When young I’d occasionally have this strange experience of myself or some portion of myself reverberating. It’d come when weary or when exceptionally relaxed. Sort of a murmuring, a shadow of being occurring in its own way, barely perceptible but still there carrying on an indecipherable, wordless back and forth between ordinary reality and something else. I mention this now while experiencing side effects of cold medicine and caffeine blurred together into foggy mind. A different experience, but reminiscent of the memory of that rather blurry sense of self from years ago. Perhaps the boundaries of being are in constant flux, always reverberating and inextricably intertwined with all the rest. Maybe at times we have some perception of the whirring as we’re tossed together. WHEE!
the vagaries of life
are precisely like,
like nothing at all;
let’s not settle for any
the hell you want from me,
a tidy little metaphor?
nope, sorry about that!
instead you’ll endure
PERVASIVE TUMULTUOUS FLUX!
so go on anyway.
Sometimes it’s best to express myself via frenetic movement through a glorious autumn landscape…
Last night I dreamt of getting chewed up by a tiger. It was someone’s pet tiger who had escaped and was roaming around in a school going crazy. In my courageous dream-state I took it upon myself to try to get the beast under control. The tiger ended up pinning me and chewing up my arms, legs, and taking a chunk out of my side. I was repeatedly punching the tiger in the face while he was having his way with me, but I couldn’t get him off. Before I was totally ruined people showed up with tranquilizers and subdued the evil kitty.
In the following sequence I was at a get together with a bunch of friends and was covered in bandages. Fortunately I didn’t lose any appendages or digits, but I had all sorts of bite marks and chunks of flesh missing. I quite enjoyed telling people “I got chewed up by a tiger” when they asked, “What happened to you?!?” People are quite sympathetic to those who battle with wild beasts.
It has been quite awhile, but since the last post I moved from Alaska to Minnesota, became a homeowner, established my own web development business, ran around exploring the new upper-midwest environment and even brought home a wonderful puppy. And puppy Neko has certainly been keeping Sarah and I on our toes!
I’d like to start writing regularly again about spiritual practice, poetry, running and all that is good in life. I’ll see what Neko thinks about that idea…
I was playing around with this blog earlier (first time in ages) and I happened upon my profile, which read, “no man is a toboggan!”
I don’t know if that’s something I put there or if it was auto-generated when I set up the account. Either way, I am in full agreement. I thoroughly enjoy the word “toboggan”. Not only does it have a wonderful ring, but toboggans are great sleds. I haven’t been on one in a long time. Perhaps I can remedy that next winter. Maybe I’ll load myself onto a toboggan with a couple other hooligans and we’ll shoot down the hill towards Fox. I should clear a path through the brush pile. Better yet, I’ll just build a ramp.
Etymology: Canadian French tobogan, of Algonquian origin; akin to Micmac tobâgun drag made of skin
Date: circa 1820