A Past Life Experience on the Road 9/24/12 - 11/1/12

Dear Friends,

Writing this took a lot longer than I expected.  As a result, in true story fashion, it's longer and will take a bit of time to read through.   


Have you ever had a past life experience or some inkling you may have lived another life time?  I was once with a young Nez Perce woman in San Antonio, Texas helping load a school bus with a variety of donated things bound for Mexico.  While we were doing so she said she had a feeling of deja vu - as if she had been there before.  The remark stuck with me.  Still, it came as a big surprise when I began having a past life experience riding through the Canadian Rockies in late September last year. 

I shared this experience with a friend when I returned to Alaska.  When I asked the same question she shared a past life experience with me.  Perhaps these experiences are a lot more common than people are willing to admit.  It would be considered too "on the fringe" or even preposterous by some.  That too may be changing as the confining walls of our preconceived notions about the nature of reality are challenged and begin to crumble. 


Three is a sacred number descriptive of ourselves as body, mind and spirit;  to Christians, of the Trinity, the three in one God of Father/Mother. Son and Holy Spirit.  This was my third time being drawn to the vicinity of Jasper Park since beginning these peace rides.  Riding into Jasper town site in late September 2012, I was blissfully ignorant of the symbolic significance until later, as often happens. 

I was also undecided whether to ride west, as I had before in the winter of '09, or south over the Icefields Parkway.  This time I was ahead of the snow, I hoped.  It was also drop dead gorgeous with the green gold of fall colors splashed on the surrounding mountainsides.  And the temperatures were downright balmy for the time of year with days on end of clear or partly cloudy skies.  But an end to indian summer weather was in the offing.  A cold front with rain was forecast to move into the area in a couple of days, I learned.  I was prepared for rain.  Not one to pass up an opportunity to see new country the decision was easy.  Go south "young man."

I didn't leave my friend Kim's place until mid-afternoon.  I had waited until Monday the 24th to leave when the weekend crowds would have mostly left and still ahead of the forecast rain.  Athabasca Falls was the first place I came to that beckoned as a possible camp site.  It turned onto the access road and coasted down hill stopping on the bridge over the river.  My first impression was of being in a sacred place.  Here the turquoise water of the Athabasca River cascaded into a narrow, exquisitely beautiful canyon below.  What I also saw was disheartening.  Clearly it had not been treated that way by the "minders" of this place.  There was a second upstream crossing adjacent to the highway bridge and cemented in place viewing overlooks on both sides of the narrow canyon.  All likely seen as quite necessary by Parks Canada to accommodate the visiting "hordes," with some justification.  Still, it's possible to love a place to death.  This seemed to be one of them.  Perhaps in a more enlightened day there will be the sensitivity and humility to regard all of Gaia, Mother Earth, as sacred.  In that day we will assume our proper role as tenders and not despoilers of the "garden."

As I rode on I thought about trees after Kim gifted me with a quote by author Jim Robbins from his new book, The Man Who Planted Trees.  I had frequently camped in the midst of trees, often very old ones.  In some inexplicable way being in their midst touch me deeply.  All living things including ourselves have an energy signature.  Perhaps it was the subtle energy from these ancient ones I was picking up on.  I yearned to know what they might tell me of a place to camp.  Then I seemed to hear look for an old indian trail.  Where?  There was nothing obvious as I rode along. 

The road roughly paralleled the meanders of the Athabasca River coming quite close in places.  There were no out-of-sight, out-of'-mind places I preferred to camp along these stretches.  It wasn't until I saw a sign for Kerkeslin camp ground that a possibility seemed to open.  At this point the river jogged away from the highway.  When I got there however, I had a problem.  The campground was closed for the season with a chain across the entrance. 

I wasn't interested in camping in the camp ground.  I wanted to camp by the river so the reasoning went.  I have never been led to a place to camp where it was posted as closed.  I could easily walk my bicycle and trailer around the chain closure meant to keep out cars but not bicycles.   It was worth checking out. I rode to somewhere near the west end of the campground where I found a camp site with a foot trail leading off in the direction of the river.  Walking  along that I soon found my way blocked by downed trees.  By this time I could hear if not see the river.  With some effort I pushed bike and trailer off the trail through a thick layer of moss to a supporting tree while I went exploring.  It was less effort to find a support, if there was one,  to hold the bike and trailer upright than lay it down and pick it up again.  Not far beyond the trail ended at a wide flat river bar with a few willows growing here and there.  It was a possible camp site but I was in no hurry.  A point of land upriver beckoned with open easy walking along the river's edge.

From the point I could see for miles up and down steam.  I called it Driftwood Point for the tangled pile of wood that had lodged there at high water.  Was it my imagination, but there seemed to be a faint trail through the forest beside the river leading to the point?  Around the point there was not doubt of a trail.  In places it was worn deep by the passing of wild things and the feet of people from the long ago to present.  I was aware here especially of being in the flow of a deeper river beneath the surface of things.  It had made the finding of this place easy.  Had I been here before, it had that feel to it?

Near the point I found a level place for a camp back in the trees.  These were some of the oldest white spruce around but still relative youngsters. Better still I was off any obvious game trail that might lead to an unwelcome nighttime visitation.  I liked it.  An aluminum can under a downed tree pulled my head out of the clouds.  A lot of people came here in season. I was blessed to have it to myself.

Camping near the point with my bicycle some ways off in the trees created a bit of a dilemma.  I couldn't get my bicycle and trailer there without a lot of work lifting over dead fall and then pushing, pulling over soft ground.  I had no energy for that.  A workable plan was leave the bicycle where it was and carry just what I needed to camp near the point.  I could cook by the river closer to the bike.  To give some peace of mind I'd tie my food bags in a tree to remove temptation from any after dark foragers.

I wasn't too worried about bruin having seen no sign anywhere.  It seemed likely they had vacated this part of the country.  They're no dummies and likely knew that a closed campground was lean pickings and moved on to a more lucrative berry patch.  Old fears arose after I started fixing dinner by the river.  I realized my bear spray was still at the bicycle.  I got up to retrieve it.  Then it seemed the trees were speaking.  You don't trust us?  If we lead you to a place to camp it will be safe.  Thinking back to all the places I had camped from the very beginning of these journeys this was true.  I hesitated, then returned to the river.

Old habits and fears die hard however, even as we take those first halting steps toward trust in the unseen.  Later I took the bear spray into my tent for the night.  I felt bad about it and apologized to my forest friends for lapsing back into an old way of being.  I wasn't quite there yet.  I had no problems except for rain that began in the night.  I got up and reset my tent stakes.  The taut fabric would shed water better. 

I lay around until mid-morning when the rain eased off then stopped.  It was past noon by the time I had my gear shuttled back to the bicycle and packed up to leave.  I wasn't driven to literally crank out a certain number of miles every day.  I was going with the flow.

Years ago I had learned not to push the weather when I was still flying for a living.  Just wait awhile and it will change.  It was more important to be present and at peace in the moment.  This was a new thing I was learning.  Riding a bicycle in a place of great beauty, free of the usual distractions made it possible.  I was blessed by time and circumstance to venture into the unknown.  There was, of course, a physical dimension to the journey by its very nature. But more importantly it was also a journey of heart and soul. 

The clouds thickened again late in the day.  Light rain began while I was setting up camp on a narrow strip of land between river and highway opposite Mushroom Mountain.  It was windy and more open here.  Eventually I found a more sheltered place in a patch of willows off the river but not too close to the highway and traffic noise.  It wasn't ideal but it would do.  I carried a small tarp and tied it off between nearby trees for an overnight gear and bike shelter.  Before turning in I a gathered up some dry wood for a morning fire and put it under the tarp. 

It was still raining when I got up.  I hunkered down underneath the tarp with a fire going waiting for the rain to stop.  Clouds hung low in the valley.  It hadn't frosted overnight.  It was still cool and remained that way all day.  Warm hands and food on a cold morning got the day off to a good start.  It's the small things that sometimes make the biggest difference.  A wood fire was one of them.  I enjoyed the whole process of gathering wood then sitting around it afterward eating.  As the sun rose the air dried out some and the clouds began to lift.  I packed up and was on the road in clearing sky.  Another gorgeous day in the mountains was in the offing.  That morning a "rocky mountain high," immortalized in song by John Denver, grabbed me and held on. I couldn't have been happier. 

Along the eastern edge of the wide river flats south of camp remnants of the old winding road bed were visible.  The relatively newer highway I was on cut through the rough middle of these open flats.  It was straighter allowing more cars to travel on it at a much higher speed.  There are always trade offs in these sort of things.  More wild land was used up by a newer road as often happens.  Yet something ineffable was also lost as at the Falls to accommodate more and more visitors.   It seemed to me it was that naturalness of place and a sense of intimacy with nature that was diminished. 

Beyond the flats I started climbing a long grade before dropping down again into the river bottom nearing Columbia glacier.  On the way up I stopped at Tangle Creek for a snack break and fill up on water.  A few others had pulled over to take in the view.  Brewster was building a goat viewing platform here.  Kim and other activists from Jasper had protested its construction.  Heretofore, it was a place visitors had the opportunity to see goats without having to pay.  Parks Canada had given the go ahead to Brewster, a private company, to construct this for profit viewing site.  It was a money maker for Brewster.  It was a raw deal for the public not to mention another intrusion in wilderness.

Two young women pulled up in a small red car.  They stopped near me while I was doing a stand up and eat routine.  The passenger side person got out.  Curious, I asked where they were from.  She said Germany.  She also told me she had lived in Vancouver about a year.  They had come from there in a rental car.  She said her name was Sage.*  In the moment it reminded me of another I had known of the same name.  I thought no more about it. 

For late season in mid-week it was busy but not crowded around the lodge and in the parking area opposite the glacier when I pulled in there for a break.  I was glad I'd missed the summer hordes from Calgary, Edmonton and beyond.  It was a good day to be alive in this place with a nearly cloudless sky.  To the west I had a spectacular view of the glacier. 

Brewster buses were plying back and forth taking tourists to and from an overlook atop the lateral moraine along the glacier's southern fringe.  It had shrunk dramatically, like so many others, judging from the considerable vertical distance between the overlook and its crevassed surface.  There is also the added attraction of being able to walk on trails to the toe of the glacier. 

I didn't stay long.  I wanted to get over the pass and descend lower to find a suitable place to camp for the night.  At some point beyond here Jasper Park ends and becomes Banff Park, not that it made any difference.  It was just a dividing line on a map, not unlike other artificial boundary lines that separate land and people.

Late in the day I began asking where the days camp would be.  I heard continue to about 6:00PM.  Closing in on the time I asked again and was told to look for an old road bed in the valley ahead.  I would be surprised to find an old friend.  Descending into the valley I crossed the North Fork of the Saskatchewan River.  Sure enough across the river on the west side and lower down I saw the old road bed. In the distance were buildings on the east side that might be a campground.  I couldn't be sure.  A little closer but still distant I could just make out through the brush, the back of what looked like a large sign, perhaps a pullout.  I didn't go that far.  Instead I found a not too steep place close at hand and descend onto the old road bed. 

Once there I turned back towards the river while looking for a way off of it.  A convenient ramp, perhaps an old bridge abutment put me into a clearing just upstream from the bridge.  Pushing my bike across the clearing I paused for a moment looking for a less exposed place to camp.  When I looked down I saw several old, half buried logs, perhaps from an old cabin foundation.  A feeling of sadness came over me.  Unaccountably, the feeling lingered as I pushed up over a low bank and crossed a trail leading to the river into another forest opening.  A carpet of diminutive kinnikinnick with it red berries almost shouted out camp here.  It was a nice place.  I leaned my bike against a clump of white spruce trees.

Suddenly it came to me.  These where the Four Sisters.  I'd know them in another life time when they were young.  Now they were old, weathered at their tips much like me.  This was my surprise. I had read we have lived many lives before.  Until this moment I had never been in a place where I had that intuitive sense of knowing it.  There was more to come.

I set up camp by the Sisters then went looking for a patch of bare ground to build a fire where I wouldn't burn a hole in the vegetation.  In a swale I found a place.  And yet another surprise, nearby were four more intertwined "Sisters" about the same height, more vigorous and youthful looking.  It stuck me as unusual to find two clumps of four trees like this so close to one another.  Looking around some more I could see other clusters of two and three spruce growing close to one another.  Further removed the growth pattern was more random.  It was puzzling. 

I ate in the dark by firelight.  It was the usual entre, a "grand mixtura" of pasta and rice, a handful of dried refried beans for protein, with some mutilated green pepper and onion thrown in.  If I had it I'd throw in part of a tomato, add a dollop of olive oil for fat, a dash of spices and sometimes a a fresh egg.  A bit boring after awhile but sustaining.  Afterward there were bits of chocolate for desert to delight the palate.  In the cooling night air the warmth from my small fire was welcome.  When I turned in the moon rose full and bright over the eastern hills down river.  Life was good. 

Snuggled inside a warming sleeping bag I waited.  The Sisters told me this was known as The Place of Remembrance.  It had become that for me.  I had lived here with a young woman whom I loved dearly.  We were native Americans. In those days non-natives were coming into the country.  With them they brought foreign sicknesses and many died.  She was one of them.  In the final moments of her passing we vowed in life times to come we would meet again.  In my grief I was inconsolable and lashed out at those I blamed for her death.  I became a murderer of women and children.  I died in a far off place.  It was a broad outline with few specifics.  It was enough.

I wondered who this young women was?  Then I knew of her from this lifetime.  It was the Sage of my recollection at Tangle Creek earlier in the day.  Years ago on another journey my path had converged with a woman called Sage.  We had two weeks together, not so long but enough for the fullness of love to blossom.  I had the sense of it then that that was all the time we would have together.  I wondered why?  Only now did the pieces separated by the years and another life time come together and make sense. .  She told me at the time of an incurable degenerative disease she had.  Had she passed from the life?  I didn't know, we had lost contact years ago.  If so she had reached across a great divide to let me know of a vow fulfilled.  It would be so like her, this person of  loving heart that I'd known.  Was it possible we were cosmic sojourners living and loving through lifetime past and again in this incarnation. I wanted to believe it.

I knew this for certain, the circumstances of our meeting then and now were uncannily similar.  The moon was waxing full on a clear star lit night just as it had on the night when we said the last goodbye years ago. Or was I just baying at the moon for a lost love, gone daft, set adrift by the ebb and flow of unseen energies..  Still, in my wanderings I had come to know there are no barriers unscaleable nor ocean too vast to cross for the transcendental power of Love, the All There Is.  It no longer mattered what others thought.  I was like Ulysses out bound on a voyage of discovery.  I was a chronicler of events as I saw them, unleashed from the soul binding shackles of the mind, held together by fear of the unseen and unknown.  I was in the flow of a deeper wider river of uncertain dimension or destination.  I knew I was loved and being cared for, that's all that mattered. 

The sun was breaking through the Sisters when I got up.  Overnight frost was beginning to fade from the side of my tent facing the sun.  Before I could get a fire going the Sisters warmed me of danger still distant but coming.  It was a bad bear they said.  I should not linger.  I didn't doubt it.  I had learned to pay attention to these promptings through an experience I had had in '09 when danger was imminent.  I felt it in the moment.  I left the road to safety.

I had set wood aside for a fire the evening before knowing frost was likely but no more.  A few drops of alcohol from my stove fuel bottle set the wood quickly ablaze.  Warm hands and food followed.  Later while I was loading my bicycle panniers the Sisters urged me again to leave.  The bear was closer - coming.  Brushing my teeth and tying my Ride for the Planet polar bear signs on the trailer could wait.  I walked my bicycle down a trail angling off towards where I had seen the back of a sign the afternoon before.  It ended as I hoped at a pullout.  I was left feeling the bear would not come close to the highway.  It felt safe here.  The sign read Howse Pass.   In one of those "aha" moments, I read that 500 generations of native Americans had used this place.  From here old trails led north, south and east onto the prairies to Rocky Mountain House. I had followed a modern day horse trail to the pullout. 

A couple from Edmonton pulled in and parked near me while I was brushing my teeth.  When  I spoke to them I learned she was not very comfortable in the wilderness.  She was also afraid of bears.  They were going to hike the trail I had just retreated on.  He told me they had seen a bear in the lodge area where they had stayed.  It was not so far away.  I had past it just before I descending into the valley and crossing the river.  While there was no way of knowing for certain, this bit of synchronicity pointed to this as the bad bear the Sisters had warned me about.  I knew from experience campground bears are nothing to mess with having lost their fear of people.  After the fact synchronicities like this build trust and confidence in the inner guidance one receives.  I had unwittingly enrolled in a school of the spirit by launching myself into the unknown of these journeys.

Riding out of the pullout on the other side of the road was a Ranger Station, not a campground, as I had speculated earlier.  Near days end I was again asking about a place to camp.  I could easily make Lake Louise the next day.  It was too far to reach before dark.  Again I was told look for the old road bed before the next bend.  There would also be a surprise in this place.  I began paying closer attention.  There wasn't much of the old road bed left, just a sliver of it.  Most of it had been covered over by the newer highway.  I turned around in the bend to look for a place to get onto it.  In places it was too steep and there was a lot of brush grown up.  Some of it had been cut back in the past leaving short stumps to negotiate adding to the difficulty.  Heavy timber abutted the old road grade on the downhill side.  I was told native people called this the Place of Seeping Water.  I could see why.  Walking in the forest looking for a tent site I found many places where water seeped to the surface beneath a thick covering of moss. 

I nearly despaired of finding a dry level place for my tent, however.  If it wasn't wet the forest floor was too uneven.  Finally near an elderly spruce abutting the old road grade I spotted a make do place if I cleared a few dead branches out of the way.  It turned out to be one of the most sublime.  Unbenownst to me when I put my tent in place it was over a slight depression in the forest duff that gave a gentle bow to my air mattress.  In the morning it felt like I'd slept in a cradle, which indeed I had, Mother Earth's own.  It turned into a memorable place for another reason as I was to learn. 

Finding these seeps and needing a bath set me to thinking hot springs as the surprise I would find in this place.  I became fixated on it.  It was pure projection, an ego thing.  There was no indication of what the surprise might be.  There were some lessons in all of this for me.

It was dark by the time I got a fire going in a dry creek bed nearby.  While I was eating I noticed a light shining through the trees higher up on the main highway.  Without thinking I quickly dowsed the fire thinking someone was shining a flashlight in my direction.  I  didn't hear any voices, however and that was odd.  Then I noticed the light only moved when I did.  I had a good laugh at myself when I realized it was light filtering through the forest from the full moon.  It had just crested the hill tops east of the highway while I was eating.

The next morning I was guided downhill following the dry creek bed near camp.   All the while I was on the lookout for a hot springs.  A half mile or so from camp I was instructed to turn right and walk north.  In a short way I walked into a small clearing.  A light frost had settled onto the grass in this unsheltered opening.  There was nothing especially remarkable about it.  I kept going.  Further on I came to a much larger opening edged by a mixed evergreen aspen woodland.  The view from the meadow was stunning, highlighted everywhere by the green gold of autumn.  To the east and west this "artist" had framed a masterpiece like no other with the jagged crests of the Canadian Rockies.

I had found the place I was intended to discover.  There were many small seeps or ponds scatted about.  Some were bathtub size and others many times larger, none of any great depth.  I stuck my finger into each one testing for warm water.  They were all cold.  A few even had a thin layer of ice around the edge.  On my first circuit to the east then back west I noticed a lone duck.  It was a female pintail resting on a larger seep off to my right, to the north of me.  It didn't fly away.  I paid no more attention to it. 

From the western edge of the forest I turned back east again on a line that would take me directly back to the highway without retracing my steps.  I kept looking for new seeps and testing each one but they too were cold.  I was puzzled.  Why was I led here?  I was clearly missing something.  Then the answer came - in part.  This was a place native people visited to bath and love one another during the heat of summer.  It truly was an idyllic spot set amidst so much beauty.  It was easy to understand why people would be drawn here.

Closer to the eastern edge I looked over again and saw the pintail duck still resting on the pond.  I continued into the forest beyond still looking but with waning hope of finding a hot springs.  Back at the highway it became apparent I was meant to learn something else from this experience.  And it was this.  When you allow your ego to get in the way as I definitely had and project an outcome onto inner guidance you risk missing entirely what you were meant to discover.  At the very least you will diminish the joy of the discovery experience.  It was this sense of diminishment I was feeling walking back to camp.  While I was in the opening looking for a hot springs I had missed the symbolic meaning of the female pintail duck, of long neck and one of the more graceful of the dabbling ducks..  It was Sage's way of reminding me of the times we had come to the Place of Seeping water to enjoy the beauty of place and one another in another life time.

The remainder of my ride out of the mountains and onto the prairies was shaped by these early experiences.  That far off place I died in led me to follow a route of travel that took me to Last Stand Hill at the Custer Battlefield Monument east of Billings, Montana.  But why there?

Passing through Longview, Alberta, roughly 50 miles south of Calgary I took a warm up break at Heidis Food Saloon.  There I met Buryl, a clairvoyant as I was to learn who said shortly after meeting me she saw a person wearing a feathered headdress.  Later she told me it was unusual for her to do a reading like that on a first meeting.  She was not able to tell me much more except she saw that person sitting beneath a ledge or outcrop of some sort. 

Further south across the prairies I had the feeling at times I was roughly travelling the same route as I had before to Last Stand Hill.  South of Hardin I was on a stretch of highway bending off to the south.  At that point I heard I might see something familiar up ahead.  Further on a line of low hills came into view..  The name Rattle Snake Hills came immediately to mind.  As it turned out these distant hills where those of Last Stand Hill fame.  Near the Visitor Center at the Battlefield Monument signs read watch out for rattlesnakes. 

I walked and then rode some around this place of epic struggle and dying.  In the end I couldn't say for certain if this was the place I had died in another life time.  What was clear was that I was not one of the well known warriors that had died here.  There was an intriguing possibility.   One unnamed warrior had died from a bullet to the forehead close to where Custer and his men had been "rubbed out" July 25th 1876.  Later that day I camped on the south bank of Little Big Horn river opposite Medicine Coulee Ford where many warriors crossed to attack Custer and his men.  That I ended up camped there was another bit of synchronicity and "chance" meeting with Real Bird a Crow elder and historian for battlefield reenactments.  In this area south of the Little Big Horn and to the east and west was where a large encampment of native Americans was located and first engaged by Major Reno.

In early November with winter nipping at my heels I ended this part of my journey in North Glen, Colorado near Denver.

Looking back there remains a lingering sweetness to these experiences.  It was a real joy sharing them.  I know these recollections will be a stretch for some while others may nod with understanding.  The details of a past life are not as important as the discovery itself.  We have all incarnated before.  It puts death in its proper perspective as an experience we all share.  It is a doorway we've passed through many times.  There is nothing to fear in it.  It is as Chief Seattle said, "death, there is no death only a change of worlds."








 









 

ZITS - Political Humor of the Moment

Dear Friends,

I recently received this from a source who will remain anonymous with, let's say, a different take on the American political scene and priorities.   Enjoy the word play.   Pass it on. 

                                                                       ZION TEMPLE SCHOOL
                                                                           We're fighting ZITS
                                                          A zero tolerance Christian elementary school

Memo:  To wit:

From:  Office of the Principle

To:  Parents of little ZITS, Hairy R., Leesa M., Jon B., Mittsh M. and Baarock HO.

SUBJECT:  School Suspensions and Christmas Pageant 2013

Dear Parents:

We regret to inform you (thinking - not very much) your child will be suspended from ZITS elementary, where every little ZIT is a treasure.  Due to severe budget cuts (thinking - they have no cents) we can no longer afford to send separate parent letters.  At ZITS we're proud of our one size fits all private policy.  Hereinafter your little ZIT will be denied recess privileges for the indefinite future (thinking - yeah Guantanamo Bay!) for the following infarction's.

1.  Food fighting in the hall:  Offenders - Leesa, Jon, Mittsh, Baarock, Hairy others in same Class. 

     Principle recap:  Children will be children, still immature for their age.  You are aware we use the Golden Rule at ZITS 
                                to spank.  We spank fannies only when necessary.  It was.  Our GR broke.  They fractured it.
                                (thinking - hard little asses, they're sorry asses now, bottom line). 

2.  Bullying:  Offender - Little Leesa, others too, not just now

     Principle recap:  Leesa for bulling Qen S.  He wouldn't give her his Rocky Road sucker.  Leesa's a bright ZIT but likes
                                to throw her weight around (thinking - a little blackmailer already, musta learned that from her daddy
                                Phrank).  Leesa's trying to suck up to her friends at home by taking Qen's RR sucker.  She had a
                                hissy fit when he wouldn't hand it over.   Watches too much C - Span???  Threatened to take
                                Juwell, pal Baarock's doll away (thinking - weird little ZIT).  She's a sweet ZIT most of time.  Wants to
                                be a lawyer.  I tried to discourage her.

3.  Name calling:   Offenders - Baarock, Jon. Mittsh, Hairy

     Principle recap:  Baarock called Jon and Mittsh "crackers," per no. 1 above.  Jon and Mittsh called Baarock an
                                uppity "n" word (thinking - he is a bit tall for his age).  At ZITS, we're a zero tolerance religious school
                                (thinking - little bastards deserved a lick'in, better red than dead!).

4.  Uncooperative and not sharing:  Offenders (in no preferred order ) - Leesa, Jon, Mittsh, Baarock, Hairy - more at
                                                                  one time or another.

     Principle recap:  We teach all our little ZITS to share and cooperate - as I know you are.  What happens if they forget
                                the basics when they grow up?  They could end up in government.

5.  Breaking the GR:  Offenders - Baarock all the time lately,  others in Class - more often than not. 

     Principle recap:  Baarock caught throwing paper airplanes with stink bombs in the halls.  It was just a joke - he 
                                said,  (thinking - he has a liars smile already).  He nearly poked a girls eye out.  He's a ZIT with
                                big ideas.  If a grown up did it with the real thing, you could kill some one! 
                               
                                On a positive note:   You'll be pleased to know ZITS bought model RC (radio controlled) drones so our
                                                                  children can learn to play constructively.  Baarock has a knack for it.  Does you. 
                                                                  proud. 

PS:   ZITS are little sinners too.  We forgive them one and all (thinking - if they "f" up again they're out a the 
         Pageant.
        
                                                                  On to the Christmas Pageant, CP hereinafter

Parent note:  We are planning early to accommodate our foreign guests.  And we got that it's usually boring.  ZITS has
                      engaged Mikhael More as new Producer/Director to put joy in it, with new sets, and characters, and music.

                      This season we've invited No Rules Apply elementary school (NRA) to join us.  Their principle Dayvid
                      Qeen will take a shot at play acting in our CP extravaganza.  They're like us, old school, traditional
                      values.   Send you a magazine clipping;  loaded with details.  No - parents must check "heat" at the
                      door.  They'll debut their "fight" song - Heavy Metal - plug it in somewhere.  It's a killer, you'll like it.
                       
                      We're very please to get them.

                                                                         
                                                           CP Outline (contemporary/traditional mixed) a work in progress.

ACT 1:  Scene 1; Theme - He's coming (contemporary)

             Set:  On the Hill

             Cast of ZITS (honorary):  Jack Benny, George Burns, Don Rickles as The Three Wise Men (note to MM:  photo
                                                      shop it, find dead ringers for parts, look in the halls)
           
              Musical support:  Grateful Dead

              Scene Opener:  cast facing Star in the east (they're arguing about whom), sing "Hail to the Chief."


ACT 2:  Scene 2;  Theme - He's here (traditional, set only)

             Set:  Bethlehem Manger

             Cast in order of appearance:    Feedel as baby Jesus - special Cuban guest appearance by MM invitation
                                                             
                                                               Jon, Mittsh,  and Leesa as The Three Wise men - all ZITS
                                                             
                                                              (note to MM:  unable ta find third male Wise Man in Jon and Mittsh's Class, use
                                                               Leesa as filler)
                                                             
                                                               Nancy P. as Mary - a ZIT too
                                                             
                                                                Baarock as Joseph - another ZIT 
                                                                (note to MM:  use whatever white flour it takes).
                                                            
                                                                Hairy R. as walk on Shepard
                                                  
                                                                 Dayvid Qeen (NRA) as Donkey
                                                               
                                                                (note to MM re Donkey:  It's really an Ass.  There's many walking our halls
                                                                 that would make good Asses.  How some ever, Dayvid Q. said the part suited him
                                                                 best.  We agree.  He gets it.  He's the perfect Ass of the year for our 2013
                                                                 Pageant.          
                                                                 
              Scene Opener:  Three Wise Men arrive, look in manger, cut to Baby Jesus, head shot (debearded Feedel in the
                                         hay) burst out laughing, sing NRA fight song -

                                                                                                 HEAVY METAL

                                                                                            We love guns,
                                                                                            Gun are fun,
                                                                                            Guns don't kill,
                                                                                            We got "muscle" on the Hill,
                                                                                             Ban our 15's if you can,
                                                                                             If you do, the "s" hits fan.

              Scene Closer:   With Mary and Joseph plus walk on Shepard, Hairy R.  They play pin the tail on the Ass
                                        (thinking - he'll be one sorry Ass if they do) all sing Jesus Loves me to Baby Jesus.  Curtain
                                        close, First Act, Wise Man Don R. walks off stage with Ass - proclaiming, "yes my friends - once
                                        an Ass always an Ass."

ACT 3:  Scene 3;  Theme:  He returns, who cares??? (contemporary)

             Set:  Guantanamo Bay - A tortured history,  in honor of Feedel's family,
                    
                      (note to MM:  honorarium background music, suggested -  Mikhael Row Your Boat A Shore, you got ohooo
                                            so close MM but no cigar)
                                           
             Cast:  Same as ACT 2,

             Scene Opener:  Jesus (adult Feedel with false beard) in orange jump suit behind razor wire yelling
                                        - set my captives free, lift the embargo, pleads for Restorative Justice.  Manger ZITS, NRA Ass
                                        turn back on him.  Jesus says "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass
                                        against us.  Love one another as I have loved you.  If you say it in my name and don't do it
                                        you're a hypocrite or politician. If you do it but don't say it, gracias amigos." 
            
             Scene Closer:    teleprompter plays words for Silent Night - dead silence;  Up stage - Baarock, and Nancee,
                                        continue to play pin the tail on the Ass.  Curtain falls,   Jon, Mittsh, Leesa, Hairy
                                        scratch heads,  Restorative Justice, huh - we don't get it???

                                                                                 THE END (unless it isn't)

              Note to parents:   Not all fleshed out yet.  Little ZIT Leesa M., volunteered to look up Restorative Justice; will
              make presentation to assembly next fall;  can't get being a lawyer out of head.  NRA elementary will peddle 
              CD's of Heavy Metal afterward.  To order call 1 - A15 USE AMMO for price, availability, no background checks.

Security - TSA

Travel arrangements - Cubana Airlines

Promotion - Radio Bimbo Limbo



            
                                                            

                                                            
                                                            

            

            

           

New From Peace Rider

Dear Friends,

My apologies for the absence of more from me in these days.  Writing of a past life experience has taken on a life of its own, more in story form so that has taken more time.  Then too tax time is upon us again.  So from head in the clouds to rendering unto Caesar his due.

But here's some food for thought.  From my days more immersed in the Bible than now I recall that Jesus threw the money changers out of the temple for defiling it.  I also understand he spoke in parables and metaphor to make a point. 

In this day for me the "temple" is Mother Earth which we are collectively defiling,  putting money and having our own way ahead of most other considerations.  What then needs to be overturned, individually and collectively to set things aright to restore balance and harmony in our world?  Something to think about.? 

Peace Rider