life on the blue planet

So many words, So little to say

2017-07-04T23:09:00.000-05:00

Let us have a moment of silence, followed by a litany of polite exchange. Have faith -

Oh, Other Entity, you don't need to feel invisible. I can assure you that we are all civilized here and open to each other's natures, however tattered from the outrages of our fragmented existence on this orbiting ball of dung. We are bodies of flesh, more or less substantial and we are bound as civilized beings to take the time, to avow to one another our feeling natures, sentient natures, regardless of all the brutalizing forces testifying otherwise.

Were we blaspheming pustules, would we not be owed our due to some measure? Certain allowances would have to be calculated in determining the portion, be it small to miniscule. Such is the exactitude demanded of us lesser beings and I, for one, wouldn't have it otherwise. Order in all things; mind you, theoretically as it were indeed!

How's your headache?

blinded by the vapors

2014-09-03T20:17:00.000-05:00

A blind person in the fog doesn't know her field of vision has been diminished.

I have posted before (I'm sure), I will not be surprised if right after everyone has made peace with the notion that I have invoked my last rant, I will have to abruptly ask their pardon because some cosmic light bulb blinds me with its brilliance as I feel compelled to make amends over some past misdeed, knowing I can't possibly even consider eternity with a conscience that is in a state of disorder.

(And, by way of a prolonged aside, I want to be cremated and have my ashes put in an eco-friendly pot with soil and a seed for a tree. Maybe there will be some sort of marker: "Do not destroy our dear departed friend/tree. If you dare, we are reasonably sure of a result that will be both imaginative and dire.")

As per usual I have wandered thither and yon in what must seem like a mindless effort but is actually intended to whet your appetite for a cogent point. (Be honest. You thought I had at last lost my mind. That's okay.)

Oh, yes. To that cogent point I had promised! If I can leave you with anything, it is this: consider a honest appraisal of yourself. Don't waste any energy with defensive arguments about why you are the way you are. You will be wrong most likely. Deal with those unpleasant, salient points about yourself that are an issue in your existence.

Doing it sooner than later will do you and the rest of us a world of good.

in the sky with diamonds

2014-07-13T18:33:00.000-05:00

Her discontented heart searches
through the well worn pages
of her story,

An odd mix of moments
among neglected snapshots,
spied in disorderly reveries,

The Innocent is there
suspended in Time's wasteland,
set upon by life's keen edge,

the wide-eyed, wild-eyed
creature she was -
wailing her long siren call,

defying "Almighty Chaos" -
yowling in the Dark,
at the altar of the 70's,

a last gut-busting
heart stopping,

"Hell yes!"

....................................................................

Trusting each successive moment, yawning wide before each step like a missing page in the grand scheme of things, was the mystery she authored. (She had faith that the Unknown knew her, was peopled by her visions and awaited her from within its mystic folds.)

So what if everything about her world was turned upside down. So be it, death to common sense! She had left all things comfortable far behind. A limited perspective on what was possible was for people with no imagination or vision.

Nor did she care to worry. Weren't her experiences divine revelations, mind-boggling, mind expanding, full of tidbits, fanciful delicacies, soulful larks riding the speed of light?

..........................................................................

Any piece of wisdom she possessed vanished as if by magic in her anxious grasp. Breathing in a false world, the limits of her existence testified to a divine deception?

That vagabond waif of words and images had disappeared with yesterday's wind, no longer visible to the mind's eye. None of the things that mattered to her were more than the frail stuff of dreams. The absolute answer was then and is now: there is nothing we can know.

The End

odd moments

2014-06-17T23:51:00.005-05:00

How grand the little things... I have always liked the presence of cracks in a solid landscape, the imperfection of blotches asserting their right to be where they appear, irregularities in otherwise well-ordered designs...I could go on and on and on. I don't blanch at the rebellious object out of place, those odd little traces of evidence that existence is real and not all that well-ordered; I accept lint and dust... (oh no, break in consciousness!) or did, until my mind turned on me and I don't know! order took on a sacred aspect.

Why me?! Please don't let this be.

Now I find myself snatching innocent objects out of their snug spaces, where they have known peace and quiet for untold periods of time, endangered, perhaps to be abandoned to a trash heap, to suffer the merciless light of day, so relentless and devoid of heart...
Will my own vision abandon me?

I do pray that I hold dear to me that sacred space
to be discovered in the temple of the moment
and not forsake what is beyond value
for desolate perfection.
.

the alchemy of unrest

2014-06-17T23:39:00.000-05:00

Words allowed to gather together
foment meaning, the alchemy
of unrest.

And so, mischief emboldens
the idle mind, pricking the
cauldron of spirit's fancies and
firing the imagination -

In this way the status quo
is undone.

Express Yourself - Charles Wright

2014-04-24T10:24:00.001-05:00

So, how is everyone doing? Let me know.

past imperfect

2013-06-23T09:15:00.000-05:00

cracks in the sidewalk sd 030813

temporal and
substantial -

cracks in the sidewalk,
a sign of Time
progressing
down the path
of Now,

no matter how worn
the Way Before,
New Moments recreate
every step left
in the Past Imperfect.

notes from the underground

2013-06-20T13:48:00.004-05:00

or, I am buried under a ton of stuffff... When did I get so busy that I don't have time to journal or blog?

It is not as if I am a famous, or infamous, commodity in the celebrity marketplace, collecting gold nuggets in exchange for sharing gems of precious thought, the veritable mother lode of inspiration.

Worst of all I would be lost amid the countless counterfeits of myself, the multitude of imaginary creatures oozing forth from the dank dark recesses of my collective fans' unconscious.

Either way neither one of us would be pleased with reality, so heavy-handed and undeniable when it is real.

At the heart of the matter, I'm not consistent enough to inspire sustained attention. They, the fans, would find that special "me" they liked, only to discover I wasn't there anymore the very next time they inquired after my goings on (assuming they had a life.)

We all know how people feel about their attachments, especially the sort that go poof in the light of day!

I am that person in the crowd, the one stumbling around, contemplating the meaning of existence, apparently moving from one futile point of engagement to another, brow furrowed. (It's an illusion. I am going absolutely no where.)

If amid the storm of protest from those lives I touch in my misadventures, my arms outstretched in the flickering light of life's meaning; if in making a diligent effort to not lose ground in my blind search and if in the midst of all that, something (anything) is actually accomplished, then there is a point to all the fuss and I am not caught up in a snarky fairy tale with a warped ending.

But, I probably am. I ought not to take credit for surviving my very own non-existent epic (sigh), myself the main character, a thing from some alien species wreaking havoc in a simple earth person's shell of flesh and blood.

As I was saying (maybe I was saying), these formless thoughts are my very own notes from the underground, making the sort of sense you would expect from one digested and spewed forth by life!
.......

"Oh, look everybody! A Zombie! Ewww-ww!" the willowy blond damsel says, manicured nails pointing in the direction of the distressed, gnarly creature with the frazzled hair.

THE END

light & bright today

2013-03-06T09:44:00.002-06:00

seeing the light by sd 030413

nothing to say and saying it

2013-03-05T10:20:00.001-06:00

time of day sd 030413

out of words

2013-03-04T14:34:00.003-06:00

a black and white vision sd 030413

a twilight zone rant

2013-03-04T14:26:00.002-06:00

My husband has been transferring our VHS tapes of the The Twilight Zone to DVD. I may have posted about this particular episode before and if I have, I apologize, but the story line was right on. As are so many of the episodes. I am referring to the one in which a young girl doesn't want to look "beautiful." She wants to look like herself, regardless of what others might think about her appearance. If I recall correctly, society wins in the end.

Society was dead wrong in this tale for reasons which will prove foolish to me in a flash of insight on my death bed, knowing how irony can and will outwit poetic vision. There is intrigue to be discovered in the treasures lost in thought and discarded like so much rubbish...stuff to be pondered, to investigate and pick over among the points of illumination left behind by past's insights. Maybe this is one of them. Or not!

So, in pursuit of my subject (if by a cosmic toss of the dice, what I discover is related), I feel compelled to push ahead, obligated by honor to hold close to my heart its truth and willing myself to be right on in the knowledge of my ceaseless, stubborn insecurity that everything will be right with the world in the End. With me so far?!

I righteously propose that I would prefer to engage a die hard individualist, comfortable with one lazy eye shooting incomprehensibly in the direction of outer space, hair a fright with static and lips like a chicken's than passively accept by society's standards the value of sharing company with a "looker" just cuz.

I am the sort who remember faces better than names, but concede that I am flummoxed by the parade of vacant starlets, who project virtually no character and are (gulp) from where I stand on the matter, interchangeable like so many Barbie dolls one after another on a merchant's shelf.

the jury is out

2012-12-30T00:49:00.003-06:00

Ever wonder what life would look like, if your choices had been different? Mine kept me off the well-traveled pathways. I never did have a large group of fellow so-journers on the path nor did I ever give much thought to where the path I chose would lead. I was on an adventure!

Now? I confess to one and all that I am unequivocally in unfamiliar terrain. I wonder for the first time in my unsettled existence where my decisions will take me. The signs that ought to direct me are pointing in directions lacking relevance for the person I am. My vision is blurred from so many messages about who I ought to be and my place among my fellows.

Where do I go from here unless my destiny is to drop everything where I stand and assume the perspective of an observer, watching from a place removed from life? Would I speculate about Meaning for all the days left me? detached as I would be from the kaleidoscope of Everything? Given such a prospect, would the concept of Time, the Future and a ill-conceived Beyond contain any truth? Or, would Existence, as is. and my Experience of Existence as perceived, merge into a mind-altering Now, leaving this awareness of mine shredded into bits of knowing?

And, is that why in a state more final than Death, The Old Ones look so lost, sitting there all in a row at the Senior Facility in the Twilight Zone?

the time comes (and goes)

2012-11-05T11:33:00.003-06:00

Sometimes life happens all at once. All those dams erected to maintain a sense of normalcy, initiated in a blessed state of righteousness, being a futile and misdirected attempt to hold back the unacceptable, are once again battered and broken down by that mindless, relentless myth we deem reality.

The rushing waters seek out all those places forbidden to them, because decency, order and appearance are the goals of any civilized person. Or, so I've heard.

I am sixty-six years of age now and to hell with pretense! Not that I've ever been all that good at abiding by the norm. Life in return has had its way with me. Now turnabout is fair play. At least that is what I propose.

I should apologize for being rude and leaving my self-proclaimed niche here on the "blue planet" without giving notice, but there simply was no way in this dark spinning dizzying world, I could get my unruly thoughts together to post a coherent moment from my life, as there were none.

I was treading deliriously in all that churned up sewage from the past; admittedly a last ditch effort to rescue some meaning from the anarchy.

Do you recall "My Mind Has a Mind of Its Own"? A Higher Power smacked imaginary duct tape on my mouth shortly thereafter. I am here on this insane planet to testify that a kinder dimension does exist. Must exist. For anarchy and insanity to have meaning, there must exist its opposite. I have survived my personal history long enough to have earned the credentials or metals or plain unmitigated chutzpah to say so publicly.

Amen, hallelujah and pass the basket, all you brothers and sisters! You too can assume your perch one blessed day and warble like a magpie.

Catalyst: Peacock Spider - ABC TV Science

2012-11-04T08:39:00.001-06:00

Catalyst: Peacock Spider - ABC TV Science

cat woman

2012-08-24T22:41:00.005-05:00

I am craning my neck in a vain attempt to see around a small gray tabby with a very large nose and piercing eyes. She is expressing the usual feline disdain mixed with pity. As I have taken a week off from work to dispatch certain nagging commitments and possibly recharge my drooping spirits, I'd like to figure out pronto what my cat Stinker is trying to tell me by positioning herself directly between myself and the computer screen. And, oh yes! she is giving me what our family calls the "stink eye."

Let us make a special effort to stop communicating with each other, so we can have some conversation.
Mark Twain

Eventually I broke through the fog enough to realize she wanted me to call the veterinarian, maybe not that exactly, but she did want me to do something for her to make her feel better. I called the clinic, set an appointment and she left her spot satisfied. I got some unobstructed peace.

The felines in our household have done the best they can with the raw material they have been given. What they lack in patience they have acquired in acceptance. She had been sleeping on my neck the past few nights. As one of the staff at the veterinarian's office explained, Stinker was expressing her neediness. Those were the mornings, that I awoke, spluttering from the fur she left on my face where she had been sleeping and blinked through puffy eyes. Some of us take longer to understand that "in your face" brand of communication.

my mind has a mind of its own

2012-08-14T09:56:00.001-05:00

Spaced Out

My mind has a mind of its own. I am trying to discipline the Wee Beastie, but like a spoiled pet "my little gray cells" both amuse and alarm me by their antics. I wrote the previous sentences a week ago maybe. I lose track of time. Since then I have been weighing the pros and cons on the value of expressing my thoughts "out loud" about such a sensitive matter. These things can so easily be misconstrued. For the first time ever I am coming to appreciate what the expression "losing one's mind" is saying. What if those little gray cells go out for a frolic and never return?! There I'll be sitting wherever I happen to be at the time with a silly, forgetful kind of look on my face, having arrived finally in Wonderland. I am confident that Alice and I will be best pals.

To be honest, I have entertained stranger thoughts and such a notion doesn't sound like an entirely bad development, all things considered. But, if you are the caretaker type, please don't seat me by one of those scary sad faced ones, okay? Some quotes I want to share for all sorts of reasons:

Bunch together a group of people deliberately chosen for strong religious feelings, and you have a practical guarantee of dark morbidities expressed in crime, perversion, and insanity.
H. P. Lovecraft

For me, insanity is super sanity. The normal is psychotic. Normal means lack of imagination, lack of creativity.
Jean Dubuffet

I doubt if a single individual could be found from the whole of mankind free from some form of insanity. The only difference is one of degree. A man who sees a gourd and takes it for his wife is called insane because this happens to very few people.
Desiderius Erasmus

In individuals, insanity is rare; but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule.
Friedrich Nietzsche

As Greta Garbo once put it, "I vant to be alone." I'll get in much less trouble and can amuse myself without discovering in one of those awkward, conscious moments, that I have somehow managed to earn a spot in a strange place with strange people, as strange or stranger than myself.

the charms of hell

2012-07-23T10:38:00.001-05:00

As hot as the summer weather is, I am inspired to think long and hard in my effort to dredge up what I learned oh so many moons ago from the esoteric science of Metaphysics.

Let's see...seems like there was something about focusing on the thing I desired, a practice stressed most fully. In this case what I yearned for was the bliss of a place as cool and inviting as Paradise on earth.

Part 1

But, given the possibility of my unconscious confusing the concepts of Paradise, Heaven or Nirvana with the Afterlife, I confess to backing off from such associations.

Hey! I am busy, disorganized and get confused with so much going on and who knows? If my conscious thought processes get garbled, why not my unconscious. No, I opt for being direct and simplify matters with quotes on the subject of Heaven -

The frontier between hell and heaven is only the difference between two ways of looking at things. George Bernard Shaw

Trees are Earth's endless effort to speak to the listening heaven.
Rabindranath Tagore

The proximity of shade from a grand old tree makes a true believer out of me and such a genteel gesture from Mother Nature, don't you think? From where I sit at my desk, I can view the rhythmic dance of shadows from the branches' movement behind the window shades.

Blessed be childhood, which brings down something of heaven into the midst of our rough earthliness.
Henri Frederic Amiel

Part 2

Indeed there are times when all I need is to be reminded of an earlier time, when I was more open to conditions as they were, when the world did not revolve around my hellish To-Do List, thereby leaving space and time for all those little pleasures like the beach, ice cream, snow cones, road trips and a splash in the pool.

Getting heated over an issue is the direct result of resistance and resistance results in friction and more heat. I can't do anything about the summer! The only sane resolution is acceptance.

There is always a pleasant element to contemplate. For the past week we have enjoyed frequent afternoon showers. The parents coming into the building don't complain about getting wet or if they grump about the inconvenience, they do so with a smile.

There is a camaraderie forged by the current spell of bad weather, an experience so pervasive that to be alive is to be apart of.

Part 3

Hey there Most High!

thanks for the weather.

I'll kick these little

thought balloons

on down the road.
See you later

- Ciao!

The man who never in his mind and thoughts travel'd to heaven is no artist. William Blake

treading water like my life depends on it

2012-07-19T19:58:00.005-05:00

A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing. George Bernard Shaw

All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better. Ralph Waldo Emerson

Any idiot can face a crisis - it's day to day living that wears you out. Anton Chekhov

Since you ask, I'm a freakin' genius, when life is about to swallow me whole. I am very likely the most honorable person and all around best specimen of humanity that you will come up against in life; that is if we count the number of mistakes I have made and unintended experiments I have conducted in the name of furthering the noble cause of research into what life will serve up, when called upon by my hapless species. I am an anonymous figure inhabiting the twilight of the third dimension and very nearly breaching the fourth, since you ask.

whatever!

2012-07-14T23:58:00.001-05:00

Art is an invention of aesthetics, which in turn is an invention of philosophers... What we call art is a game. Octavio Paz

Aesthetics (from )

"Aesthetics owes its name to Alexander Baumgarten who derived it from the Greek aisthanomai, which means perception by means of the senses (see Baumgarten, A.G.). As the subject is now understood, it consists of two parts: the philosophy of art, and the philosophy of the aesthetic experience and character of objects or phenomena that are not art. Non-art items include both artefacts that possess aspects susceptible of aesthetic appreciation, and phenomena that lack any traces of human design in virtue of being products of nature, not humanity. How are the two sides of the subject related: is one part of aesthetics more fundamental than the other? There are two obvious possibilities. The first is that the philosophy of art is basic, since the aesthetic appreciation of anything that is not art is the appreciation of it as if it were art. The second is that there is a unitary notion of the aesthetic that applies to both art and non-art; this notion defines the idea of aesthetic appreciation as disinterested delight in the immediately perceptible properties of an object for their own sake; and artistic appreciation is just aesthetic appreciation of works of art. But neither of these possibilities is plausible. "

The article continues in the same vein, or so I assume. I do mean to read on later. I've created a shortcut on my desktop, so that I can. But, there is that in my nature that wants to vocalize a loud and strident, "Whatever!"

Art may or may not be successful, as perceived by the huddled masses, the great unwashed or critiqued by the sophisticate, the self-assured aficionado. We all know what we like. Don't we? And anyway, the point is not the finished product. No, I must say that I put my money on the experience of creating something out of what had been a blank space in the universe. The rest is, well, whatever!

My conviction is that every single person can create something unique and reflective of their intangible nature. Opening up to a deeply personal experience by virtue of willingly facing existential nothingness is an intimidating challenge, an exhilarating leap or mortifying drop. We cower before the awful prospect of failure or embrace the unknown with the youthful exuberance of innocence unblighted.

But having done so repeatedly, even compulsively, I trust that others, like myself, have come to the conclusion, that the trip was worth a thousand times over the contemplated sacrifice of dignity with its tender ego. Creating something out of nothing, my spirit reveals itself to a world I would otherwise experience exclusively with the senses. The result is a fresh perception of reality, giving the ordinary depth and added dimension.

Reality, even stark reality - conjure up images of beauty? Probably not. But then, aesthetic order can make art of any subject or object. Art is in the eye of the beholder to paraphrase. Okay, but a game? Yup, the grimmest vision may be conjured up by a craftsman with training or irrepressible child tossing about elements from life. But either approach, conscious or unconscious, must eventually result in some thing tangible called art, reflecting aesthetic principles.

When the time is right, the process takes root in the soul once more, returning to its point of origin.

note to self

2012-07-10T11:56:00.002-05:00

There I was in bed mulling over the issue of the day, and the decade, if I choose to be honest and I do. I do have trouble admitting, that I allowed a problem to occupy my attention without coming to a satisfactory conclusion long, long ago. But what is, is.

Surely anyone of sound mind would have resolved almost anything over such a lengthy period of time. So, having reached a decision, I felt lighter of spirit. The matter was put away in a nice little box, gift wrapped with a neat little bow for good measure and at last, my decision making ability was vindicated. I would move forward on my life's journey with less baggage. So very, very nice!

But, (so sorry ) note to Self: there was not much opportunity to congratulate myself for being so laudably well adjusted, given that by the time I rushed to my makeshift desk a few feet from the place I slept, one of those committee members in my head skipped over my fresh resolve arbitrarily and approached the problem from a different angle and to vex me further, capped the project brilliantly. Finis!

How is that possible? Could it be that I am such a complicated being that any ending for me is merely a jumping off point for one of the more competent committee members in my wee head? I can't pretend to know, because that would mean having a better grasp of what I am about at any given moment. But then, I am frequently ahead of myself, so I ought not to be shocked. Or put another way, my conscious process is laborious and dull, like a not so well oiled machine, but what is going on under the cover of night? Something else.

So here's my theory - indeed I had resolved the matter in my sleep, but having awakened, I was oblivious to what had transpired and came to my own conclusions. And, in the process of going from the bed to the desk my decision to solve the problem one way was justifiably discarded and presto, the real answer appeared as if by magic. In all my ruminations, I had overlooked one small point, the key to unlocking my dilemma.

One small point, unbelievable.

Some quotes for your pleasure:

From the end spring new beginnings.
Pliny the Elder

Genuine beginnings begin within us, even when they are brought to our attention by external opportunities.
William Throsby Bridges

I sometimes think I might be autistic because I like to know - I need to know - my beginnings and my ends. I don't have to be in control of it, but I need to know what's going on.
Clay Aiken

Life is not so much about beginnings and endings as it is about going on and on and on. It is about muddling through the middle.
Anna Quindlen

Man is wise and constantly in quest of more wisdom; but the ultimate wisdom, which deals with beginnings, remains locked in a seed. There it lies, the simplest fact of the universe and at the same time the one which calls forth faith rather than reason.
Hal Borland

like i was saying...paint me red

2012-07-02T09:58:00.003-05:00

I've calmed down since my last blog post and upon reviewing the unfortunate events that inspired me to rant as I did, I am feeling foolish, in retrospect of course. (Too late, I'm afraid.) Not so much for the sentiments, which I'll stand behind, but for reacting so shamelessly. I don't approve of reactionary behavior, no matter how rightious one feels at the moment, and I certainly don't intend to offer up such behavior as a wise design for living; that is unless you want to have regrets later and possibly some amends to make. But, then, I didn't go into details, did I? As They say, thank God for small favors.

Colors, like features, follow the changes of the emotions.

Pablo Picasso

Color me red.

Emotions have taught mankind to reason.

Luc de Clapiers *

So true. Alas, if only it had been sooner!

*Click if you want to know more about Luc. (He died young, but he looked good.)

redundancy

2012-06-27T14:27:00.000-05:00

dark knight?

This post is redundant. So, if you can not tolerate redundancy, shoo! Go away....(Are they gone yet?!) I am ranting about our species and the unnecessary havoc we wreak. I have had enough insanity the past few days to last me a life time. The things people find to complicate life, create a negative impact where there is trouble enough already and generally confound their fellows is beyond me.

Are they bored? Are they dense? Why would I take precious moments out of the time I have left to me to give up my simple pleasures. I want time to read, learn, discourse with all sorts of folks, enjoy the sights, eat good meals, break bread with my friend and what ever else comes to mind on the spur of the moment. You may a take a moment now for your imagination to consider all those other treats available to our kind, that must be sacrificed in order to stir up shit. That is what the resulting mess is. Who wants to claim that sort of crap as their's anyway?

Okay, I submit to you, that indeed some of us are profoundly screwed up and twisted and I allow that they might have wound up a snarly, unlikable and generally undesirable heep of cells and tissue through no fault of their own. Some would argue that point. I am not sure I would.

Get real, please. Let it out, whatever it is. Find some place that is private, where you can scream, hit pliant inanimate objects, whatever! Look at it, own it and recognize that your odiferous waste is not something anyone else should have to share, the exception being professionals who opted to major in You on a college level and graduated with a BS (or BA.)

Time for "peace and love" to resurrect its smiley face, minus the opportunists this time around, please!

it's my thing!

2012-06-22T17:44:00.000-05:00

What separates the winners from the losers is how a person reacts to each new twist of fate.
Donald Trump

From my perspective the only loser is "the loser" who thinks he is a loser. Comprende? It goes without saying, but I will say it anyway; given that I am a flesh and blood creature, I can't expect to leap off tall buildings and survive, no matter how exuberant I might feel. My world is limited by not only gravity but society's laws. In many other respects I confess to keeping my own counsel.

I don't want to have to worry about The Market or if I will be accepted into the right social circles...I am too self indulgent for that. I believe that as individuals we have the right to define what a "loser" is and that we are grieviously mistaken, if we see ourselves as one, because we fall short of someone's expectations.

The difference between a rugged individualist (smile) and a lost soul must be measured by whether or not the person has a set of positive values by which he lives. I am climbing off my soap box now. You can resume whatever it was you were doing before you rudely interrupted yourself by reading this post. (I'm still smiling.)

So be it.

fine tuning those drifting vibes

2012-06-22T00:13:00.002-05:00

Formerly, when religion was strong and science weak, men mistook magic for medicine; now, when science is strong and religion weak, men mistake medicine for magic. Thomas Szasz

It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society. Jiddu Krishnamurti

Oh dear me, dear me! Our specie's dilemma baffles me. We are intelligent, more or less, we are self-aware and make a great show of wanting to know ourselves and grow up, before we are laid to rest in the dirt or whatever, your views on the hereafter notwithstanding. We spend a lot of time in defining and pursuing our goals. But, there isn't much in the way of substance supporting this Herculean effort, so many distractions and delays, twists and turns.

Meanwhile I am surviving a post midlife crisis. Trudging forward, mostly out of habit, a sleepwalker day dreaming about making a difference out there, all the while embellishing on the possibilities, absentmindedly, sorta. What must it be like for those still indulging themselves in life's hearty fare? Doesn't matter. The fantasy is more poetic license than anything.

Yet, I haven't given up on the sweet taste of life either. This blog post was precipitated by something that happened earlier in the week. My husband had selected a movie to watch and then walked off, some mental bauble distracting him from his intended purpose. I was in the dining room and lingered, half interested in the story line.

But, then a scene appeared on the televison screen, a scene in which there was a door with a stained glass panel on one side, opening into a hall with the predictable white ceramic tile flooring. The scene would have been ordinary, if it hadn't been for the sun light coming in, which gave everything an other worldly brightness.

And then, unrehearsed and much to my surprise, there I was, an invisible presence on the other side of the door, buzzing with a child's exubernance in the face of the unknown. Only a therapist would dare to explain how or why I responded as I did.

But, these very elements, grouped as they were, triggered a notion, an awareness that somewhere along the path of day to day living, I had acquired a narrow perception of what was real as well as blocked creative answers to questions I no longer imagined asking.

Instead, common answers to common questions find their way into my thoughts without my permission, and in accepting the ordinary, I acquiesce before the illusion, that I must be wiser surely, because I have pages upon pages, so many journals, capturing my personal history. If I were wise, why then did I start placing conditions on life or lose track of the infinite possibilities before me? I know intuitively that life does not, and ought not, to follow upon my heals like a well-trained pup.

"The tragedy of life is what dies inside a man while he lives."
Einstein

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