My idea of heaven is the life
that we create on earth.
Watsonville | Conservationist
In the Christian liturgy this week, Thursday is celebrated as Holy Thursday, the day of the Last Supper, when Christ (Archangel from Sirius, where Love originates) gathered His students (disciples) in an “upper room” (higher mental plane) and instituted the priesthood and Holy Eucharist, the new dispensation (Pisces Law of sacrifice, the heart of which is Love). No longer was humanity to sacrifice (offering) the blood of humans or animals on the temple altars. Instead, the “sacrifice” was the in the form of bread (Christ’s body—form/matter, Ray 3) and wine (blood, the Spirit, Ray 1).
Good Friday is the day of Christ’s Crucifixion, the 4th Initiation, the Great Renunciation, the “dying” into spirit or into our “essential nature.” Holy Saturday, the candles are extinguished in the church; there is no light, commemorating the death of Christ in the tomb of matter. While in the tomb, Christ entered the underworld and released the earth spirits from their involutionary (deeper into matter) path. Humanity was released also from 18 million years of isolation.
Sunday is Easter, which always follows the Aries Full moon. This festival of Resurrection recognizes the new spiritual year in humanity. It’s the Festival of Love; of new life coming forth in all kingdoms each year.
Plus Letters to Good Times...
Walking the FRSC Plank
Change the Focus
As the last week of March rolls in, it won’t hurt to take stock of our own personal progress thus far. How is 2010 treating you? How are you treating it? I am bringing this up because most of our issue this week focuses on the external home and gardens in your life. And, since I am a fan of waxing philosophical and diving into deep emotional waters—I can hear my mother chucking at how “California” I might sound—I think it’s also fitting to ask: Well, what are we doing with our inner sanctuaries? Any screws loose? What’s blooming inside? Are you re-arranging the furniture in the living room of your mind? (Usually a good thing.) Lately, I’ve realized that in order to maintain some delicious balance in my life, I have to be in nature more often. To that end, I’ve been re-discovering the mecca in which we all live—the beaches, the forests and more. And now that the days are longer, I’m also apt to take more walks in the evening. It is Spring, after all, and there’s plenty to see and enjoy. Try it. See what shows up for you.
For contributing to there being no more war.
Santa Cruz | Job Hunter
What is environmentalism? Does the word encourage learning about the natural world, or is it more about not building on that vacant lot near my own home?
This issue is playing out again in that undeveloped area between Santa Cruz and Live Oak known as the Arana Gulch greenbelt. It’s a fascinating battle, one that pits environmentalists versus environmentalists—cycling advocates versus those opposed to any development there at all.
Center stage in the drama is the Santa Cruz Tarplant, a native species that’s part of the sunflower family. The inoffensive and endangered plant is the focus of a debate as to whether a bike path connecting Brommer Street to Broadway ought to be built.
I’d like to invite every “housed” person in our community to join me in a “thought experiment.” It’s pretty simple. When you climb into bed tonight, pull the covers over you and look up at the ceiling, pause for a moment and imagine that you are homeless.
Imagine you’re about to go to sleep under a tree or a bridge somewhere … you’re on a piece of damp cardboard with a couple of dirty blankets. You haven’t had a shower in several days (you had one after waiting for a few hours at the homeless center last week). As you try to go to sleep, think about what you’re wearing: the same clothes you wore all day today…and yesterday and the day before. Imagine how safe you are feeling with no walls around you and no door to lock. Imagine that every material thing you have is in a single bag, which you are using as a pillow. Now imagine that it’s starting to rain…and you hear footsteps approaching.
As the Pisces waters dissolved things away, allowing entrance into Aries, sign of new beginnings, I write this column in search of those new beginnings. After 12 years (a Jupiter, Ray 2, cycle) the building housing our Astrological & Esoteric Institute, will no longer be available after April 1. The Institute, itself not closing, will be expanding and we will be looking for “all things new” as Aries promises—new buildings, new land, something great and large to build a community and college on. And so from 9 a.m. (no earlier) to 2 p.m. on Saturday, March 27, there will be an Esoteric Moving Sale at the Center, 523 Center and New Streets, and in the back parking lot. What’s available? Items that absorbed 12 years of esoteric and astrological thinking, training, studies, communication, learning, meditation, visualization, new and full moons festivals, invocations and prayer—desks, drawers, computer desk, table, chairs, large pillows, couch, small refrigerator, books, white board, shelf, vacuum, various kitchen and garden things as well as the trees and plants that protected and vitalized our Center for 48 seasons.
Plus Letters to Good Times
Passion for the Protest
Ad Raises Issues
When I was 11 or so, I invited a bunch of friends to my house. We gathered in the kitchen, where I set up my little stereo system—some speakers with long, long cords and a turntable. (Am I one of the few who misses those things?) Well, there we all sat to listen to my very first “radio show.” With a portable cassette tape recorder handy—I really am dating myself—I grabbed the microphone and away we went. I took in “caller requests” from the three friends at the table. David Cassidy’s “I Can Feel Your Heartbeat” was requested. No problem. Next up: Dickie Goodman’s “Mr. Jaws” (remember that one?), followed by “Rubberband Man” and a Barry Manilow commercial medley from his double-album extravaganza. In between, I chatted with my guests about things that really mattered—that Ovaltine was better than Tang. Ah ... good times.
I support the lifting of the dog ban on a conditional basis ... if there are dog disposal stations on each block with the plastic doggy-pooper-picker-up-er, that are clearly identified, and an ordinance that penalizes people who knowingly let their dogs poop and then walk away from it. In that case I would definitely vote to lift the ban.
Santa Cruz | Geologist
One of the great, unsung hassles of the nomadic life turns out to be not the actual migrations and moving, but magazine subscriptions. I need reading material almost as much as I need water. Without a good story—whether fiction or non-fiction—I begin to feel desiccated and parched. It’s just how I roll.
So driving from the Deep South to California two months ago, narrowly missing a twister in Louisiana and deeply missing the West by the time the sad oil rigs of Midland, Texas, were in the rearview mirror, I began to wish that I’d made my magazine subscription change of address a lot sooner, particularly the New Yorker. Despite the magazine’s impeccably intelligent staff of writers and editors, their subscription department (operated by Condé Nast) gets confused with all my moving. A change of address takes weeks, occasionally months, leaving me frustrated and ornery.