“Maybe to those who love is given sight To pierce the wall of seeming night And know it pure beyond all imagining” ~ Bruce Cockburn
The rain was falling hard when I woke up. The alarm got me this time. Usually I wake before it chimes. I must have needed it. And somehow, after waking, during my morning perusal internet cruise of the news, I lost an hour. But the rain has stopped. Now, it was a night of fitful dreams. I could tell by the giant tuft of twisted hair protruding from my head, like Ed Grimly, Martin Short’s character on Saturday Night Live, except my tuft emerged just above my left ear. Martin is one of the funniest men on the planet. That’s what I’m saying. Put him and Dana Carvey together in an improv spot and you’d likely have to carry me home. I love those guys. I’m glad it rained. As for the fitful sleep I have to suspect that something is afoot – or was – along the topographical shadow stuff of the astral plane. See, I never sleep on my left side, it’s always the right side, or, rarely, on my back. You may not believe in the stuff of astral intrusion, psychic attack, or the sloppy spell cast by some friggin guy who forked out two grand for a five day seminar on how to influence events without bothering to show up. That guy is a danger to us all. But so is some acquaintance who has it in for you. Just the mere fact of the grumbles they have can affect your equanimity. Or some bruja, or some nitwit with an iPad app that forecasts doom for all who oppose him. The best advice I can give for psychic self protection is to, as Taylor Swift so eloquently put it, shake it off. That’s what I’ll do. Already started. But I will still see if I can do the figurin’ needed to identify the culprit who haunted my dreams. Like dude ain’t ya got your own dreams? Why me? But it could have simply been myself. Anxiety dreams, drawing assumptions from the long-range scanners. Assumptions drawn from watching too much Star Trek
This dawn has clouds. They are gray stuff drifting in from the south. Pretty stuff in a gray sort of way. I’m a big fan of storms, and an all-night rain makes me feel clean. So, what will the new day bring? Cats. I can count on that. We got one in yesterday, and I named him Winston, in honor of Winston Churchill, from whom I learned to never give up. The guy was bipolar as well, as am I, so I can relate in some presumptuous sort of way. Presumptions do not always preclude accuracy.
Become a good noticer. Pay attention to the feelings, hunches, and intuitions that flood your life every day. If you do you will see that premonitions are not rare, but a natural part of our lives. ~ Larry Dossey MD
The fine fellow in today’s opening photo, here on the wonderful EyeYotee blog, is named Bruiser. When Bruiser first came in to the shelter I could see that he was so relaxed and open that it was clear that he valued being off of the streets, so much so in fact that the presence of people who deigned to put him in a cage was not what it seems. He now had folks to feed him. His hunting days were over and he was at peace. He still is. Bruiser has a grapefruit-sized head which is covered with tiny scars. The guy was a brawler. The mere fact that the scars are all tiny attests to the probable fact that he was a winner as well. Losers bear larger scars. For the most part. Bruiser loves people, and he loves to have his belly rubbed. Come look. Ask for me. I’ll show ya, k? Ask for me. I have large scars. I know this cat well. Very well.
It is hard to fight when the fight ain’t fair. ~ Taylor Swift.
It’s been a while since I invited Taylor Swift to lunch, so sweetie, come on over and indulge me. You are admired, girl. Your musical talent and business sense are truly impressive, yet in all honesty I’d simply like to be in the presence of your bright smile while I nibbled on a slice of pizza. Sure I could find a bright smile around here, there is no lack of those kinds of smiles, but I’m in a low place and I like to dream big. No funny business. Don’t even try it. I know a good pizza joint. Come look. That’s all. It has to be you. Well, maybe Anne Hathaway . . . ummm . . . sweetie? Anne, you’re invited as well. I don’t like to discriminate. The three of us would have a grand time. Do you like Pizza? Come look, k? If Taylor doesn’t show up, that’s okay.
That’s all for today’s post. From premonitions and dream intrusions to a brawling cat, and on to Anne Hathaway. What a day it’s going to be! Come look.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.