“I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teaching my blood whispers to me.” ~ Hermann Hesse
“Any major dude with half a heart surely will tell you my friend, any minor world that falls apart falls together again” ~ Steely Dan
It is all about instinct with me these days. Or so it seems. There was a time when my dad was still alive, and I was often contemplating Marcus Aurelius. There was some inspiration that prompted me to mention instinct and its role in our modern lives. Dad replied that maybe I should look back on my old friend back in the Florida Keys, who lived by instinct, and look at them hard, so as to see where instinct led them. That, my friends, was a tall order. I didn’t have to think hard at all. The Keys were and still are etched into my soul, a kind of cultural tattoo, there for both examination and/or gawking. The Keys, back then, were truly laid back, and had no need for declarations about laid-backness. There was a flagrance to the Caribbean laissez faire there, and the striving for excellence in proactive apathy fed the expatriate game, a sumptuous and moveable feast, most every friggin day. So, dad’s prompt, remember? I almost forgot. I’m not so sure it was instinct that made my friends so reckless with life. Instinct was there, a partner in glory, intentional or not. I call it glory now because that is what I called it then. Prodigious hangovers. Playing a part in bringing in a big load of drugs. Hooking up with a huge blue marlin. Growing out a beard like Hemingway. Declaring war on the United States and subsequently seceding, then surrendering and applying for foreign aid. Click on that link; it’s fun. I was there. Anyway, there was a lot of tomfoolery afoot in those days. Looking back, as I did, it didn’t really look much like instinct to me, it looked like a game where the widespread American culture was twisted and used as a toy. I think it was all played out like a video game. Parrot-heads as well, Buffet fed faux pirates. Mimicry, all done with a flourish, and embellished with personal touches. It was fun, but instinct? I think not and I might be wrong.
As for instinct, I am now looking at the Oregon militia catastrophe. There was an ambush by the Feds last evening. A bunch of those guys were arrested, and the guy that openly admitted that he wanted to die did so. There’s your instinct right there. Primate politics. Makes me think about the late great Robert Anton Wilson, of his marvelous book Prometheus Rising. The seizure and occupation of Federal land was kinda like saying “dude I’m taking this because I like say its really mine not yours dude. I plan on populating this with large mammals dude. If you disagree with me and try to take it back dude then yer like a no good shit dude. And I’m doin’ this ’cause I want to take after my daddy. Primate politics. Gets confusing, right? Boys got all puffed up, dressed up like models for Cabela’s, then went in and proceeded to play with computers and heavy equipment. Because freedom. And I’m like huh? Somebody could get hurt. Somebody did, and it was no longer amusing. Primate politics. Luckily we’uns still have our cerebral cortexes to offset the reptilian and mammalian instincts; that is iffin we wanna. Then there’s the neocortex as well, and how it is hardwired down into the heart. Imagine love as not primarily an emotion rather as a force for good, and brotherhood, sisterhood, whatever. Them boys seemed to think they were doing it in the name of love. The Feds as well? Likely so. But there we start getting into justice, and ethics, morality, whatever. It’s a long and endless highway when you set out to return to peace. Primate politics.
I’ll be headed dow into town soon to visit the lovely and helpful women at the veterinary clinic, where I will purchase prescribed meds to address the really very stinky diarrhea Rosie has of late. It’s been a problem for me. Let’s leave it at that. Thank the Goddess the gofundme.com is progressing nicely, and I am feeling secure in having the money to pay for all of this. Tis a blessing. I did not even want to ask for help, for money, but I need it because Rosie’s needs it. We need to keep this old girl in optimum helps for one in her position. The cat is hilarious though. OMG, She has come to yell at me; not catlike, she mimics my vocal expression. I’ve done a bit of expletive yelling during the intestinal issue stuff. There’s an Olde English saying that when a cat reaches ten years old they become able to speak. Maybe I shoulda been watching my words. And she’s like dude you feed me when I say cause Dr. Trish just got it wrong dude. And I’m like go get a mouse, they are carb-free dude.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.