Tradition

Here’s our next one, twenty-four hours after the last one. Accompanied by another coffee.

Periodic, predictable, repetitive. Easy to be filled with recurring thoughts.

Each morning is the first opportunity of each day to experience exactly what you want. But tradition may take over the A.M. and start populating your agenda according to its whims.

Those errands that must be run, the assignments to worry, the meeting that has to be attended with you-know-who, they are all from tradition. They are mandated by you!

Even it is for just a minute or two, create a magical time for yourself. Have a difficulty at present? Change it to an opportunity, something to which you can be grateful, something that you can make better. Embrace the silence. Find a tune or two, not just any music or music that is good enough, but music that brings tears of joy to your eyes. Elevate.

Try something new. Did it bring more joy? Yes? Then do it again, add something else or take something away. Perfect it. Tomorrow, make it better than it was today. Learn to float – with nothing holding you down. Tomorrow, float higher. Make those couple of minutes excruciatingly good.

This is your time, alone. Make it sacred. Let nothing interfere with it. Live for it. Allow it to captivate you totally. Rejoice. Bliss out. Give thanks. Realize, this is your peace.

Tomorrow morning, repeat. Make everything better than it was today. Feel more free than you ever have before.

Tradition conceals people. Somewhere, underneath all those layers of years gone by, YOU are lurking. Remember that person? You’re still there. Come out and take a breath of fresh air. Come, smile at the dawn.

A couple of minutes is only one hundred and twenty seconds. If that is your limit it has been self-imposed. Scratch that – make it unlimited, eternal, one day at a time.

You’ll never stop giving thanks.

Cliffgraphed Autohangar

Since the last blog I have received a few comments on writing style, to which I would like to offer these resounding replies;

1) I have no pubfaced boldlisher, roof preeders, typid rappists nor mole rodels.

2) We gather bliter’s rocks, repoint ballfills and coltie mullord bip clords.

3) There is no sectiful booretary and we often run out of poppy caper.

4) Our diet consists of nothing but Prulitzer pies.

5) Every day we must struggle up Criter’s ramp.

6) We strive for cliffhand longhangers and tenable palpshun, but that is often not the result and we go back to punting and hecking.

7) The only animal here is the good old Blailey dog.

8) Perhaps we won’t always produce cliterary lassics but we’ll keep trying.

9) I tried to run off with a few pencils the other day but thesaurus coming.

10) If you’re going to services today may I sew you to a sheet in the chack of the birch?

I Think She’s Here

I felt as though I had been slowly pulled through an over-powering car wash and was now being warmed by the finishing blasts of air. My exterior was rejuvenated, my interior purified. The aroma of cigars and BBQ pork sandwiches stirred my senses.

I must have floated up from my chair. My only memory of that moment was that I knew there was something special about those two men. I had no idea ‘what’ I understood, I just knew they were responsible for all that happened that afternoon.

Like a lone spirit – imbued with everything – I floated away. There were more folks at the fair now and each of them became like actors on this ‘stage’ before me. I looked back at the two men but they were no longer there. No table, no chairs, no sign.

That made no sense and then it became perfectly clear. The men, the table, the chairs and the sign – had to be gone.

‘Misrepresentations’ returned. I, I was a misrepresentation. I was a misrepresentation! My mind began filling with truths. My life, my whole life I had been an actor, just like all these people around me, playing a part – my part – in this elaborate – Play of Life – in which every word – had been scripted by SOMEONE ELSE!

Still ‘floating’ I looked down and noticed all the ropes tied to rods stuck in the ground with the other end secured to the canvas tents above. That’s why I am floating! Like exchanging tethers for feathers. ‘Up’ became my chosen direction. Unattainable and unthinkable until just now.

I wondered what it would be like to dream. Not the usual ones, but MY dreams; unencumbered, unbounded, Infinite. And perhaps now, the dreams don’t have to happen only when I’m sleeping.

‘I think she’s here.’ Who would have thought She would choose a county fair for Her revelation? So subtle, so magnificent.

There, at the exit gate, stood a beautiful lady. As I started to drift by she turned and said, ‘Hi there.’ Hanging from a thin gold chain around her neck was the letter ‘J’.

A Silhouette with the Vertigo of Unfamiliarity

One of the pearl buttons on my shirt reflected a bit of light, enough to keep me standing. All the smells and sounds became muffled and it was like a thick fog had descended. It was like an ominous dusk had arrived, three hours too early. I could barely see the guys at the table, but I knew they were still there. My left foot, then the right began slowly shuffling toward them.

With his foot, one of the men pushed a chair towards the table as a welcoming gesture for me to sit down. I could do nothing but stand, and I weren’t sure if it was me standin’ there. A ghost, am I a ghost? I had not enough structure to even feel vulnerable.

‘We could begin playing cards and during the game you would gain benefit from pairs, straights and flushes, or we could go fishing and you would benefit from what you put on your hook.’

Those words from the other guy at the table were said so clearly, so purely, that I felt like some tremendous feeling was being born and growing right inside of me.

‘Rains come and wash away boundaries, hurricanes blow away landmarks, earthquakes rearrange everything. Your mind is just another landscape and it is also vulnerable to reconstructive forces, sometimes coming in the form of four-word signs.’

I sat in silence for what seemed like hours. Eyes shut, barely breathing, my heart laid bare to my next realizations. My silence went deeper. No longer was it just the absence of sound, it began to erase my past. All those petty little ideas that ended up being who I am were disintegrating. From a silhouette, I succumbed to being an unidentifiable shadow. A wisp of nothingness which had this remarkable quality of filling everything.

I was ‘nothing’ I guess. I sensed no ‘person’ as me. No body. No mind. No form.

There came a ‘deepest silence’. A silence that I will let you ponder as I have no words that could ever start to begin a description. A silence named ‘No words’.

Then, when the time was right, when I was ready, when there was this special alignment or adjustment that only ‘nothing’ can bring about, a small, indistinguishable light appeared. But even the light was different, special. It illuminated so that travel was possible but somehow it was unfocused which prevented the discernment of right and wrong.

As I returned to a more living state, the first word that came to mind was ‘misrepresentation’. I thought of who and what might have been misrepresented; Mom, Joyce, Joycie, me- and she. Then the magnificence lit up my mind.

I could only shake my head.

The Unestablished Roommate

I lived in Boone, Texas prittaneer my whole life, but since Mom passed away I sold my house and moved into hers, in Monroe City, Texas. I’ve had few friends, and this move reduced the number to zero. Don’t have any hobbies, ‘cept maybe fishin’. Had a couple of friends who was girls, but none stayed long enough to matter much. Keep thinking about one of them, though. Way back when I was in Boone, at the post office, I met Joyce. We had a few dates, coffee and such. But there was something about her, you know, nothing you can name, but you know you want more of it.

Mom’s house wasn’t much, kinda in the center of a wheat field. A kitten came by the other day and I fed it. She moved in. I now call her Joycie. Yesterday this little neighborhood paper was in the driveway and right there on the front page was this ad for a town fair that was going to be going on starting Friday afternoon and through the weekend. It wasn’t much more than two miles away I figured.

So, comes Friday morning and I puts on my cleanest blue jeans and best shirt, fed Joycie, and just relaxed until about 4:30 when I started walking to the fair. Kinda dreaming, I thought about renting out the second bedroom to someone, just mainly for company. Nah, Joycie might not like that.

Along with the sight of the mini Ferris-wheel came a few noises and I thought I smelled candied apples. Hardly nobody’d shown up yet so I just wandered in and looked at the rides and the food. Then, there near the end of the booths, there was this make-shift roof and underneath it just a card table and two chairs with a guy in each one. And hangin’ from the sheet of metal was this sign, about 4′ long and 1′ high with painted black letters that said, ‘I THINK SHE’S HERE’.

It stopped me in my tracks. ‘What the hell does that mean? I think WHO’S here?’

I thought, ‘Did it really matter? Christ, anything north of a scarecrow would be heaven.’

This sign wasn’t put up just for me! I tried to turn around to leave, tried to move toward the sign. Couldn’t do either. One of the two guys sitting there under the sign caught my eye. With an index finger he motioned for me to come and join them.

I still couldn’t move.

The End of Repetition, the end of repetition.

Dichotomy: a division into two mutually exclusive groups or entities.

Life is a dichotomy.

1. There is existence accompanied by all our earthly knowledge, experience and beliefs.

2. There is existence without our knowledge, experience and beliefs.

The former is more often than not the – default position – of humans. It is the amalgamation of all we have ever learned. We think, make and follow agendas, judge, plan and strategize our lives in the way we see fit. What you believe limits what you experience to that belief.

The latter is the amalgamation of nothing. Not only are things not gathered, but everything is let go. This ‘latter’ is Freedom. Not just a place where there is the liberty to choose, but a place in which there are no choices! A place where you take a vacation from yourself. A place where you are not worried or even concerned about You. That noble warrior we all try to be, protecting ourselves, our friends, our future – can finally lie down and be at peace.

The latter is a place where we are who we are, NOT because of past experiences. It is a place that is made perfect by the absence of thinking. Try pondering a place where everything is fresh, unknown and pure – where there are no obstacles and NO rules. Inviting, isn’t it!?

There is that trite axiom that states something like, ‘Futility is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results’. With like reasoning, are we to be like machines that day to day carry forth the woes and problems from many yesterdays? Over and over, working with the same concerns, the same subjects. Is that something for which you would sign up?

The ultra-sad fact is that these ideas upon which we focus, they’re not even OUR ideas!

Life, minus

Perhaps,

in the complexities of life,

we instinctively attach ourselves to that roller-coaster.

We enjoy the highs

and fight through the lows.

We keep experiencing – everything.

Until the time when the lows become too concentrated, too frequent or too familiar.

When the desire to part from those unpleasantries appears in our consciousness and when THAT desire remains for a long enough time – we act.

We perceive a life void of unpleasantries.

The Blue Roof and White Dot Inn

Are we somewhere in there?

The concept of the Infinite doesn’t get thought of much. Our position in the emptiness, our role in the Universe, our interaction in it; minimal.

If we look up in the daytime, unobstructed, there is the blue roof, a ceiling, really. Just blueness. And to the extent that we appreciate blue, we’ll continue our gaze. And at night there are just the white dots. Periodically awe-inspiring but when that novelty wears off so does our interest.

Our imagination determines whether we are infinite or not.

Our imagination determines whether we are Infinite or not.

Perhaps it is the words that you will never read that will be the most profound for you. If you contrast them against our many earthly suggested options like ‘Believe or die’, you may grasp the concern.

‘Contextual‘ – depending on the preceding or following parts of a text to clarify meaning. What percentage of our thoughts are contextual, 100%!?

Should our only way of discovery be that of reading other’s discourses and answers?

If so, all enlightenment is halted, imagination disintegrated.

You feel all alone, helpless, uncertain? Here’s a suggestion . . .

Consider that we are least alone when we are in silence. That is when the Blue Roof and White Dots roll out the red carpet. Along that red carpet are trash receptacles into which you may drop all of your bounded, limited and shallow views.

Ready to go? One more thing . . .

don’t forget to remove the blinders.