My weird-ometer has been unusually sensitive these last couple of days: in common, I would guess, with most peoples’ sense of the unusual at this time.
I went through a short period yesterday where it seemed I was stuck in a matrix glitch. I would pick up a shiny pebble – fallen off my beautifully wrapped leaving present – and put it away, only to return to the spot ten minutes later and find another pebble lying there. I would eat up half a biscuit laying forlorn on a plate, only to come back a little later to the same half-biscuit confronting me accusingly.
I stepped out into the back yard last night just in time to witness two great flaming orbs of orange-red sailing north-to-south in the eastern quadrant of the overcast sky. I’d never seen anything even faintly like them before, and I stood with my mouth hanging open, too stunned to get a camera. Although I did call Warren to see them.
Just before bed, I came over extremely dizzy.
So that appears to be that for the end-of-the-world-consciousness-shift for this baktun, anyway.
There’s nothing here that cannot be explained in rational, 3D terms.
But this morning, preparing the ritual space for new grass seed, I trundled up the driveway hefting a rake, following Scylla and Taranis, in Indian file also walking the car-wheel rut of nine years’ usage, who were in turn following Warren who was pushing a wheelbarrow.
And I snapped that picture in my mind, preserved forever. The beings I love, tending the land, in a time-between-times, free at last of the self-imposed shackles of Wetiko bondage.
Pic: Thanks to dreammclelland “Time Between Times”