Happy First of July Eve. Never mind the 4th; it is not my favorite holiday by a long shot. All I can say is that I eat too much and can’t wait for it to be over. Such is the life of the American Introvert, otherwise known as the seldom seen” Hide-Out-a-Cuss Odd Ducka-Cuss.” When we see people, we cuss!

Yes, we Scorpio natives are often loners. All of my planets are below the line on my astrology chart. My mother, God rest her soul, solemnly told me, with a pained look on her face, that I would probably have a difficult life. I can, with certainty, say that she was right. And yet I write humor on occasion. Usually wrong ones.

I am already learning that Facebook is not the end-all and be-all of my life. It is just the most addictive part of it. And I shall more than likely return sooner than I think. I have already left and returned more times than the Staten Island Ferry with its daily boatloads of people. I just happen to be ferrying boatloads of words. I am a wordsmith if nothing else. An introverted wordsmith who happens to be on the spiritual path. But enough with descriptors. I simply am.

Down to brass tacks. I write about my inner life almost exclusively. My outer life is way too boring for you to be at all interested in. Since I got a hug from Ammachi,the hugging saint, two days ago, I have been besieged with awful dreams. Methinks she stirs the pot so that you have to let go of all kinds of subconscious trauma. At least I hope so. I don’t need to hang onto feelings of abandonment, etc. Or keep being unable to find a phone or remember whose number I was dialing, as usually happens in my dreams.

I am rereading Daughter of Fire by Irina Tweedie, a massive diary about her awakening courtesy of her master, Bhai Sahib. Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee was a student of hers and now he has gone and been on Oprah’s “Super Soul Sunday.” He probably gets demerits for that, as his presence is way too magnificent for even a big-screen TV.

My teacher, Vernon Howard, would not have been asked to appear on Oprah. He was decidedly contrary and way too fond of upsetting apple carts. As he told me in a dream, “Don’t be so accommodating. Act a little tough!”

So in my writing I don’t spare the rod, either. Bigger Than The Sky went almost a month without selling a paperback on amazon. Gadzooks, people. Some of you need to order it if you want to learn about an extraordinary man who woke up only to find out that he never needed anything but a series of strokes to do the trick for him. I am not sure he was grateful for the strokes, but he loved life in spite of them. And I try to love life in spite of losing child and mate to cancer. Because of loss, I learned to write honestly. Without it, I might have been just another Pollyanna of the Keyboard and we have enough of those and to spare.

So come back or not. It’s up to you. I will be here, at least temporarily.