“May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.” ~ Neil Gaiman
Rain and thunder, light and magic. In Celtic tradition the mist, the rain, is when the worlds of Spirit and matter dance closely, slow and intimate. The Veil between the worlds is pulled back for safe passage. The brilliant physicist, Richard Feynman, said that “all matter in interaction”. It gets deep, right? The rain comes and goes, the radar shows it is mostly north of El Prado, up yonder, San Cristobal, Questa. It is said that snow will come when the light of the sun comes, and that veiled by thick clouds. It’s going to be a sweet, wet day. The thunder has since passed. That last peal sounded to be out near the Rio Grande Gorge. The Gorge plays with weather, sometimes sucking clouds right down into the 650 foot chasm, where it hoards them for a while. Although there is no hurry it remains that this is laundry day. How will this day unfold, what will be my focus as I pull myself, dragging through the fear, forward into the future? Or is it backward? Stephen Hawking said that there is no reason we cannot remember the future. Maybe we do it all the time but we are too encultured to realize what is going on, much less knowing what to do with it. How would I know? At this time of the morning I am mostly interested in remembering to put some OxyClean into the wash. Get those worn old clothes as clean and as bright as can be, which ain’t much. Still they are comfortable, as only old clothes can be. This afternoon it will definitely be a movie. I so often fail to treat myself to a movie I vow to watch. There’s some kind of discipline issue there. Lately many of my issues have been stepping forward and forming gangs. Imagine that. What’s up is that a pivotal, seminal time in my life is only 24 days away, and counting. That’s when I receive the first of my monthly Social Security payments. I’ll first take myself out to dinner. You can bet on that. Italian, please. Ample red wine and garlic breadsticks. Maybe a dinner date? I cannot foresee that, but, then again, maybe Dr. Hawking is right, and I need to open up my friggin eyes and get with the flow, remember what’s coming. I can almost see her smile. I’ve seen it before, and the last time I saw it I was dazzled for a spell. Whatever. First the snow, then the laundry, then the movie, and then I can sit down and whittle away at a fantasy to see if it is actually a dream instead. You see, dreams can come true, whereas fantasies are all marshmallow fluff and corn flakes and stuff. I like that image. Imagine a bowl of cornflakes nestled into marshmallow fluff. Sprinkle with chopped walnuts, drizzle with raspberry sauce, douse with Lemonhart 151º rum, and spark it up. It’s like Bananas Foster, except for breakfast. Mimosas would be nice as well. Hey, settle down, I’m just playing here. It’s a rainy Sunday morning, and I have the day off. Anything is possible. Yesterday was THE most anxiety-free day in recent memory, which goes back years. The world became awash with light. It was really cool dude. Boy howdy I gotta go now. I’m havin’ a memory. Gotta get to it.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.