Creative Visualization–A Walk In the Woods (Reposted) It was too small before and the message was too important. Please, save the world!

morning scene, creative visualizationevening scene, creative visualization

LOOK at the two pictures above: A morning scene and an evening scene. Close your eyes; pretend it is a new day, a new world. By gazing at the serene water, majestic mountains, lush trees, and vegetation, it calms your mind and releases tension. If you truly experience this visualization, you may become aware of the grass growing beneath your feet; feel a fresh breeze lift and tickle your hair; smell the flowers, trees, and clean fresh air as you breathe in deep, cleansing, soul-nurturing breaths.
It’s paradise, isn’t it? You can imagine the soft greens of Spring, hear the lapping water, and feel the warmth of the sun. You realize there is life teeming all around you in the flowing water and foliage. Suddenly, you may hear a bird singing or the croak of a frog. The scent in the air is delicious.
Now imagine the sun rising over the mountains in the distance. The sky will go from deep midnight blue to just a hint of light on the horizon. As the glowing sun creeps slowly into view–pinks and lavenders, reds and corals, streaks of shimmering white light, pale creams that brighten to startling yellow–adorn the sky as it turns a light shade of azure blue with soft, rolling clouds that form a heavenly mist. The colors of the mountains and the stream come alive!
As sunlight falls on dancing leaves, the trunks will glisten with soft green moss, mirrored by the rocks in the river. Little waterfalls tumble from hills and boulders, and you realize there is an unlimited flow of energy that does not harm Mother Earth or pollute the surrounding natural habitat. As the morning comes fully to life, butterflies and bees add brilliant color to the hues of blooming wild flowers. Silent, clear raindrops may fall for a few minutes to wash the world clean and pristine. A vivid rainbow may arc across the sky in brilliant colors.
As the sun comes out again, you may lie on the grass and look up into the sky, seeing pictures and shapes in the clouds, always changing, rearranging, as the comfort of serenity enhances your creativity. The environment is alive with wonder, and the true wonder of it all? You are alive! You contemplate your humanity and your uniqueness with the wisdom of the ages. You marvel at the fact that there is no one else exactly like you on this planet or in the entire universe. You are singular, pure, destined to find your way upon the path of life, but you now comprehend that you must make time for silence and rejuvenation to rejoice in good health, true purpose, and calm relaxation. You are startled to find there is no stress in your life at this moment.
The longer you stay and watch the scene transform, the more you see. In your silence, animals are comfortable with your presence. A mother deer across the rapids is nursing her wobbly newborn fawn. A squirrel scurries down a tree limb and chatters at you as if in conversation. You look up and see a majestic soaring eagle skimming through the clouds. The flight is effortless, silent, and perfect. Earthworms make their homes beneath rocks and plants in the rich, dark soil. Fish kiss the surface of the lake, searching for insects and air bubbles. Every second is different than the one before; every breath brings new awareness.
Now with your mind’s eye you can move forward in time to the end of the day. A quiet lull has settled over the scene. Fish have drifted to the bottom of the river to rest; squirrels are tucked into their homes high up in the trees, hidden by leaves turning dark in the twilight; the music of the stream continues to swell and ebb in time with the cycles of the moon. The sky flames with bright color–deep burgundy reds, raspberry pinks, dark purples, splashes of orange and magenta. You see the luminous mountains turning dark, reflecting in the looking glass of the moonlit water.
Before you open your eyes, you hear the soft sounds of twilight–insects singing their nightly songs, the soft hush of wind, the ongoing whisper of the stream, awakening all your senses as well as your soul. The ideal environment of our world, however, is being destroyed every day. Parts of it are in ill health, but we can still replenish the earth with love and worthwhile hard work to strengthen your muscles and give your body renewed energy: Planting trees to stop the erosion of our hillsides and farmlands; nurturing a garden to enjoy fresh vegetables and recreate the balanced ecosystem of life and the atmosphere; cleaning up trash or damage caused by storms to restore furtile soil from the man-made filth, carnage, and garbage.

Start by recycling, using only biodegradable products. Only consume organic, healthy foods in moderation to treat your body as lovingly as you would the beauty of nature. Use your own common sense and sincere sensibilities to recreate this world back to an ideal natural environment. This is essential for the future of civilization and life.
A creative visualization such as this can have positive effects on your physical, mental, and spiritual health as your soul is filled with love for all life: Humankind, animals, fish, birds, plants, water, and sunlight. It may inspire you to take that walk in the woods. It will calm your mind, ease your tension, and relax the body. It is transformative and strengthening. If a creative visualization like this makes you take action to reclaim our ethereal planet, even the smallest, most simplistic task can grow into a chain reaction to heal the environment as you heal the soul. Suddenly, problems won’t seem so insurmountable; people won’t seem so worrisome; difficulties won’t be so troublesome; life won’t be so hectic; you’ll be able to find more solutions and resolutions.

Have you ever wondered how a Colonial America ghost (circa 1770’s) would describe the modern house cat? Excerpt from work-in-progress, “DELILAH, ASTRAL INVESTIGATOR” (YA to adult fiction)

The only other living, breathing being that could initially see me came into the good-mother’s modest abode some three days after Lady Delilah’s first glimpse of me. “She”—for it was definitely female—evidently had been rescued from the inadequate charge of Delilah’s school/hovel-mate (called a roomie?) named Judith or Judi, another absurd derivative of an honorable namesake. It seemed the care of a mere cat was too much trouble for Judi.
A cat? Just let it out? Are there no mice or rodents left in Boston in this day and age?
Regardless, t’is naught my duty to judge this black-and-white ball of fluff with long silky hair that most definitely can see, hear, and resent me!
Hissing, spitting, and thrashing her thick wooly tail—mayhaps, I had inadvertently stepped upon said dark bushy appendage when first she bounced out of a small crate of unusually lightweight skyblue-colored material—most assuredly something other than wood.
I thought she was a very small raccoon, but the colors were more reminiscent of a skunk, the pattern resembling a gentleman’s evening white tails.
She had a coal black mask around exotic emerald-gold eyes above a snow-white furry face with incredibly long white whiskers and elaborate eye lashes, a pink button nose, and high pointed ears, exactly half-black/half-white with the inner ear canals showing pale pink delicate skin amidst long fuzzy white hairs.
Her beauty, for a beauty she was despite her loathing of me, emanated in a full luxuriant royal-white ruff that nestled her tiny face and fell in long pristine waves down her entire breast. Her small body sat squarely atop short, fuzzy white legs, a splash of glossy black spilled across her back to the tip of that recalcitrant tail. Surprisingly, the massive silky hair that flowed from her underside to the floor was pure gleaming white.
She was a playful little mite, using her front paws with nary a single claw like tiny hands, throwing small items up in the air, catching them adroitly, and using her front feet to clean and arrange her long hair. It just seemed inaccurate to refer to her shining coat as the fur of other cats as it was more like spun silk threads or even human hair. The grooming process was lengthier than a regal lady adorning herself for a ball.
Her back feet, however, incongruously large and shaped like a rabbit’s had her flouncing and bouncing up and down Delilah’s sleeping area, on the floor, across the room…until she encountered me…than she would halt in startled animosity, drawing back and rearing up on those big clawed back feet like a grizzly bear. I expected her to roar! Sometimes she did growl low in her throat as she hissed and spat at me.
What in the world was this wee beastie!?
Besides the small meshed crate, which she never stayed in, she has her own kitty chamberpot, rectangular in shape, made from the same lightweight material as the crate, but in bright dazzling pink! Some bits of fine gravel fill this chamberpot…an odd system, to be sure, but the cat seems to enjoy scratching and digging through this substance. She seems terribly affronted if you watch her. A prissy little creature! I wondered why Lady Delilah didnae’ keep her in her cage?
Pardon me; I should dignify Delilah’s cat with her given name. She is called, Mollie. Delilah loves to talk to her by name in cooing tones, but when I dare to recite that nomenclature “Mollie” just stares at me with those huge almond-shaped eyes filled with hostility, looking away in disgust as if I was boring her.
Mollie sleeps pleasantly on the bed pallet with her mistress. Delilah’s greatest joy is watching this useless beast either stalk me or play with multi-colored hairbands—another new word for me—I would have referred to them as thongs that men in the colonies use, bits of rawhide to tie back our long tresses. This is so American, rather than the stodgy, smelly wigs of the British.
There’s also something called a rubber band that Mollie chases and flits from place to place, and finally, yes, there are mice. No, not a real mouse! These are made of cloth in vivid hues, some that rattle, some with bells, some with long tails and feathers to dangle in front of Queen Mollie. I can think of her in no other context rather than the highest of feminine royalty.
The name “Mollie” is known to me as an Irish wench. Delilah tells me, however, that this wee critter (less than one-half stone in weight; according to Delilah only six pounds? I think of pounds as currency) is Turkish in heritage and an Angora, but I cannae’ accept the lady’s jest for all know that the Angora is a goat!
Thus, a long, tedious tale of my new arch-enemy. This is how Queen Mollie became a member of our astral team.