All Swiftness Aside


“It is naively assumed that the fact that the majority of people share certain ideas and feelings proves the validity of these ideas and feelings. Nothing could be further from the truth. Consensual validation as such has no bearing on reason or mental health.”  ~  Erich Fromm

“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definition of healing it is to enter with mercy and awareness those pains, mental and physical, from which we have withdrawn in judgment and dismay.”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

“If your mental health is sound, then when disturbances come, you will have some distress but quickly recover.”  ~  Dalai Lama XIV

There’s a dull brownish-red haze here in the valley this morning. I haven’t been following fire reports, so I have no idea where the smoke is coming. No clouds. I went out to watch a bit of the sunrise. With the clear sky and red haze sunrise was a non-event. But while I was out there a kestrel came swooping over. He made two passes in a wide circle, then halfway through the third circle he picked up speed, to a breathtaking level, then he seemed to be enfolded by the air, vanishing rather than flying. Only seconds later, as I was going to sit on the passenger seat of my car, the little raptor swooped down low, directly overhead, may 150 feet up. I was flattered by the attention I was getting from one of the sky’s most amazing critters. Kestrels are highly underrated. What the bird’s interest was in me shall remain a mystery. I looked up kestrel totem medicine and found out that precision and swiftness of movement is the key. In my world view the way things move is what tells you what’s what. It fits. As a totemic messenger the bird’s message was right on the mark for me, so that’s my story: it was a Spirit animal. All swiftness aside, it is my day off from work and I have no plans for swift movement, or thought for that matter. There’s been an unattended packet of microwave popcorn sitting on my desk for a couple of weeks now. I might apply that packet to a movie and see what happens. Get into someone else’s story, instead of the national crisis or . . . my own personal story ain’t so bad these days, yet there is a major lack in it. Lack of what? Dunno. I’ll find out by and by. Stepping out of the story for a few hours would likely be an excellent idea. As I learned playing in a rock band: sometimes you can hear the music better from off stage. Yeh.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

An Infusion of Life

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“That’s the beginning of magic. Let your imagination run and follow it.”  ~  Patricia A. McKillip

“Religion, mysticism and magic all spring from the same basic ‘feeling’ about the universe: a sudden feeling of meaning, which human beings sometimes ‘pick up’ accidentally, as your radio might pick up some unknown station. Poets feel that we are cut off from meaning by a thick, lead wall, and that sometimes for no reason we can understand the wall seems to vanish and we are suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of the infinite interestingness of things.”   ~  Colin Wilson

“There is no place so dangerous as a world without magic.”  ~  Terry Goodkind

Here it is, 5 AM, 46º, and the news is weird. Today is a workday. I’m good with that. That last sip of coffee was way tepid but I swallowed it anyway. One’s approach to caffeine consumption must be natural: waste not, want not. I feel a strong presence of the mundane in my life this morning. There’s a secret involved when things go all mundane. When the mundane gets big so does the magick. I’ve been intently working to open my friggin eyes to the magick in our world. I began this quest back around New Year. It was hatched as a self-preservation maneuver, measure, whatever. Why I had closed my eyes to . . . well, let’s just say that past is past. I could go off on a socio-philosophical rant right now. Why bother, right? Yeh, right. Three decades ago I was gifted with a view of life and the world. That view was shocking, to say the least. I’m a big science geek at heart, so when the magickal nature of life and the world was revealed to me I kinda balked. And when I tried to talk about it, to people I was familiar with . . . I was unprepared to find out how materialistic people are. So . . . ummmm . . . anyway, I pushed a lot of those magickal feelings down deep, to get them out of the way, so that I didn’t have to deal with the naysayers and their truly odd protestations and unexplained silences. It was too much. To cut to the chase here, having all that magick pushed down and locked up eventually caught up with me. Let me tell you, you try and hold back . . . oh, I don’t know what I am trying to say here; or rather I do know and am having no more success at describing it than I ever have. That’s fine. I feel happy. My efforts are broadening my world. I am experiencing the magick again, yet I now have some kind of wisdom or other, and it feels all right to not talk about it in public. You can hide the words, or pretend that its not there, but it is, it infuses the world, infuses life. It is easiest to experience it through music. Music is a form of high magic. Romantic stirrings are as well. That’s what cracked me open at the beginning of the year. I asked for an opening of the beliefs that held back the magick in my personal world. And the Universe was like okay dude. And now? As I mentioned, it’s a workday.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Driving Without Injuring Eternity

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“Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence.
Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance.
Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence.
Winter passes and one remembers one’s perseverance.”  ~  Yoko Ono

“October knew, of course, that the action of turning a page, of ending a chapter or shutting a book, did not end the tale. Having admitted that, he would also avow that happy endings were never difficult to find: “It is simply a matter,” he explained to April, “of finding a sunny place in a garden, where the light is golden and the grass is soft; somewhere to rest, to stop reading, and to be content.”   ~  Neil Gaiman

It is yellow flower season now. I went for a long drive yesterday. The prevailing feature of a 2.5 hour day trip was of course the yellow flowers. Yes, it is the time of the band in the spectrum of Summer when the sunflowers rule, resplendent, of course, and ubiquitous. There is yellow nearly everywhere you look. As eager as I am for more formal seasonal markers I am not actually daft enough to expect the aspen forests on the mountains to go all yellow and stuff this soon. Not this soon. This is some strange morph, some remnant of collective deep running memory of late August in the Florida Keys, which would be right at the beginning of the really really really hot season. The hot season up here in the high desert in Nuevo Mexico del Norte ain’t so hot after all, in comparison, via my own reactions to the weather, but it does get hot enough for that morph of a memory to whine a deep one about how the Sun is too bright and enough already. Okay, enough. This too shall pass. The afternoon heat has lessened here, because . . . well, let me just say it is what it is, which is another way of saying I’m tired of writing about this weather stuff, and the main point is that in the brilliance of high Summer I find my self emotionally hunkering, so, ummmm, let’s move on to something else, k? I’m feeling a little grouchy this morning. Before I move on I’d like to pat myself on the back for listening to the Muse and choosing the word ‘hunker’ in that particular syntactic location. I checked the thesaurus. It can be read several different ways, in layers, if you will. Or maybe it’s just me? The point is I love working, playing, whatever, with words. I love to write as a result. Yesterday’s trip was needed. That was the sole impetus for doing it in the first place. This valley is huge, wide-open, studded with sleeping volcanos. The layout of the land down here in the southern end of the valley makes for an interesting energy; Rockies to the east and a big crack in the earth to the west. The Rio Grande Gorge is the crack I mentioned. It looks more like a crack to me than it does a crevice born of erosion. I’m not sure about the geological facts, and I’m not going to google it right now. So there. I told you I was grouchy. Now, moving forward. After two consecutive days off it is once again a workday. Anxiety ain’t so bad, so I don’t mind going into Taos, into work today. It should be fun, and I’ll be working alongside my eighteen year old little buddy. She and I evoke synergy at times. Well, it gets the job done. No one will know that I am also carrying my own personal Spring fever with me. There is as much contentment in the feelings as there is excitement. The flow of life energy, refracted and disseminated, focused through habit. The newness, the end of Summer approaches, and I don’t mind. The fever gives me an abiding feeling of newness. And I’ll be danged iffin it doesn’t all feel new at times. The French term for that feeling of it all being new is jamais vu. The state of mind can be considered an indicator of some pathology or other. I’m not sure I agree. What-ev-er. The benefit for me, when everything looks and feels new, is that I can take a memory of almost falling in love and use it to keep my vibes up and perky. I’ve been there numerous times in my life so I have a few memories to work with. It’s funny, but none of my ex-partners left me with that kind of memory. Well, maybe the ex-wife. I had more than a little dazzlement back then, at first, but that may have just been virginity talking. I’ll never know for sure. But I have a specific memory to work with today. That’s the main thing. It’s all that matters this morning. Except for feeding and medicating the cat. The day trip yesterday opened me up quite nicely. Memories of traveling can be used in a similar manner. Full tank of gas, and a few hours to kill, and a mini-grand adventure may ensue. Either Thoreau or Emerson asked “how can you kill time without injuring eternity?”. Dude like you just get into your car and drive dude. Some folks might say you can’t kill time because it ain’t real. But time does make memory possible. Today I will take my good and chosen memory to heart. Heart, not mind. Have a coupla nice chats with pretty women who graciously and spontaneously give me a smile. One secret benefit of chronic depression and anxiety is that they in no way prohibit happiness. They may suggest that it is all hopeless and stuff, but happiness don’t give a fig about hopelessness, other than to use it as an example of what not to do.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Ghosts I Carry Today

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“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.

Synergy and Gossamer Sails

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Heron Lake State Park in north-central New Mexico.

It just keeps getting longer. But here I begin. This is one of the few mornings when I consciously procrastinated, thus putting my start time for writing in direct conflict with Rosie the cat’s feeding time. She’s just gonna have to wait. And I am in the habit of pushing feeding time a little forward on my days off. So, yeh, she can wait. Besides, her pitiful moans aren’t even close to compelling yet; but they will be. The air, however sparse, is sweetly clear this morning. Before the sky began to lighten, the Milky Way was lush; the clearest I have seen since the deep freeze nights back in February. Or was it January? Whatever. And when I went out to check the sky and mountains and stuff, right around dawn, the sky seemed featureless, but when I tilted my head back to look up I spied Venus sitting up high. Nice air temp of 45º. Now, about tilting my head back: it is not an easy thing to do. My neck is a mess. That was the official diagnosis from the brain surgeon right after he fused a couple of vertebrae for me. Yeh, brain surgeon. Not everyone has their own brain surgeon. I cherish the guy. Ummmm, anyway, my massage therapist told me that the sides of my neck are like concrete. That sucks. I’ll not see her again until the first week of September has passed. I need her right now but poor me. I am slowly learning how to loosen stuff up myself, effectively, not just rubbing a sore spot a while. But that totally misses the energy work that accompanies her rubdowns, and it misses the synergy. What I am calling synergy is pretty much just that. For the massage to work to the fullest for me it needs to be a cooperative event, which in turn means that I don’t just lay there like a lump. It’s not just a matter of being skillfully handled for an hour or so. I’m gonna chill out here before I start to get into some serious metaphysics, or New Age gossamer sails. Ooooo . . . I like that image! And on that note, I shall wrap this up, then feed the cat. Bueno bye.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Blanket and the Butterflies

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A very young Rosie the cat dons a headdress for the sole and soul amusement of the guy that feeds her every day.

“It really seems to me that in the midst of great tragedy, there is always the horrible possibility that something terribly funny will happen.”  ~  Philip K. Dick

“When all else fails, there’s always delusion.”  ~  Conan O’Brien

“When my mother passed away several years ago—well, wait a minute. Actually, she didn’t ‘pass away.’ She died. Something about that verb, ‘to pass away’ always sounds to me as if someone just drifted through the wallpaper. No, my mother did not pass away. She definitely died.”  ~  Steve Allen

“If at first the idea is not absurd, then there is no hope for it.”  ~  Albert Einstein

It’s very odd this morning. But the odd thing is that I woke up – oddly enough – with humor on my mind, and I have come to the conclusion, after two hours of perusing the digital world, that a world without humor cannot exist. Now, in my odd mood this morning, I haven’t the gumption, nor the time, to waft off all philosophical and stuff. I just won’t do it and you can’t make me. Hey, the previous sentence to this one is proof positive that I have been reading about the president too much. Friggin nitwit actually talks and behaves that way. A great tragedy lies upon this nation like a lead blanket that will eventually turn into butterflies. There is a tricky allusion in that last sentence. Just sayin. Any of all y’all call me an optimist and there’s going to be trouble. I will have trouble stopping laughing. That is something I held close when my mom was dying from cancer, and I attended to her caregiving for seven months. I did my best to keep a light, humorous perspective in place. I’m pretty good with quips, although I say some humorous things that seem to make some people squirm. I kept her laughing, even if only on occasion. See, I’ve been through that gate, tunnel, whatever – I’ve been to where spirits go when they die. I wanted for her a sense of humor that would remain intact when the big moment arrived. I did a good job of it. That, and the Harry Potter movie marathon that I presented to her to kick off her final journey into death, right after her diagnosis and her return home from the hospital in Santa Fe. I’m just that way. At this point one woman I know would likely call me vain for patting myself on the back like this. Like she would be like “get over yourself” and I would be like all “I can’t, it’s above me”. At which point I might have to duck, whether physically or emotionally, or both. You have to admit, it’s a good line. Listen, mom’s spirit has been with me for a few days now. She seems to have come to help me through some of the trouble in my life right now. I’ll get used to it. Anyway, moving on, I’m guessing I will be humorous frequently during my work shift today. And why not?

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Picking Up the Stratocaster

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Rosie the cat at six months old.

“When you’re young, you think everything you do is disposable. You move from now to now, crumpling time up in your hands, tossing it away. You’re your own speeding car. You think you can get rid of things, and people too—leave them behind. You don’t yet know about the habit they have, of coming back. Time in dreams is frozen. You can never get away from where you’ve been.”  ~  Margaret Atwood

“You are as young as you feel. If you begin to feel the warmth of your soul, there will be a youthfulness in you that no one will be able to take away from you.”  ~  John O’Donohue

Perfection is a grand illusion, one that I don’t often even think about. Yes, but how strong is that inculcated drive toward perfection, that inner superego blabber-puss . . . ummmm, never mind. That sentence could have run out of control; and then what? Let’s not go there. But this morning could be perfect. In some ways. In many ways. In ways you can’t even imagine. Whatever, right? But let’s play it simple today. The coffee is perfect. I don’t use a repetitive measured scoop; just a standard tablespoon, and I wing it. Each pot is a gamble. Today’s is perfect, just the way my ex-wife liked it. Strong, dark, black. One taste, I was hooked. What was I thinking? Sigh, no regrets. After all, it’s been 40 years. Let’s see now. Another perfect thing about this morning is the air temperature, which stands at 45º. And a lone cow in the dark, moaning about something. I didn’t know there were any cattle in the neighborhood. A moaning cow though? It’s been years, but this very area saw some serious cattle mutilations in the past. I hope the cow is okay. Soooo, that’s close enough. I’ve got enough to call this morning perfect. Good on me. I’m looking from a spiritual place this morning, thinking about Stephen Levine, about healing. Thinking about that big, hard lump in my solar plexus. That’s a real pisser. I hope I am not over-sharing here. The lump gets in the way of a lot of stuff. It is not the sole, soul, whatever, manifestation of the PTSD, but it’s a big one. It is a fact of life, right now, whether or not it ever goes away in the future. So we’re talking third chakra stuff. Power interactions with the world at large, communing with Mind at Large. It’s big. Boy howdy, is it ever! But the lump? That’s gonna take some work to get over. I certainly don’t mean to go all New Age on y’all. The bottom line here is heeding the whisperings and gut inspirations from the goddess. She giggles too. Our plight on Earth is obviously somewhat funny. I have to concur. Back around the first of the year I got one of those gut inspirations, when I came across a certain woman and the goddess was like all whispering and stuff, “Dude, check her out. There’s something there. Explore, buddy“. I ended up asking her out to dinner. Casual stuff. She said maybe. The invitation is open-ended, but I am tending more toward a casual lunch now. Maybe. But the big part of this is that in making that invitation I knocked the lump over on it’s side. It was not in any way easy. The darned thing is supposta prevent me from doing dangerous things like asking for a date. This is a function of PTSD. This is how really weird it gets for me. Whatever. I have an imagined meal. Good company, bright smile from a pretty woman. I think it will happen eventually. My inner troubadour plays a part in this. He gets the queue, strides up to the stage, breaks out his lute, looks at it, cocks his head slightly to the left, clears his throat, starts to evoke a love song, then on impulse he puts down the lute and picks up a Stratocaster. So today I am sitting on a rock and roll mood.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Transcending Pine Studs and Drywall

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“The most fundamental aggression to ourselves, the most fundamental harm we can do to ourselves, is to remain ignorant by not having the courage and the respect to look at ourselves honestly and gently.”  ~  Pema Chödrön

“Courage is not simply one of the virtues but the form of every virtue at the testing point, which means at the point of highest reality. ”   ~  C. S. Lewis

“Enlightenment is man’s release from his self-incurred tutelage. Tutelage is man’s inability to make use of his understanding without direction from another. Self-incurred is this tutelage when its cause lies not in lack of reason but in lack of resolution and courage to use it without direction from another. Sapere aude! ‘Have courage to use your own reason!’- that is the motto of enlightenment.”   ~  Immanuel Kant

Did you ever have one of those days when it feels like numerous alternate universes are doing provocative fly-bys at the edge of your perception? And that the Law of Attraction is fixin ta divvy you up after it tears you apart via a plethora of choices? Today I feel like it may be one of those days. Yesterday was for sure, but I spent very little time in the company of others of my species. Decompress, downtime, radical self-care. Whatever. Ooooo, I love that last one: radical self-care. Ummmm, I suppose that would be the establishment of a maintenance program to assure that the stress and stressors in life don’t simply override the simple joy of being a sentient, conscious, bipedal primate, at this precious point in . . . oh, yeh, Trump is president. I forget that as often as is possible. Me? I tend to wrangle contentment through closing the curtain and settling back into a sort of unconditional comfort. Creature comfort, yes, but it is something more than indoor plumbing, pillows, toaster ovens, and other stuff. I mean, our bodies are well-organized star-stuff. There’s our celestial nature right there. But we are an integral part of the Web of Life as well. Doesn’t that make you happy? Just teasing. I’m teetering at right at the edge of a pretty big field of discussion here. Maybe I’ll just draw back a step or three. I know, I know, there’s a luscious swirl of life out there. Just jump in and ride, right? Here’s the thing. Each time I do that I find that I was already there, never left, fully invested; duded up in the best “it is was it is” I can manage on a fixed income. And I will tell you right here and now, it really is what it is. Without fail. I consider this fact to be one of the most useful of tools in my contentment tool box. And yet you can use the phrase as much as you want, in any or even all situations, and it still doesn’t mean anything. That’s what I might call pretzel logic. Soooo, can I stay in my room, curtains closed, and still be intimately connected to Nature? Did ya ever almost unplug from the Web of Life? Don’t try it at home, right? Yeh. The answer is yes; I can and do remain intimately connected to Nature whilst I hide away like a smug recluse. Tis, you see, the subjective inner life I am working with these days. Shadow work is almost unavoidable at such times. Dreamtime work is even more almost unavoidable. Welllll, that most certainly was an awkward sentence! Now, moving forward, it is almost time to go out and watch the Sun play peek-a-boo behind the mountains at sunrise. Were I to sermonize at my own self I might say “now, boy, listen. Don’t take that star for granted, boy. Watch it rise, then stay out and play under the light from that star, boy, I say boy, yer gettin on my nerves. Now run out and play”. Geez, my inner preacher sounds almost like Foghorn Leghorn. And about that staying outside so as to catch the radiance of that star? Dude, the visible spectrum of light is but a small fraction of the overall energetic spectrum. We’re talking walls here, pine studs and drywall, holding back the steady flow of quantum potentialities, photons and neutrons and stuff. Boy, that energy don’t even know what a wall is!

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


A Taste of the Unencumbered

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“Real friendship or love is not manufactured or achieved by an act of will or intention. Friendship is always an act of recognition.”  ~  John O’Donohue

“But please don’t worry that I’m getting ready to preach to you about compassion or other-directedness or the so-called “virtues.” This is not a matter of virtue — it’s a matter of my choosing to do the work of somehow altering or getting free of my natural, hard-wired default-setting, which is to be deeply and literally self-centered, and to see and interpret everything through this lens of self.”  ~  David Foster Wallace

Amid swirling thoughts of a second pot of coffee I admit that focus might not be needed after all, for the time being. There are no absolute compulsories today, beyond yet more intentional rest. Yesterday’s intentional rest was indeed effective. There’s still a long way to go. Or not. Whatever. So, yeh, more rest. Perhaps the most productive part the beginnings of what will become adequate rest is that the strictures of my personal default-setting lost a little of their grip. The David Foster Wallace quote above says it all. It’s becomes a matter of practicality. You get a glimpse, a taste of the unencumbered Self and you pretty much have to do something about it. At least I did. As a result I sat still a lot yesterday. The amount of effort required in doing so should not have come as a surprise. Beyond the needs for entertainment and fulfillment I found that old chestnut of just letting go. Letting go. Spiritual non-attachment? I don’t know where I was going with this, if I was indeed going anywhere at all. Can’t say that I was. Hmmmm. The thing that nibbles around my ankles here is that I find that it don’t help none too much if you make a big deal out of spiritual practice. My intentional rest was a matter of practicality. By Monday evening, after four consecutive work days, I was wracked with pain and saturated with moans, and Tuesday was the first of three in a row off. The timing was perfect. I put the time to good use by simply letting it pass unimpeded. Use time by not using it. Maybe some more of that is in order for today.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Moist and Soft


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“Experience is not worth the getting. It’s not a thing that happens pleasantly to a passive you–it’s a wall that an active you runs up against.”  ~  F. Scott Fitzgerald

“In order to be open to creativity, one must have the capacity for constructive use of solitude. One must overcome the fear of being alone.”  ~  Rollo May

“That country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain.”  ~  Ray Bradbury

Just checking in. Seriously tired and pretty much “under the weather”. Is that idiomatic? Just askin, I honestly don’t know. I’ll hafta look it up later. Sigh. Regardless, the morning is moist and soft and beautiful. Cat fed, still needs her daily insulin injection. I’ll get to that, then get to fetching feed and water to the chickens and the warrior turkey. After that? Freedom. Rest. Yeh, freedom.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.