Twas the night before Christmas and all through the hood, Whitty and her dawg Simba were up to no good! The stockings were hung from the chimney with care. In hopes that Whitty's big toe would fit in there! Her family was nestled al snug in their bed. While visions of male strippers danced in her head. And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's crap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I screamed holy shit, wtf was that'r! Away from the toilet I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters, and threw out the hash. The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow, Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below;When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, 3 french hookers with a case of beer! With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment he must be a prick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,And he whistled, and shouted, and call'd them by name: On Ho 1, On Ho 2, On ho 3, on Chastity! On Vomit, On Cupid, On Anita, On Miss Smexy! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! "Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!" As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of acid and exstacy  too. Wait...Wait...Wait....Wrong poem! THat must have been my dream last night. Here's the real one:


'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
 In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
 The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar plums danc'd in their heads,
And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap-
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
 Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below;
 When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a minature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer,
 With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
 I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
 And he whistled, and shouted, and call'd them by name:
 "Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer, and Vixen,
 "On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Dunder and Blixem;
"To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
 "Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys - and St. Nicholas too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound:
He was dress'd all in fur, from his head to his foot,
 And his clothes were all tarnish'd with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys was flung on his back,
And he look'd like a peddler just opening his pack:
His eyes - how they twinkled! his dimples how merry,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face, and a little round belly
That shook when he laugh'd, like a bowl full of jelly:
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laugh'd when I saw him in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And fill'd all the stockings; then turn'd with a jerk,
 And laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle:
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight-
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

ZUVUYA is the Mayan term for the big memory circuit... the memory hotline. It works individually and collectively. Most importantly, it connects equally to the future as well as the past. Why? Because the Zuvuya is the interdimensional thread. And we are all interdimensional.

The Zuvuya is the wave, and to surf this wave is to be at the dynamic crest that interfaces our 3rd-dimensional physical reality with the reality of the 4th-dimension -- the dimension of our dream bodies, energy bodies, or light bodies.

The Zuvuya is the circuit of radial, fourth-dimensional time that provides the wave you can ride from wherever you are to whatever point in the fourth-dimensional matrix of galactic time your destiny may draw you. It is a discipline to ride the Zuvuya, but so is surfing. If you do it right, you'll be able to surf "the big One," the one that is coming in right now!

I've never heard the mayan term. It's good to learn about some of the roots of the collective conscious in history. I'm surprised that it's dated so far back. Also the fact that the mayans of all people had a term for it is very interesting with the comming said change whatever it may be. I do believe I'm going to be on a new kick now.

A friend of mine was just asking if I believed the end of the world seemed so unfathomable given the devastating shooting at the school in CT. My take on it is that what will be will be and it will be the right thing to happen no matter what as humans never really have all the answers. I don't like to dwell on it. But rather to just appreciate our lives as they have been good and bad and do our best with it while we still have a chance to appreciate it. That way if the end of the world comes, we won't be too upset because we will know that we lived a good life. I'll be a happy camper either way. Regardless of if it's a legitimate end or the end of a conciousness. I wonder if zuvaya has

Well what do you think?! Know anything about zuvuya? I'd love to hear!

Have a good day readers.

Ps.
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