Laurie Fraser's Blog, page 2

Long Nose- a story from Bangan Forest for Winter Solstice by Laurie Fraser

Long Nose

Ironwood was born here, on the north side of Outer Clearing, two decades and seven years ago. Her feet are deep into Earth now; sharp claws on her gnarly toes dig deeper every day. And so, you see, Ironwood’s roots are part of Earth.

Ironwood is small among trees, but she has a reputation for strength. Her wood is hard as iron, and it burns a long time in campfires. Ironwood is also well-known for her ability to keep secrets. Yep, you can tell her anything. She’ll keep it inside.

Ironwood is good at guarding secrets; she is hard and strong, but there is a way into her heart. It’s simple. It’s a door on the lower south side of her rough trunk- an entrance and exit all in one place, a place that feels Sun all day long. In spite of Sun’s beams, the door is hard to see because Ironwood’s bark is shaggy and shedding.

Lazy Lynx knows of it. She can even see the tiny knocker. Lynx can see everything. She sees through things like covered baskets and closed doors and lies. Lynx can even see the future, although she doesn’t comment on that much. Lynx is no chatterbox. Silence is one of her closest friends.

Indeed, it was with Silence that Lynx celebrated Winter Solstice. On Day’s shortest workday, Lynx and Silence sat together on Cedric Cedar’s long bough just across the way from Ironwood. They had been waiting a long time in Falling Snow for Dusk to arrive. At the exact moment that Dusk sat down in Outer Clearing, Ironwood’s trunk door cracked open. Lynx didn’t startle, but Silence jumped back, shaking Cedric’s green leaves.

At first, the bark door opened just a little. It didn’t open more until Silence got ahold of himself. Then, bit by bit, it opened wider, and a nose stuck out. Of course, this was not suspenseful for Lynx- she knew who was behind Ironwood’s south door- but Silence was just beside himself. Was it an animal nose? It was a sharp nose. Bird’s beak, perhaps? Crow?

Silence waited, but Lynx knew. Lynx knew that Ironwood was a type of holding place. This long nose had been kept in a golden cage inside Ironwood’s heart. The golden cage had been too small in the end, perhaps because the captive had grown over time. When the golden cage sprang open, why, that too, was because its prisoner had outgrown it. It was time to be freed.

The long nose that emerged from Ironwood’s south door was attached to the face of a thin man with long shiny black hair. His eyes were deep blue. He wore a long black coat to his knees and black pointed boots- shiny and sharp. His black beard was scruffy.

Lynx didn’t move a muscle as Long Nose scanned the area and fully emerged from Ironwood’s trunk. He stood only nine inches.

Long Nose took in his new surroundings: New Powder Snow clinging to every trunk, branch and twig made Forest white and bright, even as Dark arrived. Dark and Dusk fought for power a bit longer than usual, only because of New Powder Snow everywhere, even piled on evergreens like bright white pillows.

Soon, of course, Dark had complete control. After all, it was his night- Longest Night.

Long Nose knelt down in Snow. He bent his head, his dark hair falling about his face, and he spoke aloud: “Welcome Dark, the colour of my heart, the state of my mind. I welcome your rest and peace.”

Black feathers scattered about him on New Powder Snow.

Lynx knew that Long Nose had been through trauma. Poor thing, he’d flown too high, too close to Sun. He’d been saturated in Light, too much Light, and he’d become manic. He hadn’t been able to sleep- he was that busy- and he hadn’t had time to eat- his work was that important. In the end, he’d become too thin and frantic to take care of himself, so one night, under Corn Moon, when he flew through Ironwood’s branches, she trapped him. Ironwood had hugged him with seven branches at once, held him tight, and squished him right into that golden cage in her heart. It was one way to still him, to dilute his light. Ironwood had held him there until he slept and ate and grew.

When Long Nose emerged from Ironwood’s strong embrace, he welcomed Dark, and then he journeyed a short way through New Powder Snow until he found Twigs attached to Small Bush.

“May I take you?” asked Long Nose. “Will you be my heat and light?”

“Yes,” twittered Twigs, “take us.”

And so, Long Nose put four Twigs in Snow. “Thank you,” he said.

Lynx watched from her new place- behind Maple King. It was her nature to stalk with Silence. Her paws were wide as snowshoes, her black-tufted ears were radars, and Lynx’s yellow eyes saw everything.

Long Nose stared at Twigs with his blue eyes until they began to tremble and twitch. Soon they shone blue and then PUFF! They sparked into fire: Small Blue Fire.

Long Nose sat by Small Blue Fire. He breathed in Smoke. He washed his face in Smoke. He stood and washed his body in Smoke. He shook his long black coat. He cleaned the last of old trauma away. He grew larger, much larger, until he was standing by Small Blue Fire in New Powder Snow, his four legs long and lanky, taller than Snow.

Lazy Lynx opened her yellow eyes wide. The nine-inch critter- whether fairy or small human hadn’t been clear- had now suddenly grown tall with 2 additional legs. Why, he had become a soft brown colour with a long snout- why, the thing had become Moose! Full grown Moose!

Lynx knew it was magic. She’d seen Moose change to Tree many times (much like Turtle becoming Rock), but she’d never seen anyone become Moose. As Lynx stared, she suddenly sneezed, causing Long Nose to turn towards her.

“Ani,” said Long Nose, “Hello.”

“It’s an honour,” answered Lazy Lynx. “You have amazing powers.”

Long Nose smiled. “And you.” He bobbed his snout respectfully.

“Can you teach me about transformation?”

“It’s a simple matter,” said Long Nose. “Clear trauma using one method or another.”

“Such as?”

“Swim in River or smudge with Smoke. Release Bitterness and all her little friends like Regret and Rage. Then you can create whatever your heart desires.”

“I want to fly,” said Lynx. “I’ve tried, sometimes from very high places like Cliffs, but I always fall to Earth. I’m blessed, I know- because I always land on my feet- but I want to fly like Eagle, like Dragonfly.

Long Nose looked at her with soft blue eyes: the eyes of a nurse… or teacher, perhaps.

“I know,” Lynx’s ears and nose turned pink. “I’m too big to fly like fairies or butterflies… but oh, how I admire them.”

“Mmmmm,” said Long Nose, “You might be having trouble getting off Ground because of your emotion. You can’t fly without Love. Stop jealousy. Step outside of sadness. Try this: Focus on long slow breaths. Notice Love in your heart and stir it up however you can- by looking at clouds and hearing birds or maybe by remembering your mama… or your babies. Build Love in your heart, and then push it out in front of you.” He smiled at her. “That’s it.”

“That’s flying?”

“Yes, just follow Love. Your heart is attached to it. Love leads, and you follow.”

“Up to Blue Sky?”

“Yes, that’s flying. Practice in Dreamtime. Lean forward, heartfirst – not headfirst- and never look back. It’s that easy. Watch.”

Long Nose lumbered away from Lynx, heading down Dirt path. His big moose shoulders and hindquarters rolled with each step forward. He moved faster, his four legs hoofing it until he lifted from Dirt Path, four hanging legs with hooves became two hanging legs with claws. His body shrank and darkened; Moose’s long snout became Crow’s long beak; and strong rolling shoulders became wide flapping wings.

Long Nose flew ever higher into Dark and away from Small Blue Fire, away from Lynx.

Now, I can’t tell you everything; I don’t know myself. These lessons are sacred; they don’t belong to me. Sometimes though, if you are observant, if you are as quiet as Lynx sitting with Silence, you may witness some things that your eyes won’t believe.

This is Crow’s lesson: No matter if we swim or fly or trudge through Deep Snow in big boots, we must move heartfirst, creating our lives with each conscious step. Take rest with Winter; create with Summer. And if you are one of those people who become manic, let Tree root you and hold you until you find sleep, and if you become depressed, stir Love in your heart, and let it lead you until you find Sun and Blue Sky again, for Sun and Blue Sky never disappear for long.

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Mother Earth

Mother Earth- a story from Bangan Forest

Small Human was just small, a little child, but she knew something important. She knew that her mother was hurting. Not her human mother; her human mother was not nice. Small did her best to stay away from that mother.

No, it was her other mother- Mother Earth was hurt.

They had come to know each other when Small was even smaller. Her human mother had started kicking her out of the house as soon as she could walk.

“Play outside! Don’t come in until Dark arrives.”

Often Small was hungry, but she wasn’t allowed to go in the house and open the fridge. That was okay- there was a lot of food outside. Her clumsy hands learned to pull Grass and eat it. She liked Dandelion’s leaves and Clover too. One day, when she was 3 years old, she ventured past People’s Park and found Apple Tree just loaded with shiny red apples. Tree shared and Small got better at climbing.

Soon Mother Earth was feeding Small more often than her human mother. Mother Earth did other things too that her human mother didn’t do. Mother Earth held Small in her arms while she napped in Shade, and when Small cried, Mother blew Wind to dry her tears.

All of Mother Earth loved Small: Sun kissed her brown cheeks and Grassy Hill hugged her as she rolled down sloping slopes. Willow joined the ends of her long droopy branches and made swings for Small. Small would swing in Summer Breeze, her strong legs pumping, her brown hair flying. When Summer was neigh, Rain washed her and Puddle cooled her. When Winter came by, Ice pieces cleaved to her red mittens and Small would suck on them. Snow made piles for her to dig into and make caves. It was warm then. Evergreen provided needles- at first, she spread them on the floor, but eventually she learned to eat them and the inside of Evergreen’s cones too. (Squirrels showed her that.)

Whether Small was quietly playing with pebbles or wildly making waves in Ditch, she was in synch with Mother Earth.

It was different at her human house. She was offbeat there- her human mother could list many faults belonging to Small.

“Who do you think you are?” her mother asked, day after day. That was a rhetorical question because then she would answer herself: You spoiled little brat.

That’s when Small would run. She had to run as fast as her pudgy legs could go. Sometimes she was caught, and it was very very very terrible when her mother got a hold of her… but sometimes, she’d get out the back door and Mother Earth would save her.

“Hide here!” she would point under bushes or behind trees.

“Shh now,” Mother Earth would whisper with Wind, “Shh, shh, shh.”

And Small would fall asleep listening to the sound of Mother’s heartbeat: I love you, I love you, I love you….

Unfortunately, sometimes Small didn’t get back into Mother’s arms until after the punishment. She didn’t need to hide then. No, at those times she went to Mother purely for comfort.  And she would lay her wet face down on Mother’s sandy pillow and fall asleep listening to the sound of Mother’s heartbeat: You are worthy, you are worthy, you are worthy…

It was Mother Earth who kept Small alive throughout her childhood. She fed Small apples and berries and greens when she was hungry, but the most important way that Mother Earth kept Small alive was by hugging her, whispering about hope, and synching their heartbeats.

It’s like this: When one heart is in synch with another heart, those hearts will come to know each other completely. Many humans experience this in childhood- and those humans rarely forget their true mother, even when they grow up to spend their days in buildings. Like the animals of Bangan Forest, they know Mother’s heartbeat all day long. In dreamtime too, their hearts beat with her heart, and their eyes open at Daybreak without Robin’s call.

One day, Small’s human mother told her to sit on the basement steps and not move. Small sat there and looked at her fists on her knees. Her fists were pink, and her pants had patches on the knees where her fists perched. Her pants were blue, but the patches were black. She banged her pink fists on the black patches until her knees hurt, but she didn’t cry.

Small looked down the stairs to the basement floor. The steps were gray, and the floor was gray too. It was long way down. Small’s throat hurt. It hurt to swallow. Her head was sore, and her stomach ached.

Small wondered when she would be allowed to move. The step was cold. Her mother was in the kitchen, banging things, cleaning things. Small knew she had to wait. She had to be quiet and wait.

The lump in her throat grew bigger. It really hurt, like a ball was stuck in there. Small’s eyes were watering, but she didn’t cry.

Oh, how her throat hurt- more and more- until she couldn’t swallow at all. Was she still able to speak, she wondered.

“Mommy?”

“What is it now?”

“My throat hurts. It has a big ball in it.”

“That’s enough from you!”

Two tears rolled down Small’s cheeks, but she was quiet. Her throat hurt more and more.

After some time, Small’s mother opened the kitchen door and said, “Out you go and don’t come back until Dark arrives.”

Small ran out the door. She ran all the way to Bunny’s old hut in the corner of the back yard and crawled in.

“Bunny?” Small cried, finally able to make some noise. “Bunny, please come home.” Small used to come here to cry even before Bunny disappeared. It still smelled like bubblegum and old apples. There used to be warm bundles of fur in here- not just Bunny but baby rabbits too. (Small called them Raby Babbits.) Sometimes there was another rabbit too- not one who belonged here, a wild one who came to visit Bunny.

Anyway, they were all gone- it was Small’s hut now, she alone scooched under Hay to warm up or hide.

“Bunny,” Small sobbed. “Come home!”

When Small cried like that, really hard and loud, Green Frog jumped out of her mouth and onto to Hay.

“Oh,” said Small, surprised. She hiccupped.

“That’s a relief,” said Green Frog. His skin was shiny and bright green. His bulgy yellow eyes were ringed in black. He had suckers on his toes and a wart on his nose.

“What were you doing in my mouth?” asked Small.

“I was stuck in your throat for a long time,” explained Frog. “You should cry when you’re sad, otherwise I get stuck there. I need moisture, you know, or I get stuck.”

“What?”

“When you feel a hard lump in your throat, you must cry wet and loud.”

“Crying makes Mommy angry.”

“That is not your true mother. Come on, Small Human, come outside.”

Small followed Green Frog out of Bunny’s hut. He had big hands and big feet that he used for hopping.

“Whose house is that?” He pointed back to the hut.

“Why, that’s Bunny’s home.”

“Wrong,” said Frog. “That is Bunny’s house. A house is different than a home.”

Small tucked her brown hair behind her ears. “Do you know what happened to Bunny?”

Frog’s yellow eyes softened, and his voice did too. “The truth is that Bunny went home, to her real home, in Bangan Forest.”

“Is she going to come back?” Small’s face bunched up; surely, she was going to cry again.

“I’m sorry, Small, but Bunny did the right thing by going home. She knows her home is not a hut with a door, but Forest with trees and wildflowers.”

“But I miss her.”

“Look behind you. Whose house is that?”

“Mine.”

“Wrong again, Small Human. That is your mother’s house. She cleans it until it is as cold as her own self.”

“That’s my fault; I’m always making a mess.”

Green Frog hopped right up on Small’s shoulder. “Listen carefully, Small, and try to understand. Homes are about love. In Forest, Bunny is loved by trees. Her friends are mushrooms. Her food is healthy and plentiful. What about you, Small? Where do you feel loved? Where do you feel happy?”

“What do you mean, Green Frog?”

“Are you loved in that house?”

“My mother doesn’t like me.”

“Are you loved in Bunny’s hut?”

“Not anymore.”

“Where do you feel happy and safe and loved?”

“Oh,” said Small. “I like lots of places!” She smiled. “I love Willow and swinging with her.”

“Willow loves you too.”

“And I like playing with fairies at Ditch’s End.”

“Oh, they love you too.”

“And I love ants- I make trails for them. And,” she laughed then, “I make grass houses too, for mice! And I love to go across the railroad tracks and play with Pond there. There are lots of beetles and

“Look up,” interrupted Frog from his perch on her shoulder.

Small looked up at Father Sun and Blue Sky.

“It is your roof. Look down.” Frog jumped down to Ground.

Small looked down at Green Grass and Gravel.

“This is your floor. Look around you- at animals and plants and weather. This is your home, Small. Mother Earth is your true mother. See how she cares for you. See how she feeds you and hugs you and plays with you.”

“But this is outside.”

“Yes, this is where you are loved and cared for.”

Small Human was small, but she could understand this big idea. She looked around at her home with no walls. She opened her arms wide and spun in a circle. “I can be loud here.”

“As loud as Thunder.”

“I can cry here.”

“Like Rain.”

“I can be dirty here.”  She sat down on Grass with her legs crossed.

Green Frog hopped up onto her right knee and sat on the black patch. “Small, you might be small, you might be human, born in Town, raised in a house, but you are still worthy of love. You are no less than Willow, Ant or Fairy. You are part of Mother Earth, born of her, her true child- dirty and noisy and rotten to the core sometimes. Oh, how she loves you- every day, every minute…”

“Every minute?”

“Listen Small, pay attention. You will see that Mother Earth always loves you, never stops, even when you hurt her, she will continue to feed you and hug you and dry your tears. Isn’t that so?”

“I don’t hurt Mother Earth, do I?”

“We all hurt Mother Earth. She is so tired of people buying and selling her as if she has no rights at all. She has some very deep wounds from machines cutting her up, and she has been poisoned in many places. It hurts her when Forest is cut down. Garbage piles up and Ocean can’t breathe. She finds it hard sometimes just to grow healthy food.”

“Like apples?”

Frog nodded. “And grain to feed everyone… and all those cows.”

“How can I help?” Small had forgotten her own problems.

“Sing to her, your true mother. Sing with love and gratitude.”

“Oh, I saw gnomes doing that one evening. They danced around a little campfire.”

“Yes, many of us are healing Mother like this. Frog Clan sings all night long.”

Small clapped her happy hands. “I love your singing! Can we sing together?”

“Ribbit,” sang Frog with a wide smile.

“Love, love, love,” sang Small. “All you need is love!”

“Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit.”

“All you need is love, love… Love is all you need.”

Green Frog and Small Human sang to Father Sun and Blue Sky. They sang to Grass and Gravel. Brown Wren joined in, and Red Wing Blackbird trilled too. Fairies chanted and bees buzzed. Crow called for more voices to join the concert: Squirrel squealed, Hummingbird hummed, and then Cardinal outdid them all.

Mother Earth soaked up all that love. She rolled over and reached out her long arms. Sun reached back to her with yellow beams. They hugged each other and everyone in between.

Small puts her head on Mother’s breast every day now, listening carefully, paying attention. Small hears her mother’s heartbeat: I love you, I love you, I love you. Small is at home when she does that.

Small sings to Mother every day now, singing with love and gratitude. Every day, Mother Earth soaks it up. She needs love and gratitude from us all- frogs and humans alike. She uses it to calm Wind and cool Ocean.

Crow calls us all: The time is now. The time has come.

 

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Celeste

I named my apple tree Celeste after a litttle girl who was killed by her father. I chose the name to honour that girl, who I couldn’t get out of my mind, and because my apple tree is a delicate creature with fragile pink and white blossoms.

With Darkness encroaching,

Celeste

undressed,

her clothes scattered on the ground

like an apple tree losing her leaves.

-Laurie, 2022

 

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Jag- a story from Bangan Forest by Laurie Fraser

This story was written for Jenna, an indigenous child, my friend’s niece, who killed herself at age 14.

We’ve already met Runt Rabbit in previous stories from Bangan Forest- one is here. Jag becomes separated from her father in another story- Lynx in Pinks- that is yet to be published.

Jag

Summer Solstice

You might think that Runt Rabbit had no skills at all. After all, he was uneducated and undersized. His faded tan coat was oversized, his feet were oddly large, and he had a twitchy brain. He’d left the den at an early age, and it was his poor fortune to settle in Town where there was no work for the likes of him.

You might think that Runt had no skills at all, but he had street smarts. He’d been homeless for a while before he found a way to squeeze under Bunny’s fence. Now he had a hut to sleep in and a soft female to snuggle and cuddle. She was an addict though, and she tolerated Runt only because he provided her with sugar.

Bunny thought it must be difficult to find sugar because it took Runt all day, every day. In fact, he didn’t work very hard. He’d go downtown and hang with his friends, at some point grabbing a coffee and swiping some sugar packets for Bunny. He usually didn’t return to the hut until suppertime- Bunny was on the bossy side.

Runt Rabbit was an easy-going guy. He hung out behind the grocery store where two dumpsters served the entire strip mall. The food sucked: pizza crusts, hard slices of white bread, scraps of meat that no one but Crow wanted. Runt remembered clover and nettle galore in Main Meadow where he was from. He’d never developed a taste for human factory food.

This morning, the earliest morning of the year, he was sitting on a curb in the parking lot with his friend, Jag, eating some leftover Thai noodles from a box. Jag had scored an actual leftover breakfast- some homefries and egg yolk in Styrofoam with a lick of that bacon grease she liked. As usual, they were talking a blue streak.

Probably I should tell you right off the bat that Jag was not a jaguar. She was a beige cougar in a stretchy black skirt with jeggings and purple nail polish on her claws. Being a cougar, she had no business living in Town. Humans were terrified of cougars and now that she was getting too large to pass for an alley cat, Jag had to spend more and more of her time in hiding. She was constantly in danger.

Like Runt, she had come to Town as a youngster. Unlike Runt, it wasn’t her choice. She’d become separated from her father in Bangan Forest, and she had gotten lost.

“They don’t celebrate Solstice here,” said Runt, watching Dawn and Sky toss oranges back and forth.

“Solstice is special in Bangan Forest. Floral bells are ringing today. Nature Spirits are gathering at Oaky Dokey’s place; fairies are wearing new summer dresses.”

“I remember,” said Jag.

“Gnomes are probably in the sauce already.”

She smiled. “Flutterbys are losing their minds.”

“Sun and Stream are making love all day long.”

“My sisters and I used to swim with River when it was hot like this,” said Jag.

Runt nodded. “No pavement there. Just clover and moss.”

“I would like to be home by Winter Solstice.” Jag’s voice was wistful, as if she didn’t believe her own self.

“If leaving Bunny was an option, I’d already be home,” said Runt.

“I’m not 100% sure where my home is.”

“Oh, I think you’ll be able to find it,” said Runt. “You’re bigger now. I mean, you don’t fear Fox and Hawk like I do. You could just run Forest’s paths- you’re a cougar, probably only take you a few days. Ask a squirrel- they know everything.”

“No, I mean that my father might not be in Bangan Forest now. His first home was on Bangan Mountain where cougars have been for a few generations. Before that, all cougars had to go to West Grasslands. But my family’s true home, the home that cougar blood knows, is South Grasslands, many days journey from here. My ancestors lived there since beginning times.” Jag bounced one leg as she talked. “My father spoke of returning to South Grasslands. He called it home.”

“Oh. Why did your family keep moving? Are they nomads?”

“No, they didn’t want to leave their territory. Humans came and took our land.”

Runt nodded. “Deer told me a story like that. They all had to move. She said a clan called Dragon was wiped out!”

Jag rubbed her forehead with her front paws.

“What about your mother?”

“Ummm, well… us girls lived with my mother sometimes. It’s complicated.” Jag turned her face away from Runt. When she spoke again, her voice broke, “I miss my dad.”

“Don’t cry, Jaggy.” He jumped up and hugged her neck.

“I don’t belong here.”

“None of us belong here.” He climbed around to the back of her neck. “Let’s go for a walk.”

It was still early morning, most humans were still in their houses, so they left the parking lot and headed right down the sidewalk, scattering rats as they went.

Jag stopped at a small square and they watched some pigeons fight over scraps of human food. Seagull zoomed in and chased the pigeons around. She grabbed a shiny hamburger wrapper right out of another bird’s foot.

“What a bully,” said Runt into Jag’s ear.

“Everyone’s gotta eat,” said Jag.

At the Voyageur Bus Station, they watched an early arrival unload its passengers: sleepy students, a pair of beaver builders, a few businessmen, some mice, a couple of snakes, then – lo and behold – a kangaroo.

Town had a few immigrants, most of them kangaroos, a few swans and of course, the monkeys, try as humans might to get rid of them. No one minded kangaroos though, and Jag and Runt welcomed her. She said her name was Karen and she used a hard hoof to give them high-fives.

Karen had contraband with her, but what Boundary Bear was going to check her deep baby pocket? It was too intimate, too smelly. She’d never been caught smuggling her macaroon treats, and she made a reasonable living at it.

One set of ears stuck out of her baby pocket. When Jag tried to meet Karen’s baby, she found it was fake- just a hairband with kangaroo ears and a tape playing: Mama, where’s my other sock? Mama, can I go surfing?

Karen gave them each a macaroon.

It was magic in Jag’s mouth. Runt saved his for Bunny.

After leaving Karen at Kangaroo Kuts, Jag and Runt took alleys and parking lots until they got to the employee’s entrance at the Lord Elgin Hotel. It was a spiffy joint, but they’d been here before, just to take advantage of the air conditioning and use a clean bathroom.

Jag hung around the dumpster, due to being a cougar and all; she stayed just out of sight while Runt waited for opportunities by the employee entrance. Runt wasn’t much bigger than a mouse, barely a rabbit at all, really, and he was invisible to Bellboy when he stepped out for a smoke. Runt darted past Bellboy’s feet and once inside, he placed a chunk of newspaper in the crook of the door.

Runt hid under a corner of the carpet until Bellboy finished his smoke, picked his nose a bit and then went back to work. As he walked away, the door closing behind him did not shut completely and so Jag nosed her way right in.

After that, they did their usual stuff: picked a room, watched a movie, ordered room service- piles of chicken nuggets for Jag, garden salad for Runt and 2 chocolate eclairs to take home for Bunny. It was super-easy to get anything they wanted- they just provided the room number over the phone and said, “Put it on my bill, please.” When the food arrived, they hid in the bathroom and yelled, “Thanks! Just leave it on the table.”

It was nice to cool down after the heat of the street. Jag loved to get a shower in, shaking and spraying water all over the room. Runt always got into the free coffee and went home smelling like a roastery.

Summer Solstice in Town was sweltering and so, Runt and Jag spent most of the day in their air-conditioned room. When they finally left, they carried the coolness with them for a few blocks. It was suppertime by then. They heard Cubby Bear before they rounded the corner. Runt twitched like crazy, and hopped big excited hops.

“Cubby!”

He grinned at them with one side of his mouth. He was playing his saxophone. He’d drawn a fair-sized crowd and some coins bounced into his green felt hat on the ground in front of him.

It was fabulous music, the blues that Runt loved, the blues that swelled Jag’s aching heart. They danced on the edge of the crowd, their limbs moving in the bluesy heat, their hearts beating the bluesy beat and for some time, as they danced in the thick soupy heat of the longest day of the year, all was well: Jag was a beautiful female cougar with a bright future, Runt Rabbit was a cool and capable dude.

 

Winter Solstice

It was Winter Solstice when Runt got the news. He’d been slow getting up… feeling lazy, sleeping in dark mornings for weeks. It was 7 o’clock before he reached for his splotchy tan overcoat, shouted “Baa maa pii” to Bunny and headed out the door to find food, coffee and sugar.

He stopped in the doorway of the hut to catch Winter Dawn in her pale pink jammies.  That’s where he was- he’ll never forget- when Crow cruised by.

“The cougar is dead. The cougar has died,” Crow screamed overhead.

“What cougar? Jag?”

“She took her life. It was her will.”

“No! Not Jag!”

Runt hopped so fast that he somersaulted and then rolled downhill all the way to the grocery store. The parking lot was full of crying raccoons and mice and kangaroos. Squirrels scolded at the top of their voices. Moles and rabbits sobbed. Blue jays shrieked and cardinals sang. Morning doves mourned. It was intense.

Runt hid behind bags of firewood for sale. He pulled his long ears over his eyes. He rocked on his haunches. “Jaggy.”

Crows flew all over Town. “Cancelled! Solstice is cancelled!”

Humans had already canceled Christmas, but that was because of their pandemic. Humans didn’t know Jag. They didn’t know the cougar who had walked in their backyards, swum in their pools and licked food off their babies’ faces. But Jag had friends who knew her well. Her friends knew a sweet young cougar who danced behind dumpsters, headphones on her ears, purple nail polish on her claws. They knew a girl who had lost her home, a child who missed her dad.

“Her name was Jag!” screamed Crow.

“Her name was Jag!”

“Her name was Jag!”

And so it came to pass that there was no light and nothing to celebrate in December, 2020.

(C) Laurie Fraser

S.Farmer

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Remembering Rebecca

I found this today:

I wake up with cramps

and her with holidays.

She drives me to work.

She laughs.

Sunshine Beauty

become me your laughter.

Raise me home.

Drive me to work.

Laugh me life.

                                                            1984

What a sweet summer memory. My work was daycamp counselor and it took 2 buses to get there. But I was looking for this one:

Sitting, holding the railing

on the back stairs here,

in case I fall off.

I lost you.

Rebecca was under my heart.

Rebecca was on tire swings.

My house is quiet.

Sometimes I forget to pull a breath in.

How was it?

I lost you.

Even the cat here has died.

1991

Happy Birthday my sweet baby girl.

 

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Runt Rabbit Runs Away – a story from Bangan Forest by Laurie Fraser

This is Runt’s debut in Stories from Bangan Forest. He is a recurring character and will show up again as Jag’s friend, Ricky Raccoon’s rival & Bunny’s saviour.

art by William Fraser

Runt Rabbit Runs Away

When Runt Rabbit’s mother took off, he barely noticed- that’s how crowded the den was. She said she wanted to stretch her hoppers; she needed a breath of fresh air. That was an understatement given that the older litter was still at home, and the newest one was still untrained. Runt Rabbit’s mother didn’t bother with moss diapers- there would be no end to them with 12 babies. She just swept out the den every morning.

It did get harder for Runt to get his fair share of food once she left, and he got no affection at all. He was last in line for carrot juice every morning. Big Brothers practiced their kicks on him, on all the new bunnies, and Big Sisters were always dressing him up in their doll clothes.

Runt was the smallest of the rabbits; his tan coat was faded and oversized. His feet were too large for him. The slightest noise made him jump up to the ceiling, even when he was sleeping. Runt was one twitchy rabbit. He skittered from topic to topic in conversation as if he were on skates, as if his words were sliding out of control all over the icy surface of his busy brain. His attention twitched, but so did his black eyes and his girl-nose and his sparse bent whiskers.

Runt Rabbit’s father tried not to look directly at him. He had so many children anyway, what was one dud? Odd little thing would be out of the den in a moment anyway; they grew up so fast these days. If he even made it to moving-out size. Probably Hawk would eat him up on his way home from school one day.

Runt was unreasonably confident. You’d think he’d be hiding most of the time, hanging out with Thistle or playing games with Long Grasses. Sometimes he did those things, but Runt was a sociable fellow. He considered Beaver and Mole to be his friends, although they didn’t treat him very well. In fact, Runt was bullied at school, but to him it was normal. He was in a good mood most of the time.

Like all young rabbits, Runt Rabbit was exploring career options. He considered architect, but he’d rather dig holes than draw pictures. He considered builder, but Little Fisher and Mole had laughed their heads off at that idea. He was just too small.

“Sex worker,” suggested Mole.

“Magician’s assistant,” grinned Little Fisher.

“I know! You can be a good luck charm in a human’s pocket!”

They rolled over each other, laughing wildly.

“Stew!” shrieked Little Fisher.

“Human toilet paper!”

Runt Rabbit didn’t do well at school. It wasn’t because he was bullied or because he looked like a girl, although those things were true. Runt Rabbit didn’t do well at school because his brain twitched. It twitched here and there and everywhere until Runt didn’t know what was a number and what was a letter. F and 5 were the same to him.

And so it happened that one day, when Owl’s glasses sat sideways on her face and she banged her pointer hysterically on ‘FIVE’ written on Big Slate and screamed, “It’s a word about a number,” Runt just got up from his stump in the front row and walked right out the front door of that school.

Now, I’m not passing opinion on quitting school, I’m just saying, it’s best to wait until you have a plan. Runt Rabbit had no plan and a twitchy brain.

Queen Anne’s Lace

Runt hopped right by his den at Tom Tree without stopping in to get a scolding from his father.  He hopped right down Small Hill covered in goldenrod and purple asters to Main Meadow. He hid from Hawk by hopping erratically through Long Grass, stopping only under Queen Anne’s faces as if they were umbrellas.

Once he was through Main Meadow, he chose his favourite of Forest’s paths, a shadowy trail kept narrow by tall birches on both sides. It took all day, but he followed Forest’s path to the end where Debwewin River waited with open arms.

Runt could swim, and he crossed River without Current giving him a hard time. He quickly got out of open space and into a welcoming crowd of pines. This was the furthest he had ever been from Tom Tree. He stopped and twitched his whiskers. Runt Rabbit’s father had taught caution when it came to new spaces. Runt hopped around a bit, looking for safe shelter. He found Daisy Patch nestled under Little Bush, and he curled up beside her for a nap.

He woke up to a clawed foot in his face. Even before looking up, he could smell who it was. He twitched his pink nose at a face bigger than his: black, whiskered, not friendly.

“Move it,” said Skunk.

“Sure,” said Runt, and he hopped along the edge of cedars until he couldn’t smell Skunk anymore.

Runt was thirsty and hungry too. He foraged for forbs and greens along Shoreline for an hour before his belly was full. After that, he took Widest Path deep into Bangan Forest. It was a random choice, but it was a good one.

Widest Path was busy with animals of many species nodding politely to each other as they passed; even a group of mice with suitcases seemed to feel safe. Two skunks had stopped to talk by sugar maples and Runt passed them unnoticed. He was startled by Fox who overcame him from behind, his hot breath on Runt’s neck. Fox trotted right on by as if he wasn’t hungry, not even for a little snack like Runt. There were so many animals travelling that Runt wondered if he might find his mother.

He thought about his family sitting down to supper. Overcooked carrot tops. Weed salad. Two dozen chewing rabbits and two empty chairs. Maybe they thought Owl had locked him in the cloakroom again. Runt wished his father could see him now, strutting down Widest Path with all Forest’s animals.

And so he strutted a while, gaining confidence with every swagger of his hips.

He came across Turtle in a black cap. He had his shell up and was tinkering under the hood. Boxes were piled beside him.

Runt stopped to watch. “Hi,” he said.

Turtle was not fond of conversation at the best of times. He did not hit reply.

“Are you stuck here?” asked Runt.

Turtle ducked deeper under his shiny green and black shell.

Runt wasn’t surprised- Turtlegirl at Main Meadow’s creek was always in her shell. He shrugged and hopped behind bushy bushes to pee. From there, he could hear Turtle muttering, “Need a whole new transmission.”

An odd silver-grey cat suddenly appeared in front of Runt, facing him. He stopped.

“Greetings,” he said with a smile.

Lynx broke her own pledge of non-interference and said, “Watch out for Jag.”

“What’s jag?”

Lynx’s yellow eyes held Runt’s brown eyes. “Take care of Jag.”

“Who’s Jag?”

Then there was no one there. Runt swung his head right around in a circle. No lynx, no cat.

Widest Path led the way for nine days and nights. Raccoons and squirrels were the chatterboxes; they shared all sorts of information: old stories and new stories. One thing Runt learned was that Widest Path’s traditional name was Mnaadendmowin.

Mnaadendmowin was a place where all beings were respected. It had been safe passage for all animals since beginning times. Blood was never spilled there. Unless it was an accident of course, or maybe a surprise birth. Even humans didn’t hunt on Widest Path – in fact, nowhere in Bangan Forest at all – due to some metal signs near Danger Road.

Oh, Runt Rabbit learned many important things from raccoons and squirrels. He learned to watch out for Councillor Wolf who was obsessed with returning runaways to their homes. Just as important, Runt learned that no one cared about 5s or Fs. He learned that skunks can be distracted with a love song. He learned to pitch a tent in 3 minutes.

He learned to step aside for size when Buffalo almost pancaked him.

But the very best thing that Runt learned, was that all the things his father had taught him about survival were true all along Widest Path, not just at home in Main Meadow. Lamb’s Quarters loved Water, Clover loved Sun, and Moss welcomed him into bed at night.

One evening, Runt joined a singalong with young animals like him sitting in a circle, many of them playing music: Deer with wind chimes, Cubby Bear on saxophone, lots of little raccoons with guitars, mice with tiny harmonicas and tambourines. To Runt’s surprise, they sang songs that he knew the words to, and soon he raised his voice and stamped his oddly large feet along with everyone else.

After that, the young ones all trooped down Widest Path together, sometimes with their arms slung around each other, sometimes racing or playing games. Runt had lots of fun. They were always laughing, these guys, not a care in the world: young raccoons, squirrels, chipmunks, even a weasel and a couple of skunks were tolerated.

Some of them were runaways like Runt (technically a hopaway), but most of them were just out of the den. Innocents. Legal age, but they hadn’t yet mated or fed yawling babies. Winter had a long journey before he would arrive at this place. Hunger could not be imagined. Grass and weeds were plentiful. Sun’s arms were welcoming and long. Rain fell gently, generously, and no one thirsted, not even Moss.

Runt was not bullied by his new friends. No one made fun of him at all. No one asked what he wanted to do with his life. Runt felt not stupid- he felt the same as everyone else. Spelling dictation was nothing but a bad memory, and his mind was free of Fs and 5s. Still, there was one important thing Runt didn’t think about. And because he didn’t think about it, he didn’t ask about it either.

The thing Runt Rabbit didn’t ask was this: Where are we going?

All of Forest’s animals know basic survival rules at an early age. Children are taught the signs of human presence and how to avoid them. These instructions first appear woven into bedtime stories for children: A hunter disguised as Wolf, Three Bears surprised by a home invasion, many tales about the Dragon Genocide. And then there was the warning that mothers whispered when they tucked their little ones in at night: “Don’t ever cross Danger Road. Many animals have died on Danger Road.”

Runt and his brothers and sisters would shudder and crowd together in bed when Father said those things about Danger Road. They would beg him to leave the candle lit. One evening, when Big Brothers and Big Sisters were close to leaving the den, Father said something different. He started the same as ever, “Never cross Danger Road. Many rabbits have died there.” but then he added, “If you absolutely must cross, ask Silence and Moon for assistance.”

This was what Runt was remembering as he stood at the end of Widest Path with his new friends. He recalled Father’s whisper on his twitchy cheek as he watched giant metal vehicles with giant rubber tires rage by on Danger Road. No one had ever mentioned the specific danger, but it was obvious now.

A few animals wandered along the side of Danger Road, in the ditch. They were afraid to cross and some of them told stories of dead animals down the way- Toad, Squirrel and Deer.

“Impossible,” said Runt. How could a big animal like Deer fail? And if Deer couldn’t get across, for sure, Runt wasn’t going anywhere either.

“Forget it,” he said to his friends. “We’ll never make it.”

“Sure we will,” said Little Raccoon. “Just hold hands and run fast.”

“What for?” asked Runt. “We don’t need to go anywhere. Everything we need is here.”

Wee Weasel rubbed his hands together. “Treats, my friend. We are going to Town for treats.”

“We crossed before – me and Wee Weasel and Squirrely,” added Little Raccoon.  “No worries. We’ll be back in a couple of days.”

“Besides,” grinned Little Skunk, “the sugar is worth it.”

Later in life, when he was so old that he had a patch of skin showing between his long ears, and a hint of grey in his wrinkled tan coat, Runt would look back on this moment in his life. It was the moment that everything changed. He didn’t realize that he was making a choice; he just liked his new friends.

Runt Rabbit’s stomach felt sour as if he’d eaten white strawberries. “Father told me to ask Silence and Moon for help.”

“We always do.”

And so it happened that some hours later, nine little animals faced Danger Road under Moon’s light in the middle of Night. Their arms were linked. After waiting carefully for Silence, Little Raccoon hissed, “Now!” and they scurried across as one being.

No one died.

Alternate ending due to the possibility of an electric vehicle these days:

They all died.

 

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a good Saturday in Westboro

2 manic girls go to the riverWhite Heron helps themsit on a logwhile she fishes.Still they chatter -so she flies over themflattening the girls into silencewith whooshing white wings.

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LayLay Flutterby- a short story from Bangan Forest

in honour of our first Indigenous Day

This story was written for an Ojibwe friend to read to his pre-teen daughter. I’m waiting on her feedback. Your feedback is welcome too- please comment below!

A. Miranda

LayLay was flying distractedly, her focus more on the book in her hands than her surroundings. She was new to the world, born yesterday, so she wasn’t especially practiced at flying, or reading either for that matter. LayLay was brand new, just born, but she could fly; she could fly right by because she was a flutterby.

Now flutterbys are different than butterflies, everyone knows that. Usually flutterbys are brown or beige or white; they aren’t bright like butterflies. They’re soft too- their wings are made of dust. So delicate that they cannot be touched- that’s how fragile flutterby wings are.

LayLay was brand new, born yesterday, but she knew that she didn’t want to be a flutterby. Her wings were white with matching brown ovals that looked like eyes. What a disappointment! She wanted stiff purple wings with black scalloped edging and a few white dots. Or, she’d be happy with yellow wings, bright ones with green spots. But she’d have to be a butterfly to have colours like that.

She wasn’t alone- plenty of LoLos and LeeLees and LuLus were furry brown and beige. But, she was the only one nicknamed Four Eyes. Most flutterbys were content with their wings; LayLay alone read Vogue and restricted her food intake. LayLay was brand new, born yesterday, but she was already saving up for a wing augmentation.

LayLay was so preoccupied with her reading that she didn’t see Lady Bug coming from the other direction. Alas, Lady Bug was speeding- her daughter, Ann, had told her teacher that she had a tummy ache and Lady Bug didn’t know that it wasn’t true. She was in a rush, and she crashed right into LayLay’s left wing. Both of LayLay’s wings showered dust everywhere, and she dropped her book.

Lady Bug was in shock for a few seconds, but she gave herself a shake and shouted, “No reading in flight!” Then she hiked up her red tights and flew away.

Now, the book that LayLay dropped was no ordinary book. It was her diary. It was tiny, and it had fallen from a great height. Worse, it had fallen from a great height onto Forest’s floor which was a very messy place.

Poor LayLay fluttered about Forest’s floor. She searched among lichen and mushrooms, old leaves and pine needles, but no luck.

LayLay had no luck because her diary had been found immediately. LayLay’s diary had fallen from a great height right through a small pile of sticks and right smack onto Cruel Cricket’s table- just as he was sitting down to lunch.  And so, Cricket read all of LayLay’s secrets, right then and right there.

Now if Turtle had found it, well, that would be fine because turtles can keep a secret. Crickets- well, that’s another story. Like warblers and blue jays and squirrels, crickets just can’t keep news to themselves.

After lunch, Cricket went out for a stroll over to Main Meadow where he read the diary out loud to all LayLay’s friends and enemies- she had a few even though she was brand new, just born yesterday- plenty of birds and bats considered flutterbys to be a tasty mouthful.

I don’t know if you can imagine the scene: Cruel Cricket reading aloud on sturdy Milkweed in the middle of Main Meadow, flutterbys and butterflys, lady bugs and lady birds… insects of all kinds and plenty of songbirds too, swooping over his head… and laughing. Imagine LayLay darting furiously among them, her four eyes glaring, her miniscule mouth open, screaming at the top of her lungs (but still inaudible to most beings) about her right to privacy, her right to run her own life, her right to privacy, her right to express herself and… her RIGHT to PRIVACY!

How vigorously did LayLay flap her wings! How furiously did she shout! She might have been a fragile flutterby, but she had guts and she had rights. All living beings have rights- even fat grubs with wings made of dust. LayLay took her fury to Councillor Buffalo because she wanted respect. Buffalo decided to involve the rest of Council because the case was complicated.

Butterflies and flutterbys have very short life spans, only one to ten days. The Council of Bangan Forest gathered to hear the case without delay. Bear, Beaver, Wolf, Turtle, Buffalo, Crow and Eagle travelled to Main Meadow to hear LayLay’s complaint.

Councillor Buffalo was correct- it was a complicated case. LayLay had written some disturbing things in her diary. She wrote that she didn’t want to be Moth- she used the old derogatory term. The word Moth had been replaced by the more accurate name, Flutterby, and nobody said Moth anymore. ‘Moths are hideous!’ LayLay had written, ‘and I am the ugliest of all.’ She wanted to be a butterfly. ‘Butterflies have bodies as slender as pine needle. I want strong gorgeous wings that don’t fall apart,’ she wrote. ‘I would give anything to be rid of my plain hairy wings and my fat grubby body.’

Laylay stood in front of Council with her wings folded back, her antennae shaking, her little hands in fists. “Perhaps it would be easier to respect me if I was a butterfly,” she declared.

Councillor Wolf’s ears pricked. “Flutterbys are vital to our community … and so is every other being- from Algae to Buffalo. You are not more or less than anyone else. We are all beautifully different and we are all valued equally.”

“LayLay Flutterby,” Buffalo spoke next. “It is true that Cricket must respect you. However, you must also show respect. You must respect your own Flutterby self, LayLay.”

Councillor Eagle agreed: “This is a case about self-love.”

“Indeed,” cawed Councillor Crow. “This is a case about accepting yourself for who you are.”

And so it came to pass that Cruel Cricket was asked to join the Peace Committee to do some work on the anti-gossip campaign.

As for LayLay, she flew down to Debwewin River with Councillor Crow on one side of her and Councillor Eagle on the other. Land below was summer green. Wind was mostly calm, just active enough for Leaves to wave back at them and for the trip to be pleasant- lots of gliding.

“I know how I look already,” LayLay said to Crow. “I saw myself in a mirror at the Bay where I was born under some wool blankets. I have never seen an uglier moth than myself.”

“Flutterby,” corrected Crow.

“I have a million headbanger cousins in Town. They smash into lamps and lightbulbs all night long. That’s how much they hate themselves.”

As they soared over Debwewin’s south shore, Eagle said, “Look down now, look into water. What do you see?”

LayLay looked down at Debwewin River. He was completely calm today, a twinkle in his blue eyes. LayLay saw her reflection: white wings with matching brown spots that looked like crossed eyes.

“I see a fat moth with an extra set of freak eyes.”

“Look again,” said Eagle. “Look with love. You are a precious being, LayLay. Born with purpose and freedom both. Look closely, my Love. What do you see?”

“Dirty brown dust falling off me.”

“Ah, but it is not dirt. Precious LayLay, when you spread your wings and fly, happy dust floats here and there and everywhere, bringing a lightness, a delicate bliss. Just the sight of you can cause happiness. Plants and animals alike bask in the silt of flutterbys… and butterflies too, for they are similar, spreading joy among the wildflower blooms and Forest’s paths. Pollinators follow your pristine energy trails to meadows and fields. Bee depends on you.”

“All creatures with wings clean Air,” said Crow. He flapped once and glided with Wind, who played a little.

LayLay got curious then, and she really looked into Debwewin River. For the first time she looked carefully into her eyes- not her oddly-crossed painted eyes, but her real eyes. She saw a sweet soul, an innocent.

“I am just a baby,” she spoke with wonder, “I will spread happy dust and I will not live long.” Debwewin had shown her the truth of the matter.

“You will give of yourself, your whole self, to Bat or Robin or maybe, Robin’s hungry baby. It will be your final gift.” Eagle tilted one wing over her, loving her.

Her body looked fat in Debwewin, it was true. But it was no longer disappointing to LayLay. She understood that she was a rich source of protein.

_______

Now, if Ann hadn’t lied to her teacher, if LayLay hadn’t dropped her diary, if Cricket hadn’t read it and cruelly gossiped, if LayLay had never complained to the Council of Seven and then had never seen the truth in Debwewin… what a tragic life she might have led.

As it was, LayLay lived 4 days and nights. She didn’t waste a moment wishing to be anything other than her own spectacular self. She loved her work!

LayLay fluttered here, there and everywhere, clearing Air of black and blue emotions. Her brown happy dust was golden by her third day of life. It was plentiful and LayLay gave it freely- to Breeze and Wind, to meadows and Forest’s paths.

LayLay fluttered near Meadow Creek where Raccoon and Turtle had broken up and she dissipated the sadness there. She fluttered along the ditch beside Danger Road, and she cleared fear and despair. She fluttered along the trail left by Black Bear as he stomped angrily to Blackberry Thicket.

When LayLay fluttered by, animals felt happy. Sometimes they felt lighter, as if they might flutter too, at least dance a bit, darting up and down like LayLay Flutterby, the sweetest protein morsel that ever flew.

 

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Muscle testing workshops. Learn kinesiology with Laurie Fraser, energy healer

2020

I hate shopping. By the time I got around to buying my dehumidifier, it had been on a to-do list for months. As I walked up an entire aisle of dehumidifier choices in a big box store, I could hear an older couple discussing square feet, hose vs. bucket, cost and size. Their conversation petered as they watched me rub my index finger and thumb together in front of each brand. The box that “tested yes” for me was middle of the line in size and price. I loaded it on a cart and walked away. The woman shook herself and called after me: “Did you do some research on these?” I grinned and shrugged, “No, just muscle-testing.” The dehumidifier has worked out perfectly.

Our energy comes into contact with other energies constantly, a million times a day. Why do you feel wonderful after meeting some people and depleted after even a brief exchange with others? Certainly all living things are imbued with different energies (or frequencies). When you pick up a pear, it has a different effect on your energy than a cigarette. Even an organic pear will test stronger than a non-organic pear. As it comes into your energy field it will either strengthen it or weaken it. If you could read that effect, you could make an informed choice before buying or eating.

More and more people with allergies energetically test their foods. As I walk along in the grocery store, I rub my index finger and thumb together. When they “stick” (or test yes), I put the food in my basket. It’s a simple test in a restaurant where the server can’t know all the ingredients. I test the items listed on the menu (I don’t need the food to be right in front of me) and then order with confidence.

All energy healing depends on communication between the practitioner and the client’s energy. This is done by intuition or muscle-testing or both.  I use muscle-testing which is quick, easy and infallible. Muscle-testing takes me through a series of menus and sub-menus, finally ending at a specific procedure (I know many and when I learn something new, it is added to my menu (or list of available healing options with me). And so, any procedure I do on a client, has been requested by their energy. It is never a decision made by me.

And so a client’s uncomfortable symptom will be treated the way his/her energy requests by leading me through menus and submenus until I reach the healing modality that will work. (Because what is that energy that fills and surrounds your body? That energy that never dies? That communicates easily and knows all the answers? Whatever you call it, it is very intelligent and knows you implicitly.)

It’s fascinating. As I gain experience, I am stunned to see how many of our physical woes are caused by emotional energetic blocks. For example, when I “lock in” (or address) a problem like herpes, I am led by the person’s energy to many causes: a virus, a depleted root chakra, a fear of love, and a bad break up fifteen years ago. All of these causes can be cleared energetically. (Heal the energy first and it will lead the body to health). I’ve addressed heavy menstrual flow and gone to a healing menopausal procedure. But the cause of the disturbed hormones and glands has always been emotional: a miscarriage, adolescent experiences, a fear of losing control, coming from a line of women who were unable to cry and so bled instead. All of these things can be cleared energetically and the symptom alleviated.

I have successfully addressed all sorts of pathogens, diseases, pain, allergies, infertility, emotional and spiritual issues, fears, insomnia, depression, anxiety, past life issues (a behaviour pattern or physical symptom is related to a past life trauma) and much more.

When I had lyme disease (notice the past tense) and the doctors didn’t know what was wrong with me after 15 months of  specialists and almost unbearable symptoms, it was a B.O.S. practitioner who tossed a lyme filter on me, muscle-tested, and said, “You should ask for a lyme test.” (A filter has the frequency of, in this case, lyme bacteria, in it, and it will either muscle test positively or not- resonating with bacteria in the body, or not. No different than a pear.) My medical treatment (antibiotics) lasted over a year, but included regular energy healing sessions which determined many contributors to the illness. It addressed a mean bacteria, that’s for sure, but also deep grief, old events, and a lack of spiritual perspective. It brought immediate pain relief.  To my doctor’s astonishment, I was on antibiotics for a year, not the predicted two.

I had been receiving energy healing treatments for a couple of years before it occurred to me to ask, “What is this energy that is communicated with? It’s intelligent. It knows me better than me. Is it my soul? Higher Self? God? Universal energy? And why do I ask only health-related questions?” At the end of my next session, instead of asking about supplements as usual, I gave my practitioner a list of a hundred archetypes and asked which ones were mine. He muscled-tested eleven positives and I went home and studied them, their lessons, their effect on my life. I began to ask questions like: “Is it in my highest good to take job A or B? Is in my highest good to be in contact with this person? Is it my highest good to learn Qigong, get a dog, pursue this relationship, change careers, paint the bathroom?”

But I was dependent on my healer for answers and saw him only once a week. When I learned muscle-testing myself, my life changed once more. I am in constant communication with my energy. My guidance is always with me, but I’ve learned not to be overly dependent on muscle-testing. My intuition has developed and my confidence in intuition has grown as I verify it by muscle-testing. That doesn’t mean life got easy. What is in my highest good, is not necessarily the easiest route. But even on the narrow path, I have constant communication and support. And I’ve learned that I’m always fine and the best thing for me, always happens. I have learned how deeply I am loved; the importance of my every thought, word, and act; the impact decisions have on my health, energy, joy and progress.

Absolutely anyone can learn the simple skill of muscle-testing regardless of age, belief-system, or state of health. I believe it should be taught at school, along with reading and writing.

MUSCLE-TESTING WORKSHOPS:

Two to four people, three hours, $65.00.

Leave a comment or reply below.

Get together a group of friends and enjoy a fun afternoon filled with healthy snacks, practical exercises and clear effective small-group learning.

Or just contact me and I’ll put a group together- you’ll meet like-minded people for sure!

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Managing Emotion

Trillium

Emotions enrich our lives, but they are meant to come and go, always ebbing and flowing in a natural rhythm. Gibran wrote “Together joy and sorrow come and when one sits alone with you at your board remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.”

Sometimes emotions get stuck, and we have trouble letting them go. For so many reasons, we hang on to our emotions: nostalgia, fear of change, enjoyment of secondary benefits (eg- sympathy, assistance, attention…) Sometimes getting stuck in an emotion saves us from looking at what’s under it. Or what’s next.

Emotions are meant to pass through us. When they get stuck, it is usually in an organ or chakra. Generally, smokers are sad; drinkers are angry. That’s because sadness and grief get stuck in the lungs. Anger mostly gets stuck in the liver and the bladder (pissed off), but some anger settles into the digestive system. Anger shows up in the root chakra when it’s about money.

I remove betrayal and despair from hearts quite often. Worry and overthinking tend to build up in the spleen. Fear finds a home in the kidneys. I once removed fear from the third eye of a person who had lost touch with their intuition.

Examples:

Removed paranoia from the kidneys re: covid and lockdown

Removed betrayal from the heart re: past partner & trepidation about a new love.

Removed fury from the liver of an alcoholic re: childhood abuse

Removed anger from root chakra of a client with hemorrhoids re: divorce & finances

Removed grief from smoker’s lungs re: wife’s death

Removed anxiety from stomach re: conflict

Removed fear from the kidneys re: job search.

Removed self-doubt from the solar chakra re: finding her path

The problem with emotions getting stuck is that they then resonate with similar emotions in the future making them seem more intense. We call these our “triggers”, right? If a supervisor criticizes and your reaction is to feel like a 4-year-old, the experience is resonating with old emotions. If your only response is tears or paralysis, well, those old emotions are really interfering with your ability to keep the boss’s criticism in perspective.

When your children leave the nest or you go through a break-up, does it resonate with every other time in your life that you felt abandoned? Are you coping better each time it happens? Or worse?

And so we’re back to that old image of the full glass. If your energy is chock-full of anxiety, the next visit to the dentist is going to put you over the top. If some of that old anxiety is removed, the dentist becomes much more manageable.

A woman who I worked on telephoned to say, “I don’t yell at cars on the Queensway anymore. And I’m not holding anything back. It’s just not there. I just don’t feel angry.”

Another client sent this email: “We had a session a year ago… I really have had positive life changes since then. Thank you for that. I don’t have night terrors anymore. I quit all drugs successfully.”

There are many ways to remove emotions from our bodies. I do it energetically. You can do it by letting emotions flow through at the time they happen. This is a conscious choice. Joy moves and so does despair. Don’t let emotions stagnate in the body. They can cause illness. (How well do organs fight cancer when they’re burdened with emotion?)

Emotion, especially when it’s flowing, is truly musical, adding a dimension to our lives that can be exquisite: the deepest love, the sweetest empathy… awe, inspiration… even the gulping tragedy of loss is exquisite when we allow ourselves to feel it, fully feel it, and then move on.

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Laurie Fraser is a writer and certified BOS practitioner.  $90.00/session. Email: thewordnotspoken@gmail.com

appointment info here.

 

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