Semi-Daily Scribbles
Carving out a corner to post random crap.
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Restrictions are of our own design. Build a firm foundation. Everything else is faerie dust. Glimmer & Shimmer & Flicker & Flow. The only way to reach the clouds is to allow unhealthy structures to crumble. Victory is upheaval. Show me the prize hidden under the rubble. Patience & Prudence. What new projects need to be started? Aren't we all just a conglomeration of half-drawn, hastily sketched plans? Obstacles build muscles and nothing soothes a restless mess like redress. You do have the capacity to be innocent. Lifestyles are filled with half-truths and wiles. What has been lost is found when one calibrates her vibration. Where did curiosity go? Did you replace it with a need to know what cannot be shown? If that frequency doesn't make your heart beat, no amount of stimulation will revive what you've left for others to do. They will not make the same mistakes as you. No one learns if everyone wins. Gloating is lonesome work. I can offer understanding but I don't need to jump on the first carousel that comes 'round. I am always looking for something you don't see. It's up there. Do I need to point it out? Let's unpack the sentence: "Learning is unimportant." No one would say that in the world I live in. I have to allow others to proceed on their journey. I can simply tell myself: "That's not your path. That's not your story." No villains. No saints. Only people. I may joke that the perfect world would be populated by my clones, but what a dreadful bore that would be. Patience with myself and others is what's needed during these winter months. Confusion reigns supreme, and it will for a while. The ol' temper has not been tamped down. There has been one baby step taken. No one is ready to run. The team has been trimmed yet again. Our failure was the mismanagement of chaos. We allowed that vital energy to consume rather than nourish us. Make good on your word and the feeling of defeat will subside. And when my boss said "keep your phone on" as I finished my shift on Wednesday, I knew I would not be receiving his call on Thursday. Trying times indeed, and it's cold out. Patience is a life-long practice. When the storm is raging, some folks make for shore and others take their chances upon waves that shake the ocean floor. Just try to show me out the door and I'll put on a demonstration of the wind reducing this world to qubits. How can I help? Just focus on your goals. An answer given before the querent knew her hand was raised. Work those pedals faster, padre. This cycle's seen better days. -
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.
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Another bazaar season has blown in from the north for Miss Darla T. Varney. She spins her craft throughout the year to delight passersby down at the old Prairie View Drive-In Swap Meet. She attaches a price to all her creations; a sum too steep to pay according to Ort. Boothby is decked out in garlands and bows. He knows the stories of all the souls that roam the aisles of forgotten treasure. Darla wears a red vest she crocheted a decade ago that has deep pockets that serve as her till. The sound of change jingles in the peppermint-scented air. Let's now listen in on the ruminations of a lady waiting to offload her wares:
I keep showing up. Isn't that what a human's supposed to do? And the Universe deals with the details? I'm waiting, Angels. My failure is not having a plan. And what do I do? I am an enabler of The Almighty Abernathy. That creature is my ruin. My ingenuity is where I'll find salvation, not in forcing my will on others. The vibe is definitely different now than it was six months ago. I'm happier in a blissed-out, upside down way, although I don't know why or how exactly this more peaceful feeling came about. Am I fulfilling my purpose? The stars don't lie, they only intensify. If I'm waiting out a delay, I better make good use of this time. CREATE! The signs I keep seeing everywhere tell a narrative of strife and redemption. I can use this handful of words to write columns and volumes. That sounds like a good project. Billboards contain the language of The Guides. Heed the messages because YOU can't go wrong. MY OPINIONS FREE OF CHARGE! My work also tells a story. A story about doubt and worthiness. Of the past being more vibrant and alive than the right here and right now. The present moment is fine. Maybe that's all anything/anyone can be. A Life of Littleness is the best a man can get. I've definitely let go of some stress and tension. I think because I've attempted to reset my brain, the bloat is subsiding. I can't stress out over this comical holiday circus. Take the money and run. I do, however, feel more in the saddle than I have in three years. That, I'd have to say, is progress. A long time comin' … Oohh! A customer!
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Not a proper Year-In-Review this. Not even going to speculate on what's in store for 2019. Just a handful of things that happened:
* I rescued a withered Philodendron scandens tucked amongst boxes of Tampax stacked on a table of markdowns at Walmart. I christened the plant Luz.
* Learned to embrace the ludicrous and my worldview improved immensely.
* Wrote some pretty shitty poetry.
* Got to be a tourist in the city where I live when family came to visit.
* Colleagues were given the Fourth Quarter Boot Scoot at my place of employment. I'm still there.
Snapshots of a life lived as the planet does its slow dance around the sun. Time, too, continues to
communicate in its ebb and flow way. And each one of us a star. No, really. We follow stars across the sky in our search for home. But as a star, the only place one can return is where you are. -
jennie wrenn, my very best friend, and a profligate's definition of an angelic vision, is the girl i love the most. blessings pour from her lips like incautious kismet as my feather queen is perched upon her bed of sleights.Don't listen to anyone right now. Your senses are heightened and intuition has elbowed you in the ribs for the past two years (…don't get comfortable, this is only a well-manicured dead end…) You were hired as the janitor, not Janus. An influencer all the same. Spin that shit until it is silk against your skin. You needn't tell me to fill my days with as much beauty as I can pocket (it's sewn shut anyway.) If you have to peer that deeply into the bowl, dump the water. All the good bits of wisdom ought to have already risen within view.
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The Universe is jabbing at you with a golden spork. It is basically saying stop listening to advice from the sidewalk crawlers and witless brawlers. The spork's staccato poke and prick is Morse for "you called this bitch correctly and still said yes." Knocked backwards a couple years you were, but now your feet meet the threshold which your head refused to cross. A destiny you discredited for being too gooey. You lost the thread when you gave up on your heart of garbage. Buck up, beauty. It's never too late to be defensive about one's failures. -
There is always someone looking at the watcher who's taking notes from the back of the class about who in the stuffy room is most likely to get away with murder. The most likely candidate is the teammate who will have your back during good times and bad with the long-term goal of posting another trophy on his/her wall. Who to trust in this age of ambivalence? The one who loves you and is loath to let you wander the forest alone. Who better to hear your cries for help than the confidant that brought you to the precipice? -
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.
Semi-Daily Scribbles 