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amomoi
Glen
United States
Rabbit In The Grass is a new section I'm adding to my blog. It contains gleanings from the magical side of my life - a life, which, until now, I've kept secret from everyone, except my close friends. Rabbit is about true magic - not fantasy. Everything I will write about actually happened, although certain names, and other identifying details will be changed for the sake of privacy. It's important to note that there is an inextricable link between my creativity, and my spiritual life, especially my painting. That connection, however, will not be elaborated on here, but only on the sites where my art is being shown.

When I began this venture, I took a casual tally of all the mystical experiences I've had, and the knowledge I've gained about navigating in the spiritual realm, and I soon realized I had a lot of material. So much, in fact, that I wondered if my mundane life were ,merely, a footnote on my spiritual life, and not the other way around.

Rabbit In The Grass refers to one of my childhood past times. When I was around ten years old I used to spend whole afternoons exploring a huge field of tall grass across the street from my home. One day while I was threading my way through grass as tall as me, I spotted a rabbit. It was in a little, circular clearing - a grass-less oasis, created by a shallow outcropping of rock. Every day, thereafter, I set off in pursuit of that rabbit, which, to my child's mind, was a mysterious being from a world about which I had no knowledge. What I didn't know at the time, was that I was really chasing my magical self. The story I'm going to tell you, took place twelve years later, during the first year I lived on Cape Cod. (Again - This is not fiction. It really happened.)

During summers on the Cape you work your butt off. When winter comes, there's no work available, so you have plenty of time to drift, and dream. I developed the habit of getting up in time to catch the sunrise over the bay, and with only a little cloth sack filled with nuts and dried fruit, set off from there on a day long trek. My journey encompassed the entire town at its outermost points. The area through which I walked is called the Provincelands. It's comprised of vast stretches of sand dunes, dotted with sunken forests, that have small, fresh water ponds, where turtles clamber over floating logs. Along the way, the sea is visible from the tops of the taller dunes.

One warm sunny day in late September, after the tourists had gone home, I was out in the middle of the dunes, when I spotted some rabbit tracks. Falling back into my childhood habit, I decided I would find the rabbit to whom the tracks belonged. As I climbed up and down the sun bleached dunes, under a brilliant blue sky, I had the odd sensation that I was connecting with a part of me that had once lived in ancient Greece. [That connection to ancient Greece is something I'll discuss in future blogs.] Suffice it to say, that day on the dunes, I knew I was on a spirit quest.

I spent the whole day in the Provincelands and didn't find the rabbit. At dusk, I was back in our quaint, little downtown, walking into a health food store. I went there to talk with my friend Jeannie. When I entered the store she was standing on a step ladder with her back to me, reaching for a jar of dried herbs, set on a high shelf. Standing next to me was the customer on whom Jeannie was waiting. She was an exceptionally tall woman. For some reason unknown to me, I never looked up at her face. However, I knew she was a woman, and very tall, because, a.) There was a pocketbook on the counter in front of her. And, b.) When I turned toward her, my nose was even with the bottom of her shoulder.

While I stood there waiting for Jeannie, I saw the woman's hand retrieve something from her pocketbook, and place it on the counter in front of me. She said: "Would you like this?" I picked it up. It was the blank side of a postcard. When I turned it over, I saw a photograph of the famous painting of a rabbit by Albrecht Durer. It's the picture I now use above each installment of this series. I got my rabbit, after all.

I know I should have been awestruck, but I wasn't. I just remember feeling very complacent as I pocketted the picture, and walked out the door. This incident was one of several similar experiences I had that were related to rabbits. I expect I'll talk about them, also, in future installments. You might find it interesting to know what a Native American medicine woman at Lake George had to say about the story I just told you. Well, that's all for now. Until we meet again. Good luck, and stay in the flow. Glen

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