So. I was feeling “lonely” this morning, a rare “condition,” probably in reaction to the 11/13 Paris massacre. I can remember feeling the same way the day of the 9/11 attack, when my late husband Jeff was traveling in Europe and I couldn’t speak with him. Wanted to speak with him today, too. Wanted to be held.

So this morning I took myself out to Lake Monroe instead — with puppy Shadow of course. Wanted to banish all the signs that this was indeed another state-sponsored false flag — with simultaneous nearby drills, near-instantaneous wikipedia article, “found passport” (Syrian, what else?), MSM network news unanimity that this was ISIS/ISIL at work, Hollande’s immediate draconian police state martial law (“for security”) and declaration that this was “an act of war;” not to mention the pope calling it World War III. On and on. The U.S. Empire and its NATO sidekicks are apparently determined to somehow get the best of Putin in Syria by calling out all their big guns with the gullible public behind them . . .

Is the con working? More and more, people ARE waking up.

Here’s a particularly full and satisfying compendium from Jean Hudon, who rarely has time to grace us with this kind of generosity anymore — except when it’s truly important, like NOW.

KEEPING ONE’S HEART AND EYES OPEN: A Point of View on the Attacks in Europe

Geez! I admit, I’m obsessed! Jeff, where are you? HOLD ME. Help me let go of my mind.

Okay, so this morning me and Shadow hopped in the car and skedaddled out to Lake Monroe.

We went to Paynetown, on the northern side, see it?

Got out of the car and set out, making sure I had my phone for photos. At first I let Shadow off-leash, as he needed to run. I thought we’d be alone, and would have had him run free the entire walk — but was surprised to see a number of gigantic “4 X 4” trucks lumber by, on their way, presumably, back to their gigantic rigs parked at the camping grounds — until I remembered, ye goddess! it’s hunting season.

(Of course I wonder how people pay for those giant shiny new trucks and rigs. Credit? That thin scrim of the money matrix that we still pretend is real? And why do they need them anyhow. Why pretend to be giants when we’re really not? There were a few tent campers too, which made me feel more at home inside the macho display.)

Oh yeah, and popping sounds did come in from across the lake. Every time I heard more than one shot in a row I winced, thinking that poor deer probably got wounded and is trying to stumble away . . .

Okay, so we’ll try to ignore all that, pretend there’s no one here but us. Frame our experience in our own way and take photos as if “alone in the wilderness.” — Not all that hard to do. Any frame, any closed system, determines the set of possibilities that can be seen inside it. And, I say, all frames are arbitrary, in the sense that Nature does not frame things to the point where nothing gets in or out. There simply are no closed systems in nature! Even though scientists pretend there are every time they construct and run a “controlled experiment” — as if it mirrors actual reality. Hah! Hilarious, the assumptions science uses in order to not get dizzy.

A few “framed” scenes from our walk:

See Shadow? (Hint: he’s the color of tree bark. Could have been named “Bark.” Get it? Heh heh.)

And again.

Throughout our morning walk I kept scanning the sky, as is per usual with me. But gee whiz, NO CHEM TRAILS! A rare day. A few high jets with short-tailed contrails overhead, but no trails that spread, dripped, stayed way too long, and crisscrossed with others.

Oh wait. What’s on the horizon here?

Hmmmm. Whatever is going on there, it kind of hints at the long thin parallel “clouds,” which, like some “cirrus” hazes, is to me another indication of chemtrailing. But then it’s hard to say. Just like everything else, there’s weird, confusing disinfo in the skies, too.

Oops! What to make of this algae bloom covering an entire Monroe backwater inlet? “Normal”? Normal for this time of year? I have no idea.

Monroe, actually a reservoir, supplies drinking water for Bloomington. Here’s a bit more info:
A few years back, Indianapolis wanted to tap into it as well. Don’t know what happened with that. The lake is full of gas-guzzling motorboats half the year. The one time I tried to swim in its water, I got an ear infection.

Okay, back to this morning’s walk. Notice where I peed in this photo of tree roots and leaves?

Hint: the end of the upper left root is darker . . .

Love this shot with canoe.

On the way back, I glance up: Wonderfully wriggly branching sycamore with oh-so-human straight black electrical line running through it.

Then there’s this leaf, actually as large as my hand span, though you can’t tell the scale here.

Another photographic trick that we have to watch out for whenever we interpret our attempts to make “exact copies” of Nature. She is always so much more powerful and aware and profound and mysterious than our puny little left brains can manage! On the other hand, when we open, open, open to our right brains and hearts — when we just walk along and forget both our “troubles” and any other “thought” that creeps in and tries to tense us up — makes us forget the sun’s warmth on our back mingling with the subtle delicious caress of a breeze (I swear the leaves, as I strolled by, would wave to me, just me!), plus the birds, the birds! Lots of crows, plus a huge pileated woodpecker! — and other smaller twittering, flitting birds, of which I know not their names . . .

So glad I DO know the “pileated woodpecker” name! Somehow that makes this bird more real to me. Somehow, when we name things, when we point to them and say “this is THAT,” we . . . what? take “ownership”? Pretend we understand?

So that’s it, folks! One photo shoot on one glorious November morning two days after a godawful state-sponsored “terror” attack in Paris that both reminded us of our interconnectedness and made us realize that we actually have “selective empathy.” Once again, we have so very much to learn — especially about ourselves, our own prejudices, our own small-minded attitudes inside the ineluctable vastness.