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I've got the limited internet syndrome. It only took five weeks for me to ease myself off the grid:) So...writing here every day is so completely not possible. Here are the other weird things I do with my time.

-Read books obsessively because library cards!

-Watch every episode of season two of Outlander

-Grow in my relationships, which I would still likely be doing with wifi, but somehow the lack thereof squeezes the growth out of me like toothpaste

-Drink. Wine.

-Think, with a kind of space I'm not used to having for thinking, and desiring a lot more of that space

-Gain independence inside of a very confined significant other situation

-Learn that I have a strong tendency to do what I should, and the nuances of that are consistently confounding as I follow them deeper into my psyche

-Deciding to do what I want, to refine and define my desires, and allow them to be as they are, just because

-Become so much more accepting of the fact that my life path has been about learning things more than it's been about material success

-Deciding I'm allowed to want children, not as a vague future desire, but as something tangible that I can schedule on the calendar

-Determining to have some sort of career, and feeling the loss of still being adrift at almost forty

-Reaffirming my love for growing organic food more than ever, but preparing it for eating is still the best, and I still want to cook for other people

-Rolling the idea of spending the next year writing and having babies around in my head

-Understanding that I am never satisfied and I long to be satisfied

-The understanding that anything anyone has ever told me about myself is not true, period. I decide what is true based on wisdom I need to trust

-Deciding that I have something to teach and share and that I want to scale up on that sharing as big as I can

-Understanding that community and opportunity are the most important things to me right now

-Dreaming of taking a holiday to a far off place, all by myself



For the last three days, I completely forgot about this project. So much for linear time, sanity, or any sort of thing that would remind me that I had this intention.

So because I find myself much more wordless and hopeless than I approve of, here's something from someone whose words speak to what I'm going through. Someday, I hold space for the possibility that I will find my own.


Many are being firmly planted in their "new" realities... The work all of these years ... we are all emerging to step into even more of a role of service.... and while many are not yet aware of what everything is... it evolves and arrives as we do....
Things HAVE TO CHANGE... It's the point, and the purpose we all did this journey, why we all chose to incarnate here into the beyond challenging human experience that we once called life.... at times, it was beyond amazing, awesome... then many of our Universes said "It's time to wake up and your whole life/reality is going to be dismantled, torn down and you have to start over... from scratch... and THIS TIME you have to GET IT"....
All along the way, AS we emerge on NEW Earth, we can appreciate it all and understand it all and even more... forget it all, other than an awareness that our human experience even occurred... Just a faded illusion, a memory that we cannot hardly even remember... for we did not come here to hold onto all of that... we came here to transcend all of that to EXPERIENCE a whole magical reality of awesomeness that we could not even comprehend existed.
The more unified we are, the less the separation of time exists, the less time exists, the less human memories there are.... New memories (Remembering) is of all of our other existences, not off in another time, but here.... now....
These frequencies activate the energy of those aspects for us to actually experience again... There are no words to explain this part of the process... beyond words... subtle, profound... this changes everything.... for us....
EVERY ONE OF US have to awaken, fully... in our way, that we chose....
Every moment spent pointing the finger, not accepting it, not embracing it, not letting go of those old mindsets, tying to avoid it, resist it or hide... is another moment that each hold themselves to the old matrix IN THEIR MINDS.....
The gridwork, structure, systems... all within the physical body, all have to be detoxed, de-densified, dismantled.... The entire physical body has to go through an intense transformation that does not conform to any human perceptions... the REALITY of it all simply blows the mind....
YOUR NEW PHYSICAL REALITY..... and it IS a physical reality.... as we go through a ridiculous amount of sleep, foggy groggy waking states as the veils of amnesia dissolve inside of us, we wake up and literally vibrate in & out of a multitude of other dimensional realities....
We float, we fly, we soar.... we acclimate to higher frequencies, we become visible and invisible simultaneously, because we are literally vibrating in & out of different dimensions.....
Our cellular structure de-materializing and re-materializing constantly. We have to pull away and shut down all along the way, so that we can upgrade and hold more physical light.... Photonic light weakens the physical body systems until the current upgrade process is complete.... Then we go through it, continually... as we become PURE SOURCE LIGHT ENERGY here.
The difference is in our molecular structures. The more light we hold, the more our physical matter changes form (constantly), the more we can endure, the more we can process, the more we can produce...
Each's entire existence changes.... nothing is as it was.... it's more awesome, more amazing, more magical.... Yet, every one of us have to let go of everything of unconsciousness to achieve this for ourselves and all others....
Your role here is important. You have much to offer, be, do... It starts with your presence, you opening up and loving, respecting, honoring you.... Focusing on YOUR LIGHT and embodiment process too. Everything changes for you, all comes into alignment, gets easier... for you.... YOU have to maintain alignment.... see what's not pure, authentic, true for you.... you have to honor your feelings, listen to them, appreciate them, releasing them... FEEL fully again.....
No more suppression, hiding, avoiding, pretending.....
You will desire more... you will desire love, respect, honor, integrity, purity, connection.... for your SOUL cannot function any other way. Your spirit must be fed to be vibrant, happy and alive. Your Higher Selves must live INSIDE your body.... for you to exist on NEW Earth. Your existence will totally change.....
Human doesn't like change.... get used to it, embrace it and understand that every moment things will change... according to the frequencies present... and when you are present & in-tune... you'll see and understand what you could not before.....
REMEMBER.......... through your heart and the eyes of your soul. 
I love you. ∞
Lisa Transcendence Brown ☼
Ancient Elder & Guardian of NEW Earth, Teacher/Coach/Guide, Author, Transformational Speaker, Master of all things Energy


writing exercise

Long ago there was a penny for your thoughts. This was a very good deal. It was two cents for a nail, six for a bobbin, seven for a ball of twine, nine and a half (a half!), for a soda from the tall Mr. Ives, ten for a bucket, twelve for a small basket of fries, fourteen for a good bullfrog, fifteen for a bushel of anything but peaches (which were twenty-two), seventeen cents to call China for one second, eighteen to sing a song of sixpence due to inflation, twenty to make due on any given Sunday, twenty-one for a fruitcake, twenty-three for the Easter bunny, twenty-four to catch a tiger by its tail, twenty-five for a quarter, twenty-seven for a good life lesson, twenty-eight for a stern reprimand, thirty cents for a loaf and a fish, thirty-one for a chicken, thirty-three for a circus tent, thirty-five for a shave and a haircut, thirty-six for a sparkler and a slice of apple pie, thirty-eight for a yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum, forty for your birthday, forty-one for a good pair of boots, forty-three for your brown hair to be blonde, forty-five for an honorable mention, forty-six to pick up sticks for the neighbors, forty-eight for a tank of gas, forty-nine for its weight in gold, fifty for two quarters, fifty-one for two loaves and a bigger fish, fifty-three for your sweetheart to spend on treats, fifty-four in the hand is fifty-four in the bush, fifty-six for the thanksgiving turkey, fifty-seven for a wooly shuffle, fifty-nine for a trip to the altar, sixty for those who know better, sixty-two for tar and feathers, sixty-three for an evening cruise around the harbor, sixty-four for a double box of a year-long supply of something. sixty-six for your discretion in the matter, sixty-eight for an icebox, sixty-nine for new double-hung windows, seventy for four dozen bagels, seventy-one for some pie in the sky, seventy-two for a basket case of anything (except a fruit basket which was too much for you), seventy-three for a champagne toast, seventy-five for three quarters, seventy-seven for a large quartz crystal, seventy-eight for a new song just for you, eighty to light the way, eighty-two cents for a bee in your bonnet, eighty-three for the correct time, eighty-five for a trip to the sea on a boat with me, eighty-six for dueling banjos, eighty-eight to get into the museum after hours, ninety to mail a crate to Maine, ninety-one to mill around aimlessly, ninety-three to share the spoils, ninety-four for a permit for anything, ninety-five for the band to play your song, ninety-six for a gown made of rabbit dreams and clouds, ninety-eight for a ride on the train, ninety-nine for a ship of fools, and one hundred for four quarters but you knew that.

I now hate this. May 25, 2013


a story for children

Long ago there was a fantastic adventure. It was a little bit hidden and a little bit shy but it was there nonetheless. It was like a seed, which seems like nothing sometimes when you look at it, a little thing with no visible parts, nothing to indicate by its unassuming size. And yet. And yet...

In the same way, under the right conditions, regardless of circumstances, the fantastic adventure with sprout from you. It will burst forth or it will gently unfold its first tendril. It will race toward fulfillment of its own sunshiney potential, our it will creep, in fits and starts, slowly forward in the dark.

This fantastic adventure is the seedling of your soul, no one has one like it, but everyone has one. You came here to sprout, to grow your own shape and color and to share it as freely as that tree or that flower or that tomato vine. Nothing can stop it. You can think it's impossible, but that's only a delay. Once you taste the feeling of it, then the fantastic adventure is unstoppable.

Do you want to try now? To start somewhere, which is anywhere, which is right here? Do you want to put your bare feet onto the ground in the grass or in the sand or in the mud? Go ahead! Can you feel little sprouts growing? They feel like tickles and giggles and bird feathers and rain. It begins here, noticing this. And each time you sprout a new leaf, branch, or root, you will know that it's true by the bubbles of joy that pop and fizz in your heart, in your chest. 

And you can share these fizzy pops of love with your mom and your dad and your family and your friends, with people you meet in the park out the store, with your pets and the birds and the animals, with the forest and the city and the ocean and the shore. You can share them when it's quiet out when it's very loud, even when you are crying or when you don't want to make a sound. 

Most of all you can share with yourself everything that comes up from inside as you grow, there's space for it all even if you feel slow.

And if ever the wind in your branches makes you feel scared, you can call to the magic of each little seed that grows without worry, fearless and free.

Every small seedling in the forest or garden gets rained on and windblown and sometimes downtrodden.

Still each little seedling looks to the sun and pushes its roots deeper into the earth that it came from. Just like the sun feels nice on your skin and the cool mud between your toes tickles, so the sprout that you are on this fantastic adventure grows right from your heart, can you feel it? Follow that, follow that, oh, where will we go next?

June 13, 2013



That is the name of an exquisitely beautiful farm I visited tonight, that has permanently inspired me. Also, that is the name if the city I was born in. 

So, that is my theme this weekend.



Today I notice my strength. I can separate a great work situation from a miserable living situation. I can even separate the wonderful living from the miserable living, and then again the sublime from the wonderful. I notice my strength, to remain with a commitment even as other commitments break apart around me. I can separate the commitments I want to keep from the ones to let go. Does it always take ill treatment to remember that we deserve more because we are capable of giving more? It isn't easy to listen to an inner guidance that so often leaves me solitary, because my heart speaks of nurturing through others, it speaks of love. Today I notice my strength. I'll get through and get by, and come September, I will never have been freer. Help me to dream bigger than I have. Tell me your pains and your inspirations. The really good words are failing me tonight, and I'm only good for noticing.



Long ago there was a story so great and huge and wonderful that it almost couldn't be written. It was a story that belonged to many people, that could belong to everyone. It was a web, with parts coming from here and some from there. Some smelled of leather, some of rose, some of oil, some of salt. Some parts came from different times, many years ago or many years from now. Each was a thread and each storyteller had so many ways that the thread could be lost or unravel. These storytellers mostly just lived their lives, not really knowing that there were so many others, not knowing exactly who out there had the words just before or after their own. But they knew something in the dusty bits of salt, rose, oil, and leather that wove in and out of their conscious notice. And over eons this web wrote a story so great and huge and wonderful that it almost can't be read. It will break your eyes, it will take your language. It will melt your heart. 

Do you see this as a warning or an invitation?

Add to it then, and be careful. Each electromagnetic beat of your heart is a sound that copies no other sound. Climb up and go. The long bones of your body want to show you why you're here. Make this body work for its meals and record the sounds of each day, put them together with the one before, or keep them separate and guard them. It doesn't matter. You will start to hear, you'll keep your eyes. Your truth sits at the center of a fire, cool and still. Your sacred part of the story has been here, written in your long bones, left white and bare by the fire of your life. Look down and read yourself, what's left of you after the offering has been made of embodiment.The threads of this story come together, great and huge and wonderful, woven from the still center of the storyteller's eyes. 

Can you read what I've woven?

May 27, 2013



Here I am with a little battery life left. There's a moth flying about while I try to warm up beneath the down comforter I'm so glad I insisted on traveling with. I just got off the phone with my mother, who guided my own hands into fixing a finger I jammed two weeks ago with a weeding tool. I managed to avoid being chased by a rooster today, but only because I'm driving my car two hundred feet to the barn where I keep my food to avoid having to deal with the beast. Although my frustration at having to do that is starting to make running him off with a rake whenever he looks at me seem more appealing. The air here is clean and the wind is fierce and this isn't any kind of story about anything today. Except that I'm keeping myself writing, even with no electricity, reception, or sanity. I had it come to me today from two different sources that we only know what we feel because we think we do. It went something like this...the buzz of human life is so full of lively energy that being out in a place of nature can feel heavy in comparison and that heaviness can feel depressed. And this...there is a feeling after deep meditation that can be called depressed, and it's a fine feeling, it just happens to contrast with that human collective buzz. See, I've been deciding that I really enjoy that slow, heavy feeling of land without people. And I'm imagining that the thing we call peace might be closer to the thing we call depression than we commonly give it credit for. And that there might be something marvelous there (Please see the writings of Matt Licata for a very poetic rendering of my own wonky night-thoughts).This land is green and, if I lie on it, it will envelop me entirely. I can feel gravity more here, but it's not gravity, it's something else. I was laughing with my mom about my newfound way of using a few sips of wine as medicine, since I've been here, since all things went into a kind of flux that I have to escape from just a little each day like letting a bit of air out of a balloon, lest I pop. We were amused by the idea that all of me wants to sink into the weight of this quiet place, and my pinot noir gives the part of me that's still running at high speed a chance to chill the heck out.  I felt forgiven for something I'm not even interested in judging myself for. I can hear the wasps chewing at the barn wall and I've got an hour and a half of daylight left to do nothing with.


the bakery

Long ago there was a bakery and a baker in a tiny town on the side of a volcano and the volcano was also an island in the middle of nowhere, or maybe not really nowhere since the ocean has no land but still must be a "where". The bakery was kind of a loud place even though it was small and the writer, even though she longed to write there, couldn't seem to harmonize her own creative vibration with the rest of the tourists and locals who came and went. The coffee really wasn't prepared very well and nothing was organic and she was surprised by this a little each time, reminded that she was in a land where doing whatever she had done before could produce such wildly unexpected and sometimes incomprehensible results.

But there were bright spots because on the days that she forgot not to write there, she could write about the people who were real, observing them just there at the next table, instead of writing about herself. They were tourists mostly, at any given time. Often wearing bathing suits even though they were three thousand feet up the mountain. They wore their suits under sarongs with sketchers sneakers and baseball caps. They wanted to know how to pronounce where they were, which the writer could empathize with. And they were always in twos and fours, looking a tiny bit shell shocked. There were the two men in the "more Aloha, less litter" tee shirts. One old and one young, the grey haired old man carrying out a giant piece of carrot cake (three layers!) with a look of anticipation that this writer only sees on the faces of old men and very young boys.

The locals stream in, all men, all in the somewhat grubby state that's the norm for this island. They must work outside, and start early in the morning because they came in for lunch at 10 or 11 and put away huge plates of food very quickly. What is the aesthetic here? Printed t-shirts and trucker caps and Locals. Southern hick meets the Red Hot Chili Peppers on a farm in the tropics. After over twenty months here this writer may finally be getting used to it a little, knowing that there will always be a division of vibration between her and all this, until that no longer even matters. And then everything will transform. Really the best thing for this writer's creativity might be the isolation that comes with not being in a coffee shop, no matter the lovely man this morning with a bottle of Bud and a pack of Newports in his sleeve who told her that his day was "very good, indeed" now that he'd seen her.

Even so, is there much difference between here and the park? Can the mystic push through even here? Oh, Los Angeles. Oh, Santa Fe. This writer misses you, and all the places between where things are bare and dusty and organic, where everyone knows that the food you eat is an offering to God in the Temple, where good coffee makes itself, where pride is taken in honest, and dishonest, work to the maybe millionth degree. But right this moment, the writer loves her isolation, even when that love feels hard and tears come when it's pushed on, which is often.This separateness forces a complete inward focus that is foreign, a surrender interrupted by reruns of Who's The Boss and The Golden Girls.

Right now it exists in order to look hard for all the ways that the inside of the writer births every bit of the surroundings. She is looking for the root of every material beauty and beloved she has known, looking for the roots inside herself because that's what this place in the middle of nowhere has revealed. It's all nowhere without her.

May 31, 2013



I am a writer, shouldn't I write? Something wise that I could begin to live out goes something like, 

"Most of the pain in your life is born inside of the failure to bring your light forward"

Every day I'll come here again. Whether I feel like it or not. And I'll write elsewhere, push out into the resistance. Writing isn't THE way to bring my light, but it's a way, and I need something. Mostly I stop myself from doing by telling myself I'm not good enough, I might feel it but I can't let myself believe it.

See you tomorrow.