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Conversations with Dead People: A Series – Finding Voice

Post Series: Conversations with Dead People

Finding Voice
Pen to Paper, 40 Minute Writing with Revision

Albert Einstein throws a tennis ball into the river for the three dogs. I sit at the picnic table, watching Albert, thinking about typing into my iPhone. My writing inquiry tonight is how to give myself fully and completely to the peaceful and just transformation of the military industrial complex. I know I can be one woman in the rebirthing of this beast.

In my body, I know it. With these practices, I feel myself becoming it. With other evolutionary humans, taking those first steps out of this crazy cultural sea.

Albert is in full support, and decided to come along to the dog park so I could write instead of focus on Sheeta, Toby and Holiday Napkins. He picks up the tennis ball Sheeta just dropped at his bare feet, throwing the ball into the river.  Sheeta splashes past him, running into the river’s current. The sun drops deeper into gold at the opposite edge of the river.

I smile, feeling overwhelmed with love, looking at my iPhone, feeling my way into a deeper witnessing of the complexities of my beloved country, the United States of America. I watch my mind wave along: Why do we feel we need to spend more on defense than the next twelve nations combined? This is insanity! No wonder North Korea is fully armed.  Seven hundred billion dollars, including a fifty billion increase passed just last week, all towards military might.

Afraid, I begin writing, letting my voice be any way it needs to be:

No more killing. None. Instead of selling weapons, they can sell enema bags. Revolutionize health care. Or figure out how to build the free energy infrastructure. I don’t understand why they believe it’s one business for them, or none. The resources of war need to go into solving the world’s wicked problems like fucking climate change! Not to mention the rape of the world by the people whom Noam Chomsky calls, The Masters of Mankind.

We need to give aid, and empower, all people of Puerto Rico, now.

Huge. Huge. Huge. Change. Coming easily. I imagine how this all could work. Connections on the page. Creativity.

Yes, if particles can do it, we can do it. Spooky action at a distance. Quantum tunneling. Being two places at once. Traveling faster than the speed of light. The constants are not constant everywhere. There is solid evidence the universe itself is evolving. The universe is evolving inside of human beings.

What will I give my power to? My own imagination, or the imagination of the madmen?

My own, thank you. I am a miracle of matter.

I stop writing, what my mind continue to reflect – miracles of matter. I am from the stars. Planet Earth gave birth to me. I often feel like I don’t know how to communicate how I can feel myself becoming more aware of these evolutionary forces within my body. The meaningful coincidences. This ongoing process of deconstructing the fucked-up-genocide-machine-of-the-killing-culture.

I will not give up.

I look up, seeing Albert walk into the river. It seems Holiday Napkins didn’t retrieve the third tennis ball he just threw. He is wading along with the silver waves of the current, chasing after the bobbing ball, pipe smoke trailing behind him.

I hear words, pulling me back to writing, whispers of poetry, words writing themselves like swimming naked men, dead, but determined like fall leaves to meet this river, to know its love, death falling into concentric circles, waves, tree reflection.

What is reality, Albert?


How can enough of us evolutionary humans show up to transform this existential crisis into a new culture of love?

I hear a flock of starlings singing across the river. My body wants to write now. I listen, moving from the picnic table to sit at the river’s edge, amongst the brush. I am taking photos. I see how how light delivers itself to my world, to my eye, gazing. Love arises within body – for the leadership of North Korea, the leadership of the United States, the billionaires making a profit off killing people, off weapons of mass destruction.

In my body. Love for all.

I take a deep breathe, moving awareness to the golden spread of sun across this field of water. I see spectrums of color -red, orange, yellow bands of light – waltzing. I squat, slightly rise, squat, following the dance moves of the waves with my body.

I pull up the Notes app on my iPhone again, return to writing, just as the three dogs shake at my feet, leaving me wet with river. We are not linear. The universe is evolving now. The universe is evolving now within this very body. Consciousness is transforming as it meets green blue indigo bands of light. I am waltzing along a valley of gravity. I am the unified theory of everything.

I am Love.

With the dogs back, I wonder about Albert, put the phone in my back jeans pocket, look around. I don’t see him anywhere. Worry arises, he’s not such a great swimmer, even though he has been practicing lately. I push away my worry by pulling an extra ball from my coat pocket. I throw it. The ball breaks the water’s surface. The water captures the sunset. I see explosion, the way everything is waves. I think about the beautiful people who kneeled throughout the day on football fields, in locker rooms, on musical stages. I feel the outrageous courage. I am in a deep gratitude to all who kneel when kneeling arises within them.

Happily, I see Albert swimming upstream. Bony arm stroke after bony arm stroke, swimming toward shore. I smile as he approaches, walking up the beach, the dogs running to greet him. I notice the loving gaze of intention in his eyes. His wet smile. As he stops in front of me, a rusty Pomeranian dog yaps at his feet. We both look down to see the miniature dog trying to chew on Albert’s toe bones. I grab his hand, and the five of us head toward the car, and home.



Conversations with Dead People is a series of stories which show up in my meditative practice, Contemplative Writing. With this practice I sit with pen and paper, twenty minutes, and write to a prompt from a meditative space. I share these stories with minimal edits to share the depth, the directness, the deep body sense, I experience with my teachers.

Albert Einstein pops into my writing often, we hang out, giving us both a direct chance to explore the illusion of time. Albert feeds me tremendous encouragement to trust the irresistible urge I have to grieve, and heal, through death.

We also meet Thomas Merton, Georgia O’Keeffe, Carl Jung, and more through this weekly blog, Conversations with Dead People: A Series. Please join us each week.

~Kristina Amelong



This Post Has 2 Comments

  1. Your understanding of what the hell is really going on here, is extraordinary, your karma with the past, your view of the present, & your fear of the future, all fold together to help demonstrate that all things are happening at once, in spite of our perception with our limited ability

  2. I fall in silence in humble stance and hear your words deeply impacting and reflecting on your feelings and worry. It reflects many of our feelings and the nonsense that is unfortunately part of the human belief in some that want territorial rights and power above others. There is a place for ego but none for casual weaponry or weaponry in support of threatening behavior. Us who have little power are vulnerable to the whims of those who clearly have no compassion for their own let alone decency. We can only find comfort in each other’s solace and love. As a world we have been developing so much but still there is oppression and those on the other side who struggle to live. What goes on in the minds of these tragic human beings? Do we retreat into our safe worlds and ignore them or do we continue to find ways to de-esculate these behaviours. Somehow I fear we are caught up in our destinies that are governed by the rich and stupid!!! Love to you all and my love and support to you Kristina Amelong in you efforts to make sense of all this and share your world with us making all you connect with, an even bigger US. WE . A group of connect souls with only future in our minds. Xx

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