Scruffrug melts

These pages are stories of Scruffrug. Scruffrug was born a rug. One day he up and flew.

The story begins with me, Caroling, doing a morning carolyoga routine. Wow, wonderful yoga. Feel that extending guidance through others is empowering and the way to go. In meditation, an instant melting. I'm reminded of Scruffrug's melting that I honored on my trip to New Zealand. That's a story yet to be told. In brief, Scruffrug had flown to the Thumbs. They are two remote inaccessible peaks between the Southern Alps and the Canterbury plains. After landing between the peaks, he relaxed and then melted down.

Remembering, I became Scruffrug and the Scruffrug story continued. So melted that nothing to hold me together except that I've been disintegrated before, so each part of me holds memory of cohesiveness and how to reunite. I know what I am even when I am not. Since I can't fly, I'm washed away in the water filtering down through the ground and eventually flowing down the Rangitata River to the sea. It's a new experience for me, usually being a rug on ground or over ground in sky as flying carpet. Now to be ground, with part fluxed and flowing as water. So small that I am actually dissolved. And flow to the sea.

Ahh, the sea. Someone spoke of being in the sea today. Maybe this story is connected there too. Wonderful being sea. I can hug all continents at once, sending my love to everyone on earth at once, accepting all castaways, all their pollution. Actually I'm pollution myself and gradually sink and am washed to the deepest part of the ocean.

The light fades into darkness. The pressure increases. I know there are creatures and life forms here but can't see them. I sense them though, as I sense myself, even though I'm very dispersed. Sifting down here, I begin to understand that here is where the finest of earth's life forms eventually come. Coarse forms are caught in earth's unevenness. But forms such as mine drift, having known all snags and not tempted by them. Unknowing of a final destination.

Temporarily I coalesce into a ray or flounder, a flat, rug-like creature that slides under the debris of the ocean floor. I'm underneath it all. Here is the finest silt, the earthly remains of the best of the incarnated ones. So here I learn. And I can return to learn, like an earth library. This would be a good place for Caroling to come to do the pilgrim vigil reading. As for me: return of the rug.

Before ending the episode, focus for a moment on a UFO who has been listening to the story. It is a single being so it has trouble understanding how we all seem separate. But as the stories progress, the UFO sees that people are separate for creativity of communication and adventure stories we are all telling. What fun.

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