Author: Glenn Johnson

I remember you! Couldn’t you see I was in a deep meditation when you so selfishly interrupted my peace? So, apparently, these many years later, you’re still intrigued by what you saw. I’ll try to explain.

I was born in Atlanta, Georgia in 1956. This time. My great-grandmother passed away when I was about 5, or maybe 6. As the family was going through her personal belongings, evidently, I found the string of pearls on her dresser and enjoyed playing with them. I would put them around my neck, double them up and wear them as a bracelet, but most of all I would just rub them between my fingers. My Mom asked if she (we) could keep the string of pearls as a family memento. Being the eldest grandchild and seeing how much I liked the pearls, everyone agreed she should take them.

Going through the old family pictures, there was one that had carefully been placed in an ornate sterling silver frame. Of course, in the early 60’s, sterling silver did not have the value that it does now. But what struck most everyone there was how much I looked like the young lad in the picture. My grandmother insisted that Mom take that as well. Nobody knew who the little boy was in the picture but my Mom cherished it.

Also in Granny’s bedroom was an old cedar chest, filled to the very top with quilts and quilt tops. My great-grandmother had been a prolific sewer (that would be “one who sews”) as was common in those days, making clothes for all the children, as well as most of her dresses and my great-grandfather’s shirts. Left over fabric never went to waste, going into the scrap bag and eventually winding up in one of Granny’s quilts. After all of the children and grandchildren had taken their choice of quilts, there were still a couple left in the chest. I was told I could choose one and I picked the one that was still neatly folded up, made of fabric in mostly blue tones, but quite ragged and tattered around the edges.

Years went by, my education completed, and I eventually left home to start a life of my own. After I settled in to my first apartment, Mom gave me a couple of boxes to “get me started”. In the first of the boxes were some old pots and pans she didn’t use anymore along with a few dishes and eating utensils. There was even a fresh roll of toilet paper! The other, smaller box was sealed and was labelled simply “For Glenn”. Carefully cutting the tape with a box knife, I found the quilt, the silver framed picture, and the string of pearls.

My bedroom was furnished primarily with thrift store purchases though I had splurged on a new set of box springs and mattress. I set the picture and string of pearls on the left front corner of my dresser, a link back to family passed. As I took the quilt from the box, still folded as it was the day I picked it out from Granny’s cedar chest, and went to spread it across the foot of my bed, a small leather-bound book fell out. It was a diary. I found a name inside the front cover – Harriett Stone. I later learned that she was Granny’s great-grandmother, just as Granny was to me.

The diary had detailed descriptions of life around the family farm in Philadelphia, on land midway between the Schuylkill and Delaware Rivers. Later research found that the farm, along with those around it had been purchased in the 1860’s for the future home of City Hall. From old plat maps I was able to view during my visit to the Pennsylvania archives building, I was able to find the old Stone family farm, including the layout of the homestead. From the descriptions in the diary, I knew that Harriett’s dedicated space in the two-room house was in the front left corner. When I overlaid the current map on top of the old map, where you saw me sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk would have been right where she slept every night.

During the late 1990’s, I found I was getting more in touch with my intuition. Just sitting and holding one of the items from Granny’s house while meditating seemed to transport me back in time. I could see the farm. I could see Harriett playing in the grassy fields. I could see the weather scarred siding on the house. In 2005, I knew what I had to do. Standing on the very spot where Harriett had spent her childhood, I lit a bundle of sage to clear the air. That may have been what you thought was cigarette smoke. I sat down cross-legged and laid the items from my family passed in front of me. I closed my eyes, focused on my breathing while rubbing the pearls between my thumb and forefinger, and was instantly transported back to Philadelphia, mid – 1830’s.

There was the house but there was no activity outside. There were a couple of horse-drawn buggies parked outside. As I peered into the home, I could see a gathering of people over in the far corner, near the fireplace. Harriett was over in her corner, sitting in a small rocker, clutching a hand-made doll, tears streaming down her face. I heard her father tell someone in the group “I found him in the pond. He must have fallen in.”  As I looked to see what the small crowd was viewing, I saw him. The body of a young boy lying lifeless on the old feather mattress. The boy from the picture. The picture of me from a life lived before.

It was then I heard “Hello, are you Glenn?”, startling me from my meditative journey. Looking up I saw you – an angel, with hair of gold, and eyes of blue, Harriett had come to comfort me once again.

Shelley and I went last week to see Star Wars – The Last Jedi at the movie theatre. Though this installment has been out for a while, I can say that I’ve seen every episode on the big screen during each first run. During our discussion and critique on the way home after the show I have come to the following conclusion. It’s getting old.

Star Wars – A New Hope was released in 1977. With the release of the current episode, this war has been going on for 41 years. Though it started the year before my birth, I grew up with the Vietnam War as part of my daily dose of news from the moment I understood I was watching current events on the television all the way through high school. We often heard of new tactics being used, new weapons being introduced, and were constantly being bombarded with casualty statistics from both sides of the skirmish, as if saying as long as we kill more of them than they do of us, we’re winning, somehow.

But, as a general population, we grew tired of the war. We protested the idea of war. We protested our young being sent over to fight. We protested having the feeling we had no say in the matter. We protested that there had to be a better way to put an end to the insanity.

Those that were born after 1975 still know of the Vietnam War. They know of the lives lost. They know of the protests. They know what a dirty, nasty ordeal it was. They don’t remember it lasted 20 years. That’s over 3 times as long as World War II, 5 times longer than World War I. It is estimated over 2-1/2 million people died during the Vietnam War. Yet, the Star War has gone on for over twice as long as the Vietnam War and has cost an estimated 50 billion lives, yes, with a B – and we celebrate it.

This is the epitome of hypocrisy in Hollywood. They get on their soapbox and preach how bad our presence is in Afghanistan and Iraq. They strive to drive the social conversation about our country’s involvement in any conflict outside our nation’s border. Yet, they have no problem glorifying the very thing they claim they abhor for the sake of a buck.

Hollywood has the ability to create their own reality on the big screen that we easily allow ourselves to fall into, to become part of. If their ideas are as superior as they want us to believe, then SHOW us how to do it. Show us a better solution by ending the Star War. Haven’t we lost enough lives? Hasn’t it gone on long enough? If you have the solution for our own global problems, show us how to do it, you have a war that you can stop.

In the business world I was always taught not to complain about something unless I could offer an alternative solution to address the problem. Hollywood, I’m asking you to do the same. If you can’t offer a better solution and show it to us, just shut up.

It was late August. The air was thick and heavy with humidity. There was no wind, no noise, it was as if the world had come to a complete stop.

Elinor was where you could always find her, deep in the pasture out of sight of home or any neighbors. From the time she was a little girl she loved the outdoors. She would lay on orologi replica the ground in the winter and make snow angels, dance around naked and stomp in the puddles during the spring downpours, and now sit in the stifling heat, contemplating life. Being inside was akin to being in prison. Outside, her spirit could roam free.

On this day, as usually the case, Elinor was drawn to woods, down familiar path awaiting to transport her away the oppressive rays of late afternoon sun in cooling shade of relojes de imitacion the thicket. This, above all, had always been her private sanctuary, her portal to self. Once in the shadows, she could hear the buzz from the hordes of flying insects searching for any drop of moisture to quench their own thirst. Squirrels and rabbits and chipmunks were nestled under fallen trees, birds sat motionless in the canopy, as everyone was conserving energy, waiting for the relief of dusk.

Elinor continued her familiar journey, farther down the path, deeper into the woods, closer to her soul. She knew just a couple of hundred yards ahead was her own piece of heaven.

The sun was just dropping below the tree line as the first signs of dusk descended over her domain. She paused and sat for a moment on the stump of an old tree, a remnant of one of the logs used in the original homestead now being used for dry storage. The stump was covered in moss, scattered with tiny purple flowers which attracted the occasional butterfly. Sitting on the spongy moss reminded her of her own comfy, overstuffed chair, the one her daughter had grown to love and now, her granddaughter.

Just ahead, through the opening created by the path, was a small meadow – her meadow. Only 20 yards or so across, it was surrounded by trees, wildflowers were scattered about and bushes softened the transition from grass to the base of the trees.

Twilight. Elinor slowly entered the meadow, careful not to disturb the creatures that called it home. In the center of the meadow, she stopped. She slowly turned around in circle, surveying everything around her, the grasses, the wild flowers, the butterflies, the bushes, the trees. But this time she noticed something different. There was rolex replika shimmer, like the heat waves rising off parched earth. These weren’t heat waves, though vibrated in place, not rising to sky. She took a step and the shimmering stopped but as soon as she stood still again, the shimmering resumed.

Not being able to decipher the ‘noise’ was frustrating. It reminded her of the feeling that overwhelmed her when her young daughter pointed out a hidden 3-D poster. “Do you see the horse?” she would ask, tracing outline of zegarki repliki the horse with her finger. Elinor remembered staring so hard trying to see she was surprised she hadn’t burned a hole right through it. But just as she was about to give up, relaxing her eyes to turn away, POP, it seemed to just jump out at her. What had been invisible right in front of her was now so much in focus she couldn’t not see it.

In the middle of the meadow, Elinor calmed her mind. She focused on her breathing, slowing it down. She softened her gaze. The shimmering started to slow. The mesmerizing waves started to transform into shapes, first in the distance near the bushes then slowly across the meadow until she realized she was completely surrounded. Looking down she could see them; pixies, imps, sprites, fairies, hastily preparing for their nighttime activities. She knew in her heart they had always been there, she had been too wrapped up in her own world to notice. Now, with more appreciation for a life lived and abundantly joyful, she had become aware of source and these little creatures represented all the unseen help she had received along her journey of life. She thanked them for allowing her to see and those close by just giggled, knowing the truth. реплика часов

Many are familiar with my first two muses as I have seen them depicted many times before. They can easily be imagined as sitting on my shoulders, one on each side whispering into my ears. One dressed in white and carrying a harp, pleading for me to do all these good things. The other in red, carrying a pitchfork, spouting the merits of mindless tasks. You might recognize them as my guardian angel and the devil. I often refer to them as Frick and Frack, Yin and Yang, but most often as “Oh Yeah” and “Oh Shit”.

Oh Yeah is happiest when I’m in my creative zone. It matters not how I demonstrate my creative prowess, whether writing, designing, playing music, building, storytelling, or any other of my creative endeavors, Oh Yeah doesn’t care. Oh Yeah just wants me to be happy.

Oh Shit is more into the sit back and take it easy for a spell. Play that video game. Go out and throw the ball with the dog. Watch whatever sport is currently playing on ESPN. Oh Shit just wants me to be happy.

Being happy. Isn’t that truly the foundation of our existence, the basis of our journey, the goal to be achieved every day, in every way? What most don’t see, however, are the other muses that prod me each day. Oh Yeah and Oh Shit just seem to be the loudest and work extra hard to have their efforts recognized.

I have two other muses, as well. Though not noticeable at first, you have assuredly witnessed their results. Heavy Sigh flits around my head, wisps of gauzy material flowing behind, so light that he’s only discernable from the chill of the breeze on the back of my neck as he yearns to get my attention. Maybe you’ve noticed him, too. Let my mind start to wander to the ugly side and he becomes worse than a south Georgia gnat buzzing around inside my ear. He reminds me to relax. Heavy Sign just wants me to be happy.

Om acts as the gatekeeper. Om is always on guard for the flare-ups, the temper, the feelings of self-doubt, the despair of being less than worthy. Om watches my emotions and keeps track of their settings and works to steer them back on course when they start to veer too much off center. Om isn’t so much a being as an invisible force. Remember playing with a gyroscope as a child? You would spin it and let it stand on your finger. You would take your other hand and try to push it over but it resisted, pushing back. That was Om. Om works hard to keep me calm. Om just wants me to be happy.

When I am keeping all four of them content, I am doing my best. The funny thing is, even that is easy to do. First, I get calm – that makes Om happy. Then I act in a gentle manner which pleases Heavy Sigh. I can then be more creative which brings Oh Yeah much joy. Then I relax and recognize I’m having fun and Oh Shit just pumps his fist in the air and shouts “Let’s do this!”

I first noticed it when I was 5 years old. While playing out in the front yard, barefoot as usual, I felt a tingling sensation when I stepped on a certain part of the yard. Stopping to investigate, I found a quarter, a huge sum of money for someone my age in the early 1960’s. I took it in to show Mom and her response was:
“Where did you get that?”
“I found it in the front yard.”
“How did you find it?”
“I stepped on it.”
“Good job! Why don’t you go put it in your piggy bank?”
As I walked to my bedroom to deposit my new found wealth into my ceramic cream colored piggy bank, I wondered if I should have mentioned the coin was buried about as deep as the length of my fingers… I decided to leave well enough alone and didn’t say anything for quite some time.

With each passing year, I learned to pay more attention to the messages I was receiving from Mother Earth. Naturally, the messages were first received through the tingling sensations in my feet. I found I enjoyed walking through historic Civil War battlefields and loved researching where the locations of old watering tanks, hotels, and camps might have been located. I often dug up small artifacts, musket balls and buttons were my favorite, and I even unearthed a couple of old belt buckles. Friends and family all considered my ability to find these things as “Blind Luck”. I knew it was neither blind nor luck.

I always associated my ‘skill’ as some sense of metal detection as I had only been aware of the sensations in my feet and always finding metallic objects. That changed the summer between my junior and senior years of high school. I spent two weeks at my paternal grandparent’s farm in southern Georgia. Located in the lowlands along the Flint River, the area had once been the home of the Creek Indians. As children, my cousins, my siblings, and I had walked the furrows of the freshly plowed cotton fields searching for arrowheads and remnants of other flint-rock based tools.The fields were no longer active, now overgrown and the land compacted and baked hard in the harsh southern sun. Yet, I walked the fields. I didn’t expect to find anything since the Creeks were not a metal-working group. I walked, hoping for the tingling in my feet. They never came. The next day, I strolled the area closer to what is now the lake, the lowlands long flooded after the construction of the hydroelectric dam. I wasn’t searching for anything, just reconnecting with Mother Earth and imagining what life had been like just a couple of hundred years earlier. As I walked up to the edge of some obviously older trees I felt a shiver. The temperature was in the mid 90’s and the air was calm. I wish I could say it was too hot for the gnats, but, sadly, that was not the case. I took a few more steps and the shivers subsided. I turned and walked back to where I had come and the shivers returned. I stopped and closed my eyes to see what vision would appear before me. I could see and older woman, kneeling down, using her hand to work a mash of corn and beans in an old clay bowl. The crops grown on this same land my relatives had farmed, the bowl made from the mud, so readily available throughout the lowlands. The bowl was crude, shaped by hand not on a wheel. There were no decorations – this bowl was made for use. I knelt down and brushed the fallen leaves away from where I was feeling the chill emanate. I took a nearby stick and carefully hacked into the dirt then scooped it out with my hands. It took about a half an hour to free a crudely made pottery bowl, about 10″ in diameter, from the grasp of Mother Earth.

From this find, I developed a passion for history, not necessarily from an archaeological standpoint, more from the connection to Mother Earth. I wasn’t interested in the taking away, though I did keep the bowl I had found as inspiration for my future endeavors, I wanted to know what Mother Earth was showing us. After several years of clinical test, both in the laboratories and in the field, many in the scientific community had come to the same conclusion that I had reached many years before, the talent I had developed of the years was not “blind luck”. I was eventually summoned to join a Middle Eastern organization searching for a missing link of sorts. A commerce city once fed the needs of a thriving Alexandria but it’s location had never been identified. Archaeologists had found traces of trade routes that were most likely used but they had never been able to successfully map their entire length from Alexandria to this other, unknown origination. The program tested my abilities to the maximum. I covered hundreds of thousands of acres, first by small plane, 4-wheel drive where accessible, and camels where not. When I felt like we were getting close we set up camp. I asked for three continuous days of calm around camp and the immediate vicinity. There was to be no air traffic, no vehicle traffic, not motors of any kind. I wanted to allow our impact on Mother Earth a chance to start healing. Before sun up on the fourth day, I took a small group and we traveled by foot due east, toward the horizon of the rising sun. We continued until the sun was directly overhead, where the shadows disappeared beneath our very feet. I drove a stake in the parched ground then paced off 600 steps further east and drove another stake. From there, i turned and walked due north for 600 paces and drove a third stake. Turning, again, I walked back to the west 600 paces and drove the last stake, outlining roughly a square out in the middle of the desert. I told them “This is the approximate location of the out wall of the city. Excavate carefully.” Within 6 months, evidence of the walls and inner buildings of the imagined city started to materialize from under the sand.

The success of this mission inspired countless other requests for answers to historical issues once thought to be unsolvable.I refused most of the requests but relished the ones I accepted. We were able to locate lost mines, we found hidden water supplies for remote people, and were also able to conclusively solve several missing persons cases. Then I accepted the challenge that I knew deep down from the very beginning was a mistake, but one I felt inexplicably drawn. I was contacted by the Sate of Arizona to study the purported Energy Vortexes in and around the city of Sedona. Upon my arrival, I was awestruck by the beauty of the landscape. I was drawn to the wind blown, red rock formations. I enjoyed the cooling waters of Oak Creek, Fossil Creek, and Wet Beaver Creek. The trails were plentiful, the scenery was inspiring, the sky full of stars at night. I even ventured into town and ventured into the many galleries and energy shops. It was at one of these store that I purchased my first “Map of Energy Vortexes”.

I spent the next couple of weeks hiking the trails, stopping at each place on the map designated with a small squiggly tornado, the location of an Energy Vortex. As you might probably imagine, most of the supposed energy vortexes were, in my opinion, no different than the surrounding area in the messages Mother Earth was sharing. There were a couple that were actually close to what I would term concentrated vibrations, but the map makers probably noted these based on “blind luck”. One vortex marked, however, sent chills up and down my spine as I neared it. I felt nauseous as I got closer and that feeling stayed with me as I circled the area on foot. I couldn’t get within 30 feet of the location drawn on the map as Mother Earth was succeeding in keeping me away. I set up camp a couple of hundred yards away and waited for nightfall. The buzz of activity died down as stores closed, vacationers retreated to their resorts, the diurnal animals seeking comfort for the night as the nocturnal ones came out. I gathered dried sage from around the campsite and used that gift from Mother Earth to fill a shallow pit I formed in the ground. I lit the sage and using a piece of cardboard, fanned the smoke toward the center of the vortex, cleansing all around. I sat and closed my eyes, looking for a message from Mother Earth just as I had done on the edge of my Grandparent’s farm several years before. The message was not well formed but the message was clear. I asked for permission to enter the area of the vortex and Mother Earth refused. I could still get no closer than about 30 feet to the center of the vortex. I have known the wrath of a woman scorned and Mother Earth was not one with whom I wanted to tangle.

The next day I contacted the Arizona Bureau of Land Management to report that I was unable to fulfill my contract. I confirmed that most of the designated vortexes detailed on the local maps were, in fact, no different than the surrounding areas. I also stated that I felt there was no harm as I noted that I witnessed great ease in the general public as they neared these areas, truly a mind-over-matter experience as the walked with the maps in hand. I also confirmed the existence of energy vortexes in the area but I could not determine the origin of the concentration of energy. That was a lie. Mother Earth had made it abundantly clear what her boundaries were, places not to meddle, to just let her be. I still love the Sedona area and visit regularly. I enjoy hiking the trails through the red rock formations, cooling off in the slow moving creeks. There is one place on the map, though, I will never revisit. “Where is that?” you may ask. That is for you to determine for yourself.

I remember sitting in a seminar in 1998 when the facilitator asked the class to describe a 2 year-old. She started frantically writing on the board as we called out words such as:

• Inquisitive
• Honest
• Loving
• Resourceful
• Daring
• Trusting
• Open
• Energetic

You get the idea. Next she asked us to describe an adult. We were just as quick with the responses and the answers were like:

• Tired
• Stressed
• Fake
• Bored
• Apprehensive
• Going through the motions
• Distrustful
• Selfish

Again, you get the idea. The facilitator then asked us “Which list looks more ‘grown-up’? Which list looks happier? Which list do we want to be more like?” The concept being presented was that we are born with an innate sense of wonder, to give of ourselves to understand everything around us. But as we get older, we get hurt so we build up our defense mechanisms. We experience sadness and disappointment so we limit our exposure. We seek approval even to the point of pretending we’re something we’re not. It’s the normal thing to do. Adults act “normal” while a 2 year-old acts “natural”.

This was no more apparent to me than the interchange I had with a 3 year-old in the store yesterday. Actually, she was 3 and a HALF, that half a year being so meaningful at that age. She came into the store with her grandmother, a regular customer that I have become friends with over the 15 years or so I have worked there. This was the first time I had met Mackenzie. Though not the girl pictured with this post, she had long blond hair pulled to the sides in flowing pig-tails. She had the most beautiful green eyes and acknowledged that she was often told how pretty they were. She wore a pink leotard, not standard fare for shopping at a resale shop!

I happened to be near the front door when they entered, Mackenzie and her grandmother, Mimi. I was the first one she noticed when entering, looked at me and practically yelled “HI!” I had no choice but to give a hearty hello in return. When I asked her if she had just gone to dance class she informed me not only that she had just gone, described all of the new moves she had just learned, along with what I’m sure were the proper technical terms for them, she proceeded to demonstrate most of them for my enjoyment. I asked for a ‘high-5’ and she marched right over and slapped a solid high-5 on my palm.

Mackenzie and Mimi continued their shopping as I continued working in my space. Of course, working my space always seems to include multiple trips to the back for cleaning supplies, ladders, tools and the such, so I was mobile around the shop. It seemed every time I turned a corner there was a boisterous “HI!” coming from the cute little 3 (and a HALF) year-old. She would remark “I see you, again!” and just giggle, so happy to have found a new friend. It was a few minutes later when I saw them coming out of the restroom. Mackenzie looked at me and exclaimed “I went potty! I peed and I pooped!” The positive reinforcement she was receiving at home was surely working. They resumed their shopping and Mackenzie was always on the look-out, ready for an excited “HI!” every time she saw me.

As they made their way back toward the front of the store and close to the check-out counter, Mackenzie walked over to me and said “You look like Santa!” I assured her that I wasn’t but that I knew him. She told me about the vanity he brought to her last Christmas, blue and purple with Elsa and Anna on it. With Mimi standing close by, I knelt down and asked Mackenzie if I could have a hug. She skipped over to my arms and gave me the biggest hug I have ever received from a 3 year-old. I jokingly asked if she would just come home with me and she practically bubbled “Sure!” I laughed, and about that time another customer walked in the front door and set off the chime. Her startled look turned into a giggle and she asked “What was that?” I took her over to the door and showed her how the mechanical chime worked and she laughed even harder.

About 15 minutes later, my wife came over and said she was done with what she needed to do and we could leave. Turning around, I saw Mackenzie and asked for one more hug. She jumped into my arms so I could pick her up and we exchanged a wonderful hug. I looked at her and said “Mackenzie, I have to go home now.” She looked at my wife and said “I’m coming, too! Can Mimi come, too?” We all had a great laugh but my wife explained that Mackenzie’s parents would surely be sad if she didn’t come home. She agreed but asked if she could come over some other time. The ladies working behind the counter as well as the customers lined up to check out were all in smiles. One of them said “Watching that interaction just made my whole day!”

This girl was living life naturally. She was inquisitive. She was vocal. She was trusting. She was loving. She celebrated her victories and didn’t care who noticed. I want to be more like her.