Washing Off Consequences

“We spend January 1st walking through our lives, room by room, drawing up a list of work to be done, cracks to be patched. Maybe this year, to balance the list, we ought to walk through the rooms of our lives…not looking for flaws, but for potential.” ~ Ellen Goodman

So that’s my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody’s ever made before. Don’t freeze, don’t stop, don’t worry that it isn’t good enough, or it isn’t perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life. ~ Neil Gaiman

Sleepy head, wake up. My body says no, my brain says no, my soul says make up your mind. It’s wicked cold out — again. Hibernation sounds pretty good. Alas, tis a workday. Half day for New Years Eve, which means I can take a nap before bedtime, then maybe — maybe — stay up somewhat late. We shall see. I’m just not into the end of year/end of decade thing this year. The dullness of emerging depression is nipping at my heels. Recognizing that depression is starting to emerge is a good tool for management of the emerging beast. Whatever. I’ll deal with that tomorrow and the next day. I know that this bout of depression has been cycling in and out. Meanwhile . . . totally off the cuff . . . I just realized that people who say that national borders are arbitrary human constructs will also wish you a happy New Year. Just sayin. Physicist Stephen Hawking pointed out that people who believe in Fate will still look both ways before crossing the street. Some things are simply unavoidable. And feelings. What about that? Well, I feel cranky. And I feel angry. And I feel Love. The anger is easy — depression is “anger turned inward”. If you’re going to knock down depression you will unavoidably have to deal with what’s underneath. Life is full of undercurrents, and consequences. Now, moving forward . . . I’m sorely tempting to find a metaphor in all of this and run with it, so I’d best wrap it up and take my shower a little early — like, ya know, wash off some of these consequences.

All is well. Goof gloriously.

Tears of Joy and Sorrow

An except from my book, “Theater of Clouds”:

The trauma of the bicycle crash itself is lost to me. One moment I was looking at the red globe of the sun, and the next moment I was flying into the sun. The speed was tremendous yet I felt it to be a comfortable pace. I felt no anxiety nor anything else but some wondrous version of peace. It seemed to be a totally natural thing to fly into the sun. As I approached the orb there was no burning sensation and no urge to quit moving.

The flight took me not into the sun, but through it. It was gone in a flash of violet light. Then all light left me as pure blackness became all there was. This was a strangely comforting place in which I felt fear as something which was mine, yet it was somewhere distant from me. I could not touch it. What I could feel was nothing. My sense of self was not lost. Instead, it was like the fear, totally and truly mine, yet untouchable, in the distance.

It seemed forever, but there came a moment when I felt a flicker of ambition. Somehow I had to break free of the nothingness, emerge from the black space, by reconstructing my own world anew. But where to start?

Music! There was no sound so there could be no music. Something had happened and I would miss the Kenny Rankin concert. In my love for the man’s music there lay a seed which served to spark ambition in that dark place. The first Kenny Rankin song I ever heard was Like a Seed. Those lyrics began, “there’s a feeling that’s lying here sleeping, like a seed in the earth”. Another song that left an impression was Silver Morning: “I am walking through the silver morning. And I feel the music inside me”. Somehow, with that accident, my whole world simply ceased to exist. Music had been on my mind at the moment of impact, when my world disappeared. The desire to hear the music served to rally me from a perception of nothingness. But that desire did not bring music right away. It did not bring music, but it brought sound to me.

So many questions arise. How can there be fear with no fear? Feeling with no feeling? If my self was in the distance and untouchable, what was my immediate perception? I have no answers to any of these questions, or other questions like them. The paradoxes that emerged are an essential part of the whole experience. I have learned to accept them with what the late Terence McKenna called, “a radical openness to ambiguity and the unknown”. The strangeness of the sound that came to me was rife with that same ambiguity.

It was the sound of running water, coming from some distant place, yet enfolding me in its rhythms and tones, like some peculiar dance between intimacy and identity. As I listened to the sound of water an image of the place began to form. Maybe it was the echoes and the overtones of the sound that convinced me that I must be in a cave of sorts. It was a grotto which was sealed against the light. Now able to perceive the grotto without actually being able to see it, I became troubled by the lack of vision. With effort, it was possible to see, but what I could see was both present and not there at all. This was tiring so I let it go.

Layered atop the all-encompassing sound, a sense of motion returned to me, like a layer of shellac applied to a crude foundation. Great velocity came with that motion, as another layer. These layers were notes being added to a growing chord. This was not a grotto at all. It was a tunnel and the sound of running water was an indication that the tunnel led somewhere.

The sense of flying returned to me – down, down – into some darker place where I might find the fear waiting for me. Where I might find my lost self waiting for me. But the actual movement was upward, not down. Going down would have saved me from worries of strangeness and things unknown. I could sense that a choice was offered, something about safety and familiar things. That’s when the light appeared. When it appeared, the choice disappeared. Yet there was no time for worries, because there was no time at all. I was poised at some kind of balancing point, where occurrence and existence were also poised, waiting. But the light pulled me in as if that was where I belonged. Its brilliance was overwhelming, a blueness, swarming with power. The blueness became the sky.

Still flying, I emerged from that dark place into a strange valley. Colors and sounds were what made the valley so strange. The colors seemed to be as essentially important as the forms. Instead of being a quality of the surfaces, the color arose from deep within the features of the valley. Light itself bore these colors to the surface, for the light itself suffused everything I could see. The sounds were much the same. Everything I could see seemed to depend on the sounds. What had been the sound of running water was now much more.

I saw that the water was running as a river through this valley. It’s course meandered a bit, but it generally cut straight through the scene below me, down the center into the distance. To both sides were magnificent mountains. They angled sharply up from the valley floor, almost like the walls of a gorge. Their color amazed me, deep, rich redness like burgundy wine – crystalline masses, teasing, as if one could truly gaze into their depths. All between these two walls of mountains, the valley floor was slightly rolling with hills, emblazoned with a greenness that rivaled the blueness of the sky in its brilliance. I felt that everything was alive and joined together in song, and that song was sung by voices which cut through the roaring sounds of the wind that enveloped me as I flew. Maybe it was a welcoming song, or maybe a simple expression of the place itself.

I was passing through, toward a destination beyond all of that. It was visible in the distance, sitting right in the center of the valley. Somehow, I felt it was too far away, yet my velocity of flight betrayed that feeling as I flew on. The valley itself was too far away, as was the sound. Everything that I could see and hear seemed to be emerging from some impossible source, yet it was already here. The distance I felt was some strange kind of value, for it was only silence and nothingness I carried with me. The rest of this wondrous place was, by its very existence, a brilliant mockery of an unwilling traveler. Where the mountains, the river, and the sky all converged in the distance, there sat a spot of brilliance. Light emanated from that spot, yet did not illumine the surroundings, for they had light of their own. That this spot was brighter by far than all else within my field of vision indicated that this was my destination. It appeared to be a domelike thing, though I could not truly call it a structure. Whatever it was, it was most certainly summoning me. Once my sight focused on the dome, I could not look away. The valley snapped out of view. I had been pushed into this experience and now I was drawn into the light.

Fear could easily have overcome me at that point, but my feelings began to accelerate as I came to a stop at the threshold of the light. The field of color before me shifted fiercely from white to yellow and back, with whispers of other colors as well. The motion within the light was so intense that it soon had me lulled into acceptance. I felt welcome there. My strong desire to cling to panic went to calm. When the panic failed I was able to enter the light.

A sense of supreme intimacy was my first sensation upon entry. However immense the place seemed to be, it felt small and exquisitely personal. I definitely felt I was inside of something, and the intimacy of the space was emanating from the woman who met me there. She was not flesh and blood. At first sight she was simply a swarm of energy, brilliant light as the dome itself was, shifting at such great speed that it enchanted me to stillness. I truly wanted to see her as an angel, but the sensations that she embodied, and the feelings that arose in me from her presence, told me that “angel” was an incomplete and inadequate label. This woman was magnificence manifested for my needs. She was also, quite simply, human.

No words were spoken. When communications began it was almost as if the feelings we both already had were somehow becoming more dense for the purpose of connection and interaction. She was quite concerned about me. But she was not afraid. There was a tone of faith in my abilities and well-being which is, to this day, impossible to understand. I can only say that it felt as if my very existence was dependent on her belief, that her faith was a source, without which I simply would not be anywhere at all. An intense blue aura appeared around her as I came to see that I had become agitated to the point of fatigue. It was quite clear that this was not solely from this strange journey. The fatigue was an ongoing thing which I had carried with me to this celestial place, as a security measure. Another thing that became very clear was the choice she offered me. I could go back or stay there. And there was a powerful sense of levity in her admonition that I should go back.

No way did I want to go back! A mood like a whiny adolescent protested going back. It was too far. I was just too tired to go anywhere, and too far away from home to even know where or how to start such a journey. But I did not plead. Her radiant humor reached out to me and held me in place. This is where it all became dreamlike.

Following on the energy of her extended, shimmering humor I saw her hands coming my way. Now the place looked immense. I had been so certain that she was right there beside me that I was shocked to suddenly see her at such a distance. Her arms stretched to accommodate the great distance. Those arms stretched and the hands reached my face. Those thumbs came to rest at the corners of my jawbone, and her fingers lightly dug into the sides of my neck. An overpowering wave of ecstasy burned all traces of tension from my being. Then more came through those arms. It was sheer, unbridled power which originated within her and flowed my way through her arms. As the power flooded into me it became information.

I gave her a rough go of it. With a wall of tension that could stop a hurricane in its tracks, I had resisted her from the first moment she called me forth. So it had become necessary for her to push me as well, to force movement. This troubled her deeply. Once the summons had been set into motion it had to be completed, and I fought her every step of the way. Because of the strength of our connection, I had been able to draw from her own power; to use it against her in a fight to resist the disruption of my secure, tense little life. I had failed because she needed to see it through. She needed me to let go of my tension. The touch of her hands against my neck had secured that goal and fulfilled that need. Upon relaxation I understood all of that in a flash. There was much more in that flash of clarity, including the call to write this book. That done, the information burned into my very soul, it was then time to return to my earthly life.

She took my hand and we both took to flight. This time the feel of the air and the overall view of the valley were even more intense than my arrival had shown, the colors deeper, and the air was alive with an energy of its own. A swift change came over it all as we flew back. All of the colors shifted into a vivid field of violet light, yet the features of the valley were still visible as inexplicable variations in contrast. This was a place I could have stayed for eternity, a place of abstractions so strange that it was a comfort to be there with a friend’s hand in mine, far from any familiar world I could imagine. But my return to my body was mandated by my own choice.

The transition point came when I realized I was back in the flesh again. I cannot expand nor embellish what was written about this in chapter one, except to say that the experience of looking down at myself and simultaneously looking back up at myself was a monumental effect. Tears of joy and tears of sorrow blended together without sacrificing their essences I had come back to life yet had never lost my life. The Lady in White had been a harbinger of death and now she was a fiercely dedicated proponent of life. Somehow, for some reason, it had been necessary for me to journey to a realm that was hers yet was also explicitly mine, to find her in a way that would allow us a conscious connection. I still lose the connection at times. When the clouds roll in and wrap my head in a swaddling of forgetfulness, the connection goes, but it is not gone.

The Good Snow Day

“If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.” ~ E. B. White

“I think God, in creating man, somewhat overestimated his ability.” ~ Oscar Wilde

“Disbelief in magic can force a poor soul into believing in government and business” ~ Tom Robbins

“Yes, reason has been a part of organized religion, ever since two nudists took dietary advice from a talking snake.” ~ Jon Stewart

It’s starting to look like movement is an impossible priority this morning. So far, spacing out has been my most productive expression, but there is no one here but the cat, so . . . whatever. Corwin of Amber, the protagonist in Roger Zelazny’s brilliant “Amber Chronicles”, once said that the most progress can sometimes be made by going in circles. Copy that, good buddy. If this is true I will go far, figuratively speaking, of course. In actuality I will likely go no farther than the south end of El Prado, just in sight of the Taos town limits, where I will perform the unavoidable chore of doing laundry. I’m somewhat peeved at the weather. I like to sit in my car while the washer and dryer are working. The forecast high today is 23º. It will be cold in the car. I’ll manage. I’m just feeling generally peevish, I suppose. It will be an experience. Of course it will; I’m alive and conscious, so what else could it be? Maybe I’m not really so peevish, just plain goofy. That I can live with. At the moment I am going to take a break, go out and experience the fine powdery snow at sunrise, then come back in and feed the whiny cat before I come back to this post. Bisy backson.

Yes, the snow is lovely. It’s really socked-in – you can’t see the mountains. Cat fed. Birds fed. And I decided to have my laundry done tomorrow. It’s little mundane things like this that . . . oh, never mind. With the fine, falling snow, this is a perfect Sunday morning. Especially when I am feeling down, like I am today. A snow day is good.

All is well. Goof gloriously.

The Ancestors and the Snow

“People will not look forward to posterity who never look backward to their ancestors.” ~ Edmund Burke

“No self is of itself alone. It has a long chain of intellectual ancestors. The “I” is chained to ancestry by many factors… This is not mere allegory, but an eternal memory.” ~ Erwin Schrödinger

“Maturity entails a readiness, painful and wrenching though it may be, to look squarely into the long dark places, into the fearsome shadows. In this act of ancestral remembrance and acceptance may be found a light by which to see our children safely home.” ~ Carl Sagan

Time somehow flows oddly this morning. Distorted, maybe indicative of some capricious firing of neurons or something. It is also a morning when I could easily bemoan the cold and frost. Not much snow fell. More is forecast. I got into a brief conversation yesterday with a woman about which app she uses on her smartphone for the forecast. Yeh buddy. It can be maddening to hear the different forecasts from different apps. It is almost as if we are as smart as the info coming through our phones. My phone is a moron. Let’s just leave it at that. I can attest to being smarter than that. Right? Whatever. I can, however, be a nitwit or a knucklehead. Now, going forward. These days after the Solstice are, in my estimation, for getting rest, to cultivate the energies that are getting ready to flow within the coming year. Seeds. Nurturance. Healing. Hosting the cat. Today is a workday. The holiday rush is eased but not over. Many people are saying that they’ve never seen town this busy. Lots of tourists. It’s kinda fun, although traffic in Taos in the daytime has become somewhat of a spectacle and general annoyance. If I want to see a spectacle I’d rather see a fresh heavy snow on the mountains. Maybe later today? I’d like that.

I just stepped out for a smoke. The stars are a tad pale but clear nonetheless. I keep looking back at the weather page. Nothing has changed. How much snow? We shall see. A kind of a sweet feeling is tickling me this morning. My cousin’s daughter just sent me an incomplete genealogy of mom’s side of the family. Seems we are an interesting family. Aren’t they all, right? Just having the pdf on the hard drive makes me feel closer to the Ancestors. I’m not sure what it all means; I just received it night before last. I’ve long been interested in dad’s side of the family, but in my later years I have turned toward the other side. One fascinating thing about mom’s family is that it is where the magical lineage runs. I can’t explain it. Not yet. Although my focus has been predominantly on the mundane world of late, I try to never lose track of the magic. Even something so simple as a pretty woman’s smile. I’ll be on the lookout for those today. I feel a mystery hovering nearby, and I shall be on watch for that as well. This all should keep me busy. That and selling snow sleds to Texans and Californians. As much as I love my regular customers at work it is nice to see some new faces as well. Oh well. A mellow morning is at hand, except for the comical churning sounds in my abdomen. The shower awaits my arrival right now, after a video news clip or two. I’ve tapered off on the news lately – quite naturally. I think of it as a mental health measure. One must take care of oneself, after all.

All is well. Goof gloriously.

Snow and Solitude

“But when fundamentals are doubted, as at present, we must try to recover the candour and wonder of the child; the unspoilt realism and objectivity of innocence. Or if we cannot do that, we must try at least to shake off the cloud of mere custom and see the thing as new, if only by seeing it as unnatural. Things that may well be familiar so long as familiarity breeds affection had much better become unfamiliar when familiarity breeds contempt. For in connection with things so great as are here considered, whatever our view of them, contempt must be a mistake. Indeed contempt must be an illusion. We must invoke the most wild and soaring sort of imagination; the imagination that can see what is there.” ~ G. K. Chesterton

The Solstice means more to me than does Christmas Day. And on a more mundane level the whole season is kind of a grinder for my senses – hypervigilance is the culprit. The busier the marketplace, the more hyper the man. It felt good to take two days with minimal contact with other humans. Shaky this morning. I rarely drink to excess, but I did on Christmas Day. I’ll come to regret it, but not too much. I feel that it did me some good: like Jimmy Buffet, “It cleans me out and then I can go on”. They say it will snow today and maybe tomorrow. That’s about all for today. Not feeling too chatty.

All is well. Goof gloriously.

All Said With a Smile

“It is a very sad thing that nowadays there is so little useless information.” ~ Oscar Wilde

“Humor can get in under the door while seriousness is still fumbling at the handle.” ~ G. K. Chesterton

“Granny was an old-fashioned witch. She didn’t do good for people, she did right by them.” ~ Terry Pratchett

There are altogether too many holidays, all clustered, this time of year. Or is it just this year? Yeh, maybe. Tis Christmas Eve. And that means . . . ? I don’t know. Some Evangelical Christians claim that they are being persecuted because other folks don’t respect the holiday. Seems to me that the very existence of the holiday and all that it means to society writ large are way wayway – more than ample evidence that far more than adequate respect is given. I’ll leave that right there. This morning sports a balmy 26º air temperature and a forecast for snow, which may or may not be true. Whatever. Boy howdy do I ever get a feeling that enough is enough! Yeh, whatever. I’m headed to work, half day. It’s a holiday tomorrow. Did you know that? I’ll be home with my cat, and happily so. I’ve no taste for socializing this year. This is not a negative attitude. Nope. It is a simple fact. It need not mean anything beyond healing, and stuff. All said with a smile. Merry Christmas.

All is well. Goof gloriously.

When There is Suddenly a Tiger

“At sunrise everything is luminous but not clear.” ~ Norman Maclean

“There’s always a story. It’s all stories, really. The sun coming up every day is a story. Everything’s got a story in it. Change the story, change the world.” ~ Terry Pratchett

“From the olive-strewn forum, one could see the village down below. Not a sound came from it; wisps of smoke rose in the limpid air. The sea also lay silent, as if breathless beneath the unending shower of cold, glittering light. From the Chenoua, a distant cock crow alone sang the fragile glory of the day. Across the ruins, as far as one could see, there were nothing but pitted stones and absinthe plants, trees and perfect columns in the transparence of the crystal air. It was as if the morning stood still, as if the sun had stopped for an immeasurable moment. In this light and silence, years of night and fury melted slowly away. I listened to an almost forgotten sound within myself, as if my heart had long been stopped and was now gently beginning to beat again.” ~ Albert Camus

Anyone who has spent a good amount of time with a cat knows this moment – when the inner Tiger emerges. It’s one of the things I admire about cats: they are not truly domesticated. Seeing this so many times through the years has given me ample opportunities to consider the wild within myself. It’s that wild within that gave me such mysterious understanding of the cats when I worked in the cattery. The sensitivity and grace. Feeling and touching that wildness is what enabled me to connection with the stray animals, who had been captured and held safely. It was one of the greatest experiences in my life. But not today. Today it’s higher primates and the retail Christmas rush. My little Rosie is old now, and she rarely shows that tiger anymore. Nor do I. But today I am feeling Cougar energy. Why? I don’t rightly know. Sometimes there is no why, and sometimes there is good reason to be in that peaceful pounce mode. I sense that there is a need to be ready to pounce, in defense, or simply an opportunity that needs immediate attention. Whatever. It’ll come to me. I will just purr in the meantime. As for them wily primates, I’m all over it. I can do this. And there is no bruja haunting my subconscious mind. She hasn’t been around for some time now. Good friggin riddance. That’s what I say. I wonder what chased her off? But I did, before she vanished, set my intention on pushing her away. Bueno bye. I know quite a few witches at this point. Seems all of them know better than to mess with the dark side for any other purpose than education. There was the time when I was sitting at a small table, and across from me was a young Wiccan High Priest. We were at a 4th of July party at Browning Pond in Central Massachusetts, right downriver from St. Joseph’s Abby, just the two of us at the table, canned Budweiser in front of us, shooting the shit about magick and life and all that good stuff. This guy was powerful. At one point, with direct eye contact I felt him probing, pushing into my mind, with a smile, yet still highly intrusive. I simply pushed back until a balance point between our pushy energies was reached. He smiled big when that point of balance occurred. I think he was just testing me. In magick there is a strong presense of both intellect and emotion. But there also is that primal energy which is where the Tiger lives. When that good man probed through my personal shields I could have treated it as an attack, but that was not needed. We were just playing. I don’t think that bruja is too big on playing. She may not return, but there will be others. If one of them is of that rose-colored light I’d be pleased. But for now it is shower time. The primates and witches await me. Magic is real today, and none of it too dark. Kindness is the energy I bear today. Onward.

All is well. Goof gloriously.

That Broody Mental Gyre

“The human mind is an incredible thing. It can conceive of the magnificence of the heavens and the intricacies of the basic components of matter. Yet for each mind to achieve its full potential, it needs a spark. The spark of enquiry and wonder.” ~ Stephen Hawking

“What I think is a different matter. Maybe I think some rather curious things — but until thinking’s got you somewhere it’s no use talking about it.” ~ Agatha Christie

“Study hard what interests you the most in the most undisciplined, irreverent and original manner possible.” ~  Richard Feynman

Sitting here getting an eyeful, through the window over my desk, where the pale orange light reflecting off the bare trees just surged in intensity, as the Sun apparently crested the mountains, yonder over Taos Canyon. Nice light show, right? You betcha. Another really cool thing about this lovely Sunday morning is that the coffee has provided a comparable surge in my brain. I can use a good brain surge every once in a while. In fact, I require it. I ask an awful lot from my brain; there’s no denyin’ that. Did you know that the fastest creature on Earth is the peregrine falcon? I mean, 200 mph at maximum plummet velocity! My brain has been like that lately. It’s always fast, but not this fast. This is of unprecedented magnitude. To try to hold on to that level of rowdy traffic of thought is not only futile it’s a bit daft as well. I find that if I go too far into that brooding mental gyre, the cyclone’s speed begins to feel like a dollop of molasses, in some rather unsettling ways. But, dude, like, mindfulness. I really mean it. I have been “practicing” mindfulness for nearly 40 years now. The parentheses are there because truth is it don’t seem ta take much practice, dude, ’cause practice is only necessary until you learn how to play, then play to learn. In that order. Says me. About four years in I was plunged into a situation and condition that required mindfulness as a tenuous tool for survival. I was hurt bad, messed up, and had to learn to manage. When I needed mindfulness I found it was already there waiting for me. Imagine that. Now, going forward, it is laundry day. No way around it. But it’s Sunday. No hurries, no worries. Right?

All is well. Goof gloriously.

A Strange Lack of Agoraphobic Dread

“Parsifal is on his way to the temple of the Grail Knights and says: “I hardly move, yet far I seem to have come”, and the all-knowing Gurnemanz replies: “You see, my son, time turns here into space” ~ Richard Wagner

“I returned to the courtyard and saw that the sun had grown weaker. Beautiful and clear as it had been, the morning (as the day approached the completion of its first half) was becoming damp and misty. Heavy clouds moved from the north and were invading the top of the mountain, covering it with a light brume. It seemed to be fog, and perhaps fog was also rising from the ground, but at that altitude it was difficult to distinguish the mists that rose from below and those that come down from above. It was becoming hard to discern the bulk of the more distant buildings.” ~ Umberto Eco

Yesterday’s fog is still upon me. No, it’s not real fog. The morning is clear. And, once again, seriously cold. Today being the Winter Solstice, I suppose I should be a good pagan and talk about the meaning of it all – for me, and for the world-at-large. Give a loud huzzah, thus emboldening the passing of the longest night of the year. My favorite label for the longest night of the year is “Birth of Light”. Interpret that as you will. Of course the return of light might be a good and positive way to regard our national social and political climate, and how the Trump-soused Republicans apparently have forgotten that there are people out here. Yes, you could say that the Democrats are just the same. They are all alike. You can’t tell one from the other. And so on. Sounds like bigotry to me, but don’t hold me to that; it’s just that some people are saying that. I simply need to get it off of my chest that I believe that the “Dems do it too” attitude is a notable part of what put tRump in office in the first place. Now that I (may) have pissed some people off I can get on with my day. With the Christmas retail rush in bloom I suppose I should feel an agoraphobic dread in having to leave the house to go into town. Not so much. It’s all good. It is what it is. Geez! What is it with these here aphorisms anyway? Sugar-laced Zen wannabe chatter that has always sounded to me like a cutesy facade for “I don’t want to talk about it”. Maybe I’m just hearing things wrong. I mean, my ears ring all of the time anyway. How can I ever hear anything clearly? And why would I want to? It is what it is. Whatever. I’d better stop playing with words and get to it. Later, y’all. Oh! One more thing – maybe clarity in language might . . . oh, never mind. I suppose all writers say that.

All is well. Goof gloriously.

Not Black and White

“To work in the dark, you must be able to hold your own light, and still be intimate with the darkness.” ~ Thomas Lloyd Qualls

“It followed that the powers of light and darkness were not wholly and always opposed to one another.” ~ Walter Van Tilburg Clark

“Light requires the high relief of darkness. Seeds sprout in darkness. Children are conceived, and the sun reborn. Death returns us to it. Darkness is not … it’s not wrong.” ~ Rachel Hartman

Another deep cold morning. I decided not to write a post yesterday. The reality of Trump’s impeachment was overwhelming in many ways. It’s hard to know what to make of it, and it looks like the fireworks are just beginning. Sigh. So many Republicans seem like old fellas kicked back in their Lazy Boy recliners, waiting for a blond to bring them another glass of Chateaux Noir. But, enough of all that. I’m all about the sluggish feeling I have at the moment. I can feel also that I will be vital and cheerful during the coming workday. But it’s not a matter of black and white, of either/or. Both will do just fine, thank you very much. I’m not one to hit the ground running, on any given day – a quart can of Red Bull on the bed stand, groans of protest as the speed . . . oh, never mind. The title of today’s post refers to the photo, which is not in black and white. The ice fog was so thick that morning that it sucked nearly all color out of existence. That’s what depression does. Depression is a dark place to be, but not totally dark, except in virulent moments, when it truly does go all black. Day to day depression, of the clinical kind, does what that fog did — it sucks all the color out of life, yet gives you enough of a sense of hope to know just how hopeless things “truly” are. Ya gotta have a reference point, dude. You just do. Yeh, I’ve been in a strong yet manageable depressive spell for a coupla months now. Look at the photo: that’s the sun rising. There’s a woman I know that evokes that feeling in me. The Light may be obscured, but it is within sight. Like totally, dude. All told, it really doesn’t matter who she is, but there is that one, at this time. Ob la di ob la da. I tend to get too relativistic. It’s just something I do. Years ago Spirit, through the mouth of a trance channeler in Casadega, Florida, told me – no, admonished me! – to learn to say no. Seems like accomplishing that also means that I have to learn to say yes. The fog can’t last forever, right? Yes, right.

All is well. Goof gloriously.