Session March 25 2017

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The next time you walk on a sandy beach, take a second to consider the sand itself.
by CT

I sit in the easy yoga pose, thinking and then - not thinking. My mind drifts from one visualization to the next: a forest meadow, a dawn sky, moonlight over a mountain, a sandy beach. The thought comes to me: "The next time you walk on a sandy beach, consider the sand itself. 

Squish it between your toes; dig into it and get it under your fingernails; feel the texture - gritty, or fine? 

Stand where the waves come in and feel the sand shift under your feet. Does your life shift in the waves of experience?"

With a start, I return to here and now. This is not a beach; it's concrete, and my bum is sore. I glance around. Two people pose in funny positions. 

"Smile!" The camera fiend laughs as I lift both hands and grin. When he shows me the photo, the people behind me look as though they're balanced on my hands.

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This habit made me much more observant.
by RMAF


As I entered one of our National Parks I noticed a big sign which said "Attention All Ye Visitors to All of Our National & State Parks. As of 07-07-2017 the adult  bears will be allowed to drive away in any visitors cars that are left with the windows down and the keys still in the ignition. No arrests will be made - of the bears, that is, not the humans." Then at the bottom of the sign were four muddy paw prints. The new unofficial law made me much more observant of who else may be driving on the park roads!

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Set out a ruler or a tape measure on a surface in front of you

by RC

Fred really didn’t mean to travel in time; it just sort of happened. It was his brother Ted who had the original big idea about how to distort the time/space continuum. It sounded pretty kooky to Fred, but he had never gotten past the eleventh grade, so what did he know?

Anyway, when he ended up in nineteenth-century New York he knew that it had worked. Actually, he landed right in the middle of a busy street, and directly in front of a large wagon led by two big, clomping horses. One thing Fred was good at was athletics, so he promptly rolled out of the way and came up on his feet.

“Whew!” he said. “That was a close call.” He looked around briefly, taking in the situation. “Now what do I do?” he muttered. He wished that Ted had come along, but his brother had insisted that only one person could go at a time, and also that Fred was the logical one to try it out. That way, if anything went wrong, Ted could make some adjustments for next time.

Fred wandered all over New York, tried a few beers at the local establishments, watched a few fist-fights that broke out, and generally amused himself. And then he realized that there was not much else he could do in this century and time. He kind of wished that Ted had managed to distort the space part of the continuum more than the time, because this was a dirty, gritty, and more or less ugly period in New York’s history. At one point during the day he had almost gotten involved in one of the fights himself, but had neatly managed to sidestep his attacker and lose himself in the crowd.

“Now, what was it Ted said about getting back?” he asked himself. “Let’s see, first to get here. He said ‘Set out a ruler or a tape measure on a surface in front of you.’ Check. Did that.” Fred had danced the funny little steps that Ted had told him were essential, and it had worked, so the next part: “Lay the tape on the ground in a place where no one else will step on it and do the steps in reverse.” Yep, that was it—how to get back. But where in this town was he going to find a place alone? And what was the sequence of the steps? Somehow during the excitement of the day, and the beers he’d drunk—which were stronger than he thought they should have been—he had forgotten. The cloth tape measure was in his pocket, but it would do no good if he couldn’t recall the steps.

Well, he’d try it anyway, because he sure didn’t want to stay here for the rest of his life. Fred found an alley, which seemed to be vacant. He laid out the tape just like he had done before. But before he could do anything else, a half dozen girls appeared, hop-skotching their way down the street and into the alley. The lead girl just happened to go over the tape and before he could shout or do anything, she disappeared. “Poof!” There one instant and gone the next.

The other kids stopped and stared. “Where’d she go?” they all asked. But Fred had a different question.

“Do you know the steps she was taking?” he asked one of the girls.

“Oh yeah,” the girl replied. “The same as we always do.”

“Could you teach me?” Fred knew that he was likely to “import” more eighteenth-century school-girls to his time, but hey—they would get a better education—so he was all for it.”

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Yes, folks, I have the Devil’s toy box here.

By CC

It started out innocently enough. Jill came home from the Goodwill with her usual bag of junk, and in with the sweaters and bags was a small wooden box. It looked flimsy and insubstantial, probably made of Balsa wood, Jim thought as his hands went instinctively to its surface. He lifted it, turned it this way and that in his hands.

“I’m going to decoupage that for an earring box,” said Jill brightly. “I’m going to use those pressed flowers from our walk in the botanical garden last month.”

Jim held onto the box and smiled noncommittally. We’ll see about that, he thought to himself.

Later that evening Jim had managed to slip the box off of Jill’s craft table and brought it back to his workshop. There was something about it. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

At work the next morning, Jim logged in to the shop computer and turned to his fellow mechanic, Bernardo. “I’ve got this interesting little box,” he said, then caught himself. What a crazy thing to say. Who else would care about this stupid little box, he thought.  But Bernardo looked at him expectantly.

“Yes, folks, I have the Devil’s toy box here,” Jim suddenly said, slipping it out of his pocket.

Bernardo looked at him and the little balsa wood box curiously.  Jim felt his cheeks redden. Why had he said such a stupid thing? He thought he would make a joke of it.

“Well, I haven’t even opened it yet,” he said conspiratorially to Bernardo. "But I’m gonna do it now.” He opened the box facing Bernardo, whose eyes widened in shock. He staggered back as though felled by a blow, and crashed to the floor, where he lay, insensible.

Jim quickly snapped the box shut and slid it back into his pocket. His computer had logged him off already so he put the password back in and looked at Bernardo again. Was he dead? What happened to him?

The phone rang. Uh-oh. Jim grabbed the phone with one hand and made an appointment for a wheel alignment as he dragged Bernardo around the back of the shop. He stuffed him in the tire well of an old military truck they kept on the premises for show. He was out of sight, somewhat comfortable, and if he was dead this would give Jim some time to think.

It gave him qualms when the boss docked Bernado a days pay for unexplained absence. But by the end of the day Jim had done the wheel alignment, two oil changes, replaced tires on a van and a jeep, and replaced a starter motor. He was tired but it was the first chance he had to check on Bernardo.

When he walked around the truck, the wheel well was empty. And the little balsa wood box sat at its base, carefully closed.

Jim picked it up and turned it this way and that. He was burning with curiosity. By midnight he had drank 6 Budweisers and was sitting at his workbench over the box. There was no way he could let this go without seeing for himself.

So he did. And the police never found his body.

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There is something here for every kind of naturalist.

by MD

Although the landscape looked bleak, the beach barren, and the ocean flat and gray, it failed to discourage Bob. He set up his spotlight, donned his toothy mask, draped his compass around his neck, and waited. The fact that none of the invitees showed up for his presentation didn't seem to phase him either, but he waited a few extra minutes beyond the advertised start time just in case.

At 10:15 though, Bob turned on his spotlight, lit up his torch (which was tricky considering the visual impediment of the mask), placed his foot on the spotlight box, and loudly declaimed to no-one at all, "There is something here for every kind of naturalist."

What Bob failed to realize, though, was that although his statement was correct, Bob himself was the most unnatural creation on the beach. Which is probably why it's just as well no one else showed up.