“All this he saw, for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he wondered.” ~ Kenneth Grahame, Wind in the Willows
Green light, go. Coffee is on. It’s not a metaphor, so relax. My coffee machine has a green light on the ‘on’ switch. Pretty basic stuff. But the problem is that I forgot to put the fresh coffee grounds into the filter basket so the second round has begun. The coffee will be ready in a few minutes. Now that may be a metaphor. As such, I know exactly what it means to me. Eight days away, it is. This is a personal mystery, folks, so don’t ask. I don’t want to spoil the magic. The metaphor reminds me to remember: the line of sight is not a straight line. It never was.
Rosie the cat captured and killed two voles last night, in separate incidents. She is not a mass murderer. I don’t think cats have it in ’em. I am grateful that she incapacitated them before she brought them to me. I hate chasing friggin voles at 4 friggin AM! But, now I have my coffee. I finally did it right, k? I have only myself to apologize to. I’m not into the blame game. Attribution will do just fine, thank you very much, and it can really elicit some blank stares at times, which is kinda sorta fun, if you ask me, whereas blame is viewed as drama, and anti-drama is so de rigueur at this time in history. Apologies kinda rock as well. But, the lavender hour is upon me as I tap away on the keyboard and think of Jerry Jeff Walker, and Mr. Bojangles, and tapping, and dancing, and coffee. I see lavender in the early portion of dawn, not blue. I love it that way. Too much blues and you are left with only sighs. Sigh.
“I don’t know what’s the matter with people: they don’t learn by understanding, they learn by some other way — by rote or something. Their knowledge is so fragile!” ~ Richard Feynman
“There is no place so dangerous as a world without magic.” ~ Terry Goodkind, Soul of the Fire
Meadowlark, high cirrus brush strokes against infinite blue, donkeys at pasture, coffee . . . now that’s magic for ya. It’s a slow start to a busy day, my sitting out where I can view the Sacred Mountain is something rare, although I see it every day. Some things that we see every day are rare. Tis beauty that makes them so, not frequent absence. I’ve gotta move faster today. I’ve had the slows lately. My bad. It’s causing me trouble at work, something about my too freely sharing burdens. I don’t get ’em, others do. That doesn’t seem fair to me. I seem to have forgotten to run with the crowd. They run, I run, but what is lost? Beauty is one thing, if you ask me. But the crowd can have me, although on my own terms. I hold the right to feel tired from moving too fast, k? Don’t even try it. Hand me a can of red Bull and I will have to break out my treasured philosophy and let you have it. I will storm you with words and concepts until you beg for simple commercial products. That, my friend, is not a pretty picture, much less a beautiful one. I’ve got magic. Let me use it. And if I require a burden then share, let me have it. You’ve hoarded long enough. Don’t bogart that burden, my friend, pass it over to me.
Hey, who’s that girl. Tis a woman, not a girl. The jpg. above is Brighid, the Celtic goddess. She is my spirit guide. Her gift of fire is one that I cherish, especially now, these days, currently, whatever. My energy assemblage point is friggin weak, partially from inadequate intake of food, and partially from a down cycle depressive phase. Brighid’s gift of fire lifts me up. I love it when that happens. Her love reminds me to dance, however slow or fast, and She reminds me, as well, to hold the line, to stay connected through the filaments of destiny that, I hope, will bring to me a blessed event, only eight small days from now. I am most certainly friggin tired of small days. I need a big one, not because I am needy, I’m not, it’s because I saw something, I felt something, and I want to engage once again the dazzle of unexpected beauty, and the breathtaking wonder, and the dismantling of rather stolid expectations, and presumptions being what they are they will be sprinkled upon the earth, where my bare feet can engage with the Earth upon them, so that I can walk upon them, so that when I see, when I feel again, I can accept the gentle trembling of grace within my heart. I haven’t felt like this in a long time.
It’s time to wrap this post up. It’s laundry day. I will have time to read while the machines spin; probably Rick Strassman’s powerful DMT and the Soul of Prophecy. That’s a promo plug. Rick’s a friend, and a seriously deep and provocative writer. My writing has been restricted to this blog for quite some time now. There is another writer I need to see and talk to before I step outside of the bounds of EyeYotee, but you will still get your daily fix, promise. Hey! My reader stats blew sky-high for the first post after my lost week. Thank you. Yes, thank you.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.