“This world is but a canvas for our imagination.” ~ Henry David Thoreau
“The syntactical nature of reality, the real secret of magic, is that the world is made of words. And if you know the words that the world is made of, you can make of it whatever you wish.” ~ Terence McKenna
“Bullwinkle, you weigh 400 imaginary pounds.” ~ Rocket J. Squirrel
I was awakened at 3 AM. My regular readers here at EyeYotee will likely know already that my waking at 3 AM is not exactly uncommon. Today’s crux of an issue is that the cat is the most frequent culprit in waking me up, but she’s not here; I’m house-sitting. No, this morning it was the rain that did it. I wasn’t aware that my cat has such powerful connections. Live and learn.
The previous nonsense still reminds us of the Web of Life, the vast matrix of interconnectedness, wherein an animal does indeed have connections, within the vast array, and in being as such the animal gets blamed for a lot of stuff. My cat, Rosie, is off the hook because she’s not here. I can’t exactly say that she’s at home either because I’m not there. My cat is Schrödinger’s cat. Boy howdy them cats sure do love boxes! It seems it that it was so back in Schrödinger’s time as well.
Hey, have a look at this next photo. Our opening photo was taken in the dunes along Pensacola Beach, in Navarre Beach. The wind was pushing full gale force and a fog lay thick upon the barrier island. As I sat there among the dunes I felt closer to life than I ever had before. I think we get removed from the physical world through any number of the trappings that go along with our modern lives. That day at the dunes, the fog, the howling surf, it all cradled me back into a knowing that I so often take for granted. That’s just plain stupid. Anyway – about the photo – it looks very much like the waves on that day. But it’s not. Not even close. It shows the Southern Rocky Mountains during a winter storm. As said before: I am a big fan of ambiguity. Ambiguity brings disparate images together in a conference call.
Gray morning, just past the lavender hour, when twilight takes on a creative hue, waking consciousness itself takes on shades of ambiguity. I just looked back and read yesterday’s post. The situation revealed in part in the post is clearly still a tad volatile. There were two replies after the post. The first reply is the one that touches me most. Says she, “How can anyone use so many words to say absolutely nothing? I suppose you really enjoy the sound of your own voice or reading your own nonsense.” I actually get a feeling of affection from reading that. Seriously and sincerely I do. It makes me feel 14 again, and someone who cares points out some potential problems that may interfere with personal growth. At 14 you have nearly ten more years until your brain develops fully. Really. But at 60? I’ll get back to y’all on that. Just remember that 60 is the new 12. Six long decades and I still stubbornly maintain the right to break rank when needed. My bad. Thanks for the tips, lady. May we all continue to grow beyond expectations. Dude that would be like all sweet and everything.
The sun is reworking the clouds and the wet sage fields do their best impression of fresh mint. I’ve got a CD playing on the Bose, a CD given to me as a gift from our beleaguered ex-vet: Yes, Gates of Delirium. I can rightly reckon that the title plays harmonics with my mood for the day. I’m exhausted to the point of tears. And then there’s all the neurological tomfoolery that flashes bounding waves of anxiety throughout my body. Poor me. And what about the sadness? Things change. Life goes on. One would be a fool to ignore or push down sadness. Do so at your own peril, me hearties. Sadness, along with most emotions, provides a transceiver with which to receive incoming vibes and harness them into recognizable communications. Sadness and fear, for example, are not signs of weakness. That kind of thinking will get you a nitwit merit badge. Whatever can strengthen perception can also accelerate growth. For some friggin strange reason this all makes me think of a beautiful ginger tabby cat named Lion. I just reread the stanza on Lion, included in the overall ruling from the Veterinarian board. I’ve got a portion of the ruling, in pdf form. Thanks, Jane. The descriptions in this stanza are professionally explicit. I’ll not post them here, citing privacy as my intent. I know it is a public document, but my intentions are not for the public to tinker with. Don’t even try it, k? Just don’t. I remember Lion, laying in his cage, swatting at us playfully with his injured paw. I wondered often why this spunky usage of his severely damaged paw didn’t reveal the pain he was in. He was playful. That’s what I’m sayin’. What really scares me is that the ruling stated that Lion went for six weeks without a bandage, a big blue cast of a bandage that simply wasn’t there. I don’t remember that, maybe because I was rooting for his healing and that healing was plain to see. Standards be damned that cat came back in a big way, took it all like the champion he will always remain for me. Dude rocks. As for the scary part, that would be the obvious confabulation I so self-blatently set in place as a cover memory of what really happened. I truly wish I could remember it the real way. I could blame it on the bipolar disorder that rides shotgun with me as I merrily roll along through life. I have at times felt terror when it seemed that my perceptions were all wrong. Each and every one of them. At those times of terror I completely forget that people don’t often talk straight, they talk around corners, they replace claims and offerings to facilitate quiet goals, so when it comes to relying on others to give you a foot up in sharpening perception alls you get is a muddled amalgamation of syntactical leftovers hash. Yum. That said, I think I’ll maintain the image of Lion with his big blue cast of a bandage that I called a paddle. He’d even bat a ping pong ball around his cage using the paddle. Confabulations are often innocent and benign when shared with other people. I’d like to say that mine is too. But I offer that my confabulation is in many ways, on spiritual and philosophical levels, a much truer version than that offered in the document. The review panel was there to punish in the long run, and they were dazzled by some 20 people who obviously knew what they were talking about, regardless of the accuracy of what they were talking about; some of it was good. That is why I choose to retain confabulation over real memories. The goal is healing, the goal is the striving for quality of life, and the goal is to spread happiness each and every time y’all get the chance. Lion healed. Lion went to a good home, where he is the bright light of someone’s life. Give me that any day! Damn it, I will remember it any damn way I please, which is not uncommon. Lion was also a light in my life. As was Doc. Dude rocks.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously, k?