The Anam Glyphs E-Book

Peggy A. Wheeler

• Herausgeber: Dragon Moon Press
• Kategorie: Ratgeber
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 171

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Beautimus Potamus —a talking hippo on the mythical planet, Rendaz—is a university professor at Dr. Pimbly’s School of Goodly Educated Adults, a writer, and a maker of oracles.

From Rendazian and Earthian archetypical symbols, Beautmus developed her own divination tool, The Anam Glyphs. And, with the assistance of her “Hu Man” co-author on Earth, Peggy A. Wheeler, she has written a book about her oracle.
Part fantastical fiction and part “how to,” The Anam Glyphs is a guide to creating and interpreting universal divination stones so that seekers may better define their life’s path, discover answers to pressing questions, and catch a glimpse of their destiny.

There are thirty-two glyphs, each with its own distinct symbol. Beautimus and Peggy provide instruction on how to create the stones, cast them, read them, and interpret their meanings. Woven throughout the guide are oft-time humorous anecdotes from Beautimus’ life on Rendaz, and brief commentary from Peggy A. Wheeler.

Written as the companion to The Splendid and Extraordinary Life of Beautimus Potamus, The Anam Glyphs can also be used as a standalone piece for those interested in fun oracles and unusual divination tools.

Leseprobe

The Anam Glyphs

A Universal Oracle for the Wise Seeker

Beautimus Potamus and Peggy A. Wheeler

Copyright © 2018 Peggy A. Wheeler

All rights reserved. Reproduction or utilization of this work in any form, by any means now known or hereinafter invented, including, but not limited to, xerography, photocopying and recording, and in any known storage and retrieval system, is forbidden without permission from the copyright holder.

www.dragonmoonpress.com

Want to have your own deck of Anam Glyph Cards?

Order them here:

https://bit.ly/2OgvB2v

Dedicated to Steven D. Wheeler,

my life’s partner, my best friend, my everything.

Without you

I would not plant gardens,

make oracles,

or co-write books with talking hippos.

Peggy A. Wheeler

Acknowledgments

For their support, guidance, friendship and inspiration, I am filled with gratitude for so many people that I cannot name them all. Here are but a few of the special people in my life I wish to acknowledge for their support of The Anam Glyph project.

Thank you, Denise Dumars, my long time friend, my former literary agent, and a superb author. As my friend, and former agent, you have been always supportive.

Thank you to my dear heart-space sister-friend, “Sue Bee” Bateman, who supported this effort from the get-go, and nagged me mercilessly until I submitted my manuscript and proposal to Denise way back in the day.

A huge hug and many thanks go to my daughter, Aimee, and to my granddaughters, Brittany Ross and Gianna Marie, my muses. You three inspire me.

Much gratitude to my writing partners, Christine Stabile, and Will Weisser who kept me and my story on track. And a huge thanks you to my publisher, Gwen Gades, of Dragon Moon Press.

Most of all, I am grateful to my husband, critic, partner, and very best friend who puts up with a lot from me, always with grace, class, and humor. I love you with my entire being, my dearest, Steve.

A Note from Peggy A. Wheeler,

Lady Beautimus’ Co-Author

That night I’d been drinking wine. That’s true of every night, but a few hours earlier I’d lost my third job in seven months, so in an effort to self-medicate I had consumed more than usual. As a result, I went all slushy and soggy. Translation: I’d achieved a state I refer to as “Tipsy Woozie.”

I had poured another glass of the red when out of the big blue ether, a noisy otherworldly crackling, buzzing and popping filled my apartment. The smell of sulfur flooded my nostrils, and triggered a coughing fit so profound I thought I might lose a lung. For a moment I thought a hell demon may have come to drag me to the netherworld. I picked up my phone and prepared to dial Emergency, thinking if not a demon, then a terrible and murderous electrical fire had broken out in my apartment walls, and I might be fried alive.

As abruptly as the sound and stink came to me, the noise ceased, and the odor dissipated. After a thorough room inspection revealed no fire or smoke, and I found no trace of demons, I settled back in to my easy chair, wine in one hand, and book in another. “Must have been something outside, maybe some sort of traffic noise. It’s gone now. What do you think, Peaches?” My calico rubbed against my legs, her purr like a helicopter. I had resumed reading “One Hundred Years of Solitude,” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez when the lights dimmed as if by magic, and a grainy image of a full-sized female purple-eyed hippopotamus appeared on my living room wall. I dropped my book with a splat against the hardwood floor and spilled precious wine all over my pajamas, the only good pair I owned. I don’t know what upset me more, the waste of good pinot noir, my ruined jammies, or the hallucination.

The image resembled an old-time movie, not unlike the 8mm films Grandma used to take of us kids when we were toddlers, only this hippo appeared in life-like color, rather than sepia or that particular black-and-white of the time. “No, can’t be.” I clenched my eyes shut, and reopened them. The image remained steadfast. But when I looked over my shoulder I saw no one else in the room, and certainly no projector anywhere. I dismissed the hippo as a Tipsy Woozie vision.

I prepared to dump the last of my bottle of wine, swear off the grape forever, and then stand under a blistering hot shower until sober. But as I began my retreat to the bathroom, the hippo spoke to me in clear, articulate English, “Hello? Can you see me? This is Beautimus Potamus, and I need to ask a favor of you, Peggy.” That’s when I stumbled and nearly fell backwards over Peaches, who demonstrated her displeasure by grabbing my left calve with both set of forepaws and digging in her claws until blood ran down to my ankle.

Beautimus Potamus from the green planet, Rendaz, had called to ask me to be her Subject Matter Expert in all things Earthean for her book, The Anam Glyphs. I had no idea at that time I would also be her co-author, and in my craziest Tipsy Woozie moments, I could have never imagine that I’d become friends with a talking hippo on a distant planet.

“Why, me?” I asked her.

“Because I like your spirit. I’ve been observing you for years through my Crystal Interface.”

“You have?” I didn’t ask what a Crystal Interface might be.

“Yes, indeed. I need someone like you to help me verify information, and act as my Hu Man guide through the mysterious and often confounding culture of your planet. Of the thousands of possibilities, and after observing your growth from bubbit to adult, I chose you.”

I closed my eyes again, and reopened them. Yup, still there. “You’re not real. I’ve had too much to drink, I’m upset over losing my job, I’m tired, I spilled my wine and ruined my jammies. To top it off, my cat scratched me. I’m bleeding all over the place, and it’s likely to get infected, dammit. I know for a fact you can’t be talking to me. This is not possible.”

The hippo rocked side-to-side in what I could only interpret as a gesture of frustration. “Is that what you honestly believe?”

“Please go away right now. You’re scaring me.”

“Oh my. I didn’t mind to frighten you. I’d only hoped you’d be open to helping me. I suppose I will have to find another writer to…”

“I’m not a writer! I’m not an expert on Earth culture or history. I’m not anything but an unemployed office worker who can’t hold down a simple job, and now I think I may be going crazy talking with a hippo projected on my living room wall. Why me?”

“I told you, I like your spirit, and you are most assuredly a writer. You simply don’t know it, yet.”

I have experienced some bizarre, surrealistic events through the years, so I was open—a little, at least—to the notion there is much in our universe we cannot yet explain. Besides that, this hippo seemed kindly enough. “I’ll tell you what, Beautimus. I’m going to shower, swallow an aspirin, go to bed and sleep this off. If you’re the real deal, come back tomorrow night, and we’ll talk.” At that, with a pop and a flash of greenish light, the image vanished.

The following night, instead of wine, I drank peppermint tea to keep my wits about me on the off-off-off-chance the hippo from outer space might return. I had downed the last of my tea before I gave up waiting. “Well, that’s it. Just as I thought, there are no talking hippos from other planets visiting you, old girl. You have to stop drinking.”

I put my empty tea cup and saucer on the coffee table, and headed to bed with Peaches trotting close behind. I’d not taken four steps before the otherworldly crackling, buzzing, and popping filled the room, and the sulfur fumes assaulted me once again. I nearly tripped over Peaches, who let out a yowl and streaked off to hide under the bed. I turned, and there, on the blank wall, in all her big beautiful hippo glory, the image of Beautimus Potamus appeared, staring at me with those purple eyes. “Well, how about it? Will you help me?”

A Note to Hu Mans from Beautimus Potamus

Welcome wise seeker! I am Beautimus Potamus from the planet Rendaz. I am Professor of Earthly Things at Dr. Pimbly’s School of Goodly Educated Adults, a writer, and a lover of the supreme Great Goddess Genesis.

My planet is an emerald green globe, double the size of Earth, located in the far outlying reaches beyond Arcturus. We’ve two moons, Lady Luz and Lady Beth, and two suns, Purmoso and Racine. Rendaz has one massive ocean full of fish and water beasts, and our volcanic lands are crossed, dotted, and splashed by rivers, ponds, pools, waterfalls, and streams, all with the most loquacious fish you will ever encounter. The trout tribe, especially, are a chatty group.

All manner of mammals, reptiles, arachnids, and insects live on Rendaz. Many, such as dinosaurs, Sasquatch, and Jackalopes are now extinct on your blue planet, Earth. And, all of us save those born mute, talk. We work. We attend school. We raise families. We live, laugh and play much like Hu Mans, and we are beset by many of the same frailties that citizens of the blue planet suffer from. There are murderers and thieves among us on Rendaz, and we fall in love and get our hearts broken. Some of us struggle with jealousies, low self-esteem, frustrations, excess liver heat, and depression. But compared to Earthians, we are peaceful. We live and work together cooperatively, the ant tribes side-by-side with the T-Rex tribes, the Praying Mantis tribe next to the Hippo tribe. As a matter of fact, my best friend on Rendaz is Samuel S. Goodwings, a lime green praying mantis. He generally rides on my head as we walk and discuss scholarly matters, and we attend all the festivals together.

You Hu Mans are too violent and unpredictable, so none of you are allowed on our planet. It’s highly unlikely that any Rendazian would intentionally communicate with any Hu Man, but there are exceptions—My need to procure Hu Man assistance with the writing of this book being one. I had to seek out a Hu Man to help me better understand the ups and downs and sideways of Earthly existence, and, also, because so many of the symbols for The Anam Glyphs come from Earth.

I first observed Peggy A. on my Crystal Interface when she was but a mere bubbit. I watched her grow and develop over time, and eventually, I noticed similarities between us. As examples, she likes strawberries, as do I. She has been plagued by self-doubt and low self-esteem, as I have been. She likes dogs. I like dogs, especially my friend, Buford, who sometimes joins me on my morning walks. Although Buford is ill-educated, and tends to slobber, we do enjoy lovely chats. And, Peggy A. writes stories, as do I.

Of course, Hu Mans do not have the sensibilities of hippos. I had to work with Peggy A. closely to help her develop enough “hippo sense” so we could work together. Although an apt and eager student, she’s not quite there yet. I’m afraid you Hu Mans can be a little slow, but I have hopes for her because she’s proven herself to be at the very least somewhat teachable. I was delighted when she finally demonstrated enough sense to assist me with this project.

Her job is to add Earthian knowledge to the interpretations of the symbols, and to use her Hu Man hands and opposable thumbs to enter the information into her Earth computer, so I can transfer the information onto my Crystal Interface. She has done an adequate job, for which I am most grateful. I now consider Peggy A. my friend, as well. We talk about our love lives, and our bubbits. She and I both have daughters, now grown. We discuss our jobs. After a time of unemployment, she’s at last secured a position as a Technical Writer. Not bad for a woman whose prior experience was limited to entering things into a primitive keyboard where one has to actually press little buttons to make words and figures appear on paper or screen, and talking to people who call on the TeleFone.

One other thing we’ve in common is the show “I Love Lucy.” Peggy A. watched reruns on her TeleVision Set growing up. I still stream the show on my Crystal Interface. That episode where Lucy and Ethel worked on the chocolate assembly line is my absolute favorite. But, we cannot get too close, Peggy A. and I. Her lifespan is but a fraction of mine, and if I allow myself to become too attached, the grief of her passing may be too difficult for me to bear with grace. I, therefore, keep her at muzzle’s length.

As an aside, do you Hu Mans know we contacted your scientists in the lands known as Russia and America when you instigated your primitive space program? We thought to help. We even contacted your people at NASA to offer assistance. To our surprise, instead of accepting our help, every single one of the men in white shirts and thin pieces of cloth around their necks called “ties” dissolved into a an absolute tizzy. I assume you’ve heard the expressions, “Huston, we have a problem,” or “Danger! Danger! Will Robinson”? Those phrases were first uttered before you even put a little helpless monkey in a rocket capsule, and shot him off into space where you left him to die. Or, was that a dog? No matter. Either way, barbaric! But, I digress. We Rendazians were rather insulted when your Earthian scientists and leaders chose to hide our communications and interactions from the rest of your world. Because of that concealment most Hu Mans have no idea we exist. I did read several articles in your National Enquirer, the only source of factual media on your planet, there are Hu Mans who have interacted in recent history with our ships and our people. Therefore, our presence is known to some of you, at least.

Peggy A. Wheeler knows about us, of course, but when I asked if she might spread the word, her response? “If I told anyone I knew a talking hippo from another planet that projects her image on my living room wall, and we are writing a book together, I’d be carted off for a psych evaluation.”

I thought it over, and came to realize her assumption is entirely logical and reasonable, because if Rendazians knew I had formed a relationship with an actual Hu Man, and engaged her as my subject matter expert for the writing of my book, The Anam Glyphs, they, too, would be skeptical. My friends, colleagues at Dr. Pimbly’s, and family may question my judgment, if not my sanity. I dare not tell Samuel S. Goodwings because he’d mock me for eons.

I did tell my good friend, Lizzy, a mastodon I’ve known since childhood, and with whom I studied ballet at Auntie Nancie’s School of Fancy Dancing. Although I consider Sam my best friend, Lizzy is a close second, and the one I talk to about womanly things, and writerly things. I know she’d never judge me for working with a Hu Man. I also told my spiritual teacher, Lady Rhianna, a 300-year-old blue crane. She clicked her beak and flapped her wings in joy. “Oh, this is marvelous. A Rendazian and a Hu Man working together. Imagine that!”

Both women cautioned me, however, to keep my relationship with the Earthly beings close to my hide, otherwise, too many Randazians would not understand. The males, especially, might think me irrational, and that won’t do for a professor.

What you don’t know, at least I can’t see anything about it in any of your Earthian history books, is that we on Rendaz discovered your planet when nothing of merit existed on Earth. We gave you language, art, science, and taught you rudimentary manners. We also brought Rendazians to help populate your planet. That is why you’ve horses, rabbits, elephants, birds, and such. There were no Rendazians when we touched down in our first Arc, so mating couples two-by-two volunteered to remain on Earth to be of service, and to ensure your survival. On our second mission we brought many fruiting plants and trees.

When we encountered your species, you could not speak, ate only grubs, roots, and wild grass shoots, with the exception in the Americas where blue corn and cranberries grew. This scarcity of food variety proved inadequate nutrition to sustain a growing population of living beings, though, which explains why there were so few of you back then. We traveled many times in those early days to your planet to help the new species we named Hu Man, which in old Rendazian means “New Man.”

Once we taught you language, we all got along famously. Then the meteor hit, and most of you Hu Mans, and the Rendazians among you, perished. Other Rendazians, such as dinosaurs and Jackalopes, disappeared completely. Enough survived this extinction event to rebuild, but things between Rendazians and Hu Mans were never the same.

To complicate matters further, the meteor brought with it a terrible virus which affected only Rendazians. The meteor spread its poison through the atmosphere and rendered all Rendazians on Earth mute, with the exception of some parrots and a few dogs. Over time, Hu Mans reduced Rendazians from allies and teachers, to slaves, mere pets, and even food. Awful, I tell you, awful. Your history is sullied by the violence done to the very Rendazians who had taught you civilized ways, helped you to survive, and otherwise gave you everything you needed to live better lives.

There are Rendazians who believe we should send deadly stink bombs to destroy all Hu Mans, but after decades of heated deliberation, The Butterfly Council and the Old Trees passed laws forbidding us to harm any sentient beings on other planets, and that’s the only reason any of you are still on Earth.

I, personally, am fascinated by Hu Mans, and began several hundreds of years ago to study your culture. Your musicians, poets, and philosophers are indeed a treasure, and worth preserving.

It was through my studies I discovered Earthian archetypal symbols that have within them great meaning in many of your countries, and thus began my painstaking work of cataloging them. What I discovered, as I mentioned, is that we, meaning Hu Mans and Rendazians, are much the same in surprising ways. We are all made of the same “star stuff,” as some of your philosophers and spiritual folks say. We are interconnected, all related, Hu Man and Rendazian, but over many thousands of years, we have disconnected.

My Aunt Meg and Uncle Phalen who, unlike me, are non-believers think my work with the Anam Glyphs is utter claptrap. “Oh, Bea,” my aunt says, “You’d be better served to leave this hooey alone, and concentrate on teaching your Earthean History classes.”

“No, Auntie, I say to her. “I know in my heart of hearts, writing this book is part of my life’s purpose, and I hope one day this work, and the Glyphs, will bring Hu Mans and Rendazians back into alignment with one another.”

“Suit yourself, dear,” Uncle Phalen says, “but, I can tell you with certainty that Rendazians will never reunite with Hu Mans.”

“We shall see! Shan’t we?” I so wanted to say that aloud, but out of respect for my aunt and uncle, who raised me after my mother passed away and my father abandoned me, I kept that last bit locked tight in my head. Lady Rhianna always says, “Because you think something does not mean it’s wise to let it drop out of your maw.”

I believe the Anam Glyphs are one set of tools we can use to discover the means to reconnect. Once every being comes to know without doubt that we are the same we can work together for the advancement of Hu Mans and Rendazians alike. That is why, in working with the Anam Glyphs, you may notice the theme of connectedness threading its way through some of the interpretations and descriptions.