Mother Mary as in a Dream, Raton, NM, photos © 2008 by
ybonesy. All rights reserved.
Last Wednesday afternoon I found myself in one of the best spots I could imagine, with my parents and oldest sister, and in the company of my beloved grandparents and best-ever uncle. We were in the cemetery in Raton, New Mexico, where Grandma, Grandpa, and Uncle Pat are buried.
I get my love of cemeteries from Mom. I didn’t know how much she loved them until this visit. I usually go to cemeteries with my dad; each Memorial Day we make the trek to Costilla, the place where his parents are buried. But on this particular trip Mom asked if we could stop in Raton to see her parents and brother. “I love cemeteries,” she told me as we left our relatives’ headstones and began exploring the grounds.
We walked all over the cemetery. The dry grass crackled under our feet. Most of the headstones were small and unassuming.
“Oh, there’s Joe Gourley,” Mom said. Joe was the son of a rich man in Raton, who Mom still calls “Mr. Gourley.” Joe Gourley, the son, went to war. When he came back he shot himself. Mom did the math in her head to make sure this was the right Joe Gourley, the one she knew who killed himself. “Yep, that would be about right.”
The June day my grandmother was buried here, we attended a funeral mass. According to my imperfect memory, it was a High Mass with incense and big drops of Holy water splashed in our faces. The priest, dressed in white robes and a white cap, bellowed a sermon of doom. I don’t know why this particular service seemed so gloomy to me — it was held in 1985, when I was 24 and gloomy myself — but I remember it plucked the chords of the guilt side of our Catholic faith. I felt resentful and confused. Was he talking about my grandmother or were his messages intended for us?
My relationship with Catholicism is complex, influenced, I think, by Mom’s own complex relationship with the Church. She rebelled against Dad’s absolute piety, and she strained against the rigidity — the intolerance — with which some Catholic priests ruled their parishes in those days.
If pressed, she might be apt to say something like, “I don’t believe in God.” Yet she was a believer. She was just unwilling to concede the fact.
At the rosary held for Grandma the night before her burial, Mom sat in the front right-hand side of the church. A benevolent Virgin Mary dressed in blue and white robes stood silently in the nicho of a wall facing Mom and her youngest sister, Connie. My grandmother’s death was a blow for my mother. Mom called my grandmother “Mama” up until the day she died — she still does. They were close, talking for hours each week. Mom cried and cried through the Our Fathers and Hail Marys. At one point, she peered through her veil of tears and saw that the Virgin Mary was crying, too.
“Tears came down her cheeks, we saw them!” Mom pleaded afterwards. Both she and Connie saw the tears. Later on, before the funeral mass the next day, we went to see if the Virgin Mary statue had raised porcelain tears on her cheeks. There were none. Still, I believed.
Beverly Donofrio in her book Looking for Mary says that when the spirit of the Virgin Mary is nearby, so too is the smell of roses. I remember Mom used to like everything — lotion, perfume, candles — that smelled of roses. Old lady smell, I always thought, even though for years of birthdays and Mother’s Days, I gave her rose-fragranced-anything-I-could-find.
I can’t recall now the last time I thought to give Mom anything having to do with roses. It’s only today that I remember how much she loved that unmistakable fragrance.
One of the photos I took on Wednesday caught my eye as I pored through the shots from that day in the cemetery. It is a small statue of Mary. She sits on the ground, a short distance from the marble headstone of the person she graces. All around the Mary statue are needles and small branches from a nearby pine. I have picked her only because of who she is, not because I know the person buried there. I have to almost lie on the grave myself to get down low enough to photograph the statue.
In the photo of her I notice a shaft of light, thin and almost imperceptible, coming down over her right eye. She is completely white, but there on that right eye is a speck of dirt exactly where her iris would be.
It is not earth-shattering. It is not the stuff that draws throngs of believers. It’s dirt and a small ray of light. It could be nothing. It’s easy to miss.
I call Mom and tell her about the photo. “Oh, really?” she says. She sounds intrigued. A lot has happened in the 23 years since her mother died. Over the years and through various family crises, my mother has turned to her imperfect faith and made it something all of us can hold on to. She prays a rosary every day. Her rebellious self has changed. You can still see remnants of it but she no longer rebels just for the sake of rebelling.
“What do you think,” she asks, “is it a little miracle?” I tell her I’m not sure but that I’ll bring by my computer so that she can see for herself. “I believe in miracles, you know,” she tells me.
I do know. I’ve never doubted that about my mom. That’s one of the gifts she gave to me and all my siblings.
Shaft of Light, Raton, NM, photos © 2008 by ybonesy.
All rights reserved.
When I was living on the Rez, a friend told me that even though you don’t believe, the dominant culture’s belief system will rub off on you and you will become part of it…or something like that.
What I am trying say is, the Catholic culture would make you start looking for signs and miracles. I experienced some trippy stuff when out on the Rez. I don’t know if they were malevolent or what. The skinwalker encounter as an example…Just weird (but kind of scary) stuff.
I have an interesting photo I took in a cemetery in Stirling, Scotland last summer. I was taking a photo of a Celtic cross gravestone and there is a lens flare or “orb” that some people would want to believe. I also have an interesting lens flare on a statue of Wallace (Braveheart) at the Wallace Monument. They are the only two “lens flares” of over 200 photos I took in Scotland.
Now thinking about it, that is really odd!
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Cemeteries do seem to have an alluring call for many. I love to walk through the old paths, notice the flowers and trinkets on the graves, sit on a cement bench covered with moss, subtract the dates on the tombstones and imagine this unknown human being that died at 65 or 32 or 94. And then finally just sit with my own private thoughts. Cemeteries seem to be very private places and they invite you to think very privately.
I never bring paper or pen into a cemetery, though I’ve often wanted one. And a lot of what I think I want to remember and write down, I choose not to write at a later time. Funny, in an odd way.
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Thanks, both of you, for sharing your thoughts about cemeteries. MM, that is interesting about the orbs and that they appeared on only those two photos out of 200. I’d love to see those.
And I always love hearing about your experiences on the reservation. It’s interesting how you have both this scientist’s mind and relationship to the unexplained but also an openness. It probably causes you to stop and think about what’s real and what isn’t.
Bo, your comment about the subtraction of dates in your head made me smile. I wonder if this is a universal action we tend to take whenever we look at the dates. Funny, too, how the tombstones don’t say the age, and yet that’s one of the things we’re drawn to.
I’ve rarely had privacy in a cemetery. In Latino culture, there is much celebration in cemeteries. Day of the Dead, for example, is a time when the living come together to mingle with the dead. And even on the times where I go over Memorial Day, it is a festive atmosphere — families with picnics, carrying new flowers to replace old ones, small shovels and garbage bags to clean up the spaces. The cemeteries I’ve been to have often been part of a passing-down of the past from parent to child. If I’m with my dad at the place where his parents are buried, we walk from grave to grave and he tells me everything he can remember about this person and that person. Same sort of thing with my mom.
I once spent some time in a cemetery in Cinncinnati while a friend who I was visiting there had to go on work-related errands. I did feel an intense sense of privacy and aloneness. I would like to spend time alone in a cemetery, although not at night ; – ). It would be a different kind of experience and one I would find appealing.
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MM, about those orbs — the first time I stayed at Mabel Dodge Luhan House in Taos, I roomed with a woman from Finland. We believed our room was haunted (I’ve commented about this before in other posts) because my roommate’s clock disappeared one day and reappeared later in a different spot. It wasn’t the kind of thing the people cleaning the room would have done — it was just too odd of a place for the clock to reappear. Our last evening there, my roommate snapped a shot of me lying on my bed. When she got back to Finland and developed the film, there was an orb floating near me on the bed. She sent me the photo with a note about our ghost making an appearance in the photo. It truly was strange, perfectly round, floating near my hand.
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yb, my Dad also has a fascination with cemeteries. He has albums full of photos. I have visited many with him.
When J & I lived at the farm a few years ago, there was an old family cemetery in our yard! There were grave caps (which were huge casket sized carved stones that covered the actual graves, which we learned were placed there to protect the deceaced graves from “grave diggers”). The headstones were all hand carved & dated as far back as the late 1700’s. It was spooky & I have no doubt that the house we rented was haunted. In fact, we found out that our dining area was built over a cementary! We had a few encounters & a group of Ghost hunters from the Gettysburg, PA area actually wanted to come there, but it never transpired. J’s sister Gritsinpa has her own story about a day she spent alone in our house. I hope she reads this & shares her experience! D
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diddy, there is no way that I’d want to live on top of graves. Remember Amityville Horror? Wasn’t the premise of that book/movie that a subdivision had been built on an old graveyard?
Of course, often we don’t know what we live on. I have a friend who worked as an archaeologist for a public utilities company. Part of his job was to excavate the sites they came across while burying utility lines. There are centuries-old sites in areas where we have no idea, so who knows what our homes are covering.
Cool about your dad’s fascination. I love how cemeteries vary state to state, country to country. The cemetery in Raton was pretty well-tended, with old trees and grass, as compared to the hard-scrabble cemetery where my dad’s parents are buried. Most NM cemeteries, or at least those in small towns, are simple and sometimes appear to be as impoverished as the people who rest there.
The Ohio cemetery I spent time in was grand, huge trees, green green grass, big impressive headstones and even mausoleums. Visit a cemetery in a place like Havana, Cuba (I once did) and you’ll be amazed at how colorful, plus the graves are raised.
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yb, I love Cemeteries and love to shoot in them. The older ones back East are wonderful to walk through…Arlington comes to mind…reading historical names…and of course Gettysburg. The older ones in England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales are ancient and magnificent with their gigantic Celtic crosses. But the one that hit me the hardest, making the greatest impact was Normandy. Row upon row of white crosses with a Star of David seen over here and there. It’s kept immaculate. It’s quiet and very humbling. It’s simplistically beautiful.
The top shot you took, low to the ground really spoke to my heart. Her hand held out in beckoning and the placement of her figure…off to the side, creating the hard diagonal between the Virgin Mary and that of the sky… quite spiritual for a believer of miracles.
BTW. Hows the dime count coming along? 😉
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Let’s see, I’m trying to recall where I saw a couple of dimes yesterday. It’s funny, I see them and something registers about dimes, but it’s not clear why.
The Normandy cemetery description sounds amazing. Military cemeteries always blow me away. My mom and dad will be buried in our state’s national cemetery. Austere, white crosses or headstones, row upon row. They really spent quite a bit of time thinking about where they wanted to be buried. My dad served in WWII, so the national cemetery was always an option. If not that, I think they would have been torn, Dad wanting to be with his parents, Mom wanting to be with hers.
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Ybonesy,
I’ll e-mail you those photos. This summer I’ll probably bring my external hard drive so we can see all the Scotland photos so you can see for yourself.
I’ve had enough strange experiences to realize that science doesn’t have all the answers…yet. Somethings are hard to measure and/or record.
MM
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Hey, yesterday I was an art studio tour here in our community and I talked to someone who knew the previous owner of our house. That previous owner had told various folks that there is a ghost in this house (which I think I’ve done a writing practice about). But the ghost has really gotten quiet lately. Very little activity. I think it’s a woman who was concerned by who we were as a family living in the home. I think now that she’s “seen” us, experienced us, she has gotten quiet. (Of course, as soon as I say that, she’ll probably reappear.) She never has been a dark soul — I’ve never felt threatened by her.
MM, looking forward to seeing those photos. Glad to hear you’ll be here this summer. Can you believe it’s around the corner?
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I had no problem having that small cemetery in our yard. It was closer to the barn, but still in our yard. It was a conversation piece for sure! We were never bothered nor afraid of our ghosts. The original strucure of the home had been built in the late 1700’s. Of course there were many additions added over the years. Knowing for a fact that our dining area had been built on one was not very comforting, though.
There are 2 old cemeteries on the island where our camp is on the Susquehanna river. They are near an old one room schoolhouse. The headstones are all in the German language. It is quite beautiful & well maintained. I have researched the history of the family that settled there, however there is very little info available. My Dad, R3, & reccos62 have some very good photos of them.
The cemeteries of the East are unique. My favorite is in Williamsburg VA. D
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Yb, Strange and amazing thing about those dimes. When my Father was really sick, my Mother (who has Alzheimer’s) kept saying to my Sister that she was finding dimes all over the house in strange places. My Mother says all sorts of unusual (and colorful) things so she didn’t think anything of it…until she started finding them in really strange places herself.
She mensioned it to me and I didn’t think much of it, just a strange coincident. But when my Father was hositalalized, he dropped one of his pills on the floor and my oldest Sister and I went on our knees to look under his bed for it. We found his pill…and one single dime directly under his pillow.
When we brought him home for hospice there was a dime on the front porch and another inside at the foot of his beloved chair…and from there, it got crazier. We kept a jar and put them in it everytime we found a dime in a strange place. I finally got on the internet and researched it. It said that spirits can move certain metals and that dimes are the usual choice. A spirit may be there to guide someone else on their journey…or to let the living know they are there and ok. I remember staring at my computer screen for a long time, trying to come up with another explanation… but there were just too many of them to be considered “loose change”.
After my Father passed away, my Middle sister got into her car and started to back out of her driveway. She turned to the passenger seat to look over her shoulder and there was a dime…balanced on top of the headrest… where my Father rode. When my oldest Sister got back home to Washington and went back to work, she put on her City Uniform and there was a single dime in the pocket of her overalls. I got her text message and the hair on my arms stood on end. When I returned to work, I opened my overhead cabinet…another single dime laying there on the front edge. By then, even I was a believer.
Since then, when someone passes on, I ask their Family members about seeing dimes in strange places, without offering an explanation… and you would be amazed at what I hear…
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This was very compelling. Thank you for words and images that ring true.
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diddy, I’m not sure if you made a change on your side, but when I look at your comment from the administrator’s panel, it now has a nifty purple and white avatar (the little box next to your name). It doesn’t show up on the Comments from the post, but it does from that administrator’s panel.
Anyhoo, the graveyard with the German-language headstones, on the island, sounds like a great haunt (no pun intended). You’re surrounded by so much history. That’s cool. Also cool that you actually researched the history of that family there.
Yes, those East-coast cemeteries are truly amazing. Very powerful to see.
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Wow, Heather, I just read the account of the dimes. That would make me a believer, too. The one balanced on the headrest would be the clencher for me. I mean, I guess you could always explain away the one in the pocket or one under the bed. But balanced like that on a headrest — well, it couldn’t really stay there through a car ride, I wouldn’t think, so it really does seem to have been placed there.
I wonder why dimes instead of other metals. I wonder if it has to do with their lightness (weightwise). And smallness.
After all, the dime is the smallest of the US coins.
Thanks for sharing about that. I will keep my eyes open more to dimes.
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Deborah, thank you for visiting and leaving a comment.
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Ybonesy,
I was reviewing my Scotland pictures, and the cemetery photos in particular. I found some interesting stuff that is more suitable for “Coast to Coast AM”. A classic case of “pareidolia” (seeing images from random patterns…http://www.skepdic.com/pareidol.html), or is it??? I discovered a “haunted tree” in the background of the photo with all sorts of weird images hidden inside the tree. Some are quite creepy and made my hair stand on end last night when I found them.
The dimes is interesting. I’ve had similar experiences after my dad passed away. 1.) the answering machine plugged itself back on so my sister could say goodbye to our dad. 2.) the baggie with his social security card, a photo of him as a young boy (I carry this one in my wallet), and some other significant documents. These turned up out of the blue one day. 3.) the Walther PP handgun turning up out of the blue. My brother scoured the house looking for it. One day, it just appeared for me. I kept it.
I’ll send you the creepy photo of the haunted tree. See what you think.
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Some really great comments on this post. I totally believe in the orbs and Liz and I often look for them in our photographs. When we were in Hibbing, there must have been hundreds of orbs in the photographs at Hibbing high school. We were amazed.
We took Liz’s family to the art studio a few days ago. We had not felt any ghosts there, or seen any orbs at all in all of the photographs we had taken of the Casket Arts Building. But Liz’s sister felt a presence and a cold draft a few doors down from our studio. I’ll have to check it out when I go back there. I don’t think there is anyone leasing that studio space right now.
diddy, I’d love to go to the cemeteries on the Susquehanna next time I’m there. I didn’t have time to walk over the last time I was there visiting. Hopefully, next time, we can make the walk and I can take a few photographs.
mm, amazing about the Scotland photographs. Those would be great to see.
heather, the dimes…now I’m going to be on the lookout in the future. I had not heard that before except when you mentioned it. I wonder where that comes from?
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ybonesy, what struck me most about his post was how close you felt to your mother during the last time you spent with her. It seemed like many of your sensory memories with her were renewed or brought to the surface again. And I was touched by that.
Reading about your mom’s rebellion against dogmatic religious beliefs — I think there have been many marriages where one person gives up part of what they learned or believe about religion and spirituality, for the other, or converts to one spouse’s or partner’s religion in order to please them or to fit in with their families. It used to be so taboo to even intermarry between religions. And I’m sure that still exist for many faiths.
I am leery of religions without much flexibility in belief or acceptance of others’ interpretations. We all approach faith, God, religion in our own way. There has to be an open-mindedness, room for us all. When it comes to faith, there is no one right way. There are many ways into belief in something bigger than we are.
On a different subject — I have always loved cemeteries. And spend much time there with my family, especially when I travel back South. I can always find a stillness, a calm there, even in the middle of a large city.
It was beautiful here yesterday and Liz and I were driving around Lake Harriet after one of our trips to the airport to take her family back for their travels home. We spotted a pond from the Lake Harriet side and realized it was actually part of Lakewood Cemetery. So we decided to drive through the cemetery.
Liz had never been in there. I had photographed there about 10 years ago. It was amazing. The lakes were bustling with people and craziness. But as soon as we turned into the gate of Lakewood, it was calm and quiet. I might do a short post on it in the future. I took quite a few photographs yesterday. It dates from 1872 and Hubert Humphrey and Paul Wellstone are buried there.
I’m like you though, no thanks to spending the night in a cemetery. I wouldn’t be comfortable.
I have had several visitations by ghosts. When my grandmother, Ada, died, she came to me in a dream to say good-bye. I didn’t know she had passed, and then talked to Mom the next week to find out it was true. I guess she came as a kind of ghost within a wispy dream. The other visitation was after a friend died from cancer. I was awake for that one, but kept my head below the covers. Strange. 8)
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Hi, QM. Welcome back. I missed you. I’m glad everything went so well. It’s fun to spend time with family.
Yes, lots of great comments. Mimbres Man followed up by sending me four photos, and the orbs are indeed very strange. They’re big and distilled, not like the orb in the photo my former roommate sent me. That one was small and solid. MM also sent the photos with the spooky face in the tree. Very strange. I told him he should post them on his blog and then let us know. I’d post them in comments if I could, but I don’t think jpg files translate into comments unless they’re links.
The trip with Mom and Dad did bring up some memories that I had not landed on for a while. It’s kind of odd that I was there to visit with Dad’s relatives and yet I ended up thinking a lot about Mom and her family, too. I guess that’s to be expected since I was with both of them. I love hearing about and reflecting on both their lives. They are both so interesting.
Re: your visitations, I don’t know about you, but I wish I were a lot more brave when it comes to ghosts. I sometimes think my Catholic upbringing and the huge emphasis on good and evil has me worried that if I open myself up to that spirit world, I’ll open myself up to evil. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work that way, but it’s one of those little fears that’s stuck inside my head and seems to prevent me from fully acknowledging my sensitivities to such things.
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Ybonesy,
Can you forward those photos to QM? Let her analyze them. 😉
MM
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QM, I hope you do post some of those photos, and if you get to shoot any at diddy’s cabin, that would be great, too. Watch for orbs 8) .
Paul Wellstone and Hubert Humphrey — those are two quite different people. Hey, that reminds me, I went to a friend’s going-away party last night, and two of her friends are MN natives (one from Minneapolis). We got to talking about MN because they had tickets to see Garrison Keillor this Wed night in ABQ. So I ticked off all my MN knowledge that I’ve gained from writing with you — The Fitzgerald, Mickey’s Diner, Porky’s… I don’t think I impressed them that much, but at least I knew a few things about Minneapolis, at least. And I could also honestly say what a great city it is for the arts and writers (Keillor is a good example of that).
Anyhow, Lakewood Cemetery sounds lovely. Like one of those grand cemeteries I mentioned. I bet it’s green green and well-kept. Why do I picture a swan swimming in a lake? I don’t know, but I do.
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Will do, MM.
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ybonesy, Lakewood is one of those grand style cemeteries, based on the French. And it is non-denominational, so has quite a mix of people. A pretty cool place.
That’s funny about you sharing what you know about Minneapolis and St. Paul. How long has it been since your friends have been back to the Twin Cities? The fact that they are going to see Garrison tells me they are still pretty connected to their roots. 8)
BTW, some of Liz’s family members wanted to see Garrison if a Prairie Home Companion was playing at the Fitz while they were here. We ended up running out of time, but it reminded me how famous that show is. I think I mentioned before that my 8th grade English teacher had been to MN specifically to see APHC sometime over the last few years. She was here and I didn’t even know it!
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ybonesy, I forgot to mention, no swans that I saw, but we did see two Canadian geese that looked particularly beautiful against the budding weeping willows, the river birch, the pond.
And thanks for the welcome back. It was a packed week with Liz’s family but absolutely wonderful all the way around.
About the ghosts — I have kind of a love hate relationship with seeing them. They scare me sometimes, but I definitely pick up on the otherworld feelings and I believe Sprits walk among us. I have no doubt. I guess the fact that I covered my head, well, yeah —- I just didn’t want to really “see.” 8)
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I think they said they’d moved here about 24 or so years ago, or maybe it was 32 years ago. In any case, it’s been a long time. Oh, as far as how long since they’d been back, that I don’t know.
I do remember about Mrs. Juarez (was that her name?) going to see APHC. He is a popular guy. I catch him quite a bit on the radio on Sat (and now there’s a replay of his Sat show on Sun night if you missed it). We caught it last night on the way home from my friend’s house. The girls enjoy the radio sound effects.
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That’s a long time to not have lived in MN. I bet they feel like NM natives now. 8) YES, the sound effects — you should see them do them with all the strange faces and body antics they have to make to get those sounds. I think people like A Prairie Home Companion so much because it does harken back to the time of old radio shows. It’s a blast from the past.
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[…] poem-ish reflection was a response to a post over on red ravine, about miracles. I wrote in response: I think it’s all about what you want to see. We are very good at […]
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I think it’s all about what you want to see. We are very good at finding patterns when we want to see them. Some people see the dot of earth on the iris… Others just random splashes. Others see a pointy-nosed mouse face looking out from her left collarbone…
Is it a gift to believe in miracles? Should sceptics like me butt in when people talk about them? I don’t know. I know people take a lot of comfort in miracles and strange coincidences.
But I’ve also been hurt by people who believed in things like this, who believed in signs and patterns relating to me when there was really no such pattern. So at the end of the day, I think it does matter what we believe in.
And for me, believing that such appearances are random chance rather than miraculous doesn’t actually take the comfort away.
So I hope my sincere reaction doesn’t offend. It’s not meant to.
I’ve just written some poemish reflections on miracles (very loose verse so I hesitate to call them poetry.) in an attempt to clarify where I’m coming from here.
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Cool. I’ll be checking those out. I love the word “poemish,” btw.
I’m pretty sensitive to people either making assumptions or trying to push their beliefs on to me, so I can appreciate your comment about being hurt by people who pushed that onto you. Your honest comment doesn’t offend at all.
I think in my family, too, we are all on a spectrum of what we believe in and what we don’t. My grandmother was *very* superstitious, and in general a lot of Hispanic New Mexicans that I’ve met have long roots back to this kind of thinking.
Also, being almost as strongly rational as I am intuitive, I can often be found talking myself out of my belief in miracles 8) .
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QM, I was hoping that you would visit the cemeteries on the island when you come to visit! J & I would be thrilled to have you & Liz there. I think we even offered the use of our boat (that’s how much we trust you!). 🙂
I wrote on a different post that I am Agnostic, which by no means, makes me an Atheist. I have my beliefs. I too, have had encounters with my Grandfather & other family members after their lives had expired. In no way were these dreams.
The dime thing everyone comments about freaks me out. I have read mention of dimes many time in my readings of folklore, which is in most part tied to religious beliefs. I know feathers have a connection to a persons spirit, but dimes have a special connection, even in healing practices. One that comes to mind is the cure for nose bleeds. The idea is to lay down, place a dime on your heart, & you will be cured. What an interesting post. D
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diddy, thanks! Yes, I’d love to go over to the cemeteries. Liz and I are still talking about how to work out the details of the summer trip back to PA and GA. Mom and I changed the dates to the end of July. So I’ll keep you posted. Maybe it will work for you and J. (and GritsInPA and R3) to go South with us in July.
It’s so interesting about the dimes. I used to love the Mercury dimes. They felt kind of magical to me. Dimes are so light. Nickels are heavier.
When we were putting quarters into the meter outside of a downtown restaurant last weekend, Liz was reading off the dates on the quarters. There was one from 1969. Wasn’t it the mid-60’s when they stopped making the silver quarters and added, what was it, zinc? I remember that people started hoarding the silver quarters at that point. I wonder what happened to all of them.
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QM, I’m afraid we won’t make it to GA, though I would love to! I will have Brant for the summer & our Outer Banks vacation is the first week of August. But, our camp & home are open to you & Liz during your visit in PA, if you so choose. D
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diddy, I hope I don’t miss you all. Will you be around the week of July 22 to 28th? What day are you leaving for the Outer Banks?Sounds like we will just miss each other in the South. But I’ll see you in PA, right? I really wanted to walk around the island with you and J. 😦
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Yep , you will see us in PA! We will be in the Outer Banks beginning the 2nd of August through the 8th. A trip to the island with us is a must! Perhaps we can talk you & Liz into at least an overnighter there! You will have such a grand time! We are looking forward to it! D
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Lense orbs; religious culture rubbing off; whatever – I think to have some special moments in our lives, either immediate or vicarious, gives us something outside of our largely shallow ego. What I do know is that there is a whole lot about the universe which none of us will ever know in its entirety; wonderful moments have been revealed to some; and, there are some people who have thankfully have not drowned in the human arrogance that closes the mind and heart & have been touched by the gifts(s) of a special moment like the one ybonesy family have experienced. Open minds, open heart.
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Nicole, well put. There is a whole lot about the Universe which none of us will ever know. Open minds create open hearts. I have no doubt whatsoever. Thanks for your comment!
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[…] “Da-ad,” I say, “yes, remember?!?” […]
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It is early Dec 2008. and in Oct. I helped build a labyrinth with some friends . We are getting these kinds of lights in our pictures but when we go to your site there are little white light balls falling either staight down or sideways from top to bottom of the picture. is this something you added to this sight or some kind of phenomenon? Very interesting . We can not figure it out. mariosa.
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Oh, yes, the white balls. Those are simulated snow that the blog host allows us to turn on or off during the winter. Aren’t they fun?
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I just looked at them in this post and those snowdrops are especially cool looking. Makes everything seem more mystical and magical.
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mariosa, I checked out your labyrinth photos and that’s a great one. I wish we had the space here to lay down a labyrinth. We have some friends who are planning to put one in their backyard. If you come back to this post, how long did it take you to build that one?
ybonesy, I agree…the snow is especially fetching on the photo of Mary at the top. Adds to the mystery of these light rays. I read this post again thanks to mariosa, and am always moved by the way you write about your mom and dad. The little things, the details. And that last photo with the ray of light…how did that get there…I’m wondering again.
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I take photographs deep inside flowers and plants and leave the rest up to whatever nature wants to reveal.
On Christmas Day 2007 I walked out into a garden that I had been photographing several days before. I take uniquely close up photographs of many different flowers and plants. But what I captured that day continues to take my breath away to this moment. You decide what or who she is. To me for months I called The Nun in the Peace Rose ( coincidentally the photographs are of a Peace Rose ), but to everyone else it’s a Virgin Mary, Mystic Apparition etc. I held onto the photos because I just didn’t want the plant to get trampled from a frenzied pilgrimage.
To get a sense of how I come by shooting photographs like these, please go to http://alexanderblackphotography.com/gallery-admin/g4/
and to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z_7ue2vbIJk
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Thanks for stopping by, Alexander, and sharing the story about the Peace Rose photograph. I found the three—for anyone else who follows the link, they were on the second screen of photos, and they’re three orangeish photos, named Mystic Apparition #1, #2, #3.
They definitely looked like a face, the long aqualine nose, the chin, eyes, and the cloth over the hair like a robe. There was something old-looking about the face, and also sad.
Did you only notice the face after you took the photos? Or did you notice the face in the rose, which caused you to take the photo?
Really gorgeous photos, all of them. They are so organic, all very much alive. They reminded me, too, of how plants have organs similar to humans.
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Cool photographs, yb. Thanks for pointing out they were on the second screen in Alexander’s link. Hard to believe those are from deep inside a Peace Rose. I like reading about your trip to the cemetery with your family again, too. I never tire of it. Great piece.
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[…] as she is already. -related to posts haiku 2 (one-a-day), Mary In Minnesota (haiku for yb), Virgin Mary Sightings, and The Virgin Mary Appears On A […]
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[…] to posts: virgin mary sightings , Winter Solstice — Making Light Of The […]
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