From Kindred Spirit magazine: Tales of Ordinary Magic - bliss oxygen facial mask reviews
The Somerset Meadows Hotel is a nice place to stay.
See all kinds of interesting things through his window. magazine.
Are you a druid? âx80x9d she said. âx80x9cPardon?
What makes you think so?
I said in a bit of confusion.
You are rarely asked such questions.
Not in the stairwell of a block on Somerset Meadows.
Her name is Mrs. Rivers.
She is quite deaf.
She screwed her face and looked at my mouth while I was talking, but she couldn't hear what I was talking about.
It's easier and more polite to listen than to speak, so that's what I do.
I listened, but I never found out what made her think I was a Druid.
It was in 1964, she said.
It was very different in those days.
Without any fence, you can mix freely with the stone.
She went with a friend but they got the date wrong so there was no one there.
But they went back the next night and it all happened.
She was laughing when she told me this.
Then Druid showed up, she said.
You know, they're all wearing those white headwear, they're blowing trumpets in the air.
No one seems to know what's going on.
We were all waiting for things to happen and then the sun came out and we all went home. I laughed.
I don't think it changes much.
The last time I went to Stonehenge was during the winter solstice, when the sun rose and we all went home.
After that, Mrs. Rivers and I said goodbye to us.
As she continued up, I continued down the stairs and we never had a chance to talk about Stonehenge again.
I live in Somerset Meadows. Itâx80x99s a cul-de-
Sac composed of multiple red-
Set bricks in spacious public lawn.
There is no garden on Somerset prairie.
Every once in a while, there will be a person sitting in the seat buzzing
Put down the mower, trim the lawn, and on the sunny side of the block, people gather for tea and chat in the summer.
The small flower beds in the block are taken care of collectively.
You can get to know the neighbors around you very well.
Your neighbors are never far away.
The old man is also crowded here.
I don't know exactly why.
Its design takes into account the elderly.
Not everyone is old.
I just think that there is no garden to take care of, there is an association of residents who is in charge of external repairs and it is more suitable for the elderly.
I also think that some people have been here since their 60 s.
There is a lot of weakness and occasional death to witness here.
I have been thinking about death since I came here.
But I like Mrs. Reeves's story.
35 years ago, she went to Stonehenge and nothing happened. she still remembers.
This is life.
What actually happened was the sun rising.
Of course, the sun rises every day, but we don't always witness it.
What makes Mrs. Rivers unforgettable is that she saw the druid in Stonehenge.
To celebrate this moment, they blew the trumpet in the sun and turned it from an ordinary event to a magical event.
This reminds us that the sunrise is not ordinary.
This is a cosmic event, which means it happens in the universe.
It is a huge interweaving part of the universe in an infinite game, complex and precise.
Only our point of view makes it seem ordinary, and it is for our intention that we restore it again to its magical glory.
This is the essence of Magic: time, place, people.
In this case, the Stonehenge with Mrs. Rivers as a witness is sunrise from summer to summer.
By restoring the magical meaning of the sunrise in the universe, perhaps we have also restored ourselves as witnesses to the interaction of our immediate forces in our own very important lives.
I used to see her look up at the tree outside my front window.
Most days she would stop under it, look at the leaves, lift her face to them, as if to bask in some invisible light.
Of course, she can't see a lot of things, almost blind, but she can see the movement, tell the darkness from the light, and I think she will interact through the shadows under the branches, feel the sun flashing on the surface of the leaves.
Sometimes she grabs a leaf between her fingers.
As if she was communicating with the tree, talking to it, absorbing its presence in all its seasonal emotions.
There are many trees in the public garden of Somerset Meadows.
She will talk to them in the same way, stopping under each one on her way forward.
She's my next door neighbor.
I live on the 23rd and she lives on the 24 th.
Until about a month ago, when she died.
I don't know how old she is.
I guess she's in her 80 s.
The last time I saw her, she was in a wheelchair, a light blue blanket wrapped tightly around her, carried into the back of the ambulance, and the oxygen mask held her face, it looks pale and fragile.
I sat in front of the computer in the living room.
I put on my shoes and went out, but the ambulance door was closed by the time I went out.
Another neighbor stood outside, with arms crossed, wrapped in the cold, waiting with an air of patient anticipation.
What happened to Daphne?
I said it with her.
She said she made an interesting turn last night.
She broke down.
They think it could be a stroke.
Did she call you?
Yes, she said.
We always call each other if we are in trouble.
Let me know what's going on with her, I said.
The other neighbor is Mei.
She lives on the 22nd.
In the summer, Daphne and May will sit on the bench outside my back window, watching the shadows extend to the evening, drinking tea and getting the world back to normal.
I never knew what they were talking about on the bench outside my window, except that there always seemed to be a lot of laughter.
One interesting aspect of staying in the apartment in the public garden is that you can't help but notice what's going on.
So when Daphne communicated with the tree, I looked closely at her.
I'm not making a big noise.
I just looked out the window.
It is also hard to notice that when she was dragged out by an ambulance, on Christmas morning, she was tied together like a turkey, wearing an oxygen mask and slapping her face unceremoniously
I saw a lot of ambulances on Somerset Meadows.
I saw a lot of people in wheelchairs with oxygen masks on their faces.
It's like a waiting room in the next world.
I was considered a 55-year-old wild young Lafite.
But I like Daphne very much.
She is always ready with a pleasant smile and friendly words.
She couldn't see me so I had to speak to her to get her attention.
I think that's why she likes trees so much.
People move around and you can't tell one person from another, but in the same place, trees can always be identified.
Although she was blind, she was active until at the end, she walked around firmly with a white stick and spoke to all the trees on the road.
At first, the prognosis was good.
May told me that she had a slight stroke and would recover soon.
But suddenly she called the whole family to the bed.
Then she had another stroke and she died.
So she knew it was time for her to leave before that moment came, and she was able to say goodbye to the sad family.
The tree outside my window has fallen for the winter.
This is why trees are never sad.
They are stoically aware of the cycle of death and rebirth.
An old friend of mine.
He was bald, had a white hair on his shoulder, and had a bright green beard.
He said he was an alien.
When I first met him, I thought it was a joke, a metaphor for his feelings with the rest of the world.
Then I began to realize that he was serious.
One day I gave him a ride at my Morris Elementary School.
Steve came in. I asked him to fasten his seat belt.
There was some confusion that lasted at least half a minute.
He holds half of the seat belt in one hand and the other half of the seat belt in the other, waving his seat belt in the air.
He didn't even know what to do with his seat belt.
I saw the look on his face.
Confusion and consternation-and I laughed.
I said, come here and fasten his seat belt for him.
When I decided he might be an alien after all.
It is clear that the concept of West Tower Belte is strange to him.
Steve said he always felt uncomfortable.
As a boy, he loves nature and is always wading in ponds and rock pools, or wandering in the woods to observe life there.
He used to also collect creatures: caterpillars in pots, wild rats and shre fish, and exotic things he got through mail order, such as silk moths and sticky worms.
But he is always confused by man.
Other boys also collect creatures: but Steve collects insects to observe them and observe their growth, while other boys catch insects to pull their legs down;
While Steve collects news to breed them, other boys collect news so they can throw them on the grass and attack them with knives.
So, regardless of whether the alien is Steve, this is a matter of opinion.
He was very reassured by other creatures on the planet.
Maybe it belongs to earth people who don't belong here.
Steve introduced me to V.
This is what he said himself:
Although I have exchanged letters with him, I have never seen him in person.
Well, I'm talking about "health" and "health", but it's really for ease of expression, because according to his own testimony he's neither male nor female, but some sort of Galaxy
Claiming to be an alien, or-
To be more accurate --
A kayanna, a star Deva, a fragment of the Earth called Aona, he/she will merge with it on a future date, and as a whole new species like a caterpillar.
I used to like to write to V.
You rarely receive letters with this unusual concept.
However, I never knew how to imagine him.
I mean: What does StarCraft Deva look like?
Did Star developers go shopping, for example?
What would it feel like to stand behind star deva in the Tescos shopping queue?
These are the questions I am interested in.
Steve used to have a picture of a v. On his wall.
It performs very well, hyper-real.
A woman between galaxies.
Blue white hair with scales instead of nipples, very attractive in an alien way, give you this arch, sexy, come-to-bed look.
Steve said: "If you look at her before you go to bed, she will come to you in your dreams.
I think it could be Aona, a creature that V wants to merge with one day.
But even though he never made it clear that, in fact, he did everything he could to cover it up --
I never had a doubt on his Earth.
The embodiment of binding is a man.
One day he wrote to tell me there was a problem with his wisdom teeth.
It was a very painful experience, he told me.
Who invented the teeth?
He asked shyly.
Nature is very inefficient.
Finally, I felt that V was alienated from my body. the Co-
Where do I go to buy bread and milk.
He looked a little confused in his pajamas.
He took a can of things and looked at it and studied the label.
He then went a little to the front desk and came back again, still holding the tin and finally putting it back on the shelf.
When I grabbed the bread and milk from the shelf, I caught all this from the corner of my eye.
I don't want to look at him directly.
Somehow it seems impolite. in the Co-op.
Or anywhere else, this can be done except in a hospital or psychiatric hospital.
It's interesting how the brain builds such a huge, complex story --
Cut off the lines from the most fragile material.
In my mind, he's such a fragile and out-of-
Touch him wandering the street in his pajamas and forget what he was there.
He's obviously sick.
Why else is he still in his pajamas?
Then I got to the counter and they were all in their pajamas.
What's in the pajamas?
I said to the check-
She went out when I handed her the bread and milk.
She said it was for charity.
It was a relief, I said with a smile.
I want to know what happened there.
"I know," she said.
Someone came up and said to me, an old guy was fiddling with groceries.
That's what I thought, I said.
He is very confused in my opinion.
I thought he must have escaped from the agency.
At this point, she burst out with a burst of laughter and shouted to the people involved in the aisle.
"It's three now," she said, reaching out and lifting her finger to say she had opened it. going tally.
This guy thinks you're crazy!
By then, everyone in the store was laughing and screaming. .
But it reminds me of the nature of reality.
We always do that, of course.
We build stories on appearances, but we never really know what's behind them.
Our faith in ourselves is wrong.
The system and the look we build to fit them.
This is the process of building the world.
These assumptions were implanted when we were very young.
This is the assumption that our parents, our schools, television and the media have given us.
After that, we shape our view to reinforce these assumptions in a continuous feedback loop.
If we see anything unusual, we change it to fit into our whole world --view.
The clerk is old.
In fact, there is no bigger than me.
I made him grow old because he was wearing his pajamas.
He is not confused.
He knew how I reacted to him and was watching me. .
That's why he seems to be lingering.
That night, in order to tell his wife, he was making an observation record. .
They set up changes and showed a lot of gestures, while all the real work went quietly in the background.
This is what they call "skillful ".
On the one hand, it plays a role of shifting attention, and on the other hand, it starts to play cards.
Politicians and advertisers use the same approach.
You want to know how many people we have.
The assumption established is wrong;
If some of the negative effects of everyday life are eliminated, our world may seem more dynamic and energetic?
Who said that the trees will not sing, the wind will not live, the sun will not beat us with its infinite wisdom?
Or in Co-
Not always a comedy show?
All this is a question of perception.
The check says there will be some snacks and homeless people next week.
The charity box I donated.
Maybe next time I walk into Co-
I will be a little more clear.