This Revelation Mine

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“Intuition is the art, peculiar to the human mind, of working out the correct answer from data that is, in itself, incomplete or even, perhaps, misleading.”  ~  Isaac Asimov, Forward the Foundation

I got my coyote fix this morning. That should do it for the day, but if more magic comes then so be it. It’s just short of 6AM and I am delighted that the vague and ominous clouds of low-level dread are dispersing. I hate that stuff. I mean, what if I were a hunter-gather and I was like all what if there is no meat out there today. No prob, I’ll grab a burger on the way home. Such silliness is one of the prices I pay by simply being myself. Luckily I can afford it. Lately I have been low-level moaning about my tight financial state of late. There are things that can be afforded that have no real connection to money, none beyond the way that .  .  .  .  oh, never mind. What was I thinking?

This morning’s opening photo was taken last evening on my drive home from my therapy session. So many times, while feeling grateful to just be allowed to pour out stuff, I have wondered if the sessions were really helping at all. The feeling of not really feeling anything profound, of not understanding just where it is all going, of not having even a fleeting glimpse of the payoff, all of these things become only so much flotsam and jetsam when the money shot arrives. Let me put it this way, if you have a revelation while thinking ‘wow, will you look at that’ it ain’t a revelation. I had a real one yesterday, during the session, and I was not thinking at all, or I couldn’t hear any thoughts, no, what I was doing was peering straight through the wall when there was a perfectly good window right there at my disposal. Was I a dolt? You can’t see through a wall. But that’s the way depth psychology works. I ain’t even going to go all Yoda on y’all here by telling you that there ain’t no wall, or maybe dig up an old chestnut from the Matrix and tell you there is no spoon, all’s I am saying is  .  .  .  dude there is a wall. That’s the whole point of the exercise. It just pisses me off that ancient wisdom, Zen and such, has become major media cliches. There is a wall, get used to it. The trick is to realize that the wall is only so much furniture. You can rearrange furniture. You don’t go in blasting with a flamethrower or a battering ram and tear down that wall, no matter what Ronald Reagan said to Gorbachov. You worked hard to pay for that furniture. The fact that it is durable ought to indicate that it should be respected some way. Don’tcha think?

“And we hold the right to rearrange how the stories can be heard”  ~ Yes, from The Calling

It’s all stories anyway. Whoever controls the narrative calls the shots, and if you control your own narrative then bully for you. Never be your own bully. Says me. Philosopher Christian de Quincy once told me that I have a natural gift for narrative. I know, he’s not well-known, except in certain circles, and he may be all like PhD and stuff, but he is also a writer, an editor, and a writing coach, and, besides, he was wearing jeans. Dude rocks.

So  .  .  .  what was the revelation? I ain’t tellin, but I think I’ll retire. Not yet, but I will. First I’ve got to move the couch over here.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

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