I Found Her

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I was going to title this blog ‘Camping With Rena Easton’ but, then started composing about what a great camper she was. Why? Why was she so great? The answer is…..I found her, in a doorway, near the Venice Pier, at 2:30 A.M. For the next fifty days she went everywhere I go, slept where I slept, and ate what I ate. We lay down on floors, in a backyard, in a tent. We both had nowhere to stay. We were rarely apart. She would not let me in the water with her. I still wonder why.

When she glided out of that doorway, I suppressed a gasp. She took my breath away. It was impossible to look at her. I had to look away to gain my composure. Now she asks;

“Can I walk with you?”

To this day, this is the most profound question ever sent my way. I suppress the urge to say “What?” in order to stall or time. Feeling weak in the knees, I look up at her. She is tall, a inch shorter than me, but, she has me completely dominated. I take her in, and my heart skips several beats. Rena is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen walking the earth. Her eyes are locked on me, boring into my being, waiting for my answer.

“You’re half cat, half woman. Aren’t you?”

“Yes! But, what does that have to do with my question?’

Jon Presco

Copyright 2017

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We Will Soar At Black Point

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Those with Free Spirits, who know how to be released, and soar, come to Black Point and Fort Mason. Here we will make a stand for Arts and Culture. Here the Nation of California will be born. The epicenter is here. We will put on a lightshow. They will see our light in the sky, and in the bay, playing with whales and dolphins. They will marvel.

Jessie Benton Fremont held a salon at Black Point. Mark Twain was a frequent guest. Rena gave me permission to install her in ‘The Muse Hall of Fame’. If not for the painting I did of Rena, Christine would never have married Garth Benton. I am the official Benton Historian. There is not other.

I just read Carrie Fisher predicted her own death, as did Mark Twain, and, allegedly my sister. Carrie was hired to do a screenplay about Christine. Debbie died the next day.

Join us!

Jon ‘Master of the Rose’

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Blunt said, Fisher also had a scary premonition.

“She put a cardboard cutout of herself as Leia outside my room, with her date of birth and date of death on her forehead,” he told the Times. “I’m trying to remember what the date was, because it was around now — and I remember thinking it was too soon.”

JOELY: I’ve been having an out-of-body experience. The world lost Carrie and Debbie, of course, but– and– and Princess Leia and we lost our hero. We lost– our mirror.”

http://abc7chicago.com/entertainment/carrie-fishers-sisters-open-up-about-her-final-moments/1683949/

https://urbanlifesigns.blogspot.com/2013/01/forgotten-hills-fort-masons-black-point.html

http://www.militarymuseum.org/BlackPointBty.html

Our members are to hear much about this Cathedral of the Soul in the near future, and at present I wish merely to announce its name and present to you a brief picture of what it is. This cathedral is that great holy of holies and Cosmic sanctum maintained by the beams of thought waves of thousands of our most advanced members, who have been prepared and trained to direct these beams of thought at certain periods of the day and the week toward one central point, and there becomes a manifest power, a creative force, a health giving and peace giving nucleus far removed from the material trials and problems, limitations and destructive elements of the earth plane.

While men have been busy planning, building, and directing great spires and towers of earthly cathedrals that would reach high into the heavens and become the material abiding place for those in devotion and meditation, we have been creating this cathedral of prayer and illumination, Cosmic joy, and peace high above every material plane and ascent into the Cosmic itself.”

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Mark Twain

Twain’s landing place was San Francisco. As Ben Tarnoff explains in his deftly written, wholly absorbing “The Bohemians: Mark Twain and the San Francisco Writers Who Reinvented American Literature,” the city was an ideal crucible for an ambitious young writer on the make. It prospered during the Civil War and had a literate population that craved a new kind of writing. Important patrons such as Jessie Benton Fremont and Thomas Starr King nurtured the nascent talents of Charles Warren Stoddard, Ina Coolbrith, and most prominently Harte, a disciplined dandy and a brilliant mentor and editor who founded The Californian, a literary paper where Stoddard published his first poem and Twain refined his style in the fall of 1864.

http://galleryoftherepublic.com/index.php?id_product=29&controller=product

http://www.militarymuseum.org/BlackPointBty.html

Jesse Benton Fremont

by Susan Saperstein

She is thought to be the real author behind the successful writings of John C. Fremont (general, senator, presidential candidate, and the Pathfinder of the West) describing his explorations. Jesse Benton Fremont (1824– 1902), Fremont’s wife, was also the daughter of Missouri Senator Thomas Hart Benton, a leading advocate of Manifest Destiny, a political movement pushing expansion to the West. And in her event-filled life, some of her happiest times were at her house in San Francisco’s Black Point area, now known as Fort Mason.

The Fremonts lived there between 1860 and 1861. The prop- erty included three sides of the point, and Jesse described it “like being on the bow of a ship.” They had a clear view of the Golden Gate, so named by John when he first viewed it in 1846. Alcatraz was so close that Jesse is said to have called the lighthouse on the island her nightlight.

The Spanish called the area Point San Jose and built a battery in 1797. However, cold winds and fog soon made the cannons useless. By the time the Mexicans were ruling in the 1820s, the area was known as Black Point for the dark vegetation on the land.

Their house was one of six on the point. Jesse remodeled the house and added roses, fuchsias, and walkways on the 13 acres. Their home became a salon for San Francisco intellectuals. Thomas Starr King, the newly appointed minister of the Unitarian church, was a fixture for dinner and tea. Young Bret Harte, whose writing Jesse admired, became a Sunday dinner regular, as did photographer Carleton Watkins. She invited literary celebrities when they came to townó including Herman Melville, who was trying to get over the failure of Moby Dick. Conversations in her salon led to early conservation efforts when Jesse and a group including Watkins, Starr King, Fredrick Law Olmsted, and Israel Ward Raymond lobbied Congress and President Lincoln to preserve Yosemite and Mariposa Big Trees. Jesse’s husband, however, often away on business ventures, was not a regular at her gatherings.

Jessie Benton Fremont at Blackpoint

Historical Essay

by Jo Medrano

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Mrs. General Fremont on porch at Black Point, 1863.

Photo: San Francisco History Center, SF Public Library

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Mrs. General Fremont on her porch at Black Point, c. 1863.

Photo: Jesse Brown Cook collection, online archive of California

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Black Point (now Fort Mason), 1870. Spring Valley Water Co. brought water through the flume that skirts the cliffs. Small farms run down to the shore. Alcatraz is in the distance.

Photo: Private Collection, San Francisco, CA

John C. Fremont bought a farm for his wife Jessie on the north edge of San Francisco, on a small rocky peninsula then known as Blackpoint, about 1860. At the time of purchase, they were living in Bear Valley in the Sierras. In Bear Valley Jessie Fremont developed physical problems due to the intense heat. She wrote that a buried egg would cook in just a few minutes. One account states that it was 106 degrees at sunset–not an uncommon temperature that year. So we can probably imagine her delight when John C. came back from a business trip to San Francisco in 1861, and told her they were moving to the city. Blackpoint was a self-sustaining farm, and Jessie’s favorite home. She had relatives living with her, as well as visits from other relatives in addition to local and national celebrities.

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Spring Valley Water Company flume is visible at right; Small farms on the hill above c. 1870

Photo: Private Collection, San Francisco, CA

As a matter of fact, a influential San Franciscan, I.W. Raymond, visited the Fremonts in Bear Valley and traveled with them to see the place that wasn’t yet named Yosemite. He was a key person in the 1864 action of President Lincoln which made Yosemite a protected place.

Black Point is described in “Jesse Fremont: A woman who made history” as “a small headland jutting out into the channel entrance of the harbor, in fact directly opposite the Golden Gate, affording an unbroken view westward to the Pacific and eastward toward the mountains of Contra Costa.” Jessie said she “loved this sea home so much that I had joy even in the tolling of the fogbell”. It was here she planned and built her “sunset beach.”

The federal government took over Black Point soon after Jessie and John Fremont went back east to be involved in the civil war. John fought for compensation for the expropriated house and land until the day he died.

When Thomas Starr King first walked to the pulpit of the San Francisco Unitarian Church in 1860, the eyes of the congregation turned to this small, frail man. Many asked, “Could this youthful person with his beardless, boyish face be the celebrated preacher from Boston?”

King laughed. “Though I weigh only 120 pounds,” he said, “when I’m mad, I weigh a ton.”

That fiery passion would be King’s stock in trade during his years in California, from 1860 to 1864. Abraham Lincoln said he believed the Rev. Thomas Starr King was the person most responsible for keeping California in the Union during the early days of the Civil War.

King’s reputation as a noted orator had led the San Francisco congregation to ask him to come west, with little hope he would agree. During his 11 years as minister of Boston’s Hollis Street Unitarian Church, King increased the congregation to five times its original size and pulled the church out of bankruptcy. Ralph Waldo Emerson, noted essayist and poet, said after hearing one of King’s sermons, “That is preaching!” Churches in Chicago and Brooklyn sought King as their minister, but this popular Boston pastor rejected them. San Francisco, he decided, offered the greatest challenge.

California in Crisis

California was headed into a crisis. At hand was a showdown between the free states of the Union and the slave states. California’s governor and most members of the state legislature were sympathetic to the Confederacy. The only effective voice against slavery, Sen. David C. Broderick, had been killed in a duel the year before.

The San Francisco congregation’s initial disappointment about King’s slender, boyish appearance soon gave way to wonder, then delight at his rich, golden voice. Not only did King establish his reputation as an orator and preacher that first Sunday in San Francisco, but the news soon spread statewide, attracting worshipers from Stockton and Sacramento.

Less than a month after King arrived in California, the Republican National Convention met in Chicago and nominated Abraham Lincoln as its presidential candidate. In the following election, Lincoln carried California by only 711 votes.

Southern states soon abandoned the Union. The crucial question on the minds of many Americans was: Would California join them and deliver the state’s immense natural resources into the hands of Confederate President Jefferson Davis? Support for secession was strong in southern California, where the Confederate flag had flown over Los Angeles’s main plaza on the Fourth of July.

At that time the U.S. Congress was so convinced of a secessionist plot that it required Easterners to secure passports for travel to California. Justifying Congress’ fears was a secret paramilitary California secessionist organization of about 16,000 members, called the Knights of the Golden Circle.

On George Washington’s birthday in 1861, King fired an opening salvo in support of his country. He spoke for two hours to over a thousand people about how they should remember Washington by preserving the Union.

Pledging California

“I pitched into Secession, Concession and (John C.) Calhoun (former U.S. vice president), right and left, and made the Southerners applaud,” King recalled. “I pledged California to a Northern Republic and to a flag that should have no treacherous threads of cotton in its warp, and the audience came down in thunder. At the close it was announced that I would repeat it the next night, and they gave me three rounds of cheers.”

Speaking up and down the state, King visited rugged mining camps and said he never knew the exhilaration of public oratory until he faced a front row of men armed with Bowie knives and revolvers. His friend, Edward Everett Hale, who made a similar contribution to saving the Union through his moving story, “The Man Without a Country,” said, “Starr King was an orator no one could silence and no one could answer.”

King covered his pulpit with an American flag and ended all his sermons with “God bless the president of the United States and all who serve with him the cause of a common country.” At one mass rally in San Francisco, 40,000 turned out to hear him speak. A group of Americans living in Victoria, B.C., sent him $1,000 for his work to preserve the Union. King was beginning to turn the tide.

In 1861, he threw himself into the gubernatorial campaign of his parishioner, Leland Stanford. King and author Bret Harte often accompanied Stanford on speaking tours. Stanford won an overwhelming victory and King sighed with relief.

“What a privilege it is to be an American!” he said. “What a year to live in! Worth all other times ever known in our history or any other!”

A New Front

The battle to keep California in the Union won, King now turned to the needs of its soldiers. The Union Army lacked provisions and medical personnel. Much of its food was rotting because of spoiled goods sold to the Army by war profiteers. Soldiers lacked sheets and blankets, and disease took a greater toll than Confederate bullets.

In response, the Rev. H.W. Bellows of New York organized the U.S. Sanitary Commission, a forerunner of the American Red Cross. Starr King immediately pitched in to help. Out of $4.8 million the commission raised throughout the U.S., King raised $1.25 million in California. About $200,000 came from San Francisco, a figure all the more impressive because of a series of natural disasters in the state, including a massive flood that turned the Sacramento-San Joaquín Valley into a vast lake and a drought that wiped out the wheat crop.

Now King found himself raising funds for flood and drought relief. He also carved out time to work for the rights of San Francisco’s African Americans and Chinese.

“We know,” said Edward Everett Hale of King, “that here is a heart as large as the world, so that you can not make it understand that it should hold back from any service to be rendered to any human being.”

Because of King’s success in patriotic and charitable causes, powerful friends encouraged him to run for the U.S. Senate. But he refused, saying he feared it would lead to political compromise and impair his ability to speak forthrightly. “I would rather,” he said, “swim to Australia.”

Relaxation and joy came from exploring California’s wilderness. He was among the first 100 Euro-Americans to visit Lake Tahoe. To him, the blue lake and green pines seemed in harmony with the deepest religion of the Bible.

Yosemite Valley and its giant trees gave him special delight. Back in New England he enjoyed exploring the White Hills of New Hampshire and wrote a book about them, “The White Hills—Their Legend, Landscape and Poetry.”

On entering California’s great valley, he said, “The Ninth Symphony (by Beethoven) is the Yosemite of music! Great is granite and the Yosemite is its prophet!” He climbed above the falls, attracted by a dome of granite towering 13,600 feet over the valley. Today it bears his name, Mt. Starr King.

San Francisco Church

Despite his many commitments in California, King always put his church first. When he arrived in San Francisco in 1860, the congregation struggled with a $30,000 debt. Within the first year, King managed to raise the funds to pay it off. Now he turned his attention to an expanding congregation in a too-small church. In October 1862, he set an $80,000 fundraising goal. By December of that year, the cornerstone of a new church was laid. In January 1864, King and his congregation celebrated the completion of the new building at 133 Geary street, adjacent to present-day Union Square. (The congregation eventually relocated its church again in 1889 to the corner of Franklin and Starr King streets in San Francisco, where the First Unitarian Universalist Society church stands today.)

His congregation now prosperous, the Union Army driving to victory and the Sanitary Commission on solid footing, King decided to take a much-needed sabbatical. He planned to rest, travel and write a book about the Sierras.

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Dancing In The Catherdral of Souls

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When I heard from a schoolmate Rena was a dancer living in the Isle of Wight, there appeared  a rainbow that I traversed to where she was. In the coming months I saw us being married in the Cathedral of the Souls, to Enya’s song. I would enter, turn, and hold out my hand, and she entered. This became a meditation. I was told by a seer that I go to this cathedral every night where I have a reserved seat at a great oval table. Behind me is a hooded figure. This is saying, I am the Grandmaster. I was also told people come into my being, and, take!

When people learn I am a hippie, a artist, a poet, a spiritualist, they say to themselves;

“That’s what I am. I took LSD, too. I should have these things. I deserve fame and fortune, and not Jon. Jon is a garbage can for my bad experiences. He is a taker and parasite. How did he end up with the beautiful woman – meant for me!”

To read this, filled me with joy! Here is the California Kid, meeting his Nebraska Cowgirl. She has looked at this blog. She danced for the Royal Ballet!

“I see you are quite left-leaning. Please do not, in your urban world, be too hard on cattle producers, or, red-neck women. We are human too.”

Only if you agree to not be so hard on yourself! I have always feared the beauty of the Black Swan, the protectors of Cattle Ranchers everywhere!

I was a Rosicrucian at sixteen, without being aware I was such. My grandmother, Mary Magdalene Rosamond, was befriended by them. Anyhow, I do not have anymore time to argue with people who get near me. At times, I will speak directly to you from the Cathedral. I will give you what you need. I will give you rest in the Sanctuary.

Atop our mountain we went to see the sunset on the side of grassy hill. I would make a seat for Rena, and she would get in. We traveled like this until the Milky Way appear. We never took drugs. What I am offering to those, who can take it, is not bought at Target, or on Amazon. It is not a AP or an attainment. The real wolves are at the door. We are going where they can not go. Hold on!

Jon Presco

“The Cathedral of the Soul shall be your Cathedral and mine, and the dwelling place of the great masters of the past and future.”

 

THE CATHEDRAL OF THE SOUL

By The Imperator
[H. Spencer Lewis]
[From The Rosicrucian Digest January 1930]

IT SEEMS fitting that in the issue of this magazine for the beginning of the year 1930 and at practically the twenty-first year of our Rosicrucian activities in America under the present cycle, I should have the opportunity to announce the existence of a new and beautiful star in the Cosmic, which will hereafter be known as the Cathedral of the Soul.

Fourteen years ago, the first foundation stones of this invisible immaterial yet not intangible cathedral were laid by me with due ceremony and reverential consideration for the part I might be taking in a work that seemed to be Cosmically directed and divinely decreed. Having prayerfully received and considered the instructions for this great work for seven years, it was my joy to bring the inspiration into some form of earthly manifestation and thus fourteen years ago, the plan that was decreed seven years previously became a living Cosmic reality.

Our members are to hear much about this Cathedral of the Soul in the near future, and at present I wish merely to announce its name and present to you a brief picture of what it is. This cathedral is that great holy of holies and Cosmic sanctum maintained by the beams of thought waves of thousands of our most advanced members, who have been prepared and trained to direct these beams of thought at certain periods of the day and the week toward one central point, and there becomes a manifest power, a creative force, a health giving and peace giving nucleus far removed from the material trials and problems, limitations and destructive elements of the earth plane.

While men have been busy planning, building, and directing great spires and towers of earthly cathedrals that would reach high into the heavens and become the material abiding place for those in devotion and meditation, we have been creating this cathedral of prayer and illumination, Cosmic joy, and peace high above every material plane and ascent into the Cosmic itself.

In this cathedral there will be the music of the spheres and the chimes of Cosmic rhythm, there will come from its spire the call to worship at various hours of the day and week throughout the years to come, and our prepared and advanced members will reach this cathedral with their thoughts and their soul consciousness and dwell therein and carry on the great work of bidding others welcome, touching them with the hand of fellowship and the heart of sympathetic understanding. From its high altar will go forth the illuminating words of Cosmic inspiration and divine illumination. Into this great cathedral we will call those who are seeking for the first portal of the Cosmic Assembly. Hereafter, it will be our ambition and our pleasure to direct the sincere and the devout, the worthy and the needy to this great cathedral. The story of what it is and what it means will be issued in a beautiful booklet to aid those who are starting on the path with their gaze turning upward, away from the desire for knowledge of a material nature, and seeking the more glorious life giving, soul inspiring illumination of the Cosmic hosts.

The Cathedral of the Soul shall be your Cathedral and mine, and the dwelling place of the great masters of the past and future.

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Creation Dawn

Rosamond Press

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My semi-autobiographical novel ‘The Gideon Computer’ begins at the Golden West Saloon in downtown Oakland where Bill gets drunk and passes out. He comes to standing mid-span on the Golden Gate bridge looking at the setting sun. There is a ceremony about dropping the bomb on Hiroshima. This novel is about the Guilt Code we all carry. The premise of this story stems from the old hippie saying;

“Don’t lay your guilt-trip on me!”

Today, the President of the United States put a wreath on a small pyramid at the Hiroshima monument.  A week ago I anointed a veiled women my Spirit Guide and Last Muse from the Other Side. I thought I had a month before she brought me to the core of my story. We have arrived. Her name is Gertrude Farquharson Boyle-Kanno, a renowned sculptress who married  Takeshi Kanno, a famous poet who performed his ‘Creation Dawn’…

View original post 9,054 more words

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Rena’s Cosmic Letter

The sky during the summer is usually clear, so when I saw few high clouds drifting by in the weather satellite photo, I took the opportunity to go up to Mt. Tamalpais above the fog. So did a couple of other photographers on the hill to the right. They seemed so small compared to the grand scene before them, but they also became a perfect focal point for this scene. Even though they were far away, I could still hear them discussing where to stand and point the camera! I could also hear the waves crashing more than 2,000 feet below in the fog. You can see the two photographers in the 1280x1024 wallpaper file, and in the full sized tiff file, you can tell what they are wearing!

The sky during the summer is usually clear, so when I saw few high clouds drifting by in the weather satellite photo, I took the opportunity to go up to Mt. Tamalpais above the fog. So did a couple of other photographers on the hill to the right. They seemed so small compared to the grand scene before them, but they also became a perfect focal point for this scene. Even though they were far away, I could still hear them discussing where to stand and point the camera! I could also hear the waves crashing more than 2,000 feet below in the fog. You can see the two photographers in the 1280×1024 wallpaper file, and in the full sized tiff file, you can tell what they are wearing!

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Rena and I shared out of body experiences in our tent atop our mountain. We left our bodies because of the extreme abuse we suffered as children. We found each other over a long distance. I looked in the ocean and asked where she was. A minute later, she came out of a dark doorway. She came to me last night, while I was awake, and in my dream. When I called her at her grandmother’s in Nebraska in 1971, she said she was just thinking of me.

“I love you more from afar, than near!”

She recites poetry all day while at work. She says she has committed a million poems to memory. This is dissociation. This takes Rena of reality, and keeps her grounded. She is incredibly intelligent. She got all As, and was skipped a grade. Rena needs to be examined and helped by a top rate psychologist. She tore up my letter because I MADE HER AWARE she was leaving her body – and traveling! This is why she avoids people. I saw she had a façade by a waterfall, and talked to that extremely beautiful being, who said;

“Nobodies talked to me before!”

“What do you mean? You’ve conversed with others, right?”

“I mean, no one has really talked to me. You are the first.”

I also made her aware – she really loves me, and never stopped loving me, because she never left me. She didn’t have to. She captured the essence of me, like a long poem. I made her aware of this, and she was afraid she would have to give me back. She saw that we had been sharing the same soul. We were twins. We are soul mates. Christine saw this. This is why she took up art after seeing the large canvas of Rena standing atop our mountain watching the sunset. She wanted to go with!

Trump is a sexual and psychic abuser who uses fear to get people to submit to him. He lies in order to get his victims to doubt reality, and, be dependent on him, not his view of reality, but HIM. I am going to create a Soul Sanctuary, a refuge for us cosmic travelers.

Rena danced with the Royal Ballet. The movie ‘The Black Swan’ is a good example of dissociation. She is all about – perfection! She never misses a step. I asked her for a dance. I have to laugh! She tore my letter into tiny little pieces, put them in a paper sack, and threw them on the Sheriff’s desk.

“I want this man arrested – thrown off my stage!”

She then produces my letter she has rewritten in her hand, that she committed to memory. What kind of creature is this? I asked the Deputy Sheriff………if he was spooked. I asked him if she was still beautiful.

“She danced with the Royal Ballet.”

Jon Presco

Copyright 2017

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dissociation_(psychology)

https://www.myptsd.com/c/threads/dissociation-and-out-of-body-experiences-are-they-the-same.31227/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Out-of-body_experience

Rena Easton’s Christmas Letter

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Two years ago before I recieved a letter from Rena, I learned she was a widow living on the Isle of Wight. I called to her in a blog, with this song.

Rena begins her letter, thus;

“Here I am!”

She is responding to another post. She had not read this one posted on July 26 2012

https://rosamondpress.com/2012/07/26/jesus-and-orpheus-in-hades/

I thought she was dead. I grieved. Her ghost came to console me, be by my side. As fate would have it Rena’s daughter died in a car accident when she was twenty..

ttp://rosamondpress.com/2013/07/21/irene-rena-victoria-easton/

 Former Bozeman High School state debate champion Kathleen Anne
“Katie” Easton, passed away as a result of an automobile accident early
Sunday, Jan. 10, 1999.  She was born April 20, 1979, to Irene (Rena) and
Admiral Sir Ian Easton, K.C.B. D.S.C. on the Isle of Wight, England.

I had compared our relationship to Orpheus and Eurydice. This time, I rise from Hades to be with my beautiful and beloved muse once again. I called to her, while looking down at the waves. She emerged from a darkened door in te dead of night, and asked;

“Can I walk with you?”

“A year ago the spirit of Rena Christiansen came to live with me. She is still here. She married a Commodore and lived on the Isle of Weight. Her husband died, leaving her with two children. Her grief at being left behind was overwhelming. She had no ties with her natal family, and may not have been accepted by her husband’s family. I believe Rena died in an automobile accident in a foreign land, and her husband’s upper class family took her children into their closed circle. When I began my portrait of Rena – she winged home. She is my Eurydice. She is Andromeda I was her Hero who rescued her by the sea. I took her to the mountain of the ‘Sleeping Maiden’ and showed her heaven, we above the blanket of fog that came in my the sea.”

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https://rosamondpress.com/2012/07/26/the-dead-communicating-with-the-living/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orpheus_and_Eurydice

Apollo gave his son Orpheus a lyre and taught him how to play. This Orpheus did to such perfection that even Apollo was surprised. It is said that nothing could resist his music and melody, neither enemies nor beasts. Even trees and rocks were entranced with his music.

Orpheus fell in love with Eurydice, a woman of unique beauty; whom he married and lived happily with for a short time. However, when Hymen was called to bless the marriage, he predicted that their perfection was not meant to last.

A short time after this ominous prophecy, Eurydice was wandering in the forest with the Nymphs, when Aristaeus, a shepherd, saw her and was beguiled by her beauty. He made advances towards her and began to chase her when she attempted to flee. As Eurydice sprinted through the forest, she managed to escape him, but was tragically bitten by a snake and died instantly.

Orpheus sang his grief with his lyre and managed to move everything living or not in the world; both humans and gods were deeply touched by his sorrow and grief.

Apollo then advised his son to descend to Hades and see his wife. Any other mortal would have died, but Orpheus, protected by the gods, went to Hades and arrived at the infamous Stygian realm, passing by ghosts and souls of people unknown. He also managed to charm Cerberus, the monster known to have three heads. Orpheus presented himself in front of the god of the Underworld Hades (Pluto) and his wife Persephone.

Orpheus played his lyre, melting even Hades’ cold heart. Hades told Orpheus that he could take Eurydice with him but under one condition; Eurydice would follow him while walking out to the light from the caves of the Underworld, but he should not look at her before coming out to the light because he would lose her forever. If Orpheus was patient enough he would have Eurydice as a normal woman again by his side.

Orpheus was delighted; he thanked the gods and left to ascend to the world. He was trying to hear Eurydice’s steps, but he could not hear anything and he started believing that the gods had fooled him. Of course Eurydice was behind him, but as a shadow, waiting to come to light to become a full woman again. Only a few feet away from the exit, Orpheus lost his faith and turned to see; Eurydice was behind him, but her shadow was whisked back among the dead. Eurydice was gone forever.

Orpheus tried to return to the Underworld but a man cannot enter the realm of Hades twice while alive. According to various versions of the myth, Orpheus started playing a mourning song with his lyre, calling for death so that he could be united with Eurydice forever. Orpheus is ultimately killed either by beasts tearing him apart, or by the Maenads, in a frenzied mood. According to another version, Zeus decided to strike him with lightning knowing Orpheus would reveal the secrets of the Underworld to humans.

In any case, Orpheus died but the Muses decided to save his head and keep it among the living people to sing for ever, enchanting everyone with the lovely melodies and tones.

As for the Christmas card that came with Rena’s letter, I wonder if it was the source of alarm. A tiny piece of glitter had come off of it, and found its way to page one. For me, this speck became a star, that we could follow like Hanzel and Gretal, it taking us out of the darkness children of alcoholics find themselves in. Did Rena believe I was suggesting we live happily ever after together, and thus feel stalked? What I was suggesting was bringing our stories together so that we can be a shining star of hope to others. This was how I saw my autobiography ending.

Before you read what’s coming next, there is an account of me having a conversation with Jesus. My major copyright is a special one that protects all the writing of ministers. I am the head of my Nazarite Church. Let us not go bothering the sheriff with any more – alleged fear!

In 1989, I read the Bible for the first time. At 4:00 in the morning, I put Jesus to the test. I was not a believer. I closed my eyes and asked him to come into the darkness of family incest, and help us. And, there he was, radiating slivers of gold light. He said this to me;

“Be not afraid. I and my father in heaven are already working with these matters. Spiritual Courage, will be met with Spiritual Courage.”

“I saw the star making its way from your tree, to the snow in your poem, and then to me. It was so full of life. It was the promise of a completely happy life that has eluded you and I since we can remember.

I too was held prisoner. Both my parents were violent and insane alcoholics that played evil games with their four children till the day they day – and after.”

In her letter, Rena told me she deals with fear almost every hour of the day. That tiny little speck of glitter, was the fulfillment of a promise.

Jon Gregory Presco

President: Royal Rosamond Press

Copyright 2014

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Dear Rena

About ten this evening I put on my slippers and went to get my mail. I pulled a bundle out and noticed your letter nestled in a packet. On the walk back to my apartment I took a peek and noticed the beautiful handwriting, and the name “Rosemond”. There was this energy pouring from the envelope and flowing up my arm. When I opened it and saw the name “Bozeman” I began to cry. For several minutes I sobbed, let go tears of great relief as if you were my child who had been kidnapped, or lost, for all these years. And, now…..you are found.

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My Love Letter to Rena

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Here is my love letter to Rena. It ends thus;

“And as for our dance – may I take your hand and lead you to the floor?

Enclosed is my story ‘The Birth of Venus’ that I wrote in one day in 1989. I then spliced Enya’s music into it, the next day. Since then I have approached a couple of dancers about making this story come alive on stage. None cared to listen. When I read Kathleen loved Celtic music, I wondered if Enya was her favorite. Of course I wonder about the child we never made. But, she is born in this story. She is reborn with the vision of a sculptor, to dance once more, she a fair maiden, always with a song in her heart.

Play this while lying on the floor with a quilt and a candle – and no interruptions.”

I contacted Rena three years ago. We had not spoken since 1971. I asked her to send me a photograph of her profile. She sent me a long letter, and I replied. We have not seen each other, nor do I know where she lives. We are Heirs to the Benton Artistic and Historic legacy. Christine Rosamond Benton took up art in 1972 after seeing my portrait of Rena, whom she met in 1970.

https://rosamondpress.com/2013/07/27/the-birth-of-venus-5/

Here is a warm-up video. Note Steve Bannon lurking in the background.

Jon Presco

My Letter To Rena

cabin33I just got off the phone with Deputy Sheriff Dan Mayland. I called him to see if a professional arbitrator could contact Rena, so we could resolve the misunderstandings between us. Dan told me this would be third-party contact, and not permitted.

I asked Dan when the charge of Stalking was made against me. He said it was around Jan. 24. I asked Dan if he read Rena’s letter on my blog. He said no, but, he had read a copy of Rena’s letter to me. What?

Dan then told me the strangest thing I ever herd. Rena copied her letter to me, from memory, and, I think he told me she copied my letter to her, because, she tore that up in anger after she showed it to someone who read it, and, concluded I was a very dangerous person. What? This has got to be making literary history! I mean, this is the final contact between the artist and his muse! This has a Japanese feel to it.

The way Dan told it, Rena was not quite sure if she was in grave danger, and thus this un-named person offered their interpretation. Did Rena trudge though five fee of snow to get to the other loner on yonder hill?

Let us assume this person is a woman who has been abused, and, she may be a Christian. It can not be a dude, because he is not interested in the slightest of reading a letter from another dude. This is not guy entertainment. If she is a Christian, this would explain the destruction of my letter, because – it is of Satan? Can you imagine owning a photographic memory that doesn’t forget anything – including your abuse? It is as fresh and freshly fallen snow. Why, let it go?

I told Dan Rena expresses being afraid several times in her letter. The question is, if I wanted to get next to her as a Stalker, why would I say anything alarming? I told Dan Rena was responding to my blog in her letter. I said there were things on my blog that might alarm Rena. Dan said Rena had no problem with my bog. How about the third party who got to read my private correspondence? I am the one whose privacy is being invaded. I am the one who is being harassed and intimidated by – paranoids! Here are exerts from Rena’s letter;

“I enjoy being peaceful instead of afraid. I have felt way too much fear.”

“I actually have a few friends. That is not easy, as I tend to isolate myself.”

“I feel apprehensive about wolves rather than rapists.”

Afraid of wolves? Doesn’t Rena’s husband own a gun?

Children who are severely abused have a problem with fear and trust all their lives. After fearing her normal fear, she goes to her friend to get her opinion on whether she should trust me. This friend reads my letter and makes a mental note of the things I say that might indicate I am not to be trusted – and my intentions are to get next to Rena and hurt her. This friend thinks she is helping Rena, but, they are tweeking on fear. They get spooked and destroy my letter. Then, they reconstruct it, along with Rena’s letter to me, and take it to the sheriff. How many times has Dan dealt with this kind of stuff in Meth Boon State?

How long did it take Rena to rewrite both letters? You’ve seen her precise handwriting. Did they work on it through the night, they desperately trying to recall my every word, and get it right? Do they need this as evidence in order to file a stalking charge? Why not go on the internet and look for evidence there I am the most deceptive and cunning Stalker of Women of all time. Why didn’t this Big Bad Wolf write a simple letter if I wanted to get in the front door and rape and murder? The answer is, if they show Dan my blog, then he’ll say;

“Riddle solved! It’s another crazy-ass blogger! These dudes can’t tear themselves away from their computer long enough to kill the ants in the kitchen.”

I talked to my friend Chris and Marylyn about the charge Rena filed. Both are abused women and were very sad to hear this.

Chris and I wondered why Rena spent hours writing her letter, on Christmas Day. She is not a work reciting poems. Why isn’t she cooking a X-Mas meal for her husband? Does he have friends, if so, why are they not at his friend’s house? How about family? Rena has not family. She says she has a few friends, but, they are with their family. Rena is all alone.

In Rena’s letter she agrees to be my Muse, but, says she can not be my Muse in residence. Here is the first sentence that got the attention of the Dynamic Witch Hunters From Outer space;

“I began a psychic search for you, to feel where you were. What had become of you?”

If you are a Christian the words “psychic search” or of Satan. The Two Tweekers of Fear, recognize who is looking for Rena and employing her old boyfriend. My letter is heading for the flames as these women work up a froth and a sweat.

After it is burned, they realize this was not enough to foil Satan, so, eight hours is burned up recalling Satan’s letter so the sheriff can be summoned, because, Rena does not have a husband! She lives in that trailer by herself. This is why she feels afraid. She says her husband is very ill, but, if it is judged I am safe, Rena might consider living with me, after they bury the piece of fiction they created. My neighbor takes her father’s big shoes with her when she camps by herself and puts them outside her tent.

Dan reassured me Rena has no problem with me writing about her on my blog. Of course, THEY are tracking me, studying my every move, scrutinizing everything I say. Then, out come the kit.

I asked Dan how the weather was, being another Artic Vortex is on the way. He said it is snowing and is about 30 degrees below zero. Yep, it’s going to be a long boring winter, where you only got your fear to keep you company.

I do hope Rena has a computer in her trailer. How about a T.V.? How about as the wind howl outside creating snowdrifts, there is Rena wrapped in blanket, reciting poem No. 12,678 that she had memorized.

“I fear you better afar, than near!”

Yep, I am the winter thriller! And, I am reminded of ‘The House of Flying Daggers’ and the Echo Dance. The actress Ziyi Zhang is the only woman on earth who comes close to Rena’s energy. They are both dancers. I was the happiest man in the world when I was certain I would see Rena dance. When I learned she recites poems while she works, then here is a Haiku Poem for every bean tossed.
Here is the pure beauty of genius, captured, and wasted. Somone had to do it. I may be so unlucky I knew her.

A witch poisoned her mind against me, and against the world. Is that not how the story goes? So, we sit upon out lonely hill, in the snow. We stare into the flame of the candle. And we go, where only a very few have gone, as we feel the utter desolation of our Supreme Loneliness. For we erred so long ago. We were the one, for the other. We understand destiny more than any two souls.

The people are gone. The city is gone. We can feel each other in our Buddhist state. Shall we drop our veils of illusion, upon the summer’s grass, beneath the snow?

I dedicate this song to….The Artic Freeze!

Greg

Dear Rena

About ten this evening I put on my slippers and went to get my mail. I pulled a bundle out and noticed your letter nestled in a packet. On the walk back to my apartment I took a peek and noticed the beautiful handwriting, and the name “Rosemond”. There was this energy pouring from the envelope and flowing up my arm. When I opened it and saw the name “Bozeman” I began to cry. For several minutes I sobbed, let go tears of great relief as if you were my child who had been kidnapped, or lost, for all these years. And, now…..you are found.

In the history of letter writing, and receiving, I don’t think anyone was ever so moved. Then, I opened the envelope and read; “Here I am”.

If these were the only words this letter contained, then I had way more then enough to read for the rest of my days. My cup runneth over.

Before I discuss the content, I found something when I read your letter the second time. In the white-out on page one there was the faintest speck of green glitter. It sparkled at me like a distant star. It was the essence of you to go with “Here I am!” It went with the date the letter was written – Christmas Eve. I saw the star making its way from your tree, to the snow in your poem, and then to me. It was so full of life. It was the promise of a completely happy life that has eluded you and I since we can remember.

I too was held prisoner. Both my parents were violent and insane alcoholics that played evil games with their four children till the day they day – and after.

Over a year ago I began a painting of you. One night after I lie down to go to sleep, you lie down next to me. You were seventeen again. I jumped out of bed. For a month you appear by my side as I walked. When I went to a movie, I was not quite alone. I told my friends I have a very friendly – and beautiful ghost.

“Do you think she is dead?” a friend dare ask.

I began a psychic search for you, to feel where you were. What had become of you? I wondered if you were held a prisoner of a abusive and crazy man who had to have you all to himself. I saw that you were in a very dark dungeon. I wanted to free you. I was heart broken when I could not. I have never known such emotions. I don’t know if anyone ever has. I had to stop working on your portrait.

I told my childhood sweetheart about your visits. We concluded you had a very abusive childhood, and were a prisoner of that abuse. Marilyn was abused by her father and we have helped each other break the bars to our cells.

To read that you were abused and scarred for life is a hand and a voice that comes across the chasm, and I embrace these dark truths with all my heart and soul. For, it is said we recognize each other from across the room. And this is how we met! When you saw me walking on the pier you sent out that angel abused children own, to test the waters, to see if I was the one you could trust – when you really need someone to trust. Our damaged trust is like the tiny speck of green, so full of hope that is not diminished, but only in retreat. You were so brave to ask your question; “Can I walk with you?”

“I was expecting you!” I answered.
“What do you mean?

I walked with you tonight, my dear Rena, in the field of your forever fears, you fearing the wolves rather then the rapists. Is this you preparing me for the truth you are not that stunning beautiful for of perfection, anymore, and just a redneck meal on the way t the outhouse?

I heard you debate for the last six months, you wondering whether I would judge you because the man you love is a cowboy, and you his cowgirl. I heard you arguments, and you read mine? Have you been peeking at my Rosemond blog. Do you recall my plan to move to Lincoln and rent an old barn that would be my studio. I mean, I was willing to come on over, and buy me a chicken or two?

“You won’t like it here.” You said. “There’s nothing here!”

“You’re here!” Was my reply. And you could hear the sound of the tumbling tumble weeds way off in the distance.

“Here I am!” You could not have began you letter a better way. I guess you changed your mind? LOL!

I come from real Redneck stock, and of late I have admitted I always wanted to be a cowboy. And you were my land-loven archetype who feared the sea. That you lived on the Isle of Wight with a Sailor man – blows my mind. Did Ian get you in his boat – and out to sea!

For you, my dear, I will kiss the first redneck I see. For you, I will overcome my fear of them. If he don’t break my neck, I’ll let you know how it go.

However, folks in Springfield (Springtucky) think I’m a lovable Redneck because I drive ‘The Truck’ a 1972 Ford four wheel drive with a great shell folks try to buy from me. It’s Oregon law that some guy with Grey hair has to drive ‘The Truck’. that I named ‘Big Blue’. In the bed I got a antique gas can, ice chest, a water cooler, and a real hemp rope. My grandfather, who I never met, was raised in Montana. He was a real cowboy.

I am so glad you love to work, and you are a janitor. I was afraid you had fallen in with the Lords and Ladies of the European Jet set. You must write about that crowd some time, and tell me about your life with Ian. I love this man because he loved you and you born his children. I was so concerned you would grow old, childless. Did Ian buy you a fine evening dress?

Sometimes when I got ‘Big Blue’ out on the highway I make a left turn in my mind, and come to Nebraska to get you. And then we head to Alaska where we build our cabin. Have you ever wanted to build a house from scratch? Do you wear blue overalls?

Since your visitations ended, I began to design a house for you to dwell in. It’s a hobby of mine to turn on the T.V. And work on floor plans. You have been placed in a home with only 670 square feet, to a castle with 6,000. When I learned you married a Commander, I built stone estates with seven gables around you, so you would always have a place to dwell in this cruel word. I did consider a trailer. I did! Yes, Rena wants to live here, I said; And alas you said…………

“Here I am!”

Oh, sweety. You were not cruel and mean yo me. I guess you read in my blog where I made you so. I did this because I got no reply after I found you. I was having trouble with my sexual identity. When we met. Both my parent were sexually abusive to their children. Abused children have intimacy problems and are very inventive, even magical in their attempt to over come them. This was us – is us! I don’t think we knew how beautiful we were, together, in our bravest attempt to own what others have, so easily. Our little fist-fight on the Dodge were blows aimed at our true betrayers who still create great distances between the one we love, the one we deserve. If we can be that to one another, then, we can love anyone, let each other go, let the darkness go, to be loved in all the majesty. We’ve paid our dues! We are home free! Dont you know I embraced the darkness in you? Don’t you know I was in love – with even your shadow?

Here I am, Rena. Your dear brilliant friend who alas knows he met and fell in love with a brilliant woman. You are a Poet. How wonderful. We can meet here, in our poetry. There is such a refinement in you. Where did it come from? I know you wonder about it – every day!

In our meeting again, we can do anything. We can be perfect. We can own that idea of perfection that has eluded us for most of our life. We will forever be Adult-Children of Alcoholics, but, this time we get to choose our play-mates -without fear. We get to be happy – forever. We are special siblings. We will never be rejected again. We get to behold that tiny green star at the end of our lives and know;

“Alls well, that end well!”

It has been such an honor to know you.

Love

Jon Gregory

P.S. Rena, I thought I spent Christmas alone. My family let their abusive back ground take them to the dark side. My sixteen year old daughter came into my life in 2000. She bonded with a abusive drinker, and he wants my seven year old grandson to only bond with him. I was in such grief over this as I made my way to the mailbox. I did not get one Christmas card this year. Never was I ore convinced there was nothing in the mailbox for me.

Then I beheld the date on the letter. Your words came to me in my loneliest night from faraway as you wrote them. This is beyond romantic! There is justice in the world, There is love in the world. I will never be that alone again. You brought me a glimmer of great hope. You freed me of something that I can not describe. What a gift you have always been, and, a inspiration. My family took everything from me, but, they didn’t get you! They didn’t get you!

You found me again, in my greatest need to be found. And you free me from my dark dungeon.

I have no Muse Hall of Fame. I do have a dear friend in the world. Sing Hallelujah!

P.S.S. Rena, I can’t sleep. I am so excited! We were in our tent and I was telling you I was a great dancer when I was when I was 13 to seventeen years old. I used to dance in front of a big mirror a half hour before I went to school, and a half hour when I came home. I choreographed my own moves. I invented dancing without a partner at Oakland High School in 1962, when I was sixteen. Fifty of my schoolmates would surround me and my partner as I did a solo ten feet away from her. I would go into a trance. When Marilyn turned sixteen, I danced the Bolero for her with my shirt off. Lucky girl!

When I heard you had become a dancer, I was thrilled out of my whits because, this proves you were ‘The One’. You see, I have been jealous of the world since I met you. – before I met you, I was utterly jealous that we never got to dance together, that the world got to see you dance – on your beautiful stage. When did you get into dancing, and why?

When I was young, and before we met, I had a dream about you almost every day. You were my invisible dance partner. Was that our destiny that we missed? Was that the big chance of our lifetime? What a dance team we would have made. They would know us at the ‘The Kiss of Eternal Fire’, or ‘The Fiery Kiss of Eternity’

“They loved each other better afar, than near. And when they came together, they did the Fandango!”

We are playing with fire, Aries woman. Playing with fire! Right here – and so very far away!

I mean, my God, I read about your hip replacement, and we are in a movie, based upon a book, that I am writing, and……are we really going to spend the last days of our life together wondering how many eggs the chickens laid today!

I will take care of you when the needs arises.

And as for our dance – may I take your hand and lead you to the floor?

Enclosed is my story ‘The Birth of Venus’ that I wrote in one day in 1989. I then spliced Eny’s music into it, the next day. Since then I have approached a couple of dancers about making this story come alive on stage. None cared to listen. When I read Kathleen loved Celtic music, I wondered if Enya was her favorite. Of course I wonder about the child we never made. But, she is born in this story. She is reborn with the vision of a sculptor, to dance once more, she a fair maiden, always with a song in her heart.

Play this while lying on the floor with a quilt and a candle – and no interruptions.

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High Noon In Florida

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Trump and Melania did High Noon in Florida. Alas, Helen of High Noon makes her appearance, as promised. In broken English, she defends her beleaguered man who just wants to defeat the bad guys, and bring a Great Safeness to America. But, the evil press do not want Americans to feel safe. This is why they fill the airwaves with fake news that alarms the Children of God, who don’t like to be alarmed, and hate to be afraid. That’s not true! They pray for the End of Days and Armageddon, which Tiny Trump is appearing to start with his Muslim Ban. The Trumps are not Christians!

Rena is always afraid. She is………the Beating Heart of America! We Americans are more than happy to spend a million dollars protecting Melania. Beautiful women need to feel safe, more than other women. This goes for Christian Women. Grace Kelly married the Prince of Monaco and wore a real crown. Do women want beauty, money, power?

http://www.msn.com/en-us/news/politics/mccain-defends-free-press-thats-how-dictators-get-started/ar-AAn5wJE?li=BBmkt5R&ocid=spartandhp

Jon Presco

Waiting For Artaud

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cooper8The Theatre of Cruelty and Cultural Warfare is coming to Emerson Center For Arts & Culture





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