Picking Up the Stratocaster

Rosie 24 051.jpg

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.


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