Meanings

 

It's hard to focus on reading these days, and even harder to watch a movie. I wondered why...is my brain, in some way, going? (Some would say it's long since gone, but, well...uh, maybe.)

A possible answer is this, that I have at last stopped trying to find meaning and purpose in the things I do. I just do them, as carefully and well as I can, and let them go. It leaves an emptiness that is at the same time full and vibrant.

It's not a zin and yang thing. It's not even a thing. It is, and in being, is not.

No, I did not eat a Zen monk for breakfast. Now, stop that!

I'm not sure why I'm trying to describe this, give form to the most insubstantial ephemera. Perhaps it's to say that if you know someone who is hopelessly sick, and that person seems to be drifting away, it's not necessarily a cause for concern, a sign of indifference or an acceptance of defeat.

It may simply be an unburdening.

When meaning has no meaning,

and the future has no face,

it's funny, sometimes, seeming

that I am lost in space,

drifting down the halls of time

with nothing left to do 

except post the occasional rhyme,

and soon that will be through.

But there is nothing sad in this,

no sense of some great tragedy,

and in the messages I miss

there is a boon for me,

that my soul, now made so light,

will transcend the fall of night.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is HISTORY.

To some it might be mystery,

that somehow I had lost the toss

and have no use for history,

but really, that is not a loss,

for the past is anchor fouled

in the coral, a tropic gaol

that by nature is be-troweled

by cement that halts the fullest sail.

Best to run before the wind,

skating past the rocks and shoals,

eyes ahead, though we have sinned,

perhaps, in all our chosen goals,

but on we run free anyway 

to meet the sea, and the new day.

Four minutes thirty. Had a few words that didn't mesh.

Sylvia would eat a Zen monk, if he were made of ice cream.

Dare To Compare? (Tell His Story)

 

 

One of the reasons I'm really glad the Olympics are over is that the temptation to comparison is gone.

So many ads showing The Good Life, do much fawning over athletes and celebrities...my life felt kinda grubby in comparison, very much thrift store (where we do find some pretty cool stuff).

The worse the cancer gets, the easier it is to put comparison aside, though 

 That's something, I guess, but when you feel yourself drifting away from the human race, it may not be a good thing.

What about you? How do you get past the societal pressure for comparison?

Sylvia doesn't have a problem. She figures everyone compares themselves to her, and comes up short.

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Hospitals In Heaven

The angels came, and it was kinda like that scene from Ghost, where Patrick Swayze gets carried up to Heaven by a lot of twinkly lights.

Only in real life it was brighter and warmer and wilder, a tsunami of Love.

And neither Demi Moore nor Whoopi Goldberg were there.

But Tashka' was.

And now there are some pretty beat-up angels in Heaven. Tashka' will be glad to sign their casts.

 

Today seemed like the days before,

short on breath and long on pain,

and then there opened up a door,

and down to me the angels came,

lifting me in love and light

away from all that lay beneath,

but Shepherd Tashka' chose to fight 

with booming voice and snapping teeth,

wading in, giant awoken,

not about to let me go,

and the uplift then was broken 

and it was thus mine to know 

that while God may make His plans,

down here I am in Tashka's hands.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is USUALLY.

Usually you get a dog,

and he is an amiable sort,

wandering 'round in canine fog 

without a new thing to report,

but Tashka' comes from older blood,

a Turkish Shepherd bred to guard,

and he does just what he should 

even when the doing's hard.

He keeps his watch on me at night 

so Belle the Wolf can get some sleep,

and if God comes he's gonna fight 

because it is his job to keep

me safe and sound 'neath his command,

regardless of what God has planned.

Three minutes thirty or so.

The only fitting musical tribute is Autumn Rain covering AC/DC's Thunderstruck 

The video is awesome!

Sylvia likes having muscle around.

Uninvited Guests (Tell His Story)

 Had a king snake in the house this evening. Ushered him out. I think he was insulted.

Better than the rattler we had a few weeks ago. He was ushered into the next life.

And way better than the druggie who found his way into a neighbour's house, and found the best easy chair oh so inviting.

What about you? Any uninvited guests lately?

Sylvia will not share ice cream with uninvited guests. She won't share with invited guests, either.

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Only Kindness Matters

 Is it so wrong to be polite,

is courtesy now mortal sin?

Are we caged weasels set to fight,

at any cost to win?

Is 'in your face' the watchword now,

with snarky comments as the rule?

Are cruelties the best way how

to approach a verbal duel?

Is it to late for us to see

that what divides us does not mean

we can't agree to disagree?

Is decency a fading dream

from those long-past golden years

limned in mem'ry's bitter tears?

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is DEFEAT. It won't beat me.

If we won't have civility,

and pay respect that's only meet,

we will forfeit the victory 

that we sought, and taste defeat

that will bring us to the place

of rude slave-state nations,

trading out our gift of grace

'gainst loudmouth protestations,

daily bread of those who would divide

folk more similar than not

to puff up their swelling pride

until all blessings we have got

are cast into sulphuric fire

that will rise, and rise the higher.

Three minutes, got it.

Music from Jewel, with, obviously, Only Kindness Matters 

The song is actually called Hands, but who remembers that?

Sylvia really dislikes conflict, especially over ice cream.

Simply The Worst (Tell His Story)

 I never watch 'normal' TV; just Trinity Broadcasting, DVDs, or, blessedly, nothing.

But every couple of years, for the Olympics, I give it a shot, and end up feeling soiled.

This year was the worst. NBC made the event feel like it was staged as a promo for their really lame programming, most of the adverts (except for one from Daniels Heating and Air Conditioning in Albuquerque) made one cringe by trying to tie into Olympic glory, and the political spots were vapid and vicious.

That was the takeaway. I don't recall a single sporting moment, and I was once a track and field athlete, and played high level rugger.

Glad it's over. Until next time.

Sylvia thinks eating ice cream should be an Olympic event. That would have saved it.

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Autosave Saved Me From Me

Funny thing about autosave in Blogger. It just goes.

I had another post written, and accidentally deleted the entire text. Before I could undo the action, autosave kicked in.

So you don't get to hear what I had to say about the Olympic opening ceremony.

Consider yourself blessed.

I had a post to offer here,

'bout Gay Paree and other things,

but something happened, oh so queer,

and the words all spread their wings

and took of to a netherworld 

enforced by autosave.

Into the abyss they hurled

themselves and thereby gave

me a chance to change my road,

and write what you read now.

Though the lost post really flowed,

my hands are on the plow

to move ahead, with patient grace,

and not blow Android to outer space.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is SCENE.

Well, you'll get my take on the Olympic opening anyway. Lucky you.

A bunch of drag queens set the scene,

a mocking of da Vinci,

and it was really pretty mean

along with being wince-y,

'cause each fell off the ugly tree

and hit each branch a-comin' down,

leaving plain ol' folks like me

to regard this with a frown,

because respect is thus demanded 

by the venue and the setting,

but my approval is remanded

by Bible and internal vetting

that says scoffers are truly lost

and one day will pay the cost.

Three minutes flat. I don't mind men dressing as women, though I can't see the point. I do have a problem with passive aggressive bullying (if you say nothing, you're weak, and if you push back you're a hater).

Without apology, here's an appropriate (or not!) scene from Crocodile Dundee 

Sylvia likes this post better.

Would Jesus Watch The Olympics? (Tell His Story)

So, can you picture Jesus and the Apostles sitting around a TV, watching the Olympics, cheering on the home team?

I can.

My take is that He was fun to be around, and would pick up any excuse for a merry gathering. He didn't just have joy; He IS joy.

So yeah, I can see Him leaping to His feet when Simone Biles secures another gold, and shaking His head in sorrowful sympathy when a hurdler disastrously mistimes a step.

And telling Simon Peter 'Hey, more wings, how about, Rocky?'

Sylvia likes the Olympics, but thinks all the medals should be ice cream.

 

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How To Save A Life

 

Peanut the Great Dane puppy came from the Albuquerque Westside Shelter)where he had been for five months) on a Saturday. On Sunday, he saved my life, by clearing my airway when I fel

l, and was undergoing positional asphyxia; in short, my neck was bent at an angle in which I could not breathe, and having hit my head on a brick, I could not move to save myself.

So Peanut saved me.

You can read more about it in Newsweek.

But don't worry. Fame hasn't gone to his head.

Yes, I saved your life, my friend,

perhaps 'twas just in time,

but I did not then comprehend 

that soon you would save mine.

A fall and twisting of the head,

I saw the world around me darken,

and thought that I might well be dead

but did not see you hearken 

to the crisis at your feet,

a thing for which you'd not prepared,

but a thing you rose to meet

(please tell me, were you scared?),

for you'd not see me go quite yet,

the new Dad that you had just met.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is TOLERATE.

There's something I can't tolerate,

and these are Brussels sprouts,

the one food that I truly hate,

and I am on the outs

with those to whom it's mighty good,

in their view delicacy.

To me their palate's made of wood,

or they are just plumb crazy.

Maybe eating bugs when young,

maybe drinking something worse 

that cauterized taste buds of tongue

and left them with the curse

of enjoying something any sane

diner would put down the drain.

Four minutes, and yuck!, just thinking about it!

Music from Lindsey Buckingham, with Holiday Road.

Sylvia is glad Peanut's here. But she's not sharing her ice cream.