Semi-Daily Scribbles

Arrhythmia

So traumatized Chuck still works the mines.
A poet's soul with hardened arteries.
The company doesn't pay Chuck for his turn of phrase and artist's heart.
It's a tough task to write the perfect stanza when crafted in the arc of a headlamp.

Nowhere Near Finished

Tomorrow is not a promise, but it is a reason to turn the page. As scattered as one's attention may be, there is a path to be found through the misdirection. Strategy is more than projection. Every idea is an invitation to define one's purpose.

Restlessness is what propels the impulse to create. Creation isn't always the result of a well-made plan. Pursue the vision that won't easily yield to revision. A first thought is energy caught between devotion and detachment.

Spirit is behind each stage of this manifestation implementation. Ideas are free and action is needed to make obstacles submit to one's will. Stop chasing that dream. Tell it to be still.

Instant ratification of thought loops and aggravation keep one comfortably stuck in reverse. We'll circle back around to examine what we've found on the road to relevance.

What is just is, and control is elusive if not aligned with what the Universe has in mind. Wheels turn while lessons are unlearned and fortunes are built on impermanence.

Night lights, be they Friday or Sunday, send signals to the brain that there are treasures buried in your marrow. Relax and catch the movement that goes unseen all around you.

The Limitations of Expertise

Who's story am I allowed to tell? Can I hand over free rein to my imagination so it can wander unchecked as it dictates the rules of an existence lived outside of my skin? The safe play is to write what I know; access to opportunities and the freedom to consider more than one path in life. Does my background translate into an echo chamber, or an offensive display of privilege? Either way, not much of a page turner and closer to a head-scratcher.

What’s it like to be human? I think I can speak to that experience with some level of expertise, but what’ll it take for me to offer a more inclusive narrative of who we are as a species? Here today and destined to become a memory, if we’re lucky. Stardust, at the very least.

Embracing Oblivion

Disarm me with your charms, but know that your personality is problematic.
(Yeah - don't know which one of us is the addict.)
But here we are in the woods, a stare-down in progress.
Each one of us casts a light of varying intensity, all in the service of demanding transparency.
Disrupting the other in an unfolding tale of what's to be discovered by lifting the veil.
There is no way to turn this progression on its head.
Grow in the only way you know, and your soul will fill-in the holes.
(This is actually factual: words are coming out of my mouth.)
When is one's story ever truly told?
Variations on a dream.
Start.
Stop.
Change direction.
Forget why you chose this destination.
Destiny never intended for you and me to come to rest beneath this hallowed tree.

From Camels to Humans

Thoughts are ordered in No Particular Order. It's .. they are like reading a book by landing on random pages "and just going with it." Timeline? A logical sequence of events? THEME! All are about as useless as peanut butter without bits of said legume embedded within. Or like ... please explain to me the narrative thru-line of your life, why don't you? No easy feat, that. Our brains flit from factoid to face to that tingling in one's feet to what's her name to ... what was the subject again? We slosh about in our thought soup daily and still we're able to hold down jobs and pack the kidlets off to school and pray to whichever Belief System we are the most comfortable believing in that one of these days we (the entire world's population, I'm thinking) don't just wake up one morning to the news that this novel-bugger-this-or-the-other carries with it a 40.3% case fatality rate.

Too Much and Not Enough

I should hope one would think he or she is interesting. If a person doesn't have that sort of opinion of oneself, all sorts of unfortunate occurrences can happen, like hearing a nonstop self-censure loop booming inside an already thought-heavy head. Oh, and if a person does find him/herself pleasant company to be around, that happily self-actualized individual should not foist any such presumption of that dearly held belief upon family and friends.
---You just groove inside your Private Opinion Bubble, buddy!---
Any such foisting of one's actually REAL self only muddies the sensitive depths of YOU and makes a gal or guy look like an imbecilic navel-gazer.
... and who wants to be perceived in that way?

Potion Control

Gwendolyne & Delphine Thickepenny are sisters with whom one ought not to trifle. The ability to wake up on the right side of dirt depends on the respect one gives to a Thickepenny's patience. Before this voyage may be undertaken, a lesson best learned is that well-crafted spells are worth more than a king's ransom on any near and faraway shore.

Three drops of blood are required to chase away The Sleep that plagues the ever vigilant seeker.
Collect the letters, then say the word (a concept most foul to a warrior).

G & D T. know dedication to the secret ways will bring rewards in the unexpected moment you've been waiting for.

Double Function

Said a grey-haired man: "grab all you can" and now I've successfully completed the task. What now, you ask? I must save my ass. From what? Doom! Ruin! Gloom! All a matter of perspective, really. I've taken stock of my sorrow and I've a neat Badge of Participation to show for all that past hand-wringing. See? I can be a creature of nature and still build computers out of spare hearts and resuscitated parts.

You can count on me to understand the unknowable.

The Hidden Part

What is it you need to show to the world? What's the one thing you want me to know about you? How can you tell your story without it being a masterfully manipulated collection of photographs on Insty-Sham?

Here's what Phyllida wants us to know about her:

I am the Crone. I am your Forever Home. Come rest in my arms so evergreen. I am soon to be riding the #9 and so close to being whole. I feel young/old/accomplished/benighted ... happy to have sensations at all. I am grateful for my cave; my hideout from the world as I've undergone this painful transformation. I don't look any different. The wrapper is no worse for wear. But the little spark of wonder that has always caused me pain is now a rampaging flame of wisdom. Can't unknow what you know. Or, in other words, this light ain't goin' out any time soon, bebe ko.

The State of Becoming

O.k., Masters-in-Training: If the last 10 years have been easy for you, you must have done The Work over prior lifetimes. If yes/no: Has something happened to you in the past 30 to 45 days that slapped ya upside the head (didn't see it comin', didn't see it comin') and left ya lying in a goo pit of conflicting emotions? We are all presently tasked with looking at ourselves through the eyes of others. How well do those narratives criss and cross? Are you ready for a different version of your life to be projected against that big, blank canvass you are staring at? Make sure you've got a red pen handy.