thousands of acres for growth and sustainability. If you do not think this is possible, check the blog entry on Composting, specifically the last video Greening the Desert for the evidence of this.

There is so much abundance on this planet, but distribution is so faulty and corrupted, it causes so much fear. There is enough of everything for everybody, but we must change our mindsets about our home and our relationships with each other.

This is why I was so happy to find out about The Fruit Tree Planting Foundation, which is a nonprofit charity that describes their mission as one "dedicated to planting edible, fruitful trees and plants to benefit the environment and all its inhabitants. {Their} primary intention is to plant and help others plant a collective total of 18 billion fruit trees across the world (approximately 3 for every person alive) and encourage their growth under organic standards. "

This is just so wonderful. I am so inspired by this and am glad David Wolfe is getting involved; I think we all should. He's the reason I even know about this foundation and you all should definitely check it out. Watch the video on the website, for sure.

Fall is Complete

I am officially complete with my fall semester and am so very happy about it. I am still, however, waiting to see how I did and equally confused as to what exactly I am supposed to be doing with my free time, now. After Christmas, I'm sure it will sink in that I don't have classes again until the middle of January... and in the meantime I hope to commit myself to new yoga classes and an art-studio class, too.

I am hoping to purchase a vita-mix or be gifted one... and a dehydrator so I can really expand my Sun-Food cuisines. I have owned Raw Food Real World by the lovely folks at Pure Food and Wine in New York, and have been drooling for months. My blender just isn't up to snuff anymore, to make my own nut-milks and it barely gets the job done with cacao smoothies...! So I am looking forward to the holidays, even if I have to get them for myself ;)

I have been devouring the seasonal Clementine's and they've been so lovely! And the past two days I have been out of my juicing vegetables, and Boy! can I tell the difference. I have become particularly fond of the classic cucumber-celery-apple-parsley combo, and then I add lemon some days or ginger, or daikon or bok choy, spinach. So very, very good.

Oh and another thing -- Its the Solstice and I had plans in the mountains at a friend's house, but the afternoon snow in the valley, tonight led to quick freezing and slick roads... an attempt to ascend the Sunshine Canyon came only to me turning around half way up. And a 10-mile/hr crawl in first gear all the way back down, passing cars in ditches and teetering over ravines; let's just say I'm glad I got down in one-piece.. especially since someone backed into my pretty silver little car on Tuesday evening. Whew.

Well, I'm going to the cinema tonight and then I get to get juicing veggies, yay! Hope all of you out there are safe and warm tonight... :)

Endgame, Derrick Jensen & Your Threshold

This information is at once immobilizing and inspiring: And so I am passing it on and asking everyone to question their own threshold? When, in what circumstances, and where do you -- will you choose to do something? Be present to your own gifts.

The Threshold:


Whatever It Takes:


Pathology of the Personal:


The 3rd Alternative:

Prescriptions for the Holiday Season

Straight No Chaser A Capella Group Sings "12 Days of Christmas"

Global Juice Feast 2008!

Thanks to Courtney Pool at Radical Radiance for reminding me to post about this: "The EPIC Global Juice Feast 2008!!" I am also adding my voice to this announcement, to my readers now so you can all start thinking about if you might be interested in joining us!

People from all around the world, including David and Katrina Rainoshek (who will be doing 92 Days) are going to be juicing it up together and transforming their health, lives, and of course, the World!

It will start in March of 2008, right about springtime, which is one of the best times to time to be cleaning your self-house, and a time for new beginnings and new life.

As Courtney writes: "This could be your chance to really take action to that health, body, life and world you've dreamed of, and the support and fellowship of other feasters during this event will be precious. I won't be doing another long juice feast then, but I WILL be joining in on at least the first week and the last week of the Global Juice Feast. You may want to join David and Katrina and other feasters on a full 92 Day Feast, but if you just want to scope it out, feel free to join for part of it, and I'd love for anyone who wants to do something shorter to join me on my shorter feast. It is going to be amazing!"

I'll be doing it as well. So come and join us!

Composting: In Dialog with the "Story of Stuff"

Home Composting At Home Part 1:



Home Composting At Home Part 2:



Home Composting At Home Part 3:



and *then* to go on to the next step, check out the book Food Not Lawns or Gaia's Garden: Home-Scale Permaculture, Gardening When it Counts: Growing Food in Hard Times and finally, be sure to take a look at The Post-Petroleum Survival Guide & Cookbook.

If you need more than a little imagination to see what such actions are capable of, watch this, and see how we could go about "Greening the Desert."

Taking on the Anti-Earthies, Listen Up Senator Inhofe!

This guy is said to be a key player in the controversy on global warming -- In that he is one of the "global warming" doesn't exist Poster Boys and "researchers." Any who follow in his stead: listen up! I have read several of his articles and this is what I have to say.

For the record, Inhofe is concentrating on Fossil Fuels, and their emission levels, and he puts this up against a historical presence or absence of automobiles in the world in the past. (no Environmentalist uses this exclusively as the cause of global warming,) He talks about "hockey sticks" and the vascillation between cold and warm "spells" as indicative of the governments inability to make up its mind, when the truth is that irrespective of what direction climate change may go, any large changes to the contrary Will lead to the destruction of life. The danger of Global warming eventually instigating an ice age may be what they were speaking to.

He also does not take into account other ecological damage — the coal mines, the mass deforestation of Ireland and France during the tin age or the French Revolution which burned and chopped down massive swaths of forests to fund their politics. The burning of the African Congo to build railroads. The Industrialized Age began in the years 1830-40, and by 1850 in London — coal was the major fuel source for thousands of people, including ALL their colonies. You know the term London Fog? That's coal smog. And not even a decade later, we experience a "random" warming. These are all HUGE changes in how we went about our energy consumption in our daily lives.

The removal of trees affects the CO2 levels too, Not just cars, further, it may not even have had such an impact if we hadn't heavily deforested the planet which helps regulate and recycle CO2. Inhofe's article fails to take into account the fact that other eco-systems which man destroys affects planetary balance.

How about that Medieval warm period? The Medieval Warm Period of unusually warm weather occurred around 800-1300 AD, during the European Medieval period. Initial research on the MWP and the following Little Ice Age (LIA) was largely done in Europe, where the phenomenon was most obvious and clearly documented. It was initially believed that the temperature changes were global. (as Inhofe protests: global warmth without cars!) However, this view has been questioned; the 2001 IPCC report summarizes this research, saying "…current evidence does not support globally synchronous periods of anomalous cold or warmth over this time frame, and the conventional terms of 'Little Ice Age' and 'Medieval Warm Period' appear to have limited utility in describing trends in hemispheric or global mean temperature changes in past centuries". Yeah, it was warm, in Europe. The Medieval Warm Period partially coincides with the peak in solar activity named the Medieval Maximum (1100–1250). In contrast, the evidence for a global (or at least northern hemisphere) "Little Ice Age" from the 15th to 19th centuries as a period when the Earth was generally cooler than in the mid 20th century has more or less stood the test of time as Paleoclimatic records have become numerous. The idea of a global or hemispheric "Medieval Warm Period" that was warmer than today however, has turned out to be incorrect.

Inhofe talks about 1859 as a warm year and yet fails to tell us that this was the FIRST year where petroleum began being used as a new "improved" resource, this is the same year that Japan went into its high industrialization, burning coal almost exclusively for energy in Kyoto and Tokyo. It is also the year that countries began drilling for Natural gas deposits.... (leaving behind hollow empty bubbles of air, which creates instability in the earth's crust and actually effects the wobble on the earth's axis. It isn't the only contributor by a long-shot but it is one of them.)

Fact is in the 1850's: Coal became more attractive, both because deposits were often found near the new railroad rights of way and because its higher energy content increased the range and load of steam trains. Demand for coal also rose because the railroads were laying thousands of miles of new track and the metals industry needed an economical source of coal to make iron and steel for the rails and spikes. The transportation and industrial sectors in general began to grow rapidly during the latter half of the century, and coal helped fuel their growth.

Petroleum also got its start between 1840 and 1855. By the end of WWI America's appetite for energy, alone, as it industrialized was prodigious, roughly quadrupling between 1880 and 1918. Coal fed much of this growth, in applications and total use alike. Petroleum got major boosts with the discovery of Texas's vast Spindletop Oil Field in 1901 and with the advent of mass-produced automobiles, several million of which had been built by 1918. (Let me repeat, he says 1895 NOT 1995)

In the years after World War II, "Old King Coal" relinquished its place as the premier fuel in the United States. The railroads lost business to trucks that ran on gasoline and diesel fuel, and also began switching to diesel locomotives themselves. Labor troubles and safety standards drove up coal production costs. The coal industry survived, however, mainly because nationwide electrification created new demand for coal among electric utilities despite regional competition from hydroelectric and petroleum-fired generation. Yet Inhofe sits by and snidely comments on how in 1950 politicians were complaining about climate disruptions (just 5 years after the atomic bomb is dropped – he doesn't even take that into consideration).

Most energy produced today in the United States, as in the rest of the industrialized world, comes from fossil fuels —coal, natural gas, crude oil, and natural gas plant liquids. It's not just about cars when it comes to fossil fuel emissions.

All of this affects the planet. Who was created to be as she was by God. The truth is, this is nothing new, it just keeps getting worse.

He also talks about the ice shelf in the arctic and Canada as overloading with ice — but you can look at the satellite photos of Rhode island sized ice shelves breaking away from Greenland. This is due to a lake of warm water that has melted on top of a section of ice, which just like in your soda, will fracture and shrink the mass, whether or not their is more ice now than in the past, the rate at which the ice is freezing and thawing to create these fractures is in no way normal. And that's what's important. Yeah, we're losing ice in one small spot and gaining ice in places where it was scarce before. Glaciers are advancing in South America, he says, and this doesn't seem like a problem, if ice melts in one place and freezes densely in another, it can alter the tilt of the planet.

He says the government in 1930 took a break from the ice age spiel and went into warmth warnings, why would that be? 1930 was another huge coal year. Not for the US but for Russia which achieved under Stalin in 1927, its own industrial revolution surge. And Russian population at the time was huge. Meanwhile, by the end of 1929 in the US, crop failures were rampant, and by 33 we were deep into the dust bowl. Caused by drought, and wind and excessive heat. Inhofe quotes that the NYT in 1933 (of all years) reports a 25 year high in temperature, the most since 1776. I find that interesting. Of course they'd be talking about heat! Half the population of the lower Midwest states became migrant workers in CA's San Joaquin valley (Grapes of Wrath? Steinbeck?)

Furthermore, his tone is incredulous, unscientific and smacks of someone who jabs at a truth without doing the proper research, he alludes to studies, but never gives documented data. At least the UN ( a panel of 113 Countries) speaks about their position without being derisive.

And Senator Inhofe is the chair of the Environment and Public Works Committee, and part of a good 40 other companies and committees, incl. the Annapolis Center for Science-Based Public Policy all of which find that their funding is provided in more than a large part by ExxonMobil, the world's largest oil company. Wouldn't you consider this to be a conflict of interests? If you looked him up on the web there are countless articles on him being "bought" by the oil companies to provide the answers that would support their endeavors.

Inhofe has a history of opposing environmental groups and global warming initiatives. There are several transcripts of Inhofe speeches on the Senate floor regarding this offered a documents by his official website:

* July 28, 2003, "The Science of Climate Change"
* October 4, 2004, "Partisan Environmental Groups"
* January 4, 2005, "Climate Change Update"
* April 8, 2005, "First Four Pillars Speech"

On April 28, 2004, Inhofe was honored for his "work in promoting science-based public policy" [6] by the Annapolis Center for Science-Based Public Policy, a think tank that disputes the scientific consensus on the causes and magnitude of global warming. (The think tank has received $658,575 from ExxonMobil since 1998).

So do I find him to be an unbiased representative of the other side? Not at all. I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him, he has been paid more than half a million dollars towards his committees and think tanks by the fossil fuel corporate giants. Anybody receiving that much money for campaign or research is obligated to some degree to their backers. Just like Presidents and their campaign fund lobbyists.

Annie Jubb & Enzymes

I guess Daryl Hannah had a show??
This episode features Annie Jubb, Matt Amsden, among others and is a great intro to the benefits of raw nutrition.

Wake Up, It's Friday Morning!

Today is the last day of the semester! Wahooo! I turned in a 17-page paper yesterday and have another due on Tuesday and then I am free for a month! I can't wait -- I have so many plans for myself -- one of which is beginning classes at Richard Freeman's "Yoga Workshop." Very excited about that.

Today is also my last day of teaching, which is sort of bittersweet really. I'm glad to not have to read ahead and I won't have to listen to students complain about failing when they're not even coming to class -- but yet, there's always something about the look on a student's face when they've discovered something about themselves that they didn't know was there... very very gratifying to see.

Anyway, I made the most yummy juice this morning (a bit of a tropical twist in the snow, you might say)

1 mango
1/2 cup fresh pineapple
5 stalks celery
1/2 cucumber

very very nice. Although the mango juice likes to stick together somewhat, even in the glass so you have these little suspended gold globs -- the taste is creamy and sweet.

I am also posting (mainly) because I wanted to post this picture, because its about consciousness and therefore ultimately cool.





Have a happy Friday y'all! See you on the flip side!

The Transformation

Well, this is something that we all need to look at: The Story of Stuff. This is something that I am getting better at, but still vastly guilty of, and these are always good things to look at to remind us exactly what level of responsibility are we willing to take for our lives. It seems these days, not much. Which is sad; we have become so complacent and so willing to give away our power. Look at your life, take a deep breath, face the music and then find a new way of relating to yourself, your choices and what you actually want out of life.

Here are some other helpful things to look at today.

1. Watch The Story of Stuff
2. Check out your Ecological Footprint
3. Look At all your options
4. Empower Yourself



5. Know that you're never alone


6. Come back and tell us about what you have discovered about yourself; we're all in this together. So let's inspire each other, give back, sound the trumpets, and take the plunge... Even if it's scary, even if it's uncomfortable, there is so much we are choosing to be blind to, what else are we sacrificing in the meantime? Love, happiness, a sense of purpose?

7. Have Faith

“When you have come to the edge Of all light that you know And are about to drop off into the darkness Of the unknown, Faith is knowing One of two things will happen: There will be something solid to stand on or You will be taught to fly” -- patrick overton

“To rid ourselves of our shadows - who we are - we must step into either total light or total darkness” -- Jeremy Preston

Raw Insipration

"I don't understand why asking people to eat a well-balanced vegetarian diet is considered drastic, while it is medically conservative to cut people open and put them on cholesterol- lowering drugs for the rest of their lives."


- Dean Ornish, MD

The Myth of Grain

I have been experiencing some wonderful realizations. At least, they seem wonderful to me. I have been keeping an "eating journal" since Thanksgiving, and I know that doesn't seem like a long time, but I was adding breakfast this morning and went to look back over the list and the notes I made about certain foods and how I felt and I did not realize truly, how much raw I have been eating everyday. And how much better I felt on those days versus those that included a heavier cooked meal.

I actually don't know where to begin - I feel like I am having all these insights and increased brain function and cannot unravel the understanding fast enough, or relate it in such a way as it is "digestible", mentally speaking of course.

So here I have a picture of Demeter welcoming back her daughter Persephone from the underworld. And those of you have any interest or pursued any study into spiritual sciences, have encountered the Mystery Schools (Essene, Coptic, Rosicrucian, Theosophy, Gnosticism, Anthroposophy, The Elysian Mysteries, Mystical Christianity, Alchemy, Kabbalah, Hermeticism, the Grail Legends and, finally the Greek Mythologies) the endless symbolic natures of the tales told to initiates. I feel like I have encountered an understanding of the Persephone myth: It explains so much about, well everything.

When you read about the female/male attributes of the human soul, you inevitably arrive at the space in time when we humans stumbled and took a "fall" -- into what you may ask? It's in all the sacred scriptures: into materiality. There have been several books written about the nature of the Masculine influence holding a more powerful grip over the human psyche in relationship to this fall, which is what is meant to be understood when G-d tells Eve that she will be subservient to Adam. The loss of the feminine was a detriment to our evolution as spiritual beings but it was to protect us as well. Try and find books like Gnosis and the Law or the Keys of Enoch to open up deeper understandings of such things (it will take way too long for me to summarize them here with any respect to their content).

Anyway, this fall into materiality, we see in the Bible, allows the concept of death to occur in the human sphere. Now think back to Eden, and Genesis 1:29 : "And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat." The abundance of growth on the earth -- the continual flowering of fruit and edible plants was dependent on our innocence and communal relationship with the divine.

Now reconsider the myth of Persephone: whose mother is Demeter (later to be considered the goddess of grain). We find that Persephone was the daughter of Zeus or the God-Head in the Greek tradition. She is a young maiden playing amongst the flowers, a beautiful child, and so gains the attention of Hades, who abducts her and drags her into the underworld, the realm of death and promises her a number of things. How is this any different than the fall? Philosophically speaking? A dark seducer who ruled the underworld -- a beautiful maiden who falls below? She eats what she was forbidden to?

This loss of the feminine and in the case of Demeter, her child sends her into a shocked and deep despair. All of a sudden, nothing will grow on the earth, as Mother Demeter is out seeking for her lost child.

Once she finds Persephone, now having known good and evil -- the symbol of the pomegranate, like the apple, is itself meant to denote sexual knowing, she has trespassed the realm of child like communal relationships and wonder, and has become realized in the capacity of her material body, a sensual body: that is, composed and informed by the senses. And so Demeter cannot take her back as is. So she strikes a deal, and will have access to her daughter for 6 (+/- depending on the particular translation) months of the year.

Because of this, Demeter goes into mourning every winter, and knowing this, we are told that she descends into the realm of men to teach them agriculture so they may survive her mourning periods. In other words, I am realizing what raw food is doing to my communal consciousness. What I think about, what I do, what I eat, how I feel is all being affected. Demeter made a concession. This was not how things were meant to go. Just as the Bible relates that G-d did not intend for us to fall into materiality and made "arrangements" to ensure our survival until help could come our way. Whether you call it Christ or Sophia or the Mother, we are being given access to what will restore our consciousness. Why would such fall stories include, in all cases, food? Yes there is sexuality there too -- but even that can be reduced to a idea of self-propagating thought and creating one's reality. We are what we eat. The way I have been eating as of late, or drinking as is often the case with green juices makes me feel different. I think and feel differently. It's amazing. I am so grateful.

Outside, it has been snowing for almost 12 hours and I don't feel cold at all...

A Winter Walk by Henry David Thoreau

The essay first appeared in The Dial of October 1843.
It was reprinted in the first posthumous volume of Thoreau's works,
Excursions (edited by Sophia Thoreau and Ellery Channing), in 1863.

A Winter Walk by Henry David Thoreau

The wind has gently murmured through the blinds, or puffed with feathery softness against the windows, and occasionally sighed like a summer zephyr lifting the leaves along, the livelong night. The meadow mouse has slept in his snug gallery in the sod, the owl has sat in a hollow tree in the depth of the swamp, the rabbit, the squirrel, and the fox have all been housed. The watch-dog has lain quiet on the hearth, and the cattle have stood silent in their stalls. The earth itself has slept, as it were its first, not its last sleep, save when some street-sign or wood-house door has faintly creaked upon its hinge, cheering forlorn nature at her midnight work,—the only sound awake 'twixt Venus and Mars,—advertising us of a remote inward warmth, a divine cheer and fellowship, where gods are met together, but where it is very bleak for men to stand. But while the earth has slumbered, all the air has been alive with feathery flakes descending, as if some northern Ceres reigned, showering her silvery grain over all the fields.

We sleep, and at length awake to the still reality of a winter morning. The snow lies warm as cotton or down upon the window-sill; the broadened sash and frosted panes admit a dim and private light, which enhances the snug cheer within. The stillness of the morning is impressive. The floor creaks under our feet as we move toward the window to look abroad through some clear space over the fields. We see the roofs stand under their snow burden. From the eaves and fences hang stalactites of snow, and in the yard stand stalagmites covering some concealed core. The trees and shrubs rear white arms to the sky on every side; and where were walls and fences, we see fantastic forms stretching in frolic gambols across the dusky landscape, as if Nature had strewn her fresh designs over the fields by night as models for man's art.

Silently we unlatch the door, letting the drift fall in, and step abroad to face the cutting air. Already the stars have lost some of their sparkle, and a dull, leaden mist skirts the horizon. A lurid brazen light in the east proclaims the approach of day, while the western landscape is dim and spectral still, and clothed in a sombre Tartarean light, like the shadowy realms. They are Infernal sounds only that you hear,—the crowing of cocks, the barking of dogs, the chopping of wood, the lowing of kine, all seem to come from Pluto's barnyard and beyond the Styx,—not for any melancholy they suggest, but their twilight bustle is too solemn and mysterious for earth. The recent tracks of the fox or otter, in the yard, remind us that each hour of the night is crowded with events, and the primeval nature is still working and making tracks in the snow. Opening the gate, we tread briskly along the lone country road, crunching the dry and crisped snow under our feet, or aroused by the sharp, clear creak of the wood-shed, just starting for the distant market, from the early farmer's door, where it has lain the summer long, dreaming amid the chips and stubble; while far through the drifts and powdered windows we see the farmer's early candle, like a paled star, emitting a lonely beam, as if some severe virtue were at its matins there. And one by one the smokes begin to ascend from the chimneys amid the trees and snows.

The sluggish smoke curls up from some deep dell.
The stiffened air exploring in the dawn,
And making slow acquaintance with the day
Delaying now upon its heavenward course,
In wreathed loiterings dallying with itself,
With as uncertain purpose and slow deed
As its half-wakened master by the hearth,
Whose mind still slumbering and sluggish thoughts
Have not yet swept into the onward current
Of the new day;—and now it streams afar,
The while the chopper goes with step direct,
And mind intent to swing the early axe.
First in the dusky dawn he sends abroad
His early scout, his emissary, smoke,
The earliest, latest pilgrim from the roof,
To feel the frosty air, inform the day;
And while he crouches still beside the hearth,
Nor musters courage to unbar the door,
It has gone down the glen with the light wind,
And o'er the plain unfurled its venturous wreath,
Draped the tree-tops, loitered upon the hill,
And warmed the pinions of the early bird;
And now, perchance, high in the crispy air,
Has caught sight of the day o'er the earth's edge,
And greets its master's eye at his low door,
As some refulgent cloud in the upper sky.

We hear the sound of wood-chopping at the farmers' doors, far over the frozen earth, the baying of the house-dog, and the distant clarion of the cock,—though the thin and frosty air conveys only the finer particles of sound to our ears, with short and sweet vibrations, as the waves subside soonest on the purest and lightest liquids, in which gross substances sink to the bottom. They come clear and bell-like, and from a greater distance in the horizon, as if there were fewer impediments than in summer to make them faint and ragged. The ground is sonorous, like seasoned wood, and even the ordinary rural sounds are melodious, and the jingling of the ice on the trees is sweet and liquid. There is the least possible moisture in the atmosphere, all being dried up or congealed, and it is of such extreme tenuity and elasticity that it becomes a source of delight. The withdrawn and tense sky seems groined like the aisles of a cathedral, and the polished air sparkles as if there were crystals of ice floating in it. As they who have resided in Greenland tell us that when it freezes "the sea smokes like burning turf-land, and a fog or mist arises, called frost-smoke," which "cutting smoke frequently raises blisters on the face and hands, and is very pernicious to the health." But this pure, stinging cold is an elixir to the lungs, and not so much a frozen mist as a crystallized midsummer haze, refined and purified by cold.

The sun at length rises through the distant woods, as if with the faint clashing, swinging sound of cymbals, melting the air with his beams, and with such rapid steps the morning travels, that already his rays are gilding the distant western mountains. Meanwhile we step hastily along through the powdery snow, warmed by an inward heat, enjoying an Indian summer still, in the increased glow of thought and feeling. Probably if our lives were more conformed to nature, we should not need to defend ourselves against her heats and colds, but find her our constant nurse and friend, as do plants and quadrupeds. If our bodies were fed with pure and simple elements, and not with a stimulating and heating diet, they would afford no more pasture for cold than a leafless twig, but thrive like the trees, which find even winter genial to their expansion.

The wonderful purity of nature at this season is a most pleasing fact. Every decayed stump and moss-grown stone and rail, and the dead leaves of autumn, are concealed by a clean napkin of snow. In the bare fields and tinkling woods, see what virtue survives. In the coldest and bleakest places, the warmest charities still maintain a foothold. A cold and searching wind drives away all contagion, and nothing can withstand it but what has a virtue in it, and accordingly, whatever we meet with in cold and bleak places, as the tops of mountains, we respect for a sort of sturdy innocence, a Puritan toughness. All things beside seem to be called in for shelter, and what stays out must be part of the original frame of the universe, and of such valor as God himself. It is invigorating to breathe the cleansed air. Its greater fineness and purity are visible to the eye, and we would fain stay out long and late, that the gales may sigh through us, too, as through the leafless trees, and fit us for the winter,—as if we hoped so to borrow some pure and steadfast virtue, which will stead us in all seasons.

There is a slumbering subterranean fire in nature which never goes out, and which no cold can chill. It finally melts the great snow, and in January or July is only buried under a thicker or thinner covering. In the coldest day it flows somewhere, and the snow melts around every tree. This field of winter rye, which sprouted late in the fall, and now speedily dissolves the snow, is where the fire is very thinly covered. We feel warmed by it. In the winter, warmth stands for all virtue, and we resort in thought to a trickling rill, with its bare stones shining in the sun, and to warm springs in the woods, with as much eagerness as rabbits and robins. The steam which rises from swamps and pools is as dear and domestic as that of our own kettle. What fire could ever equal the sunshine of a winter's day, when the meadow mice come out by the wall-sides, and the chickadee lisps in the defiles of the wood? The warmth comes directly from the sun, and is not radiated from the earth, as in summer; and when we feel his beams on our backs as we are treading some snowy dell, we are grateful as for a special kindness, and bless the sun which has followed us into that by-place.

This subterranean fire has its altar in each man's breast; for in the coldest day, and on the bleakest hill, the traveler cherishes a warmer fire within the folds of his cloak than is kindled on any hearth. A healthy man, indeed, is the complement of the seasons, and in winter, summer is in his heart. There is the south. Thither have all birds and insects migrated, and around the warm springs in his breast are gathered the robin and the lark.

At length, having reached the edge of the woods, and shut out the gadding town, we enter within their covert as we go under the roof of a cottage, and cross its threshold, all ceiled and banked up with snow. They are glad and warm still, and as genial and cheery in winter as in summer. As we stand in the midst of the pines in the flickering and checkered light which straggles but little way into their maze, we wonder if the towns have ever heard their simple story. It seems to us that no traveler has ever explored them, and notwithstanding the wonders which science is elsewhere revealing every day, who would not like to hear their annals? Our humble villages in the plain are their contribution. We borrow from the forest the boards which shelter and the sticks which warm us. How important is their evergreen to the winter, that portion of the summer which does not fade, the permanent year, the unwithered grass! Thus simply, and with little expense of altitude, is the surface of the earth diversified. What would human life be without forests, those natural cities? From the tops of mountains they appear like smooth-shaven lawns, yet whither shall we walk but in this taller grass?

In this glade covered with bushes of a year's growth, see how the silvery dust lies on every seared leaf and twig, deposited in such infinite and luxurious forms as by their very variety atone for the absence of color. Observe the tiny tracks of mice around every stem, and the triangular tracks of the rabbit. A pure elastic heaven hangs over all, as if the impurities of the summer sky, refined and shrunk by the chaste winter's cold, had been winnowed from the heavens upon the earth.

Nature confounds her summer distinctions at this season. The heavens seem to be nearer the earth. The elements are less reserved and distinct. Water turns to ice, rain to snow. The day is but a Scandinavian night. The winter is an arctic summer.

How much more living is the life that is in nature, the furred life which still survives the stinging nights, and, from amidst fields and woods covered with frost and snow, sees the sun rise

"The foodless wilds
Pour forth their brown inhabitants."

The gray squirrel and rabbit are brisk and playful in the remote glens, even on the morning of the cold Friday. Here is our Lapland and Labrador, and for our Esquimaux and Knistenaux, Dog-ribbed Indians, Novazemblaites, and Spitzbergeners, are there not the ice-cutter and woodchopper, the fox, muskrat, and mink?

Still, in the midst of the arctic day, we may trace the summer to its retreats, and sympathize with some contemporary life. Stretched over the brooks, in the midst of the frost-bound meadows, we may observe the submarine cottages of the caddis-worms, the larvæ of the Plicipennes; their small cylindrical cases built around themselves, composed of flags, sticks, grass, and withered leaves, shells, and pebbles, in form and color like the wrecks which strew the bottom,—now drifting along over the pebbly bottom, now whirling in tiny eddies and clashing down steep falls, or sweeping rapidly along with the current, or else swaying to and fro at the end of some grass-blade or root. Anon they will leave their sunken habitations, and, crawling up the stems of plants, or to the surface, like gnats, as perfect insects henceforth, flutter over the surface of the water, or sacrifice their short lives in the flame of our candles at evening. Down yonder little glen the shrubs are drooping under their burden, and the red elderberries contrast with the white ground. Here are the marks of a myriad feet which have already been abroad. The sun rises as proudly over such a glen as over the valley of the Seine or the Tiber, and it seems the residence of a pure and self-subsistent valor, such as they never witnessed,—which never knew defeat nor fear. Here reign the simplicity and purity of a primitive age, and a health and hope far remote from towns and cities. Standing quite alone, far in the forest, while the wind is shaking down snow from the trees, and leaving the only human tracks behind us, we find our reflections of a richer variety than the life of cities. The chickadee and nuthatch are more inspiring society than statesmen and philosophers, and we shall return to these last as to more vulgar companions. In this lonely glen, with its brook draining the slopes, its creased ice and crystals of all hues, where the spruces and hemlocks stand up on either side, and the rush and sere wild oats in the rivulet itself, our lives are more serene and worthy to contemplate.

As the day advances, the heat of the sun is reflected by the hillsides, and we hear a faint but sweet music, where flows the rill released from its fetters, and the icicles are melting on the trees; and the nuthatch and partridge are heard and seen. The south wind melts the snow at noon, and the bare ground appears with its withered grass and leaves, and we are invigorated by the perfume which exhales from it, as by the scent of strong meats.

Let us go into this deserted woodman's hut, and see how he has passed the long winter nights and the short and stormy days. For here man has lived under this south hillside, and it seems a civilized and public spot. We have such associations as when the traveler stands by the ruins of Palmyra or Hecatompolis. Singing birds and flowers perchance have begun to appear here, for flowers as well as weeds follow in the footsteps of man. These hemlocks whispered over his head, these hickory logs were his fuel, and these pitch pine roots kindled his fire; yonder fuming rill in the hollow, whose thin and airy vapor still ascends as busily as ever, though he is far off now, was his well. These hemlock boughs, and the straw upon this raised platform, were his bed, and this broken dish held his drink. But he has not been here this season, for the ph--bes built their nest upon this shelf last summer. I find some embers left as if he had but just gone out, where he baked his pot of beans; and while at evening he smoked his pipe, whose stemless bowl lies in the ashes, chatted with his only companion, if perchance he had any, about the depth of the snow on the morrow, already falling fast and thick without, or disputed whether the last sound was the screech of an owl, or the creak of a bough, or imagination only; and through his broad chimney-throat, in the late winter evening, ere he stretched himself upon the straw, he looked up to learn the progress of the storm, and, seeing the bright stars of Cassiopeia's Chair shining brightly down upon him, fell contentedly asleep.

See how many traces from which we may learn the chopper's history! From this stump we may guess the sharpness of his axe, and from the slope of the stroke, on which side he stood, and whether he cut down the tree without going round it or changing hands; and, from the flexure of the splinters, we may know which way it fell. This one chip contains inscribed on it the whole history of the woodchopper and of the world. On this scrap of paper, which held his sugar or salt, perchance, or was the wadding of his gun, sitting on a log in the forest, with what interest we read the tattle of cities, of those larger huts, empty and to let, like this, in High Streets and Broadways. The eaves are dripping on the south side of this simple roof, while the titmouse lisps in the pine and the genial warmth of the sun around the door is somewhat kind and human.

After two seasons, this rude dwelling does not deform the scene. Already the birds resort to it, to build their nests, and you may track to its door the feet of many quadrupeds. Thus, for a long time, nature overlooks the encroachment and profanity of man. The wood still cheerfully and unsuspiciously echoes the strokes of the axe that fells it, and while they are few and seldom, they enhance its wildness, and all the elements strive to naturalize the sound.

Now our path begins to ascend gradually to the top of this high hill, from whose precipitous south side we can look over the broad country of forest and field and river, to the distant snowy mountains. See yonder thin column of smoke curling up through the woods from some invisible farmhouse, the standard raised over some rural homestead. There must be a warmer and more genial spot there below, as where we detect the vapor from a spring forming a cloud above the trees. What fine relations are established between the traveler who discovers this airy column from some eminence in the forest and him who sits below! Up goes the smoke as silently and naturally as the vapor exhales from the leaves, and as busy disposing itself in wreaths as the housewife on the hearth below. It is a hieroglyphic of man's life, and suggests more intimate and important things than the boiling of a pot. Where its fine column rises above the forest, like an ensign, some human life has planted itself,—and such is the beginning of Rome, the establishment of the arts, and the foundation of empires, whether on the prairies of America or the steppes of Asia.

And now we descend again, to the brink of this woodland lake, which lies in a hollow of the hills, as if it were their expressed juice, and that of the leaves which are annually steeped in it. Without outlet or inlet to the eye, it has still its history, in the lapse of its waves, in the rounded pebbles on its shore, and in the pines which grow down to its brink. It has not been idle, though sedentary, but, like Abu Musa, teaches that "sitting still at home is the heavenly way; the going out is the way of the world." Yet in its evaporation it travels as far as any. In summer it is the earth's liquid eye, a mirror in the breast of nature. The sins of the wood are washed out in it. See how the woods form an amphitheatre about it, and it is an arena for all the genialness of nature. All trees direct the traveler to its brink, all paths seek it out, birds fly to it, quadrupeds flee to it, and the very ground inclines toward it. It is nature's saloon, where she has sat down to her toilet. Consider her silent economy and tidiness; how the sun comes with his evaporation to sweep the dust from its surface each morning, and a fresh surface is constantly welling up; and annually, after whatever impurities have accumulated herein, its liquid transparency appears again in the spring. In summer a hushed music seems to sweep across its surface. But now a plain sheet of snow conceals it from our eyes, except where the wind has swept the ice bare, and the sere leaves are gliding from side to side, tacking and veering on their tiny voyages. Here is one just keeled up against a pebble on shore, a dry beech leaf, rocking still, as if it would start again. A skillful engineer, methinks, might project its course since it fell from the parent stem. Here are all the elements for such a calculation. Its present position, the direction of the wind, the level of the pond, and how much more is given. In its scarred edges and veins is its log rolled up.

We fancy ourselves in the interior of a larger house. The surface of the pond is our deal table or sanded floor, and the woods rise abruptly from its edge, like the walls of a cottage. The lines set to catch pickerel through the ice look like a larger culinary preparation, and the men stand about on the white ground like pieces of forest furniture. The actions of these men, at the distance of half a mile over the ice and snow, impress us as when we read the exploits of Alexander in history. They seem not unworthy of the scenery, and as momentous as the conquest of kingdoms.

Again we have wandered through the arches of the wood, until from its skirts we hear the distant booming of ice from yonder bay of the river, as if it were moved by some other and subtler tide than oceans know. To me it has a strange sound of home, thrilling as the voice of one's distant and noble kindred. A mild summer sun shines over forest and lake, and though there is but one green leaf for many rods, yet nature enjoys a serene health. Every sound is fraught with the same mysterious assurance of health, as well now the creaking of the boughs in January, as the soft sough of the wind in July.

When Winter fringes every bough
With his fantastic wreath,
And puts the seal of silence now
Upon the leaves beneath;

When every stream in its penthouse
Goes gurgling on its way,
And in his gallery the mouse
Nibbleth the meadow bay;

Methinks the summer still is nigh,
And lurketh underneath,
As that same meadow mouse doth lie
Snug in that last year's heath.

And if perchance the chickadee
Lisp a faint note anon,
The snow is summer's canopy,
Which she herself put on.

Fair blossoms deck the cheerful trees,
And dazzling fruits depend;
The north wind sighs a summer breeze,
The nipping frosts to fend,

Bringing glad tidings unto me,
The while I stand all ear,
Of a serene eternity,
Which need not winter fear.

Out on the silent pond straightway
The restless ice doth crack,
And pond sprites merry gambols play
Amid the deafening rack.

Eager I hasten to the vale,
As if I heard brave news,
How nature held high festival,
Which it were hard to lose.

I gambol with my neighbor ice,
And sympathizing quake,
As each new crack darts in a trice
Across the gladsome lake.

One with the cricket in the ground,
And fagot on the hearth,
Resounds the rare domestic sound
Along the forest path.

Before night we will take a journey on skates along the course of this meandering river, as full of novelty to one who sits by the cottage fire all the winter's day, as if it were over the polar ice, with Captain Parry or Franklin; following the winding of the stream, now flowing amid hills, now spreading out into fair meadows, and forming a myriad coves and bays where the pine and hemlock overarch. The river flows in the rear of the towns, and we see all things from a new and wilder side. The fields and gardens come down to it with a frankness, and freedom from pretension, which they do not wear on the highway. It is the outside and edge of the earth. Our eyes are not offended by violent contrasts. The last rail of the farmer's fence is some swaying willow bough, which still preserves its freshness, and here at length all fences stop, and we no longer cross any road. We may go far up within the country now by the most retired and level road, never climbing a hill, but by broad levels ascending to the upland meadows. It is a beautiful illustration of the law of obedience, the flow of a river; the path for a sick man, a highway down which an acorn cup may float secure with its freight. Its slight occasional falls, whose precipices would not diversify the landscape, are celebrated by mist and spray, and attract the traveler from far and near. From the remote interior, its current conducts him by broad and easy steps, or by one gentler inclined plane, to the sea. Thus by an early and constant yielding to the inequalities of the ground it secures itself the easiest passage.

No domain of nature is quite closed to man at all times, and now we draw near to the empire of the fishes. Our feet glide swiftly over unfathomed depths, where in summer our line tempted the pout and perch, and where the stately pickerel lurked in the long corridors formed by the bulrushes. The deep, impenetrable marsh, where the heron waded and bittern squatted, is made pervious to our swift shoes, as if a thousand railroads had been made into it. With one impulse we are carried to the cabin of the muskrat, that earliest settler, and see him dart away under the transparent ice, like a furred fish, to his hole in the bank; and we glide rapidly over meadows where lately "the mower whet his scythe," through beds of frozen cranberries mixed with meadow-grass. We skate near to where the blackbird, the pewee, and the kingbird hung their nests over the water, and the hornets builded from the maple in the swamp. How many gay warblers, following the sun, have radiated from this nest of silver birch and thistle-down! On the swamp's outer edge was hung the supermarine village, where no foot penetrated. In this hollow tree the wood duck reared her brood, and slid away each day to forage in yonder fen.

In winter, nature is a cabinet of curiosities, full of dried specimens, in their natural order and position. The meadows and forests are a hortus siccus. The leaves and grasses stand perfectly pressed by the air without screw or gum, and the birds' nests are not hung on an artificial twig, but where they builded them. We go about dry-shod to inspect the summer's work in the rank swamp, and see what a growth have got the alders, the willows, and the maples; testifying to how many warm suns, and fertilizing dews and showers. See what strides their boughs took in the luxuriant summer,—and anon these dormant buds will carry them onward and upward another span into the heavens.

Occasionally we wade through fields of snow, under whose depths the river is lost for many rods, to appear again to the right or left, where we least expected; still holding on its way underneath, with a faint, stertorous, rumbling sound, as if, like the bear and marmot, it too had hibernated, and we had followed its faint summer trail to where it earthed itself in snow and ice. At first we should have thought that rivers would be empty and dry in midwinter, or else frozen solid till the spring thawed them; but their volume is not diminished even, for only a superficial cold bridges their surfaces. The thousand springs which feed the lakes and streams are flowing still. The issues of a few surface springs only are closed, and they go to swell the deep reservoirs. Nature's wells are below the frost. The summer brooks are not filled with snow-water, nor does the mower quench his thirst with that alone. The streams are swollen when the snow melts in the spring, because nature's work has been delayed, the water being turned into ice and snow, whose particles are less smooth and round, and do not find their level so soon.

Far over the ice, between the hemlock woods and snow-clad hills, stands the pickerel-fisher, his lines set in some retired cove, like a Finlander, with his arms thrust into the pouches of his dreadnaught; with dull, snowy, fishy thoughts, himself a finless fish, separated a few inches from his race; dumb, erect, and made to be enveloped in clouds and snows, like the pines on shore. In these wild scenes, men stand about in the scenery, or move deliberately and heavily, having sacrificed the sprightliness and vivacity of towns to the dumb sobriety of nature. He does not make the scenery less wild, more than the jays and muskrats, but stands there as a part of it, as the natives are represented in the voyages of early navigators, at Nootka Sound, and on the Northwest coast, with their furs about them, before they were tempted to loquacity by a scrap of iron. He belongs to the natural family of man, and is planted deeper in nature and has more root than the inhabitants of towns. Go to him, ask what luck, and you will learn that he too is a worshiper of the unseen. Hear with what sincere deference and waving gesture in his tone he speaks of the lake pickerel, which he has never seen, his primitive and ideal race of pickerel. He is connected with the shore still, as by a fish-line, and yet remembers the season when he took fish through the ice on the pond, while the peas were up in his garden at home.

But now, while we have loitered, the clouds have gathered again, and a few straggling snowflakes are beginning to descend. Faster and faster they fall, shutting out the distant objects from sight. The snow falls on every wood and field, and no crevice is forgotten; by the river and the pond, on the hill and in the valley. Quadrupeds are confined to their coverts and the birds sit upon their perches this peaceful hour. There is not so much sound as in fair weather, but silently and gradually every slope, and the gray walls and fences, and the polished ice, and the sere leaves, which were not buried before, are concealed, and the tracks of men and beasts are lost. With so little effort does nature reassert her rule and blot out the traces of men. Hear how Homer has described the same: "The snowflakes fall thick and fast on a winter's day. The winds are lulled, and the snow falls incessant, covering the tops of the mountains, and the hills, and the plains where the lotus-tree grows, and the cultivated fields, and they are falling by the inlets and shores of the foaming sea, but are silently dissolved by the waves." The snow levels all things, and infolds them deeper in the bosom of nature, as, in the slow summer, vegetation creeps up to the entablature of the temple, and the turrets of the castle, and helps her to prevail over art.

The surly night-wind rustles through the wood, and warns us to retrace our steps, while the sun goes down behind the thickening storm, and birds seek their roosts, and cattle their stalls.

"Drooping the lab'rer ox
Stands covered o'er with snow, and now demands
The fruit of all his toil."

Though winter is represented in the almanac as an old man, facing the wind and sleet, and drawing his cloak about him, we rather think of him as a merry woodchopper, and warm-blooded youth, as blithe as summer. The unexplored grandeur of the storm keeps up the spirits of the traveler. It does not trifle with us, but has a sweet earnestness. In winter we lead a more inward life. Our hearts are warm and cheery, like cottages under drifts, whose windows and doors are half concealed, but from whose chimneys the smoke cheerfully ascends. The imprisoning drifts increase the sense of comfort which the house affords, and in the coldest days we are content to sit over the hearth and see the sky through the chimney-top, enjoying the quiet and serene life that may be had in a warm corner by the chimney-side, or feeling our pulse by listening to the low of cattle in the street, or the sound of the flail in distant barns all the long afternoon. No doubt a skillful physician could determine our health by observing how these simple and natural sounds affected us. We enjoy now, not an Oriental, but a Boreal leisure, around warm stoves and fireplaces, and watch the shadow of motes in the sunbeams.

Sometimes our fate grows too homely and familiarly serious ever to be cruel. Consider how for three months the human destiny is wrapped in furs. The good Hebrew Revelation takes no cognizance of all this cheerful snow. Is there no religion for the temperate and frigid zones? We know of no scripture which records the pure benignity of the gods on a New England winter night. Their praises have never been sung, only their wrath deprecated. The best scripture, after all, records but a meagre faith. Its saints live reserved and austere. Let a brave, devout man spend the year in the woods of Maine or Labrador, and see if the Hebrew Scriptures speak adequately to his condition and experience, from the setting in of winter to the breaking up of the ice.

Now commences the long winter evening around the farmer's hearth, when the thoughts of the indwellers travel far abroad, and men are by nature and necessity charitable and liberal to all creatures. Now is the happy resistance to cold, when the farmer reaps his reward, and thinks of his preparedness for winter, and, through the glittering panes, sees with equanimity "the mansion of the northern bear," for now the storm is over,—

"The full ethereal round,
Infinite worlds disclosing to the view,
Shines out intensely keen; and all one cope
Of starry glitter glows from pole to pole."

Had to Share

This may sound strange, but I just made the most yummy snack!

I used sprouted grain tortillas by Ezekiel, and inside them I spread raw Tahini (maybe 2 tsp) and topped that with guacamole (red onion, tomato, lime, cilantro, garlic), then a drizzle of agave, a pinch of pink Himalayan and a couple romaine leaves for crunch: so good, I had to share.

The sesame tahini is creamy and nutty and then the guac is kinda spicy and oozes in lovely ways, the salt brings out flavor, the agave for some sweetness -- this is the kind of thing that keeps me going all day. It feels so lovely and my body doesn't freak out or go into sugar-shock, the way wheat and hybrid grains tend to wear on me.

It's snowing in Colorado this morning. I love it -- it makes the whole world stand still, sit tight, relax, be silent, even for a moment: the universe seems to whisper in a hush.

I hope wherever you are today is lovely and amazing

The Good Stuff

On the other hand, I have been turning myself into a chocolateer-superhero. And I can't recommend it more highly! I have been getting into the living foods method of nutrition for a bit of time now, and the more I add, the more I understand how nothing else tastes as good as the real thing. Food. The real stuff, the good stuff. Soggy cardboard is quickly becoming a thing of the past.

I have been buying cacao for a year and I put it in smoothies, but I had found them somewhat bitter in their "alone" state -- not unpleasantly so, but then again I always did like dark chocolate -- but on a cue from Mr. David Wolfe himself, I mixed a few nibs with agave and... WOW! I mean, as in : incredible -- my brain centers lit up -- I mean, I could see better, taste more, hear better... I am not kidding you, that sucker is one powerful little nut, and it tasted wonderfully yummy, and why would you want to eat anything else?

So, for snacks, I have been combining cacao nibs with goji, raw walnuts and pignolis (or pine-nuts, same difference) and a tsp. of raw red maca powder and, a squeeze of fresh orange juice, a pinch of pink Himalayan rock salt and then a drizzle of agave. It turns into this malty-sweet-salty paste that I eat with a spoon: so good.

Now, having said that, you maybe feeling curious as to what these pictures are here: they are what's known as Kirlian photographs, that is, they read the electromagnetic signature or life force in, well, anything, but in this case: food. Here below is, obviously, an apple. Above is a cacao bean (but its technically a nut)! What is important to note is that this beautiful light that is emitted from a living life-force being, disappears when subjected to heat and cooking.

In essence, we kill the natural light substance of our food when we cook.

I am only bringing this up because I am starting to really notice the feeling of my body following food choices. I feel much better eating that Orange with flax seeds or hemp, or homemade guac with a salad then I ever felt eating potatoes or pasta.

I am transitioning gently so my body really makes the switch 100% and never feels deprived or neglected. I am following David Wolfe's recommendations, adding in the good stuff: this definitely includes green juices and chocolate everyday. How could that be anything other than the best day ever?

I have come to really love my early morning juice ritual; I am finding it very easy to get up at 5:30-6 every morning, watch the sun come up with liquid gold-green juice beside me.

Today's Juice o' the Morning:

1/2 mango
3 Clementine's
1/2 cucumber
5-6 stalks celery
2 small handfuls parsley
4 mint leaves

YUM!

For a real juice superhero, be sure to check out Courtney Pool's Blog as she is on a 92-Day juice feast, as per Angela Stokes and David Rainoshek. It is my intention to do one in January again -- maybe not 92 days but maybe 21 days? Or more ... maybe I will keep going as long as it feels good, if I end up at 92 days: then sure -- I'll do 92 days.

Anyhow, this venture into Sunfood has been so amazing and glorious and, what's more: it requires me to be present. My addictions have been coming up so clearly and I can sit calmly and face them, because now I recognize them and can peacefully and gratefully say: Thank You, I release you. I have no need for your services any longer.

Live Well today, dear ones. And drink your vegetables!

Media Blitz Idiots

I apologize ahead of time for this rant you are about to read (and the spoilers concerning the His Dark Materials Series; Reader beware!).

See, CNN has run an article about Phillip Pullman's The Golden Compass, which is set to be released as a film this Friday, posing the question whether or not this film is seducing kids into atheism. To which I must reply to CNN most harshly: Do some research! And that goes for all the others you gave sound-bites to in that preposterous article (including the priests): Read the books first! Had you done so, you would have learned that in the second book we are told that Lyra is the Second Eve -- can't get more religious than that! If someone had cared to make an actual intelligent statement about these books concerning religion, it is fair to say that Pullman is commenting on the corruptive nature of religion in our world today, but this also serves to reform said corruption in hopes of something higher and more truthful. That kind of critique should be encouraged and justified, but this CNN article just smacks of poor journalism. Shame on you!