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diff --git a/posts/Scissors_or_Glue.mdwn b/posts/Scissors_or_Glue.mdwn
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+I think I figured a few things out just in filling out a therapist intake form just a little bit ago.  And these things are so pivotal and instrumental to my life.  I am kinda blown away.  
+
+The form asked 3 questions back to back.  
+
+Did your parents divorce?  When you were what age?
+(Yes, 18)
+
+Did your family suffer incredibly from an illness?  When you were what age?  (Yes, 17 - me being the ill person.)
+
+Did your family suffer a death?  When you were at what age?
+(yes, all my grandparents, but very importantly, Mom's Mom, 17)
+
+My old conclusion was that my family somehow was ripped apart partially because of my illness.  But my new walkaway is other major things were happening right then.  What if my illness was somehow the thing that binded us all?  
+
+Maybe I am the glue!

diff --git a/posts/New_Moon_Mohawk.mdwn b/posts/New_Moon_Mohawk.mdwn
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+Open up your computers, class.
+
+Be certain not to go first to any internet locations.
+
+No websites, facebook, or email.
+
+Do you know what you are here without them?
+
+--
+
+Backyard tangle of ropes webbed together,
+
+inside of them a garden.
+
+Mother’s gone mad.
+
+Go find her. Tell her she’s no spider!
+
+--
+
+Some other woman is cutting her own hair.
+
+New moon mohawk, a bit messy.
+
+Not for some guy this time.
+
+Then she goes for the second side, not for some woman.
+
+--
+
+Class, this is the tradition called contemplative writing.
+
+It’s something different for each of us.
+
+You don’t have to show these to anyone.
+
+Write down a secret.
+
+--
+
+What is that in between those onions and the fig tree?
+
+A deer? A fawn all by itself?
+
+How could it get inside there?
+
+Let’s help it out, quick but not to startle it.
+
+
+
+[[!img DSCF2829.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/Painting_Vs_Picture.mdwn b/posts/Painting_Vs_Picture.mdwn
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+The worst stages of my early mental illness were a dream I could not wake from, a painted reality that means so much about the actual world.  Painting the picture, experiencing the psychosis, can unveil truths that couldn't be exposed in the land of normal.  
+[[!img m.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+Last night, I dreamed I was tent camping on the beach on the ocean side of the dunes.  Someone was shaking my tent, so I woke up within the dream, thanking this person who made me realize the water was washing up to me and my tent enclosure.  I dreamed of dragging the tent up to the dunes while many of my tourist friends stood in ankle deep water on the beach, circled by "glow in the dark sharks" that thrilled and fascinated them, and never bit.  
+
+The glow sharks were magnificent, and the dream felt good.  Countdown to reality.
+
+
+

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diff --git a/posts/Anxiety-mare.mdwn b/posts/Anxiety-mare.mdwn
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+In the nightmare, the ocean has become a water park for confederate flag waving racists.  The other scares me, and there are others who shiver down these shoots on our way into the unknown.  I tell a small woman who cannot swim she can grab onto me for buoyancy, then I am afraid, as haters speed by with their flags and general loudness.  I do not know where we are headed, just that this small woman, I fear is really my niece.  I think that would be the one thing worse than this accidental vacation from hell, but then the spout is shooting us out, one after another or two at a time, into Goodness knows what, and I am thinking I hope we don't end up just repeating and repeating this same history.  There is some decision, like left or right.  What can we do?
+[[!img Dr2cxC-5_400x400.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+But anxiety is not unending.  Generally after waking from the nightmare, or taking a dump, parts of our gut realign, and I open my eyes realizing there is this little dog snuggled up to me.  At first I think it is to keep warm, but I know when I tell my Mom my terrible dream, she is right in suggesting Brazen was right there because I needed her.  The reality is not a nightmare at all.  That is just anxiety.  I am still making it to the beach this year, and in this world, the ocean is still peace.

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diff --git a/posts/What__39__s_for_Supper__44___Vegans__63__.mdwn b/posts/What__39__s_for_Supper__44___Vegans__63__.mdwn
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+
+[[!img zuke.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+[[!img sup.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+
+Before you make the wonderful vegan zuke desert, you must pick it, fresh or in a bunch at Farmers Market.  Remember where your zuke comes from.  Now grate the whole zuke, throw in about 1/4 cup honey, 3/4 cup white flour, a spoonful of orange concentrate, and dump in a heafty shake of cinnamon.  Stir it all up and bake on 375 about 20 minutes until edible.
+
+Now cook some brown rice in water.  
+
+At the same time satee some garlic and crushed pecans in with some green beans until tender.  
+
+Bon apetite!  
+

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diff --git a/posts/Vegan_Lunch_Day_6.mdwn b/posts/Vegan_Lunch_Day_6.mdwn
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+[[!img sauce.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+[[!img pasta.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+Today, for lunch, I am eating a simple vegan pasta and sauce that I made myself.  
+
+Ingredients:
+
+<br>whole grain pasta</br>
+<br>2 tomatoes</br>
+<br>6 crushed garlic cloves</br>
+<br>a small amount of cut green pepper</br>
+<br>a dab of honey</br>
+<br>celery salt</br>
+<br>Italian seasoning</br>
+
+I say vegan but I am very pro honey.  I also made a zucchini loaf (with more honey) and am drinking lots of water.

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diff --git a/posts/Photo_of_morning_dog_walk.mdwn b/posts/Photo_of_morning_dog_walk.mdwn
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+
+[[!img magtobyard.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/Vegan_Day_four.mdwn b/posts/Vegan_Day_four.mdwn
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+[[!img vegan.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+[[!img toms.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+[[!img blueberries.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/The_Elephant_in_the_Room.mdwn b/posts/The_Elephant_in_the_Room.mdwn
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+Black locust trees drop yellow leaflets all the spring, summer, and fall, except for the final loss to be bare in winter.  Three of our five trees, though seventy feet high, and each of them bigger than our house, were becoming suffocated entirely by two vines.  Virginia creeper and another, the shackles around them.  Today, the fourth of July, is all about national freedom, and I realize freedom is very tight knit with the definition of peace, freedom from civil disturbance.  So I was sitting on the front of my porch meditating just a bit ago, gazing up high at our great, tall locust trees, and soaking up beautiful peace, and I started noticing things I never have known about the trees that grew up beside me.  These plant siblings of mine, I have researched are as rooty and big under the Earth's surface as above.  I began counting leaflets, the small oval shaped parts that make up the leaf.  Each leaf can have as many as 17 or as few as one leaflets.  And I noticed there is a common order to which leaflets get old and fall first.  If there were five leaflets on a leaf, the middle finger of sorts is the one that will fall last.  When the last leaflet falls, the stem goes around and drops off too.  Yes, they can be a major effort to sweep or clean from the gutters, but they also feed the garden when they decompose, and in the gust of wind, or several, it is a miracle to lay back under those black locust trees and witness their dancing to the ground or many remaining ones in the tree that really do seem to bow their boughs and wave in the wind.
+
+[[!img el.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+So I am notably imperfect, but I am grateful because these trees keep me humble because of the peacefulness about them which is about what I was thinking wen I noticed the at least fifteen years of thick shackling vines that were threatening to kill our trees, and maybe crash into a few roofs while they were at it.  So what did I do?
+
+I went and got the saw and I cut the life out of those vines and I'm hoping I saved the trees.  I wrote this literally watching parts of the vines turn yellow.  And the most amazing thing is, I really think I heard the locusts thank me and say "about time" which I also felt inside my heart.  Recently I watched an educational video about plant intelligence, that said , like humans, plants have a sort of world wide web or a network of information they keep to tell them where to invest their energy and grow more.  This information is stored in their roots in sort of microfungi.  In a forest, the tallest tree of a species seems to have a sort of motherboard of information than the other smaller trees.  The mother tree, even downloads all of her information to the network when she senses she is going to die.  To be privy to that sort of information!
+
+Wait, we are!  We Americans have freedoms, freedom of the press, free speech, and information is a big part of that.  We have the right an privilege to information and the responsibility to look around us, see where an individual is in shackles of some kind, and emancipate them.  So this is 4th, remember the true meaning of patriotism, and look to the soothsayers, and join them, and if for some reason a group or person is not free, you do have a civic responsibility to cut the shackles.

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diff --git a/posts/Staying.mdwn b/posts/Staying.mdwn
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+[[!img bird1.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+<br>To live vicarious</br>
+<br>through the swifts</br>
+<br>with sudden lows</br>
+<br>and lovely lifts.</br>
+
+<br>To be, a time,</br>
+<br>a locust tree</br>
+<br>waving my leaflets</br>
+<br>like some sea.</br>
+
+<br>The porch my sand bar,</br>
+<br>sky its waves,</br>
+<br>quizzically see</br>
+<br>how life behaves.</br>
+
+<br>Some things are just</br> 
+<br>exactly same</br>
+<br>by mountains wild</br>
+<br>or oceans tame.</br>
+
+<br>Some vacations</br>
+<br>are better ought</br>
+<br>to be not gone on,</br>
+<br>not leave this spot.</br>
+
+[[!img bird2.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/Cutting_Off.mdwn b/posts/Cutting_Off.mdwn
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+<br>This is the last one</br>
+<br>the end this time</br>
+<br>said every poet</br>
+<br>about every rhyme.</br>

diff --git a/posts/Front_Porch_Ocean.mdwn b/posts/Front_Porch_Ocean.mdwn
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+<br>In the forest of time</br>
+<br>a house with a porch</br>
+<br>becomes many things</br>
+<br>never predicted,</br>
+<br>roadways and beach fronts</br>
+<br>the real rising tide.</br>

diff --git a/posts/Hospitals.mdwn b/posts/Hospitals.mdwn
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+I have been setting firm limits about how much I can do for our hospitalized friend.  I was there by bus 2 hours both today and yesterday.  That includes 2 hours per day of bus transit too, so 4 hours of energy per day.  It is hard work to care for others and I want to, but I really only am so good at it before needing to take better care of myself again.  
+
+This show I am watching, Life Sentence, that I recommend is about a cancer survivor who started thereafter volunteering in the same hospital. I am not completely certain that I recommend it because the main character is not entirely mentally monogamous and it bothers me in the context of the show, even though I think her decision is going to be not to.  But what that line of thought reminds me is I spent a whole long month in a hospital, and A they suck and B I would volunteer there more because I really do care but C hospitals just suck.
+
+Meanwhile, I got a job interview that I finally decided to turn down due to the fact that it is in another town.  Maybe I am finally learning how to STAY.
+

diff --git a/posts/The_Importance_of_Family.mdwn b/posts/The_Importance_of_Family.mdwn
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+A family friend of mine is in the hospital.  Right now, I am so aware of the importance of family and serious family friends willing to do the hard stuff like sit with the person who has to spend time in the hospital.  When I spent a month in the hospital, it was almost unbearable.  Wish I could simultaneously be there for my brother in California.  

diff --git a/posts/How_Precious_is_Time__63__.mdwn b/posts/How_Precious_is_Time__63__.mdwn
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+As the years go by, without working a job, drawing disability, no longer in school, I am more and more aware of time, free time, and really quite territorial of my free moments.  
+
+I am a creative person, a hopeful person, and not entirely unable, and sometimes I feel I could learn again to use my time in a different way, to work some vocation or other, a full or part time job.  One of the big reasons I am not doing that really is that I am hooked on time.  When I was called disabled, I fought the title tooth and nail, and wanted to get back to work.  
+
+It is hard to explain how I currently feel to most people.  Hooked on time seems odd, especially to people who really have never had any free time, and actually there are so many people like that.  
+
+I do religiously believe in taking care of myself, though.  So I'm holding tight to time.
+
+[[!img DSCF1521.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/Hearty_Quaker_Testimonies_-___34__SELFISH__34___mnemonic.mdwn b/posts/Hearty_Quaker_Testimonies_-___34__SELFISH__34___mnemonic.mdwn
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+I always have felt there is something silly about a mnemonic I hear a lot of Quakers refer to as "the Quaker testimonies."  Simplicity Peace Integrity Community Equality and Sustainability.  I like these words and I think generally it is good for people to pursue them in their way.  I have noticed that some Friends are quite focused on these words in a way that seems geared at making the world a better place.  I am glad for that and for these Friends.  But also, I am glad for Quakers who might just go to Meeting for silence or consider themselves Friends "outside the Meetinghouse" in smaller things. 
+
+So I would have written this for Friends Journal, but it is a bit too irreverent.  I think what I want to do is to make fun of the SPICES with my own SELFISH mnemonic.
+
+Selfcare.  I don't know about other Friends, but I am deeply committed to the Quaker testimony of self care.  I say that as a borderline joke.  But I also am deeply committed to selfcare.  I just am.
+Ephemoral.  All friends die and change every day.
+Laughing.  
+Feeding.  
+Introspecting.
+Silent.
+Hearts.
+
+This entry is not half hearted, but is more like half minded.  Unfinished thoughts.  Mostly a joke to begin with.  Interested if anyone posts a reply.    

diff --git a/posts/My_Charcoal_Series.mdwn b/posts/My_Charcoal_Series.mdwn
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+[[!img charcoal1.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+[[!img carcoal4.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+[[!img charcoal5.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+[[!img charcoal6.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/How_to_Set_a_Heart__63__.mdwn b/posts/How_to_Set_a_Heart__63__.mdwn
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+<br>"You can do anything you set your heart to."  Anna Hess</br>
+
+<br>A set heart strikes the hour, every hour.</br>
+<br>When noon, the wooden boy and girl come out</br>
+<br>in peasant clothes and dance around.</br>
+<br>When they'd dance,</br>
+<br>my grandma said to pause.</br>
+<br>The long chains with the pine cones at the bottom</br>
+<br>must be pulled down even to set the clock.</br>
+<br>As the hours pass they pull apart.</br>
+
+
+
+[[!img ANTIQUE-SWISS-DANCING-COUPLE-BALLERINA-MUSIC-BOX-01-1024x1024.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/One_Year_Ago_Me.mdwn b/posts/One_Year_Ago_Me.mdwn
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+My brother Joey wrote a program to generate a somewhat random picture for the background on Mom's computer that I am currently borrowing.  But it just isn't entirely random, and that is part of the fun.  For a while it seemed the program was repeating about ten selfies of me, so there are a few flaws in the design.  Still, it's pretty cool.  Often I look at Mom's computer and notice a picture of me from a file from a year ago, or just a snapshot of whatever from a year ago, or five years ago, but with the same month.  Here is the picture I found today. 
+
+[[!img maggiejune2017.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/Strengthening.mdwn b/posts/Strengthening.mdwn
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+This is my time to become a stronger person, regardless of what I am doing specifically!  

diff --git a/posts/Body_At_the_Juncture_of_Two_Idyllic_Openings.mdwn b/posts/Body_At_the_Juncture_of_Two_Idyllic_Openings.mdwn
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+When I was in the mental ward for bipolar disorder, age 17, yoga and making paper cranes were two of the things that I did to cope and get out of that hard to be place.  That was when I weighed 118 pounds, before the medically induced weight gain took over my body.  I had learned the beginnings of yoga from a book a friend of the family gave me.  So around age 8 or 10 I taught myself yoga when I didn’t think anyone else knew it or understood it.  It was speedy and mostly just to see if I could kink my body into the hard to form poses.  I wanted to prove how flexible I was, and that was the main thing I did it for.  So maybe it wasn’t really yoga until age 19 when I audited a class with Dolores at Virginia Intermont.  That was the introduction to the concepts of yoga, and the idea that concentrating on breathe is important.  I was in and out of mental wards 17-21 due to the onset of mental illness.  I am sorry that it is true, but the more balanced my moods got, I also got fatter and fatter, until I did not feel comfortable with what body I found myself in.  So by 21, the yoga aspect disappeared, and I quit yoga, and barely swam, which is one of my important things that I do for my whole health, mental and physical.  Thank God, the illness did not completely take away my body or my mobility and flexibility.  
+
+Around age 29 I took a required gym class, Intermediate and Advanced Swimming.  It was the course I chose among a nice list of possibilities from Yoga to Camping and Hiking.  I am fortunate for the privilege that my education offered me.  I had swum now and then between 21 and 29, but at 29 some things occurred to me.  Not everybody even knows how to swim, so I am gifted in a way in terms of the fact that my strokes are pretty well formed and my speed could almost meet the average of my female classmates.  My friends and classmates told me they were impressed and surprised by my swimming.  So at least that semester, I felt stronger and more active in my body.  I felt more able and vibrant in my abilities.  A couple semesters later, I took walking for fitness the same semester that my old faithful car broke down and I ended up trading the car in for money ultimately because it was a drain on my finances and I knew I could just walk.  At that point, I walked an hour in class three days a week, which was a lot for me, a 330 pound woman.  Plus now, I was walking to school and sometimes even home, which totaled up to 4 miles each way!  My feet were hurting some.  I felt I had done something stupid selling the car at first.  But by the end of the semester, which was my last semester of college, I did not regret it anymore.  I had done it!  I was 30, it was 2012.  I started college in 2000, then immediately got ill.  This was a true accomplishment academically, but also, my body was at a momentous place in life because I  was forcing myself to walk so much.  
+
+I moved home to Tennessee, and due to the fact I had a family car, I kind of stagnated a little in terms of walking so much.  In these 5 years, I have had a lot of time at the pool, thank goodness, and have resumed swimming as a healing important necessary aspect of my life.  I still walk, and terrifically I have overcome the back pain I had in college.  I attribute that back pain I had to “resistance.”  I also feel emotionally complete and utter joyfulness.  I don’t mean I don’t have passing emotions or that I don’t suffer grief, but my general temperament is just so happy.  A big part of that is I have let go of trying to be attached to anything.  I am aware my happiness is fleeting.  That is the wonderful paradox I know.
+
+Yoga in my present life has not been happening much.  I took a few classes with Heather, and I adore her patient approach that she offers students who need not to rush their yoga, who need to work on building strength and resistance.  That is where I feel I am at in my yoga.  Except for one stumbling block.  I can’t afford to pay for yoga.  People say yoga is pretty cheap in Bristol, and I agree the people involved try to make it very affordable.  Community yoga is only 5 dollars, classes are 10, and due to Heather’s great benevolence, meditation is always free.  Still, it is nearly impossible for me to raise 5 dollars a week or even per month to pay for that yoga.  I tried the ten dollar class, but due to my low income status from my disability I had to set a limit and not pay that anymore even though I so craved the yoga, and got so much out of the classes.  
+
+Now it happens that I am reading a wonderful book called Swimming with Elephants that deals with the fact that mentally ill people are healers the fact that it can be a very dangerous approach to ask people money for their healing.  Also, recently, I saw a documentary, The Last Shaman, that covered a similar subject.  How rare it is to find a shaman who is not trying to make money off of their gift.  And some of the shamans and healers and yoga instructors are just doing their best.  Many of them are.  They are doing everything in their power to spread their love of yoga while somehow making ends meet for themselves.  Plus some people are super glad to give their money for a yoga class, for some people, because they do have a little extra money, they are happy to share their wealth and think yoga classes are the absolute best thing they can give their money to.
+
+Also, right now, due to my joy, and my current state of being so well, it happens that I recognize in myself that I am “having an opening.”  My response to that is I have to change something.  It started where I thought I might get a job.  Then I firmly decreed not to just get some job.  Then I found a very idyllic Quaker role in Boston that made me turn around and apply to the Quaker job, despite my decree, or rather, due to the fact that this was not just “some job” but a wonderful job in the case that they want me.  I have yet to know whether they do or not.
+
+Meanwhile, I was sitting on the front porch reflecting and I pretty much had a clearness committee for myself.  I came to a very deep honest place and made a decision, recognizing that if I do not get the job, I will still be in a personal place of OPENING.  So if I don’t get the job, I want to have a plan to really do something to use my gifts and talents and strengths to make the world better in some way.  That is the goal for the opening.  Then I looked at my yoga mat which was sharing the porch there with me waiting for mobility and sun salutations.  My yoga mat has a personality and it was talking to me.  And it said, “why don’t you get up and do sun salutations by yourself, regardless of all of this money talk?  You apparently have all your needs met, so now would be a great time for you to practice your yoga.”
+
+And I want to and will and am excited to listen to the advice of my yoga mat.  But first I wanted to write this, because I think the answer for my OPENING has come to me.  I want to do the 2020 yoga teacher training at Bristol Yoga if I don’t get the idyllic Boston Quaker job.  I think I have a lot to offer as a yoga teacher, that many other people here don’t.  For two big examples, I am a large figured woman who could inspire others like me to strengthen, and I am low income and willing to teach for free.  Being willing to work for free, I think, is a sign of a truly interested person.
+
+So as I wait to hear back from Boston, I can’t help but to think, what if I took the opening part of my soul and life course and build around myself in Tennessee something as idyllic and helping others as that which I hope to do in Boston.  So I could go either way.  I don’t know if Boston wants me, and I don’t know if I can raise over 2,000 dollars by 2020 for the yoga teacher training.  But I know I am one of these people who commits myself to what I do, and I know I made it through college walking sometimes 12 miles in some days just to make the finish line.  And I am pretty sure I can do anything I set my mind to.  

diff --git a/posts/Have_You_Listened_to_the_Song_the_Catalpa_Tree_Sings__63__.mdwn b/posts/Have_You_Listened_to_the_Song_the_Catalpa_Tree_Sings__63__.mdwn
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+I AM MAGGIE SHAMAN GIRL
+HEAR ME NOW
+I AM HEALED TODAY
+IT HAS NOT ALWAYS BEEN THIS WAY
+...
+i want to shout to the world
+i am not sick anymore
+but pharmaceuticals
+still lock my door
+PART OF MY LIFE HAS BEEN REELING
+DOCTORS WHO DON'T REALLY UNDERSTAND HEALING
+WHO DON'T COMPREHEND HOW THE BRAIN EVEN WORKS
+AND JUST TRY TO PACIFY ME FROM BEING BERSERKS
+maybe i need ayahuasca
+or to drink lithium water
+what is wrong with me
+i asked the catalpa tree
+NOTHING IS WRONG MY GIRL
+SANG THE CATALPA BURL
+HUG YOURSELF AND KNOW YOUR START
+HEAR YOUR ROOTS AND LEAFY PARTS
+maybe my catalpa tree was right
+my path to peace was still going
+i wondered as i walked upon the path that night
+in tennessee where it was snowing
+TIME PASSED ON
+I FOUND SUCH PEACE
+AND HAPPINESS
+NO MORE TROUBLED BY MENTAL DISEASE
+or so i thought
+but i could not help
+but wonder
+if the stillness would also pass like thunder
+THINGS HAPPENED TO UPSET MY DAYS
+MY DOG GOT BIT
+ANOTHER PERSON WAS A JERK
+YET I RETAINED A PEACEFULNESS
+i can wonder what is the source of my inner calm
+is it these medicines i take
+either way
+it is not fake
+...
+WHEN I REALIZE
+ALL THE CRAZIES
+COULD BE SHAMANS
+THEN I FEEL A LITTLE LAZY
+slowly my family members ask for ears
+i listen hard
+to them talking
+about their lives
+FIRST MY MOTHER
+TELLING ME
+ABOUT HER TROUBLES
+THEN MY SISTER, AND MY OWN PAPA
+now i know
+that healing others
+can be ask simple
+as what i already offer
+
+[[!img Northern_Catalpa_speciosa.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/Watching___34__Walk_with_Me__34___about_Thich_Nhat_Hanh_in_Bristol__44___TN.mdwn b/posts/Watching___34__Walk_with_Me__34___about_Thich_Nhat_Hanh_in_Bristol__44___TN.mdwn
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+Just before going to the wonderful viewing of "Walk with Me" at Bristol Yoga (because of the wonderful Heather) I realized that my current totem animal is a firefly (or lightening bug which is the same thing.)
+
+I invited Mom and was so glad that she enjoyed the film so much, remarking "that is the most interesting thing that's ever happened in Bristol" and "isn't Heather lovely?!"  Yes!  Indeed!
+
+I was feeling deep emotions off and on through the movie.  They made me periodically well up with tears.  Not that they were always correlating to what happened on the screen, though sometimes.
+
+In an opening scene, the monks are walking through the woods, and before I see the monks contemplatively walking there, I notice the noises of the forest.  Birds are singing loudly and melodiously.  
+
+When the monks enter, their walking seems to bring this real peace to everything, lowering the noise of the forest by degrees.  Not in terms of scaring away wildlife, but stilling all of the bustle by magic.
+
+The film follows a year of the life of the people at Plum Village in France, where Thich Nhat Hanh has spent much time since his initial political exile from Vietnam in 1966 for peace raising.  
+
+Though there is narration by Benedict Cumberbatch, it is like a guided meditation in itself, in that you get lots of time to think your own ideas and draw your own conclusions, or just be silent.
+
+Even during the movie, I am thinking of myself as a firefly.  We all have a brightness of eyes that comes and goes, and I think my firefly spirit is connected with my feeling of hopefulness.
+
+I am having a great joyfulness, like Thich experienced, as he wrote in his journal in 1966, as Cumberbatch narrated.  My joy too comes with awareness that suffering and change are inevitable.
+
+We do not fight them.  There is this beautiful moment when a little girl asks Thich how to overcome the death of her best friend, her dog.  His answer, about the cloud, holds the greatest truth I have heard.
+
+I'll let you check it out for yourself though.  

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-Stronger
-
-You can leave yourself behind
-
-bleak in the hands of a stranger
-
-stuck without an exit
-
-in a bus stop, isolated, Maine.
-
-
-I know
-
-I have swum in the rip tide there
-
-where the sharks circle in pods
-
-along the shoreline, only way the land.
-
-
-But this is the whisper
-
-of a different man who helped me
-
-another stranger on the train I took
-
-who sat there with me about one hour.
-
-
-Then the stranger on the train
-
-got up and left me there
-
-just to sit a while with myself
-
-and remember I am strong.
-
-
-I can push myself through the sharks
-
-I'll disguise myself, a fin
-
-I'll kick the tide with all my might
-
-till I'm safe on the sand again.
-
-The whisper of that friend
-
-who helped me find my fight
-
-is what I hope that I can spread
-
-in the night, a firefly.
-
-
-[[!img fireflies-long-exposure-photography-2016-japan-19-copy-26112017082056-1000x0.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
-[[!img IMG_20180616_175600.jpg align="right" size="500x" alt=""]]

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+Stronger
+
+You can leave yourself behind
+
+bleak in the hands of a stranger
+
+stuck without an exit
+
+in a bus stop, isolated, Maine.
+
+
+I know
+
+I have swum in the rip tide there
+
+where the sharks circle in pods
+
+along the shoreline, only way the land.
+
+
+But this is the whisper
+
+of a different man who helped me
+
+another stranger on the train I took
+
+who sat there with me about one hour.
+
+
+Then the stranger on the train
+
+got up and left me there
+
+just to sit a while with myself
+
+and remember I am strong.
+
+
+I can push myself through the sharks
+
+I'll disguise myself, a fin
+
+I'll kick the tide with all my might
+
+till I'm safe on the sand again.
+
+The whisper of that friend
+
+who helped me find my fight
+
+is what I hope that I can spread
+
+in the night, a firefly.
+
+
+[[!img fireflies-long-exposure-photography-2016-japan-19-copy-26112017082056-1000x0.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+[[!img IMG_20180616_175600.jpg align="right" size="500x" alt=""]]

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+<br>You can leave yourself behind</br>
+<br>bleak in the hands of a stranger</br>
+<br>stuck without an exit</br>
+<br>in a bus stop, isolated, Maine.</br>
+
+<br>I know</br>
+<br>I have swum in the rip tide there</br>
+<br>where the sharks circle in pods</br>
+<br>along the shoreline, only way the land.</br>
+
+<br>But this is the whisper</br>
+<br>of a different man who helped me</br>
+<br>another stranger on the train I took</br>
+<br>who sat there with me about one hour.</br>
+
+<br>Then the stranger on the train</br>
+<br>got up and left me there</br>
+<br>just to sit a while with myself</br>
+<br>and remember I am strong.</br>
+
+<br>I can push myself through the sharks</br>
+<br>I'll disguise myself, a fin</br>
+<br>I'll kick the tide with all my might</br>
+<br>till I'm safe on the sand again.</br>
+
+<br>The whisper of that friend</br>
+<br>who helped me find my fight</br>
+<br>is what I hope that I can spread</br>
+<br>in the night, a firefly.</br>
+[[!img fireflies-long-exposure-photography-2016-japan-19-copy-26112017082056-1000x0.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+[[!img IMG_20180616_175600.jpg align="right" size="500x" alt=""]]

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-How to Respect Me: When Saying No is Kindness
-
-I am tired of writing half truths, squeezed by the political constraints of an overly conscious concern for the sensitivity of others.  I am not angry about this.  It is just the facts of life.  I have been afraid of stepping on toes, but in this book, my intention is to get to the bottom of things.  
-
-
-
-Brene Brown says saying setting boundaries is an act of compassion.  She is entirely right, but there is a side of the subject that I am not sure if she is considering.  When people say yes to everything, or are afraid to tell other people the honest truth, it is a symptom of disrespect.  It shows the people who are being pandered to that the ones who won’t say no do not trust them enough to be honest.  
-
-I know these things take effort.  I used to hear a lot that every time a certain relative of mine said no or told the truth to me it came back to haunt her, I got angry or acted really hurt.  
-
-But here is my side of the story.  I got diagnosed with a mental illness when I turned 17.  My family stayed there for me, but they said the me they had known so well left the seen for a long time.  When your family member is in the full blows of a psychotic episode, I will not blame you for any self help you are doing for yourself.  If that means hanging out with other family members away from the mentally ill person and telling insulting jokes, all the more power to you, if it helps you cope.  But when your loved one or family member has been level on their medications for a while, when they have been out of the hospital at least a year, and maybe are in school once again or holding a job or trying to be a creative writer, or even if they just watch a lot of TV, but they are not back peddling, when your loved one has been level for a while, you need to try to grow up a little yourself.  Part of that is telling the truth and another part of that is saying no.  Here are some examples of being truthful, which I am saying is kinder than white lies:
-
-
-I just talk to you because I am afraid you’ll kill yourself.
-The truth is I am just hanging out with you because of the obligation of our parents being old time friends.  No, I don’t want to invite you out there with my friends because you might ruin it for me.
-Just no.
-No, I don’t want to drive you there because I think it would not be fun for me.
-The truth is I need counseling myself now, and I attribute it to you.
-
-
-
-
-You know, writing those examples of what might be said actually reminds me words I either have heard at least once or in some cases, that I imagine might still be true.  For example, in the beginning, many of my loved ones either gave me attention or completely ignored me due to thinking I was suicidal.  As it turned out, I just had other severe mental symptoms.  I have always had a very strong life flame.  But almost everyone I know, except for most of the ones who have had their own mental breakdowns or suicide attempts said that to me.  
-
-People are so peculiar because it is so easy for us humans to shut down our caring parts or hike them all the way up (which leads to burn out) when suicide is mentioned.  So when folks heard I had spent my first week of college in the psych ward, they jumped to the suicide conclusion.  I totally agree that it is terrible to have a loved one go in to the psych ward, or like so many of my peers in there, attempt suicide, but I can’t rewind and hold your loving hand every time mid sentence or mid paragraph.  I am still trying to get my deepest truth out on this subject.  
-
-So then there is hanging out with someone out of obligation.  If you are doing it out of kindness and obligation and they are kind of mixed together, that is one thing, and that seems fine.  But when it just is obligation, it really starts to get cruel.  There are other people there and they keep asking, so how do you know Wilma and Hagar?  You’re like, well, no one else is being asked that.  Why ask me that?  And the other people are like everyone else is just kicking back and having a better time than you.  You’re like shit, why did I car pool here.  
-
-Actually that is the next issue in the list.  Don’t give people lifts places if you don’t really want to.  Now, that question is a great reason to go to therapy yourself.  For example, how do you know if you want to take someone nine hours away for a week on a family vacation where they could just chill or they could be a screaming jerk the whole time?  I mean you probably like them well enough, but they are kind of unpredictable.  Well, to answer that wonderful question I imagine you might be asking, say no if you have a lot of doubts.  
-
-From my perspective, I don’t have as much money as my family members and part of it is due to my disabling mental illness.  Part of it is I am settled and content to not work and to just live off of my pittance check.  It might be hard to tell someone no when you consider their circumstances.  But if you really want to you should.
-
-Then there is the thing about people blaming folks like me for their need to attend counseling, and that is totally a jerk response.  It also is not true.  When people grow up in the same family, all of us humans, we all can get mental illness, and most of us do.  You don’t see me blaming you for my needing counseling do you?
-
-It really sounds like I am pretty worked up, but I am just trying to be honest.  I think many of the people in this world have mental illness and we all need eachother’s help with it, and one thing I can give is truth.  
-
-[[!img deepend.jpg align="right" size="500x" alt=""]]

diff --git a/posts/Why_I_Hate_White_Lies_and_Find_them_Unkind.mdwn b/posts/Why_I_Hate_White_Lies_and_Find_them_Unkind.mdwn
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--- /dev/null
+++ b/posts/Why_I_Hate_White_Lies_and_Find_them_Unkind.mdwn
@@ -0,0 +1,37 @@
+How to Respect Me: When Saying No is Kindness
+
+I am tired of writing half truths, squeezed by the political constraints of an overly conscious concern for the sensitivity of others.  I am not angry about this.  It is just the facts of life.  I have been afraid of stepping on toes, but in this book, my intention is to get to the bottom of things.  
+
+
+
+Brene Brown says saying setting boundaries is an act of compassion.  She is entirely right, but there is a side of the subject that I am not sure if she is considering.  When people say yes to everything, or are afraid to tell other people the honest truth, it is a symptom of disrespect.  It shows the people who are being pandered to that the ones who won’t say no do not trust them enough to be honest.  
+
+I know these things take effort.  I used to hear a lot that every time a certain relative of mine said no or told the truth to me it came back to haunt her, I got angry or acted really hurt.  
+
+But here is my side of the story.  I got diagnosed with a mental illness when I turned 17.  My family stayed there for me, but they said the me they had known so well left the seen for a long time.  When your family member is in the full blows of a psychotic episode, I will not blame you for any self help you are doing for yourself.  If that means hanging out with other family members away from the mentally ill person and telling insulting jokes, all the more power to you, if it helps you cope.  But when your loved one or family member has been level on their medications for a while, when they have been out of the hospital at least a year, and maybe are in school once again or holding a job or trying to be a creative writer, or even if they just watch a lot of TV, but they are not back peddling, when your loved one has been level for a while, you need to try to grow up a little yourself.  Part of that is telling the truth and another part of that is saying no.  Here are some examples of being truthful, which I am saying is kinder than white lies:
+
+
+I just talk to you because I am afraid you’ll kill yourself.
+The truth is I am just hanging out with you because of the obligation of our parents being old time friends.  No, I don’t want to invite you out there with my friends because you might ruin it for me.
+Just no.
+No, I don’t want to drive you there because I think it would not be fun for me.
+The truth is I need counseling myself now, and I attribute it to you.
+
+
+
+
+You know, writing those examples of what might be said actually reminds me words I either have heard at least once or in some cases, that I imagine might still be true.  For example, in the beginning, many of my loved ones either gave me attention or completely ignored me due to thinking I was suicidal.  As it turned out, I just had other severe mental symptoms.  I have always had a very strong life flame.  But almost everyone I know, except for most of the ones who have had their own mental breakdowns or suicide attempts said that to me.  
+
+People are so peculiar because it is so easy for us humans to shut down our caring parts or hike them all the way up (which leads to burn out) when suicide is mentioned.  So when folks heard I had spent my first week of college in the psych ward, they jumped to the suicide conclusion.  I totally agree that it is terrible to have a loved one go in to the psych ward, or like so many of my peers in there, attempt suicide, but I can’t rewind and hold your loving hand every time mid sentence or mid paragraph.  I am still trying to get my deepest truth out on this subject.  
+
+So then there is hanging out with someone out of obligation.  If you are doing it out of kindness and obligation and they are kind of mixed together, that is one thing, and that seems fine.  But when it just is obligation, it really starts to get cruel.  There are other people there and they keep asking, so how do you know Wilma and Hagar?  You’re like, well, no one else is being asked that.  Why ask me that?  And the other people are like everyone else is just kicking back and having a better time than you.  You’re like shit, why did I car pool here.  
+
+Actually that is the next issue in the list.  Don’t give people lifts places if you don’t really want to.  Now, that question is a great reason to go to therapy yourself.  For example, how do you know if you want to take someone nine hours away for a week on a family vacation where they could just chill or they could be a screaming jerk the whole time?  I mean you probably like them well enough, but they are kind of unpredictable.  Well, to answer that wonderful question I imagine you might be asking, say no if you have a lot of doubts.  
+
+From my perspective, I don’t have as much money as my family members and part of it is due to my disabling mental illness.  Part of it is I am settled and content to not work and to just live off of my pittance check.  It might be hard to tell someone no when you consider their circumstances.  But if you really want to you should.
+
+Then there is the thing about people blaming folks like me for their need to attend counseling, and that is totally a jerk response.  It also is not true.  When people grow up in the same family, all of us humans, we all can get mental illness, and most of us do.  You don’t see me blaming you for my needing counseling do you?
+
+It really sounds like I am pretty worked up, but I am just trying to be honest.  I think many of the people in this world have mental illness and we all need eachother’s help with it, and one thing I can give is truth.  
+
+[[!img deepend.jpg align="right" size="500x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/How_to_Heal_Thyself_of_Killer_Back_Pain.mdwn b/posts/How_to_Heal_Thyself_of_Killer_Back_Pain.mdwn
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+I read a lot of self help books, and they are a jumble in my minds sometimes.  So I can't tell you with certainty which one it was that said to me that resistance is the main source of back pain.  Resistance, huh?  I heard it, and I immediately recognized a truth in the blaming resistance, but it seemed like somebody who just has it easy telling me I would be pain free if I just had it easy.  How am I supposed to alleviate the resistance?  I wondered.  And largely, I went ahead with my life, not changing the resistance directly or knowingly because I didn't know or understand what it was, where it was located, or how I could change it.
+
+[[!img butterfly_painting.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+Needless to say, back then, my back pain was pretty awful.  It was dull and I could still do things, but it just hurt so bad to climb a hill or go on a hike.  I felt miserable thinking that if I felt this bad at 33 I had only negative times ahead.  But there were a lot of positive things I was involving myself with over these couple years of healing.  And though correlation is hard to prove causation, and I was regularly swimming and walking dogs, I am certain the reason my back pain disappeared almost instantly, was due to the self help books I was reading.  (Kelly McGonigal, Brene Brown, Tara Brach, so on)
+
+[[!img Emersion.jpg align="right" size="450x" alt=""]]
+
+When I look at the disappearance of my back pain, I realize what really was going on was quite psychological, though not entirely.  The pain was real.  But why did I have pain?  I really think I had pain largely due to the fact I felt a lack of self worth and guilt around my declining mobility of my early adulthood, as opposed to my late adolescence.  So I found that I was not able to do much like I used to do, my capabilities had so dropped and I felt guilt because I was no longer doing as many useful things, like serious exercise for example.  But with the self help books, somehow, I realized the way out of guilt is miraculously to let in to the very thing that makes you guilty.  Hear that again.  If overeating is your thing that troubles you, over eat a little more, but drop the self hate around the eating.  If porn is your passion.  Surf that porn thing, but do it without shame.  So I started passionately being lazy.  My new "thing" became relaxing on the front porch and watching the world change.
+
+[[!img fall.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+And then the worry that I was insufficient, and the fear that I might be lazy, and the guilt that nothing I did was constructive faded in a flash.  Like a dramatic shift between night and day, my back stopped hurting.  And then, ironically, yes indeed, I stopped sitting so often.  And I got up a little more.  And I became a little more active.  And all the while, my back still felt so good.  

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diff --git a/posts/Grateful_to_live_in_this_historically_black_neighborhood.mdwn b/posts/Grateful_to_live_in_this_historically_black_neighborhood.mdwn
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-There is a lot of disinformation spreading through ignorant and bigoted news sources so that many general public people, not aware that they are wrong, don't know up from down.  When you grew up listening to Fox News or Nazi propaganda in your home, you are likely to think it is the truth, and you might not know what the truth actually is.  So after talking to one of these bigoted people at a diner this morning, and after being told things that just aren't true by a man who wants to believe he is level headed and right, I feel I should set some things straight.  The main thing he said was that Ferguson was a violent racist rally that black people conducted, and that therefore Obama was held at a double standard when he "didn't condemn" the Black Lives Matter protests then.  So now it's 2017 and I am thinking it really matters where people get there news, and this man in the diner was so far gone with racism he didn't even know existed.
-
-But I came into this blog today to write something of gratitude.  I am so so so grateful that because I live in a beautiful, full, diverse, quiet, historically black neighborhood, there absolutely never is anyone here on my street with any of that hate going on.  We are a street of many kinds, but none of us would put up with confederate flags or anything fascist.  So as part of self care, I wake with gratitude, and every day I have the great fortune that my street has so many kind wonderful people.  There are black and white people on this street and we all look out for each other.  If someone needs a cup of milk or sugar or eggs, they don't have to look very far, they just reach over their fence and call out to a neighbor, and we take care of each other.  Over the years, I have gotten to know almost everyone who lives on my street.  Some people are more introverted than others, and they can keep to themselves in our peaceful neighborhood.  Others are outside every day gardening and sitting on the front porch.  The people of this neighborhood have become my people.  We have something that other communities don't.  It is like stepping back into the 80's or 90's because of how we still relate to one another rather than just using facebook and phones.  So my home-street is rich, wealthy beyond any place or area where I have lived, because of this thing we have called community.  
-
-Maybe you have a street kind of like mine, or maybe you have to watch out a little more because of the escalating conflict in our world with 45 teaching hate.  Our street wasn't always this way.  The thing is, our street used to be a little more volatile.  In the early 80's when my family moved to this place in this town, there were a lot of drunks who would sling their bottles down in the back behind our houses where there now is a park.  We all wanted the drunks to clear out (even maybe some of the drunks wanted it).  But the person who was integral in the cleaning up of our street was a man called Jackson.  Jackson was one of the earliest people on this street I think.  He used to live away for a while, but he did move back to the street of his childhood here eventually.  My mother was a big part of shooing away the drunks with a broom!  But Jackson visioned what the neighborhood could be.  It happens that Jackson is African American, and the reason I mention it is to show one example of the fact that we all are human beings and that the color of our skin is just a shade, one or the other, or many.  
-
-Another important person to our street was Tommy.  Tommy also is African American, and he also was the first black police officer in our town.  He has looked out for the security of our street after hours, and made our street feel safe since before I remember.  Of course, Charlie is a big part of what makes our street what it is, and she happens to be German with African American family members.  
-
-Every person on this street, in some way, made this street a better place for us, even the drunks who reformed.
-
-May our responses to 45's terrorism be peaceful and respectful.  
-
-Amen.

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-I have been enjoying Alix Generous, an outspoken woman with Aspergers, and advocate for neurodiversity, science, and unique minds.  She has an incredible sense of humor and I split a gut laughing at her TED talk.  I went to her website and found other videos and have been taking them one by one, slowly.  As I watch, I am certain I too am on the Autism spectrum.  It is interesting because I know that many women especially are misdiagnosed with another mental illness, like bipolar, when they possibly just have Aspergers.  I think in my case I probably do have a dual diagnosis, because medications have worked for me, or at least they keep me from the worst of the suffering. 
-
-But I am still feeling the disabling nature of mental illness.  I live in a world where I push myself to be like others, and that often means I pursue something outside of myself, like trying to go to graduate school or wanting to do something that I can tell others I have done, like taking a surfing workshop in San Diego.  The thing is, I really am just barely getting along/by much of the time.  I am just holding my head above water.  These attempts "out" or at proving myself are really self defeating.  Looking into intentional communities in Missouri, planning to intern with my friend in her homestead in the Ozarks, no matter how noble the cause, my plans are too much.  I am best if I just "am disabled" and stay in Bristol.  The best thing I can do for me is to swim every day at the YMCA, do my chores religiously, be sure and walk the dogs each day, and relax on the front porch as a meditative ritual. 
-
-If I stretch my pennies, I almost can make it work out with the pennies that I stretch.  The disability check is not much, but all of these pursuits that I conventionally have been trying for to try to be more worthy are making me less happy.  I am the same person no matter what I do.  I could climb Kilimanjaro but I would still be me.  I could not climb anything and I would once again be the same person I was when I started.  Proving myself, living up to a standard I have in my mind of success based on able bodied people I know is not worth my time. 
-
-I can write.  I write.  I can meditate.  I mediate.  I can swim.  I swim.  I can do silly art that rare kind people adore.  I do art.  I also can do art that sits in a folder and collects dust.  I do. 
-
-This that I am telling you is what I need to tell myself.  You are the kind of person who draws that out of someone, so you should be proud.  I am going to write a version of this and post it all over my house, in front of my computer where I often "surf" plane tickets and get away plans. 
-
-I'll put one on my mirror too.  Here is the whole point.  We don't escape here.  If we dig our heals into what and who we are, into where we are, if we settle in and sometimes just settle, we stop fighting and peace wins.  If peace wins in us than we do become the joyful person we really wanted in the first place.

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-<br>When I lived in the rainforest</br>
-<br>I learned so many birds.</br>
-<br>I loved the call of the bell bird</br>
-<br>the grace of the Mott Mott.</br>
-<br>The diversity of hummingbirds</br>
-<br>and how the quetzal</br>
-<br>showed themselves to me</br>
-<br>of rare resplendence.</br>
-<br>I saw fields of parrots</br>
-<br>migrating above</br>
-<br>and was lured by how</br> 
-<br>they spoke together.</br>
-
-<br>But none of the birds</br>
-<br>were anything</br>
-<br>like the common grackle.</br>
-<br>Banded by scientists</br>
-<br>for study.</br>
-<br>I watched them</br>
-<br>poke their beaks</br>
-<br>at the itchy bands.</br>
-<br>Their wilderness interrupted.</br>
-
-<br>And maybe it was for true reasons.</br>
-<br>Maybe there was good intent.</br>
-<br>It did not drive them crazy.</br>
-
-<br>Yes, they carried this plastic.</br>
-<br>Nonperishable.</br>
-<br>In a flight no human will master.</br>

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-<br>I am experiencing</br>
-<br>the ebbs and flows of</br>
-<br>a thunder storm.</br>
-<br>A body</br>
-<br>of water</br>
-<br>dripping and plopping</br>
-<br>down.</br>
-
-<br>I am witnessing this storm</br>
-<br>with my</br> 
-<br>two ears.</br>
-<br>The rumbling thunder,</br>
-<br>the cars passing</br>
-<br>through puddles,</br>
-<br>the cheerful birds.</br>
-
-<br>It has been raining</br> 
-<br>in spurts.</br>
-<br>The last one wet the grass,</br>
-<br>made muddy</br>
-<br>patches in the side yard.</br>
-<br>I know.</br>  
-<br>I dived down the side yard</br>
-<br>on my way from there</br>
-<br>to here.</br>
-
-<br>And when I found myself alive</br>
-<br>though in pain</br>
-<br>and bloody</br>
-<br>I found myself laughing</br>
-<br>before I could think of anything</br>
-<br>as trivial as blood.</br>
-
-<br>Falling on my nose,</br>
-<br>doing a graceful,</br>
-<br>though quite accidental</br> 
-<br>swan dive</br> 
-<br>down the bank in the side yard</br>
-<br>reminded me</br> 
-<br>more than anything else</br>
-<br>of my age.</br>
-
-<br>Age really is something.</br>
-<br>I know because</br>
-<br>recently I asked my brother</br>
-<br>what happened to make</br> 
-<br>him so kind lately.</br>
-<br>Is there something new?</br>
-<br>Or newsworthy?</br>
-<br>He just said he is older.</br>
-
-<br>I know the feeling.</br>
-<br>I know how it was</br>
-<br>when I could catch a fall</br>
-<br>and turn it into a gymnastics stunt</br>
-<br>or thud on my butt with great intention.</br>
-
-<br>Rain is so fleeting.</br>
-<br>Everything passes with time.</br>
-<br>There is not a single thing that is permanent.</br>
-<br>So I don't go praying for dry land.</br>
-<br>I just re-pot my peppers and tomatoes</br>
-<br>and if I pray</br>
-<br>I let that planting motion be my prayer.</br>
-
-
-
-[[!img rainscarce.JPG align="right" size="300x" alt=""]]

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+Everyone seems to have an opinion lately on suicide.  As a friend pointed out, many of these people look away on a daily basis regarding mental illness.  Personally I think we all struggle these days, but it definitely is more extreme for some of us, like me.  But it is so layered and complicated, even that statement, because I am not just an ill person, I am someone who meditates regularly, complies with treatment protocol, and quite often am happy.  I am no one thing, happy or sat, sick or well.  I am all of these things.  And in that is the human condition.  It is all of us.  I happen to speak out regularly about my illness, but I firmly am convinced I will never kill myself.  I think the ones who are most vulnerable of that are the ones who never admit mental illness or reach for help.
+
+[[!img beachflowers.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+[[!img f0271467.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+

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diff --git a/posts/Beach_Hoping.mdwn b/posts/Beach_Hoping.mdwn
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 It was 2006 when I last went with my family to the beach.  Since then I spent a couple moments on Ocracoke on a solo trip in 2012, I think.  My family goes every year and it can be a really sore subject for all of us.  I hope I can get to the ocean this year.  My fingers are crossed.
+
+
+[[!img 2006.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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+It was 2006 when I last went with my family to the beach.  Since then I spent a couple moments on Ocracoke on a solo trip in 2012, I think.  My family goes every year and it can be a really sore subject for all of us.  I hope I can get to the ocean this year.  My fingers are crossed.

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diff --git a/posts/My_dog_is_a_gardener.mdwn b/posts/My_dog_is_a_gardener.mdwn
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+My dog is a gardener, a cleaner, industrious licker, a nuzzler, healer.
+My dog is a runner, a skipper, little hole burrower, nester, nestler.
+My dog is the size of a football, and easily punted.
+She comes when I call her, except when she doesn't want to.

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-Contents may embarrass the weak of stomach.
-
-Last night, between long dreams, I wonder if this pain in my rectum could be cancer.  It's interesting how when I have constipation, anxiety is high, just as diarrhea makes me exhausted.  These are just some subjects I might run by a therapist or my Mother.  But, I tell myself, I must not burden Mom with these matters, even if it is the worst possible thing.  I owe my sister Anna unobstructed "use" of my Mother since after all Anna lives far from Mom and I usually "get" her whenever I want.
-
-Interesting is the plight of dogs.  And too, their bowel movements.  Sometimes so in sync with their humans.
-
-The reason cancer came up, I think, is because two neighbors suffered that horrible type of cancer.  One survived.  One died.  But me, usually a person to fight for my life against all costs, lay in bed considering myself a goner, because I know I am not willing to undergo cancer treatment, due to what suffering it costs people.  It is a peculiar glitch in my general belief system.   So pro me living, usually.
-
-Meanwhile, little sympathetic Brazen quit eating her kibbles and only pooped a little on her morning walk.
-
-Skip ahead to the happy part.  I've talked to the doctor, my tireless sister, Dani, who compassionately answered my questions that I had lost drive to utter, and in the process convinced me that what I feel is just hemorrhoids, not easy but not going to cause my ultimate demise.  Skip most of tonight's dog walk, where Tobin went deeper into the woods of the cemetery, and I had to go to extreme measures to extract him.  Skip Brazen's not pooping (because she is refusing food since Mom is gone.)
-
-Snap off the last broccoli plant.  Early transparent apples are landing in the yard.  Pick them up in hands almost too small.  Now take outside the dog food on to the front porch where munching is done of human and dog food for Brazen.  
-
-Something occurs when there is someone present to make happy (little dog) that makes everything worth the fight again.
-

diff --git a/posts/Hemmorhoids_and_the_Human_Condition.mdwn b/posts/Hemmorhoids_and_the_Human_Condition.mdwn
new file mode 100644
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@@ -0,0 +1,16 @@
+Contents may embarrass the weak of stomach.
+
+Last night, between long dreams, I wonder if this pain in my rectum could be cancer.  It's interesting how when I have constipation, anxiety is high, just as diarrhea makes me exhausted.  These are just some subjects I might run by a therapist or my Mother.  But, I tell myself, I must not burden Mom with these matters, even if it is the worst possible thing.  I owe my sister Anna unobstructed "use" of my Mother since after all Anna lives far from Mom and I usually "get" her whenever I want.
+
+Interesting is the plight of dogs.  And too, their bowel movements.  Sometimes so in sync with their humans.
+
+The reason cancer came up, I think, is because two neighbors suffered that horrible type of cancer.  One survived.  One died.  But me, usually a person to fight for my life against all costs, lay in bed considering myself a goner, because I know I am not willing to undergo cancer treatment, due to what suffering it costs people.  It is a peculiar glitch in my general belief system.   So pro me living, usually.
+
+Meanwhile, little sympathetic Brazen quit eating her kibbles and only pooped a little on her morning walk.
+
+Skip ahead to the happy part.  I've talked to the doctor, my tireless sister, Dani, who compassionately answered my questions that I had lost drive to utter, and in the process convinced me that what I feel is just hemorrhoids, not easy but not going to cause my ultimate demise.  Skip most of tonight's dog walk, where Tobin went deeper into the woods of the cemetery, and I had to go to extreme measures to extract him.  Skip Brazen's not pooping (because she is refusing food since Mom is gone.)
+
+Snap off the last broccoli plant.  Early transparent apples are landing in the yard.  Pick them up in hands almost too small.  Now take outside the dog food on to the front porch where munching is done of human and dog food for Brazen.  
+
+Something occurs when there is someone present to make happy (little dog) that makes everything worth the fight again.
+

diff --git a/posts/Adrift:__Reviewing_Shailene_Woodley_the_Heroic_Actress.mdwn b/posts/Adrift:__Reviewing_Shailene_Woodley_the_Heroic_Actress.mdwn
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+First it takes an a woman on the front lines, an activist in the Dakota Access Pipeline defending sacred Indian land and water itself.  She comes into my mental view and I like what I see, a mixture of a courageous international traveler vagabond chick from college I know, myself, and every woman who has ever had to lift her voice up above what limits she knew she had to say something important, because somebody's life depends on it.  Shailene is an incredible person because she is a climate activist.  Maybe feminism is a word too old for her, and that's okay, because Shailene has something about her that is special and worth listening to.  It is why I went into that giant thunderstorm with her on a big scary boat (on the big screen) because I respect and admire this actress more than any I have ever seen.  I have a weird feeling I might meet her someday.  I guess that is one good motivation or incentive to be or become a climate activist ASAP.  I can't say much more because I don't want to possibly give anything away.  But in Adrift, Shailene's acting makes the story completely believable.  I hope all of my readers get to see it too.  

diff --git a/posts/Listening_Inward_for_Advise.mdwn b/posts/Listening_Inward_for_Advise.mdwn
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+Yesterday I wrote 10 friends asking them for insights on my current question.  "...I am realizing that starting and keeping a new job is a major life transition for me. I want to make sure I am equipped because starting a job just to quit it is a bummer to experience. It is really easy to talk myself out of working because I am super happy not working."  The rising need for discernment came from recently hearing I am probably hired for a great sounding job where I would mentor children part time in the city where I live.
+
+[[!img brokenpottery.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+At the end of my time in Berea I was given this beautiful pot (artist Jeff Inge) which I immediately dropped.  I took a photo to capture the beauty it still had, which I was desperate to commemorate.  At that time Roger made the amazing offer to me to glue the pieces together, a rare custom with some Japanese word to refer to it.  But I declined because that beauty in that photo meant so much to me, and in my eyes the pot was better somehow in this new form, a new art, not an attempt of catching what was inevitably impermanent.  
+
+[[!img roger.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+This morning I got a response from my grown nephew with this beautiful question:  "What does it mean, why is it important to find the power within to commit to an action?"  My sister, the mother of the nephew who said that, also said something that hit to the heart of the matter:  "Maybe having a job is overrated? What's wrong with being super happy?"  Once I had read both advices, I started to formulate my own decision.  I still am not done yet though because I need to factor in the realistic issue of money and financial needs that is a hard question to figure out.  Do I need to make my own economic safety net like everyone else or will it all continue just falling into place like magic?  
+
+[[!img maggieocracokepainting.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+I Don't Know!!  But I do know I AM BROKEN like this beautiful pot.  I am disabled in a way that my working escalates my nervous issues and deteriorates my mental health.  I am a work of art.  But I am NOT Kintsugi, this Japanese piece of brilliance, I am Maggie Hess, poet and muse instead.  What I need to do right now, I think, is to turn down yet another job, to invest more focused effort and COMMITMENT into my goal:  to create a children's book of Hojoki (see blog post 1 in January.)  My commitment doesn't have to start tomorrow on some job, no matter how good.  It can still be to follow my dream!
+
+
+
+<3
+<3
+<3
+<3
+
+Thank you for reading!  Comments viewed with adoration!
+
+[[!img 2__40__1__41__.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/Antarctica_Photography_Talk_Scheduled__33__.mdwn b/posts/Antarctica_Photography_Talk_Scheduled__33__.mdwn
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+I am over the moon because my life mentor, friend, and teacher Libby Falk Jones and her geeky, creative husband Roger Jones are visiting ME in October. A world traveler, Libby stored moments from their time in Antarctica on amazing photographs she took in a recent trip. She will be presenting them at the Bristol Library October 2. Time TBA.

diff --git a/posts/Know_Thyself.mdwn b/posts/Know_Thyself.mdwn
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+Mrs. Callison was my high school English teacher, and might have actually ended up planting the seed in me to get through college.  She was a short, outspoken lady, as old as my own mother, in the decade before her retirement.  She intimidated many of my peers, saying she carried a green bean can in her purse, to weigh it down for protection.  Then she'd "thwack" it onto the desk or table and the whole class would jump, laughing with her, but still shocked by her way of being larger than life.
+
+[[!img bean.jpeg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+I once found an old journal that seemed to say I didn't actually want to go away to college.  But it ended up being what I was determined to do.  In high school, my diary entry said "I wouldn't mind living at home my whole life with a row of children nursing on my teats like puppies."  The heart of my expression seemed about not wanting to go away and explore, and college was at the core of my thoughts that era.  It was assumed I would go.  It's funny how,  the turning point for our mental processes often can be something someone says to us that we take to heart.  
+
+[[!img pup.jpeg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+What Mrs. Callison said was a good reason to go to school away changed my whole opinion.  She said we grow up the person our community and family expect us to be.  Going to college, according to Mrs. C.  is a place to become who we really are and it's interesting because for so many that's the only way to know what that will be.  So I wondered, was I more than the daughter of Adrianne and Errol and the little sister of Anna, Joey, Jay, and Dani?  I knew I was independent and my own person, but it was the craving to know exactly who I was that kept me trying and trying, 12 years for a degree.  
+
+[[!img maggiegraduation2012.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/The_First_Step_Towards_Violence.mdwn b/posts/The_First_Step_Towards_Violence.mdwn
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+"When you identify a group as being insidious, as being less than normal, then this is the first stepping stone towards violence."  Omer Bartov quoted in Brown Alumni Magazine regarding the Holocaust and current events.

diff --git a/posts/__34__I__8217__d_like_to_turn_some_NPR_programs_into_a_car__34____Larry_Yates.mdwn b/posts/__34__I__8217__d_like_to_turn_some_NPR_programs_into_a_car__34____Larry_Yates.mdwn
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+<br>They veer left and right, the cast is insane,</br>
+<br>Wait Wait Don't Tell Me is rolling down the lane.</br> 
+<br>I'll cash in the program for a new window pane.</br>
+<br>And then it's true, I might complain, again and again,</br>
+<br>but I will be mobile and not stuck on this train.</br>
+<br>This man with his loud NPR, but should I complain?</br>
+<br>Of course I got stuck sitting next to this drain!</br>
+<br>And his ticket and mine are both headed to Spain,</br>
+<br>and we have ten more hours of this terrible pain.</br>
+
+<br>What's that, the man is getting up</br>
+<br>to change seats with a woman with a little black pup.</br>
+<br>She settles down when she is able.</br>
+<br>Oh no!  I hear her podcast of "Splendid Table."</br>
+
+<br>Conductor, conductor!</br>
+
+<br>Let me off here!</br>
+<br>I'd like to turn these NPR</br> 
+<br>programs in for a car!</br>

diff --git a/posts/Three_Hours_and_70_Cents_Later:__Riding_the_Bus_in_Bristol__44___Tennessee.mdwn b/posts/Three_Hours_and_70_Cents_Later:__Riding_the_Bus_in_Bristol__44___Tennessee.mdwn
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+When the brakes broke, Mom wondered if she would need to cancel her doctor's appointment 30 minutes across town, but I assured here she could take the bus.  I had told her about the bus possibility, and what she would need to do to go that way, but as the hour neared in our mental window, I decided to not make her go alone her first time riding the bus (in my memory at least.)  
+
+We decided to walk downtown to the bus stop, though we could have caught a ride in front of our home about the same starting time and still arrived on time.  As we meandered down State Street, we did our best at identifying the new trees that line the side walk.  Easier said than done for some, but we counted 3 ginkgoes to replace the three the city chopped down.  
+
+[[!img index.jpeg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+Some of our homeless friends seem missing.  We wonder where they are.  Have they magically found places to live?  Were they exiled elsewhere, inner city refugees?  
+
+At the station we got a more up to date map for our keeps.  So the Mall is now the Pinnacle and Cabella and Kmart is now another Walmart?  
+
+On the ride over to Mom's appointment near the hospital, Mom was cheery, commenting that the bus might be cheaper than driving for this particular route.  (The Virginia side is an exorbitant extra 30 cents, for seniors and disabled people for a similar trip.)
+
+Just before going homeward, Mom had a sad thing happen where removing a terribly sticky band aid gave her a bruise.  Also all we had eaten were awfully stale walnuts
+
+[[!img wallnuts-picture_csp3033061.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+I kind of want to just use the bus instead of car for most things.  But Mom did get tired.

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diff --git a/posts/Reasons_to_Take_Notes.mdwn b/posts/Reasons_to_Take_Notes.mdwn
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+It is my belief that to truly understand a person, they have to talk about their worst time.  It is complicated, for me to do that personally, because my saddest memories stretched out for years at a time.  It is hard because I admit my memories are a perspective of warped mirrors, psychotic thinking, and psychotropic medications.  For a long time, I stopped making written records coinciding with my worst time, and one of the journals I had, inside the psychiatric ward of a hospital in Washington, DC, was taken up by hospital staff upon my leaving.  
+
+Part of the substance of what I am digging into, in looking back at my worst time, is I am considering those bleak moments as worthwhile for something, like building my endurance for suffering and ultimately making me into a more resilient person.  When I look back at the worst time and hold it next to the present moment, I feel entirely better, moods leveled, psychosis gone, happiness present, confidence improved.  More-so,  I feel I now process things at an improved level from what I ever could have if the worst time had not become my life.  
+
+That time was such a transition for me, I changed so much, so suddenly.  Family members refer to the fact I became a different person over night.  I suffered through reacting to their mourning for who I had been, but deep in me, I also was suffering my mourning that same change.  Part of it was on the surface, I gained 90 pounds the first year, and kept putting on weight.  My body performed in ways I should not expose, that would make a weak stomach gag.  I was lethargic, and this was a huge change for me, after an active life that far.  My menstruation changed drastically from the ordinary flow of my younger years, to eventually being very light.  
+
+I experienced grief around these changes in my body.  My mind thought a lot about the physical weight gain, which in itself was a mental weight gain of sort.  Family members who I lived with discouraged me in choices they were making and I was often very bitter feeling towards them.  I didn’t think I would ever be the same, or happy again.  Interestingly, I never was the exact same again, but I have learned to be happy.  
+
+I guess what is happening here is I am sorry for the lost record of those bleak moments.  I know there are pictures across time, actual photos of different phases of smiles and attempts at looking normal while suffering.  I wish I had kept a diary my whole life.  
+
+[[!img warpedmirrors.jpg align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/Why_we_Dream_by_Mathew_Walker.mdwn b/posts/Why_we_Dream_by_Mathew_Walker.mdwn
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+I always have wondered about the science of dreaming. Psychology always seems for me to be hit and miss findings based on guess work. But if it gets the scientist to knowing what people are dreaming, that is pretty incredible.
+
+Why do people shortly dwell in psychosis at night, floating around in an imaginary world, and then wake up to forget large parts of what happened in our dreams? By placing people in brain scanning machines, scientists have examined people as they dream. Four key regions of the brain, the visiospacial section, motor cortex, hypocampus, and deep emotional centers of the brain, are 40% more active than during waking hours, while other parts are virtually entirely suppressed, such as the part that governs ordered, rational thought.
+
+Scientists became able to predict the nature of dreams, such as whether it was visual or predominately emotional. But then, 3 participants were placed in an REM scanner during the early stages of their sleep, and examined the results put next to participants reports of what they dreamed about. The scientists became able to predict the participants dreams based on learning how to interpret the MRI machine.
+
+Of course the most incredible part is the answer to the query where do dreams come from? 
+
+Is dreaming necessary therapy for life?

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-In the beginning, Wendy worked at Sweet’s Eats, a greasy Tennessee diner at the corner of Main and Pennsylvania.  Before she started managing the restaurant her Mom ran it, when the big ice cream cone stood above the other signs, attracting customers.  Before her Mom ran the diner, her grandmother ran the diner.  Wendy knew when she graduated high school that she could do anything with her life.  Her grades were better than average, and until she got hooked on pills, she probably could have done anything.  She thought she could be a writer then.  She thought or maybe an actress or a singer or a doctor.  Then one evening at the end of high school, her sister took her out to a club and a man drugged her drink which she had left unwatched for a minute.  
-
-That was years ago when that fateful night got her hooked in a shameful spiral of pills, ultimately leaving her homeless and living in a car that wasn’t really even hers.  It was the mental hospital where she started finding herself again.  First off, it was the first place where she was off addictive substances since the drugging.  Second, she started meeting people and seeing herself in others.   She needed her alone time, but Wendy was a people person through and through.  Her human environment made the mental water she was swimming in, and the hospital was an improvement over the streets.  There were some genuine, generous people on the streets, she would tell you, but the hospital was chock full of empathetic individuals.  
-
-So she got out of the hospital, heartbroken because she had hit rock bottom, but resilient, because she had survived.  She had a plan, which she had run by the case worker for approval.  Wendy was going to knock on her mother’s door and ask for a job at the cafe.  She never thought her Mom would retire that night and leave her the whole business.  Wendy was 27 years old.  She remember ten years ago, the end of high school, clearer than many of the years in between.  It was a time for her of bitter sweet regrets, but a buoyancy of spirit that lifted up her customers.  In the cafe, she spoke openly about her experiences on the street, and most of the customers came in because of that fact, and the hand scooped ice cream tradition she carried from her mother.  Wendy was blind to the fact that she herself was lifting up many in the community.  Little old Episcopalian couples would come in, who never would admit aloud that their child had a mental illness, and listen to her stories.  They’d slowly nibble their mint chip, savoring her words of hope and faith and resilience.  To her customers, Wendy brought the diner this almost edible flavor of courage.  She was just a chubby young lady, who dressed in scanty shorts and too much make up, with a tendency to talk with every person who walked in.  If they didn’t bare their soul to her, she talked about her experiences.  Hearing about her time in the hospital and living in the car might seem like a rugged conversation piece for a place where children also came, but the adults brought their kids their for good life lessons, and occasional extra gravy.  
-
-Once a month some local artists decided to put together an open mic night.  One night there were only about four customers, so Wendy got up and read her piece.  “So that is how I ended up in a psych ward.  I spent a whole entire month there suffering alone.”
-
-In walked a fancy dressed young man with a long mustache.  He set down a drum at the end of the stage, and caught Wendy’s gaze.  For a long time she continued, just looking at him.
-
-“Someone is still trapped on the other side of the hospital glass, unable to watch the swallows and bats sweep into old chimneys, unable to crunch leaves under her feet, someone else is experiencing suffering of mental illness like I did.   Bone chattering anxiety.  Someone can’t find their breath because anxiety has taken over.  Someone is making up stories that sound more true than reality.  Someone is feeling the physical pain of their inner suffering.  But it doesn’t have to be that way.  We could prop each other up.  We could be there for one another.”
-
-Coming off the stage, Wendy was greeted by the mustached young man.  “Peter Finn at your service.”
-
-“Finn.  That is a strange last name.  It rings a bell for me.  Oh, I know where I heard of it.  That is really funny that I didn’t know that from the start.  My own Massachusetts grandmother’s maiden name was Fynn, a variation of Finn.”
-
-“I guess that is a variation.  There is a lot going on here.”  Peter responded so softly, she dipped her head towards his and caught the flavor of his breath.
-
-“Yes, there is.  We could be long lost relatives.”
-
-“And your name is Wendy, there is something about that too.  Since elementary school I always have been a fan of Wendy.”
-
-“Oh, that’s right.  Your name is Peter.  Peter Pan,” said Wendy. 
-
-“Exactly,”  Peter said.
-  
-Wendy walked over to a table in front of the stage and for a second she wonders if this new friend was gone forever, but Peter followed her.  He sat beside her.”
-
-Wendy remembered something saying, “I have something at home I think you would like to see.  Let me bring it back here.”
-
-“OK” was all Peter responded.
-“My mother has this heirloom book about the names of ancient relatives.  It’s called the Finn, Fynn, Fin book.”
-
-Peter smiled, “How interesting!”
-
-Five minutes later, Wendy reentered the diner with a large book.  She returned to where Peter is writing calligraphy with ink on heavy paper.  He was like someone from another era.  
-
-“Here is the Finn Fynn Fin book.”
-
-“Wow this is very interesting since I am adopted.  Actually, I do want to look at this book very much, but I am unsure of where to go in it, since I am adopted.”  His little mustache reminded her of a fox.  It twitched as he spoke.
-
-“I didn’t know you were adopted,” Wendy said as more of a question than a statement.
-  
-Peter smiled saying, “well we just met, so that is ok.  
-
-She had fought her mother to borrow it, but Wendy responded, “Take the time you need.”  
-
-“Do you mind if I step out with the book and call my Dad to ask a couple family questions?”  Peter asked.
-
-Wendy knew her mother would murder her if the book got lost, but responded, “I don’t mind at all, just keep in mine it is my Mom’s heirloom book.”  
-“Where are your family members from anyway?”  Peter wanted to know.
-
-“Massachusetts, originally, “ said Wendy, wiping down the table. 
-
-“I remember my people were supposed to be some of the early Mayflower people.”  Peter still spoke in that low way that drew Wendy near.  
-
-“Odd.  Maybe we are cousins!  That is my family story too.”  Wendy responded in a more exuberant exultation.
-
-“Well I will be back with the book in a minute.  This is all pretty emotional to me.”  Peter did look deeply moved.
-
-About ten minutes later. Peter returned.  A band was up on the stage with two women playing from Massachusetts.  They are folk musicians and Wendy was clapping and seems to be really thrilled.
-
-Peter gestured to the Massachusetts band.  “This is kind of crazy”.
-
-“I know!”  Wendy had resumed waiting on tables though she kept talking to Peter.
-
-Peter raised his voice a little so Wendy could hear him over the band, “I spoke with my father and learned a little about my family members.”
-
-“Cool!  I am glad you got to do that,” Wendy picked up some dirty dishes and brought them to the sink.  
-
-Wendy looked up at the clock, “I think I should go home actually.  My shift is well over.”
-
-“Let me give you my phone number,” Peter suggested.  
-
-“I am horrible with phones.  I’ll give you my number,” Wendy responded with usual truthfulness.  
-
-“Expect a call!”  Peter exclaimed as Wendy exited the diner.   
-
-Three mornings later, Wendy was working with the other waitress, June.  “The message came to my phone when I had it off three days later.  It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to me.  It stroked my ego and made me feel so loved yet conflicted.  Something about it made me wonder if it was a lie.”
-
-“What did it say?”  Wondered June.
-
-“I still have it.  Listen,” said Wendy, pressing play on her answering machine.
-
-“Hey Wendy.  This is Peter from the other night.  I want you to know that I go to the open mic every week.  You should come to it too and let me sit close to you and I’ll call you cousin, and we’ll let the people think whatever they chose to think.”
-
-“Girl, is he sexy as he sounds?  What are you doing not calling him back?”  June asked.
-
-“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s real,” responded Wendy.  Then she deleted the message.
-
-A month passed.   Wendy worked every day at the diner, and barely realized when open mic night came around again, until there again was Peter walking through her doors.  The pair exchanged a look soon after he entered the door.  He came over and sat down next to her and started stringing an old acoustic guitar.
-
-Wendy couldn’t help smiling to see him, and she was blushing, “Am I going to get to hear you play this time?”
-
-Peter smiled and Wendy kept trying to engage him in conversation.  His response was even quieter than the first night or coy.  
-
-“I am sorry I never called you back.  To be honest I doubted if you would want to hear from me,”  Wendy said to a sad seeming Peter.
-
-“I actually am just nervous to ask you something,” Peter grinned back to her.
-
-Since hospitalization, Wendy had never felt such a deep connection.   In hospital, the connection was generalized towards all the people.  Everyone around her was suffering something.  Today, she witnessed this sad man with a foxy mustache suffering a scar she had unintentionally invoked herself.  
-
-This was the turning point of her life, though she did not know it.  Peter had returned to the diner to ask her to elope with him to Massachusetts.  He wanted to see it, the place their ancestors were both from.  There was a real romantic connection they clearly both felt, and a strangeness that they could be distant relatives.  
-
-It was right then, when Peter pulled out two bus tickets and asked her to go north, Wendy began having her first panic attack.  She sat down on the counter stool as dishes piled up and Peter began to worry for her.  
-
-But this was a woman who had learned more about herself than most people ever would know.  She called over June from the back room and introduced her to Peter.  
-
-“This is that sexy man I told you about,” Wendy found breath to say.  She was shaking and June started fanning her with a napkin.  
-
-“I’m fine,” promised Wendy.  “Do me a favor and go together to Massachusetts.”  
-
-Both June and Peter looked kind of hurt.  They didn’t like the plan, but somehow Wendy convinced them.  This was the defining moment in Wendy’s life because it was when she saw the purpose of her mother’s life, tending the dinner, and herself following in her footsteps, and she looked at her customers and realized she had quite a devoted following.  She had earned a stability and was not willing to risk it for a thrill or a fling.  
-
-As Wendy quite literally pushed June and Peter out the door, she felt a pride beyond anything she had ever experienced.  She had caught the symptom of her body and mind saying no.  No.  That is not going to work for me.  That is what the panic attack was.  And it ended quickly, because she was listening to her own needs, and not the script of someone else’s movie.

diff --git a/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Part_II:__How_Can_I_be_Sure__63__.mdwn b/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Part_II:__How_Can_I_be_Sure__63__.mdwn
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--- /dev/null
+++ b/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Part_II:__How_Can_I_be_Sure__63__.mdwn
@@ -0,0 +1,8 @@
+[[!img indianoyster.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+I do not recommend eating a wild mushroom unless you really know how to ID it.  Personally I am about the most amateur naturalist ever, but I am nearly 100% certain that I identified it right.
+
+First I found a similar kind of mushroom on pages 70 and 72 of Pelle Homberg and Hans Marklund's fieldguide, _The Pocket Guide to Wild Mushrooms_.  My mother actually was the one who found and identified the fungi, but we were not entirely certain, and wanted a professional to look them over.  I thought they were angel wings at first, because they were so strikingly white, as opposed to the gray shades of the oyster mushroom.  But angel wings have short stripes and are odorless.  These mushrooms smelled like fish immediately after having been harvested and possibly on the stump.  Another distinguishing feature is where they grow.  Angel wings grow on dead conifer wood but oyster mushrooms grow on elm trunks, which happened to be where we found it.  
+
+I was the one to notice the picture of the Indian oyster mushrooms are whiter than the oyster mushrooms, and now that I searched it on wikipedia, I am astonished to find the health benefits of this variety!  In studies on mice, pleurotus pulmonarius have anti-inflammatory and analgesic properties and they shrink the growth of cancer tumors, decrease diabetes progression, effectively treat hay fever, and inhibit colon cancer formation with their magic antioxidants!  
+
+So instead of gomming about 50 mushrooms, I am going to dehydrate them, and consume them in more measured bits, as medicine.  

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diff --git a/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Lunch_and_Still_Alive.mdwn b/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Lunch_and_Still_Alive.mdwn
index 1491c22..8e79fca 100644
--- a/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Lunch_and_Still_Alive.mdwn
+++ b/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Lunch_and_Still_Alive.mdwn
@@ -1,4 +1,6 @@
 I am visiting with family these next couple days, so Nature gave me gifts to share.
 
-[[!img DSCF1657.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
-[[!img DSCF1663.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+
+[[!img DSCF2557.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+[[!img DSCF2563.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Lunch_and_Still_Alive.mdwn b/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Lunch_and_Still_Alive.mdwn
index 5e04846..1491c22 100644
--- a/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Lunch_and_Still_Alive.mdwn
+++ b/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Lunch_and_Still_Alive.mdwn
@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
 I am visiting with family these next couple days, so Nature gave me gifts to share.
 
-[[!img DSCF1657.JPG align="right" size="" alt=""]]
-[[!img DSCF1663.JPG align="right" size="" alt=""]]
+[[!img DSCF1657.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+[[!img DSCF1663.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

diff --git a/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Lunch_and_Still_Alive.mdwn b/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Lunch_and_Still_Alive.mdwn
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e04846
--- /dev/null
+++ b/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Lunch_and_Still_Alive.mdwn
@@ -0,0 +1,4 @@
+I am visiting with family these next couple days, so Nature gave me gifts to share.
+
+[[!img DSCF1657.JPG align="right" size="" alt=""]]
+[[!img DSCF1663.JPG align="right" size="" alt=""]]

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--- a/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Lunch_and_Still_Alive.mdwn
+++ /dev/null
@@ -1,3 +0,0 @@
-I am visiting with family in these next few days, so nature blessed me with gifts to share.
-[[!img DSCF1557.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
-[[!img DSCF1563.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

diff --git a/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Lunch_and_Still_Alive.mdwn b/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Lunch_and_Still_Alive.mdwn
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--- /dev/null
+++ b/posts/Indian_Oyster_Mushroom_Lunch_and_Still_Alive.mdwn
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+I am visiting with family in these next few days, so nature blessed me with gifts to share.
+[[!img DSCF1557.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+[[!img DSCF1563.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/As_my_Audible_books_become_available.mdwn b/posts/As_my_Audible_books_become_available.mdwn
new file mode 100644
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--- /dev/null
+++ b/posts/As_my_Audible_books_become_available.mdwn
@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+...it sure would be good to have some reviews for my books!  No matter who you are, if you write me an email at maggiemargarethess@gmail.com with the subject line "HappyJoy!" or contact me any other way you know how, I will return you with a promotional code that can be used to listen to my book for free, while supplies last.  This is the link to my 3 books.  I would be thrilled if you could write me a review, no matter what you say.  I am intrigued at your words regarding my words, and I am interested to know what you think about the actors I chose to read the books.  My books are short, as in under 10 minutes.  So grab a cup of coffee or tea, sit back, and enjoy the read.  Then be sure to rate my work!

diff --git a/posts/Working_to_Work__44___Vocational_Fruitfulness__44___and_Disability_Guilt.mdwn b/posts/Working_to_Work__44___Vocational_Fruitfulness__44___and_Disability_Guilt.mdwn
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+++ b/posts/Working_to_Work__44___Vocational_Fruitfulness__44___and_Disability_Guilt.mdwn
@@ -0,0 +1,25 @@
+Growing into activism in my 20's I realized activism is every day, every step.  As a person who gets a disability check, I hear harsh reactions from myriad people.  I must be lazy because I am not working.  I got a degree, clearly I am capable of work, but cheating the system instead.  I could go on and on with these comments I have heard, but I have learned to turn the other cheek, focus on something else, and move on.  
+
+I spoke with someone who professionally works with developmentally disabled students, and he said ALL of the kids he works with misuse some or all of their disability checks, or rather their parents do or the guardian who manages it.  I manage my own money.  My disability is mental illness, a whole other can of worms.  
+
+The lawyer who helped me get disability told me I am very different from all of her other clients.  Her views on most things reflect mine, we both are Quakers, and I wondered why she was so cynical about how so many use their checks. 
+
+I am not a perfect person.  I have had a bankruptcy.  It took me 12 years to complete college, and my supportive family and friends had to endure that.  But I don't think it is healthy to presume misuse, when referring to disabled people and our benefits.  It is a tangled issue. 
+
+I have been using my disability to enjoy peace of mind and to feel the liberty of time, as something I am in charge of, that doesn't own me.  I have friends who work all the time and take care of piles of children (all the time) and barely have a second to care for themselves.  
+
+My disability is a mental illness called schizoaffective disorder type bipolar.  I withdraw when I get over stimulated, which can be from just meeting a new person or doing something new.  Or I get really high energy, and my thoughts go wild.   Sometimes I am aware of being socially different, other times, I let it go.  
+
+Lately, not working, just pursing my life as I do, I have felt more and more well, more and more able to work.  But it is the shifts towards new activities, such as working a new job, that throws me off course.
+
+Earlier in my illness I had to be hospitalized for treatment.  That was 14 years ago.  Now I take medicine and therapy, and am fine.  Medical examiners routinely check up on me to make certain I am not cheating the system.  They always say I am still disabled.  
+
+I do so many things with my life.  I feel I am letting my life speak, as Parker Palmer says.  I am proud of the works and writing and art and swimming and discussions I have had.  I work part time sometimes.  I am trying to quit aspiring to work on over-drive and instead enjoy life.
+
+Sometimes I, while keeping busy, just self care for months at a time, like a retired senior citizen would do.  There is not a big stigma on grandparents, but so many people seem critical of my kind.  
+
+I am one wholesome girl saying not everybody misuses disability income.  Also, if you are disabled, I challenge you to let yourself not listen to the critics you will hear.  Find happiness in the flow of life and be your own guide!
+
+
+
+[[!img eclipes.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/Feeling_at_Home_in_an_Old_Church.mdwn b/posts/Feeling_at_Home_in_an_Old_Church.mdwn
index 925a3a5..9f36bd7 100644
--- a/posts/Feeling_at_Home_in_an_Old_Church.mdwn
+++ b/posts/Feeling_at_Home_in_an_Old_Church.mdwn
@@ -10,3 +10,6 @@ I had went for a while to an African American church in town.  I had this great
 Before I had attended Quaker Meeting (religiously) at Berea Kentucky.  But it has been so long since I went there, and I want something in my town.  So Sing Emanuel! 
 
 It helps that my Mom makes me proud in church.  She is such a great person for leading new people from the back pews, (me included) in terms of when to sit and stand.  (It gets kind of complicated to know what page all of the service is on!)  Also Mom is great at keeping her tune in tune so I am glad for that because my voice...  varies.
+
+
+[[!img pentacostroses.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/Ephemoral_All.mdwn b/posts/Ephemoral_All.mdwn
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+++ b/posts/Ephemoral_All.mdwn
@@ -0,0 +1,33 @@
+<br>First a little boy skate boards down our street</br>
+<br>then an older brother kind walks down</br>
+<br>hollering to the small last boy to watch for a car.</br>
+<br>Is there a first?  Is there a next?</br>
+<br>Is everything just now?</br>
+
+<br>When examined closely</br>
+<br>I am certain of nothing,</br>
+<br>the closer I look,</br>
+<br>the deeper I dig,</br>
+<br>the less and less I know.</br>
+
+<br>I mourned for life before when I was in college</br>
+<br>after college I mourned for college.</br>
+<br>Now I mourn for the mourning after college.</br>
+<br>Or I look back contemplatively</br>
+<br>realizing I am happier now, just aware.</br>
+
+<br>I have no prescription to lift pain off.</br>
+<br>I must watch not to make offers</br>
+<br>since I am without possessions.</br>
+<br>I remember fearing I would be homeless;</br>
+<br>many times I worry about the evicted.</br>
+
+<br>Maybe.</br>
+<br>Maybe I am just a skater, with a rush</br> 
+<br>of world against my senses.</br>
+<br>Maybe I am just a boy,</br>
+<br>wind chaser, soarer, scabby knees.</br>
+
+
+
+[[!img DSCF2074.JPG align="right" size="500x" alt=""]]

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diff --git a/posts/Feeling_at_Home_in_an_Old_Church.mdwn b/posts/Feeling_at_Home_in_an_Old_Church.mdwn
new file mode 100644
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@@ -0,0 +1,12 @@
+Gazing through stained glass the sun meets my eyes.  Angelic voices float over the pews.
+Two women from the choir part from their seats, serenade us for communion.  I notice that just after the Great Thanksgiving, niceness just gleans from people.  People politely and patiently wait for others to get back to their seat before we file back in.  Something about today at Church lifts any form of existential resistance right away, evaporates any part of my ego that is not complying, and encourages such celebration.  
+
+I put roses in my hair today because I didn't have any red, and it has been a tradition in this church for 5 years for everyone to wear red on Pentacost.  I don't notice during the Sermon really.  I don't know during the picnic afterwards.  But when I am swimming my half mile in the following hours, I realize I have been carrying the resistance of summer humidity.  I have been at odds with going to the pool or doing what is good for myself, until this moment, when I was in church kneeling and praying and thanking goodness.  It started there.  
+
+So maybe I will become one of these "Come to our Episcopal Church Sunday" type people.  Maybe I will read the Bible some day!  LOL  May I if it means this hope and peace extends.
+
+I had went for a while to an African American church in town.  I had this great realization in that service of what God means to me.  I awakened to the fact that the great metaphors of the scripture are best when interpreted inwardly.  That was how I convinced myself to return for the parts of the service I liked best, despite of some feeling of this not being "my" church.  
+
+Before I had attended Quaker Meeting (religiously) at Berea Kentucky.  But it has been so long since I went there, and I want something in my town.  So Sing Emanuel! 
+
+It helps that my Mom makes me proud in church.  She is such a great person for leading new people from the back pews, (me included) in terms of when to sit and stand.  (It gets kind of complicated to know what page all of the service is on!)  Also Mom is great at keeping her tune in tune so I am glad for that because my voice...  varies.

diff --git a/posts/Dreaming_for_Better_Words.mdwn b/posts/Dreaming_for_Better_Words.mdwn
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f327a99
--- /dev/null
+++ b/posts/Dreaming_for_Better_Words.mdwn
@@ -0,0 +1,10 @@
+A dream can be an ambition or an image of the night and this fact frustrates me because I think each idea needs a separate word.  I know it sounds picky, but it bugs me that the same word, dream, is used to talk about the hopes people have and the night visioning processes that occur.  
+[[!img mt16.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+I guess part of my qualm comes with the fact that I want to talk about my dreams, but most people think, from reading that declaration, that my desire is to talk about aspirations.  What I really want to talk about is the illusion that occurs in the mind at night.  
+[[!img mt7.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+It is not really considered very normal to talk about night dreams.  Goal dreams are fair game, even rewarded conversation matter, but because dreams of the night are such open windows into our mind, many people would rather not bring their personal dreams up in social media or public conversation.  
+[[!img mt10.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+But I am fascinated with my night images and the night images of my friends.  People talk about Trump nightmares, but I think that they only feel liberty to talk about that because they feel a large group of people also are having these same subconscious thoughts.  I wish we didn't have to be so self conscious about these important insightful night dreams.

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diff --git a/posts/Tell_me_WHY_the_US_is_funding_20__37___of_Israel__39__s_Military_budget_while_Gaza_runs_out_of_Water__63____63__.mdwn b/posts/Tell_me_WHY_the_US_is_funding_20__37___of_Israel__39__s_Military_budget_while_Gaza_runs_out_of_Water__63____63__.mdwn
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6823eb1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/posts/Tell_me_WHY_the_US_is_funding_20__37___of_Israel__39__s_Military_budget_while_Gaza_runs_out_of_Water__63____63__.mdwn
@@ -0,0 +1,15 @@
+My title asks why the US is funding 20% of Israel's military budget, but the truth is, I have the answer.  
+
+The US is outsourcing military might to Israel, so the Israel killing machine can refine their tools of death, and send what they have learned back to the United States (so the States can take over the world.)
+
+What Trump has been doing lately in Gaza, the escalation of violence, is part of a master scheme by Trump, not only to destroy justice and peace in Gaza, it is a sharpening of weapons for his intent to destroy much of the rest of the world.
+
+The Israeli/Palestinian Conflict seems to be a never ending dispute over a shrinking Gaza strip.  The Palestinians in Gaza strip are locked there, much like a concentration camp.  While doing their laundry, Palestinian people get struck by missiles and tank shards by Israelis, often women and children.  
+
+
+This is my simplified expression of a complicated issue of international conflict, but I think our mutual education is important and the media blackout on Gaza means that ordinary people need to be the ones discussing these issues of Peace and War.
+
+#Speakupforgaza #Gaza
+
+[[!img 2000px-Gaza_Strip_map2.svg.png align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+

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diff --git a/posts/Nursed_Along_Pine_Sapling_and_Other_Dreams.mdwn b/posts/Nursed_Along_Pine_Sapling_and_Other_Dreams.mdwn
index f82aaba..1b4ee83 100644
--- a/posts/Nursed_Along_Pine_Sapling_and_Other_Dreams.mdwn
+++ b/posts/Nursed_Along_Pine_Sapling_and_Other_Dreams.mdwn
@@ -11,7 +11,10 @@ Man gliding on a bike, ringing a bell at me.
 lyric poetry needing a place in yard.
 
 
-[[!img DSCF2452.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
 
 
 [[!img DSCF2457.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]
+
+
+[[!img DSCF2472.JPG align="right" size="400x" alt=""]]

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 <br>Dreams have vines of plot and character</br>
 <br>tangling up through their petals,</br>
 lyric poetry needing a place in yard.
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