“You’ll stop hurting when you stop hoping.” ~ Guillaume Musso
“No man, proclaimed Donne, is an Island, and he was wrong. If we were not islands, we would be lost, drowned in each other’s tragedies. We are insulated (a word that means, literally, remember, made into an island) from the tragedy of others, by our island nature, and by the repetitive shape and form of the stories. The shape does not change: there was a human being who was born, lived, and then, by some means or another, died. There. You may fill in the details from your own experience. As unoriginal as any other tale, as unique as any other life. Lives are snowflakes—forming patterns we have seen before, as like one another as peas in a pod (and have you ever looked at peas in a pod? I mean, really looked at them? There’s not a chance you’d mistake one for another, after a minute’s close inspection), but still unique.” Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn. Trust dreams. Trust your heart, and trust your story. ” ~ Neil Gaiman
This is one of those days when I could easily become a snickery cynic. It’s the know-it-all in me, the part that knows full-well that I don’t know it all, yet people seem to think that I think that I do, and I can never bring myself to get all pithy-sloguny and say that “I know that I know nothing”. . . and, well, um . . . as a writer, as I know it, I have to have a certain amount of confidence in what I am writing. That said, I am moving on with the day, slowly, surely. No, not surely. I’m still in nearly-full mammal mode, I just want to sleep, or to do that waking dozing thing, the thing that seems to take it all a few steps beyond meditation. Yeh, it’s a workday, yet it is also that gear-grinding shift from the Baby Jesus holiday retail shopping rush into the rush toward party time. I’m teetering at the edge of cynicism, I know, and I’m actually feeling kinda cute in my wordplay. Spare me the ego thing, k? I know how full of myself I can be, I’ve just yet to see it. I need for someone to point it out to me, even though they are likely wrong, and . . . well, let’s just say that I have a healthy fear of solipsism and leave it at that. And yet there is my central nervous system. Today it is complicit with some fairly strong depression, and agoraphobia about driving into Taos, and some of my usual PTSD triggers are all greased up and itching to snap. The nice part about these readied triggers is that if you see beforehand that they are so they ain’t near as likely to snap, whether you pull them or not. Therein lies my mystery for the day.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.