Folks kept asking if Christine Rosamond was a Lesbian because she painted beautiful woman. My women were her inspiration. I worked on a intricate cosmology centered around women, and inspired by loving women. Christine loved me, and wanted to find someone like me. When she saw me with Rena, she got very jealous. She knew what we were going to do. And she wanted to do that, with me.
I put a crystal atop the black box holding her daughter’s ashes, so the resonance of the rhyme, and the power of the light, won’t fade. In our forever lifetime, everything exists. Then it dies.
Play both videos at the same time. Rena and I made the round trip to Bull Frog Pond Park at least twenty times in my old Dodge. In New York, they called me…..The California Kid! I took this trip with…
The Nebraska Girl
Be out there – my California Brother’s and Sisters!. Get out there! And, vote your bliss!
John Presco
1888: From the Daily Alta, an article on the marriage of Dr. William O.
Stuttmeister and Augusta D. Janke.
Daily Alta California, Volume 42, Number 14175, 24 June 1888
STUTTMEISTER-JANKE.
One of the most enjoyable weddings of the past week took place at
Belmont, Wednesday morning last, the contracting parties being Miss
Augusta Janke, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. August Janke of Belmont,
and Dr. Wm. Stuttmeister of San Francisco. The house was
handsomely decorated with a rich profusion of ferns and flowers, and
at the appointed hour was filled with the relatives and intimate friends
of the contracting parties. At 11 o’clock the wedding march was played
and the bridal party entered the parlor. The bride was attended by Miss
Alice Stuttmeister, a sister of the groom, and Miss Minnie Janke, a
sister of the bride, as bridesmaids, and Dr. Muldownado and Wm.
Janke, a cousin of the bride, were groomsmen. The Rev. A. L. Brewer
of San Mateo performed the beautiful and impressive ceremony under
an arch composed of flowers and greens very prettily arranged, after
which the guests pressed forward and offered their congratulations.
The bride was attired in a very pretty and becoming costume of the
crushed strawberry shade, and wore a corsage bouquet of orange
blossoms. She carried a handsome bouquet of white flowers. After the
guests had paid their compliments the bride and groom led the way to
the dining-room, where the wedding dinner was served and the health
of the newly married pair was pledged. The feast over, the guests
joined in the dance, and the hours sped right merrily, interspersed with
music singing and recitations, until the bride and groom took their
departure amid a shower of rice and good wishes. Many beautiful
presents were received. Dr. and Mrs. Stuttmeister left Thursday
morning for Santa Cruz and Monterey, where they will spend the
honeymoon. On their return they will make their home in Belmont.
1911: Dr. Willian O. Stuttmeister was practicing dentistry in Redwood
City, CA. (Reference: University of California, Directory of Graduates,
Fishing With Pops’s Pole West of The Water Tower
Posted on June 1, 2021 by Royal Rosamond Press
Here are two stories I improvise. I am the new Will Rogers and Mark Twain. I own a special contract as a minister, where all my recorded words, and telephone conversations are Copyrighted. Me – and the late Doctor Gene Scott? I need my own T.V. Show!
Jake Soda Pop
Old Man’s Fishing Pole
West of the Water Tower
(47) Wes Of The Water Tower – YouTube
Victoria Beach
Posted on July 8, 2017 by Royal Rosamond Press
Rena was the muse to two California Artists. Christine Rosamond would not have become a world famous artist if I had not rescued Rena Victoria Easton, by the sea – twice! She would go on to marry Admiral Sir Ian Easton who flew a Fairey Fulmer off an aircraft carrier in WW2.
Rena is right out of a Black Mask comic book. I am certain that is writer, Arthur Barnes, and John K. Butler in the camping photo where a unnamed writer brandishes a hand gun. I will be sending this to Parks department in order to get the unnamed beach named after Rena, and the Queen, in honor of War and Sea Romance.
When I first lay eyes on Rena, she was hiding her fear. War creates fear. One had to overcome your fear in order to defeat your enemy. We only found out three years ago we had the same enemy. Rena is ruled by Mars, and I, by Venus. We are a hundred and eighty degrees apart. We were Yin and Yang atop our mountain, searching for Peace and Serenity while war raged in Vietnam. Rena fought me as she fought her fears. We are epic.
Rena may have married an Admiral and lived on the Isle of Wight in order to get over her fear of the sea. Is there a monument to the joint effort to defeat the enemy in the Pacific Theatre? Ian was in charge of making sure America and Britain would be allies, forever!
http://www.cnn.com/2017/07/08/politics/donald-trump-g20-club-of-one/index.html
Last night, world leaders listened to Beethoven’s 9th. Rena is a Aries, the god of war. She is my Damsel in Distress. I rescued her and helped her combat her epic fears. One could stand on Victoria Beach, and imagine a squardron of Spitfires flying out to sea to meet a wave of Nazi bombers in the battle of Britain. Beauty has been captured once again by the forces of evil. Our beautiful women need to be protected fro The Beast!
Christine Rosamond and Rena met. My sister looked deep into her. What she saw was her own fear and abuse, but it was hidden. They are like sisters. That outsiders were given THEIR STORY by an attorney associated with Alcohol Justice, is a true travesty, because it kept THE TRUTH down in a dungeon. Two beautiful artists and their beautiful muse – did not deserve this fate. Rena says in her letter her brother exhibited mental illness, and has disappeared. I have been disappeared because the truth can be frightening. I am just the messenger.
Victory over our fears! Peace……..at last!
Easton joined the Royal Navy in 1931 and qualified as a pilot at the start of World War II in which he saw active service on aircraft carriers.[1] On 4 January 1941, flying a Fairey Fulmar of 803 Squadron from HMS Formidable during a raid on Dakar he force landed, with his aircrewman Naval Airman James Burkey and was taken prisoner and held by the Vichy French at a camp near Timbuktu until released in November 1942.[2] He was appointed Assistant Director of the Tactical and Weapons Policy Division at the Admiralty in 1960 and was seconded to the Royal Australian Navy as Captain of HMAS Watson in 1962.[1] He went on to be Naval Assistant to the Naval Member of the Templer Committee on Rationalisation of Air Power in 1965, Director of Naval Tactical and Weapons Policy Division at the Admiralty in 1966 and Captain of the aircraft carrier HMS Triumph in 1968.[1] After that he was made Assistant Chief of Naval Staff (Policy) in 1969, Flag Officer for the Admiralty Interview Board in 1971 and Head of British Defence Staff and Senior Defence Attaché in Washington D. C. in 1973.[1] He last posting was as Commandant of the Royal College of Defence Studies in 1976: he commissioned armourial bearings for the College which were which were presented during a visit by the Queen in November 1977.[3] He retired in 1978.[1]
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS_Triumph_(R16)
In 1922 a cabinet committee under Winston Churchill, then Secretary of State for the Colonies, recommended the formation of the College.[1] The college was founded in 1927 as the Imperial Defence College and was located at 9 Buckingham Gate until 1939.[1] Its objective at that time was the defence of the Empire.[1] In 1946, following the end of World War II, the college reopened at Seaford House, Belgrave Square and members of the United States forces started attending courses.[1] It was renamed the Royal College of Defence Studies in 1970 and in 2007 the Queen and Prince Philip visited the college.[1]
The British Defence Staff – US, which was previously known as British Defence Staff (Washington),[1] is the home of the Ministry of Defence (United Kingdom) in the United States of America and its purpose is to serve the interests of Her Majesty’s Government in the USA. The British Defence Staff – US is led by the Defence Attaché and has responsibility for military and civilian MOD personnel located both within the Embassy and in 34 states across the USA.
British Defence Staff – US alongside the Foreign and Commonwealth Office and other Government Departments collectively serve the interests of Her Majesty’s Government in the USA.
Every three days, or so, Rena and I would drive Eisenhower on Highway 1 and spend the day at my favorite beach. She did not have a favorite beach. She was afraid of the ocean. I found this out when we stopped on a beach in Santa Barbara. She put herself well away from the waves, with her back to them, reading a book.
“You’re afraid of the ocean, aren’t you?”
“How did you know?”
We would climb a ladder to get over the barbed wire that kept the sheep off the road. I always stopped to take a picture with my mind’s eye of Rena walking amongst them, to the cliff, and down the trail to a protected beach. It was like being in Ireland, or Scotland.
Being from Nebraska, I knew Rena was ignorant of the many dangers. I did not take a chance that she was a quick learner. Note the warning signs, with discourse. Someone is trying to save lives.
I would make us dinner here. I went to gather driftwood. Coming back with an armful, my heart jumped out of my chest. I dropped the wood and ran down the beach. Rena was nowhere to be seen. Did a sneaker wave take her? There was only one place she could be – if she were still alive. The chances of her being there, was very low. This was an extremely dangerous place.
There was a large rock that buttressed into the water. My heart was racing as I made my way to the other side. I was in a kelp bed. The tide was still low. And, there she was, sitting on a dry rock surrounded by kelp. The look on her face was painful to behold. I knew what she was doing. She was embarrassed that she was afraid of the sea. Well, there are times to be very afraid of the ocean.
I spoke as calmly and lovingly as I could. I did not want her to panic, slip on the kelp, and get hurt. If the tide was coming in, a ten foot wall of water would be pushed in, and not break like a wave. Rena would find herself in a thick kelp bed – just like that! Her struggle to get to the slippery rocks, would be epic.
“Rena! Stay calm. You can’t be there. It is not safe. Get up slowly. Watch your footing, and come towards me.”
The look on her face guaranteed I will love her till the day I die. She did exactly as I told her. When she was near, I grabbed her, and gave her a long hug.
“I thought I had lost you. I thought the sea had taken you from me.”
This is “Unnamed Beach”. How about Victoria Beach?
One day one of the women said leave
me to solitude and nature today I want
to write a letter home and then she settled
herself on the sand and wrote:
“They call this a barren rock — this
Anacapa Island — but yesterday the tide
was low, leaving the plant life exposed.
I wish that I could name the varieties
of sea weed and moss and their wonder-
ful color, but I drop my pen in despair
of ever giving you any conception of
them. The marine gardens grow upon
submerged rocks, for I discovered a
little sand path between them resembl-
ing the pathway of a garden. Hard
against a rock affording protection from
the direct sweep of the waves, I found
a multi-colored star-fish, his back covered,
at regular intervals, with tiny spheres
of white, as if a mermaid had decorated
it with pearls.
Note how the young girl’s father and brothers put her out on the rock to gather kelp. American women couldn’t vote when this image was painted.
(c) Nuneaton Museum and Art Gallery; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation
Black Mask Authors
Posted on July 28, 2013by Royal Rosamond Press
This extremely rare photo of the first west coast Black Mask get-together on January 11, 1936 captures possibly the only meeting of several of these authors.
Pictured in the back row, from left to right, are Raymond J. Moffatt, Raymond Chandler, Herbert Stinson, Dwight Babcock, Eric Taylor and Dashiell Hammett. In the front row, again from left to right, are Arthur Barnes (?), John K. Butler, W. T. Ballard, Horace McCoy and Norbert Davis.
Rosemary told me her father, Royal Rosamond, used to sail to the Channel Islands and camp with his friend, Dashiell Hammett who is seen standing on the right in the photo above.
Aunt Lillian told me she would fall asleep listening to Royal and Erle Stanley Gardner on the typewriter in the living room. Royal was Gardner’s teacher and a member of the Black Mask. I believe I can almost recoginize Black Mask authors under the tree on Santa Cruz Island sitting under a tree with my grandmother, Mary Magdalene Rosamond, who does not look very happy as she embraces a black dog. Who is that woman? Is she a writer? She looks a bit crazed, as does the guy holding a gun. Is Mary hearing some far-out and weird ideas around the campfire?
When I was fifteen Rosemary showed me about six magazines wherein her father’s stories appeared. There were several mysteries. I am going to send the camping photo to some experts. That looks like Raymond Chandler in front of the tent. Is he the guy packing heat?
Hammett wrote the Maltese Falcon that begins with a story about the Knight Templars. Was this a tale passed around the campfire on Santa Cruz Island?
Jon Presco
Copyright 2013
http://www.thrillingdetective.com/trivia/john_k_butler.html
Sir Ian Easton was the head of College of Defence Studies in Washington where I believe he met Rena. It appears Ian Flemming opposed the entrance of Americans into this unit, and his Bond novels were a coded protest. I am sure he knew about Flemming’s feelings, they discussed on a regular basis, especially when the Bond movies came out. Did Ian marry Rena in hope of employing her in a real spy drama, but, she proved, difficult?
Rena on the beach at night – alone
Posted on January 18, 2014by Royal Rosamond Press
It is 3:00 A.M. in the morning at the pier in Venice Beach California. It’s been twelve hours since she saw her boyfriend being chased down the boardwalk by a half-dozen muscle men that he called a name. She waited hours for him to come back. She saw the muscle men come back, but she dare not ask what became of him. She had no way of knowing he was in the hospital.
If Rena had gone down and sat on the sand, as it began to grow dark, she went up and sat in one of the bars. What money she had, got spent.
She dare not go back to the apartment she and her lover were staying at because the occupants had taken LSD, and were being rude and extremely suggestive. The two men that took her and her boyfriend in, were considering raping Rena, now that he was not there to protect her.
I am sure as Rena sat in the bar nursing a cola, some older guys put the make on her, tried to pick her up. She turned them down. When the bar closed, she took refuge in the recessed doorway. Christine, Michael, and I did not see her on our way to the end of the pier.
Rena dare not make a collect call to her grandmother in Nebraska for she would become extremely alarmed. What could she do at this late hour. Except for these three people, she had not seen anyone for an hour.
Then, she saw me stop about a hundred yards on the pier. She saw the young couple continue walking. She watched me. She studied me as I looked down on the crashing waves. There we were, alone, on the beach, at night. This beautiful young girl was never more afraid, never more convinced she would die.
* * *
When I was sixteen, Marilyn came and found me and had me go with her. She took me down a hall at our high school where they had a display case. There were works of art and some photographs. There was a young man standing on the sand looking out to sea. He was wearing a peacoat.
“Is that you?” Marilyn asked.
I studied it, then recalled a young man who came up to me while I doing my meditation and asked if he could take a photograph. I loved the ocean. I found sanctuary here with Marilyn, and then with Melinda.
“Yes. That’s me.”
I was famous for my seascapes. I could do one in six hours. I never knew what they would look like. After posting Walt Whitman’s poem, it came back to me.
I unbuttoned my peacoat and invited her to lie on a wing of it on the sand. I clutched her tightly to me as she sobbed. I felt her warm tears roll down my neck. I had just talked her out of walking north up the beach to her friends she said she had in San Fransisco. They were Beat types, like Sky, who was found dead with his beautiful face erased with a blow-torch. Melinda’s father sent two guys after this Venice Beat who was in love with his sixteen year old daughter.
I applied all my love, all my art, all my poetry, all the beauty I owned, in my search for a solution. I had just turned seventeen. I had no job, no money, no home of my own, and no power.
When I saw Christine and Michael coming back from their walk to the end of the pier, I started walked back to my little sister’s apartment. That’s when Rena sprang out of the door towards me.
“Can I walk with you?”
When Brian shut Rena and I out, I reminded him I had just given up my apartment for his good friend. So, he grabs his tent, and throws it down on the ground, locks the door, and leaves. I set the tent of in the backyard, and that night Rena and I get in it. It is summer. We start taking off our clothes, so alas we can have sexual intercourse. Then I see her bare back with the flow of her auburn hair cascading down it.
“My God, Rena! You have the most beautiful back. Let’s leave our underwear on. I don’t think doing it in a backyard is right. Here, lie down and let me rub your back.”
For an hour we were both in heaven as my hand explored, my nails, tickled, and the palm of my hand lie on her abdomen. I worshipped a Goddess, and I filled her with color energy. Then, I pulled our blankets halfway outside our tent, and we looked up at the stars. My message was one of cosmic union and love. Rena fell asleep on my arm and shoulder.
I had a poetic voice. Rena had forgotten that. Then she listened to my ‘Birth of Venus’. She became alarmed, because, she came to own that voice. She never considered the source after she left for home.
Jon Presco
When Rena and I first kissed on my friend’s floor, a cosmic event occurred. We both found The Other. Cosmic Sparks, flew. The energy we created altered – much! How much?
Let us return to the place of The Kiss. It happened on Congress Avenue in Oakland California after my friend kidnapped Rena, drove down Pismo Beach with her until she demanded he return for me, he having left me standing there, watching him go crazy. He had to have her, just as Paris had to have Hellen.
So jealous was Brian of me, of us, that he locked us out of his apartment and went to stay at his mothers. Rena and I were now homeless. Brian gave us his tent and sleeping bag so we could sleep in the backyard. I went to Map Quest to look at that house again where I once lived. I had just given up my apartment there for a married couple and newborn child. I had gone to LA and considered moving there. I met Rena at the Venice Pier. I have never seen such a beautiful woman hence. Her animal magnetism was off the chart. She was a creature from another planet. The cosmic image above was posted on Facebook by my friend Persephone Rose who post a beautiful woman on her wall everyday. She thinks Rena is my Twin Soul. I concur, for we are both very isolated at this moment, if not most of our life.
Jon ‘The Nazarite’
Congress of Love
Posted on February 3, 2015by Royal Rosamond Press
Whatever wonderful genetics Rena’s parents carried before they made love and born four beautiful daughters, was from a superior gene pool. Combined, the results were overwhelming, overpowering. When Rena came at me from the dark doorway and stood feet from me, I had to look away so I could catch my breath. When I looked at this creature, I was a disbeliever. They don’t make human being this beautiful. Then, it spoke;
“Can I walk with you?”
When I saw the movie ‘Species’ I laughed aloud at the urgency of the alien to mate with an earth man and was being very direct. Rena could have been asking me a carnal question. This just doesn’t happen in real life. Why me? Is it because I carry the genetics of Royal Rosamond who gave birth to four beautiful daughters? Did Rena read my genetic material, somehow, and I was fit to be her Knight in Shining Armor?
I found, her. She was lost and forsaken. Rena is a Foundling. For reasons she did not divulge she was sent to live with her grandmother when she was seven. In a letter she sent me a year ago she says she was sexually abused by her father. She did not grow up with her three sisters who became models. She did not get along with, them, her family, that she felt she was not a part of. And now, he boyfriend has disappeared leaving her alone, and without a place to lay her head. Alas, Rena has made manifest her core identity, the way she truly feels most of her waking hours. For seven hours or more she has had time to study her situation, take it all in, her hidden feelings that are concealed no more. This is one of the best things that ever happened to her, for she alone can hone her survival skills, and come up with ‘The Solution’. I was that solution, she chose. She chose me, like a preditor, a Cheetah that has run down a gazelle.
“Sure. I was expecting you!” is the answer I managed to eek out, for I was rendered speechless.
“What do you mean by that?” Rena asked, she moving a step ahead of me in order to head my answer off, get a better look into my eye for the glint of a a hidden agenda.
When we woke that first morning she was very relaxed with me, for I told her the truth;
“I am a harmless romantic. Don’t be afraid.”
We spent two nights in that backyard. Men who met me, now rushed into the backyard to behold her. They didn’t bother to say hello to me, the dude they didn’t know that well, and, didn’t want to know – at all! I was disgusted! They were like dogs around a bitch in heat.
Then, there was Rena’s walk, her gate. We walked through a tough Oakland neighborhood she oblivious and impervious to any danger, or anyone. I was awestruck at how she was taken in. Rena got respect. It was like I had a man-eating beast, on a leash! We walked to a store located on 35th. Avenue in Oakland. When people saw Rena coming their way, they were spellbound. She exuded animal magnetism. She was a Sexy Beast. She put on a show for real cowboys back in Nebraska. Se made grown married men, whimper.
Rena was the most perfectly proportioned woman I have ever beheld, and she was tall, about 5/11. From afar you knew you were going to be treated to a show. She had a walk – the walk! It was like a great cat. Then there was the look in her eyes. This was a powerful human being. I loved to study people’s reaction to her. There were some cool Latinos and Blacks in this hood. Coming from Grand Island Nebraska, this seventeen year old had no idea how cool she was, how she complimented every scene, every stage she walked onto. Everyone parted the way, and got a good look she seemed oblivious to. Irene had animal magnetism – in spades! She was a very rare Royal Flush!
About to go into the store, suddenly Rena backed up. She spotted a magazine in the window depicting a blonde in a bathing suit.
“I think that is my sister. She said. “She was going to be one the cover of a magazine.”
We went inside to get a closer look.
“No. It’s not my sister.”
Now, I am four generation Oakland, and I never dreamed I would hear such words. LIFE magazine had done a pictorial on ‘California Girl’s’ obviously shot on the beach in Southern California. This blonde is emerging from the sea, dripping wet, splashing in the foam. She is a beautiful Nereid. I just found the photos for this article. I suspect Rena’s sister is amongst the group of waders, or, perhaps she is the woman lying on her side with her back to us.
This article precedes the Sports illustrated pictorial. I am sure there was a contest to see who gets on the cover, and Rena’s sisters, lost. This meant, LIFE magazine hired at least one professional model. However, when I first walked on Santa Monica beach at sixteen years of age, I saw model material everywhere.
Marilyn, my first girlfriends, modeled for Sea and Ski when she was thirteen, which happens to be the age of consent in Nebraska. I assume this was because young women were scarce in the barren planes, and young men were want to start family early so as to have sons to work the fields. Rena, and her three beautiful sisters, wanted none of that, and fled. That is Marilyn, the blonde in the black and white photo. The famous fashion photographer did a shoot of Marilyn on the beach siting on a rock like a Mermaid.
I am going to assume Rena’s boyfriend heard about the sister modeling in California, and drove Rena out west to see if she could be discovered and end up in a magazine, or, on the silver screen?
My friend was a good friend of the Stackpole family who lived in the Oakland hills. After the Oakland fire we went and looked at the ruins of the Stackpole home. What a loss. Thousands of negatives were consumed in the inferno. Peter Stackpole shot Hollywood stars for LIFE and was assigned to Liz Taylor. Peter went on a cruise with Errol Flynn who dated two of the four Rosamond sisters who were raised in Ventura by the Sea. Rosemary and Lillian argued forever about whom the Swashbuckler was attracted to the most.
My grandfather, Roy Reuben Rosamond, wrote for Out West and Liberty magazine. I believe he and I were the embodiment of the minor god, Nerites, who was the brother of the Nereids, the only male sibling. Consider the fifty images of the Rosamond Women captured in the gallery in Carmel, a city co-founded by Robert Louis Stevens.
I just noted that the name Irene (Rena’s birth name) is found in Nereid.
Jon Presco
Copyright 2012
My grandfather, Royal Rosamond, was encouraged to take up writing by Jack and Fanny Cory, tow creative siblings not unlike I and my sister, the world famous artist known as Rosamond.
The Channel Islands remind me of the Isle of Wight where the poets Tennyson and Swineburne lived. It was Royal’s dream to found a retreat for poets. Both of these English poets were inspired by Fair Rosamond.
http://www.jstor.org/stable/2917899
http://www.sacred-texts.com/etc/ml/ml22.htm
Jon Presco
IT WAS a glorious summer morning
at the Chautauqua at Ventura-
Bgra by-the-sea. A breeze wafted in
5^™* from off old ocean, Jaden with
mysterious odors — a salt tang — as wel-
come as it was invigorating.
As far out as the eye could reach, a
cobalt mist clung to the bosom of the
sea, above which the peaks and slopes
of the Anacapa Islands appeared, height-
ened by the uncertain thickness of fog.
To the right, on a high plateau, but a
few rods from the beach, “Pierpont
Inn,”, that wonderful hostelry — stood
like an old lion looking out to sea.
Although early, the bathers were
sporting in the surf, shouting their hap-
piness above the thunder and roar of
the breakers. A maiden in a bathing
suit of translucent green came dripping
from the surf, seating herself hear where
the waves were spreading out like great
fans. She began to arrange, with deft
fingers, the massive coils of golden hair.
Suddenly, a great wave rose up,, curved
and spilled, and the contour of her slen-
der body was caught in sharp relief
against the foam — a vision of jade and
ivory and gold perched imperiously be-
yond the waves.
Two couples came up from the sea
and threw themselves upon the clean
white sand to dry — among the dunes
over which appeared the Chautauqua
Building and the rows of white tents —
the tent city.
One of the women shrieked in ecs-
tacy of delight, throwing the dry sand
as she had splashed water the moment
before. “Oh,” she cried. “I am the
mate and the captain bold, and the crew
of the Nancy Lee; I’m going to explore
those islands!” pointing toward Ana-
By Roy Reuben Rosamond
Anacapa twenty miles away.
“Completely wearied by this ocean
air and splendid environment, science,
religion, literature and music and art!”
exclaimed Frank, her husband.
“Certainly not,” laughed the girl,
pelting him with sand. “I expect to
camp here every summer of my life and
rest and hear the lectures and the music,
but a trip to those islands is the missing
link in my chain of happiness. We have
gone sailing, fished and bathed in the
sea, visited the grand old San Buena-
ventura Mission and the Native Daugh-
ter Palms, enjoyed the scenic beauty
of the Matilija and the drive around the
Triangle, and now it must be a trip to
the islands. And so it was agreed that
they would go.
A boat was chartered and the day set
for the trip ovei*.
The Captain steered the boat Anacapa
— the morning that they started — one
point west of south. This would bring
them to the little harbor at the islands.
Perched upon the roof of the cabin,
forward, the women enjoyed every mo-
ment, for the sea was as calm as a lake.
Frank and John were aft, where the trol-
ling lines claimed their attention. Sud-
denly a line stretched taut. “Another
passenger!” Frank shouted; and then the
Captain slowed down until a twenty
pound albacore could be taken aboard.
The excitement was intense until the
fish lay flopping on the deck.
The Santa Barbara Channel is always
interesting to those crossing to or from
the islands. Whales and sharks are
often seen and a trip is seldom made
without passing through a school of
porpoise. Sea gulls circled the air.
A coast line steamer appeared to port
and then dissapeared to starboard, cross-
ing the bow.
“We should be able to see the island
presently” said Frank.
The Captain looked at his watch.
“Three hours out,” he said. “They
are about three miles off.”
“See the arch there at the east end.”
said the Captain. Immediately all eyes
338
OUT WEST
were turned toward the solitary rock
near the larger east island, resembling
the arch of some great gateway.
“How long are the islands?” asked
John.
“About six miles long,” the Captain
replied. “There are three islands in
the group, the west island and the middle
island separated by a gap about ten feet
wide, and the middle and east island
separated by a wide gap, where the
waves of the south meet the channel
waves, making a great roar as they
come together.”
“It appears to me that the west is-
land would afford some hill-climbing,”
said Frank. “It must have been the
peak of a great mountain before the
deluge.”
“Yes, it is difficult to climb,” agreed
the Captain. “It is almost a thousand
feet high. Those dark spots you see
just above the surface of the water are
the caves. And the marine gardens
lie near the shore. Can you see the camp
there near the first gap? That is where
we land. We call it Webster Bay.”
“See the houses there on the middle
island!” Rose exclaimed.
“They were built years ago, by Fish-
ermen, and are now used by the campers.
Just below them there is a cave that
has never been explored and which roars
continually.”
The islands became more interesting
as the launch drew nearer. More caves
came into view. The rough jagged
rocks became more and more picturesque.
A seal thrust his head above the water
near a great garden of golden kelp.
It was twelve o’clock when the Anacapa
dropped anchor in Webster Bay. Every-
one declared that it had struck twelve
in their stomaches fully an hour before,
so keen was their hunger. So they went
ashore with only that part of the camp-
ing outfit that would respond to their
immediate wants. No need of haste
here in this other world where whistles
did not blow nor the telephone ring.
They chose a sandy shelf high above
the rocky beach, with a pathway lead-
ing up to it; and here they pitched their
tents. The real exploration began early
the next morning, after an out-of-door
breakfast. They secured one of the
Captain’s skiffs — and started toward
the marine gardens and the Painted
Caves, which are only a short distance
west of the harbor.
Soon they were looking over the edge
of the skiff at the wonders beneath
them. Mysterious, busy life swarmed
everywhere. The marine gardens ex-
tend to the very entrance of the Painted
Cave. Golden kelp swings back and
forth as the violet waves go slowly
in and out; but beyond the narrow en-
trance the water widens into a minia-
ture lake, and the receding walls and
roof are plainly visible.
Within the great dome-like cavity
a narrow: beach makes a half circle, and
here they left the skiff, climbing up the
sloping back-wall as if passing up the
aisle of same great theater. Water
lashing against the stony beach sent
up a sound to be pitched back and forth
against the walls until it became a hol-
low, awesome sound, filling the cave
with a roar.
The cave is about three hundred feet
in diameter and over a hundred high.
It is color rather than dimension that
makes it attractive. It looks as if a
painter had mixed, in turn, the brightest
colors with green, throwing the result
promisciously against the walls and roof.
The fact that the colors are always fresh
and vivid is a mystery to many.
The Painted Cave is the most beauti-
ful wonder-spot about Anacapa. The
nature lover will travel as far to see it
as the art lover to view a masterpiece
in painting.
West of the Painted Cave perpendi-
cular walls of rock come down to meet
the sea. A bald-headed eagle was perch-
ed on a high pinnacle like a guardian
of the isles.
The Water Cave was the next place
to be visited. Here the only fresh water,
excepting that caught in a cistern below
the houses, trickles down the walls,
watering the wild flowers growing in
natural jardeniers, being finally caught
in a cement basin some thoughtful fish-
erman had made some time before.
That afternoon they passed through
an arch in the ridge of the island and
explored a portion of the south side afoot,
the beaches where the moonstones
abound and the shells of many pattern
lure one into searching for them.
340
OUT W^EiS^T
Of all the shells none are so beautiful
as the abalone. Some seem to have
caught, in some mysterious manner, the
sheen of moonlight upon the water, still
others the crimson and gold of the sun-
set sea.
“Come,” said the Captain the next
morning. “We are going to the east
end of the island and see the arch and
will troll on the way.” This was an
invitation to all the campers, and so the
Anacapa glided away.
On the way to the east end the launch
passed by many interesting places. Just
below the houses there is a place called
Stingaree Bay, a narrow beach, the en-
trance of which is lined with jagged
rock-points. Here the Winfield Scott,
that merchantman of the olden, golden
days of California, loaded with gold dust
and bound for Panama, ran ashore in
the fog, Sept. 1852, and was wrecked.
A few of her crew managed to cross the
channel in a small boat, landing some-
where in the vicinity of Ventura, where
they sent a messenger by relay to San
Francisco and a rescue ship was sent
out from that port, reaching the remain-
ing crew of the wrecked ship after their
many days of hardship and suffering.
Not a man of the crew was lost, although
it was believed that only a portion of the
gold was recovered. For years a por-
tion of the half-submerged ship remained
in the little cove, its wreckage strewn
upon the narrow beach, but piece by
piece it has been taken by visitors and
cherished as a relic.
One day one of the women said leave
me to solitude and nature today I want
to write a letter home and then she settled
herself on the sand and wrote:
“They call this a barren rock — this
Anacapa Island — but yesterday the tide
was low, leaving the plant life exposed.
I wish that I could name the varieties
of sea weed and moss and their wonder-
ful color, but I drop my pen in despair
of ever giving you any conception of
them. The marine gardens grow upon
submerged rocks, for I discovered a
little sand path between them resembl-
ing the pathway of a garden. Hard
against a rock affording protection from
the direct sweep of the waves, I found
a multi-colored star-fish, his back covered,
at regular intervals, with tiny spheres
of white, as if a mermaid had decorated
it with pearls.
— “I think that the real charm of
these islands is the color and the clean,
pure sea. One day we looked down into
the sea from a great distance, into the
green and purple depths and the creamr
white racing foam. Purity! How near
God seems over here. One grows ac-
customed to looking at the life below
rather than the life above the water,
so deep can the eyes penetrate.
— “We have been here five days, have
eaten fish twice a day and have not
served the same kind twice. The law
on crawfish has been in force for two
years and is just out. The fisherman
are busy with their traps! We found
a cove where large crawfish abound, and
went to get one, with no other weapon
than the oars. The water was clear
and shallow, and there they were hugging
the grass-grown walls of the cove only
three feet beneath us. Frank stabbed
one with an oar.
— “This morning we climbed the middle
island and visited the ancient burial
ground. Judging from the dimensions
of their camping ground, which is strewn
with de-composed sea shells, there must
have been a large tribe here at one time.
— “Last night phosphorescence cover-
ed the whole surface of the sea and
when the great waves broke and pored
they sent out great flashes of shattered
light and glimmer. John threw a rock
into a quiet spot and as it descended it
left behind it myriad sparks like a comet’s
tail. Fish would pass near the shore,
with two streams of light trailing back
on either side. The spectral depths
were all aglow.
— “One of the island peaks reminds me
of the Statue of Liberty. And just
west of our camp there is a likeness of
George Washington on a point of rock
that juts out into the foam.
— “We must start for home tomorrow,
for our ten days provisions have lasted
but a week. Such appetites! Our main
diet, now, being fish. We are coming
again next year, but will be provided for
ajlonger stay, you may be sure of that.”
Homer Croy, Al Capp, and, Moonbeam
Posted on January 5, 2020 by Royal Rosamond Press
I finally found out what the book ‘West Of The Water Tower’ is about. A minister’s son falls for the daughter of a wealthy atheist named Bee Chew. This is a modern version of Romeo and Juliet, and, ‘The Scarlet Letter’ co-staring my kin, Reverend John Wilson. I want Quibi to make a quickie movie about this water tower. I also believe ‘The End Time of Moonbeam’ would be a big hit. This is about a ancient Celtic Goddes who is kept a prisoner in a cave in the Ozark Mountains. Sone say she descends from Casandra of Troy. Rena was born to play Moonbeam McSwine.
Al Capp had a lot of power and influence. He attacked Hippies and was accused of exposing himself to women. I am a cartoonist who predicted Trump’s Christ-Complex in 1986. I see that my book ‘The Royal Janitor’ is Cappish. I believe Quibi can do a Lil Abner revival. I got much material. I got the Kimties, Rena belle, Dogpatch, Whoville, and Alley Valkyrie.
I wonder if my kin, Thomas Hart Benton, was aware of Al Capp’s Dogpatch people. Surely my grandfather was, who sold newspapers on a corner. My sister’s artwork told stories.
John Presco
A publicity still for the film West of the Water Tower (1923)
Croy’s novel, a drama set in the fictional town of Junction City, was a thinly veiled critique of his own hometown, Marysville, Missouri. He published it anonymously because its serious tone so conflicted with his well-known light-hearted writings about midwestern life. The novel, and the ensuing film adaptation, concerns a couple who elope in the face of their disapproving families, and subsequently become the subject of scandal when they have a child and the marriage certificate cannot be found.
Daisy and Rena
Posted on January 20, 2014by Royal Rosamond Press
Rena had it all over Daisy, the babe in Dukes of Hazard. Rena had Daisy’s look, but she had a perfect body. Only the Victoria’s Secret models come close to the perfection I got to see almost every day for fifty days. When Rena took off her halter-top, and let her cut-offs drop, it was show time! There were wealthy and powerful men attending the Bohemian Grove Hijinks, taking it all in, the most beautiful woman in the world who knew how to wear a bikini like no one hence. It was a size or two too large. It looked like it would fall off – real easy!
Exert from Ravola of Thunder Mountain by Royal Reuben Rosamond.
I met her in Eminence this morning. I never beheld another such being. She is like the beautiful notes of an organ with all the stops subdued. You see by this that the very implication of her is wonderful. She’ll stand fully six feet tall in her bare heels and this means that, in high heals, she can pick up a shingle and mend leak in most Ozark cabins. She can look down on most men. Her figure if that of a model, rivaling even the dreams, I vow, of the artists of ancient Greece. Her perfect body needs no no adornment in exquisite , clinging garments. Her features have class; her complexion is pink and healthful, her air of grandeur is almost appalling, cowing most men with her sheer superiority. Her eyes large and luminous, deep chestnut, are thrilling, but not come hither. Those great and beautiful orbs seem seem to be a lover’s moon rising over the horizon of her lower lashes. Yes she is temptation, her generous lips and full mouth the last straw to break a mans resistance, She’s exotic and provocative in the same wondrous breath, made but for the arms of a man, made to love and be loved. Have I describe her?
I would add a marked timidity, that gleam of wildness to be found in the does demure eyes” suggested teacher.
Yes, I notice her inward struggle to be natural and unafraid – not bashful, to speak plainly?.
Which hid the air, I take it, of knowing how really superior she is.
“Yes, she would make a great actress, But we must not think of spoiling her with sham. How sweet she is in just being her, her American Frontier self, let me say. Of the wild flowers I’d call her India Paint brush, and equally as brilliant. But, enough. Please let me aloud this, A Few Come Our Alive”
She was tall, dark, half developed, beautiful as a poet’s dream, her rope of hair hanging to her waist. We could tell them what a raving beauty she was due to become.. Shell stand nearly six foot tall.”
Moonbeam
Posted on February 5, 2018by Royal Rosamond Press
The Midwest Muse
Hollywood Hillbillies
Posted on January 20, 2014by Royal Rosamond Press
Just saw on T.V. a new show is going to premiere called ‘Hollywood Hillbillies’. I already posted in ‘Sweet Home Alabama’. My grandfather and his family are turning over in their grave. This blog is full of Hillbilly history and threats to turn my family chaos into a reality show. I have compared Rena to Moonbeam McSwine. Too bad my siblings and daughter didn’t let me do my thing as the family writer.
Hell, they got my truck and the first car I owned in two different museums. I’m going to write a script and send it out! It’s going to be titled ‘Me and My Redneck Muse’
Jon Presco
Copyright 2014
http://on.aol.com/video/hollywood-hillbillies–sneak-peek-517875977
Three days ago I discovered there is a television show called “Sweet Home Alabama”. It is a dating show built around the theme of “Cultural Warfare” the major theme you will find in this blog. For years I have been threatening to turn this blog into a Reality Show, especially after my daughter mated with a fake NASCAR drunk whose daddy is a Tea Party Crazy living in Texas. Bill Cornwell is a chip off the old block, and my daughter Heather – the country western singer – could have been a contestant on this show when she was younger. At least she would have been wooed by some City Slicks verses the Yokels she’s been bonding with in Santa Rosa because there is a cultural fight over these Southern Belles, just like the fight I had over Rena Christensen and Dottie Witherspoon. Dottie is kin to Reese Witherspoon who starred in the movie this show is name after. Here is my prophetic post where I title members of the Tea Party “insane” in 2011. Most members of my family, and most of my friends, have been calling me insane.
Once again my family is out of the dough due to the cultural warfare they have been waging against me with the help of outsiders. They just don’t want me to succeed. I got no one on my side. The Galls turned on me when their son died in August. I was not invited to Jon Gall’s memorial held in the Gall backyard. When I asked Mark Gall why I wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to my friend, he told me I would not get along with HIS NEW friends who are radical Christians, Zionists, and Tea Party admirers. I then find out other old friends were not invited. It just so happens we are Democrats.
Posted on January 20, 2014by Royal Rosamond Press
When Rena was sitting in that bar nursing a cola, she was looking way out to sea Could she see the Channel Islands that clear sunny day? My grandfather used to go camping on these Islands. He wrote a story about a man who goes to Santa Cruz Island and befriends a young pig. He is tried in court and found ‘Guilty’.
Here is a young woman who came west from Nebraska. She has no idea she is about to have an impact on California History.
After Mary Rosamond told her husband not to come home, and I must assume after he failed to get a book contract with Homer Croy, Mary dressed the four beautiful Rosamond sister in the Indian costumes that Royal picked up somewhere, and had them drag out boxes full of his little novel he could not sell. After Mary poured some gasoline on the pile of ‘The Copper Indian’, Mary made her daughters whoop and dance around the bonfire. My aunt Lillian says they were crying their hearts out. They were forbidden to mention their father’s name or repeat any of his history. When I exhibited a gift for writing poetry, I became a marked man. The Rosamond sisters, and my grandmother, got spooked.
Roy Reuben Rosamond was a very early promoter of Sunny California and the California Dream that Rena Victoria Christensen may have wanted to sample.
Jon Presco
Copyright 2014
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Fletcher_Lummis
http://www.mocavo.com/Out-West-Volume-3/448611/92
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Cruz_Island
Overland Monthly was a monthly magazine based in California, United States, and published in the 19th and 20th century.
The magazine’s first issue was in July 1868, published by Bret Harte, and continued until the late 1875. The original publishers, in 1880, started The Californian, which became The Californian and Overland Monthly in October 1882. In January 1883, the effort reverted to The Overland Monthly (starting again with Volume I, number 1). In 1923 the magazine merged with Out West to become Overland Monthly and the Out West magazine, and ended publication in July 1935.
Famous writers, editors, and artists included:
Ambrose Bierce
Alice Cary
Willa Cather
Frona Eunice Wait Colburn
Bret Harte
Ina Coolbrith
Edgar Fawcett
Henry George
John Brayshaw Kaye
Clarence King
Jack London
Josephine Clifford McCracken
Joaquin Miller
John Muir
Hugo Wilhelm Arthur Nahl
Stephen Powers – on California Native Americans.
William Saroyan
Clark Ashton Smith
Charles Warren Stoddard
Mark Twain
Joseph Pomeroy Widney – contributed 8 articles.
The Dunites, Nazarites, and, Windites
Posted on December 23, 2021 by Royal Rosamond Press
On this day, I John Gregory Presco, found a Universal Cosmology, that will include a New Order of The Franciscan Friars, the Rosa Mira Prophecy, and some of the teaching of Meher Baba will be included.
John ‘The Windite’
Lily Dew and The Dunites
Posted on February 27, 2020 by Royal Rosamond Press
Was my grandfather, Victor Hugo Presco, living on his houseboat when Meher Baba visited the Dunites?
John of Saint Francis
Return to the Dunes and Moy Mell
Posted on May 26, 2015by Royal Rosamond Press
When I talked to Carol Williams we spoke between the lines, being, law firms have no spiritual base, and will bleach out all the spirituality they find in Creative People they handle so they can get down to what really matters to them – THE MONEY!
I am more than a Baba Lover. I have traced his families cosmology to the Kurds, as well as the Nazarites. I have been communicating with Kurds on facebook. One group is seeking to form a secular way of life to counter ISIS that is destroying art and selling artifacts.
Sydney Morris crushed my spiritual input in my family, along with the Family Sobriety that I begged him to protect in several letters. I will have to go to the Monterey Supreme Court and see how many of letters got filed in the probate of Christine Rosamond Benton.
Morris did not charge my family any money because he knew he had destroyed us and the Rosamond estate. He knew this while he handled the Creative Legacy of the Weston family. Edward Weston contributed to the ‘Dune Forum’ which published photos of Meher Baba’s visit to the Dunites. Add to these images the photos of Peter Stackpole and we are gazing upon the sublime.
Jon Presco
Copyright 2015
sublime
1. elevated or lofty in thought, language, etc.: Paradise Lost is sublime poetry.
2. impressing the mind with a sense of grandeur or power; inspiring awe, veneration, etc.:Switzerland has sublime scenery.
During the earlier 1932 visit he had met a spiritual seeker named Sam Cohen, a Theosophist and resident of a loosely knit freethinkers’ community named “Moy Mell” nestled among the dunes on the beach at Oceano, California. The benefactor of this group of intellectuals, spiritual seekers, artists and social misfits was Chester Alan Arthur III, grandson of the 21st President, who went by the name of Gavin. For a time Gavin published a magazine called the Dune Forum, which included articles by such notables as Stuart Edward White (author of the spiritualist classic, The Unobstructed Universe), and photographic contributions by Ansel Adams and Edward Weston (whose dune photographs are well-known). Gavin would frequently entertain the intellectual and artistic elite of America at his cabin in the dunes. Although accounts differ somewhat, it appears that Baba sent disciple Meredith Starr and his wife to Moy Mell in 1932
http://www.photographywest.com/pages/weston_sand_dunes.html
http://socalarchhistory.blogspot.com/2010/11/oceano-dunes-and-westons.html
http://www.ial.goldthread.com/Meher_Baba.html
“The most amazing vibrations on earth could be found 18 miles south of San Luis Obispo California in the middle of the Oceano Dunes…That’s where we are. A vortex, kinda like Sedona Arizona, just a magnificent energy center.” — Environmentalist John Reid
We’re a few miles south of Pismo Beach not far from the 101 freeway. I’ve been following environmentalist John Reid into the dunes for hours. We’re a little lost, but that’s the nature of the place.
An entire squatter community once disappeared into this wilderness — a colony of hermits, artists and poets called Dunites. They sat out the great depression here in a string of wooded coves, drawing in visitors like John Steinbeck, Upton Sinclair and even India’s holy man, Meher Baba. The Dunite appeal — as, Reid sees it — was their freedom.
“To live the American dream the way it was intended to be lived, not the way it was manufactured to be,” said Reid. “They were able to have their little plots of land, their gardens and their creative enterprises without any government interference.”
Tucked behind commercial farmland and oil fields, the Oceano Dunes are still obscure. Most people I’ve talked to have never heard of them. Strange considering they’re 18 miles long and look like an Egyptian desert sitting halfway between Los Angeles and San Francisco.
You know those famous Ansel Adams dune photos? Well, that’s them. Except now they’re a big RV campground and off-roader’s paradise.
Fenced off from the vehicles, the Dunites’ archaeological remains sit side by side with those of the native Chumash who lived here for thousands of years before them. Big white heaps of their ancient discarded meals. Their shell mounds.
“You could tell which ones are Chumash and which ones are Dunite based upon the size of the clam shell,” said Reid. “When the Chumash were here, there were a lot more sea otters, the predator of the Pismo clam. But when the Dunites were here, sea otters had gotten rare, the clams got larger, lived longer.”
Full grown clams, a mediterranean climate, fresh water a few feet underground, and secluded coves. What more could a hermit ask for?
The Changling Under the Fairy Tree
Posted on May 26, 2015by Royal Rosamond Press
Does it matter? From where these beautiful children come, they come with magic.
The photograph of my grandson prepared to seize the day, with his basketball and backpack, tells me none of us, no matter how old or young, are born to disappoint, but, point the way.
When I beheld the photo of Keven and Tyler, I saw a young man of nineteen, perhaps practicing to be a father with his brother’s child?
We are Changling Children, born from the rings in the great Fairy Tree. And we arrive, arrive, we arrive!
Jon
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Midsummer_Night’s_Dream
A Midsummer Night’s Dream is a comedy play by William Shakespeare, believed to have been written between 1590 and 1596. It portrays the events surrounding the marriage of the Duke of Athens, Theseus, and Hippolyta. These include the adventures of four young Athenian lovers and a group of six amateur actors (mechanicals), who are controlled and manipulated by the fairies who inhabit the forest in which most of the play is set. The play is one of Shakespeare’s most popular works for the stage and is widely performed across the world.
The first duke of Athens (as well as of Thebes, at first) was Otto de la Roche, a minor Burgundian knight of the Fourth Crusade. Although he was known as the “Duke of Athens” from the foundation of the duchy in 1205, the title did not become official until 1260. Instead, Otto proclaimed himself “Lord of Athens
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duchy_of_Athens
Blavatsky portrayed the Theosophical Society as being part of one of many attempts throughout the millennia by this hidden Hierarchy to guide humanity – in concert with the overall Intelligent Cosmic Evolutionary scheme – towards its ultimate, immutable evolutionary objective: the attainment of perfection and the conscious, willing participation in the evolutionary process. These attempts require an earthly infrastructure (such as the Theosophical Society) which she held was ultimately under the inspiration of a number of Mahatmas, members of the Hierarchy.[8]
Literary critic Shirley Nelson Garner argues that there are several reasons why Oberon wants to take the Indian boy from Titania, but the biggest reason is that Oberon wants Titania’s affection all to himself.
One reason Oberon wants to take the boy from Titania is that, as Garner points out, Titania has an affection for the boy that borders on the erotic. We see this strength of affection when Puck informs us that Titania “crowns [the boy] with flowers, and makes him all her joy,” which is the exact same way we see her treat Bottom when she falls in love with him (II.i.27). Hence, if Oberon is recognizing her affection of the boy as being somewhat erotic, then he would certainly feel jealous and want to have her affection all to himself.
Garner explains that another reason why he is jealous is actually because, not only does she feel a somewhat erotic affection for the boy, Titania also had a very close bond with the boy’s mother. Titania explains that the boy’s “mother was a votaress of [her] order,” meaning a devout worshiper of Titania, possibly even a “priestess.” But beyond being a devout worshiper, Titania also expresses that she and the boy’s mother were very close and very frequently gossiped together and conversed. Thus, when the boy’s mother died while in labor, Titania promised to care for the boy. Hence, another reason why Oberon is jealous of the boy is because he was jealous of the closeness Titania shared with the boy’s mother.
Therefore, we can see that Oberon is jealous of the boy because he does not want Titania sharing her affection with anyone else and instead wants her affection all to himself.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Changeling
Almost all kinds of tree found in the Celtic countries have been thought to have special powers or to serve as the abode of the fairies, especially the magical trio of oak, ash, and thorn. Next in rank are the fruit-bearing trees apple and hazel, followed by the alder, elder, holly, and willow. The esteem given different trees varies in different parts of the Celtic world; on the Isle of Man, the phrase ‘fairy tree’ denotes the tramman elder.[1] The medieval Welsh poem Cad Goddeu (The Battle of the Trees) has been interpreted as a remnant of Druidic lore, possibly relating to the Celtic tree alphabet ogham found across northwestern Europe.
Mary Magdalene Rosamond of Saint Francis
Posted on December 1, 2016by Royal Rosamond Press
Briar Cliff University is a private, Franciscan, Roman Catholic, liberal arts university located in Sioux City, Iowa, United States.
In March 1929, Mother Mary Dominica Wieneke, Major Superior of the Sisters of Saint Francis of Dubuque, along with the Most Rev. Edmond Heelan, Bishop of the Sioux City Diocese, co-founded Briar Cliff College after meeting with members of the Sioux City community, who committed to raising $25,000 to support the establishment of a Catholic women’s college in Sioux City. The twelve foundresses of the College were carefully chosen by Mother Dominica. They were led by Sister Mary Servatius Greenen, who was named the first president.[2]
“Little Briar Rose“, a folk tale originally recorded by the Brothers Grimm and used as a basis for Disney’s Sleeping Beauty and Maleficent
Meher Baba & Giovanni Francis of Assisi
Posted on December 14, 2017by Royal Rosamond Press
To discover Saint Francis was name John (Giovanni) by he mother, who I now consider to have been a Nazarite Mother after Hannah, Elizabeth, and Samson’s in-named mother, I might own proof there is a God. I am not offering a sublime rapture of spiritual feelings, nor do I seek any followers. My hand has been forced. God has taken everything from me in His Election. Job and Jonah and I have much in common.
My grandmother, Mary Magdalene Rosamond, visited the Ojai Center and made friends with members of the Theosophical Society that suggested Khrishnamurti was the Second Christ. I suspect Mary looked at me as a candidate.
The felling of Baba’s oak nearby, tells me there is a great spiritual wind and fire that is electing God’s People in a way I will describe to you. Consider Elijah being taken up in a Chariot of Fire.
Giovanni ‘The Nazarite’
Meher Baba and Saint Francis
Posted on February 10, 2014by Royal Rosamond Press
“Saint Francis of Assisi was the only one of the very few saints in Europe to become a Perfect Master.”
Rosamond Press 
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