Welcome to The Mystical Underground

painting by Megan MacGregor

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An e-mail Sunday night from a friend mentioned a synchro about wine. That startled me because a few hours earlier I had also experienced a meaningful coincidence related to wine.

My friend, Kevin, wrote:

“Weird synchro last night. I popped a movie in the DVD player. Went to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine and my wife was opening a bottle, a Carmenere from Chile. It had a reference to the grape being from the Jurassic period on the label. Guess what movie I put in just before that? Uh huh, Jurassic Park. Pretty weird. This a bottle we’ve been saving for some time so neither of us remembered the Jurassic reference. No idea what it is supposed to mean.”

I wrote back, “Wow! I had a wine synchro today. I was watching the Dolphin-Ravens game, and when Trish came home from the grocery story the score was tied 6-6. I walked into the kitchen and saw that she had bought a bottle of cab labeled, Ravens. I knew right then that the Dolphins were going to lose. Sure enough. Final score: Ravens 26, Dolphins 23. Trish has no interest in football and had no idea the Dolphins were playing the Ravens.”

I wouldn’t have written a post about a wine synchro if it had only been my story or only Kevin’s. But when we both had wine synchros, well, that’s a double synchro. I guess somehow he and I are on the same wave length.

  We saw this poem on Mike Perry’s blog.  It’s powerful.

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When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet.

Cranky Old Man

What do you see nurses? . . .What do you see?
What are you thinking …when you’re looking at me?
A cranky old man . . .not very wise,
Uncertain of habit . . .with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food … and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . .’.I do wish you’d try!’
Who seems not to notice . . .the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking?. .. Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse …you’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am . . . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding . . . as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of Ten…with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters … who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen . . .with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now . . .a lover he’ll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows …that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . ..My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other …With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons …have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me . . .to see I don’t mourn.
At Fifty, once more…Babies play ’round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . . I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing …young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . And the love that I’ve known.
I’m now an old man . . .  and nature is cruel.
It’s jest to make old age . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles … grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass …A young man still dwells,
And now and again . . .  my battered heart swells
I remember the joys . . .  I remember the pain.
And I’m loving and living . . . life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . .. gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people …open and see.
Not a cranky old man.
Look closer . . . see… ME!!

 Whether you call it global warming or climate change, there’s no question that the planet’s climate is changing.  The Arctic Sea ice is melting and heat records seem to be set with shocking regularity. According to NASA, 2012 was the ninth warmest year on record since 1880 and  eight of those years have occurred since 2000.

As the Arctic melts, sea levels rise and since most of South Florida is about three feet above sea level, it’s no surprise that our beaches are rapidly eroding. But what about cities disappearing in Florida?

This evening, I ran across an article in Huffington Post entitled: 14 Cities That Could Disappear Over the Next Century, Thanks to Global Warming.  The first two cities on the list are Miami and Fort Lauderdale. These are followed by: Boston, New York, Atlantic City, Honolulu, New Orleans, Sacramento, San Diego, Los Angeles, Charleston, Virginia Beach, Seattle, and Savannah. Here, in a Rolling Stone article, is one author’s depiction of a future Miami. It’s set in 2030, when our daughter will be just 41 years old.  In the online article, there are links to an overview of other U.S. cities, which is equally startling.

Usually when I read articles about climate change, I remember the predictions of Edgar Cayce and the information that author and researcher Helen Wambaugh gathered for her book Mass Dreams of the Future.

But when I read the Huffington Post article today, I was reminded of something far more personal. Decades ago, when I was between jobs and living back at home, I dreamed that I was on a small boat, rowing frantically toward what I hoped was the Bahamas. Tucked into the space behind me was a waterproof bag of some kind that contained food, supplies, a few belongings.

In the dream, I knew that the South Florida peninsula had been inundated by rising oceans and that my only hope of survival lay in getting to the Bahamas. In real life, the idea is absurd; many of the Bahamian islands are maybe a foot above sea level and would be inundated before South Florida.

But dreams have their own sort of logic, and this one made such an impact that I remember it all these years later. I remember the taste of desperation, the salt spray on my face, how it stung my eyes, how it tasted on my lips. I remember how the muscles in my arms ached. I remember my profound fear. I remember that I was completely alone, that none of my loved ones had survived.

In the years since I had that dream, it seems that the consciousness of humanity has both risen – and plunged in terms of our concept of the impact our presence has on the planet. When our awareness has risen, we have bought ourselves a bit more time, or perhaps nudged the time line closer to an alternative. When the collective consciousness has plunged in awareness, then pendulum has swung in the opposite direction. I believe in the Many Worlds theory of quantum physics, that for every choice we make, there are perhaps an infinite number of alternatives that are created, and some part of us – our souls- is on every single one of those paths. Our focus, intent, beliefs and desires determine which of those paths we follow in the here and now.

Back then, I told a friend about this dream and she laughed and said it was just a reflection of my current situation. I was unemployed, forced to move home when I lost my job as a children’s librarian, and the economic climate sure didn’t favor landing a job in my profession – as a librarian or teacher. But intuitively, I felt I was being shown a possible alternative for something larger than just me or my situation. And the message was clear:  sink or swim. Accept it – or do something about it.

So when I saw this list, I was struck by the sight of Miami and Fort Lauderdale as the top two names. We used to live in Lauderdale, we’ve spent a lot of time over the years on Miami’s South Beach. We now live 15 miles inland, but this isn’t much of a consolation if these predictions come to pass.  In one novel I started and couldn’t finish, the Florida Keys and South Florida were little more spits of land connected by bridges. Life was a struggle under a repressive government. This novel freaked me out and I think that’s why I haven’t gotten any farther with it than I have.

I’m not sure what the answer is or if there’s even an answer at all. Every day, I experience weird weather anomalies for this area– mango trees that bloom too soon, and produce  so much fruit that a lot of it just dies on the branches; extreme heat; an excess of rain; too many frogs at the wrong time of the year. Many of the signs are subtle, and some of them are so blatant and in my face that it’s staggering.

I think of the Blade Runner world in the movie based on a Philip K Dick novel. I think of that strange and disturbing movie, Soylent Green, or The Hunger Games. These Dystopian depictions of the future may actually serve a purpose in that when we see the movies, read the books, we are so horrified that our consciousness somehow shifts. And when the consciousness of one person shifts, there’s a ripple effect; I feel what you feel, we feel what others feel.

So maybe that young woman rowing toward the Bahamas wasn‘t just about me; perhaps she symbolized us, humanity, moving toward something better, more sustainable, and ultimately more egalitarian. I sure hope so. I hope that we and our daughter and subsequent generations choose alternatives that are progressively more sustainable. Otherwise, we’re all going to be in these stupid boats, hoping to get somewhere fast.

 This afternoon on NPR I heard a fascinating interview with Arthur Rosenfeld, a South Florida author who is also a Tai Chi master. He was promoting his new book,  Tai Chi, The Perfect Exercise: Finding Health, Happiness, Balance and Strength. Tai Chi is described by Wikipedia as “an internal Chinese martial art practiced for both its defend training and its health benefits.”  It involves certain movements, breathing exercises, awareness (mindfulness) and meditation.

During the course of the interview, Rosenfeld talked about the philosophy of Tai Chi and something called the Third Door, which is intrinsic to Tai Chi. Most of us, he says, deal with conflict through confrontation or by yielding. But there is a third door we can walk through and it must come from an inner, intuitive place. He then told a great story that illustrates this concept.

One day he was in line at a Starbucks to buy a cup of tea. The line was long and wasn’t moving quickly. He inched forward and stopped about four inches from the car in front of him. The driver behind Rosenfeld, evidently impatient about picking up his order, suddenly blasted his horn and leaned out the window and yelled, “Drive forward, you idiot!”

Rosenfeld’s immediate reaction was anger. He threw open his car door and intended to march back to the driver and punch him in the mouth. But before his feet touched the ground, he realized what he was about to do, and quickly swung his legs back into his car and shut the door. Confrontation, he realized, wasn’t the way to deal with this. That wasn’t the door he wanted to walk through. The second door, yielding, would entail him apologizing to the driver. He didn’t want to walk through that door, either.  After all, what would he be apologizing for?

And then the third door opened, an intuitive blossoming.  When he reached the pickup window, he told the woman at the window – a Brit whom he knew – that he wanted to buy the coffee for the driver behind him. She looked at him like he was nuts. “You oughta kick him in the arse,” she said.

“I’ll buy his coffee.”

“You might want to reconsider. He’s picking up coffee and snacks for his office and the bill is $58.”

Rosenfeld opened up his wallet  and found just a $10 bill. But he felt certain about this third door and handed over his credit card.

That evening when he got home, his answering machine was filled with calls from Starbucks- call us ASAP, please –  and calls from numerous media outlets. He figured he had overdrawn his credit card and called immediately. But it wasn’t about his credit card. Apparently all the drivers who had been in that long line had paid the bill for the driver behind them. NBC had gotten wind of it and wanted an interview. Now, he’s developing a reality TV show based on the Tai Chi concept of the third door.

I’m not sure how the other drivers learned about what he’d done. Perhaps when the irate driver pulled up to the window, the Brit told him his bill had been paid for by the man he yelled at, and he decided to pay the favor forward. However it transpired, the story has striking parallels to the movie Pay It Forward.  And now I’d like to read Rosenfeld’s book.

 Dear Congress,

You have hijacked the government – not over raising the debt ceiling (that’s later this month), but because you hope to prevent millions of uninsured individuals from obtaining health insurance.

 Instead of passing a routine spending bill – i.e., paying what we owe – you attached a provision to delay implementation of the Affordable Care Act, which went into effect on October 1. Oh, and just for your information, Congress, the Affordable Care Act was passed by both the House and the Senate in 2010, and was deemed legal by the Supreme Court.  Yet, you bozos have voted 40 times to overturn the law.

So let’s take a closer look at just how corrupt you idiots are. Senator Ted Cruz – you know, the guy who looks and acts like the reincarnation of Joe McCarthy (remember him?) – seems to be the leader of the tea partiers. He spent 21 hours on the floor of Congress, ranting against the Affordable Care Act. He made a point of saying he doesn’t have health insurance that the Congress offers. Really? So you don’t have health insurance at all Ted? Well, not exactly. His wife, Heidi, is a regional manner for Goldman Sachs. Ah, well, that explains it. Wall Street has better health care than Congress.

According to a 2009 New York Times report, top executive officers and managing directors at the bank participate in a health care program that costs Goldman more than $40,000 in premiums for each participant’s family annually. Slick, Ted.

The shutdown is now in its third day. You bozos, boozing during the 11^th hour negotiations on the evening of September 30, don’t live in the real world. Do you know what the shutdown means in practical terms? For, you know, people?

More than 800,000 government workers have been furloughed; nutrition assistance for women, children and infants has halted; thousands of airline inspectors are now off the job; sexual assault investigations are now on a back burner; kids with cancer are blocked from clinical trials; NASA has been grounded; all national parks are closed. And that’s just for starters.

You bozo boozers don’t mind, though. You continue to collect your paychecks, somewhere in the neighborhood of $174,000.

Twenty Republicans have now jumped ship and want to vote for a clean bill – without this absurdity attached. But John Boehner, speaker of the house, won’t bring it to the floor for a vote. Ah, Boehner, Boehner  – (Bay-nor, is how most people pronounce his name, but the appropriate pronunciation is BONER) – you’re such a coward. You just can’t bring yourself to do the right thing. You know your career is cooked unless you tow the Tea Party line. But I suspect your career is cooked regardless of what you do at this point.

You, Mr. Perpetually Tanned Man, wept with joy when you were voted into your position in 2010. Well, dude, you’re going to be weeping when you’re voted out. And I hope the voting constituents who have kept you in Congress for 23 years vote you the hell out.

From Huffington Post:

“Shutting down our government doesn’t accomplish their stated goal,” Obama said of his Republican opponents at a Rose Garden event hailing implementation of the law. “The Affordable Care Act is a law that passed the House; it passed the Senate. The Supreme Court ruled it constitutional. It was a central issue in last year’s election. It is settled, and it is here to stay. And because of its funding sources, it’s not impacted by a government shutdown.”

 On October 1, more than 5 million people dropped by the government’s website on obtaining health care insurance.  I was one of them. I wasn’t looking for myself – I’m now covered under Medicare – but was looking for our 24-year-old daughter. Rob and I went without health insurance for more than 20 years. As self-employed individuals, we simply couldn’t afford it. Thanks to the Affordable Care Act, our daughter will be able to obtain health insurance at a reasonable cost and won’t ever be rejected for any pre-existing condition she might have. And there won’t ever be a cap to her treatment for any ailment.

Granted, Obama could have set the bar much higher during the initial negotiations for this Affordable Health Care Act – like Medicare for all. Even so, Obamacare is more than what the American public has ever been offered in terms of health insurance. And to you, Boner, and the rest of your boozing, pathetic cronies, I say: if you keep the government shut down for days, weeks, or months, you’ll be paying for it on election day. All of you Tea Party freaks will be swept out of office. Go pound sand. And know this: the voice of the people is still stronger than you politicians who were elected to represent the people.

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Are there any synchros in all this? I haven’t found any yet. But I’m sure they exist. After all, this is a mass event and, depending on how long the shutdown lasts, it could impact the global economy.  If anyone else has uncovered synchronicities related to this situation, please let us know!

 Author Stephen King, known as the king of horror,  would appreciate this synchro.  It involves two of his novels – the bong chilling Pet Cemetery, in which a haunted burial ground has the power to bring dead animals and children back to life, and The Shining, about a haunted hotel. In the novel, the hotel was called The Overlook, but in real life it’s called The Stanley Hotel.  

The  140-room hotel in Estes, Colorado was the inspiration for the novel after King stayed in room 217. First, a bit of history about the hotel.

 In 1903, Freelan Oscar Stanley, co-inventor of  the Stanley Steamer automobile, moved west at the suggestion of his doctor, who believed the move might help Stanley’s tuberculosis.  He and his wife Flora stayed in a cabin in Estes Park and as his health began to improve, Stanley decided to stay. He bought 160 acres and in 1909, opened the Stanley Hotel.

 It’s uncertain when the hauntings began, but strange incidents have been reported in all of the hotel’s rooms. Since the 1950s, for instance, guests in room 217 (where King stayed) are sometimes treated to extra housekeeping services like having their belongings put away or unpacked. It’s believed that the ghost of Elizabeth Wilson,  the chief housekeeper in the hotel’s early years, is responsible. In 1911, she was injured in an explosion as she was lighting the acetylene lanterns  that served as the hotel’s backup system for electricity. Her ankles were broken.

 On the fourth floor of the hotel, guests sometimes hear the ghosts of children laughing and running around. Some guests have reported being tucked in at night. F.O. and Flora apparently hang around as well. He is sometimes seen walking through the lobby and guests often hear Flora playing the piano in ballroom, which featured prominently in King’s book and in the movie.  In one guest room, people have seen a man standing over the bed before running into the closet. This particular spook is supposedly responsible for stealing guests’ jewelry and luggage.

 The hotel’s website identifies the rooms with the most paranormal activity and says availability is limited because these rooms are among the most popular. They include: “the famous Stephen King Suite 217, the Ghost Hunters’ (from the TV show) favorite room 401; as well as 407, 428 and 1302.”

 King’s rendition of the hotel was radically different from what it written on the hotel’s website: “While enjoying the elegant hotel, keep in mind that you may possibly have an ‘extra’ experience here. However, there are never any reports of sinister or evil events happening here, because there are only happy ghosts at the Stanley Hotel!”

 On Halloween night in 2013, there was an event called The Shining.

The synchro? There’s a pet cemetery adjacent to the Stanley Hotel that the hotel now wants to dig it up to make room for – a wedding pavilion!

The administration may want to reconsider that one.

The Dakota. It’s an odd name for a Manhattan building. This architectural marvel, located at Central Park West and 72^nd Street  on New York’s upper west side, was built between 1880 and 1884. Its name was due to the general feeling at the time that the upper west side was as remote as the Dakota Territory. Its high gables, terracotta features, and gargoyles give the Victorian era building an imposing presence, a hint of its opulence and mystery.

Today, The Dakota houses  64 co-op apartments that range from four to 20 rooms. The rich and famous have always lived here – Judy Garland, Leonard Bernstein, actress  Lauren Bacall, author Carson McCullers.  But the building is best known for being John Lennon’s last home and the site of his tragic murder on Dec. 8, 1980. According to several witnesses, Lennon’s ghost supposedly haunts the Dakota.

Three years after his death, Joey Harrow, a musician who lives near to the Dakota Building, and a friend, Amanda Moores, claimed they saw John’s ghost near the entrance to the Dakota where he was shot. He said he was “surrounded by an eerie light.” Moores said, “I wanted to go up and talk to him, but something in the way he looked at me said no.”

Psychic Shawn Robbins said she saw John’s ghost in the building and Yoko Ono was reported to have seen John sitting at his white piano. He turned to her and said, “Don’t be afraid. I am still with you.”

The Dakota has a long history of paranormal activity. Lennon himself said he encountered the apparition of a woman walking down the long halls of the building. He named her the Crying Lady Ghost. Other celebrities and notable figures who have lived in that building have also had very similar experienced. Maury Povich described the building as “very haunted.”

In 1965, three men repainting the walls and re-varnishing woodwork in an apartment felt they were being watched. One saw a ghost of a boy of about ten years old dressed in a Buster Brown suit, a style of the early 1900s. A musty odor accompanied the apparition. The three also saw a ghost that had the body of a male in his 20s and a face of a young child.

After the job was done, one of the painters was doing some touch-up work in a large closet. Suddenly, the door slammed and the light went out. He groped his way off the ladder, propped the door open and turned the light back on. He felt something grab his arm and push it against the light bulb.

Several years later, reports surfaced of a little girl in turn-of-the-century clothing who appeared to painters working in the building. She seems to be the most frequently witnessed apparition and is always friendly, often smiling at people, and approaching them as if to greet them.

There are some dark synchronicities surrounding the Dakota, though, that involve the 1968 Roman Polanski film, Rosemary’s Baby. It was filmed at the Dakota and within a year of the movie’s release, various tragedies occurred. The film’s composer Krzysztof Komeda died of a brain clot, which was how one of the characters in the film died. Producer William Castle suffered from uremic poisoning after the film was made and swore that the movie was cursed.

A year after the film was released, Polanski’s wife Sharon Tate and four others were killed in a ritualistic mass murder at their Benedict Canyon home by Charles Manson and his cult members. Tate was pregnant at the time and was stabbed repeatedly. Before leaving the house after the killings, one of the cult members took a rag soaked in Tate’s blood and wrote lyrics from Beatles songs.

Manson’s “family” called their murder spree Helter Skelter, after a Beatles song on the White Album. Manson apparently believed that the Beatles spoke to him through their lyrics, especially those included in the White Album, released in December 1968. Who could have known then that 13 years later, Lennon would be murdered outside the very building where the movie had been filmed and where Yoko Ono still lives.

 The world of iPad and iPhone apps is vast, amazing, complex. There are apps for weight loss, for nutrition, for diabetes, ESP, synchronicity. There are thousands of game apps – backgammon, words with friends (scrabble) haunted this and that. Then there is Mystery Manor.

This game, developed by a Russian company, is free, but you can pay for in-game apps, usually at a nominal price,  if you choose. The premise is simple : Mystery Manor is a place where high strangeness has changed the contour of things.  

Inside this weird manor, you find references to some of the most famous conspiracies, divination systems,  and alternate worlds. Illuminati lamps banish mists that speed up time; Tesla coils  banish idols that resemble the mysterious statues as Easter Island; magical rune stones get you into the fortune teller’s room. One of my favorite rooms is Room 51, where a little green alien sits at a computer, madly typing away. On the wall behind the alien is a poster that reads, I want to believe. To the left of that poster is a picture window of a city skyline where a UFO zips past every few blinks. A certain number of secret containers get you into Room 51. It’s worth a visit.

The manor consists of 30 mysterious rooms and the layout sort of reminds me of Clue. Library, kitchen, bedroom, hallway, kitchen. But this is an iPad game, so we’re not looking for who did it and where they did it,  You’re looking for objects hidden in each room and you point and click to uncover them.  

You have a time limit – 5 minutes. You explore the rooms in various modes –   light, silhouette, darkness, zodiac – and at each level from trainee up to expert, the number of objects you must find increases, and the time and energy you use decrease. There are also charms you can win that help you achieve a particular goal. The magic magnet, for instance, helps you attract coins, experience and collectible items for a specified period of time. And what you’re always up against is your energy level and the level of your experience.

Sounds a lot like life, doesn’t it?

In the game, each room you explore eats up energy. But you can buy – or win – various forms of energy that enable you to stay in the game. A cup of coffee – that costs 6 diamonds (the game currency)- restores 30 points. A bar of chocolate restores 50 points. You need a certain number of energy points to enter the rooms and that number increases for each level you attain.

 Mystery Manor is actually a social game, where you can add friends, visit friends to receive a mystery gift (money, experience points), and ask friends for help in obtaining objects that help you to charge one or several of ore than 200 collections. several hundred collections.   When you charge a collection, you gain experience, money, tools, weapons.

The weapons are innocuous – firecrackers to banish one form of snatchin, these odd little figures that move around your screen, or a laser pistol to banish little green men.  The weapons don’t promote violence. There are no hidden or overt sexual references. Mystery Manor is, quite simply, fun and challenging. It’s a kind of focused meditation in which the rest of the world vanishes. It exercises your memory. There are, after all, only so many placements of objects in particular rooms that can be programmed into a game like this.

Recently, one of our real-life friends said she played Mystery Manor and was at level 70. We were down in the 40s level. We friended each other. Every day when players are permitted to visit their friends – and reap rewards – Rose has sent us something significant that enables us to advance through the game. She’s so far beyond us in the game that we send her hearts – mystery gifts – that include time snails that slow or stop time for a particular period; flashlights; rune stones, secrets containers, even Sakura shells, that get you into another cool room.  

It’s inexpensive entertainment, the graphics are great, and I enjoy the numerous references to the  paranormal and the mysterious unknowns that intrigue me.

But you know what Mystery Manor is missing? An Afterlife Room and A Synchronicity Room.

These rooms should be ones you can explore in any mode that you want, for as long as you want – regardless of your energy points, your experience points, your level in the game. In the Afterlife Room, I envision the player being able to interact with loved ones who have passed on, to explore the geography of the afterlife.  In the Synchronicity Room, I envision players confronted with the trickster, with clusters, with all the inherent weirdness and wonder of synchros.

So hey, Russian designers, do you think you could add these two rooms?

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And as an aside, this game has 20 million registered users. If even a fraction of these users buy an app for 99 cents once a week or even once a month, we are talking zillions this company is pulling annually. This game may be the law of attraction in full-throttled action.

Many of us who have devoured the Seth books or the Abraham-Hicks material, The Secret, or other sources of higher knowledge are convinced that we create our realities. Okay, fair enough, but then the question arises: Do we also create our illnesses as part of our realities? I began thinking about that question after receiving an e-mail recently from someone who I’ve always associated with ‘New Age’ beliefs, who said that she rejected the idea. She told me that she would never consciously or unconsciously create her debilitating condition.

That led me to thinking about my own condition. I agree with her that of course we don’t consciously create illnesses, but illnesses can and probably do develop out of our unresolved inner issues.

In my case, I would never consciously create circumstances leading to my being catheterized over and over again, as happened to me this year when I developed urinary retention from an enlarged prostate and could no longer empty my bladder. In fact, ever since I was young, just the idea of getting catheterized made me shiver. That was a reality I definitely did not want to create. Yet, it happened.

Over the months, while dealing with this issue, I tried to avoid surgery. Instead, I took prescribed medications and worked with two healers – one in Wales, one in Scotland. The urologist who prescribed the medications told me I needed the surgery. The healers, meanwhile, told me that I needed to find the core issue involved, and they both independently said it was related to ancestors. That was interesting, especially since I had been led to Eugenie, the healer in Scotland, the home of my ancestors.

Jane Clifford, the healer in Wales, thought the core issue might be fear, guilt, and shame. But that didn’t feel right, except for the fear part that I related to our financial downturn as the publishing industry underwent a digital revolution, ending the way things used to be—that being nice advances to write books.

In spite of working with the two healers and even undergoing a healing session with a Q’ero Indian shaman from Peru, nothing seemed to improve. So finally, on Aug. 28, I conceded the urologist was right and had prostate surgery. End of story, right?

Wrong.

Usually after such surgery, the healing occurs within 2-3 days and after that it’s like you never had the problem. But not for me. Five days after the surgery, the post-surgery catheter was removed and that night I ended up in the emergency room with the exact same symptoms, and a week later it only got worse. I came down with a severe urinary tract infection that was causing me to double over in pain any time I even attempted to pee. So back to the doctor and another catheter and antibiotics.

Then, three weeks after the surgery, I had another appointment with the urologist to remove the catheter again. This time, if it didn’t work, I was facing the possibility of a second surgery.

One hour before the appointment, I noticed an e-mail from Jane from earlier in the week that I hadn’t read. In it, she suggested the problem might continue, in spite of the surgery, until I worked out whatever was at the heart of the matter. She also said that healing could come to me in a flash if I was able to resolve the issue.

Within minutes of reading that comment, it hit me. I knew exactly what it was – anger from the past. From time to time, I’ve had spells of inner rage about matters from long ago in which I felt an injustice had been perpetrated against me. These incidents happened spontaneously, out of the blue, one of them occurring when Trish and I were in Orlando last week visiting daughter Megan. Trish was telling some story as the three of us were driving across town, and suddenly I was immersed in inner rage about something totally different that occurred 20 some years ago. Of course, neither Trish nor Megan knew what was going on with me and I said nothing about it.

As soon as I had that realization on the morning of the appointment, I began sending out forgiveness to everyone who ever offended me and asking forgiveness to those I offended, repeating the Ho’oponopono mantra over and over. ‘I’m sorry, please forgive me, I love, thank you.’ I said it all the way to the doctor’s office.

A short time later, the catheter came out and – synchronicity – I was normal again, a great blessing. It’s strange to rejoice about such a thing that most of us take for granted, but when you’ve been through what I’ve experienced, it’s the only way to react. I’ve also thought about my ancestors and their role.

The MacGregor clan had tough times in the 17^th  and 18^th centuries. They were  driven from the Highlands, some became slaves in Jamaica. The clan was banned and for 150 years, no one could use the name MacGregor and many of my ancestors apparently took their anger to the grave. According to Jane – I was the one who absorbed it, and I was the one who could resolve it.

Incredibly, while all this was being played out, someone from my past, who I haven’t seen in more that 40 years, put a photo on my Facebook page of the gravestone of Rob Roy MacGregor, my Scottish namesake. I looked closely and noticed the epitaph: ‘Despite them.’ That’s not as harsh as ‘Despise them,’ but it does invoke a sense of anger. So it was my anger and theirs that I was supposedly dealing with – a complicated scenario – and hopefully things now are being resolved for all who are or were involved. Meanwhile, I have to say it: I’m just going with the flow.

Last week, we wrote here about our sighting of seven or eight bright red orbs that appeared in the night sky between 25-60 degrees above the horizon. The sighting took place Sept. 21 in Jupiter, Florida, and the objects seemed to hover, then as they slowly faded, they turned white and disappeared. Our post about it appeared on Whitley Strieber’s Unknown Country and elsewhere on the Internet, and as a result we’ve heard from a Jupiter resident, named Reese, who also had a sighting.

Interestingly, her sighting took place on Sept. 25 and the object she saw was bluish green. She made a video of it from her porch that we’ve posted above.

Here’s what she said after reading our post: “Very interesting! I’ve been seeing things all over the sky here in Jupiter. This is a glowing orb filmed off my front porch in Mallory Creek on 9/25/2013.”