All
the World’s a Stage
8/15/11
“All
the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players.” William
Shakespeare
When attending Masquerade
Parties, costuming is most
important.
While indulging myself in a
coffee-cleanse Thursday morning, I imagined what I would wear…my rainbow vortex
medicine bag filled with a dash of sacred salt from the Salt Flats and a pinch
of helichrysum I’d been gifted with
during the Pipe Ceremony the night
before, my tie-dyed Nudestock shirt
sporting a peace sign on front layered with a lacey white tank top, my tight
capris jeans I’d scored at the “Mexican Swapmeet” at the Redwood Road Theater,
layered with a rainbow tie-dyed wrap-around mini-skirt. As I was completing my ensemble with silver
“vortex” earrings I’d traded for a Tantric massage from a guy I’d met in Maui
who’d purchased them on a recent trip to India, I heard the text signal to my
cell phone go off…again…and again…and again.
I smiled, knowing it was Cliff, a dear friend I’d run into yesterday at Whole Foods who asked if he could text
me. As I finished threading the matching
earring through the piercing in my ear, I went into the massage room to retrieve
the message on my phone which had been plugged into the battery charger.
“I sat with the dawn. It overflowed from the sky like a light-song
singing to the mountains and the valley below.
I watched the sky transform….” I
sighed knowing I’d be late if I spent the desired time relishing Cliff’s
soulful poetry. I’d have time to read
the rest in court. As I laced up my pair
of hand-made moccasin-boots (another part of my costume), I realized that these
would be rather hot in 100 degree August weather and a bit “over the top.” I quickly unlaced them, realizing I was
running late for my 8:45 bench-warrant court hearing, and slipped on my white
“thong” sandals. (Yes, we used to call “flip-flops” thongs not floss-string
underwear.) I knocked on Brad’s bathroom
door (as he was in the middle of his coffee-cleanse) and told him I was leaving
and to wish me luck. I also informed him
I was leaving my USB stick with all of my Holy
Vortex Foundation website pages on it…just in case they decided to throw me
in jail…he’d have to be responsible for the website.
As I slid the seatbelt across
my lap in my POS white Volkswagon Cambriolet, I reflected on the events of the
previous day. It had really turned out
to be an interesting day.
I’d scheduled to meet Torg (an
“Urban Shaman” and founder of the Open
Mind Foundation) at 9 a.m. at the Heber
Wells Building to umbrella my Holy
Vortex Foundation into a DBA. I’d
met with an attorney, Pattie Christensen, who’d started the www.womenow.org nonprofit organization for “women out of
crisis” last Wednesday and we’d had a
great “mind-meld” as I discussed my court case and my personal desire to start
my own nonprofit for networking sustainable intentional communities. I showed her the two petitions I’d recently
filed with the court and told her I hadn’t heard from my attorney’s office ever
since. I wasn’t quite sure where the
court was with all of it and she told me
that I should call my attorney to find out if they’d filed their own “Motion to
Dismiss” as it needed to be filed by them as they were representing my case,
and the court doesn’t usually respond to letters sent “pro se.” I told her I would call my attorney’s office
ASAP and then we discussed details of my non-profit. She informed me that in order to accept
donations for a nonprofit you had to file with the state for approval, after
which they would determine if you qualified.
She sent me an e-mail file for the paperwork. When I received it I was dumb-founded at what
was required—more information than I wanted to hand over including recent tax
statements which weren’t available as Heartsong
was doing business as a “Free Church” for the past several years. I knew there had to be another way around all
this bureaucratic “red tape” so I sent out a petition to God.
That evening at the Introduction to Shamanism 101/Matrix Class,
we were reunited with some “Wildernook” friends we’d partied with at “Warren’s
Wilderness Lovefest” the previous weekend and met some amazing new friends. Shamans Ryxi and Torg conducted the class,
giving us an overview of what the course would entail. When it came to class introductions, I shared
my “Reader’s Digest Condensed Version” of my lifetime Shamanic
experiences. (That’s why I write books
BTW.) After the Matrix Class (which was quite intriguing) Brad and I hung around
for awhile discussing with Renee aka Shaman Ryxi her “Nemenhah Path” which had
been adopted under the Oklevueha Native
American Church. I was open-minded
and curios as Renee seemed extremely invested in the Nemenhah Path. She
generously loaned me two of her personal, well-marked Nemenhah volumes which she claims were translations from plates,
skins and papyrus found in or around Sanpete County. Interesting, I
thought…realizing that Renee, Torg and I had land holdings in Sanpete in
various stages of building sustainable intentional communities on. Before leaving, Spirit nudged me to ask Torg
(who had retired to his bedroom downstairs) if he could perhaps help me with my
nonprofit status for the Holy Vortex
Foundation. He informed me that he’d
umbrellaed nearly 30 nonprofits under his Open
Mind Foundation including one belonging to our dear friends, Robert and
Carol Pope called the Bring Joy
Foundation (although Carol and I’d had a recent fall-out at Wildernook which did not bring any joy!)
As I opened the first volume of
The Mentinah Archives before falling
asleep, I couldn’t help but have de ja vus of reading the Book of Mormon during my high school LDS Seminary years. It was Sominex
in print and I quickly fell asleep wondering what Brad and I had gotten
ourselves into—signing up for the Shamanism
101 Course. The next day was spent
“going down the rabbit hole” as I google-searched the Nemenhah Band and its founder, Philip Landis. Here’s what I discovered from the
internet:
The Mentinah Archives are alleged to be the
recorded histories of the people known anciently as the "Nemenhah" (people
of the truth) who trace their history from the journey of Hagoth into the
Land Northward into what is now known as the "four corners" area.
They were allegedly written upon plates of
various metals, processed animal hides and paper velum. Allegedly, the records were archived in
several locations in North and Central America anciently, with the only
surviving copies of the histories of the Nemenhah being strictly guarded in the
libraries at a non-disclosed location in Sanpete County, Utah. When the
LDS church said they could not translate them another person eventually
translated them into Spanish-related language. They were then translated
into English and first published Nov. 11, 2004. (11/11)
The hallmark is the alleged "rest of the
story" of Samuel the Lamanite. A
visit of Jesus Christ and a presentation of his teachings are featured as well. Samuel the Lamanite is presented as a great
grandson of Alma, and grandson of Corianton, who apparently was misunderstood
by Alma, and actually had converted and married the once harlot, Isabel. According to Alma 63:10, had Corianton not
sailed north to bring provisions to Hagoth's people, he would have become
caretaker of the records we now possess as the Book of Mormon.
Making headlines this morning is a small
pseudo-religious group known as the Nemenhah
Band. This
Missouri-based group along with their religious beliefs are currently keeping a
young cancer-stricken Minnesota teen from receiving life-saving chemotherapy treatment. The 13-year-old boy,
who has recently been diagnosed with lymphoma, a deadly yet highly treatable
form of cancer, is being denied access by his parents who share the Nemenhah
Band’s belief that only natural remedies will treat illness. Fortunately, the Brown
County District
Judge, John Rodenberg, disagrees.
In a court case held earlier today, Rodenberg
overruled the parents’ religious objection and stated that the boy had been
“medically neglected” and should be sent to CPS (child protection services) immediately — as
well as undergo the necessary treatment. This is especially good news for young
Daniel as doctors familiar with the case currently give him a 90% survival rate
so long as he proceeds with the treatment, but without it they estimate that
rate to decrease to 5%.
As to the Nemenhah Band themselves, they are a
new organization that hold beliefs similar to that of local Native Americans as
well as the Mormon Church — although neither group recognizes the Nemenhah Band
as a part of them. Their leader, Philip “Cloudpiler” Landis has a criminal past
and spent a few months in jail several years ago for charges of fraud. After
leaving jail he started the group which he allows others to join for a small
fee of $250. To top it off, whenever members of the Nemenhah Band get sick they
also have to pay Landis for the natural medicines too.
In 1999, a jury convicted Phillip Reid Landis of the
felony offenses of theft and deceptive practices. The District Court sentenced
him to a 10-year suspended sentence on each count. Testimony in the case
indicated that Phillips contracted to teach people how to grow, harvest, and
market organic Reishi mushrooms for profit. Phillips also promised to buy what
was produced, but failed to keep his promises and became unresponsive to
inquiries. Landis appealed, but, as shown below, the Montana Supreme Court
found no judicial impropriety and said that "sufficient evidence existed
from which a jury could find, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Landis made false
and deceptive statements over a period of months to promote and procure the
sale of property and services." In recent years, Landis has been operating
Nemenhah Band, a "Native
American Church" that teaches that all illnesses can be cured with native
remedies and that chemotherapy and radiation are “poisons.” Members join
"spiritual adoption" that involves a “donation” of $250 and subsequent
monthly “donations.” Members 13 years old and older are considered “medicine
men” and “elders” in the organization, which also sells herbal products
concocted by Landis. In 2009, Landis became newsworthy when a Minnesota judge
ordered a 13-year-old "member" (Daniel Hauser) to undergo
chemotherapy for life-threatening Hodgkins disease.
As many of you know by now, one of my
favorite pastimes is “Alice’s Adventures Down the Rabbit Hole.” It’s not that I enjoy the prospects of
exposing all the colorful characters like the Mad Hatter, the Queen of Hearts,
the Cheshire Cat, the White Rabbit etc. for who they truly are, but I suppose
it’s part of my journalistic nature to attract interesting material for my Heartsong Newsletters. Or perhaps it’s my own quest for truth and so
I’ve relegated myself to the simple acronym of BSB (Bull Shit Buster). Regardless of what motivates me, I was indeed
curious as to how deep this rabbit hole was heading as the material I uncovered
that day touched upon some real “trigger points” that personally affected me.
First off, I’d already traveled down the
Mormon “rabbit hole” decades ago and had come up with my own “testimony” based
on undeniable scientific evidence that convinced me that the whole Book of Mormon story was totally fiction
and Joseph Smith an absolute fraud. But
I felt like Nicolaus Copernicus and Galeleo Galilei trying to convince the entire Catholic Church that they were wrong—that
the earth actually rotated around the sun—not the other way around. And now I was faced with another adjunct
fraud named Philip Landis who claimed to have translated the “lost books of the
Book of Mormon” and had formed an
offshoot Mormon/Native American “brand” named the Nemenhah Band—which my Shamanism 101 “professors” embraced
whole-heartedly.
Granted, I concurred with “Dr. Phil” (he
claims to have a degree in Naturopathy) that everyone has the right to decide
what type of medical treatment they should be allowed; and personally, if it
were me, I would definitely choose holistic health practices over allopathic
any day. But then enters the rights of
the minor child and the question being asked—who has jurisdiction over his rights—the parents or the
courts? Obviously, this is a
controversial subject because when we include the state in our intimate
relationships by signing a marriage license “contract,” this contract would
include the state having rights to all
of the assets from our marriage—which includes our children. Obviously, there are times when the state should interfere—when there is criminal
behavior such as child abuse and neglect going on. But I feel that the state, in this particular
case, has over-ridden its right to determine what type of healthcare one
chooses for oneself and one’s family.
This conclusion comes even after witnessing my older sister, Marsha,
contracting Hodgkins Disease and being completely cured after several
chemo/radiation treatments. However, I
do believe that there are many safe and effective holistic cures that are legal
outside of the U. S. like the Gerson
Therapy which I believe the parents of this particular child were perhaps
seeking. Good for them!
But I decided to put this entire
“adventure” on a shelf for now as I was dealing with my own personal
embattlements. I was scheduled to go
down to St. George on Friday with my daughter, Destiny, to celebrate my
grand-daughter, Sienna’s third birthday party on August 7th. I was also anticipating taking my two
teenaged daughters, Kelsey and Jenny, down to enroll them in high school as
they’d finally gotten their dad’s permission to transfer from a small Montana
high school (where sex, pot, cigarettes and beer were extra-curricular
activities) to a very conservative
St. George high school (which we later learned had dress codes). Now there’s a pendulum swing for you!
I’d scrimped together enough money last
Christmas to buy my two daughters a used Subaru, so I anticipated them driving
it down that weekend so that they could register on Monday (the week before
school started) and would have a car for transportation. But alas, the SOS (Same Old Shit) distress
signal went out early in the week telling us that their dad (Kurt’s his
name—Hurt’s his game) had decided to confiscate their Subaru for Christy’s son,
Jesse, to use to travel back and forth from school in Montana. We (including all of my older children) were
obviously outraged by Kurt’s
unethical decision, but what could any of us do? (Other than gather a group of
us “outlaws” together and storm the property, guns blazing, to retrieve “Mom’s”
Subaru.) Frustration reached its peak on
Saturday when I desperately contacted Christy’s brother, Kody Brown, on Facebook and wrote him the following
message:
Hi Kody! Could you please give me the name of your
attorney who is filing a lawsuit against the state of Utah for your rights to
practice your religion? I would like him to defend me in my case
against the State of Utah for violating my
rights to practice my religion which
is based on Tantric/Shamanic/Gnostic principles and practices. As you may already know I’ve founded my own
church calling it “The Church of the Gathering of What is Real” and I was
arrested a year and a half ago for practicing my religion. Also, do you think you could influence your
sister, Christy, to give me back my
husband, my children, my home, my land, and now my car
which I bought Jenny and Kelsey for Christmas and is now being given to her son
(your nephew) Jesse. I’m also concerned
about him driving it without being registered or insured as I feel somewhat
responsible as I bought the car! Thanks, Kody, I appreciate your help in these
matters. LOL—Janae (King) Thorne-Bird
Okay, so I admit I was a bit
presumptuous but give me a break—I was acting out of sheer desperation! Kurt and Christy had long ago cut-off any communication with me and I felt
each time my children got in the middle of our disagreements, it was somewhat
abusive to them. (BTW—I never did get a
reply back from Kody, only from one of his “fans” saying I should have posted
it on his “personal Facebook messages”
rather than on his wall. Perhaps that
would have been a better approach, so sorry, Kody, if you feel used and abused
;) Nevertheless, I really wanted to travel to St. George that weekend to enroll my
girls and also attend Sienna’s birthday party.
But Kurt wanted to play his usual “control-drama game” and wait until
the next week to bring down the girls.
(I found out later one of the reasons was because Kelsey would be
getting her one and only paycheck for $100 from Hollister’s which would pay for the gas money along with Jenny’s
last $20 in savings, even though this trip was a dental visit for Christy’s
children! Okay, let out a big aaaarrrgggg with me!)
Life has some of those “whatever”
moments that you just have to deal with no matter how hard you practice “The
Law of Attraction.” I still haven’t
figured out how to deal with the Kurt/Hurt syndrome, so instead of getting all
frustrated, Brad and I decided to camp
out near Diamond Fork Hot Springs that weekend and hike up for our very own
“Church of the Most High Hot Springs” Celebration. I’d brought my home-brewed Kombucha
“sacrament” to try out (enough said on that subject) and I was still feeling a
bit “high” when we stopped at Cal and Becky’s to pick up the rest of our
“mushroom” extract and talk shop.
We updated them on our recent exposure
to the Nemenhah Band of ONAC and
Becky interjected that she’d also been “scammed” by this group when she paid
her $250 with the promise that she’d receive a set of CDs describing their
beliefs and ceremonies. She didn’t
receive any CDs only a certificate
verifying that she was now a bona fide “Medicine Person” and could conduct her own ceremonies (which instructions she
hadn’t received). She felt conned by
this now notorious Phil Landis along with Cal.
Cal had shown us a large “mushroom”
weeks earlier (actually, I knew them as “conchs”) which “Dr. Landis” had left
with him to do an extract. It supposedly
had “mysterious healing properties designed to enhance your immune
system.” Cal had done the extraction,
but Landis hadn’t returned to pick up the extract and pay Cal for his
efforts. By now the story was piling up
higher and deeper (a regular PHD credential) and so I renamed “Chief
Cloudpiler” “Shitpiler” when I suddenly realized that I was one of the families who was probably scammed by this man! I told Cal that someone (I didn’t remember
names as it was so many years ago) had contacted our family to gather these
so-called “mushrooms” off of pine and cedar trees as they were extracting
holistic medicine from them. My children
and I had spent nearly a week gathering huge garbage bags full of these
“mushrooms” from off of ancient pine and cedar trees which grew on our
property. When we went to get paid for
our efforts and products—we were told that they were the wrong type of “mushrooms” and ripped us off. They generously offered to “take the
mushrooms off of our hands as they could perhaps make paper out of them.”
I told Brad that I didn’t want any part of this Nemenhah Band/Brand of
Indian-traders and wasn’t interested in attending Shamans Torg and Ryxi’s
course if it involved subscribing to this type of scandalous deception. Brad called Torg the next day and was
reassured that his “brand” of Shamanism was well-researched and
legitimate. That same day, Monday, I
received a message from my attorney (with all this excitement I’d neglected to
contact my attorney as Spirit had nudged me to do) that I had a bench warrant
out for my arrest as I’d neglected to appear in court for a hearing in which
they were filing a motion to dismiss and strike all charges. I was frantic and called my attorney, Lacey
Singleton, back immediately only to get her secretary who informed me that
she’d sent me a message clear back in June about my next court date. I knew she was lying as I’d spoken with her
after filing a continuance as my next court date fell on my youngest son,
Andrew’s, birthday (June 19). I’d
already scheduled a trip up to Montana to celebrate Andrew’s 14th
birthday since I hadn’t seen him for over a year. We had a great visit although I hardly
recognized him ‘cause he’d grown a foot and his voice had changed since I last
saw him. It was criminal of Kurt not to
allow my son, Andrew, to ride back with me to spend a few weeks in Salt Lake
for the summer. Again Kurt played the
“control-drama game” by ignoring me; and both Andrew and I felt “backed against
a wall” and severely defeated when he refused to honor our requests through a
phone message to my oldest daughter, Aubrey.
As for my court hearing…I’d already
filed my own “pro se” petitions to the court at my last hearing and I hadn’t
heard back from anyone ever
since. Part of me was hopeful that it
had all been “dropped” and so I didn’t really want to “rattle any chains”…so to
speak. The next day my attorney called
and said they had scheduled a “bench-warrant hearing” for Thursday morning at
8:45. I was relieved but somewhat
nervous driving around town with a bench-warrant hanging over my head…which
brings us full circle to my “interesting Wednesday.”
As I got in my car that morning to head
downtown to meet Torg at the Heber Wells
Building, I tugged on my seatbelt but it wouldn’t budge. No matter how I manipulated and maneuvered,
it still was stuck and I couldn’t pull it across me. I gave up knowing if I spent any more time
fiddling with it, I’d be late. So I
drove off without buckling my seat belt, passing a cop parked next to the
freeway onramp and then several more who were “crowd-controlling” the bumper-to-bumper
9 a.m. traffic. I slammed on my brakes
several times, barely avoiding a fender-bender pile-up, with thoughts of my
bench warrant in the back of my mind and how that’s all I need right now—a
car accident with no seat belt!
Torg met me in the front foyer of the Heber Wells Building as I was a few
minutes late. (BTW—I hate being late!) We completed the necessary paperwork by 9:30,
putting the Holy Vortex Foundation into Torg’s Open Mind Foundation as a DBA. I then invited Torg to breakfast at a nearby Denny’s which I thought was on 21st
South and State Street. As I drove past
21st South, I realized I’d made a mistake and it was actually a Village Inn on 29th and
State. As I pulled into the Village Inn, I tried phoning Torg but
got a familiar phone message that my cell phone had been turned off due to lack
of phone bill payment. (This happens almost every month as Brad neglects to
pay the bills on time—which is entirely
another story.) As I waited a few
minutes and Torg didn’t arrive, I asked to use the house phone at the Village Inn. Instead of connecting with Torg, Renee
answered and said Torg had used the house phone at Dee’s on 21st and 7th East to try to phone
me. I told Renee to call Torg and let
him know I was on my way to Dee’s on
7th East.
It seemed like the “Elementals” (as
Renee or Torg call them) or the “Mischievous Spirits” (as I call them) were up
to some dirty tricks, attempting to sabotage Torg and my connection. This always meant (to me anyway) that our
connection was truly valuable and important.
Torg had taken a seat at a booth and I ordered coffee while he ordered a
hot chocolate. I checked my wallet for
financial resources and noticed I only had $14.
I wanted to buy Torg breakfast for the valiant efforts he’d gone to this
morning for me—so we decided to split a “Veggie Skillet” as it came with
pancakes (which he wanted) and I usually avoid carbs as much as possible.
Our conversation immediately ran in the
direction of Intentional Community Building—which we both were passionate
about. It was amazing how much our lives
had paralleled—he’d grown up in the same Parley’s Stake as me—graduated from
Highland High School and also was indoctrinated in Cleon Skousen’s Freeman Institute (Cleon was a close
neighbor of mine). He’d been in the same
graduating class as my older brother, Brent, (although he didn’t recognize his
name) and said he was a bit of an “intellectual geek” and helped found the
first “Earth Day” at Highland. He’d been
deeply involved with environmental issues ever since and had studied with some
of the same “celebrities” as I’d met at Windstar
Symposiums; such as Dennis Weaver, Bucky Fuller, Amory and Hunter Lovins
and John Denver. He even “wowed” me by
mentioning he’d stayed in John Denver’s tipi in his backyard on several
occasions.
I told him that my design for my Rainbow Light Center (which I’d e-mailed
him earlier in the week) had been inspired by the Lovins’ Rocky Mountain Institute in Snowmass, Colorado along with Bucky
Fuller’s Biodome. We then got into a
deep discussion concerning environmentally “safe” materials to build my Light
Center with as he’d been around Dennis Weaver’s “Earthship” recycled tire
construction which required a lot of “earth-ram” work and wasn’t necessarily
“earth-friendly” as tires can “out-gas” if not coated properly so that the air
doesn’t get to the rubber. I told him my
“regrind rubber” concept was a great alternative as you still recycled tires
but they could be easily poured into forms using the proper binding adhesives.
I almost had Torg convinced of the
efficacy of my concept when my cell phone rang.
It was my daughter, Ariel, which I had
to answer as my two teen-aged daughters, Kelsey and Jenny, were scheduled to
move to her place on Thursday or Friday so they could register for high
school. I was certain that the phone
call was concerning these details; yet Ariel’s voice sounded unusually
distressed (Ariel hardly ever gets
distressed). She then informed me that
her husband, Brad, had been rushed to the hospital yesterday with what they had
determined to be appendicitis. It was,
but during his appendectomy, the doctors found a tumor in one of his ureters
which tested out to be malignant and so they ended up surgically removing some
of his large and small intestines which showed signs of Cancer. Ouch—what a low blow!
I was somewhat in a state of shock when
I finished the phone conversation with Ariel.
Her husband, Brad, who was only 33, had absolutely no prior signs of Cancer nor had anyone in his immediate family.
“How could this be possible?” I questioned out loud to Torg. Torg seemed extremely sympathetic as I shared
with him the “bad news.” I then divulged my own Cancer prevention regime of an
alkaline diet along with regular coffee enemas—a Cancer regime developed by Dr.
Gerson decades ago. Torg was also into
natural healing and had taken Dr.
Christopher’s School of Natural Healing Course and knew and worked with
David Christopher, Dr. Christopher’s son.
I told him I’d been snowmobiling with David and Fawn Christopher a few
days before Dr. Christopher slipped on the slab of ice outside their cabin door
which eventually caused his death. I had
sensed that someone was going to have an accident on the slippery ice, and I’d
mentioned to David my concerns that day.
I only wished I’d been more insistent on voicing my premonitions so that
they would have taken care of the situation.
I’m the first to admit that one of my
weaknesses is not having a forceful voice so that people actually listen to me
and take me seriously. I’ve been
somewhat of an “intellectual geek” myself most of my life and although I’ve had
numerous visions and premonitions that are uncannily accurate—I’ve had a hard
time sharing them with others. I guess
that’s why I’ve become a “prolific writer” (as certain friends call me) as it
seems easier for me to write things down rather than speak them out loud—hey,
I’m working on it ;)
On my way home, I stopped off at Whole Foods to pick up some natural food
colorings for my Kombucha Tea Chakra Formulas I’d been playing around
with. The first four chakra colors had
turned out great, but the blue and purple colors for the throat and third eye
chakras needed some help with coloration.
At the check-out stand I literally ran into the arms of my dear friend,
Cliff. It was an automatic energy mergence at first glance—that is how
powerfully magnetic Cliff and I are connected.
He invited me to sit down with him as he ate the Sushi he’d just
purchased. He scolded me for not
answering his e-mail he’d sent a week or so ago as he was now available to
connect with me since he’d recently divorced.
(He proudly held up his naked ring finger.) We’d had one of those “hit and miss” kind of
relationships since we’d first met over ten years ago—and now I felt thrown
into a whirlwind of emotion as we exchanged phone numbers—promising each other
to call. He asked if I did texting and I
said “sure.” This could get a bit tricky—yet intriguing—I said to myself as I
headed to my daughter, Destiny’s, a short distance away to pick up my two
grand-daughters to go swimming at my condo.
While there I was hit with some more
interesting “news.” Destiny and Tyler
had split up and Tyler was living somewhere else in the meantime (until he
could get some of his “bad habits” under control). My precocious grand-daughter, Carly, (who was
visiting from Logan whom I promised to drive back home the next day while
picking up my two daughters who were coming down from Montana) filled me in on
the details as I drove home. I told
Destiny (who’d booked some massage sessions) I’d drop Carly and Adaela off on
my way to the Shamanic 101 class at 7
and then pick Carly up after my court hearing at 8:45 in the morning. I began to think I was a “Granny-Taxi” as I
crammed Adaela’s carseat in the back of my cramped VW Cambriolet and then scooted
Carly into the passenger’s seat. We had
a perfect afternoon swimming and goofing off in the Condo-complex pool. Then I was off to my Shaman class with
Shamans Torg and Ryxi (Renee).
The class was quite interesting as we
again shared our own shamanic experiences with newcomers to the class. This time I shared my background concerning
my Grandfather Callister’s deathbed vision of being told by a Christ-figure to
help the Indians or “Lamanites” as he’d learn to call them. James, a student next to me, shared that he
cringed at the word “Lamanite” as it was a total slap in the face to “his”
people (I assumed he was Native American although he looked Caucasian). He made it clear to the entire class that
they didn’t like being called “Lamanites” as this word was an insult to
them! (Mormons believe that the Book of Mormon “Lamanites” were a darkened race that required repentance to
turn their skins white.) I tried to
console James by patting him on the back and telling him I understood his
come-from—that I was no longer Mormon and didn’t call Native Americans
“Lamanites” either—this was simply my Grandfather’s term for them. He finally apologized to me as he got my
drift.
Renee then demonstrated the Pipe
Ceremony and Torg demonstrated how to create a Medicine Wheel. I’d brought my “Tree of Life” stories as a
gift for Torg and Renee and asked if I could read a short poem I’d written
describing the “Medicine Wheel.” (I
wanted to share the poem I’d written concerning the coming of the White Buffalo
Woman when we were talking about the appearance of the “Peace Pipe” but it was
rather long.) Torg seemed open to my
sharing but Renee seemed somewhat put-off by my constant inclusions. I, on the other hand, was a bit put-off by
Renee’s constant references to the Nemenhah
Band—which Brad and I had already determined to be another “Mormon
Fraud.” If James (or any of the class)
knew where the Nemenhah Band had originated—it may have erupted
into some pretty heated class discussion.
Brad and I decided to “bite our tongues” and glean what we could out of
the class recognizing, from the Medicine Wheel analogy, that we all had gifts
to share:
MEDICINE WHEEL
Red, yellow, black, white…
Four colors, dull to bright,
Four directions, four ways to heal
All around the Medicine Wheel,
Fire, water, earth, air…
Elements used by God with care,
To heal us of our separations
Because we’ve chosen different
directions.
North, south, east, west…
Which is right? Which is best?
Beauty, balance found in the center
When to the cross we surrender.
Life, light, laughter, love…
Precious gifts from God above,
Promised all of which are spoken
When the Medicine Wheel’s unbroken.
When our final discussions wound down to ways to protect ourselves
against “dark or evil forces” a few tools and methods were demonstrated. I felt compelled to reveal my favorite way of
protection—prayer. I then asked the
class to pray for me as I faced my bench-warrant hearing the following
morning. Torg directed everyone to form
a prayer circle (which closely resembled a Mormon Temple Prayer Circle) around
me with alternating males and females with their left hands on the shoulder of
the person next to them and the right hand pointed toward me. I’ll admit I
hadn’t seen this type of formation for over 30 years—but I felt that the
intentional heart connections were powerful and sincere. About half of the members of the circle
verbalized protective prayers for me (although a few were the traditional “Thy
Will Be Done” prayers as I surmised some of them weren’t convinced of my
innocence;-). I felt the strength of
their prayers as I left—and even that morning as I dressed for what I consider
a “Masquerade Party.”
I arrived a few minutes late to court as
my cell phone kept ringing or texting while I was getting ready. I was pleasantly surprised when the seatbelt
worked without effort as I hopped aboard my VW.
When I arrived, Lacey (my fifth court-appointed attorney) was “on stage”
defending clients who, like me, had not been notified of court hearing dates
and now had bench warrants out. Judge
Judith Atherton, dressed in her black “cloak and gavel” costume, reminded me of
“Judge Judy” on steroids. During the
case proceeding mine she informed my attorney, Lacey, that she shouldn’t “fall
on her sword” in behalf of her client—as it was her client’s responsibility to
find out when their court hearings are scheduled. Lacey, dressed in a gray, pin-striped skirt
suit costume, noticed I had arrived as my name was called. She asked the Judge for a short “conference”
with me before taking the stand. Lacey
could have easily graced the cover of Glamour
Magazine and I wondered what had “provoked” her to become an attorney. Our conference was brief and impersonal (the
polarity we’ve established between professional and personal); she’d simply
tell the judge (again) that I had not been
informed of my court hearing on Monday.
I then asked if I could stand outside of the authorized “bar” area as
the court still hadn’t proven its jurisdiction.
When Lacey asked “Judge Judy” concerning my desires, I could see the
rage enter her face as Lacey further explained that I still had questions
concerning the court’s jurisdiction.
Judge Atherton then fired the question
directly at me “Don’t you believe that this court has jurisdiction over you
since you have been charged with a criminal offense?” My mind couldn’t come up with the answer
quickly enough—so my spirit took over as I answered, “Well…I believe you believe that you do.” I could tell she didn’t like my answer and
continued, “So do you believe that I have the jurisdiction to have this bailiff
here take you into custody for contempt of court if you don’t approach the
bench?” The bailiff, dressed in his gray
uniformed costume, moved toward me at the same time Lacey motioned me with her
hand to join me at the stand. Again, my
mind was reeling with thoughts—is it worth getting thrown into jail over
principle when I have an entire agenda of “family stuff” to take care of today? Again, my Higher Spirit took over and quickly
moved me through the wooden gates to stand next to Lacey. I then explained to the Judge that I had been
given a continuance clear back in June for my son’s birthday and I hadn’t been
notified of a new court date ever since.
Judge Judy was thumbing through what looked to be my “Petition for
Dismissal as Court Lacks Jurisdiction” and questioned me as to whether or not
my not showing up in court on Monday
was to contest their jurisdiction.
Again, Spirit helped me verbalize my answer, “Your honor, I’ve shown up now seven times to
court on time, every time without complaining.
I appreciate your patience with me as I move through these court
proceedings.” The Judge then handed
Lacey another court date written on a slip of paper for August 29 at 9 a.m. and
I was dismissed. I reverently bowed my
head and uttered a polite “Thank-you” to the judge…and then fled from the
expensive Masquerade Party.
Yes, I say expensive, because each time
I’ve gone to court it has cost you, the taxpayer, over $800 in court and
attorney’s fees. (I just looked it up on
the internet under Court Cost Fee
Schedule, Court-appointed Attorney’s
Fees, Judge, Bailiff and Court-recorder wages.) That means that my court costs to date is
well over $5,000…and if it goes clear to a jury trial…just double the price for
juror’s compensation. Of course this
price doesn’t include what we’ve already paid out to the entire Salt Lake City Vice Squad to masquerade
as “Peace Officers” (yes, that’s what we formerly called policemen) in order to
“catch me with my pants down in my own home.”
This not only is an expensive “Masquerade Party” but a terribly
degrading and punitive one for all parties
involved…as undercover detectives are already being put on the stand to testify
whether or not they could receive a “hand-job” while lying face-down on a
massage table;-)
What has happened to our court system
which was put in place to defend our unalienable, Constitutional rights? When did it take such a wrong turn and take the path of injustice rather than justice? Why do they use terroristic tactics like
threatening to throw someone in jail just because they feel their
Constitutional Rights are being violated?
Well, if any of you read my recent Heartsong
Newsletter entitled “We the People” you would have been informed of how,
when and where this all took place. In
the meantime, all I wanted to know is
who in the entire courtroom that
day—the judge, my attorney, the bailiff, the court-recorder—even cared that
after I left the courtroom I had to pick up my grand-daughter, head to Logan,
pick up my two daughters and drive them down to St. George, where my other
daughter was keeping vigil over her husband at the hospital who’d been
diagnosed with Cancer and recovering from surgery. (I wanted to inform both Ariel and Brad that simply
drinking a cup of coffee a day has been scientifically proven to prevent Colon
Cancer, but I’m afraid it would have offended them as they are both Mormon.)
And so with my new-found skills from my
NVC (Non-Violent Communication) class on Tuesday nights, I’m learning not to judge people anymore, but simply
become an observer. In our first class
we learned how the author, Marshall B. Rosenberg, developed NVC out of his
exploration of two questions that had occupied him since childhood:
1.
What happens to disconnect us from our compassionate nature, leading us
to behave violently and exploitatively?
2.
What allows some people to stay connected to their compassionate nature
under even the most trying circumstances?
3.
We were then asked to name the four
components to the NVC process which are:
- Observe what is happening in a situation
without introducing any judgment or evaluation
- State how you feel when observing this action
- State what needs are connected to the feelings
identified
- Make a very specific request concerning those
needs
In lieu of my court hearing and my
NVC/Shamanic processes, I’m requesting that everyone who reads this Heartsong Newsletter holds positive
intention or says a prayer for the completion of this whole court process on
Monday, August 29th at 9 a.m. so that I can move forward in a more
positive direction. Also, please pray
for the release (or relief) of my children from their (I won’t go into judgment
here) father. Or as Moses would say,
“Let my people go!” (And also my Subaru!)
Epilogue: Our Shamanic
101 Course included a Sweat Lodge
Ceremony on Sunday evening. Brad didn’t
participate in the sweat as it reminded him of his last “Sweat Lodge
experience” where the lodge-keeper used synthetic carpet and blankets creating
a PVC (Poly-Vinyl-Chloride) chamber which, when heat, water and steam are
added, creates hydrochloric acid vapor which is extremely toxic. Well, I opted in for the entire four-round
“Sweat Lodge experience” as I was attempting not to be judgmental. After
the first round my hands and feet started turning numb and my heart was racing
out-of-control, indicating that my body was showing obvious signs of
asphyxiation. But I persisted with the
sweat, feeling rather heroic that only five of us (four women and one man)
“endured to the end.” Well, Brad stated
“stupid is as stupid does” and reminded me that our other “Shaman friend” had
died from doing “too many sweats” as he developed migraines (which Brad claims
was from brain-damage) and overdosed on
Oxycontin in an attempt to alleviate his pain.
And I must admit when I looked in the mirror the next day I looked ten years older!
For our next class, we learned about
spiritual connecting and journeying with our “spirit guides” and my own Spiritual
Shamanic guide Speaking Wind kept nudging me to tell the group that “they were
like little children playing with matches and didn’t know how serious the power
is that they are fooling around with.” I
didn’t want to burst anyone’s bubble but Patrick’s message was loud and
clear—“unless we are willing to empty our cups and allow Spirit to fill them in
each present moment—there is nothing any of us can learn concerning
Shamanism.” I think Renee really took
offense when I finally mentioned that we are all “Wanabee Shamans” as Shamanism isn’t part of our culture and we
should look to authentic “Shamans” to teach us concerning real Shamanism. That’s why
there are laws regulating Shamanic ceremonies to real Shamans—as the case where three victims died recently in an
Arizona Sweat Lodge Ceremony is still on everyone’s minds.
I received an emotionally-charged e-mail
the next day from Renee telling me that her
guides—Gaia, Heavenly Mother and Jesus Christ were her personal “Shamanic
Guides” and not to discount the power and authority that they empower her
with. I couldn’t agree with her more;
but I still argued that her continued reference to the Nemenhah Band caused me “mental pause” as to where she was
receiving her knowledge concerning Sacred Shamanic Ceremony. Brad joined in the e-mail conversation, and
we both practiced our NVC skills by not going into judgment. We really wanted our relationship to continue
with these “friends” whom we had so much in common with. They were certainly “truth-seekers” just as
we were, and we both felt that given enough time we would all come to terms
with “the truth.”
We opted out on the Shamanism 101 trip to Bluff the following weekend as Brad and I
didn’t feel that we had the time or money to spend venturing down to the
four-corners area in order to investigate some petroglyphs and perhaps do some
more “sacred ceremony.” I felt that we
were all premature in our quest to “activate the grids” (which was talked about
in the first class) as Patrick and his colleagues had all been murdered because
of their pursuit to do just that. I’d
gifted Torg and Renee with all three of my books months earlier along with
several of Patrick’s books just recently, describing this powerful process—but
I felt that my gifts of both of our written words were not honored—but simply ignored. (Renee mentioned that she had a stack of
books ahead of mine to read and also books she wanted to write.) But I did have the sweet opportunity of
sharing my “White Buffalo Woman” story with two of the women who remained in
the Sweat Lodge with me and that truly was a blessed bonding experience we
shared.
Post Script: After several e-mail
exchanges with Renee and Torg concerning my “first-draft” of this newsletter
(changes were made in accordance to their input) I felt to include a message
from Patrick as both Renee and Torg made accusations that they felt Patrick’s
books were fiction and Patrick probably died of an drug overdose. I assured them that Patrick was murdered by
the Illuminate a week after he appeared on the Art Bell Show (which I’d mentioned
in my book, Heart Wide Open) and Art
Bell left the airwaves after that as his life and the life of his children were
threatened by this powerful group which Patrick calls in his book The Watchers the “Watchers of the
Shadow.” All of Patrick’s and my books
are available through iUniverse Publications and can be ordered on line or
through most book stores. I also found
the following article on Patrick when I googled him:
The Fifth World Of Peace And Light
by Speaking Wind
My name is Speaking Wind. I am from the Pueblos, of northern
New Mexico, where my two brothers and I, were raised by Shaman for the first
eighteen years of our life. From the Ancient Prophecies of the Old Ones, to our
true life adventures, it is time to share, with all people, what lies ahead for
mankind. For the sake of this article, I must be brief. So if it seems short, I
assure you, it was meant to be.
Since June, of 1998, everyone began feeling waves of
depression, and anxiety. All, for no apparent reason. Other than the fulfillment
of Ancient Prophecy which states, we are now standing at the end of time, for
life as we know it. While this is true, it is not as final as many would have
you believe. Neither the Earth, or life on it, is going to end. Rather, it is
going to change. But it will be a change of such tremendous proportions, it
will seem as if we are about to become extinct.
The world has been separated into four distinct time
periods, each lasting approximately ten thousand years. We call them the four
worlds. Before the first one began, life on Earth, was a virtual, garden of
Eden. There was no pain, sorrow, want, or desire. But, there came a catastrophe
that ended that, and forced us out of the garden. This resulted in the four
worlds, each of which, held specific lessons for us to learn. However, a
promise was made, which said, in the end, we will all return to the garden, and
live in peace, for all time. And now, the time is nearing. For the ending of
the fourth world, is at hand.
However, there was one condition put on all of us. One that
would have to be met, before we would be allowed to enter the garden of life.
We were told, there would come a prolonged period of time, among the last
generation to live in the fourth world, where all illusion, and the lie we have
been told was real, must be released. In the beginning, this would be
voluntary, but as we neared the final door way, the closing of the fourth
world, our choice would be lessened. And all things that did not hold truth for
us, if not voluntarily released, would be stripped away. For none of it will be
allowed into the fifth world, the Eden we have all longed for.
But, for many of us, the lie, and the illusion, is all we
have known. And to think of letting it go, makes us afraid. For we have lived
with these things, so long, we are no longer sure, if anything else, is real.
Those who cannot let go of the illusion, and the lie, they will feel the
inevitable ending of time, more than anyone else. They will suffer great waves
of depression, memory loss, anxiety, anger, and finally, the great madness. But
it does not come as a punishment, it only comes to prepare them for the new
world, that even now, can be seen on the distant horizon. And, keep in mind,
this has already began in June, of 1998. It does not go away on its own,
rather, it intensifies, until this world has ended, and the new one begins.
As I said, the final cleansing of Earth, began in June,
1998. In September, 1998, the five brothers, (planets), aligned themselves to
usher in the cleansing energies of Earth. The chaos everyone has been
anticipating, or the tearing away of the illusion, and the lie, will begin
between January, and April, 1999, and will continue to escalate until the nine
brothers, (planets) align themselves on the 5th of May, 2000. From that date,
until the last day of the fourth world, December 22, 2012, a date taken from
our star calendars, everything living, will undergo a purge. If mankind will
not willingly let go of the illusion, and the lie, it will be stripped away.
And, we have only begun to feel the effect, since June, 1998. The 23nd day of
December, 2012, is the first day of the fifth world.
The illusion comes from believing in others, rather than
yourself. And, the lie, tells us we have the right to judge others as good, or
evil, or, right, or wrong.
There is much more to discuss in the vein of Ancient
Prophecy, and recent discoveries, we have made. Perhaps at another time, and
another place. But, for the purpose of this article, please, do not become
caught up in the fear it is sure to bring you. For that is not the intention of
the final cleansing. Its purpose is simply to prepare us, all of us, for entry
back into the garden of life, peace, and love. Everyone makes it, no one is
forgotten. But those who are willing to let go of the illusion, and the lie,
their journey will be traveled with less fear, as a companion.
But, whatever your choice, I wish you well. You will
appreciate the adventure, when you understand the beauty that awaits all of us,
on the other side of the door.
Speaking Wind
E-mail: swind@advicom.net
Patrick Edward Quirk, Speaking Wind
PO Box 12612
Huntsville, AL 35815
I hope and pray that we will all begin
to listen to each other and hear the messages that our Higher Spirit Guides are
attempting to share with us. We now have
the opportunity to create a “Holy Vortex” of love and light that can truly
transform the planet in a positive way.
I pray that we don’t lose this opportunity by going into judgment of
each other and closing our hearts to the compassion we so desperately need in
these times of transformation. Oho and
Amen—Janae Thorne-Bird aka White Buffalo Woman
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