Not Bad for a Sunday


“Nobody is smarter than you are. And what if they are? What good is their understanding doing you?”   ~  Terence McKenna

“To learn which questions are unanswerable, and not to answer them: this skill is most needful in times of stress and darkness.”  ~  Ursula K. Le Guin

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

“Science replaces private prejudice with public, verifiable evidence.”  ~  Richard Dawkins

Any kind of serious blog post doesn’t seem to be happening this morning. For one thing, it’s Sunday. I don’t like Sunday’s, don’t know why, so don’t ask. I just don’t know. Another thing is me simply being, or at least feeling, overwhelmed in considering the amount of overt hatred and intolerance that has arisen, openly, in this country since Trump started spouting such stuff openly during his campaign. And meanness. And cruelty. And Puerto Rico with paper towels. And Nazis. Are you friggin kidding me?! And the growing lack of Christianity among Christians. Sigh. It’s enough to . . . . oh, never mind. I’m not even enjoying my coffee this morning. Hey, maybe it’s just that I took a Benadryl before bed last night, and woke up in the chair, then proceeded to climb into bed, and . . . the point is that Benadryl has it’s own kind of hangover. But it did what I needed it to do. Laundry day. That’s good. And depression. That’s not good. At least the cat . . . oh, never mind. She’s a sweetie, and about all I have these days. That means a lot. Not bad for a Sunday.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.



Three Brushes With Death


“Try not to become a man of success. Rather become a man of value.”  ~  Albert Einstein

“It is better to fail in originality than to succeed in imitation.”  ~  Herman Melville

“Kites rise highest against the wind, not with it.”  ~  Winston Churchill

“One of the lessons that I grew up with was to always stay true to yourself and never let what somebody else says distract you from your goals. And so when I hear about negative and false attacks, I really don’t invest any energy in them, because I know who I am.”  ~  Michelle Obama

That is so cool, Michelle, you just defined integrity. Now, I am referring to the fourth quote above. I have no idea why I opened with quotes dealing with integrity, so don’t ask. Yes, I feel a tad grouchy this morning. It is easy to blame it on the cat because she woke me up an hour before the alarm was set to go off. Bad kitty, right? I got up anyway. Her crankiness almost always overrides my grouchiness. Anybody who lives with a cat will know what I am talking about . . .  So, now, moving forward . . . that salamander at the door at three AM (see yesterday’s post) will likely haunt me for some time to come. I think if it had been way smaller it would have been easier to take. In a way I can compare it to the time, back when I first moved to Taos, I found two mountain lions standing in front of me on the road, up in the alpine realms. Yeh, such things exist. It’s simply that the possibility of seeing one just isn’t in your awareness until it happens. The story of the lions has no place here today. Suffice it to say that I obviously lived through the encounter unscathed. But I still wonder it. There is no exaggeration involved in my saying them two big kitties coulda had me for lunch. The impression from that encounter is one that was etched into my soul. I can’t say that the salamander did the same. The lions were 22 years ago, the salamander just yesterday. Nuff said. This morning is rich in sensuous offerings. We live our own stories, and opportunities for plugging in to the magick in life are abundant. Some opportunities offer easier access than others. I gotta say here that being plugged into your computer or having your face stuck in your smartphone betrays such access. That’s why I get up from this chair and go outside periodically. Coyotes are on the hunt this morning. Their calls are coming from seemingly everywhere, on and off. Some neighborhood dogs have been having their say as well. I gotta hand it to them. When the song of life plays anyone can join in. I could take this into the realm of current events but . . . okay, maybe briefly. I feel a kind of sadness to witness so much condemnation in the world. And what I’m getting at . . . I’ll keep this short . . . is that the Right Wing in this country has spent the last eight . . . make that nine now . . . years dragging President Obama through the proverbial coals, but now we’uns all gotta shut up and tow the line with Trump, who is our first artificial president, thanks to the Russians. And here’s why Trump’s paper towel stunt felt so personal to me. Yesterday morning I got an unexpected call from one of my dearest friends. She was calling from Puerto Rico where she has lived for many years now, where sporadic cell phone access now makes such calls possible. We got cut off once, then she called back a half hour later and we were able to catch up. She’s got running water but no electricity yet. Her husband died a few days ago. He was already sick and in the hospital when the storm hit, but he died, she says, because the strain of it all had just overcome his heart. My friend is Puerto Rican. She was born in New York City. She would have been American either way. I could almost hate Trump for what he did, but I know well that hatred makes me sick. Take that comment as you will. I ain’t going there. The last bit of pertinent news was that she is moving back to the mainland to be with her only child, her daughter. I remember when the pregnancy was underway. We all lived on Windley Key, on a nice plot of land nestled up against the open ocean. She and I used to have coffee in the morning fairly often. She was there for me when I went all otherworldly after my near-fatal bicycle crash and NDE. A few years earlier, when I was hit by a car – again on my bicycle – she felt a sharp pain in her left leg that lingered for hours afterward. She was not present to witness the accident, but my left leg was broken by the impact, and the fracture was exactly where she felt the pain in her own leg. Oh yeh, the near-fatal crash happened on her birthday. All this needed to be said. Now I gotta get to my day job.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


The Visitor on the Harvest Moon

Broad View 054.jpg

“I have not written my memoirs for those young people who can only save themselves from falling by spending their youth in ignorance, but for those whom experience of life has rendered proof against being seduced, whom living in the fire has transformed into salamanders.”  ~  Giacomo Casanova

“Fire tests gold, suffering tests brave men.”  ~  Seneca

Reckon I’d best get to it. I can get so lost in political and related articles each morning, or in quote searches for these blog posts. This morning it was a little different, for my usual search was displaced by a small bit of zoological research, even before I started the coffee. But let’s build up the suspense here before I give the “why” of the research. The Harvest Moon is near the horizon, with fast moving clouds partially obscuring the orb. Earlier I heard some gunshots, which started some neighborhood dogs to barking. I am certain it was someone shooting at coyotes out for a hunt in prime conditions; a full moon for light to work by, and high humidity to enhance their already intense sense of smell. I, of course, always root for the coyotes instead of the nitwit with the gun. It is scientifically proven that shooting and killing these prairie wolves does not cut down the population, rather it increases their breeding rate. So it is not just a case of some pagan flower child barefoot island hippie boy peace freak dissing some Trump-spawn wannabe who indiscriminately kills wildlife. Whew – yes, this is an opinion page at times. Wink, wink, nod, nod. Anyway, about the thing that started my research. I opened my front door, about 3 AM, to step outside and check out the dark side of morning. Something down by my left foot caught my eye. It looked like the tail of some critter, too big for a mouse, and too fat for a rat. The thing was in shadow but there was enough faint light to reveal that the “tail” was gently and slowly wagging back and forth. Quite an eerie sight. I was startled, but even more so intrigued. So I closed the door quickly and went for a flashlight, then turned off all the internal lights, then again opened the door, quite cautiously. The thing was still there, halfway onto the doorsill. I turned on the light and zoomed it down to spotlight mode. The friggin thing looked like a Florida tourist trap rubber alligator that had been left out in the sun too long; eight inches long, and quite plump. As I gazed at it it turned it’s head around and looked up at me, then began to speak. NO, not really. I made that part up! Eventually the lizard thing went on it’s way, off into the shadows, across the wooden deck. I did some research, and posted on Facebook to ask if anyone knew what it was. I did get some photos of it before it left. I speculated that it was a gecko. But my cousin Cheryl nailed it right away as a salamander. That narrowed my search, so I easily identified it as a tiger salamander (click here for link), out for a stroll due to the copious moisture of late, coming from the acequia in the donkey pasture across the road from the house. So that’s how I started my day . . . with a mysterious lizard-like creature lurking in the dark shadows at my feet, at the doorway, on the Full Moon. Sounds like a story from H. P. Lovecraft, right? Or maybe a Youtube conspiracy video. Now, before I wrap this up and head into my day, I should note that I will be seriously surprised if my day gets anymore interesting than this. But, remember, odd things seem at times to cluster on a Full Moon. Might be an interesting day.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously


The Stable-Sameness of Days


“For the timbre of a human voice singing a single sustained note carries an abundance of information for those whose ears are tuned to such clues—information about the internal state of various organs in the singer’s body, and the relative tension or ease in that person, the level of aggression or peaceful intent.”   ~  David Abram

“Only love can bring the rain
That makes you yearn to the sky
Only love can bring the rain
That falls like tears from on high”  ~  Pete Townsend

In reaching down and past, outside in, I find that the squawking chicken below my window suddenly becomes quiet. Groovin’ like Ram Dass, I momentarily, successfully, “be here now”, and the darned chicken want’s to play hide and seek. And I’m like, okay, if that’s the way you want it. Game on, that’s what I say. But I must remember that the chicken can remain mobile even without a head, whereas I cannot. There’s a softness to the sky at the moment, high clouds like some drab and lonely afternoon in Massachusetts, back some 30 years, when I relished the stable-sameness of days, when Nature got in one of her lingering moods. I had it made back then, but I failed to realize it. Those gray afternoons were launching pads. My life could have gone in a new direction, successfully. Instead I eventually fell into pinball mode, and I fell back down the east coast, fell back down to the Florida Keys, where the sky has a stable-sameness of a totally different sort, a sort that made things much too easy for public relations folks. Yes, of course, had I not returned to my old home I would not have met Lori, the one great love of my life. We played a lot of pinball together, late nights early mornings, smoky bar game room, but the game was not the reason we played. We shared a love that neither one of us totally recognized at the time. I recognize it now because when she died in a car crash on Interstate 75, just outside of Fort Myers in the Summer of ’95, she ripped open the shades. When I heard of her death it was one of those ‘be here now’ moments, strictly enforced by something that looked like fate or destiny. But it was neither. There was no stable-sameness then. That was gone. Whatever that dynamic was, it still is, and it finds me at my desk, head drooped over the keyboard, and the chicken is once again uttering mysterious sounds. They make the weirdest noises! I’ve no point or moral to deliver in this post. I’m kinda just riffing here. Because I know that linear time is just a convenience I know that she is with me today. And she brings me back around, full circle, to this moment. See: There’s a softness to the sky at the moment, high clouds like some drab and lonely afternoon in Massachusetts, back some 30 years, when I relished the stable-sameness of days, when Nature got in one of her lingering moods. Yes, I think it’s going to rain today.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

When Hawks Focus


“It’s very hard to have ideas. It’s very hard to put yourself out there, it’s very hard to be vulnerable, but those people who do that are the dreamers, the thinkers and the creators. They are the magic people of the world.”  ~  Amy Poehler

“Richard did not believe in angels, he never had. He was damned if he was going to start now. Still, it was much easier not to believe in something when it was not actually looking directly at you and saying your name.”  Neil Gaiman

What did I dream last night? The world, in my little corner of it, seems quite strange this morning. And Facebook seems to be seriously corrupted too. That can’t be good. Maybe the Russians? Maybe. I’m serious about that too. Just weird. As Neil Gaiman once pointed out, you come out of dreams with a feeling . . . and I see that feeling as a forerunner of the day to come. I don’t remember the details of last night’s dreams. They don’t seem to matter. But the feeling I brought with me to the waking world is a good one, and I defy anyone to mess with it today, but surely someone will. I’ll watch my daydreams like a hawk as the day progresses. Hawk, as a spirit animal is a messenger, and a purveyor of a higher perspective. One aspect of the feeling I brought forth is romantic. How can that be? I haven’t seen any signs of that happening for years. Why now? I’ve dreamt of it, sorta, quite a few times. Maybe I did last night as well? Was someone calling out to me? If so – I heard you, but it ain’t as loud and clear as I’d hoped it would be. Geez, just swing by and see me today at work. I think I’ll leave it at that. Focus. Hawks do. I’ll give it a go.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Honoring the Inner Pirate


Pine siskin with sunflower

“I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news
But she just smiled and turned away”  ~  Don McLean

“Hope is the thing with feathers 
That perches in the soul 
And sings the tune without the words 
And never stops at all”  ~  Emily Dickinson

First things first. That’s kind of a self-redundant term, kind of like “that’s remarkable”. Just sayin. I’m having a hard time getting to writing this morning. The United States of America seems to be exploding. That is disturbing for me (it’s that way for everyone, right?). My sense of overload is so acute this morning that I actually went to a Buddhist website and I found that I could not handle that either. It’s not the inner peace thing that was bugging me. We all have it somewhere deep inside, subjectively speaking, of course. The filters of our consciousness refract and detract, and some folks even say that we create our own reality too. I can see why they say that, I grok what they are saying. And they are not wrong. I just don’t agree. But let me backtrack here, because when I wrote “first things first” I went on and violated what I’d just written. The violation was that my brain took over my fingers, and that may be because I still have the ‘pirate blood’ in me from my long residence in the Florida Keys. I saw that in a Facebook post this morning, about how special the Conchs (term for a true resident of the Keys) are. I grok what they are saying when they say that. Toward the end of my residency I started to experience people who either insinuated or outright stated that I was not a true Conch, a true resident. It was sad to watch a 23 year investment of time go down the drain. But the Keys are in kind of a dire state because of Hurricane Irma, so maybe I am being insensitive here, and shouldn’t oughtta be saying these things. But it’s in my heart and my blood, folks. You can’t take it from me. Now, back to the “first things first” thing. The air temperature this morning, as I write these words, is 35º. I find it to be refreshing. The air temperature is the first thing on my mind. The second thing is the death of Tom Petty. I find myself kinda thinking “hey Tom, can I go too?”. Hey! I’m too full myself, aren’t I? I think I’ll just wrap it up for today. My usual morning crankiness has been commandeered (there’s that pirate thing again! I hereby honor that pirate) by anger and depression. Depression is sometimes described as anger turned inward, but I’ve got both of them side by side, at the same time, doing heaven knows what. I just know something’s going on. I want to stay home with my cat today. I can’t. Gotta go to work. The marketplace has been a little hard to bear lately, for this empathic guy. Yeh, I’m too full myself. But I will write again tomorrow regardless.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Presence in the Darkness


“I am going to tell you what nature behaves like. If you will simply admit that maybe she does behave like this, you will find her a delightful, entrancing thing. Do not keep saying to yourself, if you can possibly avoid it, ‘But how can it be like that?’ because you will get ‘down the drain,’ into a blind alley from which nobody has yet escaped. Nobody knows how it can be like that.”   ~  Richard Feynman

“Should you shield the canyons from the windstorms you would never see the true beauty of their carvings.”  ~  Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

“The symbols of the self arise in the depths of the body and they express its materiality every bit as much as the structure of the perceiving consciousness. The symbol is thus a living body, corpus et anima.”  ~  Carl Jung

I had a sweet ‘wow’ moment this morning, but it took powerful rush of body chilling heebie jeebies to get there. I was seated out on the deck, casually calling out mentally and emotionally to the goddess Hecate, if she would so please, to help me out in a situation in which I feel I need some self-protection. Yeh, yeh, I know . . . oh, never mind, I ain’t gettin’ into New Agey pop-psych stuff this morning. I’m not up to it Let’s just say that it is always good to have someone have your back. If it is a goddess then all the better. Anyway, from where I sit on the deck, looking down the garden path the blackness of night pretty much swallows up the scenery after only a few yards. You could call that path a chicken run as well, because they do indeed run there, but it does no good to call out to chickens for self-defense, because the last thing you want to do is to be a chicken. As I gazed into that darkness along the path I felt the chills come over me. I wasn’t scared because I ain’t often scared by spirits, nor archetypes, for that matter. And the feeling of presence was powerful indeed. I watched and waited. Presently I spied movement from the left. There came a not uncommon sight, a house cat, pussyfooting it along the path. Probably it had been over by the chicken coop where mice are pretty much easy prey. I was like wow because I had felt the beast coming. Good on me. But Hecate did not show, or so I thought. Right before beginning to write these words I goggled cat gods and goddess to do a bit of research. Sure, there is always Bast, the Egyptian goddess, but I found another sweet little tidbit of info. It turns out that there is a Greek myth about the time that Hecate turned herself into a cat to escape the monster Typhon, and thereafter she extended special treatment to all cats. Hmmmm. I won’t go into what this encounter means to me personally. I just thought it to be a poignant coincidence. But Typhon? He is essentially the god of volcanic eruptions. Guess I should keep my head about me, reckon? This all really ties in to my chance meeting with the pretty doctor lady, which happened two days ago, and I wrote about it in yesterday’s blog post. We had talked about trauma, and PTSD, and how a certain amount of stress can shut down our cognitive functions, and when that happened the panic sets it. It’s all fight or flight, and if that is not socially possible – well, for me, I just stand there shaking, even tremulous with spasms, and growing ever more terrified because I cannot find words to express myself. This behavior is not often accepted as socially acceptable behavior. That fact makes it even worse. But for now, I can rest easy, having had a positive affirmation from Hecate, as I go into my day. Enough analysis already. One note before I go . . . the garden path I referred to is not some sneaky metaphor. The path is spattered with chicken shit  so . . . oh, never mind.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Beauty in Fractals


“You need to learn how to select your thoughts just the same way you select your clothes every day. This is a power you can cultivate. If you want to control things in your life so bad, work on the mind. That’s the only thing you should be trying to control.”   ~  Elizabeth Gilbert

“We speak not only to tell other people what we think, but to tell ourselves what we think. Speech is a part of thought.”   ~  Oliver Sacks

“Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly.”  ~  Neil Gaiman

Stars. It’s been a few nights since I have seen them. Welcome back, buds. That’s what I say. Now . . . I am worked up big time. Not since the Summer of 1973 have I been so worked up. Let’s see, there was Wounded Knee, Nixon Watergate stuff, Spiro Agnew teetering on the edge, and I was high on the lottery list to go to war. Today it’s Puerto Rico, and a President who is beating them when they’re down. Dude, send in the troops and save as many peeps as possible, THEN start untangling the gnarly mess of financial ruin there. They owe billions. Most people know that dude. But ya don’t bust their kneecap, do ya? What, are you from New York, on the dark side? Get real. They did, and they had no choice dude. Shit, that’s enough. Don’t make me come down there dude. Whew. But I digress. It’s getting close to time for me to take camera in hand and mosey on out to view the mountains and clouds, pre-dawn. Yesterday, early evening, I had a spontaneous burst of joyous laughter as I was driving north through El Prado, headed home after work. Such an outburst is something I so rarely do that I cannot truly remember the last time it happened. It was a psychiatrist who inspired that laughter. Go figure, right. I was standing out front of Cid’s Natural Foods Market, where I worked for a good chunk of my natural life. I was waiting to meet a friend there. As I leaned against the wall I had one of those feelings of presence, so I looked over to where the vibes where coming from. Some person was approaching, but the hood of her coat shaded her face enough to hide her identity. I could tell it was a woman approaching, that’s all. Then I heard that voice: “Ken?”. I recognized the voice right away. A warm hug unfolded from the moment. There’s no way to express how much I love this woman, and no, it’s not the kind of love some people find with their doctors, this love is for the woman, not the doctor, although she is good at what she does, excellent in fact. She was my psychiatrist up until three years ago, just after I got booted from my job as caregiver for cats at the animal shelter, along with 14 other people. Her office was just a coupla blocks from the shelter. Just as a side note, the meds and doses she prescribed remain the same to this day, both effective and an integral part of a healing path. Neil deGrasse Tyson and Andy Borowitz were in her graduating class from Harvard. Just sayin. At the moment it’s time for me to step out to check out the rising dawn. That’s not a metaphor, unless ya want it to be. Bisy backson.

“We are part of this universe; we are in this universe, but perhaps more important than both of those facts, is that the universe is in us.”  ~  Neil deGrasse Tyson

Nice sunrise. Both the community mental health clinic and the animal shelter were smack in the middle of scandal at the time. She left her job not even two months after I lost mine. Our final 20 minute session lasted an hour and a half; just two friends talking about life and the universe and everything. There was nothing clinical about it. It was about healing and we both we lapping it up. It ended up with a lingering warm embrace. I cried a little. So, yesterday she told me about her new work, setting up a really cool program of eight week personal programs to teach people, mostly addicts, to use their mental disorders to aspire toward transformation rather than garden variety maintenance; kinda like what I have been developing for myself. PTSD will be the focus. A colleague of hers has this theory that addicts all suffer from some sort of brain trauma or actual damage. She referred to me as an example of brain trauma, damage, whatever, and how as a result stress seriously and effectively inhibits cognitive function. Yeh, that’s what I have concluded as well, regardless of my deficit of higher learning, and I have been my only test subject. The panic attack I had three weeks ago is a good example; and the one a month before that. It is downright maddening to have cognition evaporate for a spell; and terrifying. Again, we were talking as friends, and colleagues. My studies are personal and hers professional, but the world needs more of where this process leads. Before parting she explained how she is finding that in working with organizations as well as people she is finding that the personal and organizational function as fractals, and how a person is organic, as is an organization. I am finding that as well. We are onto something I tell ya. There is strange beauty in fractals

“Curious that we spend more time congratulating people who have succeeded than encouraging people who have not.”  ~ Neil deGrasse Tyson

So that is why I was laughing joyously, from meeting by chance a woman that I love dearly. Which brings me to today, laundry day. At the moment must feed and medicate the pleading cat. She is seriously annoying me, and I reckon I ’bout said what I had to say.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Thunder and All


This image is untouched. It looks like a software ‘painting’ but it is a photo.

“Every person needs to take one day away.  A day in which one consciously separates the past from the future.  Jobs, family, employers, and friends can exist one day without any one of us, and if our egos permit us to confess, they could exist eternally in our absence.  Each person deserves a day away in which no problems are confronted, no solutions searched for.  Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us.”   ~  Maya Angelou, Won’t Take Nothing for my Journey Now

“After all, the best part of a holiday is perhaps not so much to be resting yourself, as to see all the other fellows busy working.”  ~  Kenneth Grahame, Wind in the Willows

“Of all the things a man may do, sleep probably contributes most to keeping him sane. It puts brackets about each day. If you do something foolish or painful today, you get irritated if somebody mentions it, today. If it happened yesterday, though, you can nod or chuckle, as the case may be. You’ve crossed through nothingness or dream to another island in Time.”  ~  Roger Zelazny, Isle of the Dead

There was no conscious memory of the first one, but the second roar of thunder rocked everything. I heard that one. And I woke up happy. I looked at the time on the iPad and thought I was late in waking up before work. It took me a minute to realize that it was nearly sunset, not sunrise. I love waking up like that, not knowing what time or day it is, or sometimes even not knowing where I am. Self-consciousness disengaged, if only for a while. I started chatting at the cat, which makes her visibly content. Good thing, that (Insert smiley face here). Yesterday was a good day for me. In the morning I had the uncommon idea to treat myself to breakfast out, so I drove down to the Taos Diner, which is actually in El Prado, but Taos is often described as a state of mind, so there ya have it, right? Breakfast at the diner is a Taos tradition for many. The place was friggin packed! At 10 AM. That is so often the case. I ordered my breakfast burrito, added a few words to the manuscript for my novel, then proceeded to watched the waitress at work, dancing between tables, with some 30-35 people in attendance. Breakfast there is a treat to experience and the food is excellent. Down home beauty, lovely eyes, young, slim, buff, but that’s not the point. Watching a good waitress at work is a treat for me, having spent a good part of my life in the food and beverage industry. Handling a crowd of purely animated diners is no small task, but I am certain the tips are worth the effort. Now . . . beans, hash browns, eggs, cheese, green chile sauce, and, of course, the tortilla wrapped around just right, served on a very hot pale white ceramic plate. Half-pound coffee mug. Just right. When I was finished and went to the counter to pay, I found myself standing next to a friend of many years, sitting on one of the stools at the counter. We fell easily into happy chit chat. The guy is a treat. He’s Swiss in origin, still has the accent. Good lookin’ guy. The conversation started out with current work status, then my retirement and his fast-approaching retirement, then drifted on to his favorite band when he was still in Europe in the late 60s; an American band made good over there; top notch, even played the Royal Albert Hall, holes and all. Turns out two members of that band now live here in Taos. Go figure. One works in a wine shop and the other in a hardware store. Small world. We both knew both of them. Small town. It was delightful for me to have the conversation, to treat myself so well, because I am somewhat of a recluse the past few years. Leaving there I went to the supermarket, then home. It was not even two hours later that I settled for a nap, which ended up lasting 4.5 hours, and it ended with a rumble of thunder, quite uncomfortably close to the house.

Oddly enough I woke this morning without the persistent visceral anxiety that usually colors my mornings darkly, almost every day. Yeh, I can see why this was, but that was not even in question until I even noticed the serenity a couple of hours later. I can feel it fading in as I write. The anxiety is like an old . . . no, not friend, a teacher. For two decades, since reading Elizabeth Wertzel’s Prozac Nation I have been searching for a purpose for the two mental disorders I endure. She gave me the idea of purpose. She too wanted to find purpose in the ordeal. As far as I know the only way to dig up purpose in the issue is to allow the conditions to be teachers. So, what did I learn yesterday? Go out to eat once in a while, knucklehead! Breakfast was nice, but lunch comes next. I hope for some sweet company at my table, not on the way out the door. And here’s a little riddle-esque thing for you: you know how they say “it’s all good”? Well, I can’t really say that at this point in my life. I can, to that aphorism, only reply “not yet”. Good is not good enough for me, I want better. Yesterday was a start. Okay, okay, a good start, thunder and all.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


Lacking in Content but High on Optics


“Then he was sorry for the great fish. How many people will he feed? But are they worthy to eat him? No, of course, not. There is no one worthy of eating him from the manner of his behavior and his great dignity.”  ~  Ernest Hemingway

“Politeness a sign of dignity, not subservience.”  ~  Theodore Roosevelt

There’s no putting it off any longer, I’ve been futzing around for the most part since being softly prodded awake by the cat at 4 AM. Internet stuff. But I have watched and read enough stuff with good content to keep my brain from going all tapioca and stuff. What’s with “content” anyway? What if someone asks me how things are going lately, and I tell them that my life is pretty much lacking in content but high on optics? I mean, really, WTF? Now, my mind seems to be in pretty good shape this morning. I can tell because I can feel the strong undercurrent of pluckiness somewhere down deep within this seriously aching body. Shoulders and neck, poor me. It rained a good part of the night, a nice soaker of a rain, one that seeps down into the ground at a modest rate; full of nitrogen, giving the vegetation a good start on winterizing. I say “winterizing” because I work in a hardware store. The activity itself is essentially a matter of choice for us humans, but for the rest of the natural world it is commonly necessary, no choice is needed. I woke up with dignity on my mind. Musta come from a dream because I didn’t know it was an issue in my life of late. I don’t remember any of the content of last night’s dreams, nor do I remember any of the optics. The part that does linger and shall guide me through this second day off in a row is the feelings, the underlying emotional and spiritual foundation. That’s one endearing characteristic of the Dreamtime, there is nothing certain nor tangible. It’s all flow. At the moment it is sunrise break, so I’ll be back in a few, k? Bisy backson.

Excellent show, this sunrise. I’m not a good enough photographer to have caught some of the good shots. So be it. I did get to see a couple of ravens, flying, croaking as they flew, on into town for a day of scavenging. I have not seen many of these smart as a whip birds lately. I guess they have been busy winterizing. This is a short post today. But it feels right, this brevity, and it rather suits my mood. Smiles here.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.