What if you went to Hawaii and fell down some stairs in Kauai and broke a rib just halfway into your trip?
'If we sip the wine, we find dreams coming upon us out of the imminent night' D.H. Lawrence
When Kate returned to the table, she found Cliff deep in thought over his drink. 'Penny,' she said.
Something my kids used to say -- short for "penny for your thoughts.'"
'Ah. I don't think they're even worth a penny, frankly. You okay? You were gone quite awhile.'
'I was watching the tropical fish. They don't look happy, to me.'
'Alas, she who cannot see the bars of her own cage will find it difficult beyond measure to escape.' anonymous
It is in the details, the minutiae, that we discover and begin to understand another's life. So much meaning in such tiny things. Purse dust, I call it.
The daily mull generally deals in questions which do not have final, simple, definitive answers.
This time is almost an exception.
Some time ago, I posted a little essay on Grabel's Law (you can find it here) :
"Two is not equal to three, even for very large values of two."
My adult son recently gifted me with a pocket knife.
I hadn't carried one since I was a boy, and it took me back to my first knife, and the very first thing I learned to carve: a simple whistle.
You start with a small branch, cut off a section, notch it, slide off part of the bark, carve out a hollow and a flat spot for your breath to go through, replace the bark, and if all goes well it makes a very pleasing sound.
Of course, you have to know what you are doing, and you have to actually do it.
That's the difference between a whistle and a piece of a branch.
No Digging for Worms
Earthworms have their own business, and it is holy.
They are lacing through debris, making it clean.
If you see them when you are turning the earth to plant a bulb
or root out a weed, let them return to their dark home.
They bristle their way through their loamy world
with tiny hairs all along their body, bringing air to the soil.
Bits of holiday paper and glitter linger long after the holidays have packed themselves up (oh if only they really did that) and put themselves away in tidy boxes, hidden out of sight until we go looking for them again at the end of this new year. The ornaments that we hung on trees, by chimneys, or around windows have left an imprint, even though they are not actually there. That imprint is, of course, on our mind’s eye – that eye that sees so much more. The mind’s eye
The headaches began when the dreams began.
In the dreams, people would talk without pauses or inflection. Sentences had no beginning, no end. There were no commas, semi-colons, or colons. No dashes – no question marks – no periods. There were also no compound words – no “can’ts”, no “wont’s”, no possessives.
I haven't been posting for the last few months because I've been up to my ears in another very complex project. (More about that in the future.)
I probably won't be posting much for a few months more.
But it occurred to me that silence can be misconstrued, and I wouldn't want anyone to think that I didn't care who won this election.
Here are the issues.