A Secondary Consideration

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“A story was a form of telepathy. By means of inking symbols onto a page, she was able to send thoughts and feelings from her mind to her reader’s. It was a magical process, so commonplace that no one stopped to wonder at it.”  ~ Ian McEwan

“To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it’s about, but the music the words make.”  ~  Truman Capote

“The world is a hellish place, and bad writing is destroying the quality of our suffering.”  ~ Tom Waits

Maybe it’s something I should have gotten used to years ago? Seems I am, at least this morning, at least to the cat, a secondary consideration. I’m not sure if I am okay with that. I’ve got an ego, and it needs to be exercised, or it will eventually strike out from it’s dark frumpy corner, from the exile to which I have cast it so discourteously. Best to keep it in sight because it ain’t goin’ away any time soon. What happened is that I reached over and turned down the thermostat on the space heater, because the rickety white noise was getting on my nerves; besides, it is almost warm enough for comfort. Rosie was lounging quite elegantly on the floor in front of the machine. In less than 30 seconds after I turned the thing off she was on my lap, plopped down pretty, and somehow owning the whole scene. I just reached over and turned it back on against the fast moving chill, and she is back down there on the floor. I rest my case. BTW, the chill moves way faster when the temperature outside is down in the single digits. But the scenery provided by this deep cold over lightly snowy landscapes is hard to beat. I mean, Summer is all lush and brimming with rich color, and some folks say that Winter is drab and bleak, as if bereft of color. What the hell are they looking at?! Hmmph. Maybe it is just nurture that makes it so for me, but I cherish the colors of Winter. The range of colors may be severely curtailed but it gives the chance for the colors that remain to strut their stuff, giving fully of what they have, unimpeded by their more flashy compadres. As for the nurture – my mom usta paints pictures of what my dad called “dead trees”. So called bleak landscapes appeal to me. Besides, they make coco and tea and brandy and stuff for these very occasions. Ain’t so bad. In spite of the very, honestly, most certainly, no shit, nature of the times in our country – speaking of bleak – I feel brimful with the currents that flow so strong from Mother Earth at the Winter Solstice. Tis sometimes called “The Birth of Light”. Has kind of a cozy feel to it, that name, don’tcha think? My gift from the modern world upon this sacred day (okay, so it’s really tomorrow) is to receive money from the Federal government. I’ve paid into the program for my whole working life, yet some folks call it degeneracy, handouts, or some other faux-libertartian horse shit. I say “faux-libertarian” because it don’t rightly seem to me that them judgmental folks have it right about they own selves. Dag nab it and WTF and stuff, I ain’t gonna git inta no political commentary this morning, not when the height of ignorance is poised to go even higher, all at the expense of those he is supposed to be serving, to whom he promised many things, in return for their payment in hatred and intolerance. Yeh, I’m pissed. Gotta go.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

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Order, Chaos, and Cat Magic

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“Stories are able to help us to become more whole, to become Named. And Naming is one of the impulses behind all art; to give a name to the cosmos, we see despite all the chaos.” ~  Madeleine L’Engle

“He woke up blinking with a slight pain in his head and opened his eyes upon a world boiling in chaos in which everything was in proper order.”   ~  Joseph Heller, Catch 22

“The pits and tangles are more than blemishes distorting the classic shapes of Euclidian geometry. They are often the keys to the essence of a thing”  ~  James Gleick

The morning out on the deck is vivid and saturated with visions of perpetual ice. Nice. The air temperature is hovering right above 0º. Speaking of perpetual, my anxiety is mostly in my belly this morning; a big squirmy lump of roundly crawling energy. Not so nice. But having it encapsulate in my belly is better than having it surging throughout my whole body. It so often does that. Just sayin. I just double-checked; my SS benefit payment arrives on Wednesday, 30 hours from now. Yes, I am still counting the days and hours. The counting has been a good crutch through my darker mood phases. I should also note that keeping a rational perspective helps in the same way. That’s why I like to read intellectual articles online. They keep that part of my mind stimulated, which in turn allows me to give support to the weakened part of me without lecturing myself, which is only yet another way of giving my superego too much power. That is always counterproductive. Moving forward, I saw one of my old co-workers from the animal shelter a couple of days ago. Once again, there is such a deep bond between most of us who worked there. She has since moved on to study to become a certified vet tech. She gave me the latest cat news from the shelter, which I found to be discomforting. Will that place never get over the human politics that diminish the ability to give comprehensive care? The work requires a thoroughness of performance and a viable detachment from the inner politics of the organization. It haunts me, that place. Mostly in a good way. Yeh, mostly. I must remind myself of that from time to time. Remember, cats are magic, and it is best to treat them accordingly. They are also innately well-versed in chaos. I’m not much of a positive thinker, but I do like to be that way. Most practicing positive thinkers that I have known seem to lean into order. By “practicing” I mean those to whom unbidden preaching, or maybe just judgmental nagging, is par for the course. I hold order in high regard. And chaos as well. It’s all good, right? Yeh, it should be a good day, in spite of the looming validation, today, of Donald John Trump as our new President. That just pisses me off. Don’t get me started.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

 

 

Voldemort Rolls Over In His Grave

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“Monsters come in all shapes and sizes. Some of them are things people are scared of. Some of them are things that look like things people used to be scared of a long time ago. Sometimes monsters are things people should be scared of, but they aren’t.”  ~  Neil Gaiman

Deep cold last night. Sun is up, but not the temperature. Oh well, it’s Sunday morning after all. I’m being lazy today and you can’t stop me. Don’t even try it. Yes, I could go to grouchy in an instant. Anger is not off of the table either. The thing I will fight fiercely, if it should rear its ugly head, is situational depression. The things that had me so stirred up today is that the Electoral College votes tomorrow. Friggin Trump will be confirmed as President. It is disturbing me deeply. That deep rumble you hear is Voldemort rolling over in his grave. I don’t even want to write this morning. Just stopping in to give thanks to my readers. I would write anyway. But having readers is infinitely better. Thank you.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Therein Lies Comfort

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“No wonder we cannot appreciate the really central Kafka joke: that the horrific struggle to establish a human self results in a self whose humanity is inseparable from the horrific struggle. That our endless and impossible journey toward home is in fact our home.”  ~  David Foster Wallace

“The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly; it is dearness only that gives everything its value. I love the man that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength from distress and grow.”  ~  Thomas Paine

This morning it is all about the wind. I should have seen it coming. The workings of the natural world are of such interest to me, and the complexity and immensity so great, that I regularly come back to the realization that the Oneness of all things, the interconnectedness of all things, does not in any way preclude the abuses born of human injustice. There are countless, undefinable factors involved in which way the wind blows. Yet when it blows its major feature is that  .  .  .  ummmm, I know where I was going with all of that, but I have decided to chop it off at that point. I once stood out in a hurricane. It was a great experience. I’m not likely to do it again. I guess what I am getting at is the question of just how natural is the wave of illness that is rolling in toward the White House. As per usual I have been reading a lot about the world of American politics this morning. Ouch. Two things, k? Then I’ll move on. One – this stuff about facts not mattering anymore. I watched a video in which a Trump surrogate said that right out loud, as if it was logical and laudable: facts don’t matter. Is it all just becoming one big miasma of “my way or the highway” thinking? No, wait, maybe thoughts don’t matter? Listen, I am a Democrat through registration, and a progressive through an overview of my beliefs and aspirations. Thoughts matter. Facts, even more so. But words say it all. Two – shit, I forgot what the second thing is. My bad. I started to expand on the first and got so far along that the second got lost. There is a lesson there somewhere. I think I’ll go outside for a few minutes, to listen to and feel the wind. Wind and water are such sensuous things. Therein lies comfort.

The wind has picked up in the past hour, and it is blowing something fierce, now that the rain has stopped. I was hoping for snow. The forecast says snow will come at sunrise. That would be nice. That is my morning in a nut shell. All of this other stuff? Well our society is messed up, but I can see it as an evolution in exactly what we are. I can’t describe what I mean by that. No, wait. I can’t explain. All I know is the wind feels good. And so will the snow.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Out Into the Gentle Rain

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“A writer – and, I believe, generally all persons – must think that whatever happens to him or her is a resource. All things have been given to us for a purpose, and an artist must feel this more intensely. All that happens to us, including our humiliations, our misfortunes, our embarrassments, all is given to us as raw material, as clay, so that we may shape our art.”  ~  Jorge Luis Borges

“When you reach my age, you realize you couldn’t have done things very much better or much worse than you did them in the first place.”  ~  Jorge Luis Borges

In our opening photo Took is all moist and ruffled because his head was just in the dog’s mouth. We might all feel that way after a few months into Donald Trump’s Presidency. But enough about politics. My mind is peopled by mythical characters this morning. A gentle rain is falling. My sense of smell, usually minimal, at best, was treated to the lushness provided by the moisture. I’m just back in from hunkering out on the deck, under the eaves, taking it all in. The change I have waited for so long is now coming to fruition. It is a penumbral time when light is soon to break. That this time comes in direct alignment with the Winter Solstice is maybe just giddy coincidence, maybe not. I’m sticking with the latter. It will make the new world better just to see it this way; thus the choice. And a new world it is.

“If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.”  ~  The Gospel of Thomas

The mythical characters are many, some of which are Parsifal, Luke Skywalker, Daedalus and Icarus, Don Juan Matus, Persephone, Brighid. That last one, Brighid, may be a mythical character, but she is so in a way that transcend the definition of the word. She is as real to me as the day is long. And more so in her own right. I tend to live my life from an archetypal level. My first true therapist pointed that out to me and I was like well yeh. She was a Doctor of Human Growth and Development. She is also the one who facilitated my hypnotic regression to the NDE journey I experienced on February 3rd, 1984. Between ’84 and the regression in 1990 I pretty much wandered this world rudderlessly, guided only loosely by a tortuous tickle that might as well have been an earthquake. Something was out there, and the tickle reminded me repeatedly to friggin not lose sight of something I could not see. Those years of confusion, through which I managed to navigate pretty good alright, can rightly be attributed to PTSD. Head trauma and a severe confrontation between our accepted view of reality, and another view that dwarfed what you see right now, were the source material for the PTSD. But it was more than that. Much more. I could write at great length about. I will not do so, not today. That’s pretty much what the Jesus quote above is saying to me. The change that is upon me right now, on the mundane level, is giving me sweet relief from financial concerns. But on a deeper, more archetypal, level it is opening the door to the mythos. I’ve been struggling, however unconsciously, to keep that sucker closed, for fear of what might come through. But I now see that the real fear was that I would have to step through, and beyond. Both fears were real in their time. And are. Now, out into the gentle rain I must go, for it is a work day, and for some strange reason, for the first time in many years, I feel calm, I can breathe without force, nor is my hunger forced. Tis a puzzle. I can explain it quite readily, and somewhat accurately, but it is a wordless, translingual thing I do today. I  .  .  .  oh, never mind.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

A Beleaguered Nior Detective Speaks

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“Remember on this one thing, said Badger. The stories people tell have a way of taking care of them. If stories come to you, care for them. And learn to give them away where they are needed. Sometimes a person needs a story more than food to stay alive. That is why we put these stories in each other’s memories. This is how people care for themselves. ”  ~  Barry Lopez, Arctic Dreams

“The wolf exerts a powerful influence on the human imagination. It takes your stare and turns it back on you”  ~  Barry Lopez, Of Wolves and Men

I can’t put it off any longer – writing, that is. Let’s see. The cat is in from of the space heater. The moon is adorned in multi-colored rings; 95% full. The coffee is all gone. It’s not all that cold out there; above freezing. And why the fuck is my Central Nervous System doing this to me?! My ears have been ringing like nobody’s business for days now. Old rock and rollers will know from whereof I speak: the volume nob on the amp only goes up to ten. But the real deal starts a notch higher: news at eleven. That’s my ears these days. I saw the surgeon and his PA yesterday. There’s a colonoscopy in my near future. It will serve as a screening, but I have been having pain in my right side for quite some time now. That’s why I was there in the first place. Turns out that the folks in that office brandished a sweet and happy professionalism. As I was checking at the desk on my way out the door the staff was all gathered at the desk in an impromptu meeting – same page sorta stuff. I stood there and listened for a minute before the receptionist finally pulled away long enough to bid me leave. Trust me, this does indeed relate to the ringing in my ears; that godawful roar, that some New Agers say is really the sound of the Astral Plane. All told, I’d rather not think about that, k? When the surgeon was trying to assuage my fears, I told him no worries, I had no fears because I woke up during the previous procedure, eight or so years ago, and Dr. Lucas, upon seeing me awaken promptly gathered my attention and pointed me at the video monitor. Lucas was like so into it dude! He had me watch as he snipped off a polyp. Imagine that. The inner life of my colon was on TV. Anyway, moving forward, the surgeon assured me that he uses a different sedative than Lucas; I would not wake up until after the endoscopy was finished. I almost told him how much I look forward to having my consciousness switched off for a while. Listen, a guy deserves some peace every every now and then. My mind is like a haunted house, but in a good way, ummmm, mostly good. There’s a fair chunk of it that is nightmare city, where the beleaguered noir detective sits on the curb with a cig butt tween his pouting lips  .  .  .  oh, never mind.

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“Consciousness is a born hermit.”  ~  George Santayana 

There’s a big winter storm in the forecast. Heavy snow, near-gale force winds, gusts up near hurricane levels. Friday afternoon, but the real fun kicks in overnight. Hey, kids, can you spell blizzard? Likely we won’t get much snow down here on the valley floor, but up in Taos Ski Valley, up at 9500 feet and above, they will be dancing in the streets, up to their chins in fresh stuff.

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The panpsychist in me is restless this morning. My inner life, my subjective wonderland, is starting to hold sway. In part it is the upcoming Winter Solstice, coming right up. As a – as they say – neopagan there’s no getting around Solstice. Ya wouldn’a wanna get around it anyway. Ya’d wanna see it as the portal it is, a doorway into the future, as the god is reborn – the Birth of Light. What’s that you say? The future is an illusion? Oh humbug. There is too, k?! There is a future. Illusion is a  construct of materialism. There’s really much more to it than that. As a linguistic term it is just plain wimpy. There is more to it than that. But I repeat myself.

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Getting close to sunrise by now. Gonna wrap this up and take a nice hot shower. It’s laundry day, which for me is a sacred day.

Namaste.

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Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Coming Upon Yuletide

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“Chaos is what we’ve lost touch with. This is why it is given a bad name. It is feared by the dominant archetype of our world, which is Ego, which clenches because its existence is defined in terms of control.”  ~  Terence McKenna

“And he knew something else as a social evolutionist that he might stress someday in his ‘Every Change Is for the Worse’ should he ever find time to write it: Gold knew that the most advanced and penultimate stage of a civilization was attained when chaos masqueraded as order, and he knew we were already there.”  ~  Joseph Heller

Aye, twas a grim morning, a morning in which it seemed that chaos and entropy conspired woefully to disable rationality and decency. And it seemed as well that they had effectively succeeded. Conspiracy had become the rule of the day, raising only the unruly into nobility. Yeh, as if! Sorry about that Victorian beginning, I’m just trying to wrap my head around the madness that is exploding into reality these days. And these days I like to get at least a few minutes of the dark night of the soul in before that lucky old Sun comes up. There’s no sense in taking that dark night thingy all at once. Not any more. Yeesh, do I sound pessimistic today? Any more than any other day? And does it  –  and here’s the kicker  –  does it matter? I had a brief chat with a young man that I know yesterday. He mentioned, out of the blue, how he could see things coming, see into the future, and that it seems like a pretty easy thing to do. What he described was kind of a cause and effect thing, but a level of cause and effect that is unknown to most people. I explained to him how Stephen Hawking once wrote that there is no reason that we cannot remember the future. There is more to this story, but my take from this is that he unknowingly reminded me to get a grip and let go, and let things unfold as they will. But wait, what? Get a grip and let go? Of all the  .  .  .  never mind. I’ve got a fairly big day ahead of me so I must mosey along. Smiling some. Tis coming upon Yuletide – the Birth of Light. Not to mention my very first and most appreciated Social Security payment. I don’t know – seems worth a little smile to me.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Coriolis, Chaos, and Truth, and Beauty

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“Nights through dreams tell the myths forgotten by the day.”  ~  Carl Jung

“The dream is the small hidden door in the deepest and most intimate sanctum of the soul, which opens to that primeval cosmic night that was soul long before there was conscious ego and will be soul far beyond what a conscious ego could ever reach.”    ~  Carl Jung

“When an inner situation is not made conscious, it appears outside as fate.”  ~  Carl Jung

Up for hours now. The Full Cold Moon is just disappearing over yonder rise. All of the super intense stuff going on in the American political world has buffeted me where I stand. It metaphorically reminds me of Hurricane Andrew back in 1992. I stood, at 1 AM, in an 80 mph steady wind. This is worse. I’d like to see the power of this political storm blow Trump right on out of the water. Not likely? I proffer no opinion on this, nor a prediction, because my resolve to see him defeated after winning is too strong to ignore. The resolve demands integrity in the dynamics of the energy and Light I am bending toward manifestation of my desire. So strong, so pure, so bold. Tis a feeling, not some intellectual thing. I like it good enough. So, moving forward, the storm has nudged me over into the liminal realms of the Dreamtime. Uh huh. And in that realm there is a rise in subliminal energy, while the mind remains in the mundane world. Actions and effects, they generate waves that contain subliminal patterns. The Borderlands of the Dreamtime, in a way, match these waves up, matches them up with resonant harmonic waves from the deeper realms of the Other World. Now, I simply cannot believe that I am so easily putting this into words. Dude like what’s up with that bro? The political brouhaha is seething with Coriolis intensity. It is a manifestation from the collective unconscious. If you checked out that link to a Nova video explaining what the Coriolis Effect is you might get an image of what I am seeing here. It’s a storm, a manifestation of imbalanced forces in fields of Chaos. Chaos holds patterns of  – well, ummmm, patterns, enfolded within seeming nonsense. I can’t seem to take this stuff I am seeing much further than this point. The CIA (bless their hearts) have busted some covert energy wide open, creating a portal through which collective unconscious force is bubbling up through to the surface. It is just beginning to flow through the portal. As a result there is a disturbance in the Force. No matter what the outcome of the current intense investigations are Trump is screwed. He either looses his elected position or he limps into an office he is totally unqualified for and thus totally unprepared for. Dude’s screwed, yet screwed in a mysteriously beautiful way May the Goddess bless his little raisin heart. As for me, it’ll be truth and beauty today, romantic vibes and a sorta stretching of my soul, which has gotten pretty compressed under depression for several years now. Stretch and breathe. And watch how the Force flows through my day job. Some great people watching there.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

A Mosey in the Eeyore Continuum

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“The artist cannot look to others to validate his efforts or his calling. If you don’t believe me, ask Van Gogh, who produced masterpiece after masterpiece and never found a buyer in his whole life.”  ~  Stephen Pressfield 

“You’re supposed to learn that things that you think are nothing, as weightless as air, are actually powerful substantial forces, as real and as solid as earth.  I understood. The eagle was telling me that dreams, visions, meditations such as this very one –  things that I had till now disdained as fantasy and illusion – were as real and as solid as anything in my waking life.”  ~  Stephen Pressfield

“It occurs to me that the peculiarity of most things we think of as fragile is how tough they truly are. There were tricks we did with eggs, as children, to show how they were, in reality, tiny load-bearing marble halls; while the beat of the wings of a butterfly in the right place, we are told, can create a hurricane across an ocean. Hearts may break, but hearts are the toughest of muscles, able to pump for a lifetime, seventy times a minute, and scarcely falter along the way. Even dreams, the most delicate and intangible of things, can prove remarkably difficult to kill.”    ~  Neil Gaiman

I am quite close to going without posting today. I obviously have overcome that closeness, on the practical level, but the feeling remains. I have no idea what it is all about. Or, as Trump likes to say: “I don’t know what’s going on”. If ever a truer word were spoken, right? I did manage to accidentally catch moonset this morning. Quite lovely indeed. I have the day off from work and no compulsories to speak of. I do have transcription to do for the novel. The only progress I have made on the story has been hand written stuff written during lunch breaks. Never more than 2-4 sentences at a time, usually carefully crafted, simply because a pen is not a word processor. Judging by the length of text I have in that notebook I have been writing solely in longhand for quite a while. I do not feel, as some writers do, that writing longhand makes the material more authentic. I prefer the ‘Pages’ app on my iMac, because with that tool what I am writing moves faster than the speed of doubt. No authenticity is lost. Not for me. I would say it is just like daily life, except I have no proof of that and I wouldn’t know how to go about explaining myself in that regard anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, but I have this plucky feeling that what might be gained from that explanation might not be worth having. Which puts me kinda sorta in the Eeyore continuum this morning. Can you believe it??!! The spellchek in Pages didn’t recognize Eeyore!!! That’ll be something to ponder as I mosey on into the day, and when I get into the day, sufficiently, I shall cease to mosey and begin some serious meandering. Just right.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Wildcats and Mondays

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“Anything that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone.”  ~  Fred (Mr.) Rogers

“Whatever it was, she knew she would not be blamed for it, she was blameless. But what use had that been to her in the past, to be blameless? So at the same time she felt guilty, and as if she was about to be punished.”  ~  Margaret Atwood

“P.T.S.D. doesn’t make you weak. It makes you a survivor.”  ~  DeShanne Stokes

There is something big stalking the neighborhood lately. I think it’s a cat, and I don’t mean a domestic cat. It is big enough to crack branches on the ground, and it moves stealthily. The patterns of the crackles do not sound dog-like, and they come from around the chicken coop. Neighborhood dogs all agree. I heard a big dog I have never heard before barking furiously a while ago. I sense cat. Mountain lion? Bobcat? A mountain lion was sighted about a mile from here year before last. I stepped lightly out to the edge of the porch a while ago, where I could see the coop, but it scared me a lot to do so. Other than that it is a uneventful morning. I find that the national scandal around the Russian interference in our election to be deeply disturbing, and in a sense exciting. I called this months ago. It will be fascinating to watch this all unfold. I’ll not go into details today, but I am reading all I can about it. Moving forward, I’ve got a day job today so tomorrow is going to have to serve as my day of rest. There is something sweetly enriching about being lazy on a Monday, when people are out there griping about it being a Monday. I’ll leave it at that.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.