I listen to the drizzling of rain and birdsong. Behind me, an open window allows the damp perfume of watered earth, sweet moss and trees to surround me. The lulling melody, the clean scented air a purification with each moment, with each breath. I am calm. I am well. And so I breath deeply, sit quietly, listening, wondering, glad. This moment is birdsong.
Remind me later I have a really good story to share.
What’s it about?
I can’t say. Not here. But, WOW, it’s great! Just thinking about it has me smiling and clapping my hands. I’m pink with pleasure.
I’m incapable of reminding you outside of this place, and equally unable to hear any story not spelled out for me. Duh. Does being “pink with pleasure” make you stupid as all get out?
Insulting me doesn’t help … Actually this makes a perfect memory jog – remind me with the code words “pink with pleasure” when the hour is more convenient and I’ll tell you my fantastic tale. This is going to work out great!! Good thinking!
And “stupid as all get out” wins by a landslide.
I really should come in here more and say stuff.
Pity.
As in, it’s a pity I don’t. Not as in, give me your pity.
There’s a saying, “if a tree falls in the forest, but nobody hears it, does it make a sound?”. It’s incredibly philosophical. Amazingly, awesomely philosophical. Almost too much so – I barely understand it really. What is it even about? Truly think about if for a moment … read it again …. I think it’s about perception, and I think there’s something to say here about truth. Here’s my reasoning: Of course trees make noises when they fall, we all know that, we’ve all heard it, whether in real life or on TV. So the answer is yes. But what if a tree fell and nobody heard it? What if nothing at all heard it? I really mean it – nothing – not a bird not a bug, nothing. If we could say beyond a doubt that nothing heard the tree fall, then there’s our proof. Nothing heard, which means nothing to hear, which means no sound to hear, which means no sound was made.
You must be tried or something, because this is both dull and whacked out.
Excuse me, but I am sharing! This is my sharing place where I can “weave” whatever thoughts I choose into the “fabric” of my blog.
“Whatever” “man”. ”Use” quotations “much”? All I’m saying is I wouldn’t want to read this.
Then don’t. Go. Away. You’re interrupting, AND creepy. I never really figured out who you are in the first place! I don’t like the fact that you exist and I don’t want you here!
…
Good riddance! … Lost my train of thought, so I’ll get to the point. Things are what they are inherently, and we can’t change that. What we can change is our perception. Arguments in philosophy can always be stripped down to a difference in perception, which makes perception more important than facts. What can change perception? Persuasion? No. If we all see everything differently, then does truth differ? Is there then no truth at all? No certainly there is truth, because this I know and this I believe: Jesus said “I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father, but through Me.” (John 14:6) Again I ask, what can change perception? Truth can.
That was much better.
To Do:
- Bills
- Laundry
- Thank you cards
- Hang pictures
- Endure
In celebration of the new year, I planted seeds. I got little pots, nutrient rich soil, seed packets, and put them all together in the order correct for life. From my happy place, a drawer full of stationary, I selected two small art nouveau sticker labels, wrote “Marigold” on one, “Lavender” on the other, and attached them to the little pots, in the order correct for identification. The effect was delightful. I was delighted. I placed the two little pots of Hope and Potential on my desk, next to my email, where I could draw strength. Water for life, light for growth. I had a sudden thought, a potential issue – oh no! – winter is a poor choice of season to plant vulnerable seeds. Don’t they need warmth too? I had a sudden inspiration, a gleeful solution – ah ha! – if I cover the little pots I can create the greenhouse effect right there on my desk, next to my email, so the waiting seeds can have a Chance after all. With a skip in my step and a cackle on my lips, I pulled out some Christmas cellophane, clear thick plastic with jolly blue snowflakes. I cut two squares, dug through the junk draw for two rubber bands, and neatly covered the little pots. One day waiting, one day checking. Eager Marigold with vivid green sprouts. How quick they appeared one day, just the other day, with tiny leaves, two for each stem, 20 stems, 40 stems, 60 stems total. I saw them, under the blue snowflake-ed cellophane, pressing up with faces towards the sun. The effect was delightful. I was delighted. I debated with myself then, if I should remove the cellophane and expose the little sage shoots to the wintery room, or if I should allow those slender-lings another day undercover. I opted for leaving them as was. Another day for watching. Today I looked in upon the Marigold shoots, and ripped off the cellophane cover in horror. Less vibrant, less green. Weak, sagging brown. And Mold. Mold in my Marigold. How did this happen? How did Death and Petulance creep its way into my Hope and Potential? Cellophane – my gift of greenhouse warmth turned incubator for life sucking Mold. I had done everything right, and I had failed. I had a sudden thought, a potential lifeline – oh yes! – I still had the Lavender. Slow sleepy Lavender. Today I looked in upon the Lavender pot, and ripped off the cellophane cover in haste. Count them, one, two, tiny baby heads just breaking the surface. There I beheld another Chance.
Marigold and Lavender
To be continued…
When you think back on the year, what stands out? Can you remember? If asked to recite the events, in order, you would not be able to.
Prove it.
I’ll name a month, and you tell me what happened. I’ll even narrow the scope. Speak of your own life, your own doings and your own cares. I’m looking for specifics here, not ‘I woke up, and went to work’. February.
Fine… you go first.
Memory is fallible, that’s all I’m trying to say. We need to pay attention and make a conscience effort to remember. Journal, take pictures, talk about the past.
The past is past.
To know where you’re going, you must know where you are. To know where you are, you must know where you’ve been.
That’s trite of you.
That doesn’t make it wrong. We are so dense sometimes, it takes looking back to realize what was happening, what it meant, and what it means today.
Historians agree.
Now, don’t be mean. I was trying to make a point, but you’ve sidetracked me somehow. Never-mind.
I like buying seeds. I love their potential. Turn “bottom of purse” change into vital growing plants. How cool is that.
You never plant them though.
It’s like magic, really! The seeds are so small and hard and dry. Like little pebbles. How does it become a flower, a tree? How does it happen?
You should plant them. The seeds know what to do.
Lavender Seeds
To be continued…
There’s music in the night
Voices sing gladly to the stars
To the sky
The moon is a sliver
A peeping face
A broad smile
The trees are whistling
Humming
Murmuring
A lullaby
All is dark
In the stillness and the many breezes
Dances light from the moon and the stars
Wax and wane like the moon
Like the tides
Like the song
I love to travel. I mean really. Love to travel. Most people do, so it’s not an earth shattering confession or anything. However, I hate to fly. I loath it. I think it grotesque and inhuman. The noise, the lines, the waiting, the sitting, the smell, the close air, the other people, the lighting, the pressure, the noise, the noise, and the noise. I hate them all so very much. I’ve decided these two things are NOT mutually exclusive. I am allowed to love going to new places and to hate the mode of going. Both. I can feel both. I do feel both, so there.
So I was sitting in a plane last week, among my co-sufferers. The plane itself was in-flight, but that fact has no bearing on my little tale so I shall strike it from here. … No never-mind - I’m way too lazy to delete all that and not artistic enough to actually use the strike-through formatting to make this look all in vogue-ie. I digress. So, I’m on the plane, trying very hard not to exist, or at least to feel nothing, when a conversation intrudes upon my thoughts. Not thoughts really, as I was trying to think of nothing, so the conversation intruded on my zen state of nothing. And if I’m going to keep to the rigid facts, it wasn’t really a conversation either. Just a question and an answer. A simple question. An unexpected answer that I found amusing. The answer is the reason for this little narrative. Don’t worry, we’ll get to it. PATIENCE! The plane attendants/stewards are making their way down the aisle, with the “complimentary” snack and drink. (Don’t let them fool you – you’re paying dearly for that chew and that sip!) They, the stewards, are still a couple rows up from me. They create a nice diversion with their choreographed moves and trim matching outfits. The service cart pauses. The one with the dark hair leans first to her left. She opens her mouth to speak. To question. And the question is: “would you like cookies or peanuts?” She’s asked this question a thousand times. A million times. What will the poor urchin choose? The cookies? We are flying Delta, and they do have those exceptional cinnamon cookies. Whoever it is should choose cookies. I myself have already planned to do so. The peanuts? Ewe. Why are those even an option? I mean, who’s choosing peanuts? I wait for the answer. I’m actually listening for the answer. Not even the dark haired flight attendant is listening for the choice, and she was the one to ask the question! No, she’s bored. She looks bored. Too board to care. But not as board as me. Because I sit, several rows back, trying to zone out, and I’m listening. Cookies or peanuts. Riveting. How long has this exchange taken? How long does it take to pause and lean in and ask “cookies or peanuts”? A moment. A mere moment. How long does it take to answer such a question? Do you need to pause, to consider? NO. The answer followed the question immediately. I didn’t need to wait. I didn’t have time to wait. I assigned myself the action of ‘waiting’ for dramatic effect. Cookies or peanuts. ”No peanuts. I’m very allergic to nuts. No one around me can have them – I can’t be around them. Also, my seat won’t go back.”
I absolutely love to travel. I want to go all over the world. Maybe someday I will. But I hate, oh how I HATE to fly.
Recent Comments in the Clouds