The Endless Bog May 25th

Judging by the embarrassing comment numbers, interest in these blogs of mine is dwindling rapidly.
Could it be I am not controversial enough, or relevant at all, or the least bit interesting? Betcha it's all three!
So why do I continue? Because it helps me get on with my day and that is about it.
I have no idea how long I will stick to these daily musings, but for now they serve the dual purpose of exercising my mind and distracting me from the real world.
I spent about two hours, seriously 2 hrs!...last night trying to think of the right word to rhyme with "still". I even turned to the webs' rhyming dictionary for help, but nothing there would work. Today may produce the answer...most likely by removing the word still and replacing it with something more suitable to my intentions. And do you know how difficult it is to rhyme with the word/name God? An exercise in futility unless blasphemy is not an issue.

I managed nearly eight hours of sacktime last night, several of them sleeping. This is a step in the right direction according to my analyst. He also is a proponent of the power nap and demonstrates the proper technique for me at every session. He is a dedicated teacher for sure. "Never waste your precious time," he has told me over and over just before he nods off. He maintains that his constant napping is simply his way of demonstrating the proper technique for aggressive passivity. I have given some thought to switching analysts, but I keep getting my self all worked up and doing nothing about it. Sigh....he's good.

Jann Arden is doing an album with Bob Rock. It will be her second album of cover tunes. The last one was called "Uncovered".
Will this one be called "All Covered Up" Hmmm????

I think Steve Bell should canvas his fans and release an album of the top twenty fan favourites as a fundraiser for his ministry. He could call it "The Collection"
"Wings of an Eagle" could be the bonus track. Run with it baby!

I could release one called "Love for Sale".
Un hunh. Hell, I can't even give it away.

I watched the final episode of Oprah yesterday. She took the stage by herself and thankfully and thoughtfully spoke to her audience like Mother Oprah, which she is in the minds of many and in her own for sure. What struck me was the amount of referencing she did to God. And what floored me was her quoting of the very psalm I am attempting to lyric. "Be still and know that I am God." (Psalm 46:10) Now she is not one to mention God much, if she does at all. But she did go on about how we all have a greater power guiding us and we should take time and care to listen for his directions. Right on, Opie! But to me, the phrase struck like a bolt. I had an "aha" moment. I lamely addressed this very issue a few blogs back, questioning the veracity of us all being destined for big things. And this is what she said as well. It's not always the high profile and well recognized things that are ones' purpose. It can be as Mother Theresa said...showing great love in small ways.

"A wish for validation is a common trait of all mankind", she (Oprah) spoke, and I am in agreement. Miss Winfrey suggests that we speak to someone, touch someone, help someone, and hear someone every day. Much wisdom was dispensed on her final show. I am glad I decided to catch it.

By the way, my stuggle with rhyming the word still is not about Psalm 46:10.
That dilemma concerns another project and I hope it will not be an issue after today.

Fresh coffee? You bet!

BEB May 25th

I am suffering and have been for a week or more now. Can you tell? Betcha can't!
Busy hands may not necessarily be happy hands but at least they are busy, and a busy brain beats a clogging drain all to hell. I am up early nursing a medical condition (non life threatening) which has been giving me grief for days. Can you say pain? Betcha can! Can I say pain killing medication? Betcha I can yell it out!
I have been exchanging e-mails with my dear friend Andy on the subject of military tactics in Europe during WWII...yeah, the Big One. An inexplicable interest we happen to share, I rarely get the chance to yak about such matters anymore, and relish it when I do. Bless you Andy, my night owl friend.

Are these do-able?

LAW & ORDER (SUV) Drama
Two soccer Moms moonlight as neighbourhood watchpersons collaring all manner of suburban perps and bringing them to justice. It's fresh, it's new, it's television programming at its artistic best.

LAUNDROMAT (Reality)
Follows two college co-eds as they struggle with the pressures of late teen independence and the sudden introduction of clothes cleaning products into their busy lives. Unscripted...really.

BRENT'S BUTT (Comedy)
The first cinema verite comedy show. A camera atttached to Brent Butt's butt follows (rather poorly) the lively escapades as he and the wife struggle to find the formula for another hit TV show. Many madcap moments and clever dialogues to be heard, if not actually seen.

FATHER NOSE BEST (Fine Living)
A perpetually jovial priest offers tips and suggestions for the perfect wine accompaniment to any meal. His balance related eccentricities and mumbling speech make this more demanding than the usual food fare, but the good Father knows his wines.

APOCOLYPSE EVENTUALLY (Religion)
May or may not be an ongoing series about the End of Days.

(I am laughing here...I do kill me.)

I am excited by the prospect that I may make the WTF (Week This Far) phone caller postings. I have no recall of what I said. I should have complained about the prices for their Tee shirts. You can buy a dozen Twisted Sifter designer cupcakes for less than the cost of one shirt! Outfcknrageous!

By the way... for those following the "Will Byron ever sing with the tortured yoots at the Lutheran Church?" saga...it is back on again. (It was off for a day) Nobody can say exactly when, but there should be a bulletin later today. Sigh. I hope Job doesn't need his patience back any time soon.
After that I have no plans until late March, 2014. (Don't ask)
I'm gonna need more coffee and it's about time to take those pain killers.
I wonder who will play for the Stanley Cup this year. Honestly? I don't give a crap.

B's Endless Blog May 24th

I was awakened earlier to the sound of a didgereedoo, I don't spell check so correct me if I am wrong. It is the long Australian Aboriginal horn thingy that looks like a displaced alpine horn...pronounced as "didja redo" the copy for the new Swanson TV dinner ad? It wasn't one of course, but it was me making the sounds of one. Can't say how long it lasted, but I did continue for maybe 30 seconds admiring the sound. My bedroom backs onto a neighbour's, so I may hear about it sometime. I'm betting he did. For the life of me I cannot say why I would be doing that.

I had the pleasure of watching four brightly coloured birds with screechy voices on my balcony last evening. I took some pics. Serious yellow going on with areas of black and white. Is there such a thing as a black winged yellow bird?

In the afternoon, suffering from a combination of chicken and cabin fever, I cabbed it to the local Safeway for an outing. How pathetic is that? I ran into someone I know there and we had a long conversation about God. She told me that on any given day she does nothing without getting a distinct word or two from God telling her what he wants her to do. You know something? I think I believe her. It is a little unnerving to think she is hearing voices or at least a voice, but I was a didja redo about an hour ago, so where is my mental high ground? But I do find conversation with her stimulating in an unusual content kind of way, so I try not to be too judgmental. On a distantly related topic...I have never experienced love making with a devoutly Christian woman (Surprise!)and the thought intrigues me. Maybe that explains my unending attraction to them, I don't know. I could go on about this topic, but I think I will just leave it alone for now. Besides...it is as likely as me climbing Everest in my Speedos at this point.

Devotees of this rambling fare may recall that I was to lead a youth worship team next Sunday at the local Lutheran church. As yesterday's scheduled rehearsal was being cancelled I was informed that next Sunday is no good either. As the program features Easter theme music we are running out of time seasonally speaking.
I am in full debate with myself at this point, thinking I may as well haul myself onto the area set aside for the musicians and do it myself. But you can see where this could lead to all sorts of spinoff hurts and finger pointing so it is a tricky thing. I wish I hadn't volunteered to lead the service...it appears to have been a mistake. But...The Princess and I could knock this off with ease and grace and never mind the yoots with their busy lives. Most of them look like they are taking cod liver oil at rehearsal anyway...sigh. No good deed ever goes unpunished.

I am blessed with the most loyal friends in the world. They have taken that final step beyond tolerance to acceptance of me and my antics. I do not know why.
(Another person I know says that there is another step called enlightenment but as they haven't managed the other steps I can't place much store in that determination.)
It must require an enormous love to accept me without judgment. Or maybe they find it easy. I find loving them easy. It truly is easier to give love than to receive it.
You would think it would be the other way round. Until a few years ago, I always tried to outgift loved ones when an exchange of gifts was called for. I now see how that is problematic, as I would feel guilty about coming out "on top" if what I received outshone what I gave. The seamy underbelly to this thought process is that it makes the giving all about the giver. An "I win because I gave you a fur coat and you got me a metric wrench" kind of scenario. Not good. Nowadays I just give what I think would please without any connotation of contest. And I do love to give gifts. It is a blessing and curse. And I have learned to accept with a clear conscience mostly, although I wonder about any hardship that might be imposed on the giver. But the more I learn to discard balance sheets the better I feel and that is a wonderful place to be.

B's EB Mid Morning May 23rd

Happy Vicky Day!
It is the May long weekend folks, the endless rain is a dead giveaway.
The number of hungover cottage owners this morning must be staggering, so to speak. I am not hungover from liquor, but I am hungover from sleep deprivation.
While last weekend I spent many hours cleaning my apartment, this weekend the dirty dishes have piled up to the point that I am putting them in the fridge. I also carried my 1 litre cream container into the bedroom and laid it on the pillow a few minutes ago. I hope this place isn't camera monitored.
I wonder if "My Favourite Priest" Jamie meant mortality or morality in his post? I may call him tomorrow and ask. And do not fret, I know of no plans for him to do a reality show about the work a day life of a priest...although I bet one is in the works somewhere. "Father Knows Best II" Not bad.
Recently someone I know mentioned they had kept a diary for years. I find this an outstanding thing to accomplish. I wonder how much truth is in it? I would ordinarily be very interested to read it, but my desire in this case is dulled by the fact that I know I wouldn't be mentioned at all. However it does remind me of a pet project I considered pursuing a couple of years back, either with the written word or as a film.
I would love to interview people I have known over my lifetime and ask them to give a frank impression of the Byron they knew in the context of the time they knew him. On so many levels honest responses would be a hard to get. It is one thing for a film maker or biographer to ask this question but it would present a totally different and difficult dynamic if the subject himself was doing the questioning. But I think it would make for a fine read or film. I don't see how the NFB could resist this one. I suppose I should present it to them if I am serious...and soon.
My friends and enemies are dropping like flies these last few years and I don't feel too well myself.

Pesky Random Thoughts:
My morning raven didn't have much to say this morning...a few dozen quick awks and he was on his way.
I also just heard of a bake shop which asks $30.00 for less than a dozen cupcakes! Holy Oprah Factor! These things better give me wood.
(If they do I will always keep them in the house)
This is wildly exorbitant pricing to me, but with all such pricing, it piques my interest. An interesting way to market goods...make the cost prohibitive and exclusive and people will buy & try and of course, talk about it.

Just before I got up this morning I had this vision of two dance troupes meeting in an airport and they all shook feet. I hasten to add this is with zero medication.

I remember when not getting any sleep over a woman was a good thing.

Are blueberries just sad cranberries?

Why can't Bob King (Mr. King to his friends) not post comments on this blog?

Did you know most religious orders aren't keen on applicants over age 45?

Does Canadian Tire really carry any Canadian tires?

If something is eating away at you, should you consume more garlic?

When John Kennedy was assassinated, I was informed by my sobbing Irish-Catholic girlfriend. I think it was school lunch hour in Ft. Smith, NWT.

This same dusty town made CBC news this morning with a short video of an angry 60 lb. rogue beaver which halted traffic on the main drag. The video was preceeded by a commercial for womens' pads, which I found tacky. You can look it up.)
For more on the beaver, please read my previous blog..."The Great Canadian Beaver Migration"

Byron's Endless Blog Early Morning May 22nd

Are there really things we can count on besides the trusty time proven abacus? I cannot speak for anyone else, but I believe there are things I can count on.
There are the little things;
I will pick up a casserole dish straight out of the oven with my bare hands..try to is more accurate.
Twice a month I will light the filter end of a cigarette.
I will be down to less than $5.00 in disposable income by each months' end.
My beloved Leafs will not win the Stanley Cup again in my lifetime.
Elizabeth Taylor will remarry in heaven.

There are the big things;
My Lord will provide.(What I need, not necessarily what I want.)
I will always be in love.(See: My Lord will provide.)
The sun will come up tomorrow. (See: My Lord will provide)
I will live forever. (See: My Lord will provide)

Of these things I am sure. All the rest is uncertainty.

I had a note from someone via email that my blog is not living up its billing on Facebook. Not a whole lot of excitement they pointed out. Sheesh! Excitement is where it finds you I say! I haven't fallen out of my bed for two straight nights and I find that pretty exciting. And to dismiss the Senior Citizen's Plant and Bake sale as lacking any excitement would be totally inaccurate. The level of energy in that common room full of greenery and rabid plant buyers was incredible. Gardening fever was the order of the hour, complete with pushing and shoving and glaring and grabbing and even a near fistfight over the last of the Day Lilies. Nothing beats the ferocity of a plant sale or brings out more of the worst in mankind. It is a lethal mix of gardening and shopping fevers, volatile and frightening.
I may have downplayed the seamier side of the event too much because I do not wish to be seen as promoting violence. The fact is I am just rambling here...I do not present myself as a journalist.

Today I present this question.
"Is passionate love nothing more than out of control emotionalism?"

There is a fairly acceptable mindset that sees passion as a temporary feeling designed to ignite love between two people. It's purpose is to draw them together by convincing each one that the other is critically important and must be their partner.
The word infatuation is often substituted for passion...definitely a word that has a connotation of being temporary. We have all heard the phrase "puppy love" used as well. Very apt since once that cute little puppy matures into a full grown Rottweiler that assumes control of ones life, it's cuteness diminishes considerably. Although many power mongrels can fit into a purse, and their cute quotient has a longer shelf life, the end effect is the same...a canine coup d'etat.
But don't get me going on dogs...
A second element of this mindset states that passion slips out the door while an ever expanding respectful familiarity and a mutually shared comfort mentality takes over, guiding a couple through the pitfalls of partnership in a "matching recliners with individual reading lamps" kind of way. Sounds good doesn't it? A cloak of domestic serenity is draped over both, and all is right with the world. This is a Christian ideal, and despite the fact that in many denominations the small print of this agreement states that the man is in charge, it is a very popular model. But that is an issue of what I would characterize as sexual equality with reservations, a work in progress in many faiths, a work in regression in others, and a complete non issue in others despite much smacking lip service to the contrary.
Man, I am having trouble staying on topic this morning...
I will try again. I have listened to pulpiteers subtly denounce passion or infatuation as almost a bad thing, a kind of necessary evil to initially plant and fertilize the greater seed of committment. I have wondered why this is, and boldly conclude that part of the reasoning is this...should it rear it's ugle dizzying head down the road and manifest as attraction to a third party, it can be immediately identifiable as evil. In other words, it is acceptable once, but only once. Heaven forbids a second infatuation, that is clear. Fight the feeling states the good book, you are a sinner for feeling this again, you are guilty. So we are instructed to go with it initially, discard it as quickly as we can, and then disregard any future encounters with infatuation or as I call it...passion, for that path is ruinous. On one level it makes perfect sense, on another it is absurd. Now here is the crux of all this. If we are instructed to fight this feeling, resist it's power and repress it, how on earth can one seperate the passion for one's partner from this philosophy and keep that one passion alive? We are called to stomp a vat of grapes with all our strength yet somehow leave ourselves one each.
Sigh. This will have to be continued...

Hello! This would be the continuation. I am somewhat sleepless...so much so I think I am in Seattle and in a way I wish I was. I fell asleep twice during this morning's sermon...which seemed very short, but maybe it was just me? I hate it when I do that.
If any of this blog makes sense, I would be a little surprised...my mind is a long way away as they say. I'm looking forward to its return, always nice to have company.

Ah yes...Passion. Threat or Menace?
One thing is certain to me. Within its waxing and waning you can find a condensed history of many a relationship. Out of control it becomes anger...totally controlled it becomes just another word. I lean towards a heavy dose of it daily, tempered by reason, which should in turn be tempered by passion. Somewhere in all this tempering is a balance, and like a teeter totter it can bite you in the butt if it gets too out of hand, but you can hover in the air when you get it right.

Byron's Endless Blog Early Evening May 21st

I had little success at the bake and plant sale. Despite the "No Early Bird" warnings on their advertising, when I arrived 5 minutes prior to the opening hour the tables were half empty and I had to fight a steady stream of gardening afficionados rushing out with their purchases. Disappointed, I returned home in a pouring rain with no plants and two bags of diabetic cookies.
I wish I knew something about plants, it would have helped. I did eavesdrop on two people talking about the merits of Virginia creepers, but the name of the plant scared me off. I also held a small pot of something called Bishops Hood or Hat, maybe toque...naw not toque...but put it back when I saw the information sheet below the supply said..."Warning! Invasive!"
Not sure exactly what or where it would invade, but I erred on the side of caution and went to the picked over baked goods. The lone temptation was a chocolate zucchinni cake, which I believe is the only civilized use for the overgrown cucumber besides ministrone. But a $7.00 Cdn price tag sobered me enough to have me part with a mere $1.75 on the diabetic cookies. I have since tried them and can report that they were only identifiable by the peanut laid on top. There is nothing in their flavour that gave me any indication at all. They are like a tiny powdery pancake with a goober pea on top and I feel like a Goober for buying them.

I am receiving quite a few requests to become friends or reestablish people as friends on Facebook. (I am down to 1) I am afraid it may remain that way for a long time. I am gone into seclusion and don't feel the urge to hear from anyone. I like seclusion. It has much to offer me, especially since I no longer live in the rotting single room at the Hotel Unusual. I imagine I will do some writing again, but I don't know when. Music is way beyond my grasp these days...although I am enjoying singing songs for myself...in private. I quite like the tone of my voice these days. Although it is all beat to hell and gets tired very quickly I am enjoying hearing it. Immodest to write that perhaps, but it is a fact. I have a gospel service one week from tomorrow to lead, and then it's back on the shelf for the Velveeta Fog. I am open to requests from someone, but those requests are not coming in at all. And so it goes...

I was thinking about my Old Crow mention earlier today.
Is not this information highway a wonderful innovation? Here I am, rambling on about nothing in particular, and it is going out to anyone on the Net, anywhere around the globe who decides to drop in. Instant self-publishing. Fantastic and great fun. I speak to myself and to the walls and the rain outside and it all goes swooshing off into cyber space at the click of a key. In perspective, it is staggering....

Byron's Endless Blog Morning May 21st

There used to be a feature in some newspapers called "News from Old Crow". A woman who lived in the village of Old Crow, Yukon, (BC?) would offer a weekly column on the latest happenings in the area, and larger papers would run it as a kind of amusement. It fascinated me as a child. Mostly mundane, sometimes funny, sometimes quaint, but always entertaining. I suppose I could look it up and see if it still exists, but I like having it tucked away in my memory and there it shall stay.
The appeal of "News from Old Crow" was that it was written by a nobody...in a sense. I guess she was a celebrity and probably a wonderful person, but she was a woman in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere and she was published! That fascinated me, and I greatly admired her.

I love having people read something I write like I love having people listen to music I compose. Compose? Pretentious? Moi? (Farty Towels)
Ever since I discovered the typewriter I love the sudden appearance of words on paper...the near-magic of seeing thought transformed to letters then words then sentences then paragraphs on the paper still thrills me. I am thrilled at this very moment.
And at this very moment I am sitting in my living room with my balcony door wide open allowing the morning air to cool the apartment. Outside it is doing everything but rain, and I love this expectant hush on the world. I have a morning raven who cannot stand the hush it seems, so he is awk awk awking away down the block of trees which border the alley way off my balcony. Eventually he will arrive within glaring distance with his insolence and I will take a few minutes to look him over. In a way, we are doing the same thing. I like filling a page with the alphabet, he likes the sound of his own voice.
I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I overmedicated myself and the drugs, catalysts that they be, were tryng to knock a non-existant fever from me by outfevering the fever. Sweaty and restless best describes my repose. Not that I really minded, I was busy thinking anyway. Big time thoughts like... should there be a variant of the word mind for the past tense? Say mound? Not that I mound it very much. I like it. Maybe I will incorporate it.
For the last few months, with some down time interspersed here and there, I have had the tremendous privilege to write to a loved one on a daily basis. And I sure did. Sometimes four or five emails a day, commencing within a coffee or so of awakening and generally concluding with a good night thought as my eyes were drooping clear down to this keyboard. I have lost that privilege, so this is to be my substitute. I like to think that the loved one will drop by from time to time to see what I am up to, and a blog seems a lot less threatening than a parade of unwanted emails. Not a bad solution really and there is also a chance that she will find forgiveness in her heart and decide to communicate with me again. I seem to have the power to drain women of their life giving fluids or juices or whatever it is that gives them the strength to get through a day. It's a gift I suppose, and there is no denying it keeps me single.
My goodness...look at the time! Only 52 minutes until the Seniors Center next door has their annual spring plant & bake sale. I hope the dear hearts do not mix the two up again this year. I nearly died from eating the pansy muffins last year. Hee!
Time for me to finish the half sandwich I tucked into the fridge last night. No appetite then, even less now, but this much I know....NEVER go to a bake sale HUNGRY!

Love & Other Complaints: Part II

Sigh. Yes...SIGH.

I have no credibility with my friends when it comes to my love life.
Maybe it's because I don't have one.
I think I do, but I am officially a cult of one.
I can almost hear my intimate friends' ears shutting down and see their eyes glazing over when I report on my latest affair of the heart. I can hear the gentle rustling as they idly flip the pages of a two year old TV Guide when I am on the phone recounting my latest triumph or disappointment. In truth, they will have stopped reading this blog by now, and for any first time visitors, I recommend you do the same. There is nothing to be gained here. Nothing.
It is my conversation with myself, and I have to admit I am getting bored already.

One of my wives, long before she came to her senses and attached estranged to the word wife, used to favour a powder blue sweatshirt which had a retro style drawing of two woman on the front. It was captioned...
"I thought I was in love; turns out it was the flu."
I loved that shirt, and thinking back on it now she must have too, because she wore it constantly. Hmm.
Is love the flu? Stupid question? Of course, like all sweatshirt slogans it has an element of truth to it. I think at the beginning and near the end of a love affair it has some serious truth to it. Both periods make one feel the symptoms associated with the illness...upset stomach, dizziness, confusion, excessive sweating, loss of most appetites, an aversion to being vertical,and a general sense of being out of control. That is precisely how I am feeling this very moment. Is it love then?
Why sure, Virginia!
Imagine it is winter. Can you picture winter? Good! Now imagine Jack and Jill, two lovers of indeterminate age under bulky skidoo suits are trudging up a hill in a magnificant snowstorm. Obviously they aren't after water at this time of year, so why are they doing it? Well, Virginia, they are going tobogganing! But they forgot to pull one along with them. They are standing at the top hugging each other in consolation for their forgetfulness and wasted uphill trudging when a mighty gust of wind upsets their balance and Jack and Jill go rolling down the hill wrapped firmly in each others arms, more and more snow sticking to them as they roll down the slope, laughing and hugging and clinging to each other as they form into a giant snowball and crash violently against the Tree of Reason. Now the Tree of Reason will make anyone stop short. No matter how merrily they have been rolling along.
So Jack says..."We could have been hurt! What were we thinking, hugging recklessly at the top of the hill?"
Jill replies "I think I am hurt, or it might be the flu. Let's untangle ourselves and go think on this."
A very reasonable suggestion on Jill's part. You can see how fast acting the Tree is.
So they part, each going to their home to soak their bruises and ponder the events of the day.
Now if they had stayed closer to the Tree of Reason, or even took a frozen bough home with them, the story would end right here...but oh no, there's more!
A few days later Jack found himself at the base of the hill, hoping that Jill might wander by, and sure enough she did. It is important to note that neither party had brought a toboggan, and they met some considerable distance from the Tree.
"Wanna go for another tumble, Jill?"
"I'm not sure it's a good idea Jack, but I guess so. It was kinda fun and the swelling has gone down considerably."
This initiated a pattern with Jack and Jill. Time after time they would trudge up the hill, hug furiously at the crest and fall down the slope to crash against the Tree, and reason equally furiously that they were wrong to be doing this. They would duly part for a time, always to return to the bottom of the hill and repeat the process.
Now as parables go, this one is fairly shabby, especially since it is ongoing and the issue is somewhat murky and the ending very much in doubt and there seems to be no real point anywhere.
Nonetheless, I would like to discuss a few things amongst myself and maybe get some input from any first time visitors. The only factual information I can divulge so far is that Jack and Jill are not the real names of the principal players in this tumbling tale, but the legal names must be witheld to protect the innocent.

I will start by asking myself why these two went up the hill in the first place. If it was really to go sliding, surely one of them would have gone home to get a toboggan or a sled or a shred of cardboard. Did they just want to be alone? A snowstorm would offer some privacy, and the limited visibility at the top of the hill would contribute even more. Were they really lamenting the lack of sliding material when they started this hugging? Was it Jack's idea to go up there? Was it Jill's? Was it mutual? Were they really happy on the way downhill that first time or just laughing and giggling from nervous surprise that neither of them lost their grip and discovered they didn't really want to? And after they were snapped back into reality by the Tree of Reason...why would they do it again? And why would they suspect they had found clarity by smashing headlong into the Tree? Usually a blow like that makes the mind a little befuddled for a time. Is that what happened? Were they discombobulated and mistook it for reason? What does it mean for them to continue with this up and down pattern? Were they becoming completey unhinged or were they gaining insight into it's raison d'etre? Was it some strange permutation of love, or just a desire to hold someone and share a journey, however short and dizzying.
Tough questions...more suitable to a philosophical round table than a lowly blog!
And as we now leave "Jack and Jill", I wonder to myself whether they will continue this bizarre behaviour. Will they realize that they can simply hug each other on level ground under the Tree of Reason and save themselves all that trudging up and tumbling back down into the Tree with its painful stopping power?

I cannot wait to find out, and even if it takes years I swear I will figure out why the two of them found it necessary to climb that bloody hill in the first place.

It ain't so bad....

"It's not so bad...dying."
Actor Charlie Sheen peacefully spoke those words in the film "Platoon".
They have always stuck with me.
Yeah, what if dying is not so bad after all?
But what if living ain't so bad either?

When I fully accepted Christ, right away I noticed that in the swag package for signing on was a decided fearlessness about death. Death shall have no dominion, as either the psalmist or the poet said. Yes, the moment we stop the temporary clock down here we start the endless one up there. It is a heck of a deal, but it is not why I signed on. It was not my anticipation of walking the rest of my days on this earth with a secret smile that I was now living in Christ. It was not to have my countless sins forgiven, not the thought of meeting old friends in the Heavenly Haven Retirement Home for found souls, not the return of my svelte self in ethereal form, nor the opportunity to meet and give the finger to all the Baptist buddies of my youth,nor the chance to sing in a really good choir, or finally play an instrument well, or wander Heavens' back roads and boulevards for eternity looking for my two wives.

What was it?
I accepted Christ because he kept asking me and I finally heard him. In fact, the moment I heard him I knew the road ahead was going to get a whole lot rougher. And brother, did it ever. But I suddenly had some tools to work with. Inside of that peace that passes all understanding in the fast lane, I found a thing called grace. It rested upon me in an instant, and I was calm. All of my madness left me, and I was assured that I was no longer alone. Although I struggled mightily with the mountain I had to climb, I had company. Christ stayed with me. He took away my hunger when necessary, gave me music when I needed to speak, sent me angels to lift me up, taught me to solve problems in ways I had never considered, gave me endless patience, taught me true charity, and helped me carry my every burden. These things were all about this life, not the next. They were real and immediate. My sense of hardship was replaced with a sense of challenge. I knew I could overcome anything. And all praise to him, I surely did. This was the hour of my greatest need, and it became my finest hour.
Now here is the thing. We all agree that a sad sack like myself is always lifted from the floods of damnation so as to fulfill some purpose in Gods' master plan that is beyond our comprehension. So we have this agony of guilt to deal with. What am I meant to do? What is his plan? What is my destiny? Oh, I entertain that guilt a lot, and discuss it at the drop of a hat and receive all sorts of humanly answers which range from suggestion to outright conviction regarding what I should do to pay the piper. But think about this...
What if he is content to simply have me as his child? What if he has no greater expectation from me than to love him as I do? Any true and loving parent has in them this capacity for unconditional love, whether their child is a priest or murderer...why not Christ? He surely exhibited this sense of value while he ministered here on earth. Is it possible that I owe him nothing more than I have already given? Should me we us just relax a little and live a life of quiet calm and forget about the ego serving glories of fulfilling God's imagined purpose? Food for thought that...as I contemplate a life of solitude. Hey, what is so wrong about that?
After all, my time is running down in this life, and the next is assured...so why worry?

A Night in a Bar

I debated getting involved. You never knew with these things, maybe the angry man with his gun-filled hand should be stopped, maybe he should encouraged. There were cards and poker chips still rolling and spinning on the floor. A dirty deal? Cheating came with a high price tag in these places. Although I decided to to stay out of it, I watched the drama play itself out. I knew I looked relaxed, but I wasn't. Since childhood I had always been able to do that, look relaxed when I wasn't, or look jittery when I was calm. People found it confusing. I didn't.

The frantic woman almost made it to the protection of the table when the first shot exploded in the room, quickly followed by one more. That would be two shots, I thought to myself. The man with the Colt staggered backwards and tumbled to the floor. The rush of air as he hit sent several cards into a sudden fluttering flight. One landed on his forehead. I knew his now sightless eyes would never know what he had been dealt. The Deuce of Spades. One for each bullet. Was it justice? By that time I didn't care. My eyes were fixed on the man who had done the shooting. I waited for him to holster his pistol before I turned back to my drink, no longer interested in the affair. I had business in the town, but this wasn't it. At least I didn't think it was. I had always had trouble remembering what was and was not my business. A nuisance really.

I had waited for her to come to me. I knew she would, they always do.

She would want to talk about it. I wouldn't. She would be curious about me. I wouldn't. I signalled the barkeep for another shot and began to take the makings out of my vest pocket. Then I remembered the tailor mades. With one long nail I quickly slit one open and dumped the tobacco into the rolling paper, careful not to have one end thicker than the other. I hated that. One end burned too hot, and the other was too thick. In a few seconds it was ready and I searched my pockets for a match. The sudden burst of flame told me the woman had arrived.
I had waited for her to come to me. I knew she would, they always do.

I reached out to steady her trembling hand, more to prevent her scorching my moustache than out of concern for her brush with death. I asked her if she would like one, and she nodded. I started to slit one of the tailor mades for rolling when she stopped me and said she preferred them as they were, since they were packed evenly. I made a note to think about what she had just said later, and offered her the package. She asked me to let go of her hand so she could strike another match. I did. Reluctantly. I was beginning to like the way the woman thought. I asked if she had a name. Yes, she said, do you? I admitted I did. The formalities were over for now, and I was glad. I never cared much for this kind of idle chatter.
She began to thank me for what I had done and I had to point out that it wasn't me who shot her would be killer, although I was considering it. She seemed pleased with my answer. After butting out the cigarette, she walked over to the body and kicked it solidly in the rib cage. I felt that was a little cold...
I bought a bottle of the rotgut from the barkeep and headed to the door. My last thought was about Ma, and her desire for me to meet a nice gal and settle down.
I hadn't found her in there.

Tainted, Moi?

In a fit of madness, I took a break from stitching up my recently re-torn heart, called another woman acquaintance and asked her out on a date. "Don't wallow, Byron," I said to myself."Jump right back into the tight jean pool." At the sound of the word date, she audibly stiffened on the phone. (ok ok give me this one)
"I cannot date you because you are a married man." Rather than scrambling through my shambled papers for my latest (don't ask) divorce decree, I simply replied..."Huh?"
She explained that she is a devout Catholic so I am still considered married despite all my court approved paperwork to the contrary. Being a logical sort, I said that I must also be a bigamist since I have been married twice. I would have appreciated a laugh for that line, but stony silence was all that was offered. "Well, you have no sense of humour," I wanted to shout into the phone, but I didn't.
Now this is a new one. I have had many females refuse my sullen advances with great imagination, but this was a fresh defense. Women have claimed everything under the sun to get out of dating me, the best probably being a woman who said she was having a leg amputated later that day, therefore couldn't make it out for a moonlit stroll on the beach. No wait, I think it was a young girl who insisted that she had decided to murder someone that very night and she did not want me to be the victim. Damn thoughtful really. I felt there was some room to maneuver there.
Through all this female rejection, sometimes not as subtle as my examples, I have always emerged feeling fairly unsoiled and still fit for human consumption. And I really don't have much of a beef with the Catholic church, not that I don't wish damnation on some of their representatives for their moral corruption. I will even admit I have a bit of a weak spot for some of their pageantry and pomp, which can be a lot like watching a royal wedding, and a smokin' hot Audrey Hepburn in the Nuns Story almost sent me into the cloistered life, but all that obedience required cooled my enthusiasm plus some quick research made it clear that it would not be co-ed.
But this very morning I feel tainted. I have to be removed from the Catholic bachelor shelves and I don't see anyway of avoiding a recall. Hell, I don't even get to confess my shame at my condition. I guess this is my confession booth.
Forgive me Audrey, for I have sinned. I entered a state of holy matrimony twice and then to compound this breach of holy protocol I asked a Catholic woman for a date.
Lord have mercy!