That Hand Thing Again


“I tried to make everything breathe in this painting: faith, quiet suffering, religious and primitive style, and great nature with its scream.”  ~  Paul Gauguin

“After sleeping through a hundred million centuries we have finally opened our eyes on a sumptuous planet, sparkling with color, bountiful with life. Within decades we must close our eyes again. Isn’t it a noble, an enlightened way of spending our brief time in the sun, to work at understanding the universe and how we have come to wake up in it? This is how I answer when I am asked—as I am surprisingly often—why I bother to get up in the mornings.”  ~  Richard Dawkins

In mere minutes the rain faded and was gone. It is a sweet surprise, during a dry spell in the high desert mountains, when you discover upon stepping outside that there is a rain shower in progress, at 3:33 AM; a ‘rain event’, I think they used to call it toward the end of the last century. Hey, listen, the 3:33 thing was just a coincidence. I gave up my New Age ways after two years on the online discussion board of the Institute for Noetic Sciences. Wink, wink. Yeh, I still have my times. Those online discussions happened 15 years ago. There were a lot of deeply beautiful dialogues, and not infrequent pop ups of the WTF variety. It was fun, and challenging. I can’t say for sure but it seemed to me that the Noetic Cafe drove me deeper into life, deeper into my animal nature, into my soul. Takes one to know one. Cryptic, right? Yeh. Now, right after the rain shower abated I sat, just sat. Kinda Zen-like, if y’all know what I mean. And soon it happened. There were a couple of neighbor dogs, just up the hill, who started boofing a bit, and I wondered if maybe there was a coyote afoot in the ‘hood. Within minutes my suspicion was affirmed. One single bark, on its way to a howl, rose out of the early morning darkness. The critter was just outside of the fence, which put it no more than 20 yards from where I sat. The tone of the animal’s expression was rich and soulful, like David Gilmour’s gently wailing Stratocaster playing “Comfortably Numb”. I was tempted to allow myself to be drawn into the shamanic realm, but I gotta work today, and getting all mystical and stuff before breakfast on a workday is not exactly what I would call wise. Is it dude? I dunno. I was tempted. Let’s leave it at that, shall we? Truth be told the shamanic realm reached out to me. I can now feel the sumptuous and brilliant orange fire of the goddess warming the cold spots in my vast array of attitudes. It is not as complicated as it seems, she reminds me. Yeh, the Divine Feminine, she kinda sorta talks to me, k? She saved me from a world of shit back in 1984, by gracing me with a spiritual framework for a traumatic head injury that likely woulda left me a tad disabled without that goddess-y perspective. Meanwhile, back here at the edge of the mesa just north of Taos  .  .  .  I had no earthly idea I would write what I just wrote this morning. The Veil is thin as Samhain, only six days away, approaches. That orange fire that glows within me this morning also nudges me repeatedly to remember that smile a few weeks ago. That dazzling smile and those eyes. Those hands. About a year after the traumatic head injury I became fascinated with hands. I worked in a 3 star oceanfront hotel in the islands and that job afforded me a view of a broad variety of hands. But the hotel is not the point. Why hands? Those hands a few weeks ago showed strong and aged beauty. I can’t explain it. There was something  .  .  .  am I like getting all into the hand thing again dude? I never knew what it was about the first time. I just had to look      .  .  .  having read the book  .  .  .  Cryptic, right? Yeh, tis.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


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