The Tale of a One-Eyed Dog

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“Both the old and new physics were dealing with shadow-symbols, but the new physics was forced to be aware of that fact – forced to be aware that it was dealing with shadows and illusions, not reality.”  ~  Ken Wilber

“May I tell you a wonderful truth about your dog? … You have been given stewardship of what you in your faith might call a holy soul.”  ~  Dean Koontz

Here was a long place, nearly full with people; I counted over fifty, but there were more. Eight dogs as well, and two bicycles topped with gaudily, tightly clad gentlemen who despite their sartorial good sense had not the good sense to wear helmets. I always wore a helmet when cycling. I would not be telling you these things if I hadn’t, because death silences a writer like nothing else can. And all of this stretched out upon cart and foot trails, three miles long and two hours given, along the west rim of the mysterious and beautiful Rio Grande Gorge. There was almost a party atmosphere out there; congenial and gentle, filled to the brim with smiles.


There is a tradition in the British Isles called ‘hillwalking’. Writer and shamanic practitioner Frank MacEowen wrote of using hillwalking as an oracle. For me, the West Rim trail is just that: hillwalking. I’ve used it as an oracle at times, but I didn’t even think of it yesterday, I just wanted to pump up my heart and clear out my head. That intention was fulfilled, but the oracle just kinda snuck right up on me. My first congenial encounter was with a  40-something couple and an older man. The elder spoke to me excitedly as I approached. “We’ve sighted a Bighorn!”. They walked on while I headed toward where he had pointed, and sure enough there he was, resting on a steep gravel slope, his magnificent spiral horns perched atop his body, relaxed with folded and tucked legs. He was a beauty alright. I ended up getting too close, hoping to get a better photo. He stood up, gave me the stink-eye, and proceeded down along the gorge wall.


Later on, another mile down the trail, I happened upon an older woman (she might well have been my own age) accompanied by a child, a little girl who was likely the granddaughter. The woman and I both stopped to chat. They were headed back toward the trailhead, and I was not. Turns out they had seen Bighorns as well, out across the chasm, on the far side of the river. She pointed me in the right direction and I went that way. Before long I located a cart-trail that headed down along a severe arroyo that  emptied out into the gorge, and just beyond that I found a road that headed down to the rim as well. I took that road. The opening photo is the place I stopped to rest.


Down at the end, close by a river
Close to the edge, round by the corner
Close to the end, round by the corner
Down at the edge, close by a river  ~  Yes

There was a circle of stones right there at the end of the road, clearly the work of pagans. The place felt sacred, and so it was. I edged up near the rim of the gorge, flashes of visceral fear from my acrophobia screaming through my feet and guts, to take some photos. Satisfied with them I stood up to move back away from the edge. I felt a presence and looked up. There, about 30 yards, meters, whatever, up the slope of the road, stood a little blond one-eyed dog, who looked to be a mix of Pekinese and Yorkie. His curled tail was going a mile a minute, and he looked to be friendly. I saw no human com anions, and I wanted to. I hated to think he was lost. So I walked back up the hill to look for humans. None were there. I stepped toward the little fella but he twirled and ran back a few steps. I tried again and again the same thing. There was no way to catch him so I meandered back down to where’d left my pack and sat down, hoping the dog would be alright. I’d thought of taking him to the animal shelter, which is closed on Sunday’s, but I probably could have gotten them to take the dog, because I still know a couple of workers there, even if they might not call me friend. No worries. We must help our fur babies regardless. So, sitting there in a half-lotus I silenced my mind and vibes in to the place, which had ample energy to wash through me and calm me further. When I set out back toward the trailhead, some three miles distant, there came two women, headed down to where I had meditated. I asked them about the dog but they had not seen the beast. We chatted more then I walked on. An easy half-mile down the trail I heard a distant voice cry out. It was faint, a woman’s voice, but the urgency and fear in the voice was clear as can be. I ‘knew’ she was looking for the dog so I headed back to be of service. About 200 yards between us, she finally asked me if I’d seen a little blond dog. I said I did as I walked on toward her. We talked it out. She seemed strangely calm. I knew her from the supermarket where I worked for so long, and I knew she is a mathematician. Maybe that science kept her close to objectivity. Who knows. She was uncertain as to which way to go in resuming the search. And I was like the Scarecrow of Oz, although I did not allow my arms to played the part but I had entered the Dreamtime through meditating near the rim, and I could ‘see’ the dog’s progress back toward the trailhead, so I suggested she head back, without letting on that I used woo woo stuff in making the recommendation. We took a brisk pace as we both went that way, chatting for a while, then she took off running with her other dog struggling to keep up. Soon, she came upon another hiker and they stopped to talk. I caught up with her as the man was saying that he’d seen the dog, back toward the trailhead. The man was headed out and she was headed back, and I marveled as they exchanged cell numbers in case he saw the dog farther out; 21st century technology out in a primal wilderness. Ironic and lovely at the same time.


Alas, I am out of time, so I will go on to tell you that the tale had a happy ending. I got back to the Visitor Center where the trail begins, and I saw to woman running through the parking lot. Soon enough she came back, little blond dog on a leash at her side. We talked then, celebrating the happy ending. Turns out the dog, shy of adults, loves children. She had found him on his cam getting a belly rub. She then thank me for being such a calming influence out on the trail. Hmmm, that’s why I’m here, right?

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Nails, Screws, and Fasteners

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“Shamanism is not confined to specific socio-economic settings or stages of development. It is fundamentally the ability that all of us share, some with and some without the help of hallucinogens, to enter altered states of consciousness and to travel out of body in non-physical realms – there to encounter supernatural entities and gain useful knowledge and healing powers from them.”   ~   Graham Hancock

It will be a walk in the wilderness wide open spaces for me this morning. It is needed. This little mind, all mucky with information, to the point where requisite information is squelched, will walk with me, and instead of bringing it to heel I will let it run free, leash laws be damned. The Rio Grande Gorge West Rim Trail oughtta be just the thing. I love it out there, for the primal feel and for the irrepressible openness. I don’t know about ghosts but I do know there are a lot of other spirits out there. That’s another thing I like about. I find it very easy to get small in that place, to listen to the Dreamtime as it whispers back in response to smaller dreams of the more personal kind. Recently I have drifted into that space of self-absorption where an introvert can stumble into on occasion. Too much input? Yup. New things, new social relations, newness in general, meanings not yet formed, found, whatever. A guy could get tired doing all this at once. One woman I know would probably at this point try to remind me that I am once again talking about myself, about my inner process and philosophy, perhaps to the detriment of any points of actual merit I may choose to write about. And I would be like all WTF lady. A guy’s gotta draw the line somewhere; wink, wink. I don’t know why that pisses me off, but it does. Self-importance? Maybe. Self-importance is one of the hurdles a warrior must overcome, says Don Juan Matus, as told by Carlos Castenada. For that, for the overcoming, the presence of a petty tyrant in one’s life is precious, because a petty tyrant is the one who can rouse self-importance to a level where it can be seen, and seeing that inner force in the light of day gives you the chance to wrestle it to the ground. Consider this to be ‘the good fight’. That woman also said that I spend too much time fighting the good fight. What is it with her anyway?!

Beautiful sunrise this morning:


“Only mediocrity is sure of itself.”  ~  Paulo Coelho

Yup, it’s a down cycle today. It reminds me of all the information about practical management of mental illness, provided by Dennis, on his Bipolar Manifesto website. His sharing has helped me along the way. But what I seek from this down cycle is the simple and beautiful point where Spirit shines through the tight lattice of mind. Boy howdy I am tempted to cross the line into florid poetic expression. Suffice it to say that there is indeed beauty in mental illness as well. The trick is to find it. That’s one big trick! As I mentioned yesterday I’ve been reading Debra Diamond’s wonderful book, Life After Near Death. She talks about how those who experience NDEs often return from the Other Side with some purpose, some life lesson to detect. I’ve often wondered about that. I know that I was admonished to write a book about my NDE, and I did that thing; and I thought that was it. But it wasn’t. This came to me only yesterday while at work. I don’t remember where – it could have been in the aisle surrounded by nails, screws, and fasteners. But the message was clear. My task is to learn to let the Light shine through this thing called mental illness. The Light comes to us, and we refract it with the lens at hand; the perceptual lens. There is no reason to presume that it really matters which lens, or what kind of lens it is. Complexity, transparency, whatever. Bear in mind that the illness came first; before the NDE. Dr. Bauer, a brilliant woman who was my first psychotherapist, said the the illness may have lain dormant, and the head and emotional trauma may have triggered activation of this genetic trait. But there was no way to know. I was not one of the fortunate ones who returned after the NDE to live in a world of Love and Light, and flowers, and clear skies, and Kosmic(sic) Oneness. I returned to enter a struggle. I felt as if I had awakened in someone else’s life. The mundane world no longer made any friggin sense at all. Not that it had before, but you get my point, right? It’s ‘the good fight’ my friend mentioned. And no, lady, I don’t spend too much time fighting that fight, I spend all the time. All things being All One I get only one chance, so I’d better get it right the first time, because there ain’t no second chance. Tools at hand, my friend, tools at hand. Tools are in aisle five, just over from aisle six, where we found the nails, screws, and fasteners. Seems I had a mini-satori in aisle six yesterday. Go figure.

Peace out, y’all. goof gloriously.

Wise Enough for Now


“The sun with all the planets around it, and depending on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as though it had nothing else in the Universe to do.”  ~  Galileo Galilei 

“When the intelligent and animal souls are held together in one embrace, they can be kept from separating.”  Lao Tzu 

Quotes from deep thinkers just feels right today. That and coffee. It’s been awfully quiet outside this morning. I only heard one dog barking, and although gruff her voice had a songlike quality within, and somehow I knew the dog is female. What is up with the thing about calling dogs ‘he’ all the time? And cats ‘she’? Alas, accuracy of language and expression ain’t ‘xactly trending these days. I could be totally rude about some things, more so than usual in fact, but I will forego the urge to go there in favor of waiting until such expression is well bidden, which hopefully is not at all, thank you very much. Just mind y’all’s grammar, k?

Intellectual stuff is kinda sorta haunting me of late. I’ve been reading Debra Diamond’s Life After Near Death, and she’s got me thinking about consciousness again, and about what the heck the NDE thing is all about. She’s a good writer, with an easy style; easy to read, and brave to take on such an intense topic. There is a complexity involved that is as challenging as it is intriguing. And the death of Italian writer and semiotician Umberto Eco has got me going as well. His admonition to examine the relationship of culture and cognition is compelling, to say the least. Look at the Trump phenomenon to find some source material there. His adamant followers have become a culture unto themselves. Think of that in terms of cognition, and the question that arises is just this: what are they thinking?! Or are they? Of course they are. I know that my thoughts are so far removed from that mindset so as to be essentially otherworldly by comparison. I kinda like it that way. Imagine Trump’s first State of the Union address, then let’s move on, I have a headache.

As for my more materialistic concerns, the fact that I may well retire in eight months is worth at least a giggle. I think one of the greatest learning challenges we face in life is to reconcile physical reality with the fact that the mind does not age.

“Old man look at my life,
Twenty four
and there’s so much more
Live alone in a paradise
That makes me think of two”  ~  Neil Young

Thought I’d throw that in there. It is starting to look like I am sitting on a rock and roll mood this morning. There’s a lot to be said for that, indeed. There seems to be a low-grade fire in the belly. It woke me up early but I feel good regardless. And what about this?! Nah, never mind that. I ain’t even gonna tell y’all where I was going with that. As Dana Carvey said, in his comic impersonation of George H.W. Bush, “wouldn’t be prudent”. Truth be told I feel like nipping at some ankles this morning. I’d have to look back to do that, and there are plenty of candidates to choose from, including in my most recent past. I won’t feign any sense of honor or wisdom, I simply would rather not. That seems wise enough for now, reckon?

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Liberty Pirouettes


“She took my hand and we both took to flight. This time the feel of the air and the overall view of the valley were even more intense than my arrival had shown, the colors deeper, and the air was alive with an energy of its own. A swift change came over it all as we flew back. All of the colors shifted into a vivid field of violet light, yet the features of the valley were still visible as inexplicable variations in contrast. This was a place I could have stayed for eternity, a place of abstractions so strange that it was a comfort to be there with a friend’s hand in mine, far from any familiar world I could imagine. But my return to my body was mandated by my own choice.”  ~  Ken Ebert, Theater of Clouds

The opening quote is from my book Theater of Clouds. I’m doing my periodic – what my friend Rick Strassman calls – shameless self promotion. I’m giving Rick’s books a little plug as well. Check out the link. In the quote I am describing, as best I can, the return to the Earth plane during my NDE journey. Beyond doubt, a visionary journey such as an NDE is certainly ineffable, or what Terence McKenna called “unlanguagable”. It took me nearly 20 years to feel comfortable in putting the experience into words. Overall it took 27 years between the NDE and publication of the book. Pretty much my life’s work. Nice. It was not easy!

The opening photo is of Cooper, an Anatolian Shepherd who used to reside at the shelter where I once worked. That’s something that is on my mind this morning: compassion. Part of the difficulty, a large part, in getting the NDE story into words was my failure to recognize the need for self-compassion. As for sweet Cooper, who did get adopted, the level of compassion that is demanded in shelter work where you handle animals is daunting. There is a technical term for it – compassion fatigue –  and many handlers cling to the term in relating to their work. It does get exhausting. But since my departure from the shelter I have come to realize that the term is really more of a crutch. A certain amount of detachment is needed, sure. Trauma surrounds you as you work. You get sucked in. There is no avoiding it. You have to take care of yourself. That’s what my former psychiatrist said when I told her the term. She laughed and said that it come down to simply taking good care of yourself, that no label was needed. I agree. I found that viewing myself as any kind of hero was more exclusive than it was inclusive. It is somewhat analogous to aspiring to transcend the ego. That aspiration itself is an ego game. Just being there for the animals is something that is hardwired into our DNA. Societal expectations and labels don’t cut it. You have to be there fully, unless the animal says no, and sets boundaries on the level of intimacy that will be tolerated. The animals are being deprived of their freedom through incarceration. The reason that “Liberty pirouettes” here is that She is teaching us that freedom takes many forms, many of which morph as they go along. The human handler ought to offer whatever freedom they can for the animals. That is why I stress respect for boundaries. Humans often ignore such boundaries in human relations. But full regard and respect for those dictated by the animals is all you really have to work with.

Laundry day today. I’ve got some tasks to complete this afternoon but creativity will be needed there, so it should be fun. Then back to work tomorrow. Let’s leave it at that.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Second Journey as an Old Man

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“Wrinkles should merely indicate where the smiles have been.” ~ Mark Twain

“His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly’s wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless.”  ~  Ernest Hemingway

“You get old and you realize there are no answers, just stories.”  ~  Garrison Keillor

This, as stated, was my second journey as an old man. The first was different, more dramatic, more stressful. This time, at 13º F, the air was nearly 40º warmer, the natural gas had not been shut of by the Governor in the only two counties in the State that she didn’t carry in the election. I didn’t have to work three days at the grocery store bundled in full winter gear because there was no gas to heat the store. There were no National Guard troops on the streets and highways. I had a beautiful partner waiting at home, in a nice house out on the mesa, with a world-class view; something I did not have this time. Poor me. This time was sunny and there was no major blizzard on the way. I had no need to travel through the chasm along the Rio Grande, certain the whole time that my little Focus would not make it through the gorge with it’s snow-packed highway. I made it back then anyway. And instead of XM satellite radio in my car, this time I had only the sound of my own thoughts and the mini-rumble of tires against the road. Yeah, it was different by degrees this time. Another difference was that this time I went to the Social Security Office to talk about early retirement. I’m going to get it too, come October. Lucky me. And no, you fucking Republican conservative shouters, this will not be a Government handout. Dude I like paid for this my whole working life dude so chill. Leave me in peace dude; I earned every penny. Now go earn your own pennies and leave mine alone dude. Just go.

This time I was also going to the State Capitol as a way to get out and away from Taos, if only for a day. The rush of the city traffic would be a challenging call for focus and deliberation. I did fine. I am not a city boy, but I know how to drive, and when in the city I use the same source of navigation that Luke Skywalker used when he stormed the Death Star. I owe him for that one. The SS office was crowded but they had 12 agents handling the case load, so I got in and out in less than an hour, with my replacement SS card ordered and on the way, and with a head full of information about my pending retirement. And yet, among the intimidating crunch of bureaucracy at work I happened upon an oasis of human connection. The African American woman who served me was all business up until the point where the business was complete, and then she began to chat. It was lovely. I slipped down in the chair and eased into the conversation, chat, whatever. As it turned out she was interested because I was from Taos. She had just that morning read that the Alabama Shakes were going to be in concert at Kit Carson Park come August. She wanted to go, and she did not know the specifics of the concert in Taos. So she smiled, turned to her secondary monitor, and said, “You are my excuse here. I’m going to look it up on the internet”. I ended up playing travel agent, telling her about the venue and some nearby hotels where she could walk to and from the show. She was, all the time, violating protocol – and I helped. It was delightful. That done we chatted some more, mostly about her previous home in Denver, and about the reasons why she came to New Mexico one year ago. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch her name. My bad.

Lunch was at Five-Star Burgers, at the De Vargas Mall. I had a Taos Burger and a pint of Driftwood Oatmeal Stout. The way they used a breaded deep-fried whole green chile instead of minced stuff was an added bonus atop that hefty chunk of meat, Black Angus, whatever. The waitress was young, lovely, and talented at her vocation; red-tinged chestnut hair, skillfully and attractively arranged; an Anglo woman, brown eyes, inner light that dazzled my psychic senses. Ah, the pleasures of life. I chowed down, the burger, the stout, and a basket of excellent fries. When I was finally finished with my meal, and sated, all paid up, the waitress began to walk away after the thank you, but I caught her before she turned her head away, and as she looked steady over her shoulder I told her that she had a beautiful smile. It was true, but to say such a thing to a stranger is totally unlike me. I don’t remember ever doing so. Her smile ramped up as she said thank you. More satiation for homeboy here.

The trip was a success all the way around. I’ll be able to retire without having to tweak my work schedule at all, and I will retain my Medicaid. Who knew, right? Seven months to wait, but I finally have somethin worthwhile to look forward to. It has not been that way for me for a very long time. There is a brass ring on this carousel after all, and boy howdy I am enjoying the ride once again.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Middle Way, Beauty Way



I’m not sure about a life after this
God knows I’ve never been a spiritual man
Baptized by the fire, I wade into the river
That runs to the promised land  ~  Billy Joel, River of Dreams

How thoughtlessly we dissipate our energies
Perhaps we don’t fulfill each others fantasies
And as we stand upon the ledges of our lives,
With our respective similarities
It’s either sadness or euphoria  ~  Billy Joel, Summer/Highland Falls

It’s a journey down south today – Social Security Office, then PetsMart. I guess I’ll be taking this anxiety with me, but I hope not. Sometimes it gives me no choice, and I can never tell beforehand if it will ride shotgun, keeping me edgy, and mildly hypervigilent, and ripped wide open in the space between hope and fear. In the wide open space is the Middle Way. It’s my best bet. Tis not enlightenment I seek. It is simply a replacement for my SS card, information about early retirement, advice on whether it would be wise, and a good lunch, maybe a green chile cheeseburger; comfort food. Hey, look, okay? I’m am hyperreactive as well; so says the brain surgeon, Dr. Smucker. He never touched my brain but he touched my figurative heart, repairing a disfigured spine after 27 years of waiting. I love the man for what he did; 27 years of deep pain, gone, poof. Yesterday was as bad as it gets, depression-wise. On days like that synchronicities cluster and they ain’t the good kind. Poor me, right? The thing of it is that the accident, a freakish occurrence, was also marked darkly as the source of this friggin PTSD. That’s yer basic hypervigilence and reactivity right there. Boy howdy I really oughtta get a scrip for medical marijuana. My doctor’s clinic will not do that. Dang. Now, I’d best shoer and hit the road. I hope to have a fun day, on the path of the Middle Way, and the Beauty Way. Onward  .  .  .

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

With Too High a Spirit


“Everything you can imagine is real.”  ~  Pablo Picasso

“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.”  ~  Ralph Waldo Emerson

Alrighty then. It didn’t snow. At all. I’d be disappointed if I wasn’t in a Taoist space today. No – wait. Disappointment can easily be seen as in the Flow. The water of life simply flows around obstacles. Disappointment is a stone, a standstill effect, and it has as much a place in the world as water does. Wow. I’ll leave it at that. Can you tell? I had a brief conversation with a Taoist the other day. I hadn’t realized there were any around, but, of course, why would they admit to it. This is a Christian society, right? Ummm, not so much. They too, these Christians, have stones in the river. Enough of these stones, fortunately placed, allow travelers to cross the river, step by step. Life is not all downstream. That’s something else down there. Call it the future, destination, whatever, it’ll be there when you get there. No worries, mate. Hey, I gotta feed and medicate the cat, the go watch the sun crest the ridge back yonder in Pueblo canyon; then let the chickens out and replenish their seed and water. Hmmm, there’s that water again. Go figure. Busy backson.

“Taoism means a state of inner serenity combined with an intense aesthetic awareness. Neither alone is adequate; a purely passive serenity is kind of dull, and an anxiety-ridden awareness is not very appealing.”   ~  Raymond Smullyan

 All the morning chores have been completed, and I am deeply tired. Gainful employment, after a months long period of low physical activity, took it right out of me. The nearly perpetual feeling of urgency, which is an artifact of the nearly perpetual anxiety, is adapting well to the back burner. That Taoist stuff is proving to be a boon after all. That was never the point. It just felt right and I found my way to the inner serenity that shines softly, dreams effectively, and lays down the law. It will be rest, again, after my first work week, and it really ain’t so bad. I thought I was supposta be doin’ something productive, and I’ll be danged I most certainly am.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

In a White Room

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“I’ll wait in this place where the sun never shines;
Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves”  ~  Cream

I stopped at El Prado Liquor yesterday evening to fulfill my daily beer quota, a pint and a miniature of whiskey. The kid that works the counter on Sundays is a cool guy, 30-something Spanish man, shaved head, mustache, big smile. He had the local classic rock station on the radio, and they were playing “White Room” by Cream, and I was like yeah buddy! As I headed for the cooler I told the kid that Cream was my first rock concert, back in ’67, when I was 13 years old, and he says “No way”. Beer in hand as I approached the counter, another Anglo boomer walked through the door. He cocked his ear up to the music. “Cream?”. Yeah buddy. The three of us commenced to have a sweet conversation about the music, which was still playing. The chat reached its climax when I told the kid that Eric Clapton was in Cream. He said, “Wow! I never knew that Clapton was in Cream”. And that was that, or it woulda been had the whole memory not lingered in my mind, on into this morning. What strikes me as odd about all this and that is in examining the chance encounter I realized that ’67 was very nearly 50 years ago.! Just how did that happen?! Linear time is such a bitch. I’d say that reality has set in were it not for the fact that the evidence of that is sorely lacking.

The full Snow Moon has just slipped behind the rise in the mesa, and then it was gone, remembered only by its fading glow. Sweet. It seems this February’s full moon is aptly named this year. The forecast is for snow tonight, and wind; maybe an inch; a blessed relief from the spell of Spring warmth that has been for the past many days. Bring it on. It’s been years since I retained the love for winter weather on through the season, but I most certainly have this year. I think it is because this has been kinda sorta my Winter of Discontent. No, wait! Did I say 50 friggin years!? What’s up with that. It’s messed up. No biggie. The fact only bolsters my seemingly permanent existential mini-crisis. Again, no biggie. It’s like all Perpetual Change and stuff.

“And one peculiar point I see
As one of many ones of me
As truth is gathered, I rearrange
Inside out, outside in
Inside out, outside in
Perpetual change”  ~  Yes

Onward. “Monday, Monday, can’t trust that day”. It’s a workday after one day off, and then there will be two days off. Tomorrow is the cat’s visit to the clinic to get her blood sugar checked. Then on Wednesday I’ll drive down to to Santa Fe to visit the Social Security office to get a replacement for my SS card, which has been amongst the missing for at least 35 years. Yet the card number, my Federal citizen designation, is lodged in my Boomer head, as are so many other things. I will also ask about early retirement, and if I can keep Medicaid if I do. That would be sweet. They are hip to that at work. I think I’ll leave it at that. It’s time to feed and medicate the cat, and then onward to work. Moving forward. It’s a new day. Clear highway, bright sunny sky. It’s all good, right? Yeah buddy!

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Make It So

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“Get this in mind early: We never grow up.”  ~  Richard Bach

In the past half year I have gone from the airy ideological realm of service to animals on into a vocation that is in essence nuts and bolts. Yes, I work in a hardware store and I am not too proud to resort to a bad pun on a Sunday morning. Working in a store, as a customer serve rep and cashier is service as well, by definition, but until you have scooped 40 pounds of cat shit each day, throughout a summer where the room temperature rises over 100º, daily, without fail, you don’t know how deep service can go; and then working under someone who would like you to be gone as well. Ain’t I the cynical one today. Not really. Just feelin’ grumpy because I feel ill, from four days of successful and happy performance on the job, after six months of unemployment. It is totally worth it, regardless of the fact that I have been overriding the mental strain of being out in public again. Poor me, right? It’s okay, really. I’ve found some tasty stuff to read this morning. The dark side, however, in the guise of one Donald Trump, won’t daunt me none, because I sense that his prominence will lead, after much angst, to something humorous. Let’s hope. I believe that for now it is quite alright to fear his actions. I mean, come on now  .  .  .  head-butting the pope?! I could deal with that if it were Benedict, but Francis is a cool dude, and Donald ain’t nothing of the sort. Stupidity and cleverness are not mutually exclusive. Remember that. And no, I don’t know what to do today, but whatever it is it will involve profound rest. Actually, when I think about it, it is well within my power to not only make it so, but to also make it the day’s only true priority. That was Captain Jean Luc Picard said that: “make it so”. That might not be such a bad idea actually, to binge watch some Star Trek Next Gen episodes. I just had a serious deja vu while writing that previous sentence. Time curls back on itself, don’tcha know, and sometimes those curls get pretty big. Linear clock time is a mechanical illusion. Watch the movie “Mindwalk” and you will get a brief glimpse of what I mean. It’s a fabulous and thoughtful film. Click here, if you have the time. I highly recommend it. As for time, I don’t feel tired today because I am old. I feel tired today as if I were old. There’s a world of difference. And I have all the time in the world to make a difference.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Storm Dancers and Quantum Entanglement

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“She was the storm, she was the lightning…”  ~  Neil GaimanThe Ocean at the End of the Lane

“When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”  ~  Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

It’s all uproar; all of it. Bipolar boy here can’t tell up from down, which is simply the quintessence of Light come home, as simple as can be. All that can be said at the moment is that one is within the spectrum still, somewhere along the line, where rising or falling are pretty much irrelevant designations, devoid of destination. I savor the choice in this cluster of moments. The illness has been overridden for now, yet it is growling, wanting the punch any metaphor that might mosey along square in the solar plexus. I kind of like it. I am smack dab in the middle of a tectonic shift in life, where all is love, all squirmy, all dreamlike, and all things rolled into one. The Shadow, the Ally, stands infirmly, arms crossed across his midsection, foot tapping away to beat the band, trying to look like a tough guy, but he only looks like a teacher, and that is, for now, his destiny. We are in this together. Now, you might say that my half a year hermit gig twisted me in some way uncertain, to which I would respond “and your point is  .  .  .  ?”. And I’ve gone back to work, at my new job. It’s a storm, my friends. The will this change is calling forth from my soul has penetrated further into the realms of need to where it has ended up calling out Spirit. Spirit came and is lingering, ready to help. As an introvert I am pretty much in a deer in the headlights mode as I give service to the diverse public, which passes before me in the checkout line, and all smile except for the grouches. Friggin nitwits. Compassion for nitwits comes easy for me. But there was one, one moment when I looked up from whatever part of the checkout process I was performing, and when our eyes met they locked. It was one of those cosmic moments, just outside of time. Perfect stranger, and here I am like all “good to see you again”. I love it when that happens. I’ve zero idea what she was thinking but the look in her eyes told me that she saw it too, whatever ‘it’ was. We humans have the ability to connect on a soul level, when quantum entanglement wields its Trickster skills. And skilled it is. I don’t know what to think so I don’t. But it is another work day, and a big 20% off sale will be underway. Come on down.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.