WHY DO WESTERN MEN HAVE SO MUCH FACIAL HAIR
Oh, my Holy Spirit! Why do many Western men have such facial hair patterns and possibilities? Even when their tops grow bald, their cheeks and chins remain bushy, unless they shave daily. They range in hair color between black, brown, blonde, red, grey and white; and there are only a few hirsute styles to choose from. Consequently, men on this planet become anonymous unless their whole face is on display. I dislike all beards and mustaches; so, added to the common look of the average male, is the scruffy hair, itself, circling the mouth. Yuck!
Evolution should have backed off on the weather-protection angle, by this time. If it ever applied! Then why didn’t biology supply women with an equal defense? First, may I inquire whether Earth is the only planet sporting this unfortunate masking device on 50% of the population?
“Oh, My Linda Layli, no, it is not! Many, many, many space populations do these radical things to their inhabitants. It just so happens that you have touched upon something mighty sensitive to Me and I have never particularly thought about this. You see, We don’t understand the facial hair distinction, either. But, We know that many of those men sent to Earth are of the hairy variety. Eighty percent of them are hairy.”
Do these come from any particular planet or galaxy?
“Yes, I think so. I Am from the Orion Galaxy.” says The Holy Spirit.
“And, I Am from Pleiades!” says The Great Creative Force of your New Level.”
(This is the first I’d heard of Such Great Beings being “from” anywhere).
Let me guess: Pleiadians (my home galaxy, as I´m told that I’m originally from Venus in the Pliedes Constellation. So, I am originally Venusion.) keep their faces free of hair! Am I right?
“Yes, you are! How did you know this?”
“Because I’m attracted to that sort and not the other. I’m simply gravitating towards my kind of man! Just a guess, but a logical one. Okay, Why? Getting back to the roots of a fashion decision here. Why?
I can understand that the brain needs the protection and warmth of a cap of hair and both men and women get this. But cheeks and upper lip, chin and neck? Men only? Not logical, unless these men still have some animal traits, or identities. Or are the leftover traces of cave dweller hunters and gatherers. And their face was their unprotected skin, so they needed a hairy covering. What is Your guess or research results?
“I don’t want to research this! It’s neither here nor there!”
Well, what function does facial hair serve, except for disguise in modern conditions? Or, might it serve as a Red Flag to those in the know? Like an identity badge?
“My God! Maybe it does!”
Some cultures, like Native Americans and Asians, don’t have whiskers and it’s only the extent of the white blood injected into those nationalities that puts it there. These Whites were the planetary invaders, who took over Planet Earth, as a dominant species from the brown-skinned Earth races; and they may have appeared frightening to the natives. Any comments?
“Yes, I think this is the truth and nothing but the truth, so help Me, God! Wonderful detective work, Linda Layli!”
Maybe all this thinking was spurred by my good friend, George Burdeau’s true story, which he told me while driving to his home in Eldorado, a few miles from Santa F, New Mexico. Clean-shaven George comes from the Blackfeet Indian Tribe in Montana, although, he also represents white European lineage. The history of the land that his home is on goes back thousands of years, long before the early explorers.
Santa Fe, New Mexico, is the original settlement in America; but goes much farther back to the time of the Spanish Conquistadors, the conquerors of this unexplored, unclaimed virgin territory. Eldorado was already there, populated only by Indians. When Spaniards arrived, they were seeking gold and the Indians used that as a lure to lead them to their own self-destruction. Knowing that these Spaniards sought traces of jewelry, or decoration made of gold, they tempted them with a whole goblet made of the precious metal; much more than the invaders had expected. Cheerfully, the Indians told of how to locate the tribes that the goblet had come from; knowing that the Spaniards probably wouldn’t survive. Indeed, very few of the Spanish troops returned, as they were absolutely torn apart by the fierceness of those far-off warriors.
Well, consider this: those Spaniards were blackly-bearded! Maybe now, embedded deeply in the history of Earth, those beards are the giveaway badge of all hordes or invaders descending upon the land?
That’s the “clear-as-the-nose-on-your-face” mark of the White-Bread invaders? Maybe today’s facial hair is the confession of guilt in the takeover of this planet? To me, personally, it has a negative vibration or connotation!
Hooo-boy! I’d better not blog this, or put it in my book; as I’d offend so many men….and their wives! I think I’ll just continue to indulge in my harmless, but protective, distaste towards facial hair wearers! And I’m White-Bread, myself!
Oh, what the heck? Here goes!
This is a post written for my other, spiritual blog site: www.insecretdiffusion.com, which I inadvertently posted here. But then, it occurred to me that perhaps it addresses the underlying reasons that many intrepid travelers go to foreign countries: to see how they could manage in that different culture. Who knows? Perhaps we all travel so that this Invisible Upper One can see this planet through our eyes?
THE GREAT CREATIVE FORCE WISHED TO KNOW HIMSELF
“How Would I Behave In Any Given Situation?”
Once there was a Great Creative Force. He was alone! There was nothing else in all existence other than Himself. He wished to know Himself. He wished to progress beyond the limits of His Perfection and the limitations of His aloneness. In other words, God was, and God was All That There Was!
How can God….or more accurately, The Great Creative Force….get to know Himself, or even to see and examine Himself in order to know how He would respond in a myriad situations? If only there was such a thing as a situation?
Here is the All-Powerful, the All-Beautiful, without so much as even a hand mirror to view Himself in. And, even if His great and all-competent Mind would conceive of a hand mirror, what is the image that it would reflect, if He is All-Potential, but not yet any particular specific which would pick up and reflect light back to the mirror in the shape of Created Form? And, since all objects exist only within His unexpressed Mind, which one shall He choose to have the mirror reflect?
And, that is but only one thing. He must know them all, in order to know Himself! This Source of All Being has had to become that, by creating All Being, in order to appreciate the fact that He IS the Source of All Being. And, what does this term, Being, imply unless He gets to work and fashions it, so that He may truly know and experience the meaning of the word by looking upon that word’s manifestation? In other words, what things have manifested through His Intention to establish “Being” in the Realm of Existence?
In fact, He has only in that moment, established “Being” Itself, because that Plane exuded out of the Intention, the Will of The Great Creative Force (GCF) to begin Creating! If He had never arrived at this decision, or had never been struck with curiosity about the behavior of matter (which comes forth when called, from within His Own Self) then, He would have remained Alone and Inviolable, within a vast nothingness, which offered Him no challenges, no defiance, no pain and no joy. No companionship and no discoveries. It would be the ultimate of Singleness!
Could His Contents truly be said to hold pre-matter, if there was never to be such a thing as Matter; because He had decided not to indulge in the risky business of Creation?
Mightn’t such a Great Creative Force have been compared to a great, clear jellyfish swimming in the empty ocean? Defined by His nearly-invisible outer skin, which simply separates His watery interior from its watery exterior? Imagine then, that our Jellyfish holds a mysterious substance within Himself, that we will call His Consciousness! He, Himself, is rather undefined with no bone structure and no distinct boundaries. Let us say that even His skin does not limit Him, being all-stretchy and fluid. He knows that His Consciousness is truly pre-matter, or pre-protoplasmic, because He is capable of imagining anything with His great and unlimited Consciousness. Once He decides to get into the business of life-production, and to create Being or Created Form, from within His Great Invisible Belly, then, all He needs to do is send forth a bubble from His mouth while He is thinking of a particular object. Voila! That object will then exist!
Now, that moment of creation comes and goes with Him and many are the ideas, hence, objects, formed by His fertile imagination. He´d be in a great bind if all of this matter stayed right before His very face. In fact, He would seal Himself away in some calcified region, if He did not perfect the technique of sending such matter spinning out into the ocean currents. For the sake of not becoming calcified in this illustration, we will not ask ourselves Who created the ocean; but will look upon it as simply the environment which most naturally contains, or floats, The Great Creative Force. Thus, Space or Salt Water could be called His outer shell.
Each bubble, which He deliberately blows from His Mouth contains not only the idea behind it, the form and function, even the name; but, His hopes and dreams for the future of that object. The bubble is a minute amount of His Own Consciousness, which now is contained within a defined form and which carries with it a slight reflection of His creative power. It is a tiny smattering of His Own “Be and It Is!” capacities. This is simply the ability to conceive of, and to build into enduring form, the products of its own imagination.
This Bubble also inherits His Immortality, although its matter-related protoplasmic form may, necessarily, go through many stages of renewal, which appear to be Birth and Death. GCF will curiously watch over His growing collection of bubbles, not interferring with their subsequent development beyond tinkering with their environments; trying to discover the optimum conditions for their growth. As He experiments, He finds new ideas to explore in this fascinating work of translating the unlimited supply of His Unknown Self, which sits waiting for expression within His Jellyfish Mind/Belly/Holding Tank, into a tangible reality that can be appreciated and studied by Him.
In one respect, these burgeoning creations, this vast wealth of bubbles, becomes the Hand Mirror, whereby He can examine and admire Himself. If He wonders: “How would I behave in such and such a circumstance?” all He has to do is to place some of His Creatures in such a situation and sit back to see how they perform. He is keenly interested in all of this; and yet, maintains, in general, a hands-off policy; knowing that they have, within themselves, the same ingredients that He contains. They can save themselves, from all dangers, if they will but USE their capacities!
HOW EVIL HAPPENS!
The Great Creative Force understands that Physicality offers many, many opportunities for forgetfulness. Therefore, a great number of His Created Beings, His Own Children, His Bubbles of creation, will not make it through the cauldron, the hot oven of Life, and will have to be poured back into His Own Vast Container….never to be heard from again.
But, hey! Those are the terms of any manufacturing venture!
The sickness, which seemed for awhile, to have overwhelmed the smooth workings of this Great Creative Plan, was due to the fact that a great many Bubbles were not overcoming the initial shock of dealing with their own solid state. They were failing to rise upwards and were taking on the leaden properties of grosser values. They were becoming fascinated with the playtoy existence, and not the ultimate goal of returning to serve their Source, The Great Creative Force. They became sludge which clogged the plumbing; candidates for re absorption, and enemies of the necessary Cleansing ahead.
I look around this peaceful place, Earth, now and say to myself: “Oh, it couldn´t have been that bad!” But, I know my Earth´s history and beyond that, I know the extreme things that have been told to me on this Inner Hearing Channel, about how terrible a pass things had come to, in the Cosmos. Earth was facing execution, it was so desperate. And so, apparently, incurable!
We are now pulling out of that spot and the memory blurs. But, whoever has lived through the Depression or the Holocaust, can´t forget those evil days so easily, when Peace and Plenty reappear. They would have to acknowledge that things HAD been pretty bad!
This is the final week of my stay in Colombia, here in the Casa Kiwi Hostel in Medellin. Don’t worry if my emails fall to zero and my blog postings get scarce. I’m as busy as possible, learning how to use my new Lenovo laptop computer, which spoke Spanish when I bought her here. She had to be switched to English, muy pronto.
My NBF (new best friend), Marc Rosenberger, (an Intergalactic Friend, IGF, for sure), is teaching me how to recall the basics, as well as new software-use technology. So every day we cover a new lesson and then I apply it for hours while he goes to Salsa dancing class and Spanish language lessons.
I’m turning into a serious writer again, as I’m organizing jillions of journal excerpts into future ebooks. My hostel private room even provides a writing desk, so I have a fine, quiet workspace.
And I’m feeling right at home.
I arrived in Medellin, Colombia, six weeks ago when I flew here from San Jose, Costa Rica. Luckily, I landed in the gorgeous and leafy-green neighborhood of Poblado and have sampled three lovely hostels, staying two weeks each. Now, I’m in Casa Kiwi, where I stayed ten years ago. Instead of a dorm bed, this time, I have rented a private, ensuite, room so that I can use its lovely desk to work away on my next book. One of my three suitcases is crammed full of pages culled from many of my journals. Now, I’m marking and sorting subject matter to see what this book is going to be about. The past (going back to 2000) is so very interesting and this project will fill a good bit of my future, just massaging it.
Here’s another look at some of my surroundings:
Medellin, Colombia, is a most beautiful and welcoming city! Here are some street shots I took yesterday on a walk through my hostel’s neighborhood of Poblado. It’ a city full of green, green parks and international restaurants. I notice that some of these pictures appear sideways. Just tap on them, and the enlargement is straight. Better yet… come on over and see them in.person.
Note the brand-new, condo highrise in the background of the first picture. There are many of these beauties going up.
After three months petsitting in San Jose, Costa Rica I flew to Medellin, Colombia, to begin my long Figure 8 Exploration around the entire coastline of this South American Continent. I hope to document this undertaking with photos and blog posts, especially because, next week, I’ll observe my birthday here in this Garden of Blues Hostel with always-changing hostel buddies. Ever-changing countries! Ever-changing beautiful new friends! I love my traveling life!
I’ve extended my stay in the Fauna Luxury Hostel in San Jose, Costa Rica for another two weeks. This hostel puts no limits on one’s timeframe, contrary to most; so, some guests stay for months. Here’s why:
This colorful inner patio contains ping-pong and pool tables and this glorious mural. It’s an outdoor lobby leading to all rooms, the bar and huge dining room/cafe, and our hostel kitchen. My 5-bunk dorm room has the new-fashion cubicle bunks. We each get a comfy, wooden box with a descending curtain for darkness and privacy. I haven’t seen the private rooms yet but maybe I can get some shots of those too. My dorm bed costs $13 a night but the ensuite privates are only $35 to $50. All including breakfast. Such a deal!
I haven’t published any exciting details of my life here in Grecia, Costa Rica, housesitting and petsitting for a lovely and lively young doggie, Cara. My excuse is a good one, however. While I temporarily settle into a quiet, suburban expat life in a modern community; I am finally able to cope with an enormous editing/writing project that I couldn’t have done within my parapatetic traveling life.
I brought about 40 handwritten journals of my recent travels, which also contain details of my most-unusual inner, psychic life. My sister almost threw them in the dump when this journal collection landed on her plate but agreed to hold off until I arrived. I’m sure this is typical of most psychic’s relatives.
Since dogs are not the best conversationalists, we petsitters know to equipe ourselves with time-fillers: paperbacks or online haunts and duties. Or old journals to tear apart according to topic and then to retype for online distribution. That’s where I am now. Cara has my presence fulltime! Though, can you believe? She STILL competes for my attention with my computer!!! An egomaniacal young doggie! I try not to encourage that ego buildup.
Anyway, I’ll have these jounals gutted by the time her owner, Kathy, returns; and maybe I’ll rent a cabin on the beach to type them up? Or I’ll take a break and finish in the next spot I land in? My life is sooo flexible! It’s certainly an advantage to fashion ones’ self as a writer. Because that very designation identifies you as an analyzer who writes about what you discern under the covers: maybe, a dog’s influence upon your life? I hope my input is of a higher quality!!!
So, thanks to this dog, I have set a goal for myself that keeps me on target to keep winnowing my journals. Naturally, I’m creating more diaries as I go; but trying not to be so loquacious.
Can you say that about the animal in your life?
I flew here from San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, to attend Molly’s high school graduation and many gala affairs surrounding that, including a pool party and a theater fundraiser.
As part of my two weeks’ family visit, we attended two fantastic theatrical, performances of the 30th Anniversary Musical of Phamaly (Family) Theater for physically-disabled actors. My grandaughter, who has a very rare genetic chromosome disorder found in only 34 people in the world, has been a dedicated actor for several years. The very talented cast uses wheelchairs, walkers and canes but they are polished and professional. What a show! This is the only such theatrical company in the United States and they have traveled as far as Japan to perform.
On Tuesday, June 4, I fly to Tampa, Florida, to visit my sister and brothet-in-law, Ann and Bill Sargent, and after a week, I’ll fly to San Jose, Costa Rica, for a convention and six weeks of pet sitting. I’m anxious to return to the Land of Pura Vida.
I’ve been in mid-Mexico, in the quaint and still-small town of San Miguel de Allende, since early December. We expats (Americans or Canadians living offshore) have invaded this place because it really still feels authentic and it really is colorfully-beautiful. But, we do crowd the place.
I arrived in the coldest time of the year, here in tbe mountains; and it’s high season, so finding a rental was likely to be tough. However, I’m moving into a very nice, two-bedroom apartment in a great neighborhood for a very reasonable rent in two weeks; all because of a random conversation with another expat. Meantime, I’m renting a bedroom and bathroom over a basket shop very close to the Central Plaza. Tiny, inexpensive, and friendly. But I haven’t even unpacked because I’m trying to settle down and live in real place. I’m getting there!
And the COLOR is just magnificent! But just take my word for it.
And this bust is of Stirling Dickinson, one of the first American Expats in San Miguel de Allende in 1937. I’m claiming him as my long-lost Uncle because my maiden name is Dickinson and he and my father were the same age and had New England in common. So why not?
Stirling Dickinson is honored here with this bust in the Instituto Allende, the highly-aclaimed Art School, one of three which he established; along with the Biblioteca, Library. He also established Baseball Teams, got the stadium built and privately helped many people. One way was through providing college sholarships for many San Miguel youth. He died at the age of 88 in 1998 and is still very lovingly remembered here.
The biography written about him by John Virtue is titled: “Model American Traveler”. Now that’s a good Expat!