After the Cosmic Blast | Chicken Out
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Happy chicks make happy hens make phenomenal eggs
All this Ascension is exhausting. I spent most of the ‘energy window’ – all of July through three eclipses, meteor showers and most of August til 20th’s new moon of Ramadan – feeling like a pawn on the Chessboard of the Cosmos. After the much-acclaimed stargate of August 8th (blog below), until the moon reappeared in the western sky last night, I felt alternately like an empowered new being and a wet rag. Now, with the crescent moon once again returning to grace the heavens, the wet rag syndrome persists.
During the Window, that’s going on for a month and a half now, I found myself unusually alone, without disturbance of any kind except for the hens, one surviving cockerel (fox got the rest) a couple of late-hatching chicks; a multitude of swallows and other more resident avians and my cats. I don’t have to explain I live in the wilds of Scotland; it is not uncommon for people round here to have more bird and mammal company than human. The ancient (and infrastructurally-challenged) parish in which I live has more organic veggie gardens and freerange hens and ducks per capita than Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s neighbourhood at River Cottage. As a writer, this suits me rather well. In my time I’ve been described as a loner, ‘self-sufficient’ not always meant in a kindly way, and able to get on with the daily Zen tasks of chopping wood and carrying water.
But during the Window, there was an urge to do more.
I was daily attempting peaceful meditation, weeding, tending zucchini and tomato patches, and feeding birds; but appearances were bringing me messages from places so remotely unearthly, that it was a struggle to sleep. I was nightly communicating like a mad thing with other ‘light-beings’ on and off the web. By this I mean in dreams, but also on such miraculous dot-ning sites as Humanity Healing >http://humanityhealing.ning.com/< as well as other spiritual bloggers, because we admitted to being energized by something greater than ourselves.
We all saw at least one of the eclipses (didn’t we?): however I seem to have chosen strange moments to go outside at night to be greeted, for example, by the astonishing brightness of Venus close to the waning moon, the Perseid meteors, and quite an array of noctilucent clouds, passing satellites, even one brief glimpse of (was it?) aurora borealis in the darkening August night.
All my sleepless nights could be attributed to too much activity in the daytime and maybe (I’m loathe to admit) too much time tapping the keyboard of my beloved laptop. My father, (which art in heaven, bless his woolly socks) used to tell me I had an overactive brain. I have come, not uncharacteristically, to believe him, but also to thank him for passing on the genetic strain. It serves me well. I like using it, continue to lubricate it and enjoy watching where it will take me. But the upshot of this, the energy Window (Infinity Gate 8/8), is that post-new-moon I am now completely blah. Done. Wrung-out.
They say two things: esoterically, ‘Let Go and Let God’ …
… and journalistically, ‘Write About What You Know’.
So today, in surfing to see if, post-energetic-blast, the globe and its earthlings had learned anything from the cosmic trigger to our light-code, our DNA-enhancement; I came upon two movements of note.
The first is a New Zealand impetus to remove the world’s plastic rubbish from the North Pacific Gyre (Google it: trash vortex twice the size of Texas; it’s been going on for years, but only recently been getting attention in northern countries, many of whose trash ships dump there) where ocean animals are dying needlessly at our own thoughtless hand. The North Pacific Gyre coalesces and holds the world’s discarded plastic. Throwing ‘Away’ – this is where ‘Away’ is.
Second: Chicken Out. Bet you wondered when I’d get to it.
I love it: but I don’t have to proselytize: Jamie Oliver, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall and Bill Oddie are already doing a magnificent job getting the Brit public to wake up and care for some of the birds in our midst. Hence Chicken Out.
I tried to get one of their gang (another tv presenter who shall be nameless) to do the same with Tesco and other supermarkets’ shameful stance on (not) taking responsibility for their overuse of plastic… but that’s for another day, another blog.
I think I’ll just go outside now and see how Henrietta and Phoenix and Mrs Brown are getting on. They didn’t lay this morning. I think they were a little miffed that I wasn’t up betimes with their usual plate of leftovers and a handful of barley (thanks to my neighbour, Jimmy) to top up their flaccid crops and set them pecking again: vying with blackbirds and thrush for worms in the newly-turned earth.
The light-workers, soothsayers, astrologers say we’re not done yet. Saturn’s in Virgo at the moment. The Sun just entered that same zodiacal sign. In round about ten days from now the two bodies will astrologically appear conjunct. It is said something profound will happen then to the human race. Don’t ask. I’m only the wet rag, here. What do I know?