“Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.” ~ Leonardo da Vinci
“Like officer Dave. He’s never said much about his life, but I can tell he’s scared. And he knows I’m scared too. The wounded always recognize the wounded. We can smell each other.” ~ Sherman Alexie
“Learning the secret of flight from a bird was a good deal like learning the secret of magic from a magician.” ~ Orville Wright
Bear in mind that I don’t want to do it, but the notion came to me, it is one of my pet peeves, and the pet with the peeve is more cat than dog, so I mention it anyway; but I will not expand beyond the mere mention: the words “original” and “classic” have been used in an appalling manner by the marketing industry. Just sayin’. So it seems I woke up in writer mode. Strange – how does that prepare me for laundry day? I guess I’ll see. So far the only thing beyond reading I have done this morning is to purchase a Kindle file of a novel by some fella up in Colorado. The book is a novelized interpretation of the Greek myth, the story of Daedalus and Icarus, and their escape from Crete on home-grown wings. It didn’t end so well, to which Icarus would attest if he only had the chance. He took a bad fall and may not want to talk about it. The story of Icarus played a big part in my NDE, back in 1984. The story of him and his adoptive dad plays a titanic part in the novel I am working on: The Final Convenience. I came across the author this morning, in my habitual perusal on the internet. And then the novel. I read the first few pages and it pulled me right in. Four bucks on Kindle. And I can call it research, because that is what it is. As for the NDE and it’s saturation with flight, this too intrigues me in just why Icarus appears in my attention and intention this morning. This will be my ghost of the day. We all carry ghosts in us, with us. The ghosts I carry today are concerned with maintaining value in life. These ghosts are memories that compel, versions anyway. Memory is like totally malleable and stuff, because it pretty must has to be. In 1984 I took a pretty bad fall. I either died and came back, or I nearly died. Either way the fall triggered the NDE vision, which felt to be more real than this living world. So me and Icarus is buds. Oh dear, my Grandma Preston’s spirit is with me today, I should be more careful. She would hate the italicized sentence. I wouldn’t be surprised if she gave me a sharp poke in the shoulder. She does that sometimes, when I write something stupid. But grandma? That bad grammar is intentional: it’s a literary tool, so like chill, k? There, I did it again. Intentional application of vernacular and stuff. I just can’t help myself, and on this point, I don’t think I want to. The psychotherapist will help me with this. Her specialty is Jungian Depth Psychology, and her knowledge of myths and archetypes is extensive. The upcoming session will be an interesting intellectual tear-jerker. I can go intellectual and hold my own with most anybody in that respect. Scholarship, not so much. My scholarship is mostly pedestrian, picked up from the extensive reading I did on a regular basis for the next ten years after the NDE. The event shook me up big time. The true experience of a spiritual world beyond this earthly plane was friggin bizarre, to say the least. I did the reading because I wanted facts, I wanted hypotheses and models to explain just what in the name of Brighid happened to me when I fell and ’bout tore my face off. Brighid is the archetypal spirit who met me over in the Otherworld, and kinda walked me through the whole thing, held my hand while I underwent some of the healing I took birth for. Brighid is also a Celtic goddess of healing, poetry, and the forge, in her spare time. Make of that what you will. Some of the deeper implications in that trio of truths are purely staggering. The second time she saved me from death she scared the bejeezes outta me. That old biblical idea about being terrified of an angel is true. It’s about the power, not the Light. The Light is pure nurture, the power could go just about anywhere. I was confronted with that power, in the name of my survival, about 19 years after the first NDE. An angel and a Celtic goddess are two different beings, but they hang in the same circles. And they both got a scary side dude. I mean dude her arrival on the scene to save me dude was like a huge silent shout dude and she was like all be careful dude. One of the residual artifacts of the whole ordeal is usually classified as PTSD. That means that from the sheer power of the bicycle crash that started it all I began to be too careful, and I remain that way to this day. It is written in my organic body. That is the nature of trauma. PTSD is the sentry who stands at my front door, posted there to remind me of the dangers of going out into the big bad world, which I am going to hafta go do pretty soon. Laundry, then maybe go for a long drive. But I’d rather stay home with the cat, for which she would be quite grateful. At home I feel safe, protected. A long drive, like the one two weeks ago where I had close encounter a small herd of wild horses; that kind of thing, or just driving beneath the vast sky of the San Luis Valley, is a big healing factor. PTSD requires continuous healing, in repetition, perhaps, for the remainder of life. In PTSD healing has evolved from a voluntary thing into a mandate. Soooo, other than that I am just waiting for that lunch date with Taylor Swift. Offer still stands, my dear. I think it would be fun. A guy gotta dream.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.