The Mouse at Midnight


“There’s always a story. It’s all stories, really. The sun coming up every day is a story. Everything’s got a story in it. Change the story, change the world.”  ~  Terry Pratchett

Sweet morning here. The world out on the highway is rising in a dull roar. Sunrise is only minutes away and I will have to get out there to watch, inspired to pay attention by the intensity of yesterday’s sky show. Nature, when she shines like she does these days, brings calm within any kind of storm you can imagine. I find great treasures along the path she provides of late. At a transition, transformation, whatever, point in my life I find that many small treasures have no qualities beyond beauty, and I would not want it to be any different. If only I could relax. Still, there is peace to be found within the tension. I’ve been awake most of the night. Woke up on toward midnight. Stayed awake about an hour then laid back down to sleep once again. A half an hour later the cat brought in a mouse, and the ruckus began. That close encounter squeezed the last bit of sleep out of me. I tried to help her some, but to no avail. There I was coaching “Just kill it!”. The mouse ran back behind a box under the table and the cat commenced to reach around one side then the other. At one point she reached her head around one side and the mouse came out the other side, ran around behind the cat and into the bathroom. The cat never saw a thing. I told her where the mouse went. She didn’t listen. That was my post-midnight adventure. The mouse remains alive and within the house. There may be more adventures before this is through. Sometimes I might look for a spiritual meaning in times like these, but this morning I think I’ll let that notion to serendipity. I recently wrote of seeing something bright along the road that leads to the next phase of my life. I’ve also got this image of me dog paddling in a pool of water that emits golden light and bathes me thoroughly. That little scene goes on within the mess my life is in. You can’t find a solution to  – ummmm – whatever, not on the same level that whatever happened. Transformation requires a high dose of morphogenesis, which is essentially form. In-formation. In-tension. Wow, how clever of me, but I like it. In-tension, in-formation. Somethings gonna come from it and it will be a beautiful blessing dragging a whole lot of growing pains with it. You never get over them, whether ya know it or not, right?

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Biggest Start

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“This is the kind of paradox, I think, of what it is to be a halfway intelligent American right now, and probably also a Western European, is that there are things we know are right, and good, and would be better for us to do, but constantly it’s like “Yeah, but, you know, it’s so much funnier and nicer to go do something else.” and “Who cares?” and “It’s all bullshit anyway.”  ~  David Foster Wallace

I am glad that it is rare, but I feel a dearth of inspiration this morning. Gone are the striated, east to west, clouds. Gone are the packs of coyotes, one near one far, that gave me smiles. That was very early this morning, nearly at the tail end of night. Time plays without fairness at that hour. It plays with enthusiastic ambiguity. Perhaps that is part of why I like waking up so early: ambiguity. It is my last refuge from boredom, yet I don’t find anything offensive about boredom. You have to get some rest, sometime. Speed only goes so far, and if it endures, and becomes blurred into a glowing necessity, comes a time when the glow displays no luster, and if it goes too far you will end up passing yourself going the other direction. That has never happened to me, but I have seen, what appears to be, that happening to others. They get that glazed over look of dignity gone awry, and pat their pocket to check their smart phone, and they blink their eyes a few times, yet before a minute has passed they are back at it. That doesn’t float my boat in a cup of tea. Whatever that means. Yeah, whatever. Oh shit, I mixed a metaphor. I rarely do that but it reassures me that the boredom has not yet passed. I’m just tired, that’s all. Moving forward, inspiration sometimes hides within boredom, like a kitten in a box, awaiting the moment that will give them the biggest thrill, the moment that will give you the biggest start. It ain’t so bad, right?

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


It Kind of Tickles to Think That Way

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“The brain itself does not produce consciousness. That it is, instead, a kind of reducing valve or filter, shifting the larger, nonphysical consciousness that we possess in the non physical worlds down into a more limited capacity for the duration of our mortal lives.”   ~  Eban Alexander, Proof of Heaven: a Neurosurgeon’s Journey Into the Afterlife

Last night’s Blood Moon Super Moon solar eclipse  kindled a spontaneous evocative of my dad. I remembering how moved he was by the sight of a Blood Moon not so long before he died. He wanted to live to see the alignment of planets at the end of the century as well, and although the hospice nurse told him they would have to work hard to make that happen I think that everyone in the room heard that a “not likely”. Maybe his spirit has come to me for a spell, slipping through the gap in the Veil brought by the full moon. What is it, dad? Are you advocating reasonable goals? I need that right now, but there is something larger at play in my life. I’m just now beginning to feel the refreshing morning breeze of peace, after the rude shock of losing a job that meant the world to me in that it provided me with a conduit through which my soul was gifted with communion with Nature, thanks to them kitties. I was wounded dad. Sometimes life is like that. No ‘poor me’ from me. I have no claim to details of what lies before me in the next steps along through my life’s journey, but I can tell you right now dude that it looks bright. Jaw-droppingly bright. The kind of bright that makes you sit down and breathe for a good long while before you move forward once again. No, wait  .  .  .  sometimes you can best move forward by standing or sitting still for a spell. Or going in circles. Corwin of Amber, in Roger Zelazny’s marvelous Amber Chronicles, first suggested that circle thing to me. Yes, I am still collecting wisdom from fictional characters. And no, that doesn’t mean that I have turned Republican. You know me better than that.

Yikes. I guess it is alright, considering that this my personal blog, to have a little chat with my dad, but it mildly freaks me out that I would lapse in to such a thing without first checking in with myself. However, those words and  more abstract expressions were tasty and timely. And once again it is a cool, refreshing morning. The weird thing is that I woke up feeling almost none of the usual free-floating anxiety that is there almost every friggin day. Lucky me. I sense that somehow I am re-establishing a bridge connection back to the guy I was in the two years after my NDE. There was literal mind-boggling confusion back then. I carried joyfulness and despair, one in each pocket. Both head trauma and celestial dazzlement gave me good reason to commence with recovery on many different levels, and also integration of spiritual wonder, and I had to do it all myself. I sit here feeling the repressed and incarcerated weepiness that arises from somehow losing that wonder along the way; not losing it totally, it’s just that it slipped from awareness as far as its being a lovely gift of a tool. Nothing was wasted, no mistakes, no worries. Time runs backwards. When it needs to. Now is one of those times. Time circles back on itself as well. Corwin of Amber was right: sometimes you can make the most progresses by going in circles.

That’s me to a T these days. My 61st birthday is three weeks away. I am unemployed. I have time to contemplate and muse and dream. But about that bright thing I saw on the road before me? I haven’t a friggin clue. I mean, I have seen the light at the end of the tunnel during my NDE voyage. This isn’t that bright. Boy howdy I am just trying to get by! And I have a sneaking suspicion that I am reaching back to myself from the future as well. Sweet.

I’m looking forward to my volunteer gig at the spayed/neuter clinic on Saturday. I’m looking forward to my therapy session this afternoon. I’m looking forward but I ain’t moving forward. I’m moving in those aforementioned circles. Time will bring things to me for now. Who knows, maybe if I can just slide out of my own way a smidge I will be able to  .  .  .  ummmm, geez, it kind of tickles to think that way.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Singing to Cats

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“There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.” ~  J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

Yes, it’s starts with coffee, right? Well, that and the cat’s usual morning bout of moon-fed madness. We could all use a dose of that on occasion. I’m not afraid to reveal that my cat is a weirdo. Many cats are, but mine was a kitten prodigy. I first realized her genius the first time I tried to give her raw meat. She was about 6-7 months at the time. I gave her a little lump of ground beef then went on about my business. Soon she was skating all over the floor in a frenzy. I went to see what was up and found that she had not eaten the meat, she had rolled it up into a perfect ball and then proceeded to play soccer with it. The same thing happened on multiple occasions. It was not a fluke. The cat is a weirdo.

But on to other things. It is an anxiety morning for me, just free-floating stuff. It’s difficult to bear, just as it always is, like fire, like electricity, all creating a near-itchiness that is a truly creepy sensation. I’ve had this for years, and it seems to have gotten more intense with age. As for the age thing I still haven’t found it’s proponents in my mental cauldron. Is it in there at all? I have no friggin idea. Quite recently, during a phone chat, and old and dear friend urged me to find the Universal flow again. She is right, of course. I’ve been living existentially for months now, ever since the animal shelter so crudely cut my hours back severely, and I was the soul representative on my crew of budget cuts. I took it all, and honestly I seriously thought of bailing. It hurt alright and I still, to this day, feel that it was wrong. That’s an opinion, folks. That’s all. As for getting back in to the Universal flow, my friend also pointed out that this was exactly what made it so easy and effective for me to connect with the cats in my care. It was a soul connection. It allowed me to turn several ferals into more social creatures. One nine month old kitten even made a total reversal of his feral-ness, and I first connected with him, with Smitty, by singing James Taylor’s “Sweet Baby James”. I’ve got a good singing voice, though a bit shaky from neglect. Smitty went on the become a sweet, affectionate cat, and yes, he was adopted. Meanwhile, I have no idea what today will bring. I may end up doing the recluse thing, walking the happy hermit trail. It just ends up that way sometimes, and respectable afternoon naps are part of the package. I may take a casual hike, but that takes some doing, for the most part. In the Universal flow fear is not rejected, it is just not allowed to drive and pilot this vehicle. Maybe, right? It’s the same with my sometimes sad face. I find myself becoming suddenly aware that my face is hanging long and sad, even though the mood in my awareness is not that at all. The sadness comes from a deeper place, and the fact that it shows itself to me is encouraging; cooperation is the key. Healing is as healing does, by Gump.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


About That Hug


“Don’t confuse symmetry with balance.”   ~   Tom Robbins, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues

“Whatever the problem, be part of the solution. Don’t just sit around raising questions and pointing out obstacles.”    ~   Tina Fey, Bossypants

It seems I have started today’s post here at EyeYotee blog with a double negative, in that both quotes are based on “don’t”. My bad. Go ahead and “do” if you must. It won’t hurt ya none. I’m sitting here thinking I should go let the chickens out of the coop, even though it is not quite sunrise yet. The chances of the skunk trotting in to the coop to suck the eggs are fairly slim this time of day so I reckon I’ll go out and do this thing. Like the old Nike commercials and ads – “Just do it”. Bisy Backson.

That being done I think I’ll have a morning nap, then get to the day, which will consist of not too much. I’m fairly wiped out this morning. I saw one of the board members from the animal shelter yesterday and had a hug in the Post Office. I have never had a hug in the Post Office before. In my 61 years this has never happened before. Novelty means everything. But I have been shaking ever since. Apparently this bout of PTSD is not over yet. I give thanks to the board member for bringing this to my attention in an immediate fashion. I feel so hurt by the loss of all those cats. Poor me, right. Thanks be to the Goddess, I have a cat here at home, a ten year old rascal named Rosie. I am doin’ okay. Now about that nap  .  . .

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


The Dancing Paradox

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“The belief that time is a linear, directed sequence running from A to B is a modern illusion. In fact, it can also go from B to A, the effect producing the cause.”

~  Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum  ~ 

It doesn’t happen often but I just lost the first paragraph I wrote here. You’ve got to watch it when using the Apple Magic Mouse. Ham-handedness causes problems with the mouse because one of the mousy features is that you can slide backwards or forwards, without using the back-button on the keyboard, you just slide your finger across the mouse and the page slides to another page. It happens to me by accident, and if I have not tapped the ‘save’ button recently I piss myself off, as I just did a few minutes ago. I hope I have described this clumsy occurrence adequately. I woke up in a mild panic, which is only now abating. It may have been from a dream but I sense that it is a random artifact from the PTSD. Either way it clouds my mind for a while. PTSD mystifies me. We know where it likely came from; a freak bicycle accident back in 1984. It was right at the borderline of fatality. Lucky me. But friggin trauma can make a mess of a guy.

I’m explaining this for any new or old readers who are not familiar with this part of my background. There is no moaning to be done at this point, nor whining. The accident was a double-edged sword in that I had the head trauma and a subsequent dazzling magical mystery tour all at once. My perception told me that I had died and come back to life. They call it an NDE –  Near Death Experience. It’s the darnedest thing! So for these many years I struggled within the vast paradox brought on through the dance between celestial luminance and hard-wired chronic trauma. The point is that sometimes I wake up in tiny tremors, as I did this morning, because a part of me desires to go back to the celestial realm and part of me wants be here in this life. To add to the whole mess I also have the genetic misfortune known as Bipolar 2 Disorder. Friggin pisses me off on occasion. And sometimes the depression gets the best of me, and fighting it feels kind of like watching the Three Stooges trying to pass through a door all at the same time. Yes, humor is a powerful tool when it comes to enduring a down cycle.

I think I will leave it at that for now.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Silent Dialogue


Trying to live only in light, avoiding the shadows, we fail to live as full human beings. We need shadows to give form and contrast to the light.  ~  Christian de Quincey

I’ve just started the second pot of coffee, and the stars are beginning to fade. It’s a four cup machine, which gives me two, maybe three, of my accustomed size cups. Why does coffee alone have cups that are six rather than eight ounces? Moot point. After last night’s rain the air is thick and close. Sweet moisture on a cool high desert morning, it makes me smile. The only drawback is that the moisture carries the sounds from the highway much more efficiently; a bit loud for my taste. At this point it matters not what the day will bring. The day is already here and it is just fine, thank you. I was dog sitting last evening and I showed up at the house just in time to catch the beginning of Pope Francis’s sermon, broadcast on MSNBC. There was something there for me. I have to love the guy for that. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a cool guy and I love him anyway. What he pointed out is that Jesus accepted things as they were, not even looking at how he thought they should be. I need to remember that. I could have just as easily gotten that from a Buddhist but there was not one handy at the time. Some people say that the moment, the Now, is all there is; the rest is just an illusion. They may be right. My jury is still out on the issue, but it is a good way to live. I guess that the times when I am most well-practiced at that viewpoint is when I am stargazing. I’ll start out with plain old looking and go from there. They tell me


 that my consciousness is out there among the stars, just as it is right here and now, where I am sitting. Some people who know me would probably say that a good part of me is “out there”, but that is neither here nor there. Yet I can visualize my conscious awareness moving out among the stars. It’s really nice out there, but the point of the exercise is that it psychologically helps me to grow larger than my problems and habits, and in doing so life moves more freely. Less stress less mess.

I had a realization the other day, and it came from my feeling so annoyed by watching someone playing music from their phone. My phone won’t play music. It’s not smart enough. Being a musician I felt peeved that the tiny tinny sound was so unlike the real stuff. Then it dawned on me. Back in my youth we used to listen to music on broadcast AM radio through the tiny tinny speaker of a Japanese transistor radio. What goes around comes around, right? However, we shan’t get nostalgic here. It just wouldn’t do.

Tired and achy, that’s me this morning. There’s stuff to do today but I don’t feel at all pressed, and certainly not anxious. Chronic anxiety is not at all like the day to day kind. But sometimes they blend so well that I can’t tell the difference beyond simply knowing that there is a difference. I’ve had a few bad days this past week, with depression and anxiety sitting like immoveable lumps in my way. It has all been manageable however. That’s what I would advise to anyone who has these illnesses and has yet to get some treatment or simple help in dealing with it. Learn to manage it. Don’t push it, don’t fight it. Find your rational power base and make yourself open to dialogue with the part of yourself that is feeling pointedly irrational.  Once there, remember that dialogue is sometimes completely silent, when the back and forth we might assume is necessary sits at ready amidst a calm acceptance, like when you are sitting with a good and true friend and nobody is saying a word. Communication doesn’t always require give and take. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. The question is: why and how did I let my heart go absent in the first place? And my spirit? Yeah, that too. I can call them back, and I do. That return, that reunion, may not make a dent in the illnesses I bear, depression, anxiety, and PTSD, but that just is not the point. The point is that of what some people call wholeness. I prefer Carlos Castenada’s term,  totality of being, because just the sound of the phrase evokes healing in my heart and mind. It’s all about magic and healing.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

About Saying No

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“Muddy water is best cleared by leaving it alone.”  ~  Alan Watts

Rosie the cat is about as relaxed as I have ever seen her. She is usually so in tune with me that I want to think that it is about me but I sense that it is not. The morning is pale blue and the chickens are just now starting to murmur. And my ears are ringing more than they ever have. This is another thing that I’d like to attribute to the cat, but I know she had nothing to do with it. And the coffee is good. A friend gave me some organic French roast; a fine gift, and I am enjoying it thoroughly. Perhaps it is a day for small pleasures and creature comforts, with philosophy restricted to only what is necessary. My only compulsory task is to head into town to buy the crunchy cat food that I forgot to buy yesterday. I had my sights set on microwave popcorn and I spaced-out the rest. Silly me. The muck of life has got me down. I’ll admit to that. I could go into a bad head space today but it doesn’t feel like it will be too difficult to steer away and around from that. For some reason I am flashing back to a canoe, gliding over the water, which flows gently over the mud flats along the southern coast of Florida Bay. The water looks golden from the way the sunlight interacts with the turtle grass plugged into the mud below. And, in my metaphor, I tell myself to change course by paddling on one side only. Those days out on the bay are some of the most peaceful memories I know. What a wondrous gift they were. And with Brother Phil in the canoe as well there was just that much more peace. Philip was at ease with life. That I lost him to a strangely humorous accident brings regret to this day. He died when his barstool tipped backward to far and he hit his head on the tile floor in just the wrong way. He had leaned back a bit too far. Philip died laughing. I cannot think of a more fitting way. Not two weeks later I took a bicycle tour. I’d flown up to Orlando, mid-state, carrying my bike in the plane. Before I headed south I stopped in the little town of Casadega to visit with a trance channeler. Casadega is well known for it’s high population of psychics. What I got from the channeling session impacted me as deep as it goes. When she finished with her closed-eye preparation, tuning in to whatever it was she entangled with, she began to speak from a spirit place. I shivered when I recognized the thick Maine accent coming out with the words. Philip was from Bangor. The trance channeler could not have known that, and her natural accent was a soft version of that lovely Florida Cracker type, almost musical in its beauty. And the words? “Why are you so easy with people?!”. There was anger in her voice. The crux of the whole channeled session was that I desperately needed to learn to say “no” when it was “no” that I meant to say. I’ve yet to get that right. The spookiest part of that session was not yet in my awareness as it ended. I had assumed that Philip was already dead. But when I got back to the islands I found out that he had died the day before my return. He’d been in some unknown halfway house on the way out. His channeled voice came from a living man whose spirit had already flown yet was still close by.  He still checks in with me on occasion. He had at one time told me, “Kenneth, you are going someplace special. Where ever you are going I want to go there too”. One other man had said that nearly same thing to me. That guy never kept his word, but Brother Phil did. I am better for it, but I have yet to learn to say no when I need to. I wish I would. People have been known to push me around when they find out about my failure. And someone, somewhere, sometime, will do so again. I don’t know exactly why I am telling this story, beyond the fact that I am a storyteller. I’d better keep my senses focused so I can give it a go at my next opportunity. That is the task at hand; to say no. Wish me luck. Thanks, yer a pal.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Overlook and the River

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“I can’t control the wind but I can adjust the sail.”  ~  Ricky Skaggs

“When sundown pales the sky
I want to hide a while behind your smile
And everywhere I’d look your eyes I’d find”  ~  Donovan

Seems I’m in a windy mood this morning, yet there is barely a breeze outside. Mmmm  .  .  .  maybe I should check that out before I continue. Veracity is often fun. Gone out. Backson. Bisy backson.

Nah, I was right. There is barely a breeze at all. The sky is the same slate gray that it was when I first woke up. I beat the cat to it this morning, deprived her of her usual alarm clock status. Alarm as in “Hey! There’s no kibble. What’s up with that?! Somebody’s slackin'”. I use my iPad as an alarm clock, so when I sat up I reached for it to turn off the alarm. When the screen came up the time read 2:22 AM. Ha! My inner New Age numerologist stepped right up to the plate and smiled. It means something. I’m sure it does, but I’ll deal with that later. My mood, along with being windy, is more poetic this morning, so analysis will have to wait. Multi-tasking is not one of my strong suits. I read an article in Tricycle Magazine a few years back, and the article said that from a Buddhist point of view multi-tasking makes us shallow, and I was like duh. We’ve already got enough of that as it is, we don’t need to push the envelope on everything. Says me. The opposition to this/my viewpoint is legion. Sigh. Now ain’t I the cynical one this morning. Next thing you know I’ll be griping about tailgaters. There’re some things ya jest gotta get used to.

I did some work to help a friend do some home improvement stuff yesterday. She lives way south of town. It felt good to get away from my hermitage for a while. It felt almost like traveling; a vacation or something. When I left her house I still had 90 minutes before my weekly therapy session. There was no sense in driving all the way home then back down into town since I’d only have 15-20 minutes to spend at home. So I bought a bag of Chili-cheese Fritos (I was hungry) and headed out State Highway 518, up into the mountains. That route is one of the most beautiful drives I know. It’s maybe 15-20 minutes up to US Hill, high up in the pass, where there is a scenic overlook that allows a view back down into the valley, where you can see the Town of Taos nestled in  a nook in the mountains. Above you can see Mount Wheeler, which is the highest point in the state. Sweet view. I watched tourists come and go, then finally had the place to myself. It is special to me because it was there that I took my mom for her last outing. She passed ten days later, but that outing was one of the things that helped her to go in beauty. While we were up there she fell into a conversation with a couple from Germany while I just sat, allowing her to savor the moment. On the way back down to the house I took her to a little riverside park next to the Little Rio Grande. That place was ripe with red willows going into their winter red phase, and even though it was nearly Samhain (Halloween) there were still plenty of aster blossoms. That cinched it for her. Asters were her favorite, so I gave her a pair of scissors and let her have at it. She gathered enough to make a bouquet to set atop the entertainment console, where it would be in clear view while she watched “Columbo”. I stopped both places yesterday. One must honor the Ancestors on occasion. But I was also there to commune with the mountain spirits. While at that little riverside park I’d told her that the mountain spirits would carry her as she prepared to cross over to the Other Side.

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I’ll be heading back south of town to help my friend finish up this afternoon. The terrain is so much different down there that just being there is refreshing to the soul. The Taos area, here at the south tip of the San Luis Valley, has many different terrains, vistas, and sacred power spots. A lot of magic ’round these here parts. And UFOs and cattle mutilations, stuff like that. The Mysterious Valley, by Christopher O’Brien, is a wonderful book about the intense paranormal climate of the San Luis Valley. I highly recommend it.

The sunrise was muted yet quite beautiful this morning. Clouds moving in, looks like rain coming. We need it. While I was out there watching the sunrise I realized that the Equinox is about here. The Veil is parting. No wonder I am feeling the Ancestral Call. I’m tired down to the bones right now. This season change should be a good pick-me-up. I gotcha a couple of photos following the sign-off. The overlook and the river.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.




A State of Play


“I have noticed that even those who assert that everything is predestined and that we can change nothing about it still look both ways before they cross the street”   ~  Stephan Hawking

“Because noting states of mind as they arise keep us present, it allows us to meet difficulties at their inception – before they become more real than we are.”

.  .  .  .  which brings us back to today. The stars were a 9 on a scale of 10 when I first awoke, thanks to the cat. She has made her new feeding time 2:30 AM rather than three. Silly animal. We’ll have to do something about that when I go back to work. If we can. Until then I bow to her annoying cuteness, Friggin cat.

It’s 42º and I am liking it. About 48 hours until the Equinox, give or take. I always enjoy the shift of light, and Autumn light sparks my soul. I could use a little spark right now. Run down by the mental issues. Reminders of what is rational can be taxing, when the body insists that rational ain’t the way to go.

I’ve been thinking about a friend lately. The trouble is that I have been prone to compare one friend with any number of others. Of course that doesn’t work. Acceptance has its place. Allow people to be who they are because they are that anyway. Simple.

There is one friend who outshines all the others; my best friend, who had me drinking champaign out of her shoe at midnight, New Years Eve, 1979-80. That may sound plenty weird, right? We were already deeply entangled by that time. We are to this day, although I have not physically seen her for roundabout 15 years. Spatial issues need not apply. But the friend I have been thinking about lately? I’m not sure quite why the thoughts come to me. I listen but let it be listening, plain and simple.

I am not up to analysis these days. Even in therapy I keep it simple. Seeing and hearing can so easily be distorted, which takes the winds out of the sails of mystery. Oooooo  .  .  .  a nautical metaphor! Makes me want to motor on out in a well-worn skiff and party with the phytoplankton under the full moon, out over the reef at the edge of the Florida Straits. Ya outta try it. It is so very sweet. My older brother and I were out there fishing one night. His first wife was with us. She asked what all of the glowing green stuff in the water was. We told her it was the Bermuda triangle so don’t worry. Our bad. But funny. The friend in my thoughts lately has me scratching my head. I’ll leave it at that.

It appears we are going to have a short blog post this morning, here at EyeYotee blog. The seeds of my new life are just beginning to sprout, wiggling at a snail’s pace as they emerge from soil that has been fertilized some with authentic shit. I’ve not found nor chosen any new direction at this point, so I simply watch it all grow. It’s friends again. Some step out when times are hard. I value these folks more now. There is one that I have not seen in months, and I owe her a hug. She is one of the loves of my life, of which there are about a dozen at this point and place in time. These “loves of my life” are women who touched me at a soul level from the git go. It don’t get no better than that. Only one of these women has passed away, and the ache from her passing is an ache that I will carry for the rest of my life. I’m all about beauty this morning. They all got it, all these friend. It just plays out in different ways. Life is a state of play.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

addendum: Het, did ya notice that I have more paragraphs than usual this morning. What’s up with that, right?