The Best Obtainable Version of the Truth

“Simply touching a difficult memory with some slight willingness to heal begins to soften the holding and tension around it.”  ~  Stephen Levine

“If there is a single definition of healing it is to enter with mercy and awareness those pains, mental and physical, from which we have withdrawn in judgment and dismay.”  ~ Stephen Levine

“PTSD is a whole-body tragedy, an integral human event of enormous proportions with massive repercussions.”   ~  Susan Pease Banitt

The title of today’s post comes from Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, the heroic fellas who began the movement that brought down President Nixon; who, what, when, where, why, and how; good, solid journalism. Add a little spice to it by quoting the late, great, Umberto Eco: “A writer’s (journalist’s) duty is to observe and comment”. The parenthesized insert is mine, because I want to make it clear. My own training in journalism came during my junior and senior years in high school, at Coral Shores High School. I was the editorial editor of the school newspaper. The only piece I had published was a review and commentary of “Close to the Edge”, by Yes. The rest were voted down by the class. Whatever. I’m not sure exactly why . . . WTF, I am too. I was listening to a video of Mr. Bernstein speaking at the White House Corespondents Dinner last night; an event that precipitated a display of cowardice from our sitting President, Timmy Tantrum. That said . . . ummmm . . . geez that guy pisses me off! That’s not his real name, of course. I’ve strayed from traditional journalism over the course of 44 years. But what I am getting at is that I consider what I do here in EyeYotee blog to be a form of journalism. My topics vary; mental health, music, paganism, spirituality, and more. My style goes anywhere from quirky to sublime. And I am somewhat erratic in form at times. Silly me; it’s a character trait. (I suspect you know that about me, Suzanne) I’m a firm proponent of the spectrum between the absurd and the sublime as a measure for life. Right now, on this very day, on a scale of one to ten, I’m about a three, which leans me more toward absurdity. It’s a defense mechanism. I just realized this morning that I’ve been in a “fight or flight” spell for days now, and I didn’t even realize it. Friggin PTSD. That’s what I’m talkin about. It would definitely explain the ale last night. Yeh, too much, but boy howdy was it ever good! Firestone Luponic Distortion, Version 5. It’s the best IPA I’ve had from a can. I say from a can because the best I’ve had was actually Taos Mesa Brewery’s Rainy Day IPA. Jason, the brewmeister, hit his high mark with that one. I know he doesn’t like me, but I still will praise his ingenuity and skills. I mean dude, really? Really? Now, moving forward. About the PTSD: it was triggered this time by an unwelcome conflict in my life; a lingering situation that has my nerves crying for help. Physically this feels like a dense swarm of fireflies in my belly. Linger on that image for a few moments. It’s a sweet description of a truly insidious physical malady. Soooo, what am I to do about it? Chop wood, carry water.

Carry on my wayward son,
For there’ll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don’t you cry no more  ~  Kansas

“Chop wood, carry water” is a Buddhist thing. “Cloud-hidden, whereabouts unknown” is a Taoist thing, a quote from the late great Alan Watts. I’m a Taoist today, so I will practice invisibility while I do my laundry this morning. Taoism is profoundly parallel to Druidism, so maybe I’m a Druid today instead? Yeh buddy. See, tomorrow is Beltane and my Divine Masculine is runnin something fierce. One proactive thing about PTSD is that the swarm of fireflies is in essence a proactive force gone awry. In essence it is an over-amped flow of life force. No, I ain’t petitioning the Mother Goddess to hook me up, but I am walking with Her today. Hey! Wait a minute now. It’s time to feed the cat – an hour late! Bad human. Bad human. Giggling here.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously. Resist.

One Magnificent Beast

“The stars up close to the moon were pale; they got brighter and braver the farther they got out of the circle of light ruled by the giant moon”   ~  Ken Kesey

“There are people who think that things that happen in fiction do not really happen. These people are wrong.”  ~  Neil Gaiman

It’s not something I would usually say, but today feel rather ordinary. But aren’t we supposed to reach for the stars, or something like that? Aim higher, dream bigger? Yeh, why not, but I am settling for ordinary at the moment. As I was quite inexplicably fond of saying 25 or so years ago . . . it’s all life. Work, play, sleep, all of it. I’ll not quite label that perspective as philosophy. It’s really just an observation. As I have been feeling somewhat ill all week I have slipped into that space of nearly dreamy acceptance of . . . whatever. At first it was the ear infection. Antibiotics: check. Come to wake up this morning feeling somewhat flu-ish. Viruses don’t give a hoot about antibiotics. Yeh, yeh, yeh . . . depressed immune system: check. So, drifting, as I am wont to do at times like this, I am reminded of Richard Bach pointing out that problems come bearing gifts. Which takes me back to the dreamy acceptance. It is essentially stillness. Another thing that dreamy acceptance is is a low-level appeal to the Spirits and Ancestor to come on down, or over, whatever. Connection with the Spirit World seems to have become my ‘go to’ endeavor for 2017. For one thing, albeit a rather mundane reason, it is to provide a ready hidey hole from the monstrous doings emanating from the White House, and the Legislative Branch of our American government. What a friggin bunch of mean little shits! I mean, come on. They say they are here to help people, us little, common folks. That is talk. Their walk, however, ain’t nothin’ of the sort. And as for the meanest littlest shit of all . . . there are at this point no words. He needs to be on the receiving end of a Three Stooges routine, with him playing the part of Curly. Nah, no real violence, just a healthy dose of slapstick seasoned with a mad dash of absurdity. He’s got absurdity in spades. Poor little fella. Now, moving forward, I need to step outside to have a look at the weather. A look at the weather includes getting a feel for it as well. Gon out. Backson. Bisy backson.

K, it is indeed quite cold out there. As I walked out toward the side gate I saw Oscar the turkey perched directly over the door of the chicken coop. Then, as I stood beside the car I heard the mighty flutter of his powerful wings. I know personally just how powerful those wings are. He smacked me a good one upside the head once, back before we became best buddies. Point is Oscar comes down to join me when he sees me out there. As I returned from the car, there he was, tail feathers spread out like them turkeys do. He’s one magnificent beast. Alas, tis time for me to hit the shower. I was gonna write some about the Divine Feminine but there ain’t time for that. It doesn’t mean I won’t look for that, Her, whatever, as I go through my day. See, I need to learn to receive her gifts. I held them at bay ever since my bike accident and head trauma in 1984. Now’s the time.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Who’ll Stop the Rain?

“There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception.”  ~  Aldous Huxley

“No man has the right to dictate what other men should perceive, create or produce, but all should be encouraged to reveal themselves, their perceptions and emotions, and to build confidence in the creative spirit.”  ~  Ansel Adams

“Some people see the glass half full. Others see it half empty. I see a glass that’s twice as big as it needs to be.”  ~  George Carlin

The highlight of my morning so far has been a video of John Fogerty playing “Who’ll Stop the Rain” with Bruce Springsteen and Robbie Robertson. All geniuses, I admit, but Robbie is the best. My opinion. The guy is not all that well known, but he shines nonetheless. I am remembering playing at a little pub in Key Largo years back. Two nubile young women from upstate New York were there. At one point one of them asked me to play “Who’ll Stop the Rain?”, but I didn’t know the song, and yet, the chord structure was simple, so I launched into it anyway, not sure of the lyrics. But they came. We grew up with this music. It tends to stick. Turns out nearly all of the patrons in the pub also knew the lyrics as well. Well . . .talk about yer spontaneous event. Magick happens. The scene was magickal! But wait . . . that’s not all. We’re not done with the scene yet, k? Don’t rush me. Thanks, yer a pal. Somewhere in the performance one of the young women from upstate New York stepped up beside me and did one of those “ggnowwwwww” tiger sounds, like “yum yum eat em up”. I was flattered, of course. Young fella. Landscaper, tree trimmer. Golden from working under the blazing Caribbean sun, which bleached out my hair. And, yes, muscles; lean, form golden muscles; rippling as they worked the little Gibson LG, 3/4 size mahogany-faced steel string. I ain’t braggin here. Life has it’s sweet moments. That’s all. Treasure them. That’s all I’m sayin. In case y’all are wondering: no, I didn’t take her home, k? Maybe I shoulda. Now, moving forward. There’s a late April snow coming up within the next 24 hours. To that good news I say . . . as Al Pacino liked to say repeatedly in “Scent of a Woman” . . . huuuwaaa. That’s just how I feel. My feelings are running strong; overt waves of joy, rising endogenously from my heart. That’s happening today. Here I sit with my inflatable neck traction device around my neck. Rosie the cat is on the floor, with the space heater humming away, even though it’s pretty warm in here anyway, but she loves the heater, so I do it for her . . .  anyway. Practicality comes in many forms. I am well aware that the source of my Key Largo memory is an encounter I had a coupla days ago. I’ve known the woman almost since I arrived in Taos, some 22.5 years ago. She was 21, a new arrival in town; blond, blue eyes, pretty as can be. And in a convertible as well! We’ve seen each other numerous time through the years; meetings a few months even years apart. We’ve always been strong happy to see each other again. Well, she came into the store while I was working the other day. Smiles, of course. Strongly happy again. At one point, as she stood before me as I rang up her merchandise, we spontaneously locked eyes. The gaze lingered, wordless. The rush I experienced was off the charts; not sexual though that was in the mix. This was one of them namaste moments; two souls using the eyes to see the world, to verify that intersubjectivity is alive and well in this cosmic hologram we call reality. What I’m sayin is that reality is really really big; much bigger than we know. I hope to see the woman again. Yeh, she has aged really really well. But, wait! Intersubjectivity?! Just look it up, k? I gotta take a shower and meander on into Taos to go to work.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Rest and Water

“I still need some more healthy rest in order to work at my best. My health is the main capital I have and I want to administer it intelligently.”  ~  Ernest Hemingway

Cold, gray, a bit of snow on the ground. It’s a very quiet morning, except for the unusually high levels of ring and hiss in my ears. I’m certainly feeling sick today; woke up with it like this, but at least the accompanying edginess has passed. This is day two of antibiotics and a kind of battle seems to be going on within. Let it be. I’ll have to go through this to get to what lies ahead. Yeh, I am well aware that I am stating the obvious. I don’t feel good. Gimme a break. This will be a simple day, Fates willing. There is a forecast of snow come Saturday. Ummmm, never mind. I’ll just neatly wrap up this post for today. Just can’t focus. Rest and water will help. You known the drill.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

 

Taking Words Into Custody

“My first piece of advice is this: Ignore all advice. In my experience, most interesting art gets made by people who don’t know the rules and have no idea that certain things simply aren’t done: so they do them. Transgress. Break things. Have too much fun.”  ~  Neil Gaiman

 “Meanwhile, elsewhere there are an infinite number of other universes each with its own God dreaming the cosmic dream. It is said that men may not be the dreams of the Gods, but rather that the Gods are the dreams of men.”  ~  Carl Sagan

It’s one of those mornings where words are just free-floating, and I, being sick, am truly challenged in trying to track a few down, take them into custody, and put them down on metaphorical paper. Looking at a portion of the internet . . . my blog . . . as metaphorical paper is interesting, however weird it may seem. We writers, and journalists, whatever, usta “put it down on paper”. Yeh, but doesn’t the paper come after the fact? Don’tcha get that when the printer spits it out? It’s just plain weird when something you used to do most every day morphs into a metaphor. Now, I take a chance in using the word “morph”, because it can be used to allude to some Illuminati shapeshifting reptilian critters. Somehow (queue the spooky music here) I was on Youtube and I stumbled onto an Illuminati page, complete with friggin goofball David Ickes(!). I don’t know what to make of it. But David Ickes came up on the Noetic Cafe discussion board one day back around the turn of the millennium. With good recommendation. So I went down to Video Casa and rented a VHS. Started watching it. I was appalled, not by the material, not by his worldview. It was his snarky scorn for those in “the system”, who did not subscribe to his worldview. “Sorry bud, I’m having the player spit out the VHS”. I did not like his attitude. Meanwhile, back to the present. I was on Youtube this morning looking for some Abraham-Hicks video or other. A pretty woman I know asked if I liked the stuff. I told her I didn’t really resonate with it, that I liked Jane Roberts’ Seth material better. For the uninitiated, I am talking about trance channeled material, sage advice and commentary from non-corporeal entities. I guess Ramtha was the most famous of these entities; channeled by J. Z. Knight. But I was going to try to listen to some Abraham-Hicks stuff in a scheme to have some stuff for conversation with this pretty woman; like, ya know, get a little closer to her. I once took a few Catholic RCIA courses to do the same thing, to get closer to a woman. I know, I know, what the fig was I thinking? I walked out one day when Father John said that astrology is the work of the Devil. Friggin Christians just can’t resist trying to foist the Devil on the rest of us. No, I don’t believe in the Devil. Why bother? Anyway, moving forward. I finally found an Abraham-Hicks video to watch . . . and it was preceded by an ad that mentioned Tony Robbins. I was appalled. Yeh, I like to pick on Tony Robbins, just like I enjoy picking on Eckhart Tolle. But not today. I’ve got an ear and throat infection. I am on a powerful antibiotic. And the world looks all weird and stuff. I enjoyed the exam with the pretty NP over at Urgent Care. She’s quite talkative. And she put a friendly hand on my shoulder just as she was leaving, and said “I’m sorry you don’t feel good”. I don’t remember a medical provider ever saying that to me. Listen, a hand on the shoulder and a comforting offering are what healing is all about. As for that other pretty woman I’ll just have to checkout Abraham-Hicks some other day. I got deterred by the Illuminati and friggin David Ickes this morning. I don’t feel good. I’m going to blame it on the Illuminati. Woof. I’m all over the page today, probly because of the antibiotics and biotics floating around in my system. Better call it a day. Bueno bye.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Head Spaces

“We’re in such a hurry most of the time we never get much chance to talk. The result is a kind of endless day-to-day shallowness, a monotony that leaves a person wondering years later where all the time went and sorry that it’s all gone. ”   ~  Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

When a shepherd goes to kill a wolf, and takes his dog along to see the sport, he should take care to avoid mistakes. The dog has certain relationships to the wolf the shepherd may have forgotten.”  ~  Robert Pirsig

It’s a quiet morning, and I would like to keep it that way. Silly me. Daft notion that. Still, there is an inner quiet about me that I might be able to sustain for a while when I go into Taos to work. Perhaps all day; you never know. I sometimes think about inner peace, even when it’s not there. I’m well-read enough in various spiritual traditions to know that I don’t know what I think I know. That, for me, is a major comfort. But about the inner peace  .  .  .  even when it is absent I have trained myself in equanimity, which keeps me, by definition, on the level, fairly rational, and profoundly accepting, even of things that I would never even think of accepting, no way no how. That’s one nice thing about objective empirical reality: it don’t give a fig about how I observe and perceive it. Yeh, yeh, I know about the quantum observer effect, and how nothing happens without observation; it’s all just probability waves and stuff. I used to take that idea on into New Age places. Still can. And sometimes I do like to do that. But not today. Today I am in one of my other head spaces, and in this head space the concept of “you create your own reality” is inherently judgmental, although on a subliminal level. In this head space, which is only one of many and varied personal spaces, if anybody pulls the “you brought it on yourself” schtick I’m just like all “and what’s your point officer?”. Yeh, I can be pretty snarky. And surgically sarcastic. I try to keep the two character traits on a leash. Mostly I am successful at it. I find that it is much more fulfilling to actually accept things as they come along, and to do that without friggin thinking about it. Reckon? That takes practice. And I have another head space where it is all practice, which is to say that it is also all play. Play and practice are perhaps not exactly analogous in essence, but they pretty much can take you to the same place, if you leave trying out of the equation. It’s all about repetitions. As Bogey said in Casablanca, “Play it again, Sam”. I suspect Sam knew damn well that each time he did it again it skootched a tad closer to becoming second nature. I think I’d better get off of this riff, which is actually a reactionary thing on my part, stemming from the death of one of my most influential writers, Robert Pirsig; the man who wrote Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. His passing leaves me in that translingual head space. You may notice that I have numerous different head spaces. There is a lot of space in my head. Now, don’t friggin tell me that it is all one space, k? That is totally beside the point of what I am on about here this morning. Irrelevant, see? A conversation stopper. Each of these spaces, any one of them, has nothing to do with whether or not I created it myself. These are spaces, places where I play, or weep, or ponder, or whatever. It simply does not matter where it came from and who brought it up in the first place. Now, moving forward. I feel good and peaceful this morning. The forecast is for rain today. It’s relatively warm outside; which is where I am going momentarily, right after I finish this post and publish it. Today I relish the little things, because yesterday I did something that I did not want to do, but it was the right thing to do, and it needed doing. It was kind of an adult thing to do, and it was also a good stretch for me in that I’m not very adult concerning the issue that came up and made me make a choice in the first place. That is, as I said, and am repeating now, why I am all about the little things today. All in the name of wordless amazement at the very existence of life. So there. I said it. Should be an easy day.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

An Avian Chorale at Lavander Hour

“I need the thing that happens when your brain shuts off and your heart turns on.”  ~  Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

The feature photos the past three days are from the Great Sand Dunes National Park, up in the northern end of the San Luis Vally, up in Colorado. The valley begins down here in Taos. The valley is known to be a place that has one of the highest incidence of paranormal activity in this country. There were still a couple of cattle mutilations right around when I first moved here, in 1994. In this blog links are highlighted in red. Click on it, it’s very interesting. The Taos District Attorney investigating a cattle mutilation in Tres Ritos.Wow. Anyway, I was just thinking this morning that I have yet to see a UFO here  .  . .  no, wait! I did. Back about 7-8 years ago they were having a UFO convention up in Angel Fire. While that was underway I witnessed, on lunch hour from the natural foods store, a formation of maybe 6-7 bright spheres doing geometrical maneuvers up over the Sacred Mountain. No shit! It is up there on my personal high strangeness chart. But, moving forward, I have little time to write this morning, so I am going to step out on the deck, like I did yesterday, to catch a look at the stars while nautical twilight still allows. GON OUT. BACKSON. BISY. BACKSON. K.E.

Back now. It’s what I call Lavender Hour, when the hues of first light cast lavender on everything in sight. Just before I came back inside a small flock of unidentified songbirds flew in and perched nearby, chattering and singing. Then I heard them fade off in flight. Smack in the middle of the avian chorale came a brief call from a meadowlark. A lucky man am I. Good boy. I say “good boy” because I am having a little cross-time perception these days. I’m connected consciously to my 12 year old self, who took a huge ego and heart blow when betrayed and scorned by kids I thought were close friends. That 12 year old me was devastated. He decided that he would never succeed again. Now I have to do something about that. The notion that memories are notably inaccurate in retrospect is somewhat of a misleading notion. The inaccuracy is secondary to the idea that the inaccuracy can also be viewed as fluidity. Fluidity can definitely have a purpose beyond simply making you feel conceptually woozy. Fluidity can be framed as a tool in healing stark wounds from the past. I still carry that wound and I still feel that success is out of reach at the best of times. Yeh, I have to do something about that. See, I had a damaging blow recently and it tripped me into a depressive down cycle for over a week now. The opening photo of the sand dunes holds a clue as to what it takes to climb out of a major down like this. Ya ever try to hike up the slope of a huge dune? Go see the Great Sand Dunes National Park and take a hike. The term “trudge” comes to mind. Which is what I’ve got to do right now. It’s the only way I have to get to work today. Onward, tally ho, and all that happy horseshit. Yup, the depression has morphed, through effort, into some low-grade anger. Depression is anger turned inward. Did ya know that? Yeh, it is. The opening quote BTW is from the woman who wrote Prozac Nation. I consider her to be a sister; her book meant that much to me. Yeh, I was on Prozac for about six months when I first moved here. The drug help me get a grip, but the book is what turned me around. Someone else had been there, and she happened to be a great journalist. Lucky me.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Charm in Ambiguity

“A philosopher once asked, “Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?” Pointless, really…”Do the stars gaze back?” Now, that’s a question.”  ~  Neil Gaiman

It’s 4 AM, and dark, of course. Air temperature just below freezing. I just stepped out to look at the stars but the skunk caught my eyes first. He’d been up near the deck; I could tell. But he hightailed it back across the yard. Literally. His tail was up the way they do it before they spray. I worried at first, but then I realized that he was unlikely to run back over to confront a larger mammal. The security light on the shed across the yard was lit, allowing me to see what the heck was going on. Having decided that I was safe from the skunk I sat down on the deck. And the light clicked off. The stars appeared. Life has balance at times. I should have gone back to sleep after waking at 1:30, but I was drawn to check out the news online. And there it was: 24/7 information just waiting for me. No, wait. Really? Donald Trump is president? Really? Life also has imbalance at times. If that philosopher fella comes around and tells me “this too shall pass” I’d be inclined to tell him in return, “Not soon enough, dude. Not soon enough”. And if he should skitter away, at that point, like the skunk, I would not be offended. I’m not a fan of platitudes. Even less so since the head trauma. Yeh, I know, I know, that was 33 years ago. I should get over it, right? Ya think? Tell me how. Take your time. Now, moving forward. I’m all about stream of consciousness right now. I’m hungry, and the breakfast burrito from LotaBurger, that goes along with my church service, a portion of Sunday morning at the laundromat  .  .  .  well, let’s just say that I look forward to it. I get all reverent and stuff at the laundromat, especially on Sunday morning. Yes, and I practice gratitude as well. Forgiveness? Check. Humility? Well, maybe. But I don’t do the contrition thing, so don’t even try it, k? I haven’t got time for that. And don’t expect me to be ashamed of having no contrition. That just ain’t possible, if you catch my drift. Seems I’m all riled up this morning. The fact that the world has gone all surreal and stuff is pretty much a given at this point; a platitude; and you now know how I feel about platitudes. But if it is really surreal couldn’t we just have Salvador Dali as president instead of Trump? Don’t get me wrong, it’s not just him. Trump, I mean. My point is that this is all as real as it gets. But don’t let the bastards get you down. Practice optimism. Hear tell I create my own reality. Ain’t that just the darndest thing? At this point, if that is indeed true, I can only say what the fuck was I thinking? Wow, I know, I need to calm down. I’m just grouchy because of the hunger. Yeh, that’s it. I’ve got a nice platitude for that: it’s always darkest before the dawn. Wow. What about nautical twilight? Astronomical twilight? I’m still confused about all that. It all seems kind of gradual to me. It’s not like a light switch, is it? Oh! Maybe it’s a metaphor. Yeh, I like that. I like metaphors. They’re kinda like a snapshot of the workings of the mind. A flash that lights up heart and soul for a moment, before it all goes hidden again. Like a selfie for archetypes. No, wait, that was too obscure, wasn’t it. My bad.

“Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play
And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate
Baby, I’m just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake
I shake it off, I shake it off”  ~  Taylor Swift

Long time readers here at EyeYotee may have noticed that it has been a good long while since I invited Taylor Swift to have late lunch with me. Just burgers and beer. No funny stuff. Well, I’m gonna do it again. Taylor, sweetie, the offer is still on. I get Social Security benefits now, so you don’t have to buy. It’s on me. Don’t worry about that other woman I invited to dinner. She only said maybe. And there it sits. You haven’t said yes, but you haven’t said no either. That’s kind of like a maybe, right? I’m genuinely smiling here, sister. There is a lot of charm in ambiguity. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because I create my own reality. It wouldn’t be ya know like a date or anything. Just lunch. We could chat, and laugh. I’d like that.

She rings like a bell through the night and
Wouldn’t you love to love her?
She rules her life like a bird in flight and
Who will be her lover?  ~  Stevie Nicks

No, I’m not inviting Stevie Nicks to lunch. The song just reminds me of my ex-wife. Why she came to mind is anybody’s guess. My inner troubadour has got the blues, that’s all. Just sadness. Nothing to see here. Taylor could make it all better, but, I understand, she’s a busy woman. Now, moving forward, all silliness aside. It is just now nautical twilight, so I’m going to step out and have one last look at the stars before sunrise, and maybe a skunk. It’s been fun writing this, this morning. It’s my day off, and I really am going to do the laundry and burrito thing in a couple of hours. I’m likely up for an afternoon nap as well. Not much sleep last night, and the way my hair looks this morning indicates that a certain amount of anxiety-driven thrashing about was going on. It’s going to be a beautiful day. That’s all I know.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously

From Paris to Dublin

Great Sand Dunes National Park & Preserve, San Luis Valley, Colorado

“Those who attract people by their happiness and their performance are usually inexperienced. They do not know how not to be overrun and how to go away. They do not always learn about the good, the attractive, the charming, the soon-beloved, the generous, the understanding rich who have no bad qualities and who give each day the quality of a festival and who, when they have passed and taken the nourishment they needed, leave everything deader than the roots of any grass Attila’s horses’ hooves have ever scoured.” ~ Ernest Hemingway,  A Moveable Feast

(I wanna give a shoutout to my new international readers, three of them yesterday; Philippines, the UK, and Puerto Rico. Thank you folks!!! I hope you enjoy, and come back)

Be honest now, you can tell me. Does today’s opening quote sound a little cynical, or just generally, slightly, dark? I’m not quite sure what to make of it. I know upon first reading, there in the midst of my daily search for a really really cool or percipient quote, I heard the echoes and footsteps or our artificial American president, squirming through the golden halls of history, as anxious as a hare as the shadow of an eagle passes along the ground, a shadow delivered in good faith by the brilliant sun. I’ll not expand on that notion except to say that I think that the term “artificial” suits the little tyke rather well. Tally ho! I do tend to amuse myself with the stuff that comes out of my mind. I wish I could remember who it was – I think it was Ray Bradbury – who said that when they write they absorb as much information and feelings as possible, then squeeze their brain to see what comes out. For me it is a matter of self-determination  .  .  .  I don’t want friggin no one squeezing my brain except me. Or, at least, I want to get first crack at it. That said, I will step out on the deck to have a look at the cold world out there. The air temperature dipped down below freezing already this morning. I find it to be refreshing. For I can feel the stirrings of my inners hot-head and the friggin guy needs to chill. Nah, it’s nothing serious. I just get these alpha male spurts and currents slinking around in my mind at times, and being out in public, for an introvert such as myself, is, let’s just say, challenging. Busy backson. 

Again, about the opening quote. Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast is one of my favorite books; quite an inspiration to me. After reading it – I was in my mid-20s – I wanted to go sip espresso at a street front cafe in Paris. Now, at age 62, I just want to go quaff a pint of Guinness in a small town pub in Ireland. Things have changed. And it wasn’t even so bad before Super Tyke became president. Them right wing Republicans like to sometimes say that Obama was just as bad, and/or Hillary would, shoulda, coulda, been much worse, and I’m like all dudes get over yourself. Such an attitude about Obama and Hillary, seems to me that them fellas, and a spare few gals, must have done shrooms down in the subway and had a really really bad trip, or something. Then they performed a dark magick ritual on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, and Trump arose from the flames that were a result of them folks burning a little too much money trying to get the summoning to go a little faster. Sigh. Anyway, moving forward, the other most inspiring book for me, back in those days, was A Gradual Awakening, by Stephen Levine. Stephen went on to become internationally known as an expert in death and dying, helping create the hospice movement, and a beloved teacher of Buddhist ways, and stuff like that. That book, back then, was a seminal influence for me. It was about mindfulness practice, Vipassana. I once had the honor of physically embracing Stephen in front of the salad bar at Whole Foods in Santa Fe. That story would take too much time to share here this morning. Great man, great writer. Both he and Cousin Ernie changed my views on life and reality, when I was a young man. Great writers can do that for a dude. Of course I went on, a few years later, to have a freak bicycle accident, which left me to live with the after effects from an NDE and the less savory after effects of head trauma. Poor me, right? Now, dang nab it, I gotta get ready for work. I love my job, and most of the peeps I work with. And my inner troubadour adores being in the marketplace, because he loves to serve the pretty women who pass through. A smile is a smile, right?

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

 

A Bout of Shadow Stuff

“Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony and music inside me.”  ~  Vincent Van Gogh

I spent last weekend keeping distracted. Period. And now, nearly a week later I am no longer apt to keep myself distracted, though I am still in pretty deep. I don’t write about depression much anymore. It really hasn’t been a bother for a couple of months, thankfully, but it hit me over the weekend, and it might as well have hit me over the head. Mindfulness is a helpful technique to know, even if it is applied to just doing nothing, which is basically what I did last weekend. What did I accomplish? I got a free pass for entry into Monday. That’s good enough. Although I now know what triggered this week long bout of shadow stuff this is not really situational depression, which makes it less dangerous, less likely to mess anything in day to day life up very much. The worst it can do is to make me write a clunky sentence like that last one. The thing that tripped me into this spell is actually nothing to be upset about. In fact it makes me quite happy because it is something I learned that actually clarifies something that needed clarifying. Case closed. So here I sit this morning, slightly cold because I don’t feel like closing the window, which has been open a crack all night long. Fresh air, right? Yeh buddy. Now, if only I can get some fresh air into my stuffy head, which is both physically and mentally stuffy. Allergies account for the physical stuff. That’s all I know for sure. But the depression is clinical. It rarely is much of a problem anymore. I’m basically just edgy at this point. But today is the cat’s annual exam at the vet. Riding into and across town with her yowling on occasion will be just about as much fun as it ever is. She’s in good health. Maybe I can get a nap again this afternoon. Both sleep and food have lacking in the past week. Time to catch up, I suppose. Truth be told I didn’t even want to write a post today. I did that repost yesterday as an indulgence, because I didn’t want to write a post, so I didn’t. Progress. That said, I think I will meander on into the day now.

Peace out, y’al. Goof gloriously.