Message from the Cosmos #2: 444

In the last two days, the number 444 has popped up twice.  Yesterday, I got change in the amount of 4:44. Today in the office when only us worker bees were left at the end of the day, my colleague joked that I had the authority to send everyone home. "Great. I'm calling it.  Time of death - -4:44."

What's the significance? Nothing. That doesn't stop me from nosing around.

First, our old friend the Bible

John 4:44 - For Jesus himself has testified that a prophet has no honor in his own country.

Ain't it the truth?

My pal Isaiah, 44:3 - I will pour out water on the thirsty land and streams on the dry ground. I will pour out my spirit on your offspring and my blessing on your descendants.  44:4 - And they will spring up among the grass like poplars by streams of water.

You can always count on Isaiah for beauty.

Genesis 44:4 - They had not gone far from the city when Joseph said to his steward, "Go after those men at once and when you catch up to them, say to the, "Why have you repaid good with evil."

Good question, Joe.

In history, the year 444 was the year of the Consulship of Theodosius and Aginatius, whatever the hell that was.

According to a several of woo-woo spiritual psychic type sites, 444 means that angels are around me, watching me, trying to get my attention.  OK, I'm listening.

4:44 is the name of a truly terrible movie starring William Dafoe about the last day on earth. I watched it, or at least most of it, and it was stunningly bad.

444 megahertz would be a sharp A note, and I tend to tune a little sharp.

Interstate 444 is a circle route around Tulsa. I've passed through Tulsa a couple of times, maybe I've driven on it. Louisiana Highway 444 runs from French Settlement through Verdun and ends at Killian. That sounds like a nice drive. There's a highway 444 in Montana, Maryland, New York...

The gene ID'd as 444 is called asparatate beta hydroxilase. It is thought to play an important role in calcium homeostasis. I have no idea what that means, but I take calcium for leg cramps.

There is a 444 caliber rifle that is a mean looking weapon.

In numerology, 444 is 4+4+4 = 12 and 1+2 = 3. So, in a totally illogical way, 444 = 3 which, as we all know, is a magic number; so says School House Rock and if you can't trust School House Rock, what can you trust?

Maybe 444 means that I'm 2/3 Devil because 2/3 or 666 is 444.

And then there is the 444 theory:

I haven't the foggiest what they are talking about, but that's enough silliness for one night. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket.

Messages from the Cosmos #1: Talitha Arise

The New Moon on July 26 2014 falls on the star in the front paw of the great bear Ursa Major. The star is called Talitha, which means “daughter of the assembly”. It is associated with a bible story where Jesus is called to revive a dying girl. Jesus says “Talitha arise”, 

"They came to the house of the ruler of the synagogue, and Jesus saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. And when he had entered, he said to them, 'Why are you making a commotion and weeping? The child is not dead but sleeping.' And they laughed at him. But he put them all outside and took the child’s father and mother and those who were with him and went in where the child was. Taking the child by the hand, He said to her, "Talitha kum!" (which translated means, "Little girl, I say to you, get up!"). And immediately the girl got up and began walking (for she was twelve years of age), and they were immediately overcome with amazement."

This star can bring healing and compassion along with Ursa Minor’s other protective, nurturing traits... However, this Moon could make us overly defensive and stubborn. If threatened, the influence of Cancer’s shell can harden into Saturn armor. This is when the famous Leo pride intensifies their resolve never to show their soft, vulnerable core. We could be setting intentions with this moon to toughen up, if we have been hurt by that raptor full moon two weeks ago... So even though this is a brand-new Moon cycle, it still feels a bit like we are tying loose ends from the previous moon. We are also reawakening a few issues from the earlier on in the year. At this time we will feel very much in limbo, about to arise as Talitha, but a little half baked!

What the Leo Moon is in direct conjunction with, is the god of all gods, Jupiter! Combine Zeus with the Lion King and you get someone who relishes power and is very happy to give orders. Of course they will be accused of being bossy, but at the same time they will look after you. Jupiter, lions and a big bear paw all suggest fierce protection. Seek the balance being protective without being stifling. Be willing to let go of the leading rein and even take off the harness. Combined with the “Talitha arise” thing and I get the impression of the Frankenstein monster. But no! Let’s hope the risen being or project looks rather more aesthetically pleasing. With this Moon I think it will be essential to debate into the small hours. The topic needs churning over from every angle before it can arise. This is a New Moon of very heated discussions and it’s important to hang in there and not rush out a new plan or product in haste. Otherwise it really could look like a patched up Frankenstein. It’s important to let those Franken scars heal good and proper, then get the timing right for when you need to let go of your “baby”, literally or figuratively. The house this New Moon falls in, will give you a clue in what area of life you need to carefully incubate something or someone

She Walked

Once again, for the fourth and presumably final time, she walked and I cried.  Three times I watched her take the graduate's walk: high school, college and law school.  This time she walked across a lawn on the arm of her devoted daddy. There wasn't a dry eye in the house.

Although this isn't the first time I've watched her take a ceremonial walk, there was something profoundly final about this one.  She has lived with young Paul for years, been on her own for even longer. I believe strongly that a married woman is her own person, autonomous and whole. Still, there was something different about this walk. She and Paul stood before the people they love and declared themselves a family, whole unto themselves. She is still my daughter, still part of my family, but her first allegiance is to her husband, to the circle they have created,to the family they will build.  It was sweet and a little melancholy.

Ah, but how can you be melancholy when there's a taco truck and a giant seahorse pinata? That's how us hippies do it in Southern Oregon.

My Musical Celtic Cross

The Situation

What covers it:

What crosses it

So, what's the outcome?


Decision time.

Salad Days

I once worked in a jazz club in Berkeley, a dark, dirty, hole-in-the-wall down on Shattuck Avenue.  My shift usually started at the end of happy hour. Happy hour; now there’s an oxymoron. The same sad drunks showed up every day at 4:00 o’clock on the dot, ordered a shot with a beer back and kept ordering until the stroke of 6:00 when they crawled back to whatever SRO hole they had crawled out of.  They didn't looked happy to me.

Start of the shift, I wash glasses, haul tubs of ice from the machine in the back. Cut lemons and limes into wedges, fish olives and maraschino cherries out of gallon jugs with a long handled spoon, and fill up the bar caddies. I almost never need to refill the cocktail onions because who drinks a goddamned Gibson anyway? Nasty. Fill up the straws, long and short, and twist stacks of bar napkins into spirals, an old cocktail waitress trick. It makes it easier to grab one napkin at a time, plus it just looks cool. Get my bank from the bartender, a nasty old queen. He ran a tight ship and never took shit from anybody except his worthless alcoholic boyfriend who cadged drinks off him all night long.  My final task is to light the candles in their red, round, knobby glass candle holders, the kind you see everywhere. Ceremonial, almost solemn, I carry the flickering flames around the room and reverently place one on each table.

I place a candle before a lonely old drunk as if giving a benediction; he just keeps nursing his drink. Place another before a whispering couple, their chairs pulled close, bodies touching. They look up and try to order, but I make them wait until I finish my ritual of placing a candle on each wobbly round table. Then and only then do I commence slinging drinks.

Some nights the place is packed, people overflowing out onto the sidewalk and gathered around the open door. Some nights it's deserted. A couple of drunks at the bar; a working girl and her client negotiating a transaction in the corner; five musicians on the nod playing a slow, sleepy cover of  All Blues.

The sea, the sky, the you and I

Sea and sky and you and I all blue

All shades, all hues, all blue

Last call and the band packs up. The guitar player asks if I want to go back to his place for a drink, but I laugh him off.  Always the damn guitar player. I wash the glasses, wipe the tables, blow out the candles and count my tips. Some nights, I don't even make enough to cover cab fare. The bus quits running at midnight and it's a long walk back to Oakland. Dark as a dungeon, fog rolling in off the Bay, I pull my Army Navy Surplus Store pea coat tight around me and stride the dark streets, trying to project an aura of toughness. My boots click on the wet sidewalks. I console myself down the long blocks with thoughts of Jack London, imagining him walking the same streets in the same fog wearing the same pea coat. Me and Jack, two broke-ass, desolate angels just trying to get home.

A band of old-timers played every Friday and always packed the place. Those old boys could play. The alto sax player, a garrulous, beret-wearing beatnik, chatted me me up every week. He occasionally grabbed my ass, but always in a friendly way. At his age, he was like a dog chasing a car; if he had caught me, he wouldn’t have known what to do with me. But, good lord, that man could blow. Him wailing, the crowd shouting, banging the bar, stomping the floor and me navigating the madness with a drink tray held high over my head.  People always bought him drinks and he never turned them down. After he had a few, he might drop a name, Coltrane, Cannonball Adderly. What did I know? It was all the same to me, more's the pity.  “Back in my salad days…” he would say. That always struck my ear.  Salad days?

And so I pondered as Jack and I walked through the fog darkness, Miles Davis echoing in my head. All shades, all hues, all blue. 

Solstice Visitor

Sequoia took these photos from our bedroom window on the morning of the summer solstice. This guy was not 20 feet from the house.  What an awe-inspiring, majestic animal. He has a wound in his left rear haunch, which is probably why he got so close; looking for easy pickings.  Sadly, I fear that one of the ranchers will take him out before long, but maybe not. Maybe he will heal up and find his way back into the high country.  May it be so, lord, may it be so.

He speaks to me.  Be fierce, he says. Be free.

Special Butterfly

And Moses said unto God, behold when I come unto the children of Israel and shall say unto them The God of your fathers hath sent me unto you; and they shall say to me, what is his name? What shall I say unto them? And God said unto Moses I AM THAT I AM.
I am that I am. Sentience. A newborn struggles into consciousness, screaming at the shock. It takes a few days before she becomes aware, and the first thing she is aware of is herself. I am here. I am.

Identify is built brick by brick. Out of a stew of environment and genetics comes character traits, belief systems, mannerisms, knowing and being. We don our masks, display our colors, feather our nests, make a million tiny choices all in an effort to shout unto the world, look at me! This is who I am, this is what I believe. Each of us standing atop our particular dunghill shouting I AM.

The last time I talked to Arly, she was stressing out over a custom place card or program or some such shit, one of the million tiny details that she is choosing and arranging for her wedding. She thought it would take her an hour to design on VistaPrint but it took most of an afternoon.  She told me, "I couldn't just choose one of their prepackaged templates, no, I have to be a special butterfly and make my own."  But, you are a special butterfly, says I.  Of course you have to make your own. There are no templates on this planet, and especially not at Vista Print, that can express my beautiful butterfly Arly Sue.  Seven billion people on the planet and there's no one else remotely like her.

Million of choices to communicate who I am, what I believe, what I value, what I feel. Millions of choices that aggregate into an identity. I am that I am, singular, unique. There has never been anyone like me; there will never be anyone like me again.  For this painfully brief moment in time, my candle flares. I shine my light into the darkness and challenge, dare, beg you to look.

Awareness is a gift, a burden, the human condition.  I am that I am, the singular personal pronoun, the special butterfly, the almighty I.