escape

flight instincts are wonderful. i always think of white-tailed deer that i see so frequently in my area. they're good eating, if you go for such things - i'm a veg for the last 20 years, so i don't anymore. but even before we hunted bambi and served her up with a dark sauce riddled with garlic and fragrant herbs, there were plenty of predators in the wild. (side note - the good news is that aliens stopped anal probes; the bad news, they discovered we're made out of meat.)

how did deer adapt to a dangerous environment? long legs for running swiftly; nocturnal so they roam in darkness and hide during daylight.

i have my own flight instincts, my own predators. i find that when the pressure is great i sleep hard. i create diversions when i am awake. i do anything to avoid dealing with the situation at hand. i protect those around me by letting them live their lives in blissful ignorance. then slowly God presents the problems to me one by one, usually with workable solutions. somehow He manages to show me the ram in the bush.

the frustrating part is that He shows me - as has been said - just enough light for the next step. i can see the multitude of problems out there, can understand that just this one is being resolved. i continue to feel the weight of all the problems.

sometimes i find solace in remembering the weight of previous times. i recall that no matter how heavy it felt, somehow it all got resolved. somehow, God presented the ram in the bush, however piecemeal, until all the problems went away. new problems, new weights always came, but the old ones somehow got solved.

i need to remember that more often.

even when i do remember it, i can easily defeat its comforting message. God is in charge. if He wants a major change in life, then it happens. when i look at solving problems, it presupposes achieving the status quo ante. i know enough to understand that sometimes that historical position no longer exists. so i brace myself for the unknown around the bend.

sometimes, from a well-considered, dispassionate view, life just sucks. sometimes, and this is one of those times, i wish i could get nietzsche out of my head.

t-rex, girl, from electric warrior

O God
High in your fields above earth
Come and be real for us
You with your mind
Oh yes you are
Beautifully fine

O Girl
Electric witch you are
Limp in society's ditch you are
Visually fine
Oh yes you are
But mentally dying

O boy
Just like a boat you are
Sunk but somehow you float you do
Mentally weak
Oh yes you are
But so much speak

words

Just writing. No structure; no purpsoe. Ambience – over on the right column under Beatles is “beatlegs podcasts.” I have Podcast #101 playing. It is labeled as if it is the August 19, 1965, Houston concert, but it is actually a splicing of a bunch of things that eventually leads to the start of the concert. All bootleg. The guy does a nice job. The Help! LP was released just two weeks before. The Beatles were in Atlanta the day before and Chicago the day after: What doofus planned their itinerary?

I was wandering through some blogs I haven’t read for a while. I like Totally Unauthorized for the blogroll on the right side. She’s fun to read, too, but the links can be a treasure trove. Except today.

I selected one (theresa duncan), curious to read another’s words; instead, I was presented with an obit. She was 40, some kind of actress. Seemed to have a whirlwind life. I googled her name and learned that on July 20 of this year she took her life. Then a week later, her boyfriend followed her. I went back to the blog and read several of her entries.

I returned to TU and tried a few more links, but just couldn’t get my wind back.

There was a time when I knew a lot of the daily activities of other people. I could close my eyes and see other places and other faces. I knew moods and expectations. What I perceived as interactions was supplemented later with actual tales. No more.

Be-Bop-A-Lula, she’s my baby / Be-Bop-A-Lula, I don’t mean maybe. Great song.

The other side of the road is a difficult place to be. Watching events from afar, catching partial conversations, and never knowing anything fully but the depth of the jagged cut of exclusion. Lest one forget, however, the “other side of the road” may not be the other side at all; it is all a matter of perspective.

I am now listening to portions of the Garden Fest / St. Peter’s Parish Church in Woolton tape of John Lennon from July 6, 1957 – the earliest recording of him performing. It was the same day he met Paul. It’s funny that such a tape even exists, but it sure is his voice. He would have been 16? Think so. Just switched to Pink Floyd – Animals and Wish You Were Here.

I’m trying to remember the name of bottled water that is common in convenience stores. Not Avian. I’ll come up with it. I read something a while back and then happened to have a bottle recently. Bottled-water companies have to disclose the source of their water. I have a Poland Spring bottle with me now, and it lists five or so springs. This other company listed their source as “Public Water Supply.” WTF? The tap. The bottle spends all this label space on filtering, purifying, filtering, purifying, filtering, and finally purifying one last time. Well, of course! It’s from the tap! I can’t come up with the name. Just be sure to look at the label for the source. Filtered tap water. Unbelievable. OK, was driving me nuts. Had to google it. Pepsi admits Aquafina comes from tap water. They had to admit it? The article states that Aquafina is the best-selling bottled water. What a shame. Great racket though. Gotta hand it to Pepsi. Do they produce any naturally healthy products?

From whence I came
I ventured out
No longer watching
Now participating
I felt alive
I felt brand new

But then I bled
Became a stranger
Struggled to hold on
Failing grasp
I found comfort again
From whence I came

11:11

the time seems to find me at the most difficult times. i see it on bank clocks, in the car, on my computer. it always startles me when i see it.

the first time it registered on me i was at a funeral, a tragic unexpected death, maybe 24 or so years ago. i stood behind the widow graveside. i looked at her hands on her lap. she wore a digital watch, "11:11 AM." i wasn't even wondering the time. i just saw it there. the picture is still with me.

everytime i see 11:11 i quickly try to change whatever i am doing. it isn't as conscious as those words suggest. sometimes me hand jerks. if seated, i find myself standing to leave the room. i cannot co-exist with that time. i just don't know why it has such a profound impact on me.

lately, perhaps the last two months, i have seen that time in countless number. it's been unsettling.