Archive for the Protector Category

Finding Peace

Posted in Beauty, Faith, Gratitude, History, Love, Nostalgia, Protector, Spirituality, Wisdom with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 5, 2013 by TaijituMartini

mandela

A humble man of extraordinary charisma, courage, strength, and perseverance.

Your 95 years on this earth ended today, but now you’ll be granted golden angel wings to fly.

Thank-you for being such a beautiful soul,

your inspiration is immeasurable.

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Chief Seattle

Posted in History, Nature, Protector, Spirituality with tags , , , , , , , on November 12, 2013 by TaijituMartini

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The only known photograph of Chief Seattle,

taken by photographer E.M Sammis, a year before his death in 1866.

800px-Chief_Seattle_tombstone

My Purple Biography

Posted in Animals, Empath, Love, Nostalgia, Protector, Spirituality with tags , , , on October 18, 2013 by TaijituMartini

wingedadj

When I showed up to Thanksgiving dinner there was a personalized place card waiting for me at the table,

thanks to the artistic stylings of my 4 yr. old niece.

I’m the purple one with the wings, surrounded by a happy entourage of dog, bird, and butterfly.

Truly precious.

My Winged Angel

Posted in Agapornis Roseicollis, Animals, Clairvoyance, Dreaming, Gratitude, Hope, Humour, Love, Nostalgia, Protector, Spirituality with tags , , , , , , , , on October 12, 2013 by TaijituMartini

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I once had a wonderful winged best friend. Her name was Zora. She would sit on my shoulder and fluff herself up and nestle in behind my ear and underneath my hair for warmth.  She would stay there for hours. She would eat breakfast with me and loved green apples and alfafa sprouts, but chicken was her absolute favourite food. Go figure. Good thing I never explained it to her or she would have been utterly horrified.  She would play cheeky little games with me. I’d make a little tunnel under the covers of my duvet and she would run in at a fast clip and hide in the far end the tunnel. I’d put my face up to the opening and make noises and call her name and she would come running out as fast as her little feet would go, nudge my nose with her little yellow beak, and perfectly imitate the sounds I was making right back.

She was a talented flyer, but when she’d decide to beat it across an entire room on those little twiggy feeties it would make my heart sing. It was the cutest thing. She was such a sweet little parrotlet. She was a hand-raised peach-faced lovebird, technically an agapornis roseicollis, but I called her all sorts of crazy names. My little agapornis had a million names, and a million adorable personality traits to match all the zany nicknames I christened her with.

She had a good life, better than good. I gave her everything. She was spoiled rotten and was hardly ever in her cage. I wanted to be with her every second I could. She was a wonderful friend. She was my very best winged friend. I was very lucky to have her and the love I received from her in return could never be duplicated twice in a lifetime.

She loved to travel, but wasn’t too impressed when she would spot cows in the pastures while we were in the car. She liked seeing horses but I don’t think she liked cows, she was afraid of them and would vocally let me know when we passed them grazing in a field. She loved to see new places, and in the summer she would chill with me outside on the deck and have conversations with all the other winged creatures that flew the skies. I always wondered what they were talking about.

She loved to sit on the shower curtain rod while I was showering and patiently keep me company until I was finished. Sometimes she would hang with me in the bathtub. She would run up and down my legs and try to bathe herself in the deep water, but I would protect her from falling in head first and she would settle for flitting around in the shallow water that would accumulate on my stomach. I would often give her a bath under a warm tap. She loved water. Afterwards, she would sit on the branch above her cage and groom herself happily until every feather was taken care of and she had deemed herself perfectly coiffed.

She would fly freely from room to room and squeak in delight when I would play hide and seek with her. Sometimes she would fly from the upstairs to the downstairs and I would hear a little chirp from somewhere far away to let me know where she was hiding. She liked to sit on windowsills, looking intently outside to check out the worlds happenings. At night she would fluff herself up while I was watching tv and make little grinding noises with her beak when she was completely content. She was toilet trained. Well, not really a toilet, but her cage. I would move her from my shoulder to my index finger, tell her to go do her business and she would fly over to the top of her cage and use the loo. Then she would fly back to my shoulder. Such an intelligent little soul.

She had a little triangular fluffy yellow bed that I hung in her cage nightly, and every night she would crawl in and put herself to bed, fluff herself up and get comfy, and then I would say, “Goodnight Z ” she would chirp a little goodnight right back from inside her cozy little yellow bed.

We were meant to be together her and I. It was two souls connecting on a spiritual level that could never be captured in words. It was a love unlike any other. It was a perfect love as deep as the oceans and as wide as the Universe. It still is. Infinite as the moon and the stars.

She passed away suddenly of a heart attack after sixteen wonderful years together. A quick passing without suffering.  Sixteen years of pure love and laughter. When I found her that night, almost two years ago to the day, I could feel her little soul sitting atop her favourite branch, looking down at me grieving, holding her tiny little body in my shaking hands. My girlfriend felt her there as well. We both knew she was still there, waiting to make sure we were ok before she moved on.

Zora wasn’t sure why we were suddenly separated. She would soon come to understand.  I knew she would be happy. She had other things to do. She had other adventures to embark on.  A soul that special would have important jobs to do on the other side. Now she was my Spirit Guardian and I felt blessed to know that she would be watching over me.

I asked her to come and visit me in my dreams the night she passed to let me know that she was alright, and she did, that very night. A beautiful vivid dream overflowing with the love that we shared for each other. She comes every so often to see me in the night, mostly when I ask her to, bringing my soul a little slice of happiness again, if ever so briefly, and I’m grateful for her visits. I’m grateful for the sixteen years we spent together, and the pure love she brought into my life. I miss her so, and wait patiently for that glorious day when we can finally be together again.

I love you Z.  Now, then, and forever.

zee

Two weeks before she died I felt her death coming. My intuition told me I wouldn’t have her with me for long, so I took this picture one day after she’d had a bath, sitting on her favourite branch.  She’s smiling.

Mini Digits

Posted in Love, Nostalgia, Protector, Spirituality with tags , , , , on September 17, 2013 by TaijituMartini

zach

Those are my digits soothing some mini digits to sleep over the weekend

We all start off our lives needing to feel safe- and that never really changes

No matter how old and tough we pretend to be

Go West

Posted in Hope, Love, Nostalgia, Protector, Spirituality with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on July 13, 2013 by TaijituMartini

nde

In my blog, “Danielle” I promised you a great story about my Near Death Experience. I always keep my promises. Catch us wacky writers on a good day and we can usually shoot out a killer tale as fast as Lee Van Cleefs’ Remington in The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly. The number 13 is one of my favourite numbers so July 13th is a good day for a story. However, unlike Hollywood, my memoir needs no embellishments, no fancy lighting, no added bells and whistles. It’s a true story about life. My life. It’s also a story about my near death. For me, everyday that I’m alive is a good day, because unlike a dusty old Western where the cowboy’s found sprawled out on the saloon floor, this cowgirl got a second chance to get back up. Others weren’t so lucky. 12 people died that summer.

Cut to summer 2005. I had just turned 30. Getting older yes, but life was normal. Then it wasn’t. One morning I developed a rash all over my body. Chicken pox at my age? No way. I’d luckily managed to avoid getting that ridiculous kiddy bug up to this point and wasn’t going to entertain that for a second. Google. This rash didn’t even look like chicken pox. Allergic reaction? It was summer after all, the time when I usually fantasize about popping my allergic eyeballs out from my sockets and dipping them in a bucket of cold water, or ripping my sneezing snout off my face once and for all. No, my intuition was definitely telling me that this was different. This wasn’t an allergic reaction and it wasn’t the chicken pox.

I’m a stubborn goat and figured I would wait a day or so to see if it cleared up, but truth was, I was getting worse by the hour. By that afternoon, with a high fever and a splitting migraine that wouldn’t ease, my girlfriend took me to see my doctor. I didn’t like the woman. Never had. My family doctor since childhood and someone I would only go to see in case of emergency. Why didn’t I like her? I’ll tell you. Besides the continuously long line of wrong diagnosis and oddly condascending comments, when I was 18 she told me my knees were fat. I mean really, who says that in the first place-and about someones knees to boot? Sure lady, I’m 5’4, 115 lbs, fit as a fiddle, and a former dancer with the National Ballet of Canada, but my knees are obese. What a total moron. My left knee has one scar on it from having some rocks removed surgically one day after a particularly rough day of sliding into base as a kid, but other than that my knees are perfectly normal thanks and goodnight. For most of my adult years since that day I held a knee grudge and boycotted her completely, much preferring the peace and quiet of resorting to my own natural Eastern remedies. This was different. I needed help. Every inch of my body was throbbing. I could hardly keep my eyes open, and the pain in the back of my skull was getting so intense that I could hardly speak. My head was inside a vice. It really hurt. I usually have a high pain tolerance, but this was excrutiating. Pain like nothing I had ever felt before. I knew I was in trouble. I would have to go and see the ignoramus.

Doc Moron’s solution? Flu medication. She had no idea what it was. Typical, and exactly the reason I’ve never been much of a fan of pharmaceuticals. Never any concrete answers. Don’t treat the root of the problem, just mask it with a pill and away you go. Ka-ching. Helpful diagnosis ignoramus. I’m sure it will do the trick. Not. At least she drew some of my blood for testing. Ok, i’ll give her some points for that one and crank up her status to semi-ignoramus.  Unfortunately I was about to discover that my extreme distaste for Doc Moron was really the least of my worries that day.

By the time I got home from the doctor I knew something was very, very wrong. Here’s where it gets interesting. I got much worse-quickly.  It was late afternoon. The events of that day are foggy at best, but they’ll be with me until the end of time, like watching the reels of an old movie. My condition wasn’t good.  My fever was sitting at 105.5. Something was wrong with my ears but I could still hear the deep worry in my girlfriends voice. I remember that scared me. Was I really dying? It sure felt like I was. She was on the phone with her mother desperately trying to find out how to cool me down. After fluctuating between 104 and 105 all night, my fever had now moved up to a toasty 105.7. The situation wasn’t good, and she couldn’t drive me to the hospital because she was medicated herself after having had wisdom teeth yanked out the day before. She hadn’t anticipated doing anything that night besides nursing her sick girlfriend back to health.  I was so much worse now. She later told me I was in and out of consciousness. I remember my dog looking worried, cuddled up to the side of my body, probably wondering why I was as hot as a boiling kettle, writhing around in constant pain. Such intuitive creatures. I remember the sound of hearing myself moaning. I had never felt anything this painful in all my life. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t talk. Opening my eyes was akin to running the New York Marathon. All I could do was moan. Unfortunately, moaning didn’t bring any relief either. I could hear myself making awful primal noises and I wondered when it was going to stop. It didn’t. Imagine the worst migraine on the planet and then amp that up about a million degrees. My head felt like it was exploding from the inside. Chuck in that fever of 105. 7, a pools worth of sweat, involuntary body convulsions, extreme difficulty swallowing and breathing, and severe muscle spasms, and you’re at a point where you just can’t take it anymore. This was no chicken pox. My entire system was under attack, and as hard as my body was fighting back, it was shutting down and losing the battle.

Then I noticed something really weird. I wasn’t lying on my bed anymore. I was looking down at myself, and I suddenly had a completely different vantage point of my room. I was looking down from a weird angle in the top left corner of my bedroom, hovering up there at the intersection point of two walls, looking directly down on my body. I could see every detail of the room, complete with a view of my loyal little dog lying there on the bed beside me. I got it. I was dying. So this is what it’s like. This was it. That time when we ultimately face our mortality and float away into another dimension entirely, leaving behind the burdens of our earthly body and all the associated pain that goes with it. I was 30 years old and I was dying.  I was happy where I was. I felt peaceful. The pain was there, but muted now and paling in comparison to what I was experiencing in this moment of detachment. I was hovering there on the very edge of life. I was transitioning to a place where there was only peace, comfort, and love. I felt completely surrounded by goodness. Leaving this place of pain now. I remember some of my thoughts. I will really miss my friends and family. I bet they’ll be sad to see me go, but they’re a strong bunch of bananas, they’ll survive, and i’ll get to see them again someday. I’ll really miss all my pets, but I know my girlfriend will take good care of them, and she’ll be just fine too. So sad that I have to leave her so early in our relationship, but I know she’ll find true love again. She’s my sweetheart and deserves it all. Life is about love in all its forms. It was all clear to me in that moment. I know where I’m going next. I’m ready. We all have our exits, and this is mine. Adios muchachos-Que Sera Sera.

One problem. Somewhere deep inside I knew that I somehow still had more to accomplish back on earth. Something was holding me back. If it was my time, why was I lingering so long and thinking so deeply about the people, events, and emotions that made up my life? I realized in that moment that I was being given time to think. As much as I wanted to let go and fly away, there was something telling my soul that I just wasn’t ready to go. Not yet. How would I even get back to my body? Probably impossible now.  I was up here, in the top corner of my bedroom, just floating there like a freaky casper, completely suspended in time and space. I didn’t know how to get back to my body. I was much happier up here  without that awful pain anyway. Then it hit me. If I wanted to go back I would have to talk to The Source. The very reason I was up here in the first place. I knew from the very beginning of my experience that it was this Source that was enabling my out-of-body experience. I was surrounded by Its power, like a million fractals all coming together to create perfect harmony, and I felt so grateful to have experienced Its beauty.

I was completely seduced by the tranquility of this wonderful place in space, and now I would have to leave it behind. I didn’t want to go back, but I had to. Imagine feeling so lightweight that all you have is pure thought. No earthly weight of any kind. No need for wondering because you automatically know things telepathically just by thinking them. No need for explanations here. Everything was understood. No pain, no stress, no anxiety. There was only peace. Then another thought hit me. You can’t die at 30. What a copout. Get on that horse again cowgirl. That’s the exact moment when I decided I was going to live.

I didn’t know it yet, but I had contracted the West Nile Virus, transmitted from the bite of an infected mosquito, and more specifically West Nile Neuroinvasive Disease, a life-threatening condition that effects less than 1% of the cases, where the virus attacks the central nervous system. As a result, I had encephalitis and acute inflammation of the brain. This was going to be one hell of a fight…

Weekly Photo Challenge: Nostalgic : Guardian of the Tower

Posted in History, Nostalgia, Protector, Spirituality with tags on July 7, 2013 by TaijituMartini

toweroflondondone

Ravens have long been regarded as the official Guardians and Protectors of the Tower of London. Historians believe they’ve been guarding the Towers since Victorian times. Superstition dictates that without them the Towers will fall and crumble along with the British monarchy . When Anne Boleyn was put to death there in 1535 it’s said that the ravens all went silent. There has to be six protected ravens in residence at all times, and one extra waiting in the wings just in case. They are treated like royalty and cared for by the Ravenmaster, who lives on the property with his family. Some of these living quarters at the Tower date back to the 13th Century. Wouldn’t want to be the local Tower plumber. The Ravenmasters job is to care solely for the welfare of the ravens, who are very well fed with raw meat from the Smithfield Meat Market around the corner (hand-picked daily by the Ravenmaster), as well as an assortment of fresh fruits and vitamin-rich supplements. The ravens respond only to the Ravenmaster and no one else. Their flight feathers are trimmed so they aren’t able to fly too far away, but they have the roam of the Tower grounds, which is where I came across this magnificent creature giving me the eye. Each raven is named and is banded with a different colour to distinguish which area they will preside over in four different territories within the Towers. This doesn’t mean the cheeky ones haven’t managed to pull a Mick Dundee and go walkabout, raven “Grog” was last spotted outside an East End Pub, and raven “George” was sadly relieved of his duties for his ongoing crimes destroying the neighbouring tv antennas. Highly intelligent, they’ll often steal chips from distracted schoolchildren, but they don’t like the taste of some of them and will dip the chips in water before eating them to dull the taste of the spices. Whoever came up with the term birdbrain really didn’t have a clue. If you research bird intelligence you’ll find that it’s been proven that they understand concepts through advanced forms of comprehension, things like gravity and suspension. Many of these problem-solving skills are far more complicated than the trial and errror tests (like those performed by chimps), and birds can solve complex multi-step problems that the average one and a half year old human child fails to complete.

YM Andrew Lane with raven

This majestic British beauty defines nostalgia for me, representing my love for the history behind my British heritage, and my deep respect for these magical creatures. I’m a long-time advocate of avian intelligence. I have so many incredible stories to tell.

I can’t wait to let them out of the bag.