A Sometimes Sacred Procedure


“I never, even for a moment, doubted what they’d told me. This is why it is that adults and even parents can, unwittingly, be cruel: they cannot imagine doubt’s complete absence. They have forgotten.”  ~  David Foster Wallace

Lately I’ve been full of doubts. More than full; overflowing. But the coffee was good this morning and the cat is content. Also lately, I’ve been letting my mind drift into some of the more science fiction spaces I indulged so freely back in my coming of age phase. Fact is I never did come of age, but that’s a different story. What went wrong? Maybe nothing went wrong. Maybe it’s alright as it is. Were I to practice mindfulness, which I often do, I would like totally accept that coming of age was a choice I took a pass on. Acceptance is a powerful practice. As a bearer of Bipolar 2 disorder I can attest to the intimate moment when acceptance returns as a reminder that it’s all gonna be alright. PTSD, which I also bear, is a tougher nut to crack. PTSD can be a cosmic carjacker. When at the physical therapist, as I was yesterday, doing my exercises, I sometimes get overwhelmed by emotion. It’s simply the deep toxins of suppressed feelings being released back into the world, a world, where they have no bearing other than to verify the humanity that I share with so many others. I let them come, let them unfold from Bohm’s Implicate Order, and I let them sit and get their bearings, if at all possible. Yesterday the head therapist passed my treatment off to her student, a teenage girl. I don’t know if she saw me crying softly, and I don’t mind if she did. After therapy I meandered for a while and then dug in to some earthy work for my ex; pulling weeds and pretty much making things all pretty and stuff. Getting my hands down into the earth is always a boon to me. I’m not going into that this morning, however, because it’s like ya know kind of a personal thing for the time being. Communing with Mother Earth is sometimes a sacred procedure, and this particular procedure is unstructured and profound. So  .  .  .  ummm  .  .  .  what about the science fiction? I recently read about a Nazi science project called the Nazi Bell; a device with which the Nazi scientists were able to open up a wormhole to a parallel universe. No easy task. When the Nazi house of cards was coming down they were able to send Adolph through the wormhole so that he could hang out until the time was ripe for him to return to this universe and finally conquer the human race. He never found a way of accomplishing this until an experiment at the Large Hadron Collider actually did open a door into another universe, and it just happened to be that very same one. But when Adolph, turned on to the doorway by those otherworldly scientists in the Universe next door, tried to re-enter his home world he found that Astral travel was the only applicable option. He could not take his body with him. His advisors were put to the task and they concluded that they would have to find a suitable “empty suit”, a man with so little soul that Adolph could feasibly inhabit the man without much effort. So Adolph took the plunge, found such a man, and proceeded to break on through to the other side, where he found the worm, and made a deal with the man’s raisin-like soul. That soul was good at deals. That’s what he did. And he had the best words. They make a great team, my friends. They would like to be your President. Do you mind?

I made that all up. Never happened. It is fiction, k? Bullshit. That having been said I am going to get ready for work.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


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