“There are so many unsung heroines and heroes at this broken moment in our collective story, so many courageous persons who, unbeknownst to themselves, are holding together the world by their resolute love or contagious joy. Although I do not know your names, I can feel you out there.” ~ David Abram
There’s a pretty heavy wind for 5 AM. I cherish that. Libra, air sign here; I’m a child of the wind from way back. Plus, it’s a good way to start my day. I was just reading a tad about how language separates us from the living world. Go figure. At 60 years of age, after having spent all of this time, as a writer and as a pedestrian philosopher, learning the language of my tribe, come to find that this language stuff might be somewhat bad for my health. Personally, I have my ways of dealing with this faux-problem. I go outside in the morning and vibe in to said morning; the planet showing in the sky to the NNE, the wind in the trees, cries from the cat that my cat just got into a shrieking match with, and the wordless beauty of the story we all share as higher primates in a magnificent world, accompanied by these lower animals that ain’t really lower at all. So – how do you like them Wheaties? I like it a lot.
I was hangin’ with three folks from different cultures, yesterday after work. Two were also young adults, which actually adds yet another culture to the mix. While trying to push my analytical proclivities aside a bit I still found that I loved the vernacular these kids used. Now, I am friggin 60 years old, I can call young adult “kids”
it’s allowed, k? Don’t even try it. When I say “kids” I mean it, with respect and a nod to their being beside me as I go through this life. And it was like dude, ya gotta deal, ya gotta roll when it blazes. It was fun.
Today’s opening photo is another regarding the senior dogs at the animal shelter. That’s Meeka in the front, Betty immediately behind her, and Apollo in the rear. These guys stand around all day smiling. It don’t get no better than that. When’s the last time you smiled all day long? That’s a deep question, and deep questions makes my day, make me smile. More of that, more smiles, make the noosphere grow toward the joy of being. The noosphere was lovingly articulated and postulated by the late Teilhard de Chardin. My dad had me read some of Chardin’s stuff when I was a kid. Interesting. My dad also warned me against reading any Henry David Thoreau because “it is so depressing”. I read it anyway, of course. I did not find depressive stuff in the book. He was exposing freedom. I don’t find that to be depressive. Do you? If you do, could we maybe talk for a bit?
If you are wondering WTF is with all the questions popping up in this blog these days I must confess to running an experiment. One, I find that asking questions necessarily takes me out of myself, which is an adventure, the likes of which harken back to Indiana Jones, way back in retro time. Two, I get the opportunity to learn, and I didn’t used to be like that. I, throughout my adult life, was strictly and bashfully on the fringes of the sharing of linguists communications; I was like all shy and stuff. Capiche? Good. It was a depressive lad’s aversion that took him hither and yon in the quest for avoidance and a “leave me alone” version of peace. I did get a lot of peace that way, but I got a lot of pain as well. Here I sit on the summit of my actions, wondering where to go from here.
“Nonconformists travel as a rule in bunches. You rarely find a nonconformist who goes it alone. And woe to him inside a nonconformist clique who does not conform with nonconformity.” ~ Eric Hoffer
I’ve got my second cup of morning coffee here, strong and good. I have been hesitant to go into a shaky topic this morning, yet I can deal. Intellectualism in a working man is, in my experience, not your usual thing, unless you are Eric Hoffer, who remained a longshoreman while writing magnificent treatises ripe with philosophical vision. I wish I could do that. Maybe next year? Maybe. My aspirations as a writer are largely crafted to portray, without hounding the reader with nostalgia, the values that finally emerged hard fought from the 60s and the boomer experience at large. How am I doing so far?
“To hell with facts! We need stories!” ~ Ken Kesey
Now, excuse me while I make another cup of coffee. I just wanted to share that with you because it changes the tack of what I am on about here. That’s yer story value right there. It’s for you, no more no less.
I stepped outside as well, to listen to the sumptuous wind and to let the chickens and the lone turkey out of their pen. They were grateful and followed me around at first. My mind continues on in it’s musings while I vibe into Nature for a while. This mind does not know when to quit. It goes on and on and on, but that does not prevent me from stepping out of the sway of its insistent chatter. Psyche! I don’t let it forget who is in charge here. That’s the way it goes, which reminds me of the New Agey stuff I comment on at times, and it is indeed a new paradigm that was begun high up in the air of reason and has now settled down into a comfy chair where reason is more at home and story-like. Listen to them folks. They are the real thing. Yes.
I could be in the yard with them senior doggies but I think I’ll pass on that one, even though I know how to get in. I will go to work today. Cats will receive the care they need, and I will talk to them while I do that thing. I find that I often call cats “dude”. It settles my intent down into a useable vibe. I must fight with some of the cats to keep them from achieving freedom while I clean their cage. Those critters are wily and adept at escape. Try that on your own time, in a metaphorical way of course. The beauty of cats really strokes my heart so vividly. This is good for my soul, which is in turn good for my general well-being. Let’s give it up for cats! Thanks, yer a pal.
Peace out, y’all.