The X-Files and the Nightly News

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“We end up stumbling our way through the forest, never seeing all the unexpected and wonderful possibilities and potentials because we’re looking for the idea of a tree, instead of appreciating the actual trees in front of us.”  ~ Charles de Lint, Tapping the Dreaming Tree

“Clinging to our ideas of perfection isolates us from life and is a barrier.”  ~ Sharon Salzburg

“It’s not much of a tail, but I’m sort of attached to it.” ~ A. A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh

Meadowlark sits atop the neighbor’s galvanized chimney, singing good cheer and hope into the chilly morning air. Raven passes silently overhead, headed north, with none of that whooshing sound they so often make. Flicker is on the eaves, banging her head against the flashing. No clouds. It being Sunday morning, I find no interest in anything, just a burning urge to hide. Too much could go wrong if I head out into the world, to do some laundry; then a long drive, just me and my trusty 2003 Focus. That wasn’t a great year; I got my car and my first credit by using the insurance money from the van that crashed through the wall of the house on a zero-degree and peaceful Monday morning in November. The lawyer fought hard against AllState, finally pinning them down with something from 13th century British common law; trespassing, of all things. He got a little extra ($10,000) for me, for pain and suffering. That confounded vehicle nearly brushed up against my knee as I sat at the computer reading online about angels in the real world. They exist, you know, and likely they do not comply with your post-Biblical assumptions about them. In example: they are cousins to the Faery Folk, not real as in flesh and bones and stuff, rather in that they have intelligence and they use it to interact with the physical and mental world in which we live. Angels are like that too. The angel who saved me when the van entered my home was born as a goddess for the Tuatha Dé Danann people, who graced Ireland before the Celts showed up. But she is an angel as well. If you want to get into technicalities just consider yourself; we are more things than one. Yeh, and how many people work two jobs, right? Or more. Her name is Brighid. She has other names as well, but this is the one that works for me. Oh, by the way, she is also a saint for the Roman Catholic church. Like I said: more jobs than one. You may think that having been spared injury or death would be a rather joyful thing. Well, it is and it ain’t. The blow to the wall, then the penetration, sent some flying object directly at my head, knocking me out for who knows how long. Some other projectile knocked the computer down, head first against the floor. Having PTSD, my triggers all tripped at once, immediately, like circuit breakers in your house, all tripping when a great surge of power flushes down through the filigree of copper, around you in the walls. But, anyway, the whole thing led to my buying the car. And another thing, it was my mom’s house. When we first made voice contact, right after the freak intrusion, the air in the room was so saturated with dust that we could not see each other at all, even though we were only ten feet apart. I can’t imagine what mom must have felt when one guess at what the living hell just happened may quite well be that her middle son was dead. I could hear that in her voice. She shouted first. I wasn’t up to it until her voice snapped me back to consciousness. Now, you might think that this is a very odd way to get around to this being Mother’s day, and you are correct. I’m feeling a little woo woo and X-Files prone this morning. Mom and I used to watch the X-Files every Sunday; then afterwards the 10 o’clock news. Our heads were in such a surreal space from watching the show that we would always laugh out loud at the news. It always sounded so absurd and earthly that we just couldn’t help it. I think I will take that drive, after the laundry thing, and a breakfast burrito at LotaBurger. My SS payments gave me a little free money to spend, since the payment transfers into my checking account on the 16th. It usually comes a few days later than that. I’m gonna use that cash to go out and live a little, instead of inhabiting the chair, and hosting the cat, all day long, fearful of the world, like I usually do on Sunday. I recently got Netflix and I found a marvelous original series that clearly deals with NDEs, although they don’t come right out and say it. BTW, the show is titled “The OA”. Great stuff; lushly produced; cinematography fantastic. That’s for after the drive; and the laundry; and the burrito. Mom’s been gone – physically gone – for a tad over eleven years now, and I’ve pretty much got the grieving done, so reruns of the X-Files don’t cut it anymore. That stuff is in the past.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


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