Transition

We leave the position, then the room, then the village or city, the province or state and go upward into the air.

We leave the atmosphere and looking down, notice the blue sphere surrounded by vapor, rotating into and out of the sunlight.

We go further up and out.

There is no more up or down.
These terms are irrelevant and so too are day and night from this vantage point.
There is only space -the 'heavens'.

How far can we go?
Miles turn into days in terms of ticking seconds, minutes and hours...Ah! OK - "time" is really nothing more than the infant mind attempt of measuring of space. And "our time"- locally, is really a measure of repetition of our 'species living' upon a globe going round in circles, cycles or seasons.

But could it be that the earth is an egg-incubator for our transcendent 'species-being'?

Could it be that our individual perception of the passge of time is a required cosmic element of gestation for our next evolutionary birth leap?

Could our quantitative perspctive on time be necessary for the heralding of our collective next phase?

Would we be ready? Would you be ready? After all, the species is only as strong as it's weakest link. Have you brought your inner being and spirit within it's flesh framed egg to the point of readiness ? Has your inner being taken control of all your child like outer temptations, inner and outer turmoil and compulsions?

There are no resolutions, just as there is no meaning to the concept of 'trying'. There is conscious action or it's passive opposite- inertia- lulled by the spell of illusion and material distraction.

Ultimately there is only your eternal... 'now'.

Are we ready?

Happy New Year.

(The image of this being, kindly provided by my friend (and good friend of Colleen Hillock) -Artist and scupltor- Narelle Nicholls -NSW Australia).

Small World and six degrees divided by two.

A few weeks back, I was at the local Blockbuster Video Store seeking some distraction for the evening. I would have loved to just sit and write, but after 7:00PM my energy level seems to fade and I need some escapism (and chocolate). I know, I could do some yoga and re-energize, but...

Scanning the movie rows, there was a subtle movement on my right, someone else doing the same thing. I glanced up sneaking a peak and quickly looked back at the selections -lest I be construed as peering a little too long at the wrong merchandise- but then it hit me- I knew that face -a familair face from highschool. Anne Wells, a graduate of Chateuaguay High (pre HSB). See her below from the1969 Year Book.

You might recall the math teacher - Mr. Wells (ex Military). Great teacher! Well, Anne is his daughter. You might recall her sister Jacquie, (whom I shall never forget, but let's not go there now. Perhaps some time I'll recall the night of the party...I met Lyda Young there! I digress as usual.)

Anne lives with her husband Kevin (Grad 1968) and son just a few streets over from us. As it turns out, my son and hers are great friends. Anne is now the head of a translation department for an Insurance Company.

They are a fine family.

"Hmm let's click on their high school pictures below to see what they thought they might be doing in the future!" I'm not sure what Kevin does, but my son thinks his buddy's dad is in computer programming "...or something like that."














Some of the people we might recall who graduated in Anne's year were:

Carol Wares, Barbara Ann Wells, Karen J.McConnell (no relation to me as far as I know), Valery Mumford (Molly), Arthur Preston, Shirley Ascroft, Pierre Filion, Dale Kiperchuk, Pat Kobernick, Bob Marsh -who reminded us all of John Lennon, the inimitable and mysterious Shannon McManus, the late Blake Jennings, Ray Mcleod, the late Russel McKoy, Shirley Bulmer, Bev Jones, Carla Klop, the King twins- Carren and Carrol, Larry Busch and of course Darlene Hodge (Doll), Peter McHardy, Brent Timms, Amelia Agnew, Mitch Morrison and Randy Phillips (Sports writer in the Gazette these days..wonder what his thoughts on Tigre are) ...just to name a few.

Going back to the year before, when Kevin graduated, another set of names putting a unique spin to the times:

Consider...Chateauguay High still had a grade 12 in that year -1968.
It was the year after expo. I was only about 12 or 13! I think that was the last year of grade XII, their pictures were set aside from the Grade 11 graduates in the same Yearbook...correct me if I'm wrong.

Some of those in Grade 12 were:
Anne Russell, Ron Jaieson, Dave Beauchamp, Bruce Poirier, Bob Morrison, Tom Burkhardst, Susan Nussey, Mike St.Louis, George Eldridge and Judy Layzell, again only a few.

Some of the grads from garde 11 that year were:
Darlene Hilton, David Holt, Andrew Hooper, Mike Horrocks, Joyce Horton, Ceryl Johnstone -who later married H.Gordon Green, Donna Jobber, Stephen Legassic, Doug Lilly -wasn't he in the Sundowners? Margie and Peter Maclean, Marcus Martin, Murray Millett, Bruce Maybury, Pat O'Brien, Wayne Oliver,Margaret Vella, Bob Waterson (who used to live down the steet but I believe may be now in USA), Francis and Marie Kavenaughe, Jane Kennedy, Dave Kiperchuk, Keith McDowell, the late Fred Sailer, Ken Schillgallies, Eddy Smeall (from West End), Dieter Stamm, Lorraine Scott again only a few.

Sitting in Bed

I am sitting in bed, cross-legged, covers over and 'lap top' on top.

Slept in this moring.

It's 10:02 A.M. Got up 40 minutes ago, made tea, fed the five cats, gave Sylvester-cat his needle. He's diabetic you see.

I put the raisen toast in the toaster, retrieved the Sunday paper from the door step, poured the tea, prepared the toast for us and came back to bed.

While Jane read the paper I wrote my dream in my journal.
Dreams are just so damned strange.
Do you write yours down? Most people don't. Some feel it's a waste of time while others claim they don't remember them. But they could -if they wanted to, they just have to know how.

But those of us who do write dreams, tend to collect them. And some are really quite intriguing.

One just never knows where one (and I do mean YOU) as a character are going to pop up in a given dream or even how the landscape is going to be.

I've had dreams where the ocean meets the shore, -down by the Maple shopping centre -... so much for Lorraine Robichaud's house, or the late Scott Brydon's, or Scott Roger's place on Massey Drive, somewhere beneath the waves.

I had one where, just off Craik street in the woods, a great earth mound swells up the height of Mercier Bridge in the middle of the night. At it's apex a ridge circling a crater appears, jagged edge glowing as people run in terror towards Saint Francis Street, as the ominous sound of a bass fog horn vibrates from within.

In my dreams, I also hear music, see colors, and have drawn out conversations with people.

This morning I awoke with a beautiful refrain stuck in my head. I've never heard the song before, but the notes are really quite haunting. I sang them to Jane. She had never heard the melody before, but she agreed, it did sound catchy. It had a hook. I should quickly record it into my recorder before I forget it.

In this morning's dream I was walking over to the highschool from the Shopping centre to make sure my son wouldn't miss having his picture taken by the picture man who comes every year. (Do you remember him? He was about 5'7", thin, wavy hair, had an elfin face and always got us laughing despite ourselves. Then he would snap the picture!)

I never did find my son at the school, so I went back to the shopping centre where I came upon brothers Mark and John Stafford.

All together, we proceeded down the mall towards the Super C (used to be Steinburgs back in the day), entering into a deli (where Deutshe Jewlery used to stand). It had all kinds of wonderful things imported fron all over the world (Hmmm! We could use one of those right about now!) Mark selecetd a plastic transparent bucket and handed it over the counter to the proprietor who then placed it under the spigot and began extruding soft chocolate icecream. "Wow" I thought, Mark must like his chocolate icecream!"

I went further into the store, to the back where I came upon a serving area for teas, coffee and smoked meat.

Behind that counter was the pretty Rene Robitaille from Seignory Park area, who used to live down the street from my parents, beside the Chappels place. (I thought, "That's strange! Isn't she actually a brain surgeon or Doctor of some sort down in the USA? What's she doing serving smoked meat in Chateauguay?) (Now those kind of things are hints from the subconscious directed to me, to let me know I am in fact dreaming, so keep mind memory rolling for what is to come...)

We decided to have a coffee. Trying to find a seat, I noticed at one table, Mr.Spratt and his daughters. That would be the father of Jane, Elaine and Sally. I greeted him and and chattted breifly, introducing him to Mark and John. (Now, just for the record, I never knew him outside my dream but what the heck! It was a dream! But I do remember him at the highschool teaching the finer points of table tennis. (I never participated but only passed by when he was there once.) He was a champion in England I believe. (Or so Bob Houston says.)

Ah! I am being called to breakfast again. Gotta go!