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GabijaCij

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  1. The walls extended vertically and horizontally for what seemed like hundreds of miles. On the underside of my abdomen, I could feel the gill like folds of my lungs expanding and contracting. My body felt perfectly balanced and suspended between my numerous legs. I could not feel the temperature in the room; I could not feel the pull of gravity or air pressure anymore. Having been at dinner last night when someone made reference to a woman they knew as a “black widow spider” (because of her tendency to ruin the lives of men she became involved with), I had become curious about spiders
  2. In accordance with the back to school tradition, I am in the position of having to shop for back to school supplies, this time as a parent. I found myself at a mall in the closest city to where I live and I wandered through the halls, in and out of the various shops. It felt bizarre to be in a place so crowded with people and yet notice that there is no emotional connection between them. A building full of strangers making no eye contact with one another as they passed by. It’s as if their bodies were there, but their minds and hearts were gone. The only thing separating them from the man
  3. The clicking sound of my shoes bounces against the walls of the buildings lining the main street of Park City this morning. Like an old western town, each buildings hugs to the side of the next with no space in-between, forming a continuous straight line of shops on both sides with a road straight down the center. The town is sleepy, as usual at that time of day. Restaurants are in the process of opening, the delivery trucks rev up and down the street, releasing the angry hiss of their hydraulics. The sound of hammering and drilling on a construction site nearby softly floats in with the p
  4. Crisp, white triangles shift back and forth against the backdrop of the city. Solitary and glowing proudly in the morning light, they seem as enthusiastic to touch the waters of the Charles River, as a dog is to take a walk in the park. 16 floors below me, the city street is ripe with people dragging themselves to work. Nearly everyone is looking at their cell phone while walking. A symptom of a greater issue here in this city. I have nicknamed Boston the “mind your own business” city. Because everyone here is doing their own thing, the people of the city have not come together to bring
  5. I woke up today to a clear blue sky full of cumulonimbus clouds. I entered a vipassina meditation. I wrote guided meditations. I completed my newest episode of Ask Teal, and sent my son off with Blake to play at a playground. Since people first discovered my “abilities”, I have found myself in the inquisition all over again in this life. As a child, I was haunted by the perpetual perception that people wished to extinguish me. And it was not that it felt worse than it actually was. Many people did want me to die, as people often do when they feel powerless enough to something that they
  6. I sat in a courtyard open to the sky. Disciples wandered past at a leisurely pace. The light weaving it’s way through the place, tinted itself pink as a result of reflecting off of the immense carmine colored walls. I couldn’t help but think about the labor that went into building such a place. Nearly every inch of it made from small, layered bricks. The place, like a palace is comprised of numerous live in rooms, temples, classrooms and meditation halls, and a 9 story library where some of the oldest written records of ancient philosophy and religious scripture, medicine and law, astrono
  7. I was a match to another fatal car accident yesterday while driving to a hiking spot. A mother and daughter hit head on by a woman in a truck. The mother was killed instantly and the daughter and other driver were life flighted away. The cars, transformed into heaps of twisted metal and glass. That eerie paralyzing feeling of seeing blood strewn across the road. This is a trend in my life. It’s a not so funny joke in the household that I always end up lining up with serious accidents. Every one of them is etched in my memory. Like an internal tattoo that can’t be removed. I cannot und
  8. Yesterday I was walking around in a crafts store trying to find a canvass and I watched a mother pin a little note to her daughter’s shirt that said “I’m whiny, don’t pay attention to me until I can use my big girl voice”. She was probably three or four years old. I waited until her mother was out of sight and went over to the little girl and took the note off of her shirt and I told her “I think you’re wonderful, it’s ok to be frustrated, everyone gets frustrated sometimes”. I patted her back and stood up to go to the check out counter before her mother came back around. This month, I hav
  9. I am awake before anyone else this morning, which is not unusual for me. I love the unhurried peace of the early morning. Just before the sun comes up fully, with the landscape still sleeping, the present moment is so much more accessible. The only noise within that peace is the starlings, house finches and mourning doves. They sit on the aspen branches and on the railings of my deck and repeat the same melodies again and again to each other as if reciting prayers. On mornings such as this, it seems like everything is as it should be. I am usually running around after the improvement
  10. I was driving around the city yesterday and meandered into a shop where I got stuck in line behind two middle-aged women who were in the midst of an intense conversation. I listened in on what they were saying. One of them had recently been divorced. Her husband had left her for a woman who was 20 years younger. She had dedicated her life to the building of a perfect successful lifestyle. Her marriage was a union based on social success and business growth and she had played the part of the perfect housewife as well as raised three children who were now off at school. Now, that union had
  11. I am sitting in my hotel room on the 19th floor, staring at thousands of man-hours of brick laying labor out the window. It is slightly painful to think about how much effort it must have taken to build this extraordinary building years ago. This building burnt down during the Great Chicago Fire. It was re built and now it stands like an old miser in the middle of the modernized city. Chicago is like a southern gumbo soup, you never know what you’re going to get. There are so many “ingredients” and they vary so greatly that the flavors don’t necessarily go together but there is something w
  12. I spent last night out of body again. There is no need to explain where I went or what I was doing because it is our opinion (myself and those I visited with) that those details would serve as a distraction to what I am about to say. All I need say is that I have returned with a message for you at this time. It is my wish that you would take these words to heart and let them do what they will there. And so, without further ado, here is the message: “Dearest Being; Fractal of the Whole that you are, Society exists as a hypnotic state. A great sleep. We awaken from this sleep whe
  13. GabijaCij

    Gus

    The Friday the thirteenth, retrograde honey moon came and left. And with it, took one of our community members. For the past seven years, my house has been occupied by the sound of heavy paws on the hardwood floors. It has been the home of one of the largest Great Danes I have ever seen. His name was Gustavus (Gus for short). Last night, he was restless and in pain. He laid against the ground outside with all of us surrounding him for over an hour. We carried him into the house as it got dark. He laid on the floor while we watched a movie together. One by one, we all went to sleep. I
  14. Genesis 3:16 To the woman he said, "I will greatly multiply your pain in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children, yet your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you." For so many woman, the sign of first blood evokes the feeling that something is wrong, the feeling of terror, the feeling of vulnerability, The feeling of being betrayed by their own body, the feeling that being a girl is a “problem”. As women, when we have suffered at the hands of our own female-ness, it’s very hard to not project that onto younger girls. Becau
  15. I was not tired last night. Instead of sleeping, I deliberately went out of body. I felt my cells shake apart. This time it felt as if my consciousness slipped out between the cracks in them. I floated upwards. I was pressed against the ceiling. And I floated like that with my perception pressed up against the ceiling until I could decide where I wanted to go. When the sky is no longer the limit, it gets more difficult to choose what experience you want to have. I decided that I wanted to look at the collective consciousness of mankind. It is one of my favorite things to check in with
  16. Stories arise this morning of another mass shooting, this time in California. In short, a young man gunned down six people in an attempt to exact his revenge on the human race, most especially the girls that had denied him. What sets this particular incident apart is that he had made a series of YouTube videos explaining his motivation in detail. I have been asked today several times to give my opinion about this event. I have decided to oblige these requests. I want to begin by saying that there are victims on both sides of the gun. This is always the story without exception. We mu
  17. The first time I came across a deer carcass strewn across the side of the road, I was two years old and in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I remember every last detail down to the sickly sweet smell of death. I remember vividly the sinking, constricted, powerless feel of tragedy as the feeling signature of that sight impacted my body. I remember the feeling of horror. My father’s response in a sad sounding tone of voice was “don’t cross the road deer”. I was shocked into a kind of buzzing numbness at the response and at the sight of people driving by as if nothing was out of place. I was shocked i
  18. I was pulled out of body last night. I settled into a perspective that was difficult to fully “phase” with at first. In this perspective, I was turned head first into a current. There was a calming lull about the pressure of it against my body. My sense of smell was so acute that I could smell the feeling of the current. It felt familiar, it felt like home. That scent, gave rise to an instinctual pull in my body that I could not deny, it was so strong that to go against it would have been like trying to prevent an orgasm at the peak of its wave. I remembered the smell of this current, b
  19. Today I received a reply to my desire to find a child who would delight in my Breyer horse collection. It was from a Non Profit called the Horse Boy Foundation. The Horse Boy foundation is a foundation dedicated to using horses to assist autistic children and people on the autism spectrum with their unique challenges. One of the people that runs the foundation asked me if I’d be willing to donate my extensive collection to the foundation itself so that the children who come to the center can play with them and use them to learn arithmetic. She told me that if a child develops a special att
  20. Are you the Scapegoat or the Townsman? Or Both? In the bible, a goat was cast out into the desert as part of the ceremonies of the Day of Atonement. This is how the term “scapegoat” came to be. A scapegoat is an individual or group of people that are singled out for unmerited negative treatment or blame. This is not a new practice; In fact in ancient Greece, when a disaster would occur, such as plague or famine or war, a beggar or criminal was cast out of the community. If we look at scapegoating according to it’s medical definition, "A Process in which the mechanisms of projection
  21. Grief With it’s disheveled hands, Pulls me back in time. I stand before the life that was In the marred silence of the black of night. I see the buildings The buildings that witnessed all But said nothing And did nothing They, the containers of my grief They, the keepers of the silence Of the abominations that occurred there Made monstrous by association, They stand Like sniveling memorials. They, the bystanders To the breaking of my body The desecration of my mind The hewing of my soul They, the tombs of my youth Will hold me hostage no longer. I H
  22. How far must we deviate from ourselves? How long must we abandon ourselves? Since the moment we first chose to do so We abandon ourselves in birth. And if we do not rejoin ourselves over the course of our lives We rejoin ourselves in death. We must die to ourselves In order to be born And all life is a process Of being re-born to ourselves. And what of emotion? Emotion is the tether Emotion is the link that remains when all else is lost Emotion is the only remnant of the true self Which we abandoned in order to be born here Emotion is what leads you back to you
  23. How far must we deviate from ourselves? How long must we abandon ourselves? Since the moment we first chose to do so We abandon ourselves in birth. And if we do not rejoin ourselves over the course of our lives We rejoin ourselves in death. We must die to ourselves In order to be born And all life is a process of being re-born to ourselves. And what of emotion? Emotion is the tether Emotion is the link that remains when all else is lost Emotion is the only remnant of the true self Which we abandoned in order to be born here. Emot
  24. GabijaCij

    Hell Fire

    We are combustive. Our emotion is Trapped Blocked Controlled Denied Sedated This resistance to our own emotion Causes friction And friction causes heat. Hell is depicted as a world of fire A place where we burn alive and suffering is all we know for eternity But this is the world that so many of us already live in We didn’t even have to die first to get there Or did we? The heat of the fire of hell is caused by the friction of our resistance Our resistance to our own emotions Of Anger Fear and Grief This hell is not a place somewhere outside of us.
  25. Orange stains cascade like rivers down the length of the cream-colored sandstone mesa in front of this little house. They mark the paths that are taken by the rainwater, which takes the shape of hundreds of waterfalls during the rainstorms that frequently grace the desert. There is no wind this morning. Not one breath of breeze. The pinion and juniper trees sit completely still. With no movement in the landscape, it looks much more like a pastel painting than real terrain. The silence of the desert is unparalleled. It makes the voice of the internal self much easier to hear. The intern
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