Time Portals and Television


“It doesn’t seem to me that this fantastically marvelous universe, this tremendous range of time and space and different kinds of animals, and all the different planets, and all these atoms with all their motions, and so on, all this complicated thing can merely be a stage so that God can watch human beings struggle for good and evil – which is the view that religion has. The stage is too big for the drama.” ~ Richard Feynman

“All things fade and quickly turn to myth.” ~ Marcus Aurelius

“Are you not ashamed of caring so much for the making of money and for fame and prestige, when you neither think nor care about wisdom and truth and the improvement of your soul?”  ~ Socrates

Is it the final day of the year? Yes, of course it is. I look back at the year and all I can think of is that line, from Whoopi Goldberg as Guinan, in Star Trek: the Next Generation. Never mind the extent of the scenario, out of context works just fine in this case. The Enterprise has entered an alternate universe and nobody notices what happened, they all just step right into the new world unaware, as if it had always been so. Except for Guinan, who goes to the Captain at one point and says, “Captain, it’s not supposed to be like this”. If she had not expressed her intuitive perception they likely all would have been stuck in a world of perpetual interstellar war. Never the wiser. Could that happen in this country? At this point it looks unlikely. But, yes, it could happen. Says me. Of course Trump is the villain here, and he may be in a steep cognitive decline. Now, on to the day. Or not. The cat is fed and medicated – and situated on my lap in that eerie way that they do, seeming to just melt into the contours and nooks. Cats are shapeshifting aliens from an alternate universe, and they are fully aware when they cross from one reality into another. This particular cat is about to be insulted when I boost her from my lap so’s I can git out to watch the dawn tidy up then move on into the day. Bisy backson.

Sweet and colorful. I marvel at how an attractive sunrise puts the deep cold air in perspective. At least it does for me. Chuckling here. I just remembered my dear friend who recently moved from Puerto Rico to South Dakota. Temperature in Puerto Rico: 70-ish; in South Dakota: friggin -8º! I wonder how long it will take her to experience the perspective in such a move. I have known her for about 35 years, and I know her to be highly intelligent. My guess is that because the temperature difference is so extreme the change will be relatively seamless. It’s not too cold here this morning, although there is some confusion about the issue. One weather website says 36, the other says 23. I suppose I could buy a thermometer, or simply write the thing off to relativity, or maybe I create my own reality. Whatever. I’m not feeling ambitious today. Besides, it is day one of two days off. Those first days are usually set aside as days of rest and doing effectively nothing. I’m not one of those peeps who needs to be moving all of the time. And I like staying home alone – wellll, the cat is here. So it works. I have two new favorite television series on Hulu that have finally interested me enough to actually follow them. No binge watching for me. Up until now “The Librarians” on Hulu was the only such online series to appeal and entertain enough that I actually finished watching to whole thing. I still go back and watch an episode from time to time. One of the series is about the Manhattan Project, which happened maybe 50-60 miles from here. Goddess knows – that was back in the early 40s. No tellin what they have there now. A time portal? A doorway into another universe? I could, on a better day, go on in a clever fashion, riffing on this topic. We Boomers grew up with, on, whatever, television. Our perspective on the world must reflect that fact. Hey, speaking of the 60s, I had a customer yesterday who led me into a rap about our places in the 60s. At one point he brightened up and exclaimed, “We changed the world!”. He’s right about that. Never forget it. He’s right about that.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Nerve Pain and Retrocausality


Setting sun through a severe dust storm, back in May of 2008

“You cannot imagine the craving for rest that I feel—a hunger and thirst. For six long days, since my work was done, my mind has been a whirlpool, swift, unprogressive and incessant, a torrent of thoughts leading nowhere, spinning round swift and steady”  ~ H. G. Wells

“That which is dreamed can never be lost, can never be undreamed.” ~ Neil Gaiman

“Each wave that rolls onto the shore must release back to the ocean. You are the same. Each wave of action you take must release back to the peace within you. Stress is what happens when you resist this natural process. Everyone needs breaks. Denying this necessity does not remove it. Let yourself go. Realize that, sometimes, the best thing to do is absolutely nothing.” ~ Vironika Tugaleva

(The third quote is important to what I am writing about today, so I highlighted it with a different color than the first two. It is simply prose of a different color.)

It’s one of those mornings when it is hard to get rolling on the blogging stuff. No worries. I finally started. I’m in the “mundane” region on the existential scale. Food, shelter, and a few good laughs. Tis a workday, and I have had too few of those lately. I’m not complaining. It is good to catch up on rest. Yet here I sit full of pain. Not really sure where it is coming from; and it is nerve pain, having no detectable specific source. Ibuprofen? Yeh buddy. It sucks anyway. I had a good shower yesterday afternoon, but a few minutes in the hot shower should do me a lot of good in regards to the pain and all this morning. There are still times when I get weepy from running the hot spray straight on the back of my neck. It used to happen every time, before the neck surgery to repair what could be saved in there. This is a prime example of the emotional effects from PTSD. My neck injury, at the point of impact, was what caused the PTSD. Thus my neck still remembers vividly. Another prime example is when the massage therapist hits one of these muscle memory spots. I gave her a rundown on the accident, the NDE, and the nature of the injuries involved, so she knows that I am not just being freaky when I get weepy on the table. And it is soooo cool – she’s a mom, two teenaged children. So when I verbally express the intense emotions that emerge from tight spots, or I just silently endure the rush of feelings . . . it’s not a secret. At those times I still emit little throat and chest sounds that betray my discomfort. Anyway, the mom thing: when she hears my emotional expression she makes little mom sounds. It has such a soothing effect. The best of healing is comprised of either soft or  . . . oh, never mind. I’m out of time. A little shower therapy then off to the daily grind. It is still holiday season, dammit. Peeps get like all worked up and stuff. Recently I’ve admitted something to myself  –  Red Bull is not the cause of socio-personal agitation – it is a symptom. I am prone to look at this from a perspective of retrocausality, which essentially means that the the effect comes first, and the cause comes later. Woof, deep, right? Just wait, I am still unsteady on that POV. I could be wrong about that. I’ll get back to y’all on that, k?

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Rolling Back the Vibes


“Energy moves in cycles, circles, spirals, vortexes, whirls, pulsations, waves, and rhythms—rarely if ever in simple straight lines.”  ~ Starhawk

“In the Craft, we do not believe in the Goddess ~~ we connect with her; through the moon, the stars, the ocean, the earth, through trees, animals, through other human beings, through ourselves. She is here. She is within us all”  ~ Starhawk

“Your soul knows the geography of your destiny. Your soul alone has the map of your future, therefore you can trust this indirect, oblique side of yourself. If you do, it will take you where you need to go, but more important it will teach you a kindness of rhythm in your journey.”  ~ John O’Donohue

The opening photo was taken at a place that in memory serves to pull my perspective back a good ways, so I can get a dose of small. It’s the meteor crater in northeastern Arizona. The crater is a mile across the diameter. The rock that impacted there was traveling 26,000 miles per hour. It wasn’t even all that big, considering. They have a chunk of the object on display there. The whole place is a sobering event, or it was for me. Now, back to the present. The nights and early mornings have had a stable sameness to them for weeks now. Deep cold at night and shirtsleeve afternoons. Every friggin day. Well, except for the day of the Solstice itself. That, although lacking in precipitation . . . that day provided clouds and currents, light and shadows. Smack in the middle of this more monotonous weather pattern Nature interjected a reminder that it’ll shine when it shines. The Solstice naturally provides a more personal thing as well, that being the hibernation urge. I’ve got it good this year. I feel it at its best right now. I can get out and get my work shift done or my errands run, but it is my chair I desire. This chair beckons me countless times during the day. It is where I can let go and roll back my personal vibes down a long ways. Boy howdy that is an important thing to do! Mine is a simple life and I mean to keep it that way. Perhaps ironic, right in front of this chair is the small desk that holds the 24″ iMac. That 24″ screen opens up a whole new kettle of fish 24/7. It is Alice’s mirror, opening on the other side to worlds of wonder, heaps of information, and the friggin Matrix. I’ve heard that the Russians have refined their bots so much that the darned things can crawl right through and out the mouse, slipping into your hands, then up your arm, ideally entering your brain. This, of course is a fiction, no mas. It was so very very easy to whip out a conspiracy theory. I’m ain’t sayin it ain’t true . . . I’m just sayin. Now, moving forward, today is laundry day. That’s enough for me. That and chair time.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Plague of Yawns

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“Fiction is empathy technology.” ~ Steven Pinker

“In a relativistic universe you don’t cling to anything, you learn to swim. And you know what swimming is – it’s kind of a relaxed attitude with the water. In which you don’t keep yourself afloat by holding the water, but by a certain giving to it.” ~ Alan Watts

“Peace is life. Love is life. No river holds a grudge against a rock in its path. No leaf refuses to blow in the breeze. No plant denies water or sunshine. We, as human beings, have the gift of self-awareness, but this gift quickly turns to self-destruction if we do not learn to use it. We must learn to turn our minds towards the peace and love that we are flowing within at any given moment. This is the key to serenity.” ~ Vironika Tugaleva

Check out the third quote. That really opened up my awareness. Dusty, edgy, high gravity,  hopeful romantic, slightly left of center, a headspace that just keeps on giving, and that pretty much means you can be most helpful by picking up the feather duster and have at it, dude. That’s me lately. And tired, but that’s nothing new. I’ve been mildly plagued with yawns this morning. Really really big ones. The kind that stretch my face and neck and shoulders. I just had a yawn right after the previous sentence, and I tested my awareness by being mindfully vigilant of whatever. So, in being intentionally that way, by feeling down deep, nearly to the symbolic level,  I noticed that the yawn stretches it out down around the heart as well. Stretching is a profound activity in the material world. Cats do it incessantly. They are the masters. Just watch. I must post a warning here. Watching cats can have a very strange effect on many people. If you get into the headspace of what it is up with that animal anyway you are risking your sanity. Them little beasties are crazy. Listen, they play with things that aren’t there. What does that say about your recreational activities?


It’s comin’ up on time to feed and medicate the cat. The medication is insulin. One unit every day, in the morning. After taking care of the cat I can get to this other cup of coffee, and poke my head back into the vile madness that is . . . I’m jest sayin’ I’m a gonna read the news for a bit.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

A Good Day to Simmer


“A priest once quoted to me the Roman saying that a religion is dead when the priests laugh at each other across the altar. I always laugh at the altar, be it Christian, Hindu, or Buddhist, because real religion is the transformation of anxiety into laughter.”  ~  Alan Watts

“Mathematics expresses values that reflect the cosmos, including orderliness, balance, harmony, logic, and abstract beauty.” ~  Deepak Chopra

“Writing is an act of faith, not a trick of grammar.”  ~  E.B. White

Honestly – I could easily let this post go out with the quotes alone as text. They, when viewed together, say a lot, and the further truth of it is that I am not sure I could say as much. Luckily there ain’t no need to compare the two; and besides, I’m writing a little bit here, so it ain’t even relevant one way or t’other. Says me. This day promises to be a day of freedom. I can’t describe exactly just why except to say that I do not feel attached to any outcomes in particular. Who am I? I suspect that is the big question that has the potential to set my soul free. But the problem with that plan is that my soul is already free, so ain’t no settin’ needs done, thank you very much. Deep tired and achy, that’s me this morning. And there is one big blue sky sittin’ just past my window. It was weird, I had some intense dreaming happening this morning. What I woke up with is the memory of three women playing crucial roles in the dream. There are no details, just feelings. I’ll have to toss the dream into the cauldron of my mind. Let it simmer. Yeh, this is a good day to simmer.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Waiting in the Wings

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“I know that pain is the most important thing in the universes. Greater than survival, greater than love, greater even than the beauty it brings about. For without pain, there can be no pleasure. Without sadness, there can be no happiness. Without misery there can be no beauty. And without these, life is endless, hopeless, doomed and damned. 
Adult. You have become adult.” ~ Harlan Ellison

“Face your life, its pain, its pleasure, leave no path untaken.” ~ Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book

“Nothing that grieves us can be called little: by the eternal laws of proportion a child’s loss of a doll and a king’s loss of a crown are events of the same size.” ~ Mark Twain

It’s pretty cozy in here this morning. Outside, not so much. There are a lot of dream filaments that trailed along with me as I stepped back through the hypnopompic gate, back into the waking world. And part of me is like all what were you thinking? But it’s okay. No, really. It’s okay. I don’t mean to hide from the world, and I don’t think . . . listen, I lack a lot of the filters that keep me on an even keel. Too much input, too much sensation – these are the underlying forces that make me want to stay home from work. Ain’t happenin’. Hypervigilence aside, I am goin’ in to git ‘er done. Geez I hated writing that last sentence, but it is as descriptive as all git out in that it says what I wanted to say. There’s always some sacrifice waiting in the wings, to move life along, to keep life from simply being a merry go round, hamster wheel, whatever. Now, an odd feeling of relief is nibbling at my awareness today. It has a lot to do with the national news outlets amping it down for the holiday. This aroused a feeling that is both aggravating and calming. That’s a paradox, right? Yeh, right. But, back to those dream filaments. They are more suited to positive things that tickle. The darker stuff of dreams tend to remain as residual memory. I’ve no sense of such memories being active in me today. This is good. I kind of like the way this day is beginning.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Laced with Fractals


“I would like to see anyone, prophet, king or God, convince a thousand cats to do the same thing at the same time.” ~ Neil Gaiman

“You don’t see something until you have the right metaphor to let you perceive it” ~ James Gleick 

“Billions of years ago there were just blobs of protoplasm; now billions of years later here we are. So information has been created and stored in our structure. In the development of one person’s mind from childhood, information is clearly not just accumulated but also generated, created from connections that were not there before”  ~ James Gleick

Serendipity led me to the Moody Blues, earlier this morning. As long as I have been awake I reckon I could call this night’s endgame. I don’t know why I went to YouTube in the first place; probably a link on Facebook. But one thing led to another, so I ended up watching old videos of the band. This watching gave me the closest thing to a perspective I’ve had since leaving work on Saturday. It’s good, I suppose. Whatever. I’m too tired to be bothered at this time. I am also too tired to speculate on the nature of time, but with me that can change at the drop of a hat. So, why do I mention time at all? Welllll . . . there’s this paradigm shift thing. It’s a whole life shift, or so it seems. At times everything begins to look like flows of chaos, thickly laced with fractals. It’s not the same thing as transformation, it’s more like rearranging the furniture. The transformation comes when you step back to admire the new layout of the room and you trip backward when you come up against the coffee table which is sitting where it didn’t used to be. Speaking of coffee I likely will be making a second pot in a few minutes. The first was gone quite a while ago, so I am not concerned with amping myself up too much. Listen, I just realized that it is Christmas morning, and I have been up for hours, like some tyke who’s hoping to get a glimpse of Santa, and I’m like all go away kid, ya bother me. I’m not so sure I’d even welcome Santa right now, much less that puny tyke. Now, I realize that my mentioning a puny tyke might lead folks to mistakenly assume I am speaking of the president. But I am not into politics this morning, night, whatever. I’m all about magick, in part because I am going through a phase where I much too often remind myself that I am dealing with adults. From a slowly awakening perspective it feels to be that magick was much stronger during those childhood days. And I get that. I grok it. I dig it. It’s not that magick fades, however. In fact the opposite is true. But as we build stable lives we end up investing a lot of magick in our daily life. That magick is no longer free when we do that. It is giving form to ideas and traditions. I’m not sure if I know where I was going with that thought. Best let it be. I am finally intentionally learning to let it be when I find myself in times of trouble. Paul McCartney tried to tell me that all those years ago. I shoulda listened, right? Let’s just finish by saying it is never too late to have a happy childhood.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Medicine Chest

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My Rosie, at 8 months old, stalking mice in the ceiling.

“He who is certain he knows the ending of things when he is only beginning them is either extremely wise or extremely foolish; no matter which is true, he is certainly an unhappy man, for he has put a knife in the heart of wonder.”  ~ Tad Williams

“The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing.” ~ Albert Einstein

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” ~ Arthur C. Clark

There is one major relief this morning, and I reckon it says it all. It is one of those rare mornings when I woke up feeling I am in another world; just a little quantum phase-shifting, nothing serious. It’s Hugh Everette’s Many Worlds Interpretations. It gets confusing, so I won’t go into it. My brain is too foggy so far today. And I’m just fine with that. Rosie is on my lap, and my ears are hissing up front of a rather large range of persistent neurological frequencies. Tinnitus sucks. Poor me, right? Yeh, whatever. I’m still deeply puzzled by the fact that the medicine chest in the bathroom unlatched yesterday morning. I was brushing my teeth when I heard the click of the latch. I looked over to see the cabinet door swing slowly open. I tried debunking the phenomenon, but I wasn’t able to pull it off. Some force, ghost or spirit, unlatched the door. So now comes the open-mindedness it will take to figure out who or what opened that door. It will take  listening of the internal type. Taken in a symbolic or archetypal view it holds rich metaphors and stories, this cabinet door. There are really only two places to start in niggling out meaning. You can go with Carl Jung or you can go with Monty Hall. What’s behind door number two? Heck, I might look through and see Narnia, or friggin Mordor. Nah, I’ll just wait. I’ve got a good idea just who might do such a thing. We were still within the cusp of the Winter Solstice so the Veil was still fairly well open. It’s all about magick. And I feel certain that whoever or whatever opened that door did so with intent to do more than simply troll up a WTF reaction. I most certainly experienced that reaction, but I know there is more to it than that. Tis a mystery of sufficiently large scope. It’s a good way to start the day, even though it happened yesterday. Time is tricky that way.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Carelessly Applied Distractions

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Rosie, the queen, and her crystalline pillow.

“We spend January 1st walking through our lives, room by room, drawing up a list of work to be done, cracks to be patched. Maybe this year, to balance the list, we ought to walk through the rooms of our lives…not looking for flaws, but for potential.”  ~  Ellen Goodman

“In a world so redolent with wonder, how can we allow ourselves to conduct our daily lives with so little insight, such absence of dignity?”  ~ Bruce Sterling

“The advice that I have valued in my own life has never turned on fixed maxims or canned metaphors. More crucially, lists of precepts don’t work like targeted advice because lists contain inherently constraining messages. They seem to say that complex matters are knowable, that a given process leads to foreseeable results. It implies a thin and predictable world, whereas the sort of advice that has mattered to me bespeaks a quite tentative optimism, the optimism of the quest whose outcome is finally unknowable.” ~ Peter D. Kramer

The morning has been one of distractions, all quite benign, and carelessly applied. I became immersed in the quote search again. Different people saying lots of different things. There is something comforting about it all. Yet of all that I read, beyond the three that I chose, one in particular sticks with me. He is an edgy, delightfully intellectual man, and somewhat of a drunk at times. I saw him on Late Night With Bill Maher, clearly sporting a good buzz. Yet he . . . well, he still made sense, however controversial he sounded. If you keep in mind that booze drops inhibitions like hot rocks you can see the honesty in Christopher Hitchens. I love the way he writes, regardless of the heady way he puts across his thoughts. And I admire that he chose to chronicle the closing scene in his life, as he slowly died of esophageal cancer. That’s what my mom had, that’s what killed her. It was hard to watch, and it was in essence impossible to take good care of her, and yet I did. But mom didn’t write about her plight. Instead she watched reruns of Matlock and Columbo, Murder She Wrote, and even Perry Mason at times. I could get into it. A good mystery can provide some good escapism. Oh, wow, I just got distracted again, darn it. What Mr. Hitchens said that sticks with me this morning is this: “Cheap booze is false economy”. That’s easy to say, if you can afford the best. I coulda gotten into having two or three fingers of fine single malt whiskey with Christopher, chatting, with me listening to some insights that . . . but, hey, I can hold my own in such encounters. Yeh, if I’m gonna fantasize I’m gonna make it more dialog than soliloquy. I owe it to myself. They underlying message here, of which I am fully willing to reveal, is that I haven’t had a deep chat like that in a painfully long time. I can only think of two such occasions. One was the Executive Director of the animal shelter when I first went to work there. She’s the one that got her car torched during the heat of a scandalous conflict that . . . oh. never mind. We had a good long talk over coffee. The other was the time I had lunch with a neurobiologist. She generously paid for the meal. I will never forget the look on her face when I asked her if, as a research scientist, she thought consciousness is an endogenous phenomenon, or something that is not a product of our brains, which can be best viewed as exogenous. I just learned that word, exogenous. I didn’t use it during that lunch chat. But she went with the endogenous theory. I, of course, believe otherwise, because of my NDE. Now, moving forward . . . it’s time for me to shower. It’s gonna be some last minute retail Christmas shoppers in the store today. I get paid to be of assistance, to provide good customer serve, and to take their money. I seriously doubt I will still be thinking about death, intellectuals, consciousness, whatever, but you never know for sure. You never can tell. If you love a good mystery I might recommend Columbo, although The Librarians are more my style. I’m being obscure here. The Librarians? On Hulu. I love those folks. And now, I’m gonna step outside to view the penumbral shadow of morning, the have a little shower. This has been fun for me to ramble as I write and . . .

“Flaubert was right when he said that our use of language is like a cracked kettle on which we bang out tunes for bears to dance to, while all the time we need to move the very stars to pity” ~ Christopher Hitchens

. . . yeh, what he said. I can dig it.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Pale Fortress of Habit


“You’re always you, and that don’t change, and you’re always changing, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” ~ Neil Gaiman

“The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.” ~ Alan Watts

“So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more dangerous to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.” ~ John Krakauer

It’s one of the true pleasures in life for this barefoot island hippie boy to walk barefoot in fresh snow, and if it is the first snow of the season the pleasure is an honor as well. Reverence for Nature is no small thing. The first snow of the season is a gift. Another gift is the key sensory input we get through our feet, which are the prime contact point we have with the Earth itself. I learned that through exercising my preference for bare feet when I lived in the islands. Sure, I would carry sandals with me, but it was bare feet for me, if I could get away with it. Don’t let shoes run your life. It is a matter of self-care for me to walk barefoot in the snow. Yes, this morning there is snow, the first of the season. And it is a matter of both sole and soul. Boy howdy do my feet ever feel better now. It changes my whole outlook. But there was another gift as well. As I sat on the deck at 3 AM, just gazing across the intricate landscape of unblemished snow, a howl rose up from the silence. Besides the rich symbolism of a primal, passionate howl emerging from stone cold darkness, it is also a bit jarring to the central nervous system, and the endocrine system. There is a predator afoot in the land. The critter was quite nearby, from the sound of it. More howls emerged, until at last a howl rose up in the distance. Contact. The two coyotes had established contact; they were communicating. And the howls morphed into shrieks and yips as yet more coyotes joined the song and dance. The yips and shrieks were all accompanying the howl in the distance. The one outside the garden fence had been calling out to locate her pack. When coyotes sing out like that it is easy to hear the revelry and reverence in their song. That this group reunion of wild canids accompanied the first snow of the season . . . well, let’s just say that the magickal side of life, supercharged by the Winter Solstice, shook loose the brittle shell of psychic residue the daily social grind of everyday life leaves behind, cocooning us in a pale fortress formed of habit. Wow. I love that phrase. Yeh, I was already kinda loosened up from massage therapy followed by psychotherapy yesterday. It is all connected. Yesterday’s blog post shows that I felt something coming, and that something emerged from the cauldron of potentiality as snow and coyotes. I wrote:

“It’s a matter of intersubjectivity, wherein relationships of most any kind do the creatin’. Ain’t so hard for me to imagine, and I can’t rightly say I can adequately explain it to you neither. I am tempted to go on into field effects and systems theory this morning, but I think I will leave that to more ambitious folks for now. I am not feeling at all ambitious. Today I have back to back therapy sessions, body and mind. The soul stuff I have already begun. Today being such a magickal day it suits me well to listen to those voices on the wind, to listen to my heart, to listen, to simply listen. In fact, with no ambition it will be easier to hear the right things. I could even go for some drama, if need be. Drama has a bad name these days. So many peeps say they do need no stinkin’ drama. I hope they get their wish. Me, not so much. I recognize that I will be needing drama to help me achieve some of my goals.”

So drama it is. A workday smack in the middle of last minute holiday retail shopping. For an introvert and empath like me, such immersion in perky human habits, exposure in the marketplace, can take a lot out of me. But I can take in a lot as well. As for the drama – listen, I am a writer, a storyteller. A story without drama ain’t no story at all. My personal story has become one of habit versus novelty: things get shaken up bigtime at times. Perhaps it is analogous to that howl in the dark, which can allude to a sudden flash of novelty emerging from my unconscious mind. Or a light and new snow cooling off some fevered expectations that really need to go. The shell, the pale fortress, gets cracked open, making eventual flight an inevitability. You might be thinking this is a butterfly metaphor I am spinning here. Yeh, almost. But tis a moth I am seeing, for moths fly in the night, and I ain’t no way no how waitin’ for the light before I spread my wings.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously