Furr II and magical white...

This morning on 7/17/26, I attended a guided meditation gathering on Zoom. It was my first time attending this particular group. 

The host posed a prompt about a future self and what we envision as a future self.

Who would I be in the future?

I thought of death, which is the future of every living creature. 

And then Wolf appeared. 

She first appeared in a March 2025 Zoom group guided meditation.

And here she was again.

~*~

I do not have any fixed belief regarding the afterlife; other than I do not believe in a burning hell or in eternal torment.

Do we stay in a "sleep" state until Jesus returns to call us up together in the air or until a final resurrection with new bodies that will live forever?

Do we reincarnate into another form or human?  

Do we simply cease to exist altogether? 

None of us really knows, though some may claim they "know." 

I used to claim such. 

I didn't just believe; I knew. 

People have had near-death experiences, and I do not doubt (most of) their stories. 

Are those experiences an actual reality of fact as to what happens after death?

Or are they prompted by beliefs, subconscious dreams, cellular memories, energetic signatures, or other biological or metaphysical happenings?

Lately, the reality of my own mortality feels more "distinct" than previously, most likely due to the recent deaths of two family members.
Hubby's mom passed on 6/06; she was the last of our parents to die. 
My brother passed on 7/02, the first of our siblings to die. 
It's like one chapter closed and another opened. 

This has a different feel than the deaths of our other parents--in 1993, 1996, and 2009. 

And different than the deaths of friends over the last few years. 

While composing this blog piece, I searched my brain for a word to describe what I was feeling in regard to death. At first the words "clarity" and "clear" came to mind, but neither captured what I was sensing. Then an image appeared in my mind's eye--an outline of a human form, standing. The form is white with no features. The soft-black outline impressed upon me that of a boundary. Then the word "distinct" appeared, and that feels more precise.

Could Wolf be my future reincarnation?

I do not know, but I do believe Wolf appeared again to help me in this moment of life.

~*~

After the group meditation, the host offered a prompt for journaling: "What questions would I ask of my future self?" 

In response, I wrote the following:

Hello Wolf, my future me.

I don't know what to ask you. But I feel you've already instructed me -- to be free, to let go of worry, to stay connected to Earth and the mountains and my family, 

And to howl -- to make my voice heard. 

And in that howl, others will find magic.

My voice matters.

My voice counts.

Wolf responds:

And remember to play, to frolic. 

You may never be able to run again, but for now, you can ride your bicycle.

In the future, even if you have to give up cycling, you can dance. 

And if you must dance in a chair -- if your body is unable to make the movements -- your heart can always dance.

Then I ask:

But how can I get my home organized?

Wolf responds:

It already is. You know where to find the things you need.

You simply need to organize so that when you pass the kids can easily find what is needed. 

So that is really all you "need" to organize. 

The rest of it?

Just take your time.

I know you want to be able to host Son's family, so keep that in mind as far as how to move forward and the next thing to do.

~*~

Below is a poem I wrote when Wolf first appeared...
Magic happened again today...

Furr... 

 3/24/25 

Today, Magic happened...

I became one with Wolf

Exhilaration, freedom, fully-sensed

Running unencumbered through the wild

Pausing as my instincts direct

I smell the deep, dark, pine forest 

I howl in primal connection

Aware but not afraid

I was created for this romp

These woods, wild

These woods, raw

These woods, real

These woods, home

Following a trail, blazing a trail

I live, I thrive in these elements

Purpose, navigation, sacred connection

Heeding the call to which I was born

Today, Magic happened... 

~*~ 

Addendum: More magic...

On 7/18 (the day after my Wolf meditation and the vision of a white human form with no features), Hubby and I were cycling Railroad Grade Road which parallels the South Fork of the New River in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The New River is one of the oldest rivers in the world. And it's one of the approximately 48 US rivers that flows north. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small flock of cawing crows in flight with a different colored bird in front of the flock. The crow chorus ceased, and the flock apparently landed. Then, in clear view, I spied a pure white bird high above the river flying the same direction that we were biking. It had been the bird in front of the crow flock which was no longer in flight. 

I thought to myself... What is that?!?... It's not a heron or egret... It's not a dove... The body shape doesn't match. It's not a hawk. Is it a seagull? But I see no color on it. And I've never seen seagulls in the mountains. I've seen them in the foothills, but they are always with a flock. 

Hubby was riding behind me, so I pointed to this beautiful sight to make sure he saw it too.

"I see it!" he shouted. And then a few moments later he shouts, "Is it a pigeon?" I shook my head no because the body shape didn't match. 

It sailed and glided and dipped--up, down, back-and-forth. At one point it turned to fly toward us, but I couldn't make out the color of its beak before it turned back to continue its graceful dance. The aerial show lasted at least a minute as we sailed on bicycles with it sailing in the blue sky the same direction as we were pedaling. And then, the beauty zoomed into the forest.  

After we stopped Hubby and I wondered in awe together.

Albino crows are rare, but they do exist. Also, the beak of an albino crow is a pinkish white which could explain why I saw no color on the beak. I later read that albino crows may be rejected by their flock, which could explain the flock in flight cawing behind and then landing without the pure white aviator. 

The color white had again appeared. Yet this time it was not in a vision, but rather a sight with my physical eyes. And Hubby saw it too. 

North-flowing rivers are rare.

Albino crows are rare.

And that I can again ride my bike while still living with polyradiculitis, now in its 16th year, is quite remarkable.  

Another magical day.

~*~ 

The title of my 3/24/25 poem (but not the stanzas) is borrowed from Blitzen Trapper's song, Furr...

A 3-month June...

Tools I have to help me

But which to reach for 

In times of depletion

In times of overwhelm

In times of isolation

Barely enough energy to think and type these few words

Which cannot capture the depth of the suffering

June has been a three-months month. 

Along with my detailed, regular daily maintenance and almost-weekly medical appointments, there has been...

The 7-day trip to the Outer Banks, a huge feat for me but worth it.

I had it strategically planned, including my one-to-two-week recovery time.

But the recovery window did not manifest.

John and I had to cut our trip a day short; his 91-year-old mom was dying.

He arrived at her bedside 2 minutes before her last breath.

Then came...

Searching through photos for my daughter to put together a slide show in honor of Gran.

A 4-day trip to The Smokies, where Gran lived, to attend her Celebration of Life and to help ferret through some of the huge inventory in her home.

At the Celebration, I briefly spoke about Gran's love for nature and shared an incident when she and a fellow hiker survived 3 nights lost in The Smokies in dead winter. They ate snow for hydration. 

Also, we had...

Our own back porch--putting furniture back after 17 months of being without.

Our downstairs--having to move furniture and cover staircase rails and other furniture with sheets to help keep dust minimized when workers drilled 11 penny-sized holes into the floor and foundation to inject polyfoam.

Then having the downstairs cleaned and furniture put back until it has to be moved again in latter July to complete the project.

I helped as best I could, trying to uphold the previous Carol who was once able-bodied...

But again, I paid a price...

Increased popping and pain in my back.

Injury to my shoulder from carrying a small luggage piece.

Severe spasms in my lower left ankle and foot at 4:30 AM, the pain a 10 out of 10 as I (typically a non-screamer) screamed in agony enduring the 3-to-4-minute seizure. John came rushing in. I managed to holler, "Mag Phos 6X!" Within a moment after it was under my tongue the pain ameliorated. I followed up with a couple more homeopathic cell salts, a red-light laser treatment, and then Xanax. I guess one could call me an integrative patient. 

Then there is...

My brother with stage 4 pancreatic and liver cancer and side effects of treatment. He was diagnosed at the end of February. Today he was transferred to in-patient hospice care. 

Our housecleaner's daughter in a head-on collision, but she's still with us. May she receive a full recovery.

One of my tooth crowns dislodging at 4:00 AM when I got up to pee; at least I didn't swallow it

A new-to-me car and adapting from a 1999 to piloting a 2016. Yes, I'm thankful for the new vehicle, but I'm having to learn new skills in order to safely maneuver. More for my already-overloaded brain.

The family of chiggers that moved into my pants--at least eleven itchy welts. That hadn't happened in over 5 decades. But I discovered that hemorrhoid ointment helps.

I feel I've lived through a time warp.

It has felt very strange.

But Carol, some of this is good and you lived some magical moments in spite of it all.

Can you flip your downtroddenness into gratitude, without denying the realities of what you live day to day?

The suffering, the pain, the sleeplessness, the fatigue, the discipline to stick with the protocols.

The rage, the depression, the anxieties.

The isolation.

Carol, what good happened in this three-month June?

Plenty, but I do not want to gloss over the suffering as if it doesn't matter.

As if it's not real.

Don't gloss. 

Allow. 

And also recall the good.

Recall the suffering of others who have it so much worse than you.

They too know the isolation.

Like Barry, who you met last week at the greenway.

He gets it.

~*~

Follow Your Heart by Michael Franti & Spearhead

~*~

Addendum:

My brother passed two days after being admitted to in-patient hospice. It kind of felt like a bookend to the 3-month June. RIP Brother and Mother-in-law....
Links to their obits:
Mother-in-law Kate...
Brother Ted...

Saving both...

Finally, our beloved screened-in back porch and deck are complete, or complete enough. 

Our previous deck and porch were demolished in December 2024. Our house foundation needed repairs. Thus, the demolition. The deck needed replacing anyway. 

The first waterproof professional told us we could either save the house or the tree. According to him, the tree roots were the cause of the foundation issues. 

Do we sacrifice Hiram to save our manmade dwelling? Or do we let the house go, and allow it to take its natural course of aging and decay?

The tree isn't just any tree... 

He is a giant, beautiful scarlet oak whom I named Hiram. He provides homes to squirrels and birds and insects, shade over our house, and companionship to me since I've been disabled. Sunday night I sat on the now-furnished, completed porch as Hiram and I sang together--soft love songs to tunes and words that bubbled up while Hiram's leaves gently danced.

Obviously, Hubby and I didn't heed the advice of the first water proofer. Else, Hiram and I would not have communed. So, what happened? 

Back in 2024 we called our master arborist, Drew, to tell him the news--Hiram needed to be felled. Drew had already saved Hiram some 15 years prior when a tree cutter informed us Hiram was diseased and could fall at any moment.  That's when we found Drew, the master arborist. Hiram wasn't diseased after all. 

Drew answered, "I think we have a way to save both Hiram and the house. We do waterproofing and have had success with a certain technique." 

I could barely believe my ears, but my heart was thrilled. I had no idea Drew and crew waterproofed too! 

After Drew and Will's team demolished the deck and porch, they discovered our septic pipe was rusted and being held together by Hiram's roots and a bunch of hard dirt. (Thank you, Hiram.) Within 5 hours, a plumber replaced the old, rusted iron pipe with a PVC pipe. 

Once the team got to the foundation, they discovered that it was disintegrating from all the back yard water runoff. Plus, the cinder blocks were not waterproofed when the home was built in 1965. Will and crew fixed it, and we now have a bunker holding the foundation secure.

Around March 2025 we hired Juan to build the deck. By May he had finished, but there were problems. He'd used the wrong type gutters for the new porch and had damaged part of the gutters on the house; but he couldn't properly repair any of it. So, we hired Greg the gutterman to repair all that. Then there was the porch roof; it was holding moisture and black mold began growing on the ceiling. So, we hired Tom the roofer who had to replace the entire roof and install the proper rubber tile needed for flat roofs. 

We waited seven months to allow the wood to cure. Then it was time for staining. We hired Warren, and we got more problems. There were drips-runs, boot prints, sweep marks, and uneven coating. It stayed tacky for five months until Mark the painter could fix it. He corrected it beautifully. 

But before Mark could redo and correct Warren's stain job, we had to correct more of Juan's work. So, we hired Trey who fixed it all. Trey's attention to detail and craftsmanship are par excellence. 

Seventeen months from demolition, I have my outdoor therapy room back.

Hiram is now the host and greeter of the Olive Deck and Red Oak Bamboo Porch, named for their colors. Hiram quietly welcomes our guests--squirrels and chipmunks and songbirds and crows. And some nightly visits from feral cats. 

We love you, Hiram...