Adulthood

Category:  Soul-of-Thought Revival
Journal:  Cup of Kavi
Date:  11-30-2012

She realized, then, that every adult ever was always just a child playing their own idea of what the role of an adult must be.  Coupling and playing ‘house’, fighting when your authority is tested, making money, making love, making babies, making conversation…setting the scene for a three act play called ‘Adulthood’.

In the first act, we walk in blindly…our character making assumptions based on what they’ve seen in their formative years.  Conflict arises.  Character is tested.  Choices are made according to the plot of our story intermingling with other people’s plots and motives…and the story shifts into new territory.  Reality sets in.  Priorities take the place of exploration.  Our super-objectives become clearer to the audience…and, if we’re self-aware enough, to ourselves.

In the second act, the stage transforms from proscenium to thrust and our stories become more intimate and recognizable.  True love may enter the picture, or working class hardship, or a health crisis…something we’ve all seen before from the balcony seat but never truly experienced until then.  We become aware that there is something greater than us running the fly rail, manning the curtains, and giving the cues.  We wonder why this is our story, and if it was truly our own choices that made it a comedy or a drama.  All the while, the action rises.  First act dilemmas come up again and again to deal with and, perhaps, finally address responsibly.  We shift again, still the child but now with some experience on what it means to be an adult.

The final act of this play is stripped down to minimalism…the world is now your stage and your story plays out like theatre-in-the-round.  The audience knows you well by now as you walk amongst them, interacting like old friends…familiar like family.  Your character is set.  You either satisfy your super-objective or not…it doesn’t really matter either way because the end is approaching.  And whether or not your story has a happy ending isn’t for you to decide once the curtain closes.  The audience will form their opinions on your performance, but that doesn’t really matter either.  If you’ve given it your best effort, learned something in the falling action, and shared some moral by example…you’ve played your part as an adult. 

At the curtain call, when all the audience swells with tears, or laughter, or applause…you take your final bow, and only then do they see you as you really are.  You were an actor all along.

Balcony Theatre: In the Plums

While pregnant with Alyrica, and during the first year of her life, we lived at Tudor Heights apartments in Omaha.  Since I had a pretty reclusive existence as a new mother, I spent a lot of time writing outside on the balcony.  Occasionally, I would just write whatever I saw happening below.  I called those writings 'Balcony Theatre' and they mostly centered around the trouble-making children that hung out in the courtyard.  This was the last scene I wrote from my balcony perch, 6 years ago, when I finally learned the real names of the bullies that were often the antagonists of each scene.

Category: Recycled Scenes

Journal:  VOICE (unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought)

Date: 11-11-2006

Balcony Theatre

"In the Plums"

On the ground floor, there is no balcony for protection. The adults that live on that level of danger have become hardened over time and seem to have lost a little something of sanity. Across the way, a thirty-something black man in an over-large t-shirt and mesh shorts, hanging precariously under his boxered butt, opened his screen door and sauntered outside.

“India!” He bellowed toward the group of four girls at the bottom of the hill.

The youngest of them ran up the hill to him. She seemed to be tattling something to him which I could not make out.

“I tol’ you not to be messin’ ‘round with that Jade ‘n’ Elijah!”

“I didn’t!” She replied before going inside.

The guy just stood there, staring off into the distance like a cat in a litter box while he alternately, mindlessly it would seem, scratched his butt and belly.

The three girls, still at the bottom of the hill in front of our balcony, whispered amongst themselves. Each of them were posing their preteen bodies in womanly ways, shifting their weight from leg to leg with arms crossed under the tiny bumps of their breasts or hands on hips.

An old Indian woman passed them on the sidewalk, looking like a walking contradiction that has become so commonplace in this modern age. Swathed in bright-patterned cloths, she was talking in her native tongue on a tiny cell phone.

The long-legged black girl, whom we only know by the name we saw fit for her—Jiggles, started after the woman. “Hey! Can I use that cell phone?” She interrupted obnoxiously.

The Indian woman, out of annoyance or a limited knowledge of English one couldn’t be sure, ignored the girl and continued on as she was. Jiggles, determined, continued to ask anyway and followed the woman out-of-sight.

Coming from the pool at the other end of the courtyard, those notorious bullies, known only as Stick Legs and Old Kid to us, walked past the man still scratching himself carelessly.

“Hey!” The scrawny black girl that we call Skinny shouted up at them. “You cut my finger, Jade!”

She ran up the hill at them, leaving her friend behind to watch, and started squawking obscenities like a mother bird who’s spotted a cat too close to her nest. Her head circled around on her neck while one hand held her hip. She waved her other hand back and forth in their faces holding up her index finger.

“You cut my damn finger, Jade!” She screamed at Stick Legs in a very shrill lilt.

“I din’t do nuthin’ to yo’ finger, psycho! Don’t be yellin’ at me!” He screamed back just as high-pitched. “Let me see it!”

She extended her arm to show him her finger. He realized quickly, “There ain’t no cut—!”

Without warning, she kicked him hard between his skinny legs and he fell to the ground, screaming in pain. Apparently he didn’t realize quickly enough.

Old Kid, who had previously been watching all of this with a smug grin, stepped back in surprise. “You just kicked him in the balls!”

“I tol’ you!” She warned again. Her voice was slightly less menacing this time, probably because she knew she might have seriously injured the kid.

For another moment, which may have seemed like hours to Stick Legs, he writhed and howled as he held his hands between his legs. Old Kid, still standing back for fear of his own jewels being crushed, just watched without bothering to help. The black man, near enough to help the kid, went on scratching and watching the spectacle with hardly a reaction.

Skinny reached out her hand to help Stick Legs to his feet. “I’m sorry, Jade. Here.” She said sweetly.

Stick Legs took his hands away from his sore spot and grabbed her hand. Again, without warning, she kicked him hard between the legs and ran off yelling, “Never mess wit’ my fam’ly again!”

The black man, obviously very itchy and still scratching, watched Skinny take off and then looked back to Stick Legs doubled over on the sidewalk. His wife came out of the screen door.

“What’s going on out here?” She asked him.

He pointed after the girl and explained, “That one,” then turned and pointed at the boy howling, “kicked that one in the plums.”

The Prolonged Pregnancy of a Procrastinating Perfectionist

Category:  Soul-of-Thought Revival

Journal:  Blue Moon Sea Change

Date:  2-22-2004, 7-24-2007, and 11-2-2012

Michael and I discussed something last night brought up by one of his co-workers...and it made me understand something clearer that I have put off pin-pointing about myself for some time.  In some cases (certainly not all, as there have been studies to show otherwise), procrastination is a side-effect of perfectionism...especially when it is a very important project that has no clear deadline.  The thought spawned the memory of me at age 8, after much praise from my teacher, Mrs. Dorothy Lane, about my writing ability.  I set it in my head, then, that I would 'one day' write a book.  From that day forward, I was always writing...whether it was poetry, prose, plays, or papers...it became my most fluid craft and my most preferred avenue of communication.  It became my voice.  Much different than my speaking voice...I could always find the precise words and phrases and evoke the images on the page that were nearly exact to what my head was conjuring.  As a young girl, I would often start writing what I thought would be my first novel.  I began by cutting photos out of my teen magazines and making a character list that would help me to flesh out the people and the plot that would bring their story from introduction to conclusion.  But I never really got past the first few chapters because once I stopped writing, it was nearly impossible to continue with the same flow once I came back to it.  It wasn't something I could just force myself to do.  So, my closet was often littered with these beginnings-without-endings...my own version of 'skeletons in the closet'.  But I sure did write a lot of poetry, and I still do.  It does give me a sense of accomplishment to condense a big idea into a poem, because my mind lets me finish it in one sitting.  But a poem is not a book...so it's not necessarily linked to my childhood expectations.  And now (22 years later), while I have many ideas began and waiting to see if they will be what that first book should be...the only things I seem to finish are blogs and blips about current astrological happenings.  I can finish them because each transit has a deadline...and if I don't write it by or near that deadline, then it's old news and doesn't apply.  And, I realize I need those deadlines to spur me into creative action and productivity.  But, I've tried giving myself deadlines for the bigger ideas...the ones that should be books...and since I'm the boss where that is concerned, I sabotage my own efforts and undermine my own authority with procrastination and paralysis...all excuses to delay the quality of work my inner child expects of me.  Anyway...all of this reminded me of this story I wrote many years ago to explain my brain and its strange quirks.  Here is a blast from the past, entitled 'My Head'.

This short story was first written when I was 21.  I wrote it with an appropriate cast of characters for that time in my life.  Later, when I was 25, I re-wrote it and changed up most of the characters to reflect the change I had made between those years.  My reason for the re-write was because I needed to write a bio for a writer's group I was attending that year.  I thought a bio in story form would be more appropriate for such a thing.  If I edited it again, for how I am now...perhaps many of the characters would change again...but I think I'll keep it as is, because it's certainly close enough (especially the pregnant lady).

My Head

By Felina Lune Kavi

Pondering my bio, I was poised to explain.  I grasped my head for concentration and asked politely if my brain could work.  After a pause, my head cracked open and my brain jumped to my lap.  Not a good place for it, I thought, so I put it on a plate.

I poked it for a while to see what it could do, but mostly it just sat there…slimy and sublime.  So I got out a steak knife to see what was inside when, all at once, a million tiny people started popping out…screaming, leaping, and running over each other.  Then I put the knife away and assured them I had no malicious intent.  I just wanted to know how the damn thing worked.

Relieved, the strange assemblage settled down for a harmless chat.

"How may we help you?” asked the pregnant woman wearing pajama pants.

"I have a pregnant lady in my head?" I blurted.

"Not to mention a raving lunatic." Mentioned the raving lunatic, pointing at himself, and then becoming altogether paranoid about everyone looking at him.

"We’re kind of a motley crowd" said the hippie girl doing yoga, "but the flyer said you were an equal opportunity host."

"Who was handing out flyers advertising my head?!"

"Why, The Omniscient Observer, of course." the little mismatched girl said, and the others snickered.

"God?"  I asked.

“More or less.”  The little girl shrugged.

I paused. "So what exactly is YOUR purpose?" I directed the question to the dirty old hobo wearing rainbow suspenders.

He scratched his belly as he took a swig from a paper bag and smiled smugly, "I'm your sense of humor."

“Right.  I suppose.  Well, are you aware that your zipper is down?”  I asked him, noticing he wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“Why, yes I am aware.”  He said.  I blinked.  “I broke the zipper off myself.  Swallowed it years ago.”  He added, finally.

"Oh, I see...so then what about the crazy guy?  What does he do?"

"Well." said the nerdy guy in the back, "He's your thought processor."

"Explains a lot, right?" the pregnant lady laughed.  Everyone else joined in, even the lunatic.

"How far along are you?" I asked.

"Oh, about 18 years." She patted the bulge below her breasts. "I’m carrying your life’s work."

“What?  Well, who’s the father?” I asked incredulously.

“Fathers.”  She corrected me.  “That would be them.”

She pointed to the three chimps typing away feverishly on typewriters.  One of them was smoking a large cigar that had “It’s a boy!” crossed out and replaced by “It’s not Hamlet!”

“Wow.”  I said.  “What are they doing?”

“Harry’s your script writer, Cephus records your memories, and Bugsy cranks out your ideas.  They’re working overtime.” She suddenly glared at me menacingly.  “They’re ALWAYS working overtime.”

I laughed nervously.  “So, uh, when’s the due date for…uh, junior there?”

“Any day now.”  She said with a pained look on her face.

"Thank God."

"Thanks God!" they all shouted in unison.

The mother came a bit closer and motioned for me to lean in.  I put my ear by her tiny mouth and she roared, “GET THIS THING OUTTA ME!”

“Yikes!”  I yelped, jumping back with my ears still ringing.  “Take it easy!”

The raving lunatic clapped his hands and jumped, repeating “Get this thing outta me!”

"So, hippie chick, lemme guess...you're my spirituality?"

"Not exactly. That's the gypsy lady’s area." She said, which cued the gypsy to pull out her tarot cards and show me ‘The Hermit’. Then the hippie got in downward facing dog position and looked at me through her legs and explained, "I'm your sex drive."

"You look pretty tame to be in charge of my libido.  I guess I would’ve expected that dominatrix lady over there or something."  I admitted.

"You're a little more flexible than bondage and ball-gags would allow, wouldn't you agree?" She folded herself up into a prayer posture, then winked. "Besides, I'm an animal in the sack."

"Here, here!" They all cheered.

The nerdy guy in the back stood up and squeaked, "I wouldn't know. I'm a virgin."

Everyone pointed and laughed.

"Laugh if you want, but I'm the only purity in your head." He snorted and adjusted his glasses.

"And what are you, my conscience?"

"He's the bastard that makes you love.  I’m your conscience." Said the lady in latex, holding a leash attached to a scrawny guy who was gagged and kneeling at her feet.

"And who is he?"

"This little bitch is your impulses." she said, and he impulsively pinched her latexed butt cheek.  She cracked her whip at him. “Down boy!”

"I see. So is there any way that we can redistribute the job situation?"

A resounding 'NO' from the crowd.

"Why not?"

"The Observer gave us these jobs. She works in mysterious ways.  And we each had to sign a contract." said the little mismatched girl.

"Who are you supposed to be? The voice of God?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm the voice of confusion." She smiled brightly, exposing only two teeth.

"Well. God's crazy." I told her.

"Here, here!" they cheered.

"So you've all met this so-called Observer then?"

They nodded.

"Well, who is it?"

Just then, the toddler with a slobbery chin and disheveled hair started slapping the floor and carrying on like a monkey, and everyone started wedging themselves back into my brain in a single file line. When everyone was in, she kicked the brain back into my head. Then the toddler did a little dance and gave a brief bow before she leaped back into my skull.

I took that as a sign from God that I should reseal my head. So I did. Then I washed the brain juice off the plate and made myself a sandwich.

States of Alyrica: Daughter

Category:  Recycled Visions
Journal:  Earth Mother
Date:  8-17-2012

Daughter

by Felina Lune Kavi

She is a rainbow after a heavy storm,

A message from the sky.

The gift of love and light that shines,

Within my daughter’s eye.

She is daybreak after a long dark night,

A soul to guide my own.

The inspiration to reinvent my life,

The promise I’m not alone.

She is a butterfly’s wing in its first flight,

The bliss of dreams come true.

A radiant beauty that breaks the mold,

A vision of something new.

She is the voice of truth above the chaotic din,

The clarity of love transcending.

The wisdom that whispers the joys of each moment,

and that life is never-ending.

She is a beautiful songbird in our family’s tree,

Expressing harmony and grace.

A powerful resonance to uplift the spirit,

And spread smiles to every face.

She is an abundance of laughter that dissipates fear,

The freedom to clear the air.

The joyful surprises that stir up a silence,

An invitation to be more aware.

She is a medium channeling spiritual insight,

A crystal ball of what can be.

A mirror of the energy surrounding her,

A window so that we may see.

 

She is wisps of clouds across a bright blue sky,

Imagination's impetus to soar.

A newly discovered land offering opportunities,

The relief of an open door.

She is a fairy transforming a skeptic’s heart,

Enlightenment in clear view.

The reflection of a soul’s rejuvenation,

Like an early morning dew.

She is a constellation of stars in the night,

The music of the spheres.

A storyteller in abstract languages,

Who reveals why we are here.

States of Alyrica: The Bedtime Uprising

Category:  Recycled Dialogue

Journal:  Earth Mother
Date:  7-26-12

The Bedtime Uprising:
Initiation into the Age of Reason
by Felina Lune Kavi

“You guys just woke me up.”  Alyrica said from the crack of her bedroom door. 

I paused the movie and went into the hallway.  When I opened her door, she was standing there, subtly showing me what sleepy should look like. 

“How did we wake you up?”  I asked, observing the Shel Silverstein book on her bed behind her, curiously bookmarked with a marker pen that hadn’t been there when I read her a bedtime poem an hour before.

            “Well, what are you guys doing anyway?”  She asked.

            “We were watching a movie.  Was it too loud?”

            “Yeah.”  She agreed with the first excuse I presented her.

            “Was Zen in here with you?”

            “Well, she was when I just opened the door.”

            “Was she the one reading this book then?”  I said as I picked up the book from her bed.

            Even in the soft nightlights I could see my daughter’s eyes glimmer with mischief followed by an impish grin that was poised to agree with an even more delightful excuse.

            Before she could reply with a crafty tale of cat shenanigans, I went on.  “Or was it you who was reading this book in bed?”

            She’d been found out, and she knew it.  The impish grin went sheepish. “It was me.”  She admitted, “and I just put a marker in there so I wouldn’t lose my place.”

            “So you weren’t actually sleeping were you?”  I said, forever now being the mother and bringing it all back to a lesson.

            “No.”  She smiled again.

            “So it wasn’t actually us who woke you up, right?”

            “Right.”  She said, understanding where I was going with this.  “I’m sorry.”

            “It’s okay.  Get back in bed, please.”

            She hopped into her bed and wiggled under the covers.  I snuggled up to her and kissed her forehead.

            She sang, softly and sweetly, a song of her own creation…singing herself a goodnight with visions of our solar system dancing above her head…and in the center, the mother, our Sun.

Human-Animal Telepathy

category: soul-of-thought revival

journal: venus-lit vixen

dates: 7-7-04 and 2-13-12

human-animal telepathy

one of my favorite forms of communication is one that i have used all of my life. i'll call it human-animal telepathy. jasmine and i have it down to a fine art. ani and i are still working on the basics of understanding each other. many of you probably already do this with your own pets. i believe that reaching understanding with your animal familiars is an important step in connecting to the essentials of communication. animals are already connected to those essentials...and i feel we can learn a lot from them.

Jasmine passed in March of 2008. As with most animals, she tried to hide from us during her final hours...finding a dark nook behind the basement stairs. When I found her, she was heaving her last breaths. I stayed with her, holding her paw and singing to her. She didn't want to see me cry, because she couldn't get up and wipe my tears with her fur like she usually did. But I couldn't help it. She was my baby. I realized in those last hours with her that we had built the strongest connection I've ever had with another living being up to that point. I let her know I was grateful for her love and that I, too, would always love her. Minutes after I told her it was time for her to let go, she sighed her last breath. But before she did, her eyes softened as she looked into mine and she relayed the message that Ani would be my familiar now.

.:Start noticing what your pet is paying attention to. What interests them and what's their reaction.

jasmine is a very earthy cat, but there are times when she seems to see beyond the realm of reality. she stares at the corners of the ceiling, talking incessantly to whatever she sees up there. sometimes she even tries to climb up the walls to reach it. she believes that she is seeing apparitions...most of them being her brother, max allen. he comes to her when she is feeling lonely. he hasn't returned since ani's arrival, perhaps because ani is like a reincarnation of max. jasmine tends to reject this idea because she prefers the companionship of another male cat. ani reacts to this rejection mostly with pestering jasmine for attention, albeit negative attention. in my opinion on reincarnation, if two souls are bound in one life by a relationship such as brother-sister, the next life is likely to bind the two souls again in a different way...such as the one between jasmine and ani...so that those connected souls may experience every possible relationship in order to reach Enlightenment.

Ani loved Jasmine a lot, even though Jasmine still harbored some resentment about her up until she started to get sick. During Jasmine's final weeks, Ani was very concerned about her. She expressed a lot of worry to me. As a kitten, Ani was goofy and hyper...rarely serious. But she changed during that time. She started taking on more of Jasmine's personality...and she communicated with me a lot more. She began doing the things that Jasmine would do. For example, when I would sing...Ani would be drawn to me like a magnet. When I would cry, she would comfort me. When I would talk to her, she would answer (both vocally as well as telepathically). She acted like Jasmine's protege. After Jasmine passed, Ani did things that Jasmine would do with me, trying to heal my broken heart. I was very grateful for this, because the last thing Jasmine communicated to me was that Ani would be my familiar now...and it came true immediately. She was not exactly like Jasmine, she just took on some of those traits after her death. She was still very much like Ani, only more grown up now. She still ran and hid every time someone would come over, still feared the sound of plastic sacks, still was fearful when people would walk or move near her. See, Ani came to me when she was a tiny kitten found near a dumpster in OKC. Her tail was crooked, and it was obvious she had been abused. I later found out whatever happened to her during that time was done by a very big man (she is still pretty fearful of most men, especially if they walk heavily and speak loudly). She doesn't like sacks because she was discarded in one. So we try to be mindful of these things, which has helped us become more soft-spoken and gentle in our daily lives.

.:Start noticing your pet's facial expressions when you are talking to them. Relate that to what you've learned about reading other's faces to see what they are saying in their expressions. (Remember, babies can get their wants and desires across to their mothers and fathers with out crying out.) It's the beginning of communication.

jasmine scrunches her nose up when she's venting her frustrations. when she winks, it is usually an affirmation of our connected thoughts. when she closes her eyes at me she is telling me to refrain from reading her and allow her some privacy.

Ani is extremely loving, mostly toward me...but when she trusts others (as she has come to trust Michael, Alyrica, my mom, and a few other women friends), she melts into their laps and purrs into their petting as well. When she's irritated, her crooked tail will tell you with slaps rather than sweeps. When she's scared, it's all in the eyes and ears. When she's jealous of the other cats getting my attention, she'll glare at them. She is the queen of the house, though she is the least demanding of the three cats who live with us today. Zephyr, our young prince, asks a lot of questions with his big blue eyes. He also smiles when he's happy...he has a really big grin. Zenya, our little princess, is usually the epitome of feline aloofness. She doesn't like to communicate much...just a bit when it's important to her, and then she'll look away when she's done. Both Zephyr and Zen are still in that stage that Ani was in for a couple of years...where their personalities come out expressively, but the communication between us is still building. From my experience, our telepathic connection will soon strengthen like mine did with Ani. Zephyr is already showing signs of realizing that we are open to this kind of communication. Zenya is still deciding if that is a good thing or not.

.:Quiet your mind, center yourself, or learn how to meditate. It will quiet "the committee" in your head that try to check and recheck and triple check then categorize the information that goes in and out of your thought process all day long. It will help you to detach from the, so called, logic override in your speech so you can speak to and for the animals.

i find that concentrating on making your pets happy is the best preparation for clearing your head of the extraneous and by doing so, your pet will then allow for this telepathy. you must trust your intuitions about what they are saying...if your judgement is way off, they will tell you. animals, much like humans, strive to be understood by the people they love.

Recently, Zenya has been testing this communication with me. She sends me messages about where and how to pet her, and where to leave her silky black coat alone because she just cleaned it. When she wants her fuzzy white belly rubbed, she'll send me an image of it without showing me physically that she wants it. When I start petting her belly, she shows me she's pleased by my understanding by closing her eyes softly and rolling over. Zephyr, on the other hand, is more impatient about things. If he wants something, he usually asks vocally or physically. I'm still trying to figure out if this is a boy thing (as I have the most experience with girl cats) or if this is just how he is.

.:Gently reach out and ask a simple question in your head. Is this question your issue or the pets? Be simple with it. Don't expect a complicated lengthy answer.

once you start getting to know your pet by observation, you will have a language shared only between the two of you...with words and ideas that are without connotations...so that you both can understand perfectly what the other is saying.

I know Ani so well by now that most times we don't have to ask each other anything. We are two peas in a pod, as they say, because love is always the highest priority with us. For Zephyr, though he is certainly a lover, it's the physical things that are on his mind most like food, play, and a clean litter box. For Zenya, she prefers peace and independence, but on occasion she will pipe up telepathically to show us how intelligent she is.

.:Allow the FIRST thing that comes into your mind to be verbalized by you. Then see what your pets reaction is. You might be surprised at their facial or vocal answer.

this is very important, because the first thing that comes to you is just what they are trying to say.

When I do this with Zephyr, his first reaction is still a bit like surprise...as if he doesn't understand that humans can communicate this way. It's almost as if he doubts it himself, so he usually just stares blankly...though sometimes expresses amusement about it. Zenya prefers this kind of communication though...but only when she's in the mood to communicate...she's still testing our abilities to understand her...as if she is the wise sage and we are her students. Ani will communicate with me in every way, and loves it. She will always tell me exactly what she wants very clearly.

.:Don't think about, "Is this real?", "It can't be that!" Just try and
observe your pets answer, facial, body, and vocal. Be detached from the outcome.

second-guessing the messages they are trying to send to you may discourage them from communicating telepathically at all. and if they are trying to tell you something upsetting, don't let it upset you or it will upset them more. talk it out with your pet.

Zenya has told me before that she doesn't want me to have another child. When I tried to reason with her about it, she turned her back to me and closed her eyes. Ani always tells me what is upsetting her, and it's usually Zephyr. I have told her before that it will get better between her and Zephyr (who is a bit too much of an attention hog for her tastes). I remind her that Jasmine used to feel the same way about her, but she eventually learned to love her. When cats get a bit older, they calm down a bit...which is exactly what is happening now with our little ones (who are not so little anymore). We often catch Ani and Zephyr cuddling up together like the best of friends...just as Jasmine and Ani did after Ani got a bit older.

.:Try the new information out. See if it's a viable answer or if your pet has a sense of humor. Sometimes they will try and interject some humor when we take ourselves too seriously. Be light with it. Animals often feel humans are too serious with questions.

jasmine generally responds seriously to serious questions...her sense of humor comes out when mine does. ani is the opposite, maybe just right now because she is still a kitten...but she doesn't respond to seriousness. she tells us this by chewing on our fingers or toes while we are trying to talk to her.

Zephyr is a jokester...much like Ani used to be (and is still, sometimes). Zenya is the serious one, much like Jasmine was. She doesn't find her brother funny at all. Sometimes, though (when least expected), Zen will show her dry sense of humor by knocking something on to the floor just for fun...as if to say 'it's funny because I can't pick it back up and now you have to do it'.

.:Now, have some play with your pet and lighten up. Practice talking to your pet about everything, like you would your friend or child. Love them. You can sing made up songs about them. Have fun!! Include their input in your household decisions. Keep it easy so they will feel free to come to you if something big is up for them.

jasmine and i talk about everything...both in our heads and out loud. she's very intelligent and sensitive, and our personalities mesh well and always have. ani, on the other hand, has ADHD it seems...and she is a little more difficult to talk with. we are still working on a mutual understanding of each other.

Ani and Zen like when I sing songs about them. But while Ani hasn't been much for playing since Jasmine passed, Zephyr and Zen (especially Zephyr) appreciate lots of things to play with. One thing that we've introduced that Zephyr really likes is that, at feeding times, we'll get out this little silver bell and let Zephyr be the dinner bell ringer. It makes him feel important...like if he didn't do it, no one would get food.

.:Allow them their independence. No one likes to feel that their thoughts are constantly listened to, or that someone is trying to intrude into their space.

if your pet seems disinterested in having a conversation, they usually are. it's not always neccasarily about the topic in question...and so, if it's something you'd really like to talk with them about...try the subject again later when they are interested.

Ani will always talk with me now...she's rarely disinterested unless she's sleepy. Zephyr is usually distracted by everything else. And Zenya, she expresses disinterest often and clearly. Most times she'll just turn her back if she doesn't want to communicate...and if I keep trying, it will bug her and she'll leave the room. Baby steps with that one.

.:Practice and be easy with the questions and your intuition. No straining or you'll miss the meaning. Remember they "talk" to each other all the time without vocalizing. It's us, humans, that think we have to make noise to talk, not the animals.

it isn't a difficult process at all to become intune with your pet. just let them know you are interested in their thoughts, let them come to you when they are ready to talk.

If you have a pet, you are already probably doing this even if you don't realize it. Humans often doubt their ability to communicate telepathically...we are conditioned out of doing it with each other it at such a young age. But those with strong connections to animals often keep this ability strong and find instances in their lives when the same connection happens between them and other humans. It is an innate ability that everyone shares, though society may dampen it with doubt. But we are, as a whole, stronger in this ability than we have been in the past...sharing ideas and information more rapidly and globally with each other through electronic mindspace. Global telepathy is becoming increasingly more apparent within this window between the Venus transits of our lifetime (2004-2012) with the advent of transparency tools such as wikileaks, facebook, twitter, and many others...but what we are learning from this is that relying on technological tools alone becomes an unnecessary, codependent addiction. What we can learn from the animals in our lives is that we already have the ability to be transparent with one another, share ideas and express intentions instantaneously with others, without the aid of technology. Try sending a text message to your friend without using your phone. Your telepathic connection may already be established, and you may find that they receive your message in another way. This kind of telepathy extends beyond humans and animals...to the very earth we live on. Have you been listening to what Mother Nature has been telling us lately? The answers to our most difficult questions are all around us.

She Sings the Silent Song of Sun

Category: Recycled Poetry

Journal: Kavi's Book of Stars

Date: 1-30-10 and 1-23-12

She Sings the Silent Song of Sun

By Felina Lune Kavi

The New Year outlasts January.

A dawning is vast as horizon,

In vivid watercolor light,

New dreams awakening from night.

She sings the silent song of Sun,

The light reflects in everyone.

Quickening Moon flushes February.

The earth is moved by loving life,

She shivers seeds astir again,

Another cycle to begin.

She sings the silent song of Sun,

The life renews in everyone.

And when the maiden’s sacred flame

Inspires us as it heals us,

We’ll harmonize with words in rhyme,

Crackling fire keeping time.

She sings the silent song of Sun,

The love resounds in everyone.

Bush Crimes

BUSH CRIMES

by Felina Lune Kavi

Category: Recycled Poetry

Journal: *VOICE* (Un-thoughtlike Thoughts That Are the Souls of Thought)

Date: April 17th, 2006

the age of aggravation

gravitates in groups

of cooped-up graduates

and dropped-out dreamers.

little do they know, though,

that they sew a common thread

through those tailored uniforms

of silent screamers.

compare, if you dare,

your monkey suit and nametags

to their camouflage shackles

and full metal jackets.

consider, though we may feel the heat,

we are awfully far-removed from hell's kitchen...

our intellectual attacks are like whispers

not even in earshot of the fraudulent racket.

brothers, cousins, friends and foes,

those kids that nobody really knows,

the enlist-because-the-money-he-owes,

the scared-shitless-and-it-surely-shows,

the ones who had to shave their 'fros,

the ones who miss their baggy clothes,

the killers who secretly oppose,

the jr.s and thirds whose daddies chose,

the you-go-firsts who took the blows,

the ones whose trigger-finger froze,

the guys hiding fishnet pantyhose,

the women shattering status quos,

the hope-to-die's at their lowest lows,

the brainwashed patriots and average joes,

the kids who long for midwest snows,

the buddies they watch decompose,

where are all the c.e.o.'s?

and that's the way the story goes.

Eros in January

4 years ago today, my husband and I had our first kiss which sent our 6-year friendship spiraling up rapidly into inevitable loving Bliss. This is the song that his Love inspired in my Psyche...

Category: Recycled Poetry

Journal: The Nest of the Bower Birds

Date: January 2008

Eros in January

by Felina Lune Kavi

It's cold here tonight...
wrap me warm in your skin,
lock me up in your sight,
hold me close and breathe in...
and out.

Outside in the dark...
a new moon on the rise.
We are lost under stars
in the most beautiful sky.

Eros in January,
you touch the soul within me.
Eros in January,
fast as love flies through you and me.

Our hearts beat whole at last,
in the wake of our dreams.
I'm too in love to ask,
is this really what it seems...
to be?

Beyond what we believed
of what love ever meant,
this love is all we need
to know our soul's full intent.

Eros in January,
you touch the soul within me.
Eros in January,
fast as love flies through you and me.