A few Drags Before Bed

“If animals could speak, the dog would be a blundering outspoken fellow; but the cat would have the rare grace of never saying a word too much.”  ~  Mark Twain

“Waking consciousness is dreaming – but dreaming constrained by external reality”  ~  Oliver Sacks

“The left hemisphere is more sophisticated and specialized, a very late outgrowth of the primate, and especially the hominid, brain. On the other hand, it is the right hemisphere which controls the crucial powers of recognizing reality which every living creature must have in order to survive.”  ~  Oliver Sacks

How cool is it that Mark Twain loved cats? Way cool, dude. Hey, while I am at it with Twain and stuff, I wonder if Huckleberry Finn is required reading in Mississippi public schools. Just sayin. Have you read it yet? I mean, it is maybe the American Classic, but don’t read it for that reason. Listen, Twain was downright surgical in regards to reckoning with the innards of our perceptions, especially where prejudice and hatred are concerned. This is, of course, a timely concept for this present point and place in history and in time. But what is time, right? Let me just say it is perhaps a tad more curly than you might imagine; or more than you have been led to believe. Whatever. It curls back on itself at times. Am I having a deja vu here? Yeh, buddy. You know that ain’t wrong.

The sky is quite clear this morning, and it is the stars that tell me so. Up the road to the north a lone dog is barking, quite adamant at times. Sounds like a big fella. Could be a yotee (trans: coyote) out there, passing by, or lingering as an affront designed to just plain piss off that doggy. Or it could just be some nitwit wandering around out there in the cold. 16º? I mean dude, really? Nah, prob’ly a yotee. I feel a bit of a plucky streak in me today. That’s a good thing; I’ll run with it. One point of courage and determination is to chill out already with my tendency toward intellect. It’s not like I want to explain things better, or to scout around for clever allusions. It’s not only fun, it is also where I go when the dark spaces come rollin’ in, making no kind of sense at all. One easy way to remedy, or at least to palliate, irrationality is to be rational – if you can. You’ll have to work at it, I reckon. That irrationality, in the clinical sense, was installed in that particular place in your soul for a very good reason. Society calls it ‘mental illness’, and we need that term, at least as a place-saver until we find something better. See, as “ill” folks, our brains don’t work anywhere near societal norms. Nor do they have to. Nor are they ever going to. Alas, these are just the musings of some proto-scribe who has to get his assets into the shower for a quickie, cause it is a workday, and the past two days off have been at least 50 years long, all told. That’s the innards of my perceptions talking. Processing, processing. Just this – I am usually pretty depressed on days off. Don’t try to friggin analyze that, k? Sometimes seriously so. By the time the night before a workday comes I am loopy from the beating that irrationality so easily delivers. Many writers have written about depression and/or PTSD, in order to engage the beast. Last night I did not feel beaten down like a pie crust still on the cutting board (I love that metaphor!). I can only call it a state of grace. Or maybe a state of play might be more accurate. No, we don’t always play nice with ourselves. Last night I was able to simply look around and feel the spaciousness around me. Nothing was wrong, and I felt no denial. I ain’t friggin gonna break down and say the great god “it is what it is” had anything to do with it. I was too busy breathing to think about stuff like that. No, I wasn’t ‘doing’ mindfulness. That requires ‘not doing’. I was simply having a few drags off a cigarette before bed. Ya jest never know when it’s a gonna hit ya.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

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