On my Way to a Peace Walk, I stepped in a Cow Pie

 No, it was worse than a cow pie, you can easily wash them off. Cows are vegetarian, what I stepped in was toxic.

Violence, a fatal shooting in Minneapolis, MN, two people injured by gunfire in Portland OR. All by I.C.E. agents.

What they are doing is not to provide safety in America,” Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey said, “What they are doing is causing chaos and distrust." 

Bombing Venezuela, Escalation in Mexico, Lust after Iceland--that man wants to control the world. Why oh why oh, are we as the citizens of the United States of America standing for this? Oh he wants to distract us from the Epstein Files. Oh he's desperate to escape jail. Oh, he has abolished our safeguards. Duh.

 

Moving right along:

  

I had a day of peaceful dreaming that we could go tripping through the tulips, aka walking along together in peace, like the Walk for Peace Buddhists Monks are doing. Like a stray dog in India who volunteered his services to a group of monks who were making a 100-mile walk for Peace in India, and are now walking for peace in America.

Aloka (meaning enlightened), the peace dog, is accompanying his group taking a 2,300-mile trek from Texas to Washington, D.C. a walk for peace.

Some are calling him “The mindfulness dog.”

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DTDaAk_DFdw/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ==

Mindfulness is almost a meditation. It’s a frame of mind where you are relaxed with intent. It seems almost contradictory, but think about it: a walk, a calmness, a focus—I am peaceful. I intend that this peacefulness extends outward to all living things. And think about all the life that lives in the soil beneath our feet, the fungi mycelium,  microbes, worms—many necessary for the breakdown of vegetation into compost for plants, our life-source. Plants, our maker of food, our homes, our oxygen.  (And even ones in Penthouse apartments must eat and breathe.)

I don’t know about the asphalt the monks are walking on; it would be like walking on emery boards, especially for the one monk who is walking with no shoes. And I am amazed that they remain peaceful and focused while walking along a highway, amid the noise and chaos.

And the dog, Aloka (meaning enlightened one), is trotting right along with them. Aloka volunteered for the journey. It began in India when he was a street dog and joined a group of monks taking a 100-mile walk for peace.

 

 
Now he is in the US marching with the Buddhist Monks for Peace from Texas to Washington D.C., a 2,300-mile trek. They figure it will take 120 days.

 

1. 

   
   

I felt inspired. What can we do to uplift, not break down? How can we be mindful in our lives, living in harmony and calmness? How can we slip out of dissatisfaction, the minutia of life, the fear mongering, the violence that is erupting in our country, and ignore the fanning of it to keep us stirred up? How can we say, “Enough?”

Yesterday, it was such a simple thing — my Grandson and I went to Starbucks for a Chai coffee for him and an iced mocha for me. The pharmacy was right there, so I asked if he would mind if I stopped. My Rx was free (surprise); however, I had my credit card out of my wallet, for I expected to pay.

I walked to the truck with my card and the bag in one hand to open the door, but when I got inside, the card was missing. I looked down, retraced my steps—no card.

I tried to search the truck—you know, that gap between the seats where everything likes to nap —but with a dog, a kid, and a winter jacket taking up the front seat, I could hardly see anything. I asked a man leaving the pharmacy if he had seen me drop a card. He hadn’t, but when we got into his car on the passenger side of my truck, he stooped down and found the plastic card had blown, scooted, slid, from the driver’s side ¾ way under the truck. (We had a gale that day.)

Hallelujah! Card found.

He told me his story about having his driver’s license stuck to another card and not being able to find it.

A human connection.

I will continue to dream, I will continue to follow the Buddhist Monks' March for Peace, and their loyal companion, Aloka. I will continue to believe that the people of the world want peace and happiness. And that the crazy ones will wake up or lose their power.  No amount of power, money, sex, force, attention, or “Likes” will keep them from dying. Maybe because they know that, they want to wreak as much havoc as they can before they leave. Spoiled bullies!

Martin Luther King Jr led a group of people to the gates of the promised land, then left. Now, opening the gates and entering is up to us.

Are we up to the task?

Race fights continue. Those who look different from us are suspect. The controllers tell us, “Those who aren’t white, rich, of our faith, belief system, don’t belong.” and if you oppose me, I will shoot you. I never thought we would see this in America.

Our old Reptilian brain responds: “Get rid of foreigners, fear strangers. They will take our goods. Grab the resources; there isn’t enough to go around. Survive. Mine, mine, mine.”

From Texas, they came, to Washington they go. They walk, a quiet, small group of monks and one dog. Because they believe in a better way.

Connect with me. 

Together, we can come up with a plan, something good.

Let’s do it.

Give me an “I’m in.”

 

“I’m waiting.”

 

                                                                      Sweetpea

 

 

Our Present Political Climate is Hurting Gentle Hearts

 

And gentle hearts are responding.

 

 

My heart grew five sizes today when I watched the Instagram of the Buddhist Monks, accompanied by their faithful dog Aloka, marching for peace.

Their trek will take them from Texas to Washington, DC, 2,300 miles.

I had seen glimpses of the march but didn’t know its extent—until today.  What a commitment, 2,300 miles!

And Aloka, their dog, is marching right along with them.

Aloka was once a street dog in India until one day he joined a 100-mile march with a group of monks, now, he is the most loved and notable dog in America and is tenderly monitored on the trek by Veterinarians.

 

 

https://www.facebook.com/reel/882075867650100  Aloka

 

I am so tempted to say, “Meanwhile, back home…” but I’m not going there. The commitment of those monks shows how much we need someone to show us the way, and it shows, too, that love can be contagious, just as hate can. Look at all the people who are supporting their walk. Look at the kind hearts of the bystanders. Look at the ones who are giving gifts and make sure Aloka gets proper rest.

This march comes at a perfect time when it seems that a malaise has settled over us—maybe it’s just me—when  you feel you aren’t making a difference, you worry, and you are waiting for positive change, it pops up once, then quickly gets overshadowed by some dire act that pushes us back down.

And we are allowing it to happen.

There is a saying in India that when time grows dark and dire, I will send a comforter…I have been looking for one. Today I found one—loving hearts, peacefully walking with intention and purpose, accompanied by Aloka—the name means enlightened—their faithful dog.  

Thank you.

Your generosity❤️❤️ compassion, love❤️determination and endurance sparks a fire in our souls. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power will we know peace.”—Jimi  Hendrix

 https://www.instagram.com/alokathepeacedog/reel/DTOK7ySlEEi/

 

P.S. Two monks were injured when a truck crashed into their support vehicle which in turn hit two monks. One lost a leg. Still, the rest of the troupe marches on.

 

 

 For more pictures please go to josnewsletter.com/

 
 

 

 

 

Fuel for Thought

“Confidence doesn’t come from believing nothing will go wrong, it comes from knowing what you’ll do when it does.”--Arnold Schwarzenegger   Well Arnold, that gives me fuel for thought. It rather flies in the face of the belief that thoughts create, doesn’t it? Yet it enters the human condition into the equation. And think of it this way, if thoughts attract or create as some say, enter Confidence into the act.   We can’t think of everything, and some events come unexpectedly. There are happenings we see but don’t want, events that surprise us, pipes break, people get sick, loved ones die. We can’t anticipate it all. Yet according to Schwarzenegger’s idea, when if we can develop the Confidence that we can handle it, we have security. A wise thought.   This comes at an important time for me, for last night my husband informed me that he got a call from the hospital that we owe a humongous bill. He had an operation quite a few months ago, and I had an altercation that put me in the hospital. Months went by—no bill. I thought the Health Insurance had handled it. Only part of it. “Life happens while you are making other plans.” Welcome to 2026: I also mentioned in the last blog, which was less than a week ago, and still in the year 2025, that I ended my long procrastination about taking my Real Estate Continuing Education course and began it. After bolstering myself up to take that 30-hour course. Today, I found that the four hours I had put into it had evaporated. The 2025 course is obsolete. I must take the new revised 2026 course. I wanted to cry. I do get my fee transferred to the new course, though. Ah ha!  I see their issue. It’s the new Timeshare Bill. The new course hit us right out of the gate with the notice that starting January 1, 2026, Time-share agents are limited only to The Promotion of Time-share Interests. Only the principal broker can quote prices, provide advice, and draft contracts. Basically, timeshare agents (a 14-hour study) must concentrate on schmoozing customers. More than you wanted to know? But maybe I saved you from an unscrupulous timeshare salesperson for now you know the rules. But what about their present honest agents? Their duties were diminished, and they must take a course. That must come as a shock. I’m over wanting to cry. I only spent 4 hours on the previous course. What if I had reached 29 hours and all my data went away? Now that would be a reason to cry. There must be something in my future I need to say about Real Estate, for here I am studying a course, but not selling houses. The Book: Also, in the last blog, I mentioned that I have been editing a book I wrote ages ago. Now I figure it is time to clean it up and do something with it. Ages ago, I was interested in Cosmology, that is, the origin of things, and much involved mythology. I took notes, then wondered what to do with them. Well, of course, put them into a novel. Sixty-five thousand words later, Children of the Sun was born. Here is an excerpt:   11,500 YEARS BEFORE PRESENT 1 On a day warm as kitten’s breath, I sat on the temple wall and stared down into the streets of Anu', watching a thin line of students—minuscule as spiders from my perspective—waiting to be admitted into the temple. "Grandmother," I asked, "what do students learn in the temple?" "Guess it's time you knew," she said, putting aside the flowers she was hanging to dry, and began to walk with long strides across the courtyard. "Come," she said, looking back, motioning for me to come.  I was dumbfounded, for I had often asked why students came to the temple, only to receive quick answers, "To learn about the great creative force," she would say. "How to create their destiny. How to heal." This time, she was ready to show me. I jumped off the wall and ran to follow her.  We strode down a long corridor open to the sky, across a brick-paved grotto, and through an arched passageway. Already, I had waited years to learn what the initiatives knew. I expected to see students going to class. Perhaps I would see a ritual or hear a lecture from a learned hierophant. As we walked, I let my mind wander back over the past three years—how I had stopped going to the hills after the attack in the marketplace. And how, in that self-imposed captivity, a loneliness was born. Childhood play no longer attracted me. Deep thought did.  It has been many moons since the day grandmother released me from the temple to the hills beyond.  That day I bounded out of bed, pulled off my night garment, and jumped naked into the fountain. I figured this day would be like most others: one of study and play, meditation and exploration. However, sitting in the water, watching Grandmother unfold a crudely woven brown cloth, I asked, "What is it, Grandmother?"    She smiled and held out my towel, a soft linen one, brushed to a downy finish, and I stepped from the fountain and rolled into the towel. After I dried, she handed me the brown cloth. “Put this on,” she said. Strange. This was not my usual robe. It was not linen. It was coarse wool, crudely woven. "What does this mean?” I asked, pushing my arms into the sleeves. Grandmother smiled as she tied a belt around her waist and pulled out folds of her robe, a twin of mine, to make pockets. "We're going to the hills," she said. "It's time for you to see what lies beyond these walls.” “Grandmother! Today?”  She smiled. “Yes, Love, today.” After all these years, I had come to the conclusion that my life would be forever confined to the temple. Grandmother and I were oddities, having escaped the motherland on the day it sank. Grandmother's knowledge was guarded, too, her being a physician and a keeper of the sacred word. Yet, I knew others held the mysteries, the hierophants of the temple, for example, those who guarded their knowledge with their lives, giving it only to those willing and courageous enough to undergo the initiations.  I watched as a dog watches its master, my heart pounding, anxious. Had I been a dog, I might have catapulted myself into the air, a mass of wiggles, but I sat quietly and watched as Grandmother pulled the familiar golden cord laced with lapis lazuli from her hair. "Most people outside the temple wear robes such as these,” she said as hair, black as a moonless night, tumbled to her shoulders. "Wear these too.” She held out a pair of sandals. ---   End of excerpt.   P.S. As the young man, Ma’at, underwent the trials to become an initiate, Alli, through a psychic connection was him. She experienced what he learned, became lost in the labyrinth as he did, experienced the tunnels, the aqueduct, and found a puppy snarled in the threads of an old tapestry, the same as he.  Both decided independently that they were become a priest and a priestess.  And then they met.  A connection, a love story, and a journey.  With the help of the pilot of their ship, an engineer and a navigator, Alli and Ma’at set off on a dangerous, enlightening journey to find the motherland again.       In the last blog I issued a Woo Woo 💥💥💥Warning. So, here is a comment from Ernest Holmes: “Nature attends and is always ready to serve.” Nothing is forced upon the individual. And, when you believe the Universal Creative process believes with you, that way, your belief will demonstrate itself in a tangible form as changed conditions.   May your new year indeed be a NEW one filled with the stuff dreams are made of.

Woo Woo 💥💥💥Warning:

 “I believe that if life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade. And try to find somebody whose life has given them vodka and have a party.”

--Ron White

And put salt on the rim of your glass—wait, I’ll bring limes and tequila.

 

Questions I'm pondering:

1.     If you enjoy reading your own book, does that mean it’s a good book? Or is it nostalgia? (Remember slide shows--those slides, aka pictures, you took on vacation, that were fun for you but put your audience to sleep?)

2.     Why do you always get a hair in your mouth when you have your hands full?

3.     Why do we need tools to open our Christmas gifts when we used to rip the paper and throw it with wild abandon?  And why can't you wad up much of what seems to be paper anymore? It blooms when you open your hand.

4. Why did my dishwasher fail over the holidays? 

And now I think of of people in the world who have never had a dishwasher, or paper to write on, for that matter. Many have never had a gift under a Christmas tree, or maybe not even a Christmas tree.

That we have running water in the house is a marvel; that it comes in cold or hot is an added blessing.

I am grateful.

A little drama sneaks in with the holidays.

For Christmas Eve, we had food and gift opening for one side of the family--a splendid time. I cleaned up, loaded the dishwasher, pushed the button, and went to bed.

Christmas morning was grand. Before everyone else was up, I drove with Sweetpea to the grocery store to see if it was open, just to get rice crackers to go with the cheese. It wasn’t, but that’s okay, give those clerks the day off. And Sweetpea and I were in awe of the day—the glorious sunshine, the paper whites in our side yard are a foot high and budding—on Christmas day! The streets were virtually empty of cars, and the streets looked clean and black from the rain. To top it off, I drove by a street, and on a side street to my right, I saw a classic scene: a little boy trying to ride a miniature bike, and his parents out in the street photographing him.

Home from our excursion: Those dishes in the dishwasher were still dirty. Two lights on the control panel were on. I flipped the breaker to give that appliance another chance and proceeded to prepare for another celebration for our immediate family.

Celebrate, Ta Da! Night, our guests went home. Still no working dishwasher. Phooey—go to bed.

The day after Christmas, the kitchen had two celebrations of mess. I said, “*&%$ it,” and went to my office to write, or rather to edit that good book I mentioned.

After my husband read that the dishwasher has sensors and if something is amiss, like the seal around the door, or a plugged something or other, the machine won’t work. So, in the evening, he and I set out to clean, scour, and scrub every nook or cranny inside that dishwasher, even the spinning sprayers. Why would a dishwasher be dirty when I keep putting soap and water in it?

But it was.

Run that sucker.

Two lights are still on.

Last night I emptied the dishwasher, washed every dish, pan, and foil from two celebrations, and went to bed with clean dishes air-drying all over the kitchen. This morning, I tidied up the kitchen, and when my husband used a dish, I washed it immediately.

There will be no dirty dishes in that sink.

Then, my husband, being in a fix-it mood, tore apart the sink faucet that had been leaking, and he left it apart over night so we had no running water in the kitchen.

This is like Dr. Seuss' The Cat in the Hat, fix one thing, that thing leads to another.

Sunday, the faucet is back together, one purchased part and another reamed-out part that husband dear used a drill press to fix, and now we have a non-dripping faucet. But still no dishwasher.

I am wondering what to do this coming year. Today I deleted a pile of Substack posts. I was disgusted with my own stuff. Enough with the negativity.

And, I wonder what in the heck I’m doing here, blog readership went up when I was griping over the state of the Union, I know we were all feeling fractured, but it is time to aim toward the light. 

 

For all of you who stuck with me over crisis and calm, over insanity and lucidly. Thank You, Dear Hearts! 💓💓💓💓💓

 

Woo Woo 💥💥💥Warning:

I may go woo woo this coming year. I have begun to read The Science of Mind by Ernest Holmes, and he answered something I have always wondered about.

It is the idea of good/bad, right/wrong, hot/cold, that we live in duality.

And I’ve heard folks trying to justify this duality by saying, “If you didn’t have bad, you wouldn’t appreciate the good you have.” To which I say “B.S.”

Good feels good, bad feels bad. We know the difference.

Holmes says that “As the belief in duality has robbed theology of its greater message, so it has robbed much of the philosophy of the ages of a greater truth; for in philosophy the belief in duality has created confusion that is almost as great as that in theology. It has made a philosophy of good and evil…True philosophy in every age, however, has perceived that the Power back of all things must be One Power, and the clearer the thought of Unity, the greater has been the philosophy.”

I do not believe that science and theology are at odds. Holmes explained that Science deals with results, and Theology deals with causes. You can see why one is more complicated than the other. We can grasp more completely what we can see. Thoughts? Well, thoughts can be debated, argued, and fought over.

Remember, there is no dark switch. The light is either on or it’s off, but it’s on a dimmer switch, and we are living in a dim room, when the bulb is a million-wattage one.