A fistful of feathers will get us up and over and down the mountain, but all that downy comfort may not a transformative journey make. What's the sense in descending upon a foregone conclusion? We are explorers with our manila envelopes crammed with crumpled notes, extra pair of socks and love of getting lost. We shall continue to take our steps in the direction(s) we're meant to go. The end result will surely be the byproduct of following our hearts and never having had a clue.
Semi-Daily Scribbles
Carving out a corner to post random crap.
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Unless one is a pie crust, being flaky is not an admirable trait.It's like this: you are smart and capable, and have no sense of time at all. You definitely run on your own schedule and have a knack for pulling off the disappearing act.
"Hey, did Lance just leave without saying anything?"
"Who did Lance hand his caseload to?"
"Is someone covering for Lance until 7:00?"
And still everyone likes you, the fact of which is currency you borrow heavily against. Even so, your flakiness is a subject of fascination for me. When you come in late/leave early/don't even show up I attribute the sketchy attendance to your secret life as a double agent. I chuckle at the possibility. Jason Bourne you ain't! But what do I know? You very well could have superpowers and you're slumming in an office à la Clark Kent. That's the story I choose to believe, anyway.
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FleshBots need patience and a sense of humor. That's why I laughed when Chad handed me a 3 Musketeers and said, "You're a rail. Eat this." Would it have made a difference if I'd said, "Where I come from, we're all rails?"Let's step out of the body. My lack of padding made you uncomfortable, which made me flash my best reptile smile. What a weary exchange! We are all just canvas that sags or stretches. What is it you see written all over me?
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Finding one's tribe is more important than wishing on a star for the other half of one's soul to flutter on down to terra firma. Or, as Ort wrote in his 70-sheet yellow Norcom this morning:
For Darla (but I won't say anything yet because she's really fragile right now – save for later)
Don't go looking for yourself in me. It's you and it has always been you. YOU are all you need. I don't care if your girly romance stuff sells out every weekend. Love is a bedtime story. But I do care for you a lot so don't be mad at me. (for when I eventually tell her this)
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The last big water I bathed in was the Grand Prismatic. It was during that soak I awoke with the following knowledge:
I can raise my vibration as high as my thighs.
Flukes don't like hot sauce.
Never trust a coyote propelled by pulleys and ropes.
The key to beautiful skin is someone else's.
Plaid is The Path to Isolation.
The center of the universe is the solar plexus.
My spirit animal is the earwig. -
The Sales Associate asked what I was doing with the couple pair of jeans I had draped across my left arm.
"I'm on my way to the dressing room to try them on?"
"Go ahead," she said, "but show me when you're ready."
"Ok?"
"Trust me. I know how to size people. It's my job. When I saw you picking jeans from the wrong rack, I knew you needed help.""I do? Well, here I go…" I ducked into the booth, pulled the striped curtain, slipped out of my old dudes Bermuda shorts and wriggled into one snug pair of skinnies.
"Show me," Aimee the S.A. said.
"Minute?" I replied, sotto voce. I gave myself the once-over in the full-length mirror and thought, Not bad! Swoosh went the curtain.
"Ta-da!" Aimee tilted her head as she pursed her lips. Her eyes went from my belly down to my ankles, and then back up to my belly. She stuck her index finger out in front of her and made a circular motion. I complied and demonstrated a rather wobbly pirouette. Aimee's pucker turned into a frown.
"Hitch your thumb inside the waistband. Let me see what kind of room you got." What? I wondered. This pair is painted on my ass as it is!
"Sure," I answered. For emphasis, I tugged on the waist to show Aimee I had a good 2" to spare.
"Take 'em off!"
"But they feel just right."
"You're not supposed to stretch the waist out that much. Those jeans are absolutely too big."
"But I like them."
"Wait for me in the dressing room. I've got a couple fits I want you to try. But I know I can get you into a 1." Aimee turned on her heel and headed for the back of the shop.
"A one what?" I called after her.
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You are trapped beneath the tide. I'm up where the air is just right for a select school of fish. We are both searching for truth in tight spaces. There are stars beneath the waves that guide us. There are lights at the back of the house that never go out. Let me introduce you to Faith and Trust. They'll keep our blisters to a minimum as the fiery ring returns us to the fold. -
So how does Darla describe the way Ort smells? Well, he ain't a cologne guy. What wafts from the man's pores is (to Darla, anyway) an irresistible elixir of curry and chlorine. Burning tires and Mentholatum. The penny Darla picked up in the parking lot of the Prairie View Drive-In Swap Meet, and book binding glue. Not a whiff of dryer sheet can be found on his person.
So what does Darla think about as she trails Ort's wake and rides her personal Wave of Yeah? Darla wonders why Ort bothers to wear a dress shirt when he shoves the damn collar inside his 24" neckband.
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How's your journey coming along? Have you added another page to your Summer Soliloquy? I came to visit you last night. The wall I jumped was 10 feet tall. And when I got to the front door? You'd moved your mountain even higher into the clouds. At least you left me toeholds and cedar pegs to ascend my ass to your relocated Welcome mat. I'll keep on climbing as long as you keep on evading. I don't take it personally, though. You are trapped between worlds and a citizen of none. Your mastery over everything and nothing at all makes you qualified to own, in three easy payments, my unknowable heart. -
Second Acts. Encores.
Whatcha gonna do when you no longer have to punch a clock? I don't golf. The thought of a cruise ship holiday makes my butthole pucker. I've been making art since I was a child, so that's not going to change, but neither will it pay for my upkeep in old age. Old age … what does that even mean in the times we are a-livin' in? My definition of old age is to put your years of experience to work in the service of others. Serve a greater cause than living the good life of a retiree (if you're lucky enough to have a big ass nest egg hidden somewhere.) But even if you do have a big ass nest egg hidden
somewhere, answer me this: What need do you fill? I've been meditating on this question recently, especially as another year is streaking by. In six months I'll be another year older. Will I be any wiser? We'll see. Last week I had A Defining Moment that screamed in my face: Stop shoehorning yourself into situations that are only intended to dole out a paycheck. Yeah, I know, I've got angst in my pants. But this pantser is finally becoming a plotter. I need to plan out the next 20 years of my life with care.Back to that Defining Moment, though. Eliza stopped me in the hall and asked how do visual and performing arts help her daughter excel in STEM? Well, music is math/math is music, so there's that. But the real answer, which I conveyed to Eliza, is that humans must exercise both hemispheres of their brains in order to build the world we'll be living in 50 years from now. It does not do to just be good with numbers. One has to dream a need into awareness, and then provide the blueprint to address it. That takes some pretty beefy creative muscles. Let's just hope the dream, the need, and the execution of a solution makes for technology that enlightens rather than enslaves us, but I'll save scribbling about that for another day. Eliza then asked "how do you have all the answers?" and "can I look inside your head?" Whenever we have water cooler chats she always learns something. According to Eliza, I'm a very good speaker and listener. She let me know should I ever become a psychologist, she wants to be my first client. Word of Mouth! Pay it Forward! Food for Thought …
As I research next steps for non-retirement, fields of study that have long held my fascination are coming back into the picture. I'm being invited to pick up loose threads and weave a narrative that'll manifest a nourishing future. It is true. We return to Source eventually.
Semi-Daily Scribbles 