The Snows Of Disbelief The Fiction Of Our Times

A friend was once texting while behind the wheel of his girlfriend's car. He pulled up to an intersection, glanced quickly up from his phone, looked back down to finish his text, and pulled forward. His distracted brain had failed to notice another driver at the intersection who had the right of way, and the two pulled away from their stop signs at the same time. The result? A ticket, a wrecked car, and a very upset girlfriend!

In the 2004 movie "What the Bleep Do We Know!?," they show a scene where an Indian Shaman and his tribe were not able to see the three ships of Christopher Columbus for a couple of days as it was outside the realm of their experience. With great effort, the shaman was finally able to see the ships. Trusting him, his tribe eventually was able to see them as well.




It took several minutes for the emotion of the moment to pass. I just sat there. Then I looked back at the TV. Dorothy was in the field of flowers with her companions. She was under the spell and had fallen asleep. It began snowing That is how she awoke. It was snowing. It was snowing. Eight hours of snowing, sleeping, awaking, getting back on course, remembering one's purpose. Snow. I was awake.

While the girls got ready for breakfast I found Ron and his friend, whose nickname is actually "Angel", who had now joined him, in the Saloon. I'd been hoping to locate him once more--I'd brought down a gift from my bag for him for his home. I had a rainbow sun catcher and a set of Mirror Talk affirmation clings with me. I'd packed them uncertain as to why or to whom I would give them. The wording on the sun catcher said, I've traveled to the rainbow's end and have found not gold, but you, my friend. Now I knew who they belonged to. so tay bia da cao cap was so delighted with my gifts.

My wit couldn't resist, "All it took was a smack upside the head with a 2x4." We nearly died laughing. His was a good, robust, from the gut laughter, which I was grateful for--sometimes I open my mouth and insert my foot. We hugged and said good-bye for the second time, but not the last.

I sat and waited. It was all I could do. The snow slowly covered the car and I sat with Ernest Hemingway's bed on the side of a road. That weekend the worst blizzard in twenty years hit the Midwest. Fifteen people died and there was a hundred traffic pile up on the expressway. Indiana was declared a disaster area and Chicago nearly had to shut down. It took me two days to get home.

I was fascinated and excited. I called my dear friend in California. He asked the spirit several questions as well. This process of writing is called automatic writing. I spent many evenings channeling in that way.