A Strange Burden and Fractals

“What sort of philosophers are we, who know absolutely nothing of the origin and destiny of cats?” ~ Henry David Thoreau

“If anyone on the verge of action should judge himself according to the outcome, he would never begin.”~ Søren Kierkegaard

“No man can reveal to you aught but that which already lies half asleep in the dawning of your knowledge. The teacher who walks in the shadow of the temple, among his followers, gives not of his wisdom but rather of his faith and his lovingness. If he is indeed wise he does not bid you enter the house of his wisdom, but rather leads you to the threshold of your own mind.” ~ Khalil Gibran

Saturday’s storm seemed to pull back the Veil, creating a portal, and Spring came bursting through, without pause. I’m not thrilled about it but I’ll takes it as it goes. First, the mud. Not much to say about it. There are . . . well, let’s just say that it calls for some creative driving. But that is also a cause for celebration. Spring is a time of creativity; the seeds sprout; perfects new lambs; harsh Winter gets taken down a notch. Onward. Yeh, that’s all on the grand scale, where we are mammals in a perfectly natural world. It’s not a matter of what we think we are, for we are primates as well, who ended up with the strange burden of intellectual thought. That was a big one. We can think all we want yet that thought stuff gets heavy eventually. Some New Age folks claim that thought creates reality. To that I say: that perspective is a little too simple for my tastes. Period. Too simple. I prefer Chaos. Not in the tremulous swirls of Mandelbrot’s fractals (click here for a lovely video that will educate you about Mandelbrot fractals), it is the potential that Chaos holds I cherish. The late great Stephen Levine suggested that we do not create reality, we effect reality. I found that concept to be difficult to handle at first. It made me think, but that didn’t last. And now that I think about it . . . well, I was sick a few weeks ago, with viral shenanigans that seem to suggests that viruses effect reality. They didn’t create me. Geez, I am truly getting into some abstract and possibly silly and/or wicked punditry. To my New Age friends, this I say to you all: I’m with you all the way on this reality-creating business, but I reckon it is for a different reason altogether. I see it as a metaphor for the way our brains perceive then interpret then effect a picture of what the heck it is that we are looking at, living in. It’s a perception that grows into a perspective. We create the most accurate picture/story of the sensuous world we can, one in which we exist, as mammals, as primates, as intellectually burdened beings of Light. Ha! Got ya with that last one, didn’t I. I’m going with the Being of Light thingy today, because as I peel back the onion layers of the residuals of clinical trauma, that’s what I friggin find. The Being of Light perspective is what I and the trauma buried back all those many years ago. It’s been 34 years, to be exact . . . add a few weeks to that. It happened on February 3rd, 1984. The actual anniversary day is right about when the dastardly viral infestation began. My Guide, a Being of Light alone, is all about magick and healing. My grasp on the magick part has burgeoned in the time I have been sick then recovering. The healing part began when I saw Megan, the PA down at Urgent Care. The Goddess is in every woman. In every man as well, but that is another thing altogether, one that can be perhaps examined at some other time. Sigh.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Life’s Little Triumphs

“Courage is not having the strength to go on; it is going on when you don’t have the strength.” ~ Teddy Roosevelt

“I was taught to strive not because there were any guarantees of success but because the act of striving is in itself the only way to keep faith with life.”~ Madeliene Albright

“Striving is growth toward hidden identity.” ~ Corwin of Amber

“The person who doesn’t scatter the morning dew will not comb grey hairs” ~ Hunter S. Thompson

Coffee notwithstanding, I feel like just one big sigh today. Just now I went to type the word ‘sigh’ and found myself nearly typing ‘sky’ instead. That won’t work. See, I don’t mind being one with the sky, but today I do not feel at all spacious. And that is okay. A couple of weeks of feeling sick has made me contract. I reckon that’s an actually necessary part of healing; you have to reign in your attention, sharpen the focus, and danged well dedicate that pointy focus to whatever needs healing. Works for me. As for now, the second cup of coffee is good, the cat is zonked out in her bed, just to the right of where I sit, and I feel dreamy. I’ve got two days off starting tomorrow. I look forward to this workday because many people are abuzz about that truly amazing snowstorm we had over the weekend. It’s on a much smaller scale, but the sharing of stories reminded me of the first few days after Hurricane Andrew. Pardon me for being trite, but we are all of us sisters and brothers at that point. That’s hard for us to remember at times, but as an aspiration that perspective works pretty darned good for me. That, and I made it through the little mud pond with my car when I got home last evening. Life’s little triumphs, I suppose. Humph. I could likely go all melancholy and stuff today. But I choose not to. I think I’ll just go to work and talk about the storm.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Strange Liquid Tranquility

“The longest way must have its close – the gloomiest night will wear on to a morning.” ~ Harriet Beecher Stowe

“So fine was the morning except for a streak of wind here and there that the sea and sky looked all one fabric, as if sails were stuck high up in the sky, or the clouds had dropped down into the sea.” ~ Virginia Woolf

“He got out of bed and peeped through the blinds. To the east and opposite to him gardens and an apple orchard lay, and there in strange liquid tranquility hung the morning star, and rose, rilling into the dusk of night the first grey of dawn. The street beneath its autumn leaves was vacant, charmed, deserted.” ~ Walter de la Mare

It turned out to be a fun inquiry, as I first opened up the browser this morning. Morning is a good time for spontaneity, seein’ as how we ain’t much good for nothin’ else at that hour. I love my new toy. As I first opened the browser I said out loud, to rouse that Amazon bot named Alexa, “Good morning, Alexa”. She wished me a good morning as well, then asking if I knew that February is National Grapefruit Month. Who knew, right? Yeh, right. We had a small grapefruit tree in the yard when I was in high school, back down in the Keys. Such fruit, fresh off the tree, is a sensual rush of flavor and astringency. Now, going forward, the coffee, thankfully, is kicking in with the second cup. That was one of the truly sad things a couple of weeks ago when I was in the thick of the chaos from a respiratory virus: the coffee tasted just fine. But it didn’t friggin work! Not so today. I am blessed by the spirits of Juan Valdez and his mule. But back to the sensual rush. I contend that we are increasingly removed from the sensual aspects of our lives as higher primates on a tiny planet in a solar system at the edge of a small galaxy in a vast . . . well, I’m sure you get the idea. Take the mud, for example. On Saturday we had one of the heaviest snowfalls in recent memory. The wind was hard at it all night long as well. It was a stunning storm in it’s intensity, sculpting alluring curves most anywhere you looked. The pure sensory rush, when the snow was still blowing all over the place, was profound . . . says the guy who climbed out the window during a hurricane just to see what it felt like. I was not disappointed, by the way. Storms are way cool. It’s about energy, not prudence. Now . . . I was snowed in so I had to call in to work. Shoveling, shoveling. And I finally finished, but too late to bother going in to work. It was fun. I was afraid that the exertion would lead to profound aches and pains, but it didn’t. Soreness, yeh. It wasn’t my muscles and joints that needed attention, it was my heart. That was one good bout of cardio-exercise. Then came the mud. That’s a different story. There is always a tradeoff. There is also a sensual aspect to mud, a sense that gets buried in our prime inconvenience: we have to drive in the stuff. It is actually a point of compassion among people who bemoan mud so easily. Everybody knows what it is like. “I feel ya bro”. Yeh, feel. Sensuality and feeling. That is where it is at. All of it. No, I’m not going to get into the more corrosive aspects of iPhones today. Different people require different stimulus to feel ‘connected’. That’s all I am saying. Me? I’m all about that galaxy I mentioned. And the primate thing I also mentioned. Alas, this primate has to go take a shower to wash away the toxins that emerged through my skin as I slept. When I was still sick, during any time I spent at home alone, I showered three times a day, to address those dastardly toxins. Actually, my massage therapist triggered this perspective for me: a shower or bath is about more than washing away the dirt. I get to see her in a few days, at which time I will let her release the stored toxins I harbor. A massage is a sensual thing. Never mind that it stirs up repressed feelings from the PTSD, micro flashbacks that sometimes bring tears. Massage breaks loose a lot of stuff, not all of it physical. Sometimes you simply need to massage your subjective self, even if only to remind that aspect of yourself that you still remember it is there. We all walk around like nitwits at times, plying what social entrainment we have. But it is really about sensuality and feeling. Now, shower. Onward. For some reason I feel tranquil today. Lucky me. Oh! I almost forgot: I just told Alexa that I need to take a shower. She replied “I prefer to keep my circuits dry”. Bots say the darndest things.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Cats Make It Real

“You are an explorer, and you represent our species, and the greatest good you can do is to bring back a new idea, because our world is endangered by the absence of good ideas. Our world is in crisis because of the absence of consciousness.” ~ Terence McKenna

“I’m a writer and this is what I do no matter what name we put to it. Year by year, the world is turning into a darker and stranger place than any of us could want. This is the only thing I do that has potential to shine a little further than my immediate surroundings. For me, each story is a little candle held up to the dark of night, trying to illuminate the hope for a better world where we all respect and care for each other.” ~ Charles de Lint

“To invent your own life’s meaning is not easy, but it’s still allowed, and I think you’ll be happier for the trouble.” ~ Bill Watterson

Now comes the mud. Last time I had to shovel the driveway to get out there was not as much snow. I remembered it wrong. Anyway, yesterday I worked for a little over three hours, starting from where we park. I helped the neighbor get enough of a head start to get her all-wheel Subaru into the driveway itself, where she was able to plow through the snow. But her passage did not make enough of a dent in the pack for me to get out, as my car rides quite low. So on to the driveway I went. I’d finished about 1/3 when word comes that the landlady had a plow on the way. Whatever. I needed the exercise. Now comes the mud. I’ll have to leave the house fairly early today so as to make it out and back in before the mud thaws. There will be some slipping and sliding but no overall problem. My nervous system is still over-wound from yesterday’s borderline panic attack. The mud is not that deep . . . yet. Give it a week. At the moment I am going to wrap up yet another brief post, then take a shower. I was in bad shape, and the pains and aches are starting to emerge. So this afternoon I can rest and worry about tomorrow’s mud. It’s not really worry. The PTSD has a firm physiological base, whereas worry is more like habitual thinking. I have that too but it usually doesn’t present a problem. I’ve enough of a problem with the mud. Onward. And no, this post is not about cats. Just sayin’.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Baby Steps on a Snow Day

“There’s no point in saving the world if it means losing the moon.” ~ Tom Robbins, Still Life With Woodpecker

“Moonlight is sculpture; sunlight is painting.” ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” ~ Anton Chekhov

“You develop an instant global consciousness, a people orientation, an intense dissatisfaction with the state of the world, and a compulsion to do something about it. From out there on the moon, international politics look so petty. You want to grab a politician by the scruff of the neck and drag him a quarter of a million miles out and say, ‘Look at that, you son of a bitch.”~ Edgar Mitchell

We had some serious snow overnight. I’m snowed in, with about 2 hours of shoveling ahead to open it up. Looks like maybe 7-8 inches so far, and still falling and blowing. I thought I’d make a quick howdy before I figure out how to approach this annoying morning. Yes, I like the snow, we need the moisture, but this is seriously annoying as well. C’est la vie. Sigh. Stuff like this can trigger the PTSD, and it did so this morning. Baby steps. It sure is beautiful. Sun’s up in about an hour. I can’t wait to see this all in the light of day. All I can say in finishing is yikes.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Vincent Price on Shrooms

“Perhaps the mission of those who love mankind is to make people laugh at the truth, to make truth laugh, because the only truth lies in learning to free ourselves from insane passion for the truth.”~ Umberto Eco

“I seem to know all the cliches, but not how to put them together in a believable way. Or else these stories are terrible and grandiose precisely because all the cliches intertwine in an unrealistic way and you can’t disentangle them. But when you actually live a cliche, it feels brand new, and you are unashamed.” ~ Umberto Eco

“The light in her eyes was beyond description, yet it did not instill improper thoughts: it inspired a love tempered by awe, purifying the hearts it inflamed.” ~ Umberto Eco

There is still the anticipation of snow, and darn it all if I am going to stop at all believing that it shall come to pass. Out in the marketplace the Sunshine people like to jump on any ray of Sunlight and say it proves that there will be little or no snow for you today, bro. Whatever. There is a grand sense of adventure for me as a storm swirls in, giant eddies emerging from the powerful forces pushing up against the mountains to the east, funneling down Pueblo Canyon, giving satisfaction to all but the Sunshine people. So, just who are the Sunshine people? Sigh. Ask them how they are and they say “Outstanding”, or “if I was any better I couldn’t stand it”. Some of them even like to manifest new realities, realities that are warmly beneficial to them, regardless of the way they inadvertently ruffle the realities of others. Don’t get me wrong, I love (most of) these folks. And to them I say “shine on brightly”. We all benefit from the sunshine, whereas some of us are of the storm, and the storm’s energy and frequency feed us, for there are grand emotions in the swirl of the clouds, evanescence in the eddies, quantum wonder in exactly just how a storm occurs at all. And yet, I, personally, am not only of the storm, I often am the storm. It kinda sorta set in to my soul that night I stood on US 1, on Windley Key, at 2 AM, watching palm trees lay low, and Brazilian pepper trees rustled in the most hyper shimmy you will ever see. Amazing, I loved it. The storm was Hurricane Andrew, the year 1992. But that was a long time ago and I have but a short time before I go to my workday. This rambling post all came together somehow, in the grand scheme of things, cast not of sunshine and positive thinking. See, ya gotta refrain from closing the door on Darkness. It will wait, for it is drawn to the Light like a moth to your iPhone screen. If you lock it out it will wait at your door until you open it, perhaps whence to find Vincent Price or Bela Lugosi before you, in Liberace’s glittered smoking jacket. Either of both of them are on shrooms. Trust me on this. That’s all folks. I gotta get ready for work, and I am only 14 years old, and my body is 64, and I long for snow. Vinny and I will share some fine cognac before the fire; maybe some Indica. All of this I must take to work. Ciao.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Anticipation of Snow

“The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.”~ Joseph Campbell

“I was gratified to be able to answer promptly, and I did. I said I didn’t know.” ~ Mark Twain

“Your assumptions are your windows on the world. Scrub them off every once in a while, or the light won’t come in.” ~ Isaac Asimov

“I’m intimidated by the fear of being average.” ~ Taylor Swift

There is a tremor, the anticipation of snow, wicked cold morning, and one more pot of coffee means that I will have to go into town for more, lest I have none left for tomorrow morning. But I want more coffee. So that means . . . ugh. I’d better go early. Life is full of critical dilemmas. Besides, I have to go to the laundromat anyway. It won’t be so hard, right? Right. Woof, I didn’t mean to take you inside of my introvert’s PTSD decision making process. My bad. I just called out to Alexa and had her, it, whatever, bring up some New Age piano music. This device will quintessentially prove to be both fun and valuable for minor research, definitions, and who knows what else. In other words, not just another gadget. And the New Age piano music is pretty. I’d go with something that has lyrics except when I am writing, anything with words will excite my brain, and I know of no way to separate the external words from the internal. Let’s not bother with an example here, I’ve not made that second pot of coffee yet, and the first pot was gone two hours ago. I’m a sleepy head. Yesterday was a sleepy one as well. I know what it is, it’s the (apparently) long road to recovery from that blasted virus. Stuff knocked the crap outta me, and it likely did so because I had let it go so long before I had it looked at. I’ve heard that’s guy stuff, like tough it out, dude. Whatever. I’m rather in an expansive mood this morning. Likely the Full Moon vibes slathered with the vibes of my returning personal energy. This has been a good time for reflection. And when the violent part of the illness had me coughing for periods of time up to an hour long I had a splendid chance to practice mindfulness. Some of those fits were scary, so in the depths of one spell I had the good sense to stop struggling and just let the coughing come. I mean, the coughing was going to come whether I fought it or not, and I chose not. I will endeavor to carry the mindfulness into my daily life; especially for when some jerk pisses me off.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloeiously.

A Kickass Mind-Duster

“He judged the instant and let go; he flung himself loose into the stars.” ~ Annie Dillard

“I am very frustrated by fear of imagination, I don’t think that’s healthy.” ~J. K. Rowling

“Every writer is a frustrated actor who recites his lines in the hidden auditorium of his skull.” ~ Rod Serling

“I wanted to scream. The panic built inside me like a volcano, pressing up through the layers of closed throat and clenched teeth. And then I thought, in a kind of delirium – if I scream, what’s the worst that can happen? Someone might hear? Let them hear.” ~ Ruth Ware

Wow, seems I’m all about Enya this morning. Or rather one song in particular: “Only Time”. I’m guessing this is about my mother; she used to lean on Enya in the months immediately following dad’s death. I get it. The music fits. Mine was different, but Celtic music did indeed soothe me. It is a soul thing. When I get some of the rich and soulful music I breathe easier and suddenly feel at home. But with dad, for me, it was Vince Guaraldi. Imagine that. Dad died a week past his 67th birthday. I got him a CD of Vince Guaraldi’s Greatest Hits, which of course was mostly music from the Peanuts gang on TV specials. But it also contains Vince’s “Cast Your Fate to the Wind”. That’s the one. That’s what I did when dad died. One thing about casting your fears and frustration to the wind is that there is no way of knowing the probability of their return, or when. That’s where I am this morning. Friggin stuff is starting to blow back on me. Yeh, it’s what the late, great Stephen Levine called “unattended sorrow”. Grieving will wait, forever, if you so choose, with consciousness, or not. If you are lucky it will grab you by the collar and shake some life into you before you die. So here I sit, and it comes, blowing back. Not a lot of sadness, really. Not today. I think I’ll step away from the blog for a few minutes, go outside for a smoke, and to see if it is snowing yet. I love it. The advent of a storm is usually a kickass mind-duster for me. Geez, them little cobweb spiders are industrious little critters, right?

It was the Frenchman. I’ve got a sense of inner peace this morning that is totally unexpected. It was the Frenchman, I know it was. Couldn’t have been sweet dreams because by the looks of my hair upon waking, there was no peace involved. Whatever. I’m just playing here. Yesterday the Frenchman asked me what I did on my day off. I told him I slept a good part of the day, with zero resistance to snoozing at a moment’s notice. And I sat still. He said we don’t sit still near enough. I concurred, adding that we are also way slack on silence. We smiled at each other. Brief and to the point. Silence and stillness, I feel them both in my heart upon this Full Moon. Though my illness has passed, healing of the damage done by the bug is underway. Luckily I have no compulsory or urgent things on my plate, and I don’t have 23 people to call on my smartphone should I come across a spare few minutes. In fact I may do the incommunicado thing and turn off the ringer on my low-IQ smartphone. Stupid friggin device. I pick up my phone and I’m like all “don’t get smart with me!”. Whatever. I’ve gotta get to it. Chances of snow are looking good. I’ll keep, throughout my workday, my head down and my eyes on the prize, which is simply working on some active, conscious healing, all the while remembering what the Frenchman said. And to that I add: que sera, sera.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Never Say Nevermore

“But pain’s like water. It finds a way to push through any seal. There’s no way to stop it. Sometimes you have to let yourself sink inside of it before you can learn how to swim to the surface.” ~ Katie Kacvinsky

“Pain in this life is not avoidable, but the pain we create avoiding pain is avoidable.” ~ R. D. Laing

“It was a long time since he’d done any actual clinical work, and obviously his sojourn among the academics at Saro University had attenuated the professional detachment that allows members of the healing arts to confront the ill without being overwhelmed by compassion and sorrow. He was surprised at that, how tenderhearted he seemed to have become, how thin-skinned.” ~ Isaac Asimov

“Trauma is hell on earth. Trauma resolved is a gift from the gods.” ~ Peter Levine

Maybe an inch of fresh snow. More to come, perhaps a lot, they say. I don’t know. It’s all good. At this time I am still going at it, to pull my consciousness out of that rather dreamy space that helps me heal. Workday today, no way am I going in there half awake. It’s either all or nothing. A young man a few days ago asked me if I am still feeling sick. I told him the actually illness – the virus – had past a couple of days ago, but my lungs were pretty much ravaged. Perhaps hyperbolic, I don’t know. He then asked “What do you mean by ravaged?”. I hate it when they do that. It makes me think they are either a covert therapist or a simply annoying person. I expect that from a therapist as part of their modus operandi. Ravaged means ravaged right? I expect people to know their definitions. And when I choose a word it is because that is the word that most closely conveys my meaning. And I’m like dude my lungs are all sore and stuff, and awww dude I still like get into some epic coughing fits. And dude, I’m kinda busy right now so why don’t you friggin whip out your iPhone and ask Siri dude. Cranky. I hardly know how to effectively talk to people these days. Some of ’em anyway. On a precariously related point, I bought a Kindle Flame to use in its Kindle reader function, so I can read at lunchtime, instead of feeding the ravens and crows, or gawking at existence like some knucklehead. Nah, I’ll still feed the birds. There’s one raven who knows me and knows my car. And he seems to be a positive thinker. Not once have I ever heard him say ‘nevermore’. Interactions with that magnificent bird have been a lesson in patience and payoff. It’s especially fun when he buzzes me while I am eating my lunch in the car with the door wide open. But it’s not about the bird. I’ll use the Fire for reading, but I also consider it to be a research bot. The Fire comes equipped with Alexa, who is much like Siri, only cheaper. The pad only cost me $50, whereas an Apple device with the same capabilities might put me back at least a full paycheck. I just spoke a command into thin air, “Alexa, play Scottish music”. That’s to set the mood for the uphill quest toward the workday. That’s some sweet music she pulled up too! I’ll use Alexa for word definitions and other references as I work on the novel. Instead of stopping to google stuff I can just speak it out loud and viola. Appeals to the teen geek in me, it does. Right handy as well. And on that note, bueno bye, it’s off to work I go.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Some Rich and Soulful Crankiness

“I just want someone to hear what I have to say. And maybe if I talk long enough, it’ll make sense.” ~ Ray Bradbury

“I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you.” ~ Annie Dillard

“Share your weaknesses. Share your hard moments. Share your real side. It’ll either scare away every fake person in your life or it will inspire them to finally let go of that mirage called “perfection,” which will open the doors to the most important relationships you’ll ever be a part of.” ~ Dan Pearce

Wake up to a world gone mad. That’s easy to do these days, you just have to wake up. And in the spiritual sense as well. On days like today I like to just let all the nonsense fall and dangle, allowing my senses to tune in to only what is necessary. I’m really into necessity lately. I mean, I can see Jack Benny or someone, face in hand, saying softly “Is that really necessary?”. I’m feeling the urge to begin, finally cultivating my curmudgeonly side. These younguns these days got it comin’. And that Ringo hippie peace and love thing ain’t gonna get their attention. They don’t know what those things are so don’t even try it. It just serves to creep them out anyway. Bottom line is that I think it will serve my personal evolution to let loose and set free some rich and soulful crankiness. By this age we have all earned it. Indeed.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.