THERE WAS A REASON….. 

THAT THIS GATHERING CAME ALIVE

 

THE SECRET WAS IN YOUR VISION

 

THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!!!

 

 

 

 

I am trying to find out who signed up 1^st here on the Blogstream….So far it looks like Doria of the T Zone (Sept 6/7, 2005) may be the longest still active blogger….

 

 

I really want to find out who did the first  post!

 

I found this in archives

 

Backyard Farmer

Friday September 2, 2005

 

My First Blog Post   Hello all, I have various interest. I used this title because I raise chickens and sell fresh eggs among other things here at my backyard farm. Hope to hear from some other farmers out there. Thanks.     Posted by quiltgirl at 4:20 PM - 3 Comments   Add a Comment

Pages:   1

CLICK HERE YOU ARE INVITED

We came in waves to the Blogstream. We watched blogging become a phenomenon. There are other sites. They are not the same.  You have been tolerant of me. No one, in all my posts has called me crazy, yet. I have been called other things but not crazy.

So as we count down to the one year mark, and  hundreds more souls bounce around amongst us. I will tell you, I still recognize you.  There is love here with no questions now. It cannot be denied or destroyed. This is the strongest recognition I have ever experienced in my life. Make no mistake there is magic here.   I remain amazed, at the kind of   magic that you make. I have seen souls reconnect and remember and recognize each other. I have seen them angry for no reason and repelling at no danger.

 

 Through romance and tragedy and awakenings and all the changes of speeded up life, I take comfort in the threads that connect me to you. The magnetism of another time and place  meet light and energy on a digital stream of souls…….

THE CRAZY LADY

I live my life to background noises...
Dreaming of the desert peace.

And if I am not an intellect...
it matters not to me.

I know my brilliance lost it's shine
when daylight thunder struck me down.

But I so love to bask in your lights
they lift me from the ground...

They say a child is close to God
a spirit still untouched and free...

But when my choices overwhelm me
I am not profound....

I dearly love these voices
some say live inside my head...

I cannot deny them
when they touch me with their threads...

I see you
I hear you
The Crazy Lady said....

 

The Magic’s Journey

Traced from its beginnings in the mystery schools of ancient Egypt founded by Pharaoh Thutmose III (1500 to 1477 B.C.), and more particularly from his grandson Pharaoh Amenhotep IV (also known as Akhnaton) - through to the Greek philosophers such as Thales and Pythagoras, the Roman philosopher Plotinus, and others, who journeyed to Egypt and were initiated into the mystery schools - through  the symbolism hidden in the love songs of Troubadours, the formulas of Alchemists, the symbols system known as the Qabala, and the rituals of Orders of Knighthood during the dark and dangerous times of medieval Europe.

 

  From Europe it traveled in the hands of the Gypsy tarot readers and  merged and was renewed when it blended with the power of Native American Indian shamans in the new world. Embraced by   magicians like Houdini and authors like A. Canon Doyle and kicked around by Bill and Bob with concepts like automatic writing and soul incarnations the magic grew.

Social movements and strange spirituality were born. Elements still bounce around in non-denominational churches and in the hearts of modern day mystics.

I found it here on this Stream of Souls. Still strong and pure despite events and the influx of overwhelming numbers. Some will turn away. Some will be puzzled.  Deny it, or embrace it, but it will not change for those who see and feel and recognize the magic here.

    

 YOU ARE NOT ALONE

   

 

 “We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploration will be to arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time”….T.S. Elliot

They called her the winter rose.

She lived in defiance,

Never turning back,

On a December day she died alone in the snow.

 

 

They called her the wicked rose.

She lived in desperation,

And watched her anger grow.

She is so much more beautiful than she will ever know.

 

Rose of the summer, burned beyond repair

Her baking leaves fall to the grass.

Perhaps as the autumn shrinks the sun,

Her time will finally pass.

 

The lonely rose was plucked from the ground.

Her roots cried with no sound

Do not mourn her death by human hands.

She only loved when she was found.

 

Too close to the edge

Too near to the end

My sanity stretches,

But refuses to bend.

 

 

Hot summer day

Becomes a digital night,

Filled with morality questions,

Where there is no one to fight.

  

Retreat is not an option.

The past is not a plan.

The adventure is today.

I will not return to shadowland.

 

My mind is opened.

My soul is engaged.

Your faces are familar.

I am fully awake.

 

 

FANTASY      BURNING BRIGHT     NOWHERE

 

         JOURNEY MAN                 ZAP

IMAGINE

 

WORDS