The Joys of Nocturnal Barking

Coyote tracks in fresh snow.

“Happiness and the absurd are two sons of the same earth. They are inseparable.” ~ Albert Camus

“I’ve always thought people would find a lot more pleasure in their routines if they burst into song at significant moments.”  ~ John Barrowman

“Obscurity and a competence — that is the life that is best worth living.”  ~ Mark Twain

“Often, moreover, it is that aspect of our being that society finds eccentric, ridiculous, or disagreeable, that holds our sweet waters, our secret well of happiness, the key to our equanimity in malevolent climes.”  ~ Tom Robbins

Seems there’s no getting over this hibernation mode I’ve been in for weeks now. With all of the practice I’m getting quite good at yawning and stretching. The weather doesn’t help, unless the help I want is to be coaxed back into dreaminess each time I get feeling all ambitious and stuff. It’s quite clear by now that ambition is for some other day, somewhere down the line. There were coyote calls a short while ago, off in the distance, but not too far; barking and howling in the dark. Tis always a joy to hear them like this. There sounded to be a lot of them, maybe a half-mile away, though it’s hard to tell, since the frigid air seems somehow to distort the sound. Regardless, the sound was magical, as coyote songs almost always are. Also worthy of note: we just had a nice snow over the weekend, and more, they say, is on the way, this evening. On top of all of that lies the personal stuff. I can say that the world is starting to look different these days. I am aware of some of the contributing factor, and the details, but they don’t seem important at this time of day. That is one reason I like to get up early. Nothing seems to feel important, except for those things that can be important and silent all at once. So, why the shift in awareness? I’ve been facing up to the trauma I buried deep, after the accident in ’84. It is starting to sink in, just how much I had to deal with, in a world that made no fucking sense at all, yet I still could navigate and perform what was required of me. The trauma was all bundled up with an NDE, which likely had a lot to do with the otherworldly feelings. That’s how I got started on this shift – I decided to pursue the psychic abilities I acquired from the NDE, those abilities that I quickly learned to stash away because I was freaking people out. Turns out those abilities are still accessible. But buried with them is a ginormous amount of feelings that were just too overwhelming to allow them out into my daily, mundane existence. Trauma is as fascinating as it is torturous. There is no separating those buried feelings from the psychic stuff. And so I go forward in the company of snails. There is, you see, no hurry at all. I’m not going to go all hyperbolic on you here, k? This is certainly a spiritual endeavor, but the sheer power of trauma revealed to the light is nearly mind-numbing, for several reasons, none of which I will go into. For now I am going to publish this post then begin vibing in to the approaching storm.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

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