One of the many Washington State Ferries
Gone were the days of hopping onto the ferry for a quick ride across the Sound—unless of course, you were on foot. Riding the iconic green and white ferry this past weekend is not only a familiar, favorite pastime of many tourists to Seattle, including myself, but serves a vital transportation network for more than—wow— 23 million passengers annually in the Northwest.
The Washington State Ferry system is the only way to reach some of the islands around the Puget Sound*—technically now part of the Salish Sea and nestled between two picturesque mountain ranges: Cascades and Olympics. But in the meantime—you wait in line for a boat.
And so, I was invited to spend the weekend with a friend of mine in Sequim and as we waited and chatted catching up in the car, creeping slowly down the mile+ long line that ran up and around the hill, all the while inching toward the ferry toll booths to buy tickets to make the short crossing from Edmonds to Kingston— on to the Kitsap Peninsula, and then further west to the diverse Olympic Peninsula bordering the expansive Pacific Ocean.
We sat poised behind a 18 wheeler inching ever closer as the line curved down the hill—the many cars patiently waiting—-to board. Out of the blue, a white Ford SUV cut in line—right in front of the truck bearing the British Columbia plates. Ouch!
Now, as notice to the reader, there are many signs posted—about no “cutting-in-Line,” and for good reason, if you have ever waited—hours sometimes to board and cross the water—depending on which route, time, day, and where you were headed.
So, when this SUV pulled ahead of the semi-truck, my friend Brad, and a frequent ferry rider, decided to let them know this was not only not cool, but the toll takers would turn them around to the back of the line. Before we knew and he could get there, the Canadian truck driver had also jumped out to make this aberrant vehicle aware of the protocol breech. In a quick exchange with the SUV driver and passenger, the truck driver shouted to Brad, “if I hit the guy—I am going to jail”—and got back in his vehicle. And so, good natured Brad took his turn. His experience was no better and with the belligerent response and defiant attitude, he decided to turn to his other option: reporting the vehicle using the special hot line established by the WSF system—and that’s exactly we did.
As fate would have it, we had all progressed and stopped to a stone’s throw of the three toll booths, and it was time to alert the toll takers. We again witnessed an attitude as two toll takers preceded to move the vehicle out of line and turned them around; about like hitting a nest of yellow-jackets. (And, you don’t want to be anywhere close when the stick hits the hive.) But, justice prevailed and I am sure the on-lookers were most amused. No one was hurt or hauled off to jail, although the woman inside the car had gotten out and was taking pictures of those who had offended her and foiled her cheating-cut-in-line intention—shouting something about hitting her car—what???
Later the next afternoon, Brad and I stopped to get sandwiches at a local Safeway. We had passed a fiddle player outside the grocery store on the way back to the car and had enjoyed a few strums as we passed him heading across the asphalt when we realized in the row in front of us and a space to the right was a large pickup parked and playing his tunes in a very, very base—you know shake the windows—kind of style. A few sentences into a conversation about how neither of us cared for this “genre”—the kids next to us in the mini-van with the door open—said that that was their brother we were talking about—and how this was America and they could do anything they wanted—and then filed out of the van—daisy dukes—tattoos and all, to let their brother know—we didn’t exactly embrace his music. Quite a family, I must say . . . “Mom” came out shortly with a couple bags of groceries and within a few minutes they were gone. However, big brother, spun his truck around, his Mother’s bags of groceries quickly tossed and rolling across the bed of his truck. He was more concerned with us, as he pulled behind where we were parked, and walked up to Brad’s window. “Hi, I’m sorry you didn’t like my music. Next time, I’ll play it louder!” I looked at Brad and he back at me in between bites of the sandwiches on our laps. In a way it was almost humorous. What the heck just happened, I mused? It had been a weird kind of weekend—something that over the many trips to the Peninsula had always been quiet and peaceful—and again found ourselves innocently in the middle of a shifting and what seemed angry outburst.
Communication, I thought, how often do we realize that everything we do is a form of communication—both verbally and nonverbally alike. I have known for decades that non-verbal communication is more honest and truthful that verbal. We cannot hide the way we express ourselves, observed in—our dress—our hair—our cars—our houses— “our tattoo’s” if any—or our music to name a few.
But, does communication come to us in other forms as well? What about the stars and their magnetic influence and pull? Certainly the moon affects us as evidenced by ER visits. Or Mercury when it goes retrograde; it’s effect on electronics, travel, decisions and communication. Do the trees communicate with us? We all know “tree huggers.” What do the trees say to them? Crystals are givers and receivers of information, especially quartz. I have friends that have the ability to communicate with the rocks and crystals. And, water—we know it communicates as well—certainly from Masaru Emoto’s work which not only supports this, but scientifically documents water’s messages.
But, what else communicates with us that we have no awareness, because of our lack of understanding or our multidimensional nature? Dreams? And, can we receive messages from the whales and dolphins? Is that why we are so fascinated by these magnificent cetaceans? What about the Sun? I understand it is talking to the heliosphere of Earth, and this is talking to the esoteric grids—which is communicating to our DNA and consciousness. Could that explain the weekend? Our politics? Our relationships? Our desires—our wants—needs—our changes, endings and beginnings taking place at every level of our lives and beingness? What about our intuition? What important ideas and thoughts come this way?
How do our intentions and words influence our daily lives? Have you noticed anything new? What is different in your life? How do you communicate with yourself and others? We all seem to be individual receivers and communication—visible or not—is coming to us ALL ways and always.
“Inspired Wellness from Within”
Cathrine Silver, HC, AADP
Cathysilverhealth@gmail.com
We are ALL WAYS communicating–whether we realize it or not–verbally & non-verbally.
*Unless you own a private boat
Filed under: 2016, anger, Choices, choice point, COMMUNICATION, Compassion, Energies of Healing, Energy Healing, Food for Thought, Healthy Living, Non-verbal Communication, Primary Food, Self-help, Washington State Ferry System Experience | Leave a comment »
Three days before, Ela and I had driven our way into town, and we comfortably checked into a room we would be sharing for the next five days; everything seemed to show its age. The hustle and bustle of the historical old Arlington Hotel was visible. I equated it to the strain of a faded late-model Chevy and a few too many miles. No one was counting as the odometer had simply pooped out years before. The driver, still happy she got him faithfully to town and back when the occasion arose. And yet, for the most part, no one seemed to notice. The town was more famous for our now past president’s boyhood home and the old bathhouse relics which lined the main street; in their prime 100+ years before. I had come here to partake in another Pineal Toning Choir, an exercise and purpose that spoke to me on a level far beyond any conscious reasoning or logical sense; the pull was too great. I had been registered eons before the 1924 construction date of the Arlington or before this territory was called Arkansas; even perhaps before the Native Americans called it their home recognizing its sacredness as something special.
Ah, the memories. I look back now and marvel at the fun-filled expeditions across the United States that I shared with my boys growing up; that small window of time—still being at home—and not having summer jobs—or big plans with their friends; I valued those summer moments even today.
CathrineSilver.com 