Shaman Sense...sational!

A dialogue about the ethnicity of an industry, being human, a mourning dove and turtle totems.

This is a recording of a multi-day conversation between me and my “inner-Blair,” a concept some readers might fathom and others might not. But just as life is about the journey, this is about the conversation, and my inner-Blair is simply a canoe helping me to traverse a strange and meandering river.

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       Meanwhile, Blair left me with this interesting puzzle of words: “If you do find out you’re an appendix, I’m sure you’ll also find that you’re the kind of appendix that enables readers to make sense of the book.”

Okay, this is getting really bizarre...

Since providing a maternity ward for a turtle that adopted our yard, I have learned that THREE other people I know have experienced the same thing! There are at least 4 turtle maternity wards among my friends and colleagues. And for each and every one of them -- none younger than 40 -- this is a first. No one has ever experienced anything like this before.

Last night while driving we had to maneuver around a very large turtle crossing the road.

Today people were talking about a turtle that had adopted the wetlands where I work..

Now I see in the Detroit Free Press that a man trying to help a turtle across a road was hit by a drunk driver.

Okay, I know I live in an area that is literally all wetlands, lakes, ponds, etc. And I have seen a lot of turtles crossing roads ... and a lot of remains of turtles that failed.

But NEVER have I met a single person who has witnessed first hand a turtle laying eggs on their property. Add these other instances up and it starts to sound like the latest Sci Fi channel movie of the week!
 

Apparently, the fresh mulch under the little tree beside our driveway has been selected as the perfect spot for momma turtle to lay her eggs. My husband discovered her burrowing into the mulch earlier this evening. By the time I got home from work she was hard at work laying her eggs (see the little bit of white in the hole?).

So does that mean we can expect a few dozen little baby turtles to take over our driveway on the was down the hill to the pond? When? How long do turtle eggs take to hatch?

So a week ago a mourning dove committed suicide on my windshield, and today we're a nesting ground for baby turtles? Does that mean TPTB are telling me the bad times are coming to an end? <fingers crossed>

 Recently, I’ve been re-reading some of my older TS fics, and in re-reading, I’ve been giving them a tune-up. Today, in re-reading “I Shot the Shaman,” I discovered something interesting about myself. That fic came after “Flies in an Emerald Web.” Some of the inspiration for the “Web” fic resulted from my reading some books by Martin Pretchtel (see http://www.martinprechtel.com/). I noticed a lot of what I’d learned about shamanism and spirituality from Prechtel’s writings remained present in “I Shot the Shaman.” In fact, it not only remained present, it is pretty prominent. Yet over the past couple of years or so that sense of spirituality has been either absent in my writing, or has been addressed on a very shallow, cursory level.

 So what I think I’ve learned today, by re-reading this fic, is that I’ve fallen out of touch with something I need to get back into touch with. What exactly am I saying? That’s just it; it’s hard to describe. I’ve been living a nightmare for so many months now – in constant fear of losing my job, surrounded by people (friends, neighbors, former colleagues…) who’ve already lost theirs, watching as people I’ve known for decades simply vanish, bombarded with hard-luck stories and the overall, overwhelming sense of hopelessness and desperation that just permeates the air all around us – and I keep finding it impossible to “hear” Blair.

 Sounds strange, I know. But for those of you who’ve read some of the slice of life fics, I have for years now used Blair as my own personal sounding board. How would he look at things? What lessons would he find in situations? That sort of thing. It’s as though he’s been my own inner “shaman rising." Yet I can’t for the life of me “hear” him these days.

 Here’s an excerpt from “I Shot the Shaman” (the whole fic is still at Shaman Sense, but I see a lot of typos, et. al. which I’ll be fixing over the next week or so):

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( Read the excerpt... )

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 Now, today, after having re-read the “Web” fic and most of this one, I realize that it’s not just Blair I can’t hear anymore. I’ve stopped *listening*. I’ve been *chasing the wind.*

I think maybe it’s time to reacquaint myself with Mr. Prechtel…..

Yesterday I discovered a new musical artist when flipping radio channels in my car. The station from Ann Arbor (college town) tends to play a vast variety of musical styles, such as you'll never hear on the pop / rock stations.  I downloaded his latest CD, and wow. I'm finding his songs to be speaking directly to me regarding current events.

Artist: Tyrone Wells; CD: Remain

Excerpts:

Remain:

You feel the earth shake /  You've never felt safe / Nothing stays the same at all / I will remain / When everything changes / And you think of the faces / That all slipped away / I will remain / Afraid of the let down / You say I won't stick around / You say people are made of Glass and dust / I will remain.....

More:

...I know there's something more / Than what we're living for / I see it in the stars, I feel it on the shore / I know there's something, / I know there's something more / I think we're all afraid / That we might be alone, alone down here / We all want to have some faith
At least that's true in my case, to just believe.....


Losing Ground:

Seems like a riddle / How do people move on? / When everything has gone wrong? / Where did it come from? / How can it be so strong? / How does the rain fall for so long? / Something tripped me, took my legs out / Thought I could fix it, repair it, climb over it /
I'm so scared I need you to hold me down / Hold me down, I'm losing ground/ Seems like a battle / How can anyone ever win? /
How can we start over again?....

Drifting:

...You say these are changing times / You don't know what we will find / Maybe love, maybe death / I keep running out of breath.....

**Warning: Most of this post is fun and funny, but the ending is ... not... :-(

A few years ago, I went on a very memorable business trip to Monterrey, Mexico. Two of my colleagues, Darlene and Kim went with me, and we met several others when we were there. I can't remember much about the nature of the business, but yes, we accomplished what we needed to and we did a good job. But what really made that trip memorable was the fact that I have never, NEVER in all my years with the company, in all my trips to palces wild and boring, with all sorts of wild and boring people, I have never laughed as much or as hard as I did during that trip with Darlene and Kim.

Kim knew a couple of the men working at our Monterrey facility very well, after having spent several months with them in Japan learning the language, the customs, the culture, and. of course, the business. As for these two men, their names escape me at the moment, so I'll just use Pedro and Juan to make story-telling easier. For several nights, Pedro and Juan took us to unique places, including a movie theater in which all the chairs were leather-like recliners and concessions were brought right to you. We watched "The Panic Room" with Jodi Foster. It was shown in English with Spanish subtitles ... and what little I knew of Spanish made it interesting for me to see how odd they did some of the translations. That night was hysterical ... lots and lots and lots of laughs.

But the piesta resistance, the absolute best, most hysterical night of all was the night we watched the Red Wings win a Stanley Cup while drinking in a Bennigans in the middle of Monterrey!

That morning, Mexico had proceeded on to the next round in the World Cup. That win was a very big deal in Monterrey. The hotel broadcast the game during breakfast.... and the park outside was CROWDED with people watching on a big screen. After Mexico won the game, we drove to work... Wow!! People were hanging out of buses, waving Mexican flags, cheering and shouting. People were waving flags from bridges, cheering and shouting. It was a major celebration. Remember, Mexico hadn't WON the cup that morning, they'd just moved on to the next round. (BTW: They lost the next game to America... doh!)

So then we're at the plant, and we KNOW the Wings will win the Stanley Cup that night. It just had to be. And we had to find a way to watch it. Mexico is not exactly big on hockey. So Pedro and Juan and a bunch of other people started manning the phones trying to find us a place where we could watch the game. They found a place. A Bennigan's. Yes, the restaurant/pub chain from the states. Yes the IRISH-themed American restaurant in the heart of Mexico. 

So we're in Bennigan's having a grand old time, and now the game's about to start. The wait staff finds the right channel on two separate TV sets in our little private room for the 20 or so of us who are there to watch hockey. The entire rest of the restaurant is watching soccer reruns, but we're watching hockey in real-time. But.. . The broadcast is being done in Spanish!

So we're in an Irish-themed American chain restaurant drinking Mexican beer and cheering on the Detroit Red Wings but we can't understand a word that the broadcasters are saying. No, wait. We do understand some of the words, i.e. the names of the players! LOL! ;laksdf;alskdfja;slkdfj Federov! ;laksdjf;alskdjf;alskdjf Eiserman! and so on.

Oh my god were we laughing. And then, to top off the night, the waiter gives me a new, frosted glass for a new bottle of beer. He fills the glass, sets the remaining beer on the table in front of me and walks away. I grab the glass, lift it up .... and leave the base of the glass behind. Yes, the glass separated at the base, spilling beer EVERYWHERE. The guys on the other end of the table accused me of "slamming" my beer. LOL!  Darlene and Kim, being in a quality field, decided they had to inspect all future glasses. They rejected two more before they finally accepted one, enabling me to finally get another drink.

We were laughing our fool heads off that night. And I will never, never forget it!

huge sigh.... Darlene and Kim were BOTH laid off yesterday. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. Oh, and Kim had just announced on Monday that she was pregnant with her second child. Oh, and Kim's sister worked for the company too, and she lost her job yesterday also.

Crap.

Kim's a survivor and an eternal optimist, and undoubtedly infinitely excited about the baby. I'm sure she'll be fine. Darlene's husband lost his job about a year and a half ago, but eventually found something as a retail store manager. And Darlene has been so much a part of my company that you'd swear she was built right into the structure. I know this will be a rough ride for her.

As the dust began to settle today and I heard about more of the people we'd lost, it became painfully obvious. We've long ago cut off all the fat. Now we're digging right into the muscle. And based on who was sent packing yesterday, it's become painfully and horrifyingly obvious that no one, absolutely no one is safe.

Another day, another round of layoffs. I don’t know how many we lost today. They never post numbers or names. Your only information flows from the grapevine (“did you hear any names?” “ Yeah, I heard so-and-so, and so-and-so.” “ You?” “ Yeah, I heard so-and-so….”), or from being a direct witness to watching someone escorted out.  And then you go straight to your email to see if you can find those names in the address book still. In layoffs past, names disappear from the address book before you even know the people are gone. Today, 2 names I heard were still there, so <fingers crossed> I’m hoping I see at least one of them in our standing meeting tomorrow. If she’s not there, then…. <sigh>

Got to work this morning, saw security posted at all entrances and dark suits everywhere. When the VP of HR is watching a door to see who comes in, you know you’ve got a problem.

I’ve survived yet again, but I feel like I'm on the Titanic. I'm fortunate enough to be on an upper deck, but I just keep watching friends and acquaintances slipping into the frigid seas below. How long before the upper deck goes under, too?

Conversation with cleaning guy this morning:

Me: Morning. How are you?
 Him: Good. How you doing?
Me:  <pause.> So far so good.
Him:  I hear that!

The most common replies these days to those 'how are you' questions:

1. Hanging in there  (sometimes augmented with: by a thread or by a very thin thread)

2. Still here

3. Surviving

When even the CEO replies with “Hanging in there,” (which he did with me one morning on the elevator a few months ago), you REALLY know you’ve got a problem!

 * No one just says that socially polite 'good' or 'fine' anymore.

And on the way home from work this evening I just about had a heart attack when a bird flew right into my windshield. I was only doing about 80mph at the time <shakes head>. Yes, 80. And yes, the speed limit is 70. But if you do 70 on that freeway, they’ll run you off the road.  So yes, there is no hope of survival for that kamikaze bird.

What does it mean from a cosmic perspective when a bird commits suicide on your car? I think it was a mourning dove; what’s the significance of that?

Once, many years ago, when we were in our first apartment, I got home to find a very large and very dead pigeon blocking my front door. It seemed like something right out of the godfather. LOL! But I’d rather a non-bloody pigeon on the front stoop over a horse’s head in my bed…. Fortunately, the dead pigeon ended up “signifying” nothing.

Maybe if the mourning dove signifies anything, it signifies the death of my mourning. Maybe this is the last round of layoffs, and so we can finally move forward again. Maybe …. <sigh> trying to be hopeful, here. B.A.D., and all that.

Re-released and re-vamped.  Newly edited and now including specially designed "cover art".  Check it out at Shaman Sense:
thewhyofme.netherweb.com/New_temp_UNAS_Portal/right-of-birth.htm

In the park we frequent, there is long, winding bike/jogging/walking trail.

The park also has a section where people play frisbee-golf. The object is to throw the frisbee in such a way that it lands within metal slots.

The frisbee-golf section borders another section of the park where it's kind of marshy-swampy. Along that portion of the trail, you can see, not far from the trail, what looks like a large garbage can; however, this can is labeled with the word, "WEED," in large letters.

Many -- make that MOST -- of the people we see playing frisbee-golf have the general appearance of stoners (i.e. people who like to party, and particularly to smoke marijuana, aka "weed").

Now comes the kicker....

There is a sign posted near the trail, warning walkers/joggers/bikers/etc to "WATCH FOR FLYING DISCS"

<ahem> there's just something about a giant can full of WEED, a crowd of stoners, and the general warning to watch for flying discs....

I just find that to be awfully amusing....

Carry-On!

Yes, I'm being B.A.D. today!!! :-D

I closed my eyes and just started typing, and this poem was the result. Then I added some pictures and.... (if you check my web page, the image isn't blurry there dmkraft.com/ShamanSense/sentinel-gallery.html:

See a better, bigger image at: dmkraft.com/ShamanSense/sentinel-gallery.html

Okay, the WIP is no longer a WIP. It's finished. And it's available in full at this link: http://thewhyofme.netherweb.com/New_temp_UNAS_Portal/strangers_.htm

It's not linked to Shaman Sense yet, but should be in a few days.

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8

 

A gun went off.

 

Someone shouted.  *You’d better get your butt back here*… He knew that voice. It was Gun-Guy number two, the man he had walked with, the one he had trusted—the one who shot him. *I’ll kill your cop friend.*

 

Chief had gotten away from them. Their focus had been on the cop. They were tying him to the chair and arguing about what to do next. Chief had taken advantage of the moment. He had twisted out of … someone’s grip, and managed to make it to a spot by the stairs. He was now hiding behind a crate.

 

*Stay where you are, Sandburg,* the cop shouted then.

 

*Sandburg.*  He knew that name. Was that his name?

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Back in the main part of the warehouse, he could see that things had changed since he’d made his hasty departure. Someone had gone to fairly great lengths to set things back into order. The fallen gas tank had been righted and moved aside. The chair the cop had been tied to was gone; come to think of it, he might have seen it in the office a moment ago. He started to turn his attention back toward the office when his gaze swept the metal stairs and he saw that they were empty.

 

“Where’d he go?” He asked.

 

“Where’d who go?” The cop responded beside him.

 

“Th … the dead guy. He was … His wrist had been handcuffed to the railing up there. He was just … hanging, right there.” He hurried over to the spot where he’d first awakened, his eyes focused on the floor. “Right there. See? Blood. His was hanging right up there, and his blood was just … dripping.” He had to stifle a shudder.

 

“You okay there, Chief. You look a little pale.”

 

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4

 

As he neared the warehouse, he saw the lights were on. That either meant they had been timed to go on automatically, or someone inside had turned them on. Okay, that suggested two possibilities: the guy who’d been hit by the iron rod was awake and moving around; or the cop who’d been tied to the chair had gotten free.

 

Actually, there was a third possibility. Both the cop and the guy who’d been hit might now be working together. Of course, he had no idea as to whether or not that would be a good thing.

 

He approached the building with as much stealth as his body would allow him. Unfortunately, that wasn’t much. He was hungry, exhausted and the pain in his head was making it hard enough to think, let alone try to focus any attention on how he was moving. Somehow the force or some stroke of fate was with him, because he managed to reach the nearest wall without raising any sort of stir from inside. He pressed himself against the bricks, taking a deep, calming breath.

 

In his mind he heard the sound of drums. Tribal drums. He could almost detect the smell of cleansing sage burning somewhere nearby. He could imagine a candle glowing, the gentle flame guiding him toward a deep state of meditation.

 

What the hell? He opened his eyes and tried to push the strange thoughts from his mind. He had to focus on the here and now. His memories would have to wait. The slow trickle of blood slowing oozing from his forehead was a clear and constant reminder of that very simple reality. Giving into his memories could get him killed.

 

Leaning carefully forward, he targeted a reasonably clear spot on an otherwise filth-obscured window. He peered inside—his gaze landing instantly on the barrel of a gun. It surprised him enough to cause him to stumble, and he fell flat on his butt just as a bullet crashed through the glass.

 

“Don’t shoot!” He shouted. “Don’t … shoot, man.” He found his voice wavering as he realized he’d finally run out of all his remaining physical reserves. “I’m not … I’m can’t go anywhere, anyway.” And then he let himself fall back.

 

Lying prone on the glass-strewn parking lot, he gazed at the black sky above, listening to the steady approach of one set of footsteps until a figure moved into view. A face looked down at him. It was the cop.

 

“Thank god it’s you, man.” He let his eyelids slip closed for a brief moment. “I didn’t know if—”

 

When the sound of a click startled him, he opened his eyes to find the cop pointing a gun right between his eyes.

 

 

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This was inspired by the 2006 movie, “Unknown,” starring Greg Kinnear, James Caviezel, et. al. Synopsis for the movie, as posted to imdb: Five men wake up in a locked-down warehouse with no memory of who they are. They are forced to figure out who is good and who is bad to stay alive. It’s a poor synopsis, but I found it to be a good movie. Is the guy who’s tied up a bad guy or a good guy? Who’s the victim? Who’s the kidnapper? Etc.

 

Synopsis for MY story: Set at some point in Season 1, a mishap in an abandoned warehouse leaves Jim vulnerable while an amnesiac Blair puts his trust in the wrong hands. (Yeah, it’s not much clearer than the synopsis for the movie! So let me add this: Is the guy who’s tied up a bad guy or a good guy? Who’s the victim? Who’s the kidnapper? Etc. ;-)

 

 

Working title: Strangers

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Got an email from a colleague today that just goes to show how much you can discover you really DON'T know someone! <g> People DO have lives outside of the office, and sometimes those lives can be pretty darned interesting!

This email is an update regarding my daughter’s participation in “The Fiesta Movement” sponsored by Ford Motor Company. Below is the link to her direct Agent #100 page on the Ford Fiesta Movement website. Within her agent page are additional links to her blog, You Tube videos, facebook, and other media outlets. It is very important to her rating as an agent for Ford to get comments, ratings, reviews, and feedback on all of her media forums. Any and all participation would be very helpful for her assessing her monthly missions and tasks for promoting the new Ford Fiesta. It would be greatly appreciated if you could forward this out to as many people in each of your circle of friends, family, peers, and associates with whom you communicate with and ask them to participate as well.

It is exhilarating to have my daughter promoting a product that hits so close to home with our work here and with Ford Motor Company. Your response to participate from my last email was overwhelming and each of you as either a personal or professional friend has my respect and appreciation for taking the time to participate.

http://fiestamovement.com/agent100

http://megmayne.blogspot.com

Okay, I've finally added a links page AND a fic/filk table to the unas web site.

Accessible directly via: http://www.sentinel-shamansense.com (note: I just set up the forwarding a moment ago and it might take up to 30 minutes to work).

Or indirectly via: http://www.u-n-a-s.com.

I had fun playing with images for the sentinel page! :-)

For the table, I hope you'll let me know if it works well for you. I wanted it to be sortable and filter-able, but I can't post it as an Excel table, and it strips the filtering capability when I save it as a web page.

NOTE: there are 2 fics in the table that don't have links yet.  I need to get those re-posted and then update the table with the links. It might be a few days (or so....).

Comments -- good, bad or indifferent -- are always welcome.

And Blair has been whispering in my ear lately -- oh wait! It's just the bluetooth! lol! ;-)

Yes, spring is in the air and I'm feeling creative, inspired and hopeful. Here's hoping <fingers crossed> the feeling lasts!

1.  Hearty Welcome!! :-D

One of the movie studio projects has finally been officially announced! Up to 3000 jobs during times of full production. "On-the-set" training programs for new hires. Hiring priority given to laid off skilled and unskilled union workers.

article here: www.wxyz.com/news/story/146M-Film-Studio-Coming-to-Allen-Park/FZ1Fya56n0qgyufRuWS7jg.cspx.

Also on the production front.... the Howell high school that was used to film a comedy called "High School" (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1247667/.) is on the "short list" of locations to shoot a new "family friendly" comedy series. 26 episodes planned.

(Howell is our county seat; it's where we got our marriage license; where my sis-in-law lives; and is about a 20 minute drive.)

2.  With good news, you can always expect some bad news as well.  On that note, I bid a fond farewell to Mark (the Bird) Fidrych.
espn.go.com/classic/biography/s/Fidrych_Mark.html

1976 was definitely a memorable year. I was 15.  There was  America's bicentennial celebration at Greenfield Village. A Chicago concert at Pine Knob. A handful of things I'd rather not remember (I was 15, after all).  And then there was The Bird. I remember at that Chicago concert word got around that he was in the crowd; and I remember it was almost as exciting to see if we could spot him as it was to watch the concert! <g> We never spotted him. And we were too close to the speakers to the left of the stage, so we were practically deaf afterwords. But it was an awesome concert. For those of you who know Chicago and who remember Terry Kath, he was there as well. I also remember hearing of his tragic death less than 2 years later. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terry_Kath).

As time goes on / I realize / just what you mean / to me. / And now / now that you're near / promise your love / that I've waited to share / and dreams / of our moments together. / Color my world / with hope / of loving you.

And I remember learning to play that song on the piano (very simple chords, after all).

Rest well, Mark Fidrych! Your career was short and your death, tragic. But you did have a bright and shining moment when you lit up Detroit in the summer of '76!  You will not be forgotten!

And Terry, your are still remembered; and you are still missed.