Half A Year Done

Could not believe that 2025 is half gone. Like the crescent Moon yesterday evening. Damn relativity has me hurtling through time.

At least July 1st ended with some scenic views.

Claire and Honey appeared content, especially at dusk, when it cooled down enough for some serious grazing.

Which gave me a chance to get into the barn, scoop out some shit from the wood shavings before the summer flies arrived for their moveable feast, and lay out Claire and Honey’s dinner.

I was busy yesterday during day light hours being a lawyer. Three dimensional chess on paper in the form of motion practice. I enjoy the intellectual rigor of constantly thinking outside the box but I wonder if the last four decades could have been better – more altruistically – spent than working as a metaphorically parasitical flea on a dog. Still, mustn’t grumble. My legal profession paid a lot of bills. Introduced me to a lot of really cool people. And it provided me the literary template for Jimmy Moran.

But my Casa Claire chores that followed – like every day – always ground me, physically challenge and tire me. Bring me back to the here and now. Keep me in the moment.

I was tired yesterday.

There was some interesting news shared yesterday evening by Daniel Knightly – if you don’t know him, check him out on social media – about a “catastrophic download” of UAP information by Dr. Steven Greer – but I wasn’t able to access the extremely busy site to find out the juicy details. Looking forward to ferreting it all out.

All of the above may be why I had a really strange and lucid dream last night. I was being lectured by a tall – I’m talking seven feet – Grey alien – yeah, I too was surprised by not seeing the short ones you always hear about. And I wonder why I’m never taller in my dreams. This guy (it was a male by the voice – which was in my head) had a bluish patina to his greyness, and his skin had a soft glistening to it, but his head and face were what you would have expected – large shiny black eyes (that blinked on occasion – like a Gecko – https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=3775492582486270), small nose and mouth, no discernible ears – so he definitely ain’t Irish, but he might like to paint corn fields. I wasn’t put off the least by his appearance, which is judgmentally rich, given my lower rung on the evolutionary ladder. Still, this Mick does have an ego.

My alien wasn’t wearing a form fitting outfit, so I don’t have physical details to share about his body’s dimensions. He wore what appeared to be an expensive, comfortable, flowing, shimmery, neck to floor robe. Almost royal. We were standing on a hilltop, looking down on the what appeared to be a valley from which he could conjure various scenes for my closer observation. Like thought bubbles. He used these scenes as examples of how humanity’s evolution had been helped up the Darwinian ladder by different extra-terrestrial races, and how some of the folks were more hybridized than others, and thus expressed unique talents. But he was clear that all of us had been crossbred along the way from monkeys to homo sapiens and beyond. He wanted me to share that message. Consider this sharing.

I could feel a sense of patient frustration from my mentor during the arc of this lesson, not because I couldn’t follow his lead but because my mind kept distractedly traveling down some of the rabbit holes I was experiencing. I have a way of chasing tangents. Butterflies. Unfortunately, this guy was forced to follow along in my thoughts with me. Like a driver’s ed teacher. I have felt that same tutorial frustration from a number of my instructors over the years. But the good ones, like this guy, always seemed to give me enough rope to let my mind run its course and hang in there with me until it all clicked. They always got me across the finish line. Thank you all of my lifetime mentors for your collective contribution to my methodical mental madness.

Anyway, this guy – I never got his name – finally decided he had done all he could for me – and the next thing I knew I was alone. Not even a goodbye.

I’m sure he was immediate downing some ET shots of intergalactic high test with some of his cronies back on the mothership. Did he have some stories to tell.

The next think I knew, Bandit was yoking me up from my deep sleep because he and Smokey needed to pee.

Which is okay because I got some great grounding in beneath the stars under The Old Man.

So here I am. Feeling really good, actually.

I’m even looking forward to wrapping up that legal motion. Go figure.

You fine, five readers get the lead out and leap into your Wednesday – which is performing the role of Thursday in this Country’s abbreviated birthday celebration week.

But first I’m sneaking out to Anna the Barber for my morning facial spa. She had an opening in her schedule and I don’t want to sing Happy Birthday America looking like Poppa Smurf. Much prefer Poppa Hem.

So, let’s get moving and, no matter what else we do, let us make today a great one.