Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Shamanism In Today's World
Good Morning All.....
For sure when I took an oath to be a healer I found many new burdens. A guru I was studying with taught that the ego had to be put aside to become a spiritual shaman. Long before man-made religions, shamans were tribal healers, doctors, psychologists, religious and spiritual icons, and even legal judges. Justice was very swift in those days of living in small tribes. It had to be, just in order to survive. Not like today, when a mis-guided judge would award two innocent children back to an OJ Simpson (I call him SYMPTOM).... after it was clear he was a violent murderer. OY!
I still laugh often. It is how to survive in a world that can be very heavy and filled with challenging sorrows. Laughter is really part of my concept of HEAVEN! When I spiritually travel to visit my beloveds in Rainbow, we laugh all the time......
and HEAVENLY love is unconditional. I love heaven.
HUGZ Ruby aka Dr. InaNorma Yanez *o*
Friday, February 23, 2007
Much of this article below is very accurate in my home. They truly are a riot of affection and fun. Their love is unconditional with us. That is my preferred kinda' love. :) Here's a photo of a typical attitude in my fur-babies..... That precious white kitten to the left is our very first-born Bengal, Cinderella Snow, who has grown up to do therapy work in my practice. You can see that by the size of her paws, she became quite large.
p.s. Of course this photo is in one of my books. Too cute not to be shown around. Enjoy! grin :) The author of this adorable article below is unknown to me.
~ Dr. InaNorma Yanez, CH.t
To be posted VERY LOW on the refrigerator door - nose height.
Dear Dogs and Cats, The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.
The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.
I cannot buy anything bigger than a king sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space is nothing but sarcasm.
For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also, I have been using the bathroom for years -- canine or feline attendance is not required.
The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dog or cat's butt. I cannot stress this enough!
To pacify you, my dear pets, I have posted the following message on our front door:
To All Non-Pet Owners Who Visit & Like to Complain About Our Pets:
1. They live here. You don't.
2. If you don't want their hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture. (That's why they call it "fur"nature.)
3. I like my pets a lot better than I like most people.
4. To you, it's an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours and doesn't speak clearly.
Remember: In many ways, dogs and cats are better than kids because they:
1. Eat less
2. Don't ask for money all the time
3. Are easier to train
4. Normally come when called
5. Never ask to drive the car
6. Don't hang out with drug-using friends
7. Don't smoke or drink
8. Don't have to buy the latest fashions
9. Don't want to wear your clothes
10. Don't need a "gazillion" dollars for college.
11. If they get pregnant, you can sell their children.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
The Countess, by Dr. James L. Choron , is being presented to you on Norma's Ark with the beautiful and happy smile this poignant story gave me. ~ Enjoy! ~ Love Ruby *o*
The Countess rode home with Igor on his motorbike… she was a little puff of gray fur, wrapped in an insulated handkerchief and nestled into the pocket of his field jacket. Only the tip of her little pink nose protruded from the closed pocket. Her little eyes were tightly shut. The veterinarian had expressed real doubts that they would ever open… "she’s just too young" he had said. Still, Olga wanted a kitten, and truth be known, Igor had already grown attached to the little cat, who was resting quietly in his pocket.
They took turns sitting up with her, feeding her sugared milk with an eyedropper. She slept in a shoebox, padded by one of Igor’s woolen uniform shirts… a space just large enough to accomodate one miniscule cat and a hot water bottle wrapped in Igor’s old fur shapka… The little cat, of course, thought that the old cap was "mama."
Somehow, the kitten survived. "The Countess" Igor called her, and the name stuck. "She doesn’t know that she’s a cat," he would spell out the last word carefully, letter by letter, in
the event that the Countess might hear and be offended… "She thinks she’s a person… an aristocrat…"
In fact, the little cat was very bright. She learned from watching Igor and Olga. She was never exposed to cats. In fact, she intensely disliked cats. She had her own little bowl, her own little bed, and her very own spot in front of the television. As she grew, she learned how to turn the television on and off by swatting repeatedly at the switch, which was only just within her reach, and how to change the channel by doing the same thing.
One night, when the Countess was about a year old, Igor woke up suddenly in the night to the sound of the toilet flushing. Olga was asleep in bed beside him. "Thieves" he thought, reaching into the night stand for his service pistol…Stupid thieves, on top of that…"
He tiptoed toward the bathroom, shoved the door open quickly, leveled his pistol and switched on the light… the room was empty… no one around but The Countess, who was looking up at him with big green eyes as though he were the village idiot.
"Must have been dreaming" he thought, and went back to bed.
Later in the night, it happened again. This time Igor knew that he wasn’t dreaming. He got up and went quietly to the bathroom, and saw… The Countess… Sitting on the toilet like a human, her tail raised, doing her duty… he watched in awe as she finished, then… jumping almost straight up, she grabbed the pull-chain of the overhead tank in her little front paws, swung down with all of her weight on the chain, and flushed the toilet.
"Amazing" Igor thought, and laughed all the way back to bed. The next morning, he shared the story with Olga, who also thought it funny, but completely understood. After all, The Countess had learned it from them. She had no idea that she was a "Koshka"… a cat.
Igor and Olga understood The Countess. They could communicate. It was as though she were their child… the child that they could never have… The Countess even learned to "speak"… she didn’t "meow" like a normal cat… she broke her meows up into a rhythmic pattern, which, if you were around her long enough, you could almost make out as words and short sentences such as "I love you, Papa", "I’m hungry", and "Play with me…"
For over eighteen years Igor, Olga and The Countess lived together in harmony… a happy little family. The Countess was also childless, but she was, in fact "the baby"… a perpetual child, babied by her loving parents, who adored her. No family photo was without The Countess. Her photos filled every album… she was… "Papa’s Baby."
In the summer of 1997, just as the real warmth of summer was settling in on Moscow, The Countess died. She passed away in her sleep, a little old lady, who was full in her years. Igor and Olga were heartbroken, but they understood that she was, in fact, rather old in Cat years. They burried her in her favorite spot in the garden, beneath the yellow rose, and a little brass plate that said:
Always Papa’s Baby
6 March, 1979 - 23 July, 1997
The house was empty. It was devoid of laughter. Everywhere Igor and Olga looked, there was something that reminded them of The Countess… their baby… Her little toys were exactly where she had left them. Her little bed still sat in it’s place in the corner… the old shapka… the one that had kept her warm in her first few weeks of life… still in it’s place in her bed. Her pictures still graced the walls and the albums… Igor, mentioned… just once… getting another kitten… Olga was horrified. No other cat could replace their baby…
About a month after The Countess died, Igor woke suddenly in the night to the sound of the toiler flushing… He didn’t give it a thought. It was just The Countess. Then… he came completely awake… The Countess was gone. Silently he reached into the nightstand and took out his old service automatic. He tiptoed to the bathroom, leveled the pistol, shoved the door open, and switched on the light… Nothing…
"Must have dreamed it…" he thought, and went back to bed. Less than an hour later, it happened again. Once again, the toilet was empty. He padded off back to bed. As he lay there, thinking about what had happened. Then, he felt something tug at the bedspread in a very familiar way, and distinctly heard a meow… not just any meow… The Countess. It was as plain as day… Her rhythmic pattern… her feline attempt at human speech, as plain as it had ever been as the little unseen cat bleated… "I love you, Papa…"
Igor smiled, "I love you, too, Countess", he said softly, then rolled over, and went to sleep. In the morning, he would tell Olga, who was still sleeping soundly.
United States and Russian Federation Copyright©2004/2006: Dr. J. Lee Choron. All rights reserved unless specifically granted in writing.
I BELIEVE IN ANGELS
Dr. InaNorma Yanez...
I believe in angels. Do you? From my earliest memories, beloved-like creatures meaning me well have been at my side with blessings and assistence. Here is my sweetest and most graphic example of angel intervention in human affairs.
I was on my way to school one morning during a tremendous snowstorm. Walking across the snowy and icy street, I slipped in the path of an oncoming bus. The huge city bus was coming to the pick-up area and they could not see me lying on the ground. They just kept driving. I completely froze in a hypnotic trance and could not move from terror. The bus was going to crush me to death and still I could not move to escape.
Suddenly, two strong arms went under my body, lifted me very high, and threw me with great force onto the sidewalk and out of the way of the oncoming vehicle. Had there been no snow to cushion my hard fall, I would surely have been seriously hurt. Looking all over to see who had saved my life, there was no one. Then I heard a sweet giggles sounding like happy children playing. Again, there was no one to be seen. The bus driver saw me being thrown high into the air. The man literally left the bus and came out to report he saw me catapult, but could not see who did it since no one was around to thank. He too was shaken up.
For me this was a clear sign that many things we experience simply do not have a simple answer. For those of us who believe in a merciful higher power, remember to thank your angels. For me, angels are real. I believe in angels. Do you?
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
UFO's are being evidenced all over the place, not just in Arizona. What the intent is we shall see soon enough when THEY are ready. Since MAN seems bent on destroying and/or controlling everything MAN touches, we may be observed for the ET's pure curiousity to see.........
How and what they may have evolved from back when they themselves were so dumb they actually resembled our EarthPlane's human self-destructive behaviors. Just my few Krugerands of input!!!!!!!!! ~ Speaking of ET's..... Do you personally know people who have claimed to have been abducted and/or operated upon? If so, please contact me at: firstname.lastname@example.org
~ Love Ruby *o*
Monday, February 05, 2007
Hope Is More Than A Four Letter Word
Does it seem that of late, more and more people are asking for help in what appears to them to be impossible-to-fix situations? This article is being written for those who are advisors in a professional capacity, as well as for lay people.
Please please do not take away your patients' sense of hope. I am not making light of the doom and gloom many are experiencing. War, terrorists, down-sizings, are all taking an increasing toll from Americans. Some rise above it and find new employment. Some, especially older people, just get sick.
HOPE is not just another four letter word. It is an energy thought-form of resistence to defeat, failure, and simply giving up when the going gets very rough. Even if a patient or friend is considered terminally ill with a disease we do not yet know how to treat, doesn't he or she have the right to live life to the fullest capacity?
In our society, the laughter and companionship that a healthy and well-adjusted person may take for granted can halt and/or diminish radically when told, "Go home and put your affairs into order." Suddenly, the laughter and anything remotely resembling light-heartedness disappear and are replaced with an assortment of negative feelings. But just think about this.... was there ever a time when he or she needed love, laughter and companionship more?
By keeping the candle of hope lit for loved ones in dire times, the maximum output and fullest years, months, or even weeks will be easier. I have been told that my smile to a patient has been their only smile of the day. Engaging HOPE into any therapy modality can only help another. Do not settle for less, not for yourself, and not for your loved ones.
From The Darkness Risen by Jessica Jewett
by Jessica Jewett
Set during the bloody American Civil War, From the Darkness Risen is a story of courage, valor and what it means to be a family. A young couple with a toddler son, the Cavanaughs endure the explosion of civil war, separation and the struggle of keeping the family farm out of enemy hands. Robert, a captain in the Stonewall Brigade, is captured during the fight at Sand Ridge, Virginia, and taken to a Union prison in Illinois. When Isabelle hears the frightening news, she abandons her post as a nurse in Staunton, Virginia's Confederate Army Hospital with futile hopes of securing her husband’s freedom. Along the way, Isabelle sees the brutality of war through her deeply religious sensitivity, and struggles with the traditional roles of a 1860s wife and mother against her desire to be something more. When her companion, Eva Reed, sabotages the dangerous escape, Isabelle and Robert find themselves fighting for their lives. Will they make it out of enemy territory alive?
(371 pages) Paperback: $18.20
Printed: 371 pages, 6" x 9", perfect binding, black and white interior ink
Rights Owner: Jessica Jones
Copyright: © 2006 Jessica Jewett
Country: United States
Edition: Second Edition