It Boggles the Brain

Well, well, my family had direct experience with the newly applied tariffs.

My grandson was given a FREE T-shirt from a Holland-based company. Because of the tariffs, it cost him 20 bucks to get that T-shirt into this country, plus 7 dollars for some fee to expedite it, so the Free T-shirt cost him $27.00.

I post whatever comes to mind. One day, I might rant about Political Conditions, the next, something motivational. And I am always happy to throw something spiritual into the mix. If anything preachy slips in I deserve a thump on the side of the head.

Internet advice tells me that I ought to have a recognizable brand and stick with it. My blog Wish on White Horses ought to be one. Travel through your life, do your thing, sell, buy, write, rant, complain, do your work, be inspired, be lazy, and then stop when you see a white horse, take a breather, and make a wish.

It will clear the brain.

The white horse Maximus from the Disney Movie Tangled.

I appreciate GaryVee (Gary Vaynerchuk), a motivator and entrepreneur on Instagram, who says to post whatever floats your boat. Actually, he didn't use those words, but he did say to post random stuff. Post and keep posting. What are you interested in? He believes even a Smurf blog will take hold after a year or so.

I have basically followed his advice before hearing of it, for I write of many things, but don't wait for a white horse to give you permission to wish, to dream, but whenever you see one, take advantage of it. Take a drive in the country, where it opens up your possibilities of seeing one. Although after my Train/Trane experience, where I told my daughter while we were sitting in a Mexican Restaurant, that we couldn't manifest a train here, for there were no tracks, a truck with TRANE written in giant letters on its semi-trailer tarp stopped at a traffic light right outside our window, I wouldn't say that anything is impossible.

You might see a white horse in the middle of town, but it might not be as you expected. It might be on a T-shirt or a billboard.

Watch for the magic.

I appreciate all the people who have found this blog, and I am interested in what bloats your boat, so tell me about it. And tell me if you see a white horse this week, that would be a kick.

I'm interested in Horses, Houses, how-to books, People, Animals, the Planet, Inspirational stuff, what's happening at home, and what's happening out there in the world today. I attempted to sell a little book because I wanted to write a series; however, I made a grand total of 42 cents from it on Amazon. And after offering a free ending from the excerpt I posted, nobody asked for it.

If you have thin skin, don't be a writer.

I could say that I'm a crummy writer, but I don't want to put that in my consciousness, and I'm the one who decided I wanted to be a writer in the first place. A writer writes. Period.

I feel that my days, months, and years are limited, and why in the heck am I here except to make my voice heard?  

I have grown increasingly impatient with sites that go blithely on rattling about mundane things. I fear I'm getting crotchety. These are critical times, with important issues. And letting AI do the work for you is just plain lazy. For crying out loud, AI writes entire books for people, makes their Table of Contents, and their cover. Are those better books? And why in (I'm trying to find an appropriate word) do we all have a creative spark if not to use it?

I have a poster that says:

"Darling, a beautiful thing is never perfect."

—It has no byline.

Recently, I read about a Snowshoe rabbit. A naturalist took a couple of friends into the forest, told them there was something in the bushes, and asked them to wait. Soon they saw a white Snowshoe rabbit, a rarity in those parts. When the rabbit saw them, he stood stock still. It was winter. He was white. He expected to be camouflaged by snow, but there was none. He was standing exposed on brown ground, expecting his camouflage to save him—a sitting duck for hawks.

The winters are shorter than in the past, but the rabbit still has his instincts, which evolved over a millennia when he lived in a white winter, and he learned to stand still and think he would not be seen.

How can we not speak up?

Look at the Snowshoe hind leg on this little fellow.

Wednesday

 

When I say I want the magic back, I mean the little things that, if we are aware, we see almost daily.

 

This morning, I sat in the shower thinking of such things. Once while driving west in Eugene, Oregon, I looked in my rear view mirror and saw a rainbow brilliantly displayed in the rain splattered eastern sky. In front of that rainbow, like the movie intro of E.T. riding his bike in front of the moon, a small flock of white birds flew past, illuminated by the setting sun.

 

It was so exquisite I wanted to turn around, but I managed to tear my eyes away from the scene and continue down the road.  

 

I look into the sky and see a 250-ton piece of metal —a heavier-than-air vehicle —carrying I don't know how many people, pushed through the air by jet engines the size of whisky barrels.

 

 Impossible.

 

Once daughter dear and I sat in a booth by a window at a beloved Mexican Restaurant in Rancho Santa Fe, California. As we joyfully dipped our chips in guacamole, we lightly discussed whether it was possible to manifest. "Well,' I said," we couldn't manifest a train here for there are no tracks."

 

Not a minute later, a large semi—one of those trucks whose who’s back trailer is covered by a tightly stretched tarp, stopped at a stop light outside our window.

 

Printed on the tarp was one word: "Trane."  (A technology company.)

 

We laughed, and often remind ourselves that miracles happen, and that the Universe likes to play tricks.

 

I sometimes lose the lightness and I want it back.

 

I missed Tuesday's blog yesterday, too, so I am writing to you today. I did read something profound yesterday, though. It was from Martha Beck:

 

"The simultaneous destruction and creation of an individual can be compared to the moment of awakening. This isn't just about learning something new; it's about a fundamental, radical shift in human consciousness.

 

"Awakening is the transformation of that same caterpillar into an altogether different creature—one that can fly."—Martha Beck.

 

You have heard that the caterpillar's metamorphosis into a butterfly isn't a simple change; it's a complete breakdown. That poor caterpillar liquefies, but what emerges is a gorgeous butterfly.

 

 I have read that if you are watching the butterfly struggle to emerge from its chrysalis and feel inclined to help, don't. It kills the butterfly. The butterfly must go through the struggle—like us being born—it rests for a few moments, allowing its wings to dry, and then it soars.

 

"When a human being awakens," to quote Beck," the 'caterpillar' we leave behind is the part that fears, suffers, attacks others, grabs for power, wealth, and status, and lives in terror of its own destruction. 

 

"The 'butterfly' we become is at peace with both life and death, confident that the universe will provide for us, open to brilliant creative ideas that may pull us out of the mess we've created."

 

Thanks, Martha.