October 16, 2003 A

"Celebrating The Moment"
6:00am (roughly)

A summoning of the powers, a quieting of the spirit, a recognition of 'the ties that bind us' and 'the ties that free us'. I am here listening. What is here for me?

I am not a wage-slave. I am a craftsperson. I leave to other unfortunate people the fate of being only a cog. Still, if I were a cog, I would be the best dam cog I could.

Wheels for 'the machine', and what is 'the machine'? Everything in the external world progresses forward, revealing what will be its history day to day. But I perceive all this within my internal self. I am the 'avocado' which holds 'the seed'.

Am I making sense today? Or are my thoughts too piecemeal, too dreamlike? Are they interesting enough in their own odd way?

I shall share an odd poem I found on the web last night:

SILENTIUM Fyodor Tyutchev (translated by Vladimir Nabokov) Speak not, lie hidden, and conceal the way you dream, the things you feel. Deep in your spirit let them rise akin to stars in crystal skies that set before the night is blurred: delight in them and speak no word. How can a heart expression find? How should another know your mind? Will he discern what quickens you? A thought once uttered is untrue. Dimmed is the fountainhead when stirred: drink at the source and speak no word. Live in your inner self alone within your soul a world has grown, the magic of veiled thoughts that might be blinded by the outer light, drowned in the noise of day, unheard... take in their song and speak no word.

It's easy for me to 'speak no word'. All day long I think and think, but it is all piecings of this and that, fragments that may or may not make a whole. I am 'the avocado'. But I am connected to the tree, as well. There are puzzles within puzzles within puzzles.

If this is all such nonsense, dear reader, if you've had patience thus far, then quit this page and bring up your own empty page and get typing. Fill it with YOUR magnificent words of wisdom, which should surely mean more to you than mine. Mine, if we are lucky, might give a hint though to the richness lying within you.

YOU, too, are 'the avocado'. All this 'avocado' imagery may be resulting from a search I did on this particular fruit the other day. Lovely, nutritious stuff, the avocado. Much potassium and other nutrients, and the fat within it is the good 'unsaturated' kind.

'A thought once uttered is untrue.' Have I spoiled the excellancy of my visit with self by 'uttering' it all? No, I think not. I think the poet means everything changes, so what was true for you yesterday may not be true today. But for yesterday, it had its truth and may today still hold a faint clue.

So I keep every scrap I can of remembered moments and it amuses me some. That's what we hopefully have here, some bit of amusement to make you think. Hah, I have said we are all 'avocados'. I recall the joke about the state of California, it's 'granola' because everyone there is a 'fruit, nut or flake'. Well, granola is nutritious, it's got that fruit and grain thing going for us.

I am here rejoicing in the moment. I will not let an angry person six hours later take that away from me. We all have them, interactions with 'the angry'. ''Pay attention to ME,'', the peeved and discontent demand. I say, ''We will do the best we can,'' but this honesty satifies them not. What does the angry customer want me to say? ''I will deliver spellbinding perfection to you, Sir Grand Poobah of the universe, give you six golden eggs that hatch anew everyday, a car that never needs refueling, and a lamp that never runs dry, in addition to a perfectly fitting garment with no extra creases in it?''

Can you tell I've had 'issues' lately? Yes, the place of my work has had a 'unhappy' customer. Every work place gets them, at one time or the other. I endeavor to keep patient, to keep my mellow in the face of increasing demands.

This is all part of the 'Xeper', the willed conscious evolution. Believe me, it takes an act of will, several actually, to not let the 'angry persons' of the world wreck your cool. One may wish to send it all back to them, but the sudden influx of their returning bad juju would only intensify their anger for the next poor unsuspecting shop worker, weary after seven hours of labor, and with very sore feet. Diffuse it all, I say into puff balls of nothingness, I say.

Of course, this is not easy. I have not entirely figured it out myself. If you have a clue, let me know. But that is the nature of the 'Xeper'. We work towards some ideal and occasionally have the blinding instant of epiphany. And from that moment on, our knowledge has increased.

It works like that, two steps forward and one step back, zig zagging all over the universe. Our minds can travel like that. Never mind our butts may be firmly planted in whatever geographical location, never to see much progress from those co-ordinates.

The MIND is free! I celebrate the mind. I celebrate the moment, THIS MOMENT, and its bit of joy before the workday begins.

October 16, 2003 B

"Mysterious Julia"
8:30pm (roughly)

October 19, 2003 A

"Mixed Day"
4:12am

Sunday morning in the dark, and only the crickets sing. The constant low hum of a fan is also my music. It was a mixed day yesterday. I had to work Saturday, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been, for the cleaner-side counter girl did show up, and I didn't have to wrestle with that computer. All the invoices are made on the computer, but it's a really confusing program and I can never find what I'm looking for. There's advantages to the program, but I'd rather just write one up by hand. No, I was lucky and only had to sit and sew.

So that was a small relief. It's past the middle of October, and it's still wicked hot here. Still temps of 105F or more. (Okay, officially 104F (40C)) And that sun is still vicious. I will need to obtain more complete sun protection gear. Where ever the rays touch me feels such pain. I need driving gloves and a better hat and . . .

. . . Julia needs a thick sweater for she gets too cold at work. And there's somethings I'm supposed to buy at the drug store . . . My, this is working into a boring entry, the 'shopping list' sort of entry. That's what can happen when I do stream of consciousness ramble.

It is now two hours later. After an extensive web search, I can tick off two items on that shopping list. Julia will soon have a warm sweater and I will soon have a decent hat. I've grown tired of yanking a cheap 'bucket style' denim hat this way and that to try to cover whichever ear the sun is searing most. And I look awful in that hat. Glamour is important, too. I shouldn't look like I have a 'bucket' on my head in the new one.

Julia can call her sweater a belated birthday gift, and my hat will be an early birthday gift. It is a curious thing. Yesterday, Julia's birthday, fell on a Saturday, as did her first one when she emerged from the womb. My arrival into the dangerous, sun filled world happened on a Monday. This year, my birth anniversary occurs on a Monday as well. It is a mildly interesting co-incidence.

Yesterday we were visited with another co-incidence, this one of the frustrating kind. It is now twice we have tried to see Under The Tuscan Sun, only to have the film projector break on us. This time it was in an entirely different movie theater. What are the odds of THAT happening? But perhaps the film material itself is flawed and was imported from the first theater to the second theater.

We're not going to try again. I feel even nervous to rent the DVD when it comes out. Sigh, in recollection, maybe we'd have had better luck Under The Tuscan Moonlight? I thought we'd repeat the same consolation process and go to Hastings afterwards. We got out cheap with only one CD. There would have been two, but the Mannhaim Steamroller Halloween album was not available. Imagine that! Streamroller Christmas albums were available in the dozens, but none for the upcoming holiday.

I got tempted to buy that album because a song from it played while we were waiting in the theater for the show to show. Nevermind, Jesse Cook's NOMAD, with it's Middle Eastern flavor, is sufficient consolation. And the Italian meal at Villa On The Main last night was superb. It just would have been nice to have 'a visit to Italy' afterwards, as I've heard that movie's scenery is gorgeous.

Ah well. We are flexible. We adapt. I particularily appreciated Julia's efforts to cook me lunch when I came home from work yesterday. The chicken, potato and vegetable meal was both tasty and lowfat-healthy. She is really quite sweet and endeavors to think of me in all ways.

And today awaits. A guitar strums, digitally. Perhaps something will amuse us sufficiently on this day, still young.

And now I beg forgiveness for a possibly bad and impenetrable poem:

If I am greedy, if I am needy, do I need 'forgiveness'? I have followed the 'holy grail' where ever its scent leads me. Do I need forgiveness? I have been forth and back. Do I need forgiveness for needing too much? The sun burns hot on my poor neck. Am I a nomad? I search and I am thirsty. But, oh, at what wells do I drink? Do I need forgiveness? Say it is only a crazy mad woman, but this thirst is too real. Do I need forgiveness? Did I drink without asking permission from the Holy Well? Do I need forgiveness? Is thirst sufficient justification? I, the nomad, will avoid the sun and seek her answers by dark moonlight. The night creatures concur. An owl hoots a greeting. Perhaps it is not all so bad. Maybe I will repay them all in a better gold, the well-keepers in this vast desert. Do I need forgiveness?

At least I will have a new hat to help me 'avoid the sun', and Julia will have a new sweater to help her 'avoid the chill'. We defend ourselves against the elements, with all their mixed effects.

October 19, 2003 B

"Two Feet"
4:32pm

In order to assure a properly fitting hat, I had to measure myself. My head is 22 inches (56cm) in circumferance, which is a size 7 1/8, considered 'medium' as head sizes go. On a lark, I measured Julia's head, a perfect 24 inches around (61cm)and a 7 3/4 hat size. One 'foot' equals twelve inches. Yes, she does have a largish head, curiously supported by a neck and shoulders which are narrower than mine. We are all a contradiction of anomalies. You can see her anomaly in the picture of her in the mysterious light in Thursday's entry.

Anyway, it is funny what Julia said. One 'foot' equals twelve inches, so she made this observation: ''My head is two feet. I travel more with my head than my feet!'' And, indeed, this is true, both of her and I, whose head is two inches short of 'two feet'.

October 20, 2003

"Some Revisions"
8:59pm

I haven't done much writing today, except editing the page of Julia's talk which will be given next Sunday at the Unitarian/Universalist gathering. It is on The Day of the Dead, Día de los Muertos. Upon clicking that link, you will see it in the easy to print version. Later, I will jazz it up with pictures and colorful backgrounding.

That is all, except for answering a few posts on the discussion groups. I am overdue in writing letters and making calls. My mother is due a call, for one thing, among others. I have no excuse except that I am easily distracted.

Could it be, my priorities need revised? I certainly don't need any more discussion groups, yet another has intrigued me, set in an entirely different format and location than the others. Perhaps it will be worth my time. I feel so dissatisfied if I cannot express every opinion that floats about in my head. And you, dear patient reader, know I have so many of those!

I will give it at least some of my time.

October 21, 2003

"Sleepy"
9:15pm

     

Julia was busy at the reliable computer, so I took to doodling. It's another 'Charlie' picture, all dreamy-sleepy. I decided to keep both the original and the colorized version, for each has a different effect.

Do I dare jinx it? The flaky computer has been behaving. Julia's noticed everytime she gives it a Windows update, it behaves better.

October 22, 2003

"This Burden Was Never Meant For Me"
6:15pm

This poem is for that part of me that thought I 'needed forgiveness':

This Burden Was Never Meant For Me Easing, Releasing, I breathe, this burden was never meant for me to carry. I set it down, the rain will wash it away, or the wind will blow it away . . . ''Set it down in some public place. Not at home where you can pick it up again. You can wrap it in a pretty bow and maybe a thief will pick it up. He can have the guilt.'' Yes, I do that. I visualize the mall. I find a corner in the game shop, where all the machines are bizzing and buzzing, clicking and whirring. I tuck it behind one of them, give it a good shove and walk away. I am a beautiful creature. I leave the mall mentally. I check my hands, I am carrying nothing but my wallet in my pocket. I run home, (In my mind, I can run, far and fast,) I can be fast, for I have no heavy burdens. Let someone else have them, who thinks he must 'save the world', 'have all the answers', and 'acquire one magnificent fortune by sundown, every sundown'. I shall walk lightly past him. Atlas has shrugged, and it's not me. I was not 'Atlas', and I never needed to be. Answers, if there are any, can wait for another day. JAL, 10 - 22 - 03

October 24, 2003

"The Slow One"
4:23am

''If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music in which he hears, however measured, or far away.''

Henry David Thoreau

This quote has long been a comfort to me, since I reached 'the age of reason' at twelve. I do not 'keep pace'. I am always 'the slow one'. There are lots of reasons for this. I am easily distracted. I might stop to 'smell the roses', while the companions walk on ahead, perhaps. There's all kinds of reasons why I don't 'keep pace'.

I awoke with this thought, ''The ability to have fascinating thoughts is what makes for an interesting life.'' So I got up and thought I'd record it. I had to work late last night, and I took a break from the computer, and watched old TV programs instead.

It had been so many years ago that I'd watched both the Highlander and Star Trek:TNG episodes with Laura, they seemed almost new to me. The familiar parts were comforting, oddly. Those old shows are now ten years old now. How can it be that time goes that fast? I don't go that fast in my head.

I am convinced different people age at different rates. Our cells have their own clocks, and mine is set to 'slow'. I think slowly. I couldn't keep up with the rate of conversation my co-workers have, even if it were in English. I don't know how they manage to spew forth so much chatter. I've barely managed to think of two things, much rehashed, in the time they've chattered through who knows how many topics.

But my slow little thoughts amuse me. And therein lies my contentment. Laura was one with 'fast thoughts', too. She would fascinate me, when we'd get into deep conversations. She and Julia would batter forth ideas like volleyballs, back and forth. Occasionally, I managed even to make a worthwhile comment.

But, as I've said, ''I think slow.'' Or is it more grammatical to say, ''I think slowly''? See how much time I spend on minutaie. Laura had the theory that she packed more into her short 63 years of life than those who get a full span of 85. I believe her. I could live to 95, and not match it.

But I don't mind, for I have fascinating thoughts. The speed at which they come is no matter. I can spend a long time with a thought, turning it around in my mind, examining it from all angles. Perhaps this is what caused one relative to think I had symptoms of autism, for often the autistic can spend hours fascinated with a patch of light on the wall, or some such other small amusement.

But that relative isn't in my head, and can't know what it's like in here. So I am quiet and slow to speak. This could be a source of quiet equanimity, that allows me some peace of mind, while the world rushes by.

I soon turn 45. I marvel that I don't look 45.

I was eight days away from turning 44 in this picture

This is the face that still gets 'carded'.

I am oddly amused now, as I recall the old childhood insult, 'retardo'. To be 'retarded' is to be 'slow'. This can accompany a deficit of intellect, but it also seems to be able to accompany a reasonably high intellect, as well.

Who knows what a REAL immortal, like the Highlander or Lestat would be like? Their inner clocks would be set so different than the mortals surrounding them, that the surrounding world would speed by in a flash. One thing I like about the Queen Of The Damned movie is the ending, which bears nothing in relation to Rice's book, when Lestat and Jesse, both now immortal, slowly walk down a street while the rest of the world rushes by in a massive blur.

Oh, the wonders of film technology that they can create such effects! I, who am not 'immortal', still feel that way when I observe the world. Laura, who couldn't imagine an eternal life, didn't imagine that it would be like that, only intensified many times.

Is one form of consciousness better than other? Certainly not. Some are slow and some are fast, but that tells little else about their experience of the world. If the thoughts are fascinating, no matter how fast and furious or slow and plodding they come, that person's interior life will be interesting to them.

So I am 'the slow one', Mona Lisa smile at my lips, while I am amused with the speed of the world around me, I do not mind. I do not mind at all.

October 25, 2003 A

"Make It So"
6:33am (roughly)

''What we give our attention to becomes our reality.'' So says the words of this week's meditation. These words give clue to what makes for a happy life. In a world of chaos, confusion and stress, if we can find one bright spot on which to focus, we can keep serene in the midst of all this.

At least that's the theory I'm going to test while I'm up past my neck in work this weekend. I remind myself this busyness is only temporary. We did take a respite Friday night, and returned to the 'Friday Feed Fest' which had become tradition for awhile and then got forgotten. We went to River City Grill, and had a dinner full of various tasty vegetables. There were 'spring rolls', 'spinach salad', and some grilled vegetables with a mellow curry sauce and as much coconut shavings as you cared to shave off of a quarter of a coconut. 'Inner child' is learning 'vegetables are our friends'. But we did allow a little 'wicked' fun, as we did split a raspberry truffle cake. It was just 'bad enough' to be 'good'.

And now I need to sign off and prepare for a day of work. I will keep mentally focused for 'bright spots'. And remember that ever rejuvenating deep breathing. ''Make it so. Energize!'' says 'the captain'. No, I'm remembering wrong, 'Engage!' is what Picard says. Well, MY inner 'captain' says 'Energize!'. It's close enough. Getting those engines going one way or the other, that's what counts.