Posts Tagged ‘consciousness’

Try this at home when alone, and fully alert.

Sit in a chair, or stand purposefully.  At the same time Рclap your hands loudly together and sternly and sharply speak  the words wake up out loud.

I hope it works for me.

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The arrogance of mankind.

Weather on demand,” the radio DJ said, online, on the radio, in the air.

Forecast the pattern coming to a sky near you. Tune in, listen, count on it – it is coming in the air.

Human word nets cast over natural events, be comfortable, it’s handled – feel control you can never have.

Cloudy words, rainy days, frozen atmosphere. Take a guess, use your radar, no one ever knows what’s coming.

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…”makes no difference who you are…”

Magnanimous fella, that Jiminy Cricket. Seemed to like astronomy too, probably spent a fair bit of time stargazing, being a cricket and all.

Old Jiminy saw fate up there, blowing around in the stars. A single wish, a single star can do the trick. I wonder what a group of stars could do.

Like say, a constellation – remember those? Pegasus, Orion, Andromeda? Groups of stars that altogether point to a bigger picture when we look at them from a distance, from earth.

Alone, each star has its own history and depth, much like a single event, or a single person in our lives. We don’t usually get too much distance from events in our lives, so the bigger picture? Hard to see.

But sometimes, events in our day, or over a lifetime, “constellate,” become vibrant, or active enough for us to see that bigger picture in our lives, our own personal constellation – if we can stand by long enough to see it.

…”Like a bolt out of the blue, fate steps in and sees you through…”

Jiminy seemed to see a bigger reason up there in the stars, some invisible something flashing out of nowhere that puts it all together for a reason, saving our skin and our heart’s desire in the process. In just that moment, it all makes sense.

Bolt out of the blue?” Sounds like Jiminy appreciated meteorology too. Renaissance man.

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Let’s talk about hairballs. Not the benign, partly-digested food sausages that choke up kitties, but rather, the real thing – the smelly, stringy gelatinous critter that is lurking in the u-joint of your bathroom sink.

Leave one of those beasties in the craw of your drain too long and you’re doomed to personal confrontation. It was, however, my good fortune last night to do just that.

I say “good fortune” because said beastie was discovered while replacing a leaky faucet, a feat made possible only with the guidance and assistance of my good friend, The Neighbor.

To quote The Neighbor, upon viewing the sludge-ridden material lodged in my drain, … “that is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen.”

Now this, by itself, is an accomplishment. The Neighbor is an undaunted woman who, some time ago, uttered the memorable words “I’m going in!” as we both cowered outside my basement door one very early morning overhearing what sounded like a pitched battle between my cat and a rabid tapir. Just two months ago, she talked me off my roof, after I flew up with a hammer (and a cell phone) – to beat into oblivion any shingle or vent skirt unwise enough to admit mice to my attic – belatedly remembering my dislike of heights. And a couple of years ago, it was The Neighbor who waited with me as a surgeon cut out my child’s ruptured appendix, and who never blinked when the surgeon produced a photograph of that rotten, exploded organ.

So, you can imagine my delight.

Although unacquainted before I relocated here years ago, I am convinced, on reflection, that one of the reasons I landed in this small burg was to meet the likes of The Neighbor.

The Neighbor is one of many friends of mine who “can do.” With their hands, their hearts and their minds, they cook, write, build, live and love their lives.

Strange is the unseen library on whose shelves the books of these lives reside, connected sometimes by proximity, sometimes by commonality, some by seeming chance. Catalog is impossible. Physical hyperlinks of connection too fantastic to be believed, but nonetheless real.

It is neither destiny nor divinity that designs these transits, but an as-yet unarticulated quality still slumbering in the twilight thought of human consciousness.

That connective quality, sometimes quietly, sometimes viciously, tracks through the everyday, usually only guessed at after it has moved on, leaving us, among friends, to wonder.

And to work. For without The Neighbor, the leaky faucet would still be stealing my energy and my water, the drain would have seeped back to me all I sought to let go. Too much going in, too little going out. Although embroidered in the countenance of a friend, the corrective threads of the energy are unmistakable.

Sometimes it takes a friend to help you find the stuff that chokes, the lurking, nasty stuff you didn’t even know was there.

Thanks Neighbor.

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