The Scripture News and Times

By Christine Rose

copyright 2010

Every once in a while I receive messages for people.  Sometimes they are messages that are happily received, sometimes they are guiding words of wisdom from the Office of the Afterlife, where the ancestors, guides, saints and angels hover like the birds on a windy day, though not as visible....usually.

Recently, I was told in my sleep (NOT the same as a dream.  These are the voices of the ancestors, my teachers and guides, the tall thin ones whose weary work it is to keep me on track.  I sometimes see them in my sleeping state...not the same as a dream) that I should tell my daughter what scripture is.  The details were lengthy.  When I woke up in the morning, I ran downstairs and quickly wrote out what I had been told.  I then went upstairs to show her, and she told me a few days later that what I had written were the answers to her last prayers before bed, prayers I had never heard her speak.

I have always associated “scripture” with Christianity, but apparently there is way more to it than that.  I will tell you what I remember, because after I showed her the paper, I took it downstairs to file it, but I never saw it again.  It disappeared, and I only remember half of what was written.

Scripture is the fountain of knowledge that springs forth from the

 divine into all cultures of the world.  

Each culture has scripture, and it is all equally valid, and equally not valid.  It is all true and it is all not true.  And believe it or not, this makes sense and is important and necessary.  

When respect is not paid to the scripture of all cultures, wars are waged over religion, and some cultures/religions hold themselves above the others. (I am sure this is common knowledge to many, but as always, I am Master of the Obvious, and writing keeps me off the streets. Those folks who work in the Office of the Afterlife know it is best to keep me busy, so this was just something else they gave me to do.)  There is more!

Scripture belongs to ALL peoples, and God gives each culture what they need to know, in the way they can best know and relate to it.  Simple.  God speaks to Christians through the Bible stories that reflects Western civilzation.  Tunkashila gave the Lakota the White Buffalo Calf Woman.  All Indigenous peoples honor a life of integrity, respect and love through their creation stories.  God gave Christians Jesus and gave Hindus Krishna, and Buddhists got Buddha. And let's not forget Mary, although so many have.

I am sure this will upset some people, even some people that I love dearly, who claim that their way, and their savior, is the only way.  It is not.  Each culture gets their own instructions, and they all spring from the same divine fountain.  The divine scripture followed, no matter the culture, is the True Savior. The allegories in scripture suit the time, the culture, and the place of the receiver and the recipients.

All scripture gets messed with.  Man cannot help it. In Hindu, you will find throughout their scripture  references to the Caste System, including untouchables.  Do you think God would stand for a person to be declared Untouchable?  And support slavery as is seen in the Bible? Not on your life.  

Scripture comes in music, art, stories, every possible method of communicating.   When God calls on people to create scripture, it it is very hard for a person to only see God without also including the culture they are immersed in.  One would have to withdraw from the world to separate themselves from their culture, because culture permeates everything.  This is why scripture is all right and all wrong.  This is why one way of living will never satisfy the religion or culture of another. The word of God (or whatever anyone wants to call the Great It.) is passed time and again through individuals everywhere, and consistently has the same undertones and nuggets of truth.  

So it is easy to see that it isn't about owning the one and only scripture, It's About Following It.  And the message in all scripture remains the same...Love your neighbor, take care of your neighbor, pray for your neighbor, and forgive your neighbor.  Anything less than that, in any culture or religion, is simply a failure of ourselves.  We must all be saviors, through our own belief system, or the world will never be the place it could be.

Well, how did I get here?

I always knew these were going to be the trickiest years of my life, so maybe I was asking a lot of myself to try to be graceful about it in the first place.  I lost my alimony in March, the first time in my adult life I was without an income.  Because I have dedicated the last ten years to working for God, I felt sure that a safety net was going to fall from the sky and I would land lightly, with nary a break in stride.  That wasn't the case at all.

I landed with a thud.  Dreams in two consecutive nights had told me it was time to move, that the time had come.  As I have written, I found a great place with a crazy neighbor.  The house is affordable and easy to love, as long as I do not speak.  Thats right, the neighbor will not let me speak. *sigh* I am trying to love her.

Then I ran out of money, which I never really thought would happen.  For about two weeks I fretted about what I would do.  Job postings all required a bachelor's degree, which I had never finished. But before I fell down the hole of debt any further, a job popped up thanks to a wonderful Mormon family who seems to have been put in on earth to be my guardian angels.  They alway make sure I have food, and have now found a way to hire me, when I know they are struggling to pay themselves.  They manufacture organic stink remover, so non-toxic that creepy crawlies placed in their rich brown liquid are thriving two weeks later.  It is as non-toxic as the vegetables it is derived from.  I have been given an opportunity to develop sales in new markets.

Hey, wait a minute! I am a spiritual wanderer, not a merchant!  Selling stuff like this is the furthest thing from my dream come true... but, then again I have a child to raise, and eating is very important, and this job allows me to do that.  I figure, this is the boat that God sent, so I better get in.  So I am now learning the Stink Biz, and being very very grateful!

Things were moving long okay, when the neighbor told me to get rid of some of my cats.  She got the landlady to agree that six were too many.  The landlady had agreed to four, but six tipped the scales.  This almost broke me, as my cats are really my best friends. How could I "get rid of" my best friends to strangers who will never love them as I do?  I understand and like cats better than I do many people. My cats have seen me through tough times, and they are all related, so this was like breaking up my family.  But the fault lay with me and the fact that I had said I have four, and I came here with six.  I had to face my own failings.

I searched all over to find a good home for them.  This year though, as more than a million people lose their homes, tales of abandoned pets are being told by Humane Societies across the nation.  Because my cats were older, the chances of them finding homes were non-existent.  The idea of putting them in small cages while they awaited their fates, which would almost certainly have been to be put down, cut through me like a knife.  I searched for another affordable home, but none were to be found, and none that would permit me to even have the four I could keep here.

I searched around and found a farm that would allow me to bring them there.  There were cats galore, goats, horses, dogs, and more.  The farm was run by teeanage girls whose passions were animals, and they promised that all of the cats received lots of attention. It seemed to be the only solution.

Of all of my cats, I chose to bring the two who were the most adventurous, the most people loving, wandering and intelligent. They could never stand to be kept in the house, they loved the outdoors and managed to stay outside most of the year.  They were the only two that I felt could live up to the challenge.

On the day that I brought them to the farm, I brought first one, then the other, up to a room at the top of the barn.  I did not close the door, but sat with the first one as he walked back and forth from me to the young girls.  He looked fine.  He left the room and came back when I called him.

When I brought the other one though, I opened the cage and she ran like a bat outta hell.  She ran out of the room....and she, as well as the other, have not been seen by anyone since.  That was a week ago.

I kept hoping they were just hiding, that surely they would come out sooner or later.  After they had been gone for about five days, I dreamed that the most stealth of the two had come home, and I found her eating at the bowl in the kitchen.  I then saw the other one in the living room and I vowed never to let them go again. I woke up in the night from the dream, and went outside to see if they were there.  I searched the yard and the house, sure they had found their way home, but alas, they had not.

My heart more broken than ever, I imagined they had had the same dream, of being home, safe and sound, eating comfortably among their family members.  I went back to the barn yet again, and still they had not been seen.  But I had an idea.

The next morning, about 7 a.m., before anyone else had arrived at the barn, I walked around and called out LOUD, Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimba!!!!!  Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeenie!!!! I walked the whole place, acres of it, and called and called, just certain they were there and would hear me. Maybe they would come out when it was quiet, just me and them.  I had brought the box of food and shook it as I often do at home to let them know fresh kibble awaits!  I decided to go back upstairs to the room where I had let them out, and I opened the doors, sat in the middle of the floor calling again and again, Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimba!  Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeenie!

And then I heard a meow. It was a little meow, and it could definitely have been Simba.  Excited I called Simba again, and heard another meow, from another part of the room.  Was he upstairs? Outside?  I looked around again, and saw sitting by the door, a small orange cat that I had been told was truly feral.  No one could pet the cat, and it hid from everyone.  I smiled and said, "You are not Simba.  Out you go," and I scooted him out.  But when I called Simba again, he came again.  Hmmmmm.

I put a small bit of food on the floor, and he came over and ate it. When he'd finished, he rubbed up against me, and put his head down to be scratched.  Simba.  I asked him, "Is your name Simba too?" He was the orange color, the lion color, that my Simba was.  I got up and looked around outside and saw that other cats had come for a bite to eat, and I shared with them as well.  Soon after, cars began arriving, the young girls were now entering the barn to feed and groom the horses.  Well, I had tried.

I went back to my car, and as I began to drive away, I realized something that soothed my soul.  There were houses nearby, and Simba and Weenie are both resourceful cats.  For all I know, they decided to leave the farm and found another nice cat lady like me to care for them.  In the meantime, the feral Simba now had an identity and had made an approach to me, perhaps breaking his cycle of loneliness and abandonment.  For this kitty, what had been lost had been found.

I thought about all that had happened to me since I moved here.  My own personal relocation, my own disconnection from my work, my friends and neighbors.  I thought about my friends, who have taken me in like a stray pet and made sure I was fed and loved.  I thought about our journeys, and how we are always challenged beyond our comfort level.  It isn't punishment, it isn't karma, sometimes it is just time to climb the ladder in order to get stronger. And I realized that there is mercy in this world, and there are growing pains and life lessons everywhere, for cats and for people alike.

I hope and pray my cats are fine.  And I am pretty sure they are.

My Holy of Holies

By Christine Rose
copyright 2010


This morning, I sat on a rock in my place of places, my holy of holies, the beach. For most of my life, this has been my church; underneath the sun, on a rock, at the edge of the shore, in a place where the birds know me and have soared with me into the face of the wind. That incident happened on a stormy, November day, and I stood atop the highest rocks, my jacket flapping as my outstretched arms welcomed the damp breezes and sharp rain that stung my face. The seagulls decided to join me, and they came to hover in the air around me, their wings spread, their faces into the wind as well. It was a stunning and spectacular moment in my life, but I have had so many that included animals.


People think that we need to teach animals how to live with us. How much better if we were to learn how to live like the animals! Few of us know their peace and simplicity of living. How much better off we would all be if we needed as little as they do. Animals are enlightened beings, and all of our feeble attempts at peace are basically our trying to overcome being human.

All that glitters.....

By Christine Rose copyright 2010

By the end of May, I had moved into a small apartment on stunningly beautiful property.  But anything really good also has the balance, the Other Side of the Coin.  The balance has risen.  The apartment is attached to another one, and in it resides a woman whose mood swings scare the crapola out of me. Perhaps she drinks, perhaps she has been the victim of abuse all of her life, it is not my job to determine what makes her tick.  Like a bomb. Nope, the only thing I have to worry about, in My Year of Grace, is how I react to her.

The first thing to do was to decide exactly what Grace is anyway.  So far as I have seen in my baby step attempts, Grace is the ability to not be effected by anything around you, except with and through love.  There have been times in my life when that was easier to do, but maybe I bit off more than I can chew right now, as my life is more precariously balanced than it has ever been.

I will not recount the deeds done by my neighbor, all I can say is that she has made it incredibly difficult to love her.  Therein lies my challenge.  Today was so bad; she has caused me, through her threats to the landlord, to give up two cats who have been with me the better part of a decade, and while I still have four others, the home rings hollow with their absence.

The cats will be fine.  I have found a nearby farm that has lots of cats, horses, goats and little girls who love cats...the more the merrier.  But it doesn't alleviate my sadness or loss.

While driving the second one to the farm today, I cried out loud to be rescued from my thoughts.  I cried so hard not to hate her, for God to soften her heart, to help her see and understand kindness.  The answer that rose from my being was that kindness is often taught through suffering.  Imagine that praying for her to develop kindness might actually be a bit of a vindictive prayer!

I changed gears, and prayed that she might not suffer more, as I am sure she has already.  All in all, praying for her softened heart soothed my soul far more than praying for terrible things to befall her.

I see that Grace is hard to come by, and that we must always be careful what we pray for, because teaching me Grace may well mean I am going to walk through some terrible moments.  It is my job to rise to the occasion, and I am determined to do so.  But I have no doubt that to fall from Grace is very easy to do.