Who Calls Forth the Dragons?

“We wrapped our dreams in words and patterned the words so that they would live forever, unforgettable.”  ~  Neil Gaiman

“It occurs to me that the peculiarity of most things we think of as fragile is how tough they truly are. There were tricks we did with eggs, as children, to show how they were, in reality, tiny load-bearing marble halls; while the beat of the wings of a butterfly in the right place, we are told, can create a hurricane across an ocean. Hearts may break, but hearts are the toughest of muscles, able to pump for a lifetime, seventy times a minute, and scarcely falter along the way. Even dreams, the most delicate and intangible of things, can prove remarkably difficult to kill.”  ~ Neil Gaiman

“There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says “Morning, boys. How’s the water?” And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes “What the hell is water?”  ~ David Foster Wallace

Reading the news this morning enlightened me to what should have been obvious: our current governmental crisis provides ample, maybe even endless, opportunity to be really really cranky in my morning blog post. The temptation is nearly painful to resist. Ouch.  Just a taste here of some of the stuff that is going through my head these days. I am feeling excitement from . . . well, can’t quite pin that thought down. My bad. The tidbit I offer, from the writer here, comes from numerous times during the past many months when some writer of some article appearing somewhere compares our Tump crisis with the HBO series “Game of Thrones”. Okay, I can go with that. So who plays Daenerys Stormborn in real life? Who calls forth the dragons when the time comes? My money is on Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. Talk about pluck; she has it in abundance. Saw a thing this morning where Donny Junior posted a meme that suggested that Ocasio-Cortez wants to make Americans eat dogs. Yes, it has gone that far. She’s a Democratic Socialist (as am I). Get it? Socialist? Friggin Commies. So I have to wonder if they eat dogs up yonder in Norway. Just sayin’, right? Sometimes I sense that our greatest threat from Trump Sr. and his posse is that them wackos live in a comic book and we don’t. Period. And they don’t even wait for the ink to dry.

The weather radar shows an area of snow that extends on beyond Los Alamos, down to just south of Santa Fe. The north end of the snow ends just a mile or two south of here. Here, it is foggy; air temperature hovering right at or around the freezing point. Celtic lore suggests that the mist is where the material world and the Spirit world commingle at their closest. I feel it that way; asking the ancestors and Spirit in general for assistance in a battle I am having to endure. Magic is once again afoot in the land. Someone has been witchin’ me. That’s not cool. I have my suspicions but I can’t rightly say with any certainty exactly who it is. I’ll figure it out. That said, it’s time for me to mosey along, straight into the shower. Tis a workday and the holiday retail season is also afoot in the land. I find that to be enthralling at times. As stressful and painful as retail can sometimes be, it is still great fun when business gets brisk.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


The Dreamspinner’s Lament

“I would go to the deeps a hundred times to cheer a downcast spirit. It is good for me to have been afflicted, that I might know how to speak a word in season to one that is weary.”  ~  Charles Haddon Spurgeon

“Writing, the art of communicating thoughts to the mind through the eye, is the great invention of the world…enabling us to converse with the dead, the absent, and the unborn, at all distances of time and space.”  ~ Abraham Lincoln

“It is so many years before one can believe enough in what one feels even to know what the feeling is”  ~ William Butler Yates

Sometimes I have fun searching for the day’s quotes for this blog. Today I felt more serious, and really had to think about some of the quotes. I just had to. Such thinking shakes up the soul, gently. My soul is weary today. Yesterday was a difficult day and the stress got to me. Snappish. Excessively self-important. That was me. Today I feel wrung out. Ugh. Whatever. Massage this morning and therapy this afternoon. Then Netflix. Nothing new. Comforting habits can be used in a positive way. I like the short Winter days. There is less daylight so the time spent has to be more succinctly applied. That may not make sense, but it does to me. But my mind is far from clear. That is manageable. Geez, this could almost turn into a spiritual tract, and I ain’t goin’ there. To quote Moe Howard (or was it Curley?): “No way, no how”.

Here’s a little tune I wrote, performed, produced, and recorded, early on one particular melancholy morning. It to me speaks of both longing and weariness. Just like today.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Asking for a Friend

Can you see the sleeping giant in this photo?

“Justice can sleep for years and awaken when it is least expected. A miracle is nothing more than dormant justice from another time arriving to compensate those it has cruelly abandoned. Whoever knows this is willing to suffer, for he knows that nothing is in vain.”  ~ Mark Helprin, Winter’s Tale

“Few will have the greatness to bend history itself, but each of us can work to change a small portion of events. It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.”  ~ Robert F. Kennedy

“Never forget that justice is what love looks like in public.” ~  Cornel West

Second cup of coffee poured. Cat asleep, propped like a sphinx laid over on her side. Looks like she was looking at me until sleep overcame her, dragging her head down with it. Silly girl. Watching me? Yeh, she does that. I suspect she is easily amused. Goddess knows I am. I know that cats take much more sleep than do humans, but when I am in a period of active paranoia, clinincal-like from the PTSD, I fear she is really just bored with me; which is not true. Tis a sleepy-eyed morning and magic is afoot in the land. Coyotes howled up close, early yesterday morning. Then again this morning. In the dark. A song that evoked breathless wonder in me, each time. Two nights in a row. Coyote speaks to balance, to that alchemical stream of mercury that sets it all apart. Light and dark, black and white, wisdom and folly. Yikes. The presence of Spirit is strong in me these days, this moment being the best so far. As tired as I am, I won’t get into the knotty grumbles, like some friggin old dude might do. Don’t get me wrong, I could go there. But I have a massage scheduled for Thursday. Spirit quivers in anticipation. Anticipation treated fondly can be a strong force in healing. The body just says ugh, like wake me up when we get there dude. Healing requires both Light and Dark. It just does. If you don’t engage Shadow, you ain’t goin’ nowhere. If you do it just right you can find out who you are. There is a lot of hidden identity hidden within the Shadow. Why waste it, right? Just asking for a friend.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Fear of Doing Something Wrong

“Words empower us, move us beyond our suffering and set us free. This is the sorcery of literature. We are healed by our stories.”  ~ Terry Tempest Williams

“He could do the dextral pain the same way: Abiding. Here was a second right here: he endured it. What was undealable-with was the thought of all the instants all lined up and stretching ahead, glittering. And the projected future fear. It’s too much to think about. To Abide there. But none of it’s as of now real. He could just hunker down in the space between each heartbeat and make each heartbeat a wall and live in there. Not let his head look over. What’s unendurable is what his own head could make of it all. But he could choose not to listen.” ~  David Foster Wallace

“In so many ways, suffering – when allowed – looks like love. Our cry of suffering is the cry for reunion: it is the calling towards home and the awakening of our True Nature. When we repress that call of suffering – which is the precise music of our healing – we also repress the love.”  ~  Georgi Y. Johnson

Some overpowering force, perhaps? Nope, not even. I was ready to start this blog post earlier when something or other nagged at me so I went to check something out about my health insurance and the healthcare.gov stuff (none of which I had taken care of yet) and the whole thing went all dominoes on me. I ended up taking care of all of it and now it is done. Imagine that. There’s a key point here, as it relates to anxiety and depression. I’ve been a procrastinator ever since I can remember. In the past year I learned that in PTSD, or other anxiety disorders, the procrastination is not laziness, it is fear of doing something wrong. That fear was with me as I edited last year’s enrollment application with healthcare.gov. Lost paperwork and/or mail all fell into place, into my hands, whatever. Passwords and user IDs included. It was the darnedest thing! All done before work; totally unplanned. I call stuff like this magic, though I am aware that much of my worldview could be seen as clinical magical thinking. It ain’t. And here’s why. There’s no need for magic to be real, if how you see things . . . oh, never mind. Time to get ready for the workday. 

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

In a Good Sort of Way

“Get this in mind early: We never grow up.”  ~ Richard Bach

“There was no sudden, striking, and emotional transition. Like the warming of a room or the coming of daylight. When you first notice them they have already been going on for some time.”  ~  C. S. Lewis

Admittedly, the whole thing’s pretty confusing, and hard to talk about abstractly…but surely something must lie behind not just Muzak in dull or tedious places any more but now also actual TV in waiting rooms, supermarkets’ checkouts, airport gates, SUVs’ backseats. Walkman, iPods, BlackBerries, cell phones that attach to your head. This terror of silence with nothing diverting to do. I can’t think anyone really believes that today’s so-called ‘information society’ is just about information. Everyone knows it’s about something else, way down.”  ~  David Foster Wallace

Waiting for the snow. That, it seems, is what it is all about this morning. All of it. The Sunday morning news cycle often sucks anymore. The momentum of the Trump scandals has shifted, just in the past few days. A break in the action, as a result, is welcome, in a mixed bag sort of way. It’s a change in rhythm, which means where it goes from here is anybody’s guess. But I ain’t guessing, just waiting for the snow. The weather radar shows the snow as being just to the west. On the personal front it’s about time to feed the cat, then likely take a snooze, just in case . . . well, never mind that . . . just because is more like it. Headache, ringing ears, anxiety, restlessness, racing thoughts. Stuff like that. They all seem minor simply because they are manageable. Adequate rest is part of management. A large part. If I get it today I’ll be ready for a three day stint at my day job. That’s the why of why the snow has me feeling anticipation in a good sort of way. It is a peaceful event when the wind is not raging. Which brings me back to the forecast. We shall see. I would love for this snow to be a considerable event. If it does snow. If it doesn’t I will still have the benefit of having felt  good about it’s approach. Good feelings are good feelings. It is what it is. And before I am tempted to fling a string of aphorisms your way . . . ummmm. Listen, if I wanted to actually do that I’d write a self-help inspirational book and get it out of my system, get it over with. And along with it I would hopefully cut back on my cynicism as well. Sweet.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Serendipity and Expectations

“I understand perfectly why some of my autistic patients scream and flap their arms–it’s to frighten off extroverts”  ~  Mark Vonnegut

“Mindfulness helps us get better at seeing the difference between what’s happening and the stories we tell ourselves about what’s happening, stories that get in the way of direct experience. Often such stories treat a fleeting state of mind as if it were our entire and permanent self.”  ~  Sharon Salzberg

“I’m subject to occasional theological nightmares. The one that leaves me in a cold sweat every time is, I arrive at the pearly gates and the first thing I’m asked is where I went to college.”  ~  Mark Vonnegut

Serendipity led me to Mark Vonnegut this morning. I never would have expected that. One of the nice things about serendipity is that you don’t need no stinkin’ expectations, because if you saw it coming it ain’t serendipity. Mark is, of course, son of Kurt, but I don’t reckon I know who Kurt’s dad was, and that is exactly the point. Mark is a fine writer in his own right. And likely a fine pediatrician as well. What a day job, right? Dude rocks. I first came across Mark’s writing when I endeavored to learn more about the suspected mental illness I was seemingly facing at the time. Mark’s first book, The Eden Express, was one of the first places I went. It’s a great book, and it will make you laugh as well as making you squirm — it’s the story of his plummet into a psychotic break. Interestingly enough, I came across another writer, right around the same time. He came to my attention because he had recently hung himself, during a bout of depression that sounded to be just about as horrific as could be. First it was a perfunctory news piece, somewhere on the internet, that called him brilliant, a singular talent, perhaps even the voice of his generation. Then another story, then another. Then a tribute. Then another. And on and on. I had no idea who this guy was, but as I saw more and more articles about him I crossed the intrigue threshold and checked him out. Here’s an article from The New Yorker that kinda put it in a nutshell  – click here. I was still with the ex at that time. She was somewhat aghast at my choosing to research two guys with serious mental illnesses in the quest of better understanding my own. That perspective still baffles me to this day. I mean, mental illness? Who better to ask then one who knows? I don’t like the idea of “descent into madness”. I just don’t. It seems to be right at home in a Lovecraft or Stephen King story, but it the real world . . . ? Not so much. Not for me anyway. I’m open to being wrong about that. But this is 2018, deep into the depraved depths of the Trump era. Look around, who’s mad? I’m not talking about the orange elephant in the room; the one with the coat of many price tags. He’s too easy. Start looking toward the sycophants, psycho-phants, whatever, in the Republican party. What the fuck is up with those people anyway? And the White Supremacists? I reckon that if you want to be seen as superior you might want to act in some way that might indicate your qualifications for superiority. Right? Besides, from a mystical perspective ain’t none of us particularly superior. Which is the way I like it.

“Rarely are there big heroic choices that will settle matters once and for all. The smallest positive step is probably the right one. Try not to argue. If you’re right, you don’t need to argue. If you’re wrong, it won’t help. If you’re okay, things will be okay. If you’re not okay, nothing else matters.”  ~  Mark Vonnegut

We need snow. That’s all there is to it. I’m ready, and the forecast from the National Weather Service looks promising. Whatever. This morning’s clouds will do just fine, for me, for now. Having a gray sky will suffice. I love gray skies, for a day or two. We shall see.  I just stepped out to the car. I can see the mountains from there. Quite a pretty morning. I’m taking a down day today. That’s all there is to it. As for the mental illness stuff I was just yakking about, I feel okay this morning. Anxiety is running high. Depression not within the comfort range, but there ya have it. You don’t get to pick and choose. As long as I have both cat and cozy I’ll be right fine to move through the day, or to sit still and watch it, or . . . oh, whatever. Yeh, that works.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Waves of Hazy Expectations

Shelter Life

“When the brain becomes too tired, the mind stops decrypting the perceptions in our mental world and surrenders willingly to the unguarded moments of life. For some time, the safeguards of our thinking pattern weaken and discontinue the decoding of the chips of daily reality. The mind picks the instants which are above suspicion, pure and innocent.”  ~  Erik Pevernagie 

“Do not deny the classical approach, simply as a reaction, or you will have created another pattern and trapped yourself there.”  ~  Bruce Lee

“If we make a fly-on-the-wall review of our history and connect the significant scenarios from our memory, we can develop a comprehensive pattern of our identity that throws a whirl of light on the secreted framework of our life.”  ~  Erik Pevernagie

Lingering in the moment, trying to determine which particular ‘today’ it is. I mean, it’s 2 AM, so I am not really certain that “today'”  even applies yet; at least not for another couple of hours, and by then, who knows, and what does it matter; I’ll be a different person by then, and by necessity, ’cause I gotta go into town, to my day job. 

“The perpetual movement of the water, rolling from and to unknown destinations, the voices of the sea shield us from the raging furies and shrieking sounds of dystopian surroundings, creating an unwinding veil for stilled happiness, acquainting us with the gentle, cosmic rhythms of an extraneous world. They are a soothing relief and let us listen to the voices of our inner world.”  ~  Erik Pevernagie

I remember sitting on a boulder of fossilized coral, looking out over the still ocean, over the mud flats, rising up on Prozac; the Florida Straits out beyond the shallows, just beginning to glisten, as the Sun gets up there into the sky. It was day 10 on a new regimen of daily Prozac. It was working, and on that particular morning the effects were kicking fully into gear. Washed in tears, I was experiencing one of the most profound feelings of Oneness I have known. An episode of deep unfathomable Darkness was in the recent past, and in facing it head-on, through seeking help, then listening, and by following the guidance, I had come to be sitting on that boulder. I don’t think the docs intended Cosmic Unity as a desired effect of treatment. You can’t push your way into a state of Grace, ya gotta be pulled in. But Doctor Baur, and Doctor Pruitt, had helped me open up a door that would no longer budge. But then it did. Dr. P wrote out the prescription for the SSRI drug because Dr. Baur’s doctorate was in Human Growth and Development. She was my therapist. Dr. Pruitt, my general practitioner. They got on the phone and yakked and came up with a plan. Father Edward, of the Key Largo Parish, also helped. Friggin Shadow had closed in on me most unexpectedly. See, I’d been following a woman, and she led me down the Shadow’s path. Cher was the sexiest woman I have ever met. Sweet Atlanta-tinged Southern accent as well. And boy howdy she was highly intelligent to boot. Long story short, I fell, in several ways, and ended up in that pit of Darkness. I likely I never would have done it without Cher’s help.  Cher, Dr. Baur, Dr. Daryl . . . it all just kinda fell together. Then I ended up in Dr. Bauer’s office, and she came to compare me to a former patient of her’s who happened to have once been Chief of his tribe. Dr. Bauer explained, the Chief and I were living on an archetypal level. Did I mention that Dr. Baur’s Doctorate thesis was on “Flow State”? Anyway, it all had flowed together, and I ended up sitting on that boulder. At the moment I think I’ll step away from the computer and go outside for a few minutes. There’s a storm coming so maybe it will snow. Fresh snow on the west slopes of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains is pretty much as good as the Florida Straits when it comes to getting all cozy and stuff with just Being. It’s the dark time of the year. A state of rest within the natural cycle of the year, within the season, can also be a state of play. That’s what I’m sayin’.

“People live on the flow of the daily reality and they surge on the waves of hazy expectations. They can experience pleasant junctures and try to catch and enjoy each special moment that is offered to them. Until life takes them by surprise.”  ~  Erik Pevernagie 

The wind is beginning to pick up now. I have my hopes up. I’ll admit to that. Snow. Bring it on. There is more that I desire from the day, but how the heck do I know that some chance may arise to fulfill those hazy desires. I expect too much. So I let the desires flow on up to the next level, to flow on up into the airy realms of Longing. After work today I have the whole weekend off. They say it might snow. Regardless, it is hibernation season. And I have some Ulner nerve issues goin’ on. Gotta keep my right arm kinda still for the next coupla days. It friggin hurts! But there has been a lot of seemingly Karmic stuff going on for me so I can use the pain to keep me grounded while I begin to process. That and snow will suit me just fine. It’s a State of Play.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

A few Drags Before Bed

“If animals could speak, the dog would be a blundering outspoken fellow; but the cat would have the rare grace of never saying a word too much.”  ~  Mark Twain

“Waking consciousness is dreaming – but dreaming constrained by external reality”  ~  Oliver Sacks

“The left hemisphere is more sophisticated and specialized, a very late outgrowth of the primate, and especially the hominid, brain. On the other hand, it is the right hemisphere which controls the crucial powers of recognizing reality which every living creature must have in order to survive.”  ~  Oliver Sacks

How cool is it that Mark Twain loved cats? Way cool, dude. Hey, while I am at it with Twain and stuff, I wonder if Huckleberry Finn is required reading in Mississippi public schools. Just sayin. Have you read it yet? I mean, it is maybe the American Classic, but don’t read it for that reason. Listen, Twain was downright surgical in regards to reckoning with the innards of our perceptions, especially where prejudice and hatred are concerned. This is, of course, a timely concept for this present point and place in history and in time. But what is time, right? Let me just say it is perhaps a tad more curly than you might imagine; or more than you have been led to believe. Whatever. It curls back on itself at times. Am I having a deja vu here? Yeh, buddy. You know that ain’t wrong.

The sky is quite clear this morning, and it is the stars that tell me so. Up the road to the north a lone dog is barking, quite adamant at times. Sounds like a big fella. Could be a yotee (trans: coyote) out there, passing by, or lingering as an affront designed to just plain piss off that doggy. Or it could just be some nitwit wandering around out there in the cold. 16º? I mean dude, really? Nah, prob’ly a yotee. I feel a bit of a plucky streak in me today. That’s a good thing; I’ll run with it. One point of courage and determination is to chill out already with my tendency toward intellect. It’s not like I want to explain things better, or to scout around for clever allusions. It’s not only fun, it is also where I go when the dark spaces come rollin’ in, making no kind of sense at all. One easy way to remedy, or at least to palliate, irrationality is to be rational – if you can. You’ll have to work at it, I reckon. That irrationality, in the clinical sense, was installed in that particular place in your soul for a very good reason. Society calls it ‘mental illness’, and we need that term, at least as a place-saver until we find something better. See, as “ill” folks, our brains don’t work anywhere near societal norms. Nor do they have to. Nor are they ever going to. Alas, these are just the musings of some proto-scribe who has to get his assets into the shower for a quickie, cause it is a workday, and the past two days off have been at least 50 years long, all told. That’s the innards of my perceptions talking. Processing, processing. Just this – I am usually pretty depressed on days off. Don’t try to friggin analyze that, k? Sometimes seriously so. By the time the night before a workday comes I am loopy from the beating that irrationality so easily delivers. Many writers have written about depression and/or PTSD, in order to engage the beast. Last night I did not feel beaten down like a pie crust still on the cutting board (I love that metaphor!). I can only call it a state of grace. Or maybe a state of play might be more accurate. No, we don’t always play nice with ourselves. Last night I was able to simply look around and feel the spaciousness around me. Nothing was wrong, and I felt no denial. I ain’t friggin gonna break down and say the great god “it is what it is” had anything to do with it. I was too busy breathing to think about stuff like that. No, I wasn’t ‘doing’ mindfulness. That requires ‘not doing’. I was simply having a few drags off a cigarette before bed. Ya jest never know when it’s a gonna hit ya.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Pelican and the Mother-in-Law

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

“Courage and perseverance have a magical talisman, before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish into air.”  ~  John Quincey Adams

“No one can say if you are that person who, given good paint, good brushes, and a fine canvas, can produce something better than the factory man. That is, and has always been, beyond the realm of science. You do have the attitude of the dreamer about you. For that reason, I haven’t the heart to argue anymore about this – it is a hopeless talk. And for a simple factory man like me, an effort must be abandoned once its hopelessness is exposed. Only the artist perseveres in such circumstances.”  ~  David Wroblewski 

The joy of coffee is upon me today. Yesterday, not so much. Fact is I didn’t have any yesterday. No coffee? It boggles the mind, which, of course, was boggled to begin with. Confusion, revulsion, disappointment, feckless longing, fear, hope, hollowed-out courage, diversion, keen manipulation, always by others, the slow-drip erosion of honesty, and a whole lot of other forms of all that happy horseshit that contains without mercy the burgeoning tendencies of creativity, in both hard-copy daily life and the rarer, seemingly more evanescent realms of creativity. And no, I didn’t forget to buy coffee. Apparently I simply neglected to make any. See, Sunday mornings are hopeless times for me. I don’t see that in a sad or despondent way. Not at all. I’ve had this Sunday Gloomy Gus thing going on for years. Back, down, whatever, in the islands Sunday didn’t matter so much simply because it didn’t seem to matter what day it was. The seabirds would tell me that: dude, like chill, it ain’t tomorrow yet. No worries. Everything cool, mon. And pelicans in particular. Sometimes, as I crossed the bridge over Whale Harbor Channel on my bicycle, one of them good buddies would come to fly alongside. Or maybe glide is a better word. No more than six feet off my right shoulder, skimming along top of curl of wind. Eye contact with one of them beasties was always a joy. The darned thins knew what they were doing, keeping pace with the dude on the bicycle. Playing. Testing the wind as if they knew what they were doing. It seemed they both knew what they were doing and didn’t know at all. At times like that ya just gotta flow. Which beats the hell outta banging around through life like a pinball. The pelican and I, sharing a concrete bridge rail. Like brothers. And no, that is not a sexist statement. It was always a male bird. Every time. I can’t explain it. And I had best not try. The coffee I am drinking this morning is brewed just right, like my ex-wife taught me to do. Strong, dark, and bitter. And that means she is on my mind. And that means I sure as shootin’ woulda come up against her snarly feminism just because the bird was always a male. Her mother woulda been even worse. Her outlook on masculinity was more like ‘how dare you ride your bicycle alone, without a woman, without supervision’. And oh man was she ever plucky about it.

I had no intention of writing about pelicans this morning. Nor about my ex-wife. And especially not about the mother-in-law. That woman once gave me some lessons in rudimentary astrology. We did up my chart, then she went through each planetary aspect in the chart, interpreting what each one meant in the scheme of things. When she came to one aspect in particular she refused to say anything at all about it, except to say that it was too dark and scary to even discuss. Like, listen man, you have one serious flaw there. She didn’t say ‘keep away from my daughter’ . . . but that’s how it turned out. No, I never found out what she found so sinister in me. I’ve studied the aspect that scared her so much, and I don’t think it means what she thought it means. Now, back to the coffee. Starbucks. Morning Joe. Just to fill in the blanks here, my Gloomy Gus Sunday phenomenon was highly tempered by reading the Sunday Boston Globe, back when I lived in Worcester, Massachusetts. Those were good days, and I almost felt good sometimes. My world was still clouded from head trauma, 3-4 years after the fact. My depressive tendencies were undergoing, without my knowledge, a transformation that was triggered by the blow to the head. A coupla years later, back in the islands, that transformation came to a head. Full-blown depression set in. And I went full Gloomy Gus on Sundays. But enough of that, lest I be seen as wagging my finger at all y’all, preaching negatively, defending feelings of hopelessness and powerlessness. I deal, I cope, I wiggle around some, when those feelings get too strong. Truth is things ain’t that bad at all. I know that. But those feelings? Likely clinical, so they stay around until they are good and ready to go. And Sundays? The Gloomy Gus thing has developed quite a  bit of charm. Melancholy is not depression. Now it is every Sunday. Every one. By chance or by perseverance, I have found something cute and charming in those darkest days of the week. And I now have a medical cannabis card. Wisely dosed, Indica makes listening to Mozart on Sunday morning totally voluntary. It is said that listening to Mozart is good for the brain and mind. Wisely dosed, it could be even Bartok or Philip Glass. But my choice is always, these days, acoustic Celtic music. Soul music. Yet the day is sometimes just plain downright dark. Yesterday was one of those days; so dark that I forgot to make any coffee. Now, it’s time to pour my second cup of the morning, and to stop this friggin, ramblin’. Tally ho.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Dreams in Realtime

That’s me in the corner
That’s me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don’t know if I can do it
Oh no, I’ve said too much
I haven’t said enough ~ REM

“When he looks back at me, his eyes travel around my face the way fingers dart through the bottom of a drawer, searching for batteries in a blackout.”  ~ Holly Schindler

“Courage is being the only only one who knows how terrified you are.”  Tom Clancy

Dreams may come at any time, anywhere. The question of ‘when’ comes up, and the only answer is ‘you will find out’. Just chill, k? Not everything happens for a reason. I may just be rambling here but I am thinking of a virtual particle . . .”

The best way to approach this concept, I believe, is to forget you ever saw the word “particle” in the term. A virtual particle is not a particle at all. It refers precisely to a disturbance in a field that is not a particle. A particle is a nice, regular ripple in a field, one that can travel smoothly and effortlessly through space, like a clear tone of a bell moving through the air.  A “virtual particle”, generally, is a disturbance in a field that will never be found on its own, but instead is something that is caused by the presence of other particles, often of other fields.” ~ Matt Strassler

Makes total sense, right? Not so much. Not yet, anyway. I love physics; coulda gone there myself; coulda gone all theoretical and stuff. Pop science can be sketchy but it is fun as all get out. What I am, I think, getting at is that you may strive for something, visualize it, spark up the Law of Attraction, and think positively 24/7. And when and if your dream comes true you still have no friggin way of knowing for sure that your efforts were the cause of the dream in realtime unfolding . There’s a chance that the dream just happened, and that the Universe knows something that you don’t. Capiche? A dream come true comes along and you say . . . no, wait, I’m starting to sound kinda arrogant here, aren’t I? I’m a Chaos kind of guy. I like to see how things unfold. The nature of their coming in to existence is what I like to watch, to see how it all moves. Suppose you are looking for ‘Miss Right’. Someone nice comes along. You can see her presentation. She . . oh, never mind. What I am saying dude, without so many words, dude, is to watch how she moves, and not like some ogler, dude. Well, that’s me today. No, I am not looking for Miss Right again, I am simply looking for movement. But I am too tired, weary, whatever  – and achy too – to run around looking. Today I am into standing still –  metaphorically speaking, of course

“Your feet are going to be on the ground
Your head is there to move you around
If wishes were trees, the trees would be falling
Listen to reason, season is calling”  ~  REM

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.