So many things.

I am unsure. And among the most capable People I know.

I am talented But feel I have no worth Making messes instead of art.

I am loved Though forgetting this At every negative whim.

This morning, I am watching the sun rise. There is a breeze. Thankfully, a breeze.

It will be a cool morning. The grueling heat will come later, and not as bad. Fall is making its way to where I live. But it is painfully slow.

I will skip breakfast today. There is drawing to do and existential crisis to have.

I am sore and tired this morning from crawling around under the car all day yesterday. Replaced: Wheel speed sensors (welcome back cruise control), an oil change, new air filters, and cleaning up the engine. I'll have to remove one of the valve covers and install a new gasket as we've managed to develop an oil leak on the rear passenger side of the six cylinder power plant.

I am freaked out about the motorcycle accident. I was okay when I saw him get up and walk away. But now that he's posted online that he broke his pelvis in 3 places, I'm much more worried. First that he's going to be okay. Second that he's not a vindictive opportunist. We do carry comprehensive coverage, but we don't have high limits... I dread the idea of ending up in court over this.

I have an active imagination that won't let me rest.

It is strange that someone who can so deeply and clearly see the beauty in everything can also see the horror. It's part of why I quit watching the news.

Shin called. We had a WONDERFULconversation. He's just a joy to exchange ideas. He had some scuttlebutt/rumors related to a big meeting next month. Suggestions are to some pretty significant schedule changes. I'll wait to see. Nothing would surprise me.

Things with him and the wife are going well. He was distressed that a neighbor got scooped up by ICE agents last night/this morning. Screaming and lights woke them at the outrageous crack of dawn where the neighbor was saying goodbye to her kids to head to work as a hotel manager. It is reported that her mother brought her here as an infant. She grew up, raised a family and was working as a professional until about 12 hours ago.

This is a heavy topic and I shared my own experiences with disappeared people. We need God's kingdom more than ever. For each of us, certainly, but more so for those who are unprotected and manipulated by an evil world.

Heavy subjects for two artists, one a new father. We agree that drawing closer together within our congregation is going to be vital if we're going to make it through what comes.

He's in the middle of a big client project. They shifted directions mid-delivery, so he is in the position of having to negotiate more money. Not fun, but helpful if you can get the client to cooperate.

I was able to catch him up on all the goings on. I was surprised we hadn't spoken in a few weeks. The man has become like a brother to me. Which is good. I need a brother.

It left me feeling quite buoyant.

The broken pelvis thing, less so.

Insurance. I have insurance, that's their job. We've been paying them $1-2k a year for more than 25 years without a claim. It's time for them to do their job.

I think my bigger worry is Ng.

How long do I trust her behind the wheel? This is pretty major. Do I dare risk a greater catastrophe?

Thinking about it makes me feel lost.

But here I am. I can touch.

I see a stuffed leopard. An empty air filter box. Pink string, a copy of Verisimilitude vol 1., a toy robot, an eyeglass cleaner with teh word LOOK on it. I can breathe. I can see. I can smell. What treasures can a man want other than to experience life? If everything I can touch were stripped away, I could still tell stories. I could still write and draw and cry and sing. Thought that last one, not very well.

Life is not perfect. But it is good. There is good. I feel it. But the darkness tries to shroud it.

I won't let it. You won't either will you?

I know you won't. You are tenacious. And tenacity will get you through. And that gives me hope.

Sunshine comes.

I guarantee it.

Tonight is a meeting night. I will go worship my God. Shake my head at some of the presenters and smile at the points we're being taught.

Next week, we're going to host 8 ppl on Tuesday evening for what we used to call 'goodie night'. We would do this once a month years ago when we met in our home to study the Bible. That arrangement has been gone for a long time, we decided it was time to re-invoke some of the flavor. So hopefully we'll tell some stories and share fruit and charcuterie.

The week after that, we're going to invite a family for a real adventure. Get in the field and discover. More on that later.

I sat out last night for a long time and looked at the sky. There were some clouds, but I could still see the night sky between the floating billows. All those stars. Every one with a name. Wow. I had that old feeling again of wishing I could fly. Just stand up and launch into the sky. If I could have, I wouldn't have gone anywhere specific... just up into the atmosphere. Maybe come down on some dark beach somewhere and sit for a while there and listen to the surf.

Life is changing for all of us. Faster than we can really tell. I think of last Thursday and how much has happened in those short 7 days. People were born, people died. They told stories. They fell in love. They had their hearts broken. They cried. They laughed. Someone found God. Someone else lost their way.

We are the all singing, all dancing, troupe of humanity.

We read, eat, sing, scream, love, and savor life. Seize the day, as it were.

Some days that means you set sail on a world adventure. And others? You just sit and write about it. Draw a picture. Drink a cup of tea. Just reflect.

When you do, try to savor the good. Not as in 'the good old days', but as in all of us have wonder and love in our lives. Focus on that. Smile that someone cares about you. Smile if they don't like you. At least you mean enough for them to take notice.

And I think that is beautiful.

#amber #weather #gravity#undertow #north

bare branches

Before dawn’s whisper, I rise— A navy sky not yet ready to sail. A body still heavy with sleep and confusion.

Then, suddenly, the road Is humming an old hymn Empty twilight nibbling Headlights in the fog.

A mind hitting on the Black fuel of morning While silent prayers Drift up to the unseen.

Glass eyes and smiles— Because he knows what waits: A day of light and truth, Smiles and hugs and love.

He calls them brother and sister Like they are lost family, Because they are. Lost in ways they don't even know.

Joy is the hilight, even as The soul knows it drifts Further from shore Than its ever been.

Faces of happiness fair winds One lost in doldrums Prays bring him home.

Or at least in the Right direction.

A Program begins, Lubricating the soul. Eyes glass again and a chest Feels tight with missed joy.

Every synapse is suddenly Alive with memory and desire And a longing to be one thing: Good.

HE is here, there is no doubt. After all, 'wherever One or two of you Is gathered together'.

And that is enough, Even though so many Are missing— So many.

One or all, the break Is no less real. Prayers and prayers And prayers

Because what else Can a lost and Broken soul Offer?

But to ask for help.

Ache and pray. It comes and Is part Of Worship

For what Father Does not wish to Know the failings Of a child.

Not to punish, But to salve And sooth And help.

Like light into A window, Spirit pours Into this soul.

And out come whispers of thanks. For truth. For hope.

For the days to come And their morrows To bring every loving One back to this place.

Of peace. Satisfaction.

And joy.

#poetry #amber #museum #orbit #undertow #weather #ghost #gravity

And other things. (case: 260902)

The Dream

KH Q/A study session RV conducting. Doesn’t call on me. For some reason, I have to go outside to get a box of literature. Stacks of books, hard to carry.

Since I am near the front of the building, I decide to open the stage door. I don't know why. I'm COMPLETELY embarrassed when I try to go in next to the stage and the sun is shining in the door, the heat rushing in, and the entire congregation is just staring at me.

I sheepishly extract myself and close the door.

Go to the main entrance at the back and slip in.

I try again to participate by raising my hand, but the conductor continues to ignore me.

As I stand out of frustration, someone points out that I am nearly naked, standing in blue underwear.

I complain I never get called on.

The conductor, RV ends hourlong discussion 30m early.

I grouse to those around me that we shouldn't be stopping so soon.

AG walks onto the stage, he seems to be our chairman.

I can’t understand him. He is speaking loudly enough, but his words make no sense. Like the wah-wah-wah on the Peanuts cartoons.

He starts to play a video.

Suddenly:

I am on the beach at a wide lazy river. Lots of people float by in inner tubes. It is very easy and lighthearted. Everyone is friendly. Like a 1950's suburban bar-b-que. I feel like I am having fun. I drink beer.

An otter swims up and nuzzles and cradles in my arm.

Everyone e ‘aaaawwwww’.

But it makes me nervous. I can feel/smell its waterproof coating.

But the kindness of the watchers makes me relax and enjoy the encounter.

I hug and nuzzle back.

Then: real life comes stomping in.

MW wakes me up. It is predawn, orange shards are dappling the wall past my feet sticking out and dancing on the shorted covers. It looks like there is wind this morning. Probably just the sun heating the atmosphere.

I was up late, so I lie and take in my existence. Pray. Breathe. Think of a poem about the dappling light.

The Poem

Pigments wake early, before the world, to play.

They are little gorgeous children.

My children this morning, mischievous.

How happy my babies are.

Land-O-Nod

I fall back asleep.

I am at the beach again. But it is noisier. Ocean now. White sand and wind. No people this time. Just me. All of me. The water is green and I can taste the salt spray.

My hair is sticky and matted like I've been swimming. I run my fingers through it to break up the clumps. I feel it turning blonder, like ice cracking.

I always like salty hair.

Another otter comes out of the surf and sizes me up. This one is larger, but likes me. It comes and we lie in the sand and it nuzzles and hugs me.

It feels so warm and soft. The fur is like a blanket warm against the wind.

I want to share this comfort with my friends, but they are not here.

I wake again. The light is fully up now.

And, I suppose, so am I.

My read: The Otter Knows Me

Look how social I am. :–/

Public and learning. Love it! But I don't get to share. :–( Try try try, but I feel ignored. Unseen. Invisible. Until I get ridiculous. Until they need a weak mind and a strong back. then: EXPOSURE!!

The sunlight. The heat. They're all gonna laugh at me!

And then, wonderfully cruelly, I'm not merely embarrassed—I'm almost naked. but, notice, I'm not paralyzed. I recall? shock maybe, but then just keep on keeping on. This is me baby! Like it or lump it!

Dream logic: I want to participate, but when I finally enter the room, I discover I've been participating wrong.

not being heard not being seen and dismayed but not terrified of being seen too much

TENSION!

My big complaint isn't 'I need clothes, cover me.' it's 'Why won't anybody call on me?'

The dream's answer: Because I'm already worried about what will happen if they do.

Blue underwear. At least I had them. I wonder why blue. Blue is a comfort color. My favorite. Def not a sexual input. Just regular, awkward me.

Human.

All the social mores are kind of dumped or deleted:

No books. No proper entrance. No role. No authority. No carefully constructed participation. Just me.

And then RV ends the discussion early. I am frustrated again because there wasn't enough time to be heard.

Comically consistent. Like life.

Then AG becomes chairman and speaks loudly—I hate that I think I've come to dislike him to the point of avoidance. I need to work on tihs. I can feel the emotion in my dream.

Or maybe it really is him. Perhaps he has come to disdain me... wicked man that I am. Other women's wives and all. Some people like to get offended for Jah.

Maybe that's why I can't understand what he's saying.

First, authority figure won't call here; now authority figure is talking, but language itself has broken down.

“Wah-wah-wah.”

The institutional/social world has become meaningless.

Down to the River

Video: And the dream escapes. In comes the otter.

Wild switch. Super dreamy. And totally made sense in the dream. I always love dream-logic. Or its' absence. And the intensity that comes and goes on the astral plane.

Swap from big room full of performance, to the wide open wild where everyone, even nature accepts me. Loves me. Desires me.

No evaluaations. No questions. No conductors. Permissions.

Just easy, enjoyable floating.

And beer. Beer is always nice.

The atmosphere is almost aggressively wholesome: 1950s suburban barbecue, friendly strangers, innertubes, beer, sunlight, water.

A world where participation requires almost nothing.

Just jump in and join the current.

And we switch again when my friendly otter arrives. No explanation required. No questions No right/wrong answers. Just nuggles and water. and plenty of good energy.

EVERYONE loved me! That was really wonderful.

The social gaze that was horrifying in the first half has completely changed.

Wonder: did the audience change, or did I?

I definitely have.

Yet, I'm are nervous.

There's a word for that aroma water-born mammals have... can't think of it. Strange I noticed it... or was aware of it. Scent is SO powerful.

Smelling/feeling the oil on its fur.

This ain't no disney cartoon. This is REAL!

Wet. Oily. Strange. Alive.

But not entirely comfortable. There's some awkwardness, but it quickly dissolves.

It's really kind of beautiful that that I think about it.

Like I'm learning: I can experience something strange without immediately needing to retreat from it. I don't have to pretend the otter isn't weird. I don't have to pretend I'm not nervous. I can be nervous and stay.

Then, I accept it. Wholly.

Aaaaaand MW wakes me up. Bad timing. I was really deep.

So deep, i resist the urge to immediately get up and resume the machinery of life. Just lie there. Prayer and breathe.

Do you think those are the essentials of life? I do.

We need to revise the rule of threes: Air – 3 minutes or death Water – 3 days or death Food – 3 weeks (or is it months) or death

Where do we put prayer in that pyramid?

Pray incessantly, after all.

My dumb little poem. I like to write about morning light. It feels unique and intimate. Even though everyone experiences it. Wonder if anyone else ever cries thinking about light.

I don't. Not all the time anyway.

Here, I am simply experiencing existence. Light. Breath. Prayer. Thought. Being.

Kind of perfect.Which is why I fell back asleep. X-D

Ocean Side Property

Rarely to dreams resume. And this one really didn't In fact, Otter 2.0 is different. The first one was social. This... this is private. Solitary. Intimate.

No one to impress.

Just: the beach the ocean the wind the sand

Explicitly: “Just me. All of me.”

Is it weird that I feel safest of all when I am alone?

Shift and molt as needed.

I do love people and my friends. Some are just easier to absorb than others. And I feel like so few absorb me.

Not that they need to.

I think this is the heart of the dream. Not alone in the sense of abandoned. Alone in the sense of undivided.

Part 1: a lone wolf trying to find his place among people. Part 2: the lone, finding audience when no one is asking anything.

Wish I had salty hair this morning. It's so long. it would be perfect to dunk and listen to it turn blond under the waning summer sun.

Fingers through the hair. We all carry a built-in comb.

I like that the otter doesn't just accept me, it sizes me up.

“Is this guy okay? Yeah. I like this guy.”

Very different from the opening scene. I spend the first part of the dream trying desperately to get an authority figure to choose me.

The final authority figure is an animal. And it just... chooses me.

No shirt, no shoes, no hands required.

The two otters:

Otter 001: Being accepted by others, a social world. Everyone sees the encounter. Everyone approves. Or doesn't. Clutched pearls much, m'lady?

Nervous, but approval helps you accept the experience. It's almost: “Maybe I can let people see me being vulnerable.”

Otter002: Being accepted by Meeeeeeeee! Nobody around. Doesn't matter what anyone thinks. Simply me and this creature.

And it likes me anyway.

WhOA! A big movement from social acceptance → self-acceptance.

My coupe de gras: “And, I suppose, so am I.” That's a killer ending.

This thing has three meanings sitting on top of each other: Physically woke up. literally up. Something inside has risen. Do we call that metaphor?

I'm a writer, I should know. Or at least google it. Too lazy. you get what you get. If you stuck around this long, wrong language ain't going to shooting milk out of your nose.

This isn't some grand spiritual transformation. Not: THE SLEEPER IN ME HAS AWAKENED!

Just: I guess, I'm feeling a thing this morning.

Do you like me: believable Tentative. Humorous. Grounded.

Ironic to feel so comfortable writing about this after a dream that spent so much time worrying about being exposed.

I am tired of having to earn my place in the room. I want to be heard, but being heard makes me vulnerable. I want people to see me, but I am afraid of what they will see. I want meaningful participation, but the structures in which I am trying to participate sometimes feel increasingly arbitrary or incomprehensible.

I don't always have to perform my worth.

🛟 I can float. 🍺 I can drink a beer. 🦦 I can be nervous around an otter. 👃I can smell the animal and feel its strange waterproof coat. 👀I can be seen. 💧 I can be alone. 🌊 I can have salty hair. 🏖️ I can lie in the sand.

And something wild can come out of the water, look at me, and decide that I am worth cuddling.

Maybe the deepest contrast isn't congregation vs. beach.

It's: “Will they call on me?” versus “I am here.” And the dream ends when you finally realize that the second one might be enough.

Miss you, otter.

Miss you, a lot.

#amber #orbit #poetry #ghost #glass #undertow

a field report in four bursts directly off the wire

squawk 1

Bob Seger — You'll Accompany Me – plays faintly on the radio

I’m with strange ladies who tell strange stories. Of empty windows and lost husbands. Misplaced numbers frustrate them as we try to track down persons of interest. They are very chatty and have comments about almost everything.

They’re funny and they’re austere. My wife would enjoy their company, but she is too tired today.

This is too bad as she could be the one to gingerly tell one of the ladies that her skirt has caught in her underwear. I suppose, instead that responsibility will fall to me.

After too short a time together, the two women chatter in an alien exchange that is unintelligible to my earthling ears.

Then my ladies abandon me for more fertile, endeavors, something about a blanket and running an errand. I think I need to put more energy in making sure I have a partner. Earthlings need to stick together.

Last night’s storms left the sky hazy and the sun diffused it’s not exactly sunny and it’s not exactly cloudy. It’s that dusty in between. Visually lukewarm. Room temp.

squawk 2

Lynard Skynard – Freebird is on the radio

A phone call comes. Another marriage is going south.

Oh, if only there were something more I could offer than words of comfort and consolation. It seems like families are a special target these days—years of hard work and companionship being dissolved by acid, rust, or blunt force trauma.

I’ve been thinking about the couple. Over the last four years, I’ve had countless meetings with them—counseling, comforting, encouraging, cajoling, directing. But it’s always the same. Each one adamant that the other must change. Each certain that they themselves are already doing enough. It’s a hard pattern to break, especially in old age.

This is her third marriage. His second. At least the failure isn’t for lack of experience—though maybe it’s for lack of humility.

I understand the struggle. I don’t think it ever really goes away, not for any couple. Even after decades, you just find new things to struggle against.

Now the only words I have left are: I’m sorry. And I love you.

— — —

Since you don’t know me, and I don’t know you, let me tell you a little about them.

They married during the pandemic. Both well into retirement and seemingly single and happy.

She lost two husbands to death. He lost a marriage to stubbornness and control.

She is kind, sweet, and soft-spoken. He is hard, direct, and Spartan.

And that difference extends to the way they live.

She believes a home should be full—of people, love, clutter, memories. He wants the same space to be sparse: clean baseboards, empty shelves, limited belongings.

Her heart is a collage. His is a blueprint.

That’s the best analog I can find for who they are emotionally. One makes room. The other clears space. And neither, it seems, is willing to flex for the other.

Come, Lord Jesus!!

squawk 3

Boston-Peace of mind is playing

I finished my walk this morning in the same spot I found myself last Monday. No sign of the great white Pyrenees this time, and fewer conversations along the way. Still, it was good to be out in the weather, to feel like part of the rhythm of things.

Now I’m back to more mundane tasks—like tracking down a giant pack of batteries. Everything seems to need them these days. I honestly don’t know how civilization functioned before batteries. Or, for that matter, why we haven’t come up with something better by now. Maybe that’s just physics keeping us humble. I’m not smart enough to know for sure, but I’m just dumb enough to float the question.

Buying batteries always reminds me of an old flashlight my grandmother kept in her shed. It was a heavy, industrial-looking thing powered by one of those giant, square batteries—blue, with a little red lightning bolt and two terminals on top like stunted horns. The flashlight always looked new: polished, unscuffed, a mirror-bright reflector. It seemed like it should work beautifully.

But every time I tried to use it, it was a letdown. The beam it threw was dim, yellow, and underwhelming. My cousins and I would take it apart and tinker with it, convinced we could fix or improve it. We never did. Each time it went back together with a little less fit, a little more rattle, until eventually it stopped working altogether. Maybe it was the battery. Maybe it was the bulb. Maybe it was us. That flashlight taught me an early lesson: just because something looks ready doesn’t mean it is.

With the morning half gone, I’ve got someone to find—a young man who’s shown interest in learning more about the Bible. He doesn’t seem especially bright at first glance, but when he answers questions, he’s surprisingly thoughtful. There’s something in the way he pauses and considers his words. I take that as a good sign. He’s a thinker, even if the world hasn’t trained him to act like one.

And if I have any time left afterward, I’ll slip into a quiet café corner and make some progress in my journal. Sometimes the best parts of a day are the ones you don’t plan—the walks, the memories, the people who surprise you.

squawk 4

The Knack – My Sharona (I learned recently there is an actual Sharona)

You know how in the Bible it says Satan keeps making himself into an angel of light?

Well, I think I just had a pizza equivalent of that. Faced with temptation greater than I could bear at Sam’s Club, I purchased a gigantic slice of pizza. Four crusty meats dripping with grease.

It was calling to me. “Caaaahhhhhhrrrrpeeeee….” It whispered. “Caaaahhhrrrpeeee Pizzzuuummmmm’”

And I, like a cartoon mouse to cheese, threw my $2.71 at the teller fully intending to share it with Mon petit cho… but just like a devil, once I dallied, I couldn’t stop until the damage was too severe for sharing.

As is with devils made light, I’ll be paying the toll with my soul in a few hours.

The real damming is going to come when I get home as I just learned my mother-in-law and sister-in-law are bringing my wife and I lunch. so I’m not sure how I’m going to explain to those three women that I have zero interest in their delivery of burritos.

The sin of gluttony hangs heavy over my head today, a fatty sword of Damocles.

#milepost #weather #undertow #confetti