This morning’s night sky gave me a lift, with the stars lingering longer than they have in recent days. I don’t know if it is high clouds, or moisty ground-hugging air, but by the time I make my second trip out of my room into the dark morning the stars are usually gone, overruled by gray. Yet now, with my third trip outside I find that those stars are still in sight. This pleases me. During the first trip I began to feel wonder at the beauty of it all, considering how much the modern discoveries of science have given a new chance at finding new meaning, newness meaning novelty, and novelty is , deep down, a luscious breeding ground for exaltation. It sometimes seems that news of the discoveries come daily in our digital age of media swiftness. I was an astronomy buff as a kid. That kid never left. I still have to feed him, for one to keep him happy and enriched with a feeling a security, but also to keep him from becoming a holy terror. Ignore him at my own peril? Not so much. I’ve learned. He needs me. This image of carrying my young self inside is drawn from a great book by the great Richard Bach. Richard describes what it was like in his own first encounter with his inner child. Adult Richard is an urbane writer of books that reveal the often unseen magic in our world. I love his stuff. But back to his backlogged boy – Richard went to open the closet where the boy was hiding, expecting to have a happy reunion of sorts, but the boy came out boldly, brandishing a flame thrower. Oops. I don’t know what weapon mine might choose, and I hope to never find out, but I feed him fresh perceptions every single day. He seems happy enough but he worries about me, stooped over in my posture, a demeanor adopted from the heaviness I have been carrying, much too long, born of a great loss I endured not even one year ago. A sweet friend of mine, a beautiful young woman, asked me yesterday about the odd way I hang my head so loosely, even when standing up, and it is a spirit of resignation that does it. But I didn’t reveal the cause to her. It is only lately that I have wrestled with alarm at the hanging head. I don’t like it. It will take some diligent efforts to make it right. Part of me believes that rightness will never come. That ponderous doubt must be worked into the equation if integration is ever to be achieved. Trust me, I am working on it. Meanwhile the stars still shine.
Wonder embraces me this morning. This physical body has little interest in the mind/body problem, but I will remedy that soon. I want to finally reach 60 with that little boy that is me riding piggyback on my shoulder, where can rise above the crowd and boggle at the view. I am admittedly swayed by the shamanic view that the world is a dream, with many other dreams possible. But the intense beauty of the material world comes first. I am lodged deep into this dream of a world. I want the boy to know that so that he can understand my frailties and he can give me some pointers on how it feels to be young. His input is a gift of wondrous proportions. I shall not waste it. Not in this lifetime, not in this dream. Other dreams must be allowed some elbow room or its curtains for me.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.