Which Cereal are They?

I’m about to attempt to identify my family members to hot and cold cereals that coorolate with their personalities. Mom would have to be like oatmeal. She’s so predictable in what she says and does. You just know if she says, “We’ll see,” when it comes to making some sort of plans for the future, you just know the answer’s going to be “no.” NOw, hot cereal you know is going to be hot but sometimes, like the real stuff like I eat every morning, can come out mushy or more oaty, depending on how much water you boil. Sometimes Mom’s reactions to certain things I tell her that I think will shock her meerly gets a totally diffferent response. NOw she’s oaty and not mushy as I’d expected her to be. Dad’s very wishy-washy. HE forgets everything you tell him, because he doesn’t lisetn to you! I’d say he’s a lot like Oats and MOre cereal or soemthing with all those nuts and things. YOu never know what’s going to be on your spoon, and whether or not yuo get nuts or more flakes. He varies so much. My youngest sister’s a lot like Lucky Charms. You just know what she’s all about; you expect that marshmellow taste and all. My sister’s kind of that way. You can guarantee she’s going to talk about the same thing all the time. The same morning routine in the morning. Think the same way and rtaed the same category in books. My other sister is something like Blueberry MOrning cereael. I mean, some of those disgusting fake berries are really hard and some are okay. But she’s a partyer. Sometimes she’s really ince and other times you can’t figure her out. Now, as for me, well, I’m pretty consistent most of the time but do random things just for fun. I guess I could safely say I’m a box of Kashi Cereal. That healthy stuff with the twigs and all that comes in a million different flavors. I think that’s me because my mind is constantly daydreaming on all sorts of random things and things my family is very closed-minded of, like stuff I post here! Okay, I know this isn’t like my usual posts, but I felt random. So there’s your proof.

Like as weird as a Banana prophesying

I find the weirdest similes to sometimes be the best ones. HERe’s a list I made up from family and friends. DAd says, “I feel like a fish in a bowl,” when the blinds aren’t shut for the night and he thinks, even though we live in the middle of nowhere, the neighbors are going to spying on us with binoculars or something. OR, the most mysterious one comes from MOm, when she says, “Time’s just moving along like an old shoe.” What? I never got that. HOw can time move like a shoe? Does she mean the shoe’s so old the preson weraing it is dargging their feet so time feels really slow? Graceful as a led marshmellow. Hmm. PRetty clever. Okay, these are all really weird. But hey, maybe one day they’ll show up in that ancient cliche list of trite similes, right?–trite as a guy living in a fishbowl wearing an old shoe to pass the time.

Finding Christmas Magic

Well, it’s Christmas day. Can you believe it? It was weird last night, lying in bed around midnight, and feeling so nostalgic for all the Christmases from my childhood and growing up. I wondered just how long it’d been since I last felt that child spark of magic related to the season. Yep, I was fourteen last I remember. I remember just feeling so happy to be with the family and being all excited over the interesting gifts my father would bring frmo from out of state where he worked. I guess when you get older and things get more complicated and your mind realizes all these things, that innocent joy and Christmas magic just fade.

I was upset over the weekend when my one sister, who’s left home, was going to spend Christmas with her fiance’s relatives. IT made me angry and hurt me that she chose to spend the day with them, instead of our family. It had to do with her not getting along with Dad but it hhurt me to thikn she wouldn’t just come for me and my sister’s and mother’s sake. So, this morning I awoke, aware of the missing family member and having this hollow place within me. I tried my best to cheer up but even now I still feel today, a very holy and special day out of the year, isn’t as fulfilled as it could be. ARE these sad realities of life the reason we lose that Christmas wonder we had as kids?

I remember me and my sister, the one who’s moved out, would be so excited on Christmas Eve that we hardly slept. WE played old Christmas tapes while in bed. Sometimes Dad would allow us to open one or two gifts on Chrismtas Eve to satisfy our crazy impatience. Yes, they were great times, us all together around the tree and exchanging gifts and then sitting all inthein the mounds of colored paper and bows. Besides the gifts, though, the whole day, the air itself, seemed to thrive with the mysterious Christmas magic that’d last all the way till dark. NO matter how hard I try, I can’t find that Christmas magic. The real magic, though, is in the beautiful spiritual meaning of the Christmas tree and, of course,, the amazing story behind the nativity scene on the coffee table. Yes, family’s a very big part of Christmas, too, which is probably why today I miss my sister very much. But then I think of all the people without any families to be with–The homeless people right now in the cold alleyways under ragged blankets and eating some meager handout for breakfast. Or those in the hospital right now about to die, or who are very sick or those having major surgery. And what about the starving children and families in other countries or in Haiti? You know, I always think it’s so silly how we get all super charitable around this time of year to all these people. What about the other 364 days of the year? They got to eat then, too, you know? Well, just a lot of thoughts on my mind today I felt like sharing. In the meantime, it’s time to celebrate what we have, to treausre treasure it all while we can. From charity, optomism, hope, and greatfulness. Indeed, in the end, these are the true wonders of Christmas.

Battles of Dark and Light

WE are constantly at war with the spiritual on both sides, dark and light, good and evil. As a Christian, I’ve had some scary but very real experiences involving a clash of good and dark. A few years ago I met a boy into what he claimed was white magic, spirit guides and astral travel. I believed in everything he told me. His father, a Shaman, taught him all these mysteries of how to contact the spirit guide and all. This boy also had the ability to see auras very clearly. He said mine was a dark blue and that I had a pure heart, a good heart, in other words. For a while I wasn’t sure what the feeling was when  he sat next to me on the bus till it hit me. My Christianity, my closeness to God and his traveling to the darker realms to the astral plains were two conflicting energies against one another. I’d grow very tense around him, uneasy. He’d always notice this tenseness but I didn’t know how to explain it to him. One day it got so bad I ended up crying from the intense energy he gave off, so negative. He didn’t sit next to me ever since then that school year, though he still talked to me from across the aisle on the bus. It’s funny to think how some people who practice certain religions, feel their religion is of good, while others find it negative. Yet, they’d think your religion was wrong. It was strange that this boy found me so safe and trusting, so pure-hearted as he put it During our intense prayer meetings years ago at the church, me and the group of people we gathered with began to experience unnerving messages from the dark forces. Mom said one night in bed she awoke to see the leering animal-like face of a demon rise up at her and then vanish. Till this day she doens’t like to sleep with the covers off her head. My other sister said she saw a red horse come trotting up our neighbor’s driveway while getting something out of the car. IT was right after sunset and my sisster thought the horse, which strangely never looked at her directly, its head slightly turned to the side, was one of the neighbor’s escaped horses. My sister ran into the house and told us and the friend that she thought a horse was loose. Our friend and my sister investigated the barn but all the horses were securely in their stalls. Somehow my sister knew the red horse was really evil but at the time was too scared to mention it to us. She told of seeing the horse vision to church elders  but no one would tell me what the red horse meant ever since then. My sister refuses to talk about it if I try bringing it up. Another night at our prayer meeting while our troubled teenage foster girl had fallen into some sort of trance–one we believed was one of the dark forces–(she claimed to being nailed to a cross while in the trance)–her arms outstretched in the formation of a cross, hands rapidly twiching against the altar floor where we all sat, an amazing but terrifying thing happened. From  the very back of the empty church came the commanding male voice,  speaking rapidly in another language. I recall hearing the voice, aware the church was locked and no man was in the church with us, the wind howling fiercely that night, saying, “I hear the voice!” Mom said she heard the same voice, and her and I feel to this day that it was an angel guarding us from the dark powers of the enemy trying to get in. My sisters, both present, heard something very different, however. They claimed to have heard–and it still gives me shivers to this moment–horrified screams of women and children, pounding  their fists furiously on the church walls from the outside, trying to get inside. Also, they heard a woman’s chanting voice, , most likely another protective angel. But I do swear to hearing the real voice of that angel. IT actually echoed like a real human voice to the front of the church, too! IT was truly unforgettable and the memory is sharp in my mind  seven  years later. In our home we’ve witnessed shadow people, dark beings, one of which Mom claimed was an angel. She remembered waking up unexpectedly one night when she glanced at the reclining chair at the end of her bed, where a dark figure like a man  sat in the chair. IT spoke to her in her mind, saying, “it’s okay. Go back to sleep.” I always puzzled over a dark-figured angel, however. I mean, angels are supposed to bee beings of light and things, I thought, from what I read in the bible. Yet, nothing evil or of mal-intent would have reassure MOM that way. I seriously doubt that. So those are some of the very true stories of the paranormal and visits from the spiritual realm. There are many more stories to tell but that’s for another post. EVerywhere ghosts, demons and angels are amung us. Every moment in every place. Our world is not limited to the physical matter.

Braving the Weird

IN wondering what to write about on this blog, I realized I’ve covered almost everything considered weird, unusual or just plain thought-provoking. IT made me wonder just what draws us to the weird, unusual or bizarre? Perhaps it’s just the idea that it simply could or does exist, or that we challenge our minds to be suspended beyond belief. The same technique as with fantaasy or scifi books where it’s believable enough in our imaginations that we accept the idea that someone has magic powers and that other intelligent lifeforms really are thousands of years ahead of us in technology. YOu know what drawas me to such unusual things as what I write about here? Just the fact that some, although not all sinc esome is meer speculation, that it’s real! IT’s a palce I dedicated to the things we know exist and sometimes talk about here and there in randum conversations but don’t take the time to really think about. Beyond REality is a blog for all these things, whether strange beyond credibility to some and very real to others. It’s a place for an open mind, place to challenge the reality and wonderful, mysterious, fascinating planet–universe–we live in. WE all share it. WE all share stories of experiences we fear are too odd to share with others, even though those experiences–such as near-death experiences or claiming to have seen ghosts or other symbolic visions or secretly living as a plural, , (aka multiple personalities, see www.astraea’sweb.com), we often fear what others will think about us. So we hide those stories away for many years, and even for the rest of our lives. Beyond REality is a palce to reveal such odds and ends of life, not to be afraid to explore the unexplored areas of life. I aplogize here for not updating more frequently lately, by the way. I’ve been doing my own exploring, searching for something to bring your way here. Until I gather all the interesting and unusual experiences of life that tcome my way in the next few days, I thank you all for being patient with me and visiting Beyond REality, where the ordinary becomes extraordinary!

Where you From? IT might just Matter

Okay, so no one likes their hometown. I dont’ know why, but everyone’s got something bad to say about it. I don’t like my town–but who wouldn’t when they’re so cheap they can’t even build a bus shelter for us or decorate for Christmas? Okay, so that’s just a tiny bit of whyu I don’t like my town. IT’s too bad everyone from Moravia are called HIcks or scumbags, or whatever. Yeah, there are a lot of poor people and sloppy people, like everywhere else, but not all of us sit around liek like hicks, whatever that deffinition is anymore. It’s funny how people stereotype you, though, when it comes to what town or city you come from. Or how about when people totally get the name of the town wrong, like my town, which has been called Arabia, Melaria, and even MOtown by some. Another town, Scipio Center was called Skippio. I thought that was great and started laughing at the guy who didn’t understand why I thought it so funny. Today I just found a real place in Alabama called Pine Apple. Pine apple? boy, do I feel sorry for you guys in Pine Apple! What, do the pines grow apples? Or pineapples? Which one is it? How about the tiny town of Hazard where no one lives, or at least, it seems that way when we drive through it. You never see anyone outside their house! Maybe it’s too hazardous? Bad, I know. My sister still calls Poplar Ridge Popular Ridge. She just won’t pronounce things right. NOt half as bad as a standing probation, though. HOw about silly names for streets? Like Dolphin Drive here in upstate NY? Come on! Or Cheese Factory Road. Yes there’s a real road near wherwhere I live that aledgedly had an aledged running cheese factory at one time–aledgedly. Wel, I guess the names of where you live– Pleasantville New York? is it really that nice?–doesn’t really matter. Except maybe on an envelope.

Guide for elliminating Monsters

A few weeks ago my sister, dad, and me were talking about all the things you should do when it came to scary things. Our list went like this: 1. NEver check under the bed in the dark because a monster might tear it off. 2. NEver hang that stupid shirt or whatever in the corner, because it looks like a person in the dark. 3. Shut the closet door. Never keep it open! It’s a monster’s invitation to come into your room. 4. Close the shades/blinds. Anything could look in through the window. 5. Never take a shower after a scary movie. 6. Always check behind shower curtains and close the toilet seat after a scary movie. 7. Never go dwowndown to the basement alone after a scary flick–duh! 9. Always have plenty of covers in bed to hide from the monster. 8. Never watch a scary movie before bedtime!–the oldest warning on the list that should have been first. 10. WAtch something happy or comical after a scary movie if close to bedtime. IT helps. NOt a lot, but it’s something.

We’re Cartoons

Do cartoon characters really influence us? OR have they from our childhood? I think to some extent they have. As kids, my sisters and me would immitate cartoon characters a lot, mostly to get attentoin from adults. My sister thought she could do that jumping ankle-crossing trick Fred Flinstone pulls off while saying, “Yebba, debba, doo!” but my sister ended up bruising her ankles and looking like a total idiot at age twelve. MOm thought she was being stupid. WE used to always play the Bugx Bunny, “eh, what’s up doc?” as we munched carrot sticks our father would treat us to as a snack. Im the oldest, and at that time I was eight-years-old and still saying that. I think cartoon characters shaped how we played in pretend games. OFten when we got together with this one kid who was really into Ninja Turtles, my sister would end up as April Matters and the kid as one of the turtles. I ended up as Shredder, Bebop or Rocksteady, and I hated the roles. CArtoon characters, like Captain Planet’s planeteers, became all us sisters’ favorite game when we bought those cheapy plastic gem rings in the bubblegum machines. EAch one of us would use our rings with the element given to whichever character we played. EArth, fire, wind, water, and heart, which none of us ever considered a force of nature and we shoved that character role off to our little sister, who didni’t have the mind it seemed to decide who she wanted to be. NOw, this isn’t animated, but a kid once attempted to slide down our staircase in his sleeping bag, in a version from HOme Alone, when Kevin pulls off that taboggin stunt down his stairs and out the door. My father caught the kid in time and lectured the skin off of him. I suppose it’s more than cartoons that influence us, but movie characters as well. Makes sense, since we’re all shaped by what we see, hear and all. I once tried making one of those dare sandwiches after watching an episode from the Fudge series, based on Judy Bloom’s Fudge novels. I only poured a ton of ketchup on and made it into a sandwich but was so disgusted I ended up throwing it all out the window. My sister hounded my mom that she wanted to make a tomato sandwich like Heriot the Spy after the movie, and so Mom drove my sister downtown to the grocery store and my sister made the sandwich that afternoon and ended up taking one bite before she threw it out. My sisters got hooked on Heriot the Spy, too. They actually began takigntaking notes in notebooks while pretending to spy through our windows outside the house. I didn’t understand the obsession with this, but I found it amusing to observe. My sisters kept this up for at least two weeks straight, taking it so far as to hide under a produce table in a supermarket and noting all the passing people. MOslty they saw legs passing by from under the table cloth but it was really fun, they said. T/They noted bits of conversation as people went by. I recall being a little nervous about using the bathroom while they were on their HEriot craze, using a ladder to look through windows. When I was very little we’d always shout, “Peter Pan!” as we leapt into the polly pool. To us the poolw was really big. I was probably four-years-old then, but have a video tape of me throwing my arms back as if to fly and shouting that silly name. When All Dogs go to Heaven came out, my sister and me were crazy over it for some reason. WE rented it a million times and ended up playing dogs, me as Charlie, my sister, of course, the angel dog. Playing Lady and the Tramp, but a different version of it, was also my favorite game. I enjoyed playing the heroic tramp who fought off imaginary bullying dogs in defense of Lady, my sister. I showed my sister how to walk properly on all fours, but she insisted on crawling on hands and knees. I even tried lapping water from a cereal bowl like a dog, but my tongue didn’t scoop properly. My sister and me would try imitating how Garfield ate Lazongia but couldn’t figure out how to eat it that fast. I even yawned in his style for a while, never quite covering my mouth as I did so till Mom scolded me for it. She said it looked rude. “”That’s how Garfield does it,” I insisted, but she didn’t aprove. The LIon King was our cousin’s and my favorite movie to play out. I was Simba, my cousin SCar and Mufossa, while our little sister always got Zazoo, which we all hated. “I want RAfiki!” my sister would whine. Everyone wanted to have the hut with all those gords dangling off it. All pretend, but a big deal to my sister. She began to cry and I felt sorry for her. “Come on, give her Rafiki,” I said to my friend, who stole the part and wouldn’t give it up. NO one gave in, and we never played the game since that summer. EVen now, my sisters still refer to the classic Disney characters, MIckey MOuse, Donald Duck and the rest. When we were kids we’d watch a lot of MIkcey and Donald films. All three of us sisters would compare ourselves to Hewy, Dewy, and Lewy. My youngest sister still does even now. She says, “WE can be like Donald’s nephews,” when referring to how much she wants a car of her own and I know she’s thinking about the one film where the nephews are all on a road trip, reading comic books and chewing wads of gum with the radio on. IT’s funny how yo u never forget stuff like that, no matter how old you get. So, I guess cartoons and characters of all kinds alike really do shape us and impact our lives. Who would we be without them otherwise?