Something That Big

“Few of us would regret the years it takes to complete an education or master a crucial skill. So why complain about the perseverance needed to become a well-balanced and truly compassionate human being?” ~ Matthieu Ricard

“So instead of giving in to despair I chose active melancholy, in so far as I was capable of activity, in other words I chose the kind of melancholy that hopes, that strives and that seeks, in preference to the melancholy that despairs numbly and in distress.” ~ Vincent Van Gogh

“My courage and my resolution is firm; but my hopes fluctuate, and my spirits are often depressed.”  ~ Mary Shelley

Just about right on schedule I have grown weary of Winter, which means that though my love of Winter does not abate, it is simply no longer anywhere near as refreshing as it was at Winter’s advent. Happens the same time every year. This is the point where true perseverance kicks in. It’s like, “You mean I have to go out there at sunrise again?!“. The air has teeth. On my days off I won’t go out until the temperature gets into the mid-20s. On the finest of days I don’t have to go out at all, which doesn’t mean I won’t go out; just not until later. Another thing that happens this time of year is that thoughts and feelings of mortality come to call. I get them on occasion throughout the year, but this time of year they predominate. February 3rd will be the 35th anniversary of my bicycle accident/ head trauma/ NDE. That never grows old, and it does not respond to perseverance in any detectable way. It’s not that these thoughts and feelings are in any way mandatory. Something that big just won’t let itself be forgotten. No way, no how. And how. Anyway, going forward, it is 3º out there, so I’d best get an early start on the ablutions and such. Just the fact that I used the word “ablution” probably means I should quit writing for today anyway. But I did look up the word and found that it is “often used for humorously formal effect”. Hmmph, for me anything at all formal is pretty darned funny. Whatever. It all comes out in the wash.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Gershwin and Foghorn Leghorn

“No sound, once made, is ever truly lost. In electric clouds, all are safely trapped, and with a touch, if we find them, we can recapture those echoes of sad, forgotten wars, long summers, and sweet autumns.”  ~ Ray Bradbury

“She noted, more than once, that the meteor shower was happening, beyond the overcast sky, even if we could not see it. Who cares if she can kiss? She can see through the clouds.”  ~ John Green, Turtles All the Way Down

“The sky, drunk with spring and giddy with its fumes, thickened with clouds. Low clouds, drooping at the edges like felt sailed over the woods and rain leapt from them, warm, smelling of soil and sweat, and washing the last of the black armor-plating of ice from the earth.”  ~ Boris Pasternak

Only a few minutes to spare here. This time it wasn’t confounding grunts and huffles from the preznit (a term taken from Firesign Theater’s “We’re All Bozos on the Bus”). Hey what do ya call it when the preznit says something witty? Preznit wit. Doh! At the moment I am listening to Rhapsody in Blue, by George Gershwin, on Youtube, clipped from Fantasia 2000. It just happened; I was shopping on Amazon then suddenly I was watching cartoons on Youtube; that’s why I started writing late, having dawdled.. The modern data driven world is friggin weird! It was, however, a joy to see Foghorn Leghorn again. I didn’t quite get to Bullwinkle but there’s always after work. Speaking of which, I really gotta go. Bueno bye.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Trick of the Light

“Ring the bells that still can ring 
Forget your perfect offering 
There is a crack in everything 
That’s how the light gets in.”  ~ Leonard Cohen

“We went down into the silent garden. Dawn is the time when nothing breathes, the hour of silence. Everything is transfixed, only the light moves.”  ~ Leonora Carrington

“People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own souls. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.”  ~ Carl Jung

Here’s a weird thing. I started writing by violating my own formatting protocol, by first choosing a title, and now the text. Formatting almost always begins with choosing a photo from the vast library (12,000+) of photos in my vaults. Aperture photo software actually refers to the deeper archives as “vaults”. I sometimes feel creeped out when I dally with “The Vaults”, like maybe friggin Vincent Price is going to come out pontificating darkly like a nitwit or something when I open the door, and the hinges creek, and cobwebs stretch out and pull loose from the door, and an ominous cathedral organ chord echoes from below, reaching up through the dark stairwell that descends from the doorway. But since this is my own vivid imagination at play I think I will make it Harry Potter instead of Indiana Jones. So Vincent Price becomes Snapes instead. In fact I can see Vince in that role. Anyway . . . moving right along . . . after choosing a photo, then doing any kind of creative re-formatting I care to do, I paste it on the composition screen then move along to find some good quotes. The quote search has become a morning’s pleasure, through stretching my brain out every which way. So much of how we perceive reality is merely filtered through language. Reading quotes in the morning provides me with the perceptions of others, and the way they use language reminds me that I ain’t the only one. This all stretches out my brain, mind, whatever. That’s about as structured as my process gets. This morning I’m not going to write what I am going to write, which is to say that I have some semblance of a theme for the post but I ain’t got the focus and the drive to follow through. I’m thinking of Light and Darkness and how they interact. All it really takes to reach deep into the issue is to sit still and pay attention to what is going on around me. And all of this just to feed my intellect. That’s a hungry guest, to say the least. But listen, all of this is really just a trick of the Light. When I first sat outside this morning I was gazing out at the stars and their habitat. At one point I thoughtlessly took off my glasses, then thinking that these photons have travelled a billion light years to get here, and what business is it of mine to mess with them right before they enter my eyes. I took my glasses off to keep it all organic. Sigh. Trick of the Light, all of it, says me. I’ll keep that in mind as I sit outside at the laundromat, waiting for the wash and rise and dry cycles to follow through, later this morning. Sometimes ya jest gotta clean it up a tad.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Mindfulness Before Coffee

“Meditation has nothing to do with achieving a result. It is not a matter of breathing in a particular way, or looking at your nose, or awakening the power to perform certain tricks, or any of the rest of that immature nonsense. Meditation is not something apart from life. When you are driving a car or sitting in a bus, when you are chatting aimlessly, when you are walking by yourself in a wood or watching a butterfly being carried along by the wind—to be choicelessly aware of all that is part of meditation.”  ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti

“The vague, living countryside, the moon, the remains of the day did their work in me; so did the gently downward road, which forestalled all possibility of weariness. The evening was near, yet infinite.”  ~ Jorge Luis Borges

“He sat watching what went forward with the quiet outward glance of healthy old age.”  ~ George Elliot

Sunday morning once again. The Sun crested the mountains round about 7:45 AM. Here I sit with aches and pains that I have to this point successfully kept under mindful palliation. Getting out of bed, however, was a different story – there was a lot of guttural stuff going on. Luckily I find that stuff humorous! We are definitely in the thick of winter here. Snow gone crunchy, to various degrees, depending on where you are. Air at the freezing point come peak heat in the afternoon, after which the temperatures have been plummeting hastily about 30 minutes before sunset. Single digits overnight. I’m kinda sorta over the deep cold stuff, but whatcha gonna do, right? Say, what’s up with Mr. Chatty here, have I nothing to say? You could say that. But here’s the thing. I always spend Sundays in a fairly sweet melancholy vibe, but sometimes it goes on into true depression. Today is one of those days, so I have been mindful, even before I began drinking my coffee. It almost takes chutzpah to do that. And I keep reminding myself that all is well, nothing is up, and peace be with you, child, for wonder is the stuff of the world, stuff from which beauty and truth may emerge. Boy howdy that sounds just about right, dude.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Brain Like a Sponge

“They ran their heads very hard against wrong ideas, and persisted in trying to fit the circumstances to the ideas instead of trying to extract ideas from the circumstances.” ~ Charles Dickens

“We are all failures- at least the best of us are.”  ~ J. M. Barrie

“To each there comes in their lifetime a special moment when they are figuratively tapped on the shoulder and offered the chance to do a very special thing, unique to them and fitted to their talents. What a tragedy if that moment finds them unprepared or unqualified for that which could have been their finest hour.”  ~ Winston Churchill

“For a seer, I was remarkably obtuse.” ~ Geraldine Brooks

Mmmm, coffee. And the early morning creature comforts are just right – the coffee in the cup on my desk and the creature laying on my lap. The outside air is vividly cold, hanging tight around 10º. The night sky black and clear; Moon bright and softly singing a silent song. That’s where my heart is at today, in the flow of a mysterious melody flowing forth from the Moon. To the east it’s Jupiter and Venus in a sweet pas de deux. All things considered, it is a good day. That where my heart is at. My head, however, is only partially there. Dag nab it I gotta go to work. As per usual I come here to flex my writer’s chops for a bit before I have a shower. Lately the writer stuff is being drawn toward the novel. It is dawning on me what a big task it is, and exactly how prepared am I for the task. I’ve got a fair amount of reading to do before too long. What I want to do is to read some respectable writers commenting on what it takes to write a novel, or how it feels. Not “what to do” or “how to”. I’m pretty sure it was Ray Bradbury who called his brain a sponge. He would soak up as much information as possible then squeeze it to see what comes out. I like the idea of squeezing my brain. Writing the novel is going to be fun. It already is fun. But it is hard work. I suppose it is alright to work hard as long as you don’t makes hard work out of it. Ciao.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Case of the Giggling Anima

“Our life is composed of events and states of mind. How you appraise our life from our deathbed will be predicated not only on what came to us in life but how we lived with it. It will not be simply illness or health, riches or poverty, good luck or bad, which ultimately define whether we believe we have had a good life or not, but the quality of our relationship to these situations: the attitudes of our states of mind.” ~ Stephen Levine

“If your mind is expansive and unfettered, you will find yourself in a more accommodating world, a place that’s endlessly interesting and alive. That quality isn’t inherent in the place but in your state of mind.” ~  Pema Chödrön

No, it’s not my state of mind, this is just a weird morning. Right before I started typing I read an article about an infestation of white rats in a small Italian village. The name of the village translates to “Little cat”. The rats don’t stand a chance. This following the news that Roger Stone has been arrested in Ft. Lauderdale. Was he there on Spring Break? Will this be the president’s breaking point? Stayed tuned. I’m enjoying this. Stone is a white rat in his own right. Just sayin’. And me, I’m coming off of a therapy session in which we got into my perception of the polarity within the Divine Feminine Archetype, and other related things like how does this play out as far as my anima is concerned. I had a couple of encounters last week that illustrated the polarity. A synchronicity connected the two encounters. Rather boring details will not be pursued. Suffice it to say that these issues are intimately connected to my PTSD, and that it is only days away from the anniversary of my encounter with the Divine Feminine, which seemed to be the real deal, not just a representation of the Being of Light. Hmmmm, She just giggled when I wrote that last sentence. It’s one of the perks of having made her acquaintance, she’s got a refreshing sense of humor. You could almost say that I live for her giggles. The day I made her acquaintance is also the day the PTSD was born, crystalizing into existence in the form of the monster that it so truly is. I don’t know. It gets complicated. And this is one of those days where it all gets way too big for me to wrap my head around so I don’t feel much obliged to wrap my head around much of anything at all. This is not indifference on my part. It’s just nice to know that the gods are busy, at work and at play with levels of reality that need not my immediate attention. That frees up a guy in quite a good way. Onward.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Articulated Mumbles

“Embrace the weather, child, and you’ll understand the balance of the world.”  ~ Dean Koontz

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

“You must let what happens happen. Everything must be equal in your eyes, good and evil, beautiful and ugly, foolish and wise.”  ~ Michael Ende

In the beginning it should be duly noted that I wish to be comfortably numbed and entertained throughout the full course of this coming day. Is that too much to ask? Not that it will happen that way. I should point out that this sentiment started out as a perfectly good visualization, all perky and profound and stuff, then devolved into something that sounds like a stoner’s creed. Whatever. Dude I like can’t be bothered dude. It is what it is. But it also ain’t what it seems it ain’t. If you know what I mean. I certainly don’t. But back to the comfortably numbed and entertained thing . . . I don’t know where I was going with that. Too sleepy to know too much this morning. There’s yer comfortably numbed right there. Responsibilities and oughttas are few so entertainment is a good possibility. It is what it is. Que sera sera. Think of this post as simply articulated mumbles.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Must Be the Cold

“Almost nothing important that ever happens to you happens because you engineer it. Destiny has no beeper; destiny always leans trenchcoated out of an alley with some sort of ‘psst’ that you usually can’t even hear because you’re in such a rush to or from something important you’ve tried to engineer. ” ~ David FosterWallace

“I am, somehow, less interested in the weight and convolutions of Einstein’s brain than in the near certainty that people of equal talent have lived and died in cotton fields and sweatshops.” ~ Stephen Jay Gould

“All the possibilities of your human destiny are asleep in your soul. You are here to realize and honor these possibilities. When love comes in to your life, unrecognized dimensions of your destiny awaken and blossom and grow. Possibility is the secret heart of time.” ~ John O’Donohue

For a while at first I couldn’t get warm. The outside air felt harsher than usual, the inside air felt needy and greedy, willing to take on any spare heat, yet unwilling to give any back. Air with an attitude? Apparently so. Also apparent is that as I slowly garnered fresh adaptation to the waking state I came to realize that perhaps the aggressive chill was not so much me after all. I clicked a few and pulled up the weather site. Yep, eight degrees above zero. Silly me, the reason for the aggressive chill is that it is friggin cold outside! But it wasn’t the cold that woke me up. It was the cat, poking at my face. She hasn’t done that in a long time. It was kinda cute and refreshing, and because I’ve had plenty of sleep overnight the cat’s gesture did not piss me off. Yeh, all this mundane stuff is about all I have this morning. It’s been a bad 24 hours; stomach cramps and significant pain, and a severe bitter taste in my mouth. I finally left work early and slept for most of the next 15 hours. As to what actually caused the pain? Whatever. I can’t be bothered with that because it just feels kinda buggy, that’s all, k? Geez, I feel kinda cranky. Must be the cold, right?

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Whispers in Time Swirls

“It is very strange that the years teach us patience – that the shorter our time, the greater our capacity for waiting.”  ~ Elizabeth Taylor

“I think that love is stronger than habits or circumstances. I think it is possible to keep yourself for someone for a long time, and still remember why you were waiting when she comes at last. I would enter your sleep if I could, and guard you there, and slay the thing that hounds you, as I would if it had the courage to face me in fair daylight. But I cannot come in unless you dream of me.”  ~ Peter S. Beagle

“Truth is the offspring of silence and meditation. I keep the subject constantly before me and wait ’til the first dawnings open slowly, by little and little, into a full and clear light.”  ~ Isaac Newton

Dark Magic starts the day. It’s the coffee, it’s the brand name of the coffee. I made it just right. How weird do you think it is that I very often think of my ex-wife while setting up the coffee pot for the morning brew? There’s no hard feelings there. Not at this point and place in time. We got on quite well with each other. I’d have liked to have gotten to know her better. I know now what the deal was, I wasn’t exciting enough for her. She turned me on to quality dark roast coffee, made ultra-strong, always through a Melita cone filter. Shannon would shudder at the coffee pot I have now. Of course there are other things about me now that would also make her shudder. Still, I would love to see her again. That’s where my head is at this morning: navigating a few time swirls that haunt the morning. My father rarely comes around but he did this morning, just after 3 AM, as I sat outside in the cold, air just below freezing. Ancestors are always within reach. The Moon just passed her fullest phase. I hear there was a fancy dance the orb did, she in her red gown. I missed it but slept well. At her fullest, the Moon draws back the Veil, making it easier for all of us, corporeal or not, to reach through and touch across the great divide. Such outreach is what, in my estimation, creates the time swirls, when you can catch whispers from the past as well as from the future. Today it is my father and my ex-wife coming through. Dad died 20 years ago, and I reckon Shannon is still alive. But I’m not sensing any significant meaning here. And I’m not too clear on any whispers from the future. I can put on my oracle hat and see a smile that also winks. She will come along soon enough. That’s the best I’ve got as far as positive thinking goes. But I just want to step outside of time and head back east, to the eastern piedmont of the Berkshires. My best friend, soulmate, Twin Flame, lives there. We would sit in her kitchen and have tea, sparking up a Marley spliff somewhere along the way. When she and I get high together there is always way deep talk, but there is also laughter to tears. We are both comically inclined: she sarcastic, me iconoclastic and cynical. Yes, when high, we often laugh to tears. And she’s a witch as well; natural born, not out of some book or something. It goes way back through her matrilineal flow. The magic there would likely cast you in a stunning light, should you be so fortunate. So, anyway, Sharon and I would get high over proper English tea, then head out to Browning Pond for a casual walk in, through, whatever, the Thoreau continuum. See, Sharon was born in London to an American father. Sometimes when out on the trail around Browning Pond you are gifted with the tolling of the bell from Saint Joseph’s Abbey, which is just up the Seven Mile River from Browning Pond. I’d like to do that but it ain’t happenin’. I know she can feel me as I write about her. I love her and have for a million years. It’s that kind of relationship, just outside of time, where just knowing she is alive gives me a deep unspeakable feeling of okay-ness. I’ll hold on to that feeling as I go to work, get the work done, then . . . nah, them whispers from the future just ain’t too clear. No worries.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Air and Ale

“I do my best thinking at night when everyone else is sleeping. No interruptions. No noise. I like the feeling of being awake when no one else is.” ~ Jennifer Niven

“The law of evolution is that the strongest survives!’ ‘Yes, and the strongest, in the existence of any social species, are those who are most social. In human terms, most ethical…There is no strength to be gained from hurting one another. Only weakness.” ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

“The secret of the mountain is that the mountains simply exist, as I do myself: the mountains exist simply, which I do not. The mountains have no “meaning,” they are meaning; the mountains are. The sun is round. I ring with life, and the mountains ring, and when I can hear it, there is a ringing that we share. I understand all this, not in my mind but in my heart, knowing how meaningless it is to try to capture what cannot be expressed, knowing that mere words will remain when I read it all again, another day.” ~ Peter Matthiessen

There’s been a moonset, as good as it gets. Tight ring with almost colors. Crystalline halo. Sliding so delicately down to the horizon, then gone. I haven’t checked the metaphysical meanings here but the moonset . . . well, that was the show. I’m not sure I can get into metaphysical meanings today. My brain seems somewhat indisposed for such musings. Lighter things must prevail. Of course I could go the YouTube route and just veg on videos for a couple of hours. Lightworkers, Illuminati, UFOs, ghosts, Taylor Swift. Not gonna happen. Welllll, maybe. We’ll see. The major flow for me today is a wave of nurturance. Goddess stuff. Get comfy. Encourage the lap cat. Rub her just so behind the right ear to get that purr revved up real good. I reckon that should about do it. Yeh, Netflix. Food, water, air, and ale. Creature comforts, conducive to healthy regard for little things in life that can be considered at length with no chance of obsession. Yeh, the smile from a particular particularly pretty woman yesterday gave me an early morning lift. Goddess stuff. It is, after all, Sunday. The Veil is thin from the Full Moon. Said Veil will return to thinness come Groundhog’s Day, which was originally Imbolc, in the neopagan. It’s a special time for me in that I kinda sorta died on a February 3rd, so long ago. That anniversary always touches me in translingual ways. 34 years now. Maybe it is the PTSD that makes it all feel so present, as if it happened just yesterday, or maybe even today. It’s all rich and stuff to consider the gravity of it all. But not today. Today features that smile I just mentioned. Heck, I might even have some popcorn as well. I don’t know. It is just a simple day. And that’s good, right? Boy howdy is it ever!

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.