Walking in the Rain

“Because I trust in the ever-changing climate of the heart. (At least, today I feel that way.) I think it is necessary to have many experiences for the sake of feeling something; for the sake of being challenged, and for the sake of being expressive, to offer something to someone else, to learn what we are capable of.” ~ Jason Mraz

“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before–more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.” ~ Charles Dickens

“A man will be imprisoned in a room with a door that’s unlocked and opens inwards; as long as it does not occur to him to pull rather than push.” ~ Ludwig Wittgenstein

Quiet morning. It rained overnight. Anything I might say this morning about the rain is going to be trite. Now, if I could choose any one person, living or dead, to walk with in the rain? I know who it would be for me. The person I would choose is not famous, but if she’s not available for the rain-walk then Taylor Swift is my second choice. That’s a good image for me as I ready myself for the workday. That and the first quote above, from Jason Mraz. That dude is way cool. Fine songwriter and performer. My world today is compact and cozy, despite the knots and gurgles in my belly. I think I know what that’s about. I’ll just call it a lesson in patience. There is some pain. I need to follow the teachings of the late great Stephen Levine, and lean in to the pain, get chummy with it, because regardless of the discomfort the ill feelings serve a purpose, and they are friggin here and now so chill already. This one needs no treatment, except if it decides to go all froggy on me, which I doubt will happen. This feels karmic, cosmic, whatever. Now, going forward . . . I can’t stop yawning this morning. I know a shower will wake me up as much as it will assist in cleansing this dirty aura. There’s no hurry. The daily news offers a lot of really fine, intriguing stories. I’ll check it out then go out to see the Sunrise. Man, that shower is going to feel good, as is the day off tomorrow, and I have enough clean clothes to see me through ’til Wednesday, so no trip to the laundromat is needed. This is a lot of mundane stuff, right? I’m not so sure about that, but it might be. Sure seems like it. But I am feeling the call of Spirit. When that happens you sometimes have to pull yourself through some difficult times. Not push – pull. Think I’ll meander out to look at the mountains. There is still some considerable cloud cover. I love clouds, maybe because they moderate the light from the Sun. Yeh, sounds good to me.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


Thriller and the Mac

“Curiosity takes ignorance seriously, and is confident enough to admit when it does not know. It is aware of not knowing, and it sets out to do something about it” ~ Alain de Botton

“To ask the ‘right’ question is far more important than to receive the answer. The solution of a problem lies in the understanding of the problem; the answer is not outside the problem, it is in the problem.”  ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti

“I felt knowledge and the unity of the world circulate in me like my own blood.”  ~ Herman Hesse

When I am short of thoughts, regardless of the chattering of my magpie mind, I tend to squeeze my brain like a sponge to see what comes out. It happens more than you might know, just from reading my blog, and I indeed sport that shortage of thought this morning, though my intellect is well entertained by people who do actual journalism. There are a lot of them about in this era of that weirdo named Trump. They fascinate me. That’s all. There’s a lot of integrity to be found out there, while Trump to me comes across like an overstuffed sack of penny candy. Woof. I could go all cynical. Nice image though, don’tcha know. Yesiree. Sometimes I entertain myself quite nicely. For some reason the 80s . . . oh, wait. I was moved by an article at Truthout.com by William Rivers Pitt. He compared Trump as a living analogy of 80s Muzak. Ouch. My fatal bicycle crash and subsequent NDE happened in 1984. The next two years I used well reading and stuff, but a large part of my former perceptual social reality was lost to me. Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” album debuted, as did Apple’s Macintosh computer. My personal timeline was skewed beyond repair by that fateful crash, so when I look back now the actual date of notable events is nearly always wrong. So I learn by reading. I’ve done a friggin lot of reading since then. As for now, I think I’ll mosey on out to my car and gaze or gawk at the mountains, the gray, skies, and the birds. Magpies have been quite active lately. Chatter away brother corvid; I admire your kind for always saying what you mean. Such bluntness among humans is usually considered to be rude and is likely to be scorned. Here’s a thing before I go: Im considering writing a book, a slim volume, about trauma, and what it has done to me, what good it has done for me, and what I have done about it, and of how it friggin’ sucks. This is something I sense originated from some source greater than my self. Boy howdy how cool is that?!

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously

Trauma and Time Travel

“For our physiology to calm down, heal, and grow we need a visceral feeling of safety. No doctor can write a prescription for friendship and love: These are complex and hard-earned capacities. You don’t need a history of trauma to feel self-conscious and even panicked at a party with strangers – but trauma can turn the whole world into a gathering of aliens.” ~ Bessel A. van der Kolk

“If you can’t tell your story to another human, find another way: journal, paint, make your grief into a graphic novel with a very dark storyline. Or go out to the woods and tell the trees. It is an immense relief to be able to tell your story without someone trying to fix it. The trees will not ask, “How are you really?” and the wind doesn’t care if you cry.” ~ Megan Devine

“But trauma is all pervasive. It does not go away. It continues to reassert itself as life unfolds.” ~ Mark Epstein, M.D.

Second week of May and there is snow on the ground. About an inch. At 4 AM. A delightful surprise. The snow may very well see me off to sleep. Check out that last quote. Trauma is reasserting itself this morning. My head is hanging heavy in so many ways. My torso is one big ugh. As usual, I will go all surfer and ride it out. To deal with the immeasurable weight I am visualizing it as a compression blanket. It’s a good strategy in that it works. But it likely will require feeding the cat early and then give in to the siren call of a nap. One must makes sacrifices at times. PTSD is a form of time travel and/or an expression of quantum entanglement. The event in the past sure enough happened. The connection between then and now is proving itself to me. The event in the past happened for a reason but darned if I know what it is. At the moment, trauma or not I am going out to look at the snow. It’s early May and there is friggin snow on the ground! I love it. Sometimes I forget where I am.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Two Mammals in the Dark

“I don’t know how to describe the sound of a world crashing. Maybe there is no sound, just a great emptiness, an enveloping sorrow, a creeping nothingness that coils itself around you like a stiff wire.” ~ Charles Blow

“So, what role does memory play in the understanding and treatment of trauma? There is a form of implicit memory that is profoundly unconscious and forms the basis for the imprint trauma leaves on the body/mind. The type of memory utilized in learning most physical activities (walking, riding a bike, skiing, etc.) is a form of implicit memory called procedural memory. Procedural or “body memories” are learned sequences of coordinated “motor acts” chained together into meaningful actions. You may not remember explicitly how and when you learned them, but, at the appropriate moment, they are (implicitly) “recalled” and mobilized (acted out) simultaneously. These memories (action patterns) are formed and orchestrated largely by involuntary structures in the cerebellum and basal ganglia. When a person is exposed to overwhelming stress, threat or injury, they develop a procedural memory. Trauma occurs when these implicit procedures are not neutralized. The failure to restore homeostasis is at the basis for the maladaptive and debilitating symptoms of trauma.” ~ Peter A. Levine

This morning’s animal kingdom visitor was the neighbor’s cat, strolling through the dark, until he saw me watching him, at which point we became two mammals locked-in to a mutual sensuous moment; much like that moment with the skunk a few weeks ago. The arrival of the skunk had triggered my trauma; the cat just made me chuckle; both were mammals in the dark; as was I. But enough of darkness. Sunrise is coming up. There are several shelves of clouds out over Pueblo Canyon, to the east. The sacred mountain is sporting a cap of lenticular clouds. It all looks so perfect. I’m too groggy to indulge the sense of wonder, but it is here and doing what it does. So for now the sense of wonder rides smooth beneath this bundle of tension. There are no compulsories today, no obligations, so I can work on getting my body to calm down. Of course, I am enjoying the turn of the screw that is bearing down on Trump. That dude’s got some serious karma! Yes, I still follow the news when I am in a bout of realtime processing, which is essentially me going all “what’s going on here?”. Yes, it hurts, it aches like hell. Yes, I feel all agitated. Hypervigilence, procedural memory, and a weariness that has cut so deep as to . . . ummmm, I don’t know where I was going with that. Besides, it’s nearin’ time to feed the cat. Speaking of the cat, the opening photo is Rosie at 7-8 months, checking out the wolf at the door. Yeh, I know it’s not a real wolf – more of a blue healer, if I remember correctly. That was a long time ago. Rosie is 15 now – you do the math. I just realized today that the photo is kind of a metaphor for me in psychotherapy facing the demon. I’ll be doin’ that this afternoon late. I think I’ll leave it at that. I have nine hours to process to my heart’s content. The thing is that this hefty bout of active, expressive PTSD is going to be here no matter what I try to do about it, so the thing to do is to watch it and see how it moves; like I did with that cat in the darkness. You can tell a lot by watching how things move, but you have to set words aside and engage your sensuous qualities. I’ll get right to it.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Raccoons and Key Limes

“No beginning is ever assured. No end is predictable. Only the terrified cloak their fragile minds and spirits in a comfortable layer of certainty. Convictions waver. Absolutes dissolve into vagueness as fury subsides, as passion drowns in repetition, as knowledge is gained, as bigger things begin to dwarf what we once thought of as monolithic beliefs.” ~ Gabino Iglesias, Coyote Songs

“Truth is a matter of the imagination. The soundest fact may fail or prevail in the style of its telling: like that singular organic jewel of our seas, which grows brighter as one woman wears it and, worn by another, dulls and goes to dust. Facts are no more solid, coherent, round, and real than pearls are.” ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

“Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high.” ~ William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Raccoon – singular, capital ‘R’ – has become my newest fascination. I can’t call it the raccoon. As of two days ago I had not seen a raccoon in 25 years. Then one showed up, ambling casually up the hill, stopping to vanish into the ruins of the old adobe well-housing, then reappearing to complete his climb. Of course the magpies saw him and raised hell. That’s a factual account, but it does not explain what I was feeling upon spying the animal. That’s why I leave “the” out of the equation – if I even have an equation to begin with. Raccoons were nearly ubiquitous in my previous home in the Florida Keys. There are no large predators down there, save for the bipedal kind, so the raccoons are relatively safe; and they thrive. Geez, was that cynical or what. Boy howdy I’m trying to give an imaginal description and it just ain’t coming out right. That, of course, is because imaginal reality is nearly impossible to put into words. I well remember the day I was digging a hole with pick and shovel, under the oppressively brilliant August heat; six feet across and about six foot deep; a hole in which to plant a Key Lime tree. We were working out back of one of the fancier restaurants in town, and I ended up getting heat stroke, tipped off by the icy breeze I suddenly felt, there within the humid grip of tropical August. But before the heat and humidity felled me I got to see a marvelous sight: workers from inside the restaurant came out with scraps of food, and they were met by a platoon of raccoons, who came out of the hardwood hammock, upon a soft rustle of little feet. Simply charming. Now, going forward . . . I’m going to have to let myself be open to exactly what Raccoon might be telling me through his appearance, reappearance, whatever. Sure, I have googled it to see what the critter means in a larger sense. The attributes listed on the New Age site left me more with a sense of mystery than anything else – and that’s good. One thing that did ring true was that raccoons are good in the darkness. I’m pretty good at it myself. But it’s that scene behind the fancy restaurant that beckons. Me on the verge of being slapped around by the heat, by the Sun; digging that hole only because I was getting paid for it. Even though I went home early the rest of the crew left the hole as it was and went ahead and planted that tree, which soon flourished. Now, have you ever seen a dozen raccoons getting pre-gourmet handouts? It’s a precious sight to behold. No, I have not (yet) learned what there is to learn about all this raccoon stuff. Yet it is the questions that arise that are most important. It’s not just mammals watching mammals. Yeh, I actually feel pretty comfortable with questions rather than answers; and that reminds me of a woman I know. I’ll be guilty of a non sequitur if I elaborate, so let’s just say that I enjoy the questions she brings up for me. It all comes down to “maybe” – and I am pretty good at that.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Reality of Proactive Grouching

“We’re in such a hurry most of the time we never get much chance to talk. The result is a kind of endless day-to-day shallowness, a monotony that leaves a person wondering years later where all the time went and sorry that it’s all gone. ” ~ Robert Pirsig

“If your mind is truly, profoundly stuck, then you may be much better off than when it was loaded with ideas. The solution to the problem often at first seems unimportant or undesirable, but the state of stuckness allows it, in time, to assumes its true importance. It seemed small because our previous rigid evaluation which led to the stuckness made it small.
But now consider the fact that no matter how hard you try to hang on to it, this stuckness is bound to disappear. Your mind will naturally and freely move toward a solution. Unless you are a real master at staying stuck you can’t prevent this. The fear of stuckness is needless because the longer you stay stuck the more you see the Quality-reality that gets you unstuck every time. What’s
really been getting you stuck is the running from the stuckness through the cars of your train of knowledge looking for a solution that is out in front of the train. Stuckness shouldn’t be avoided. It’s the psychic predecessor of all real understanding.” ~ Robert Pirsig

Draw back the curtains and let the Sun rise, as it will. Turtledove chanting outside the window. No sounds of traffic on the highway. Not yet. The day is beginning, and let’s face it, things get pretty noisy during the day. I don’t know if it is from living in the Florida Keys for so many years, but I can easily go all judgmental about the speed and density of today’s world. I left the Keys 24 years ago, and I suspect that things down there are much faster and denser now. To this day I retain the deep sorrow of watching the gentrification of the place, soon after Ronald Reagan came into power. Yes, I remember well going through the INS checkpoint just south of Florida City. It was a border within a boarder. The Keys put tongue in cheek and seceded, fired one shot from a dinky cannon, broke a loaf of French bread over the head of some guy dressed up in formal Navel attire, then applied for Federal aid as a defeated adversary. Great fun. But that was many yesterdays ago. And today’s political climate makes that all look like Lego play. Don’t ask me what that means. Let’s see – on the immediate front, it is laundry day for me. Wash, rinse, dry, fold. I like the sounds of that. I may even try and linger out in the direct sunlight for a while. As an entrenched depressive I tend to shy away from sunlight. Yeh, vitamin D and all that good stuff. I know the benefits of sunlight intimately, from my time in the islands. And I don’t need a lecture, k? Geez, I feel grouchy this morning, and I have no idea why, but the feeling was presaged when I woke up from some uncomfortable dream, exclaiming much more rigorously than usual from the struggle to get my upper torso to begin to limber up. One of my favorite quips about aging is that if you wake up in the morning and nothing hurts, you haven’t actually woken up yet. Boy howdy that line never gets old for me. The funny thing is that I have limbered up since waking but things still hurt. Go figure. It kinda sorta makes me wonder what is really real. But I ain’t going there, because I don’t really give a rat sass about reality today. There – I finally made myself smile. Call it proactive grouching.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Headed to the Lowlands

“The alleged power to charm down insanity, or ferocity in beasts, is a power behind the eye.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

“When I was no longer of the world, I would miss its extravagant beauty. I would miss the complex and charming layers of subterfuge by which the truth of the world’s mysteries were withheld from us even as we were tantalized and enchanted by them. I would miss the kindness of good people who were compassionate when so many were pitiless, who made their way through so much corruption without being corrupted themselves, who eschewed envy in a world of envy, who eschewed greed in a world of greed, who valued truth and could not be drowned in a sea of lies, for they shone and, by the light they cast, they warmed me all my life.” ~Dean Koontz

“Part of love is preparing for death. You feel confirmed in your love when she dies. You got it right. This is part of it all.” ~ Julian Barnes

This may well become a sleepy day. I’d like that. In fact it is somewhat of a goal. I’m tired, and I was just lucky enough to remember the common remedy for that. It is only just this morning that I realized that a death in my immediate circle hit me harder than I’d realized. Aneurism. Fast. The revelation of the impact on me came when I stopped by to pay my phone bill, and coincidentally learned a new and rather stunning detail about the situation. I won’t mention it here. Details would detract from the true nature of the whole affair, which is life, and mystery itself. But, as I was saying . . . it hit me hard through a combination of my NDE and feelings from Lori’s death in the Summer of ’95. Let’s see – 2019 minus 1995? 24 years. Some things never grow old. My own death came 11 years earlier than Lori’s, but I managed to talk my way out of it. Sort of. And one of the key features of my journey to the Other Side was pretty much the same as my plight today . . . like, dude, slow the fuck down, dude, and get some rest! After my visit to pay my bill I circled around past the animal shelter and the DMV, then on into the dispensary, where I consulted with the young man behind the counter. Just the smell of that place had me calming down right away, but not nearly to the degree of rest I needed. I told him that I needed something to make me really really mellow. “Man, I need to get some rest”. He recommended a certain strain called “Super Glue”. Yeh! Being glued to the chair all day might be just the thing. Back when I used to go up there, the dispensary in San Luis, Colorado had a strain call “Gorilla Glue”. Stuff that makes you One with the chair, couch, whatever. I’m fixin’ to do that before too long. From the dispensary I went to the pharmacy, where I picked up more stuff to calm me down; refills of the pharmaceuticals I take daily. The cynical me will blame my exhaustion on the Red Bull-soused speed cult that is today’s world. The wounded soul in me will attribute it to the fact that we are entering uncharted territory in therapy, so maybe I simply have my archetypes all in an uproar, and metaphors swarming around me, each one eager to show me what they have to offer. My goal today, besides getting some rest, is to see what I can do about quieting the twitches and occasional spasm. Those both scare me to some degree well above zero. But no worries. There is one other factor involved here today, and I may sound petty. Whatever. I finally got my official Ozark Mountain Daredevils (the underlined text is a link to one of their videos) ball cap. All things soothing to the soul. That’s me today: I’m headed to the Lowlands Bueno bye.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Of Acronyms and Nitwits

“If you spend your life sparing people’s feelings and feeding their vanity, you get so you can’t distinguish what should be respected in them.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

“Artistic symbols and myths speak out of the primordial, preconscious realm of the mind which is powerful and chaotic. Both symbol and myth are ways of bringing order and form into this chaos.” ~ Rollo May

“Traumatized people chronically feel unsafe inside their bodies: The past is alive in the form of gnawing interior discomfort. Their bodies are constantly bombarded by visceral warning signs, and, in an attempt to control these processes, they often become expert at ignoring their gut feelings and in numbing awareness of what is played out inside. They learn to hide from their selves.” ~ Bessel A. van der Kolk

A sigh, just above the rim of my coffee cup, must mean something. It is one of those days when self-compassion will come in handy. It is one of those days when I have to buck up and prevent myself from getting pissed off at some inconsiderate person, or maybe a nitwit; and they are occasionally one in the same. David Foster Wallace wrote that what other people think of us is none of our business. I’m pretty much with him in that regard. Say some nitwit treats me as if I were a simpleton. Why should that bother me, unless they truly violate my personal boundaries, in which case I can defend myself with some tasty words, or maybe just give a low rumbling growl from the depths of my throat. I like that last option because I doubt that anyone would take that as an insult. But of course I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be polite. Sigh. Now on to more important things. I opened a fresh bag of coffee this morning — Green Mountain brand “Dark Magic”. At this point in my life I need to step back into the magic of the world. That was one of the lessons from Brighid, who met me on the Other Side during my NDE. Magic and laughter — which takes me back to the coffee. If you are going to embrace magic you are going to have to get used to Dark Magic. There is no way around it. That nitwit I mentioned is acting on a low level of magic, of consciousness. And without higher consciousness you might as well just go back to believing that magic isn’t real. I think magic is semi-real yet realer than real. It comes from the imaginal realm, which is a liminal phenomenon that seems to me to be a version of the mercurial borderline that is one condition that makes alchemy viable. Myths and archetypes like to hang out near that border, to give us some semblance of understanding, or maybe feeling, the music that also hangs out at that place. I’m fixin’ to start stumbling over my words here. There is a good possibility that I will get myself riled if I go on trying to describe this realm of magic. Of course the anger would be a low-level expression of the passion for writing, which keeps me interested in writing a blog post most every day. Passion is crucial to magic as it relates to . . . ummmm . . . it is simply all magic, this world. Witnessing the Dark Side these days is kinda sorta lazy, because of the tilt of the cosmic scale. Some nitwit has his thumb on the metaphorical scale, and the Dark Side has become a copious in our world. Sigh. The coffee is good, and nearly gone, and the dawn sky is starting to crank up the lights. I think I will endeavor to stand tall and silent with that nitwit today. I’d best do that because if I just mutter WTF . . . ummm . . . that may not be such a bad idea! Acronyms can sometimes say more than the words they represent. And I’m like all “dude, chill”.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Back out to Full Size

“He is, or has been, in many ways a great man. But for this very reason he is odd. It is only petty men who seem normal.” ~ Umberto Eco

The very nicest thing about being a writer is that you can afford to indulge yourself endlessly with oddness, and nobody can really do anything about it, as long as you keep writing and kind of using it up, as it were. I am, this morning, endeavoring to persuade you to join me in my deluded world; it is a happy, irrational, rich world, full of fairies and ghosts and free electricity and dragons, and a world beyond all others fun to walk around in. All you have to do—and watch this carefully please–is keep writing. As long as you write it away regularly, nothing can really hurt you.”  ~ Shirley Jackson

“What art offers is space – a certain breathing room for the spirit.” ~ John Updike

Did you ever notice how Facebook messes with your head? Not intentionally, of course. And not the Russians. I don’t mean them – and while I’m at it, I still can’t get the image of Boris Badenov out of my head whenever I think of Russians. I’d like to keep it that way because it pays to retain at least one bright spot in such dark times. But back to Facebook. It’s not the platform as such. It is the algorithms. It’s easier to see what I am talking about if you look at YouTube, but . . . listen, these algorithms can narrow down your consciousness. Never mind why. I am simply not articulate enough to explain myself this morning, and the coffee ain’t helpin’ none. I mean no slight against the coffee. I love the stuff. But I am a little uneasy with the flat out fact that we live in a society that needs an upper just to get into the day. Lucky for me I enjoy this particular drug. ~ ~ ~ I just stepped outside between this paragraph and the previous paragraph. The stars are gone and the hues of lavender suffuse the air with mystery, and that mystery tends to fade as the Sun comes up full. And the ‘same old same old’ day begins. I say do not let the mystery fade. At least that’s what I say to myself. My first trip outside this morning, back around 3 AM, gifted me with a clear view of Ursa Major. Such a sight touches my soul. Yesterday was Beltane. A sacred day. I wasn’t feeling so sacred yesterday, and it saddened me to feel that way. Going to the laundromat, and actually doing my laundry, helped some. Psychotherapy at 4-5 PM helped even more. After that it was a puff and a pint, and then another. Not enough to make me forget the world, just enough to get the physical unit to calm the fuck down enough to hear the gentle pervasive hum of life. I’m kind of a Druid in that respect. The Music of the Spheres moves me in wordless ways. Yeh, I enjoy sharing my thoughts over coffee in the morning, when I sometimes attempt to put that music into words. And then sometimes I get all fantasy-like and talk about the bruja who antagonizes me, or how I died and came back to life with some weirdo story about a goddess and we are all connected and love is all you need and all is well so quit worrying. Sigh. I’m not drinking my two morning cups of coffee as fast as I used to. I am in no friggin hurry to get up to speed. And BTW, I don’t mean to call that stuff “fantasy” because it ain’t real – because it is. It just is. That having been said – – hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work I go. Of course, not until I go look at the Sacred Mountain first, and then a mindful cleansing shower. Yeh, a hot shower, mindfully embraced, causes the aura to contract. Ya wash it out real good and the shake it back out to full size. Oh, never mind.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Yet Another Comfort

“Listen to what you know instead of what you fear.” ~ Richard Bach

“I’m not a body with a soul, I’m a soul that has a visible part called the body.” ~ Paulo Coelho

“If someone told me that I could live my life again free of depression provided I was willing to give up the gifts depression has given me — the depth of awareness, the expanded consciousness, the increased sensitivity, the awareness of limitation, the tenderness of love, the meaning of friendship, the appreciation of life, the joy of a passionate heart–I would say, ‘This is a Faustian bargain! Give me my depressions. Let the darkness descend. But do not take away the gifts that depression, with the help of some unseen hand, has dredged up from the deep ocean of my soul and strewn along the shores of my life. I can endure darkness if I must; but I cannot lie without these gifts. I cannot live without my soul’.” ~ David Elkins

Thunder came shortly before I went to bed last night. Big stuff, nearby. I fall asleep easily, and the thunder made it even easier. Why? Because witnessing Nature’s immense power comforts me. I feel somehow safe. Reassurance never hurts. Now – the lingering moisture from last night’s gentle rain is yet another comfort. Do you think it is healthy to be reminded on occasion that we are part of Nature, that we are but a small part of . . . whatever. It’s that way whether we like it or not. Nuff said. I do not feel inclined to write much this morning. There is a lot I could say, but I am just not into it. Or am I? So far it’s a smile of a day, and I intend to keep it that way. However much it happens I to this day usually forget that one can smile in just about any situation. I’m not sure why that thought is with me today but I will listen to it, and resist insisting that I will someday understand why some thoughts impose themselves then endure. There is something to learn. And you can learn happiness. Delight is spontaneous, but you can conjure up happiness through intent. That’s enough for me, on this fine Spring day. It seems to be a gift in honor of Beltane, which comes tomorrow. Beltane celebrates fertility. I believe that includes fertility of the mind as well. For now, I will quit before I start offering advice. It has begun raining once more; yet another comfort.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.