tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80120851211778721452024-03-04T23:14:18.946-08:00wayne pease smokysun's heavenSmokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comBlogger599125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-68147998796791042982023-09-22T05:45:00.000-07:002023-09-22T05:45:43.866-07:00THE 1%<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjGf-fM-hKeuGrOaHMGerQi0Pi17sHwWAlmVpR-JUow22nDLBpVdB5Y3pP6niSFKlUWp1NGtfuJlbBAoRZRNw8WYE9KIB6Hwqw1ZiOnog8ZhUIHN1VROZLZT_0lSTeMfdSGukeKwxkWL3zKPg_DFdjpafcLr8dAvLpEv0yIJJb5a1rq5rcgaf_ls9fux4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="841" data-original-width="1200" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjGf-fM-hKeuGrOaHMGerQi0Pi17sHwWAlmVpR-JUow22nDLBpVdB5Y3pP6niSFKlUWp1NGtfuJlbBAoRZRNw8WYE9KIB6Hwqw1ZiOnog8ZhUIHN1VROZLZT_0lSTeMfdSGukeKwxkWL3zKPg_DFdjpafcLr8dAvLpEv0yIJJb5a1rq5rcgaf_ls9fux4" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>The waters flow, carrying people away. Supposedly, 99% of the people born on the same day as mine gone. They say not to outlive your friends and I am finding that to be true, though I’m lucky and have a few younger ones left. Maybe they’ll remember my name for awhile.</p><p>That’s not as easy as it sounds. I have been trying to name some of the many who’ve passed by me: family, friends, co-workers, and acquaintances. A few remain lost in the well of time, though many I could recall and they still live in me.</p><p>I have always been haunted by the transitory, even if I feel very lucky to have come this far. It’s hard to be melancholy while the adventures have gone on for me, but loss is written on the waters, and they continue to flow by.</p><p>May all these who follow rest in peace.</p><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Paul Pease </div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Thais Pease</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Henry Metcalf</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Lulu Metcalf</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Noah Mundt</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Holly Barnett </div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Michael Liss</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Randy Beck</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Laurie Beck</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Berta Gardner</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Robert Pfennig</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Amina Agisheff</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Clark Brown</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Peter Jodaitus</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Renate Moock</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Lee Breuer</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Louis Logan</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Geert Hendricks </div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Suzanne Monaco</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Carianne Wrona</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Ruth Maleczech</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Ed McLaughlin</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Bill Peters</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Rudy Giscomb</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Bert Kaplan</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Dale Kinski </div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Franz Cilensek</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Bookseller</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Norman Elarth</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Joe Bisanyani</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Bluffton boy</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Little girlfriend</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Cousin's wife</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Brain tumor</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Jim Dwyer </div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Jesse Mills</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">John electronic </div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Sri Dalton</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Peter Tscherning</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Walter Pease</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Luzerne Pease</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">G&G Pease</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">George Hitchcock</div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 106%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16.959999px;">Oaxaca, Mexico, September 22, 2023</div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>T</p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-31411700566847426732022-01-06T10:27:00.003-08:002022-01-27T18:52:49.647-08:00Outfoxing depression <p><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVrey3E6rWNrKkdRQvJY2X7TqDxxdZr99HFKzLhW_XZQ_fbl7OqZ-QAkmSU0jF_oYlOlXGuuegdRHdCHEjbDSWEer8H7DCAn444gQUL5PO_9qgXuDs5FHmPjpgxjYhfXGCctPAwGu1Y6XuGVGRZ-wcMbUPXteFHI-a91pJJFScGYYVk1X1AIkUMGYZ=s320" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="255" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVrey3E6rWNrKkdRQvJY2X7TqDxxdZr99HFKzLhW_XZQ_fbl7OqZ-QAkmSU0jF_oYlOlXGuuegdRHdCHEjbDSWEer8H7DCAn444gQUL5PO_9qgXuDs5FHmPjpgxjYhfXGCctPAwGu1Y6XuGVGRZ-wcMbUPXteFHI-a91pJJFScGYYVk1X1AIkUMGYZ" width="255" /></a></span></b></div><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b><p></p><p><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span>Hmm, last spring i made lists of advice, techniques, as much practical stuff as i could find. I felt frustrated with all the mind manipulation: live in the present, be here now, empty your head of thoughts. Maddening, don't you think? So i looked for things i could actually do. </span></span></b></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>And people came up with surprising stuff. Here are a few, including tap along your acupuncture meridians.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDaUbMWxLMDo8N1my6s__Ty0rF9-5Bx_TYBq8447zifHNCsqTwNNIwJL_odFVZMIJfUbb_tDxPRk0cDNk4LLHQ3Fs68iT3T-hs9Lh9Wdf5i8hvrwGPrc3BKP5_0B8jK0vPlu8VQofBA-f9fAVQR9D4UZNEvssTtdQYi7jxpEhDrTPDyY21Xy9pINB5=s747" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="363" data-original-width="747" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDaUbMWxLMDo8N1my6s__Ty0rF9-5Bx_TYBq8447zifHNCsqTwNNIwJL_odFVZMIJfUbb_tDxPRk0cDNk4LLHQ3Fs68iT3T-hs9Lh9Wdf5i8hvrwGPrc3BKP5_0B8jK0vPlu8VQofBA-f9fAVQR9D4UZNEvssTtdQYi7jxpEhDrTPDyY21Xy9pINB5=s320" width="320" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b><br /><br /></b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgn-UstwjCEQ5aNzfA5JjKIDoGcwKM1PIio_E_BlhcFrOoxzXTLZzlhSwKdD0l0D4WPSBpYmi6FISI6BdOR7X-C5YToXYNmm-VQRYDsirPGtwBHGSv6WbpUOoc5Ky9adwm-8yt09KAfZsdyrZMhuhezt01KU5NSrMBPOk-FXj400Y5eRPGDpVAHr94R=s1315" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1217" data-original-width="1315" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgn-UstwjCEQ5aNzfA5JjKIDoGcwKM1PIio_E_BlhcFrOoxzXTLZzlhSwKdD0l0D4WPSBpYmi6FISI6BdOR7X-C5YToXYNmm-VQRYDsirPGtwBHGSv6WbpUOoc5Ky9adwm-8yt09KAfZsdyrZMhuhezt01KU5NSrMBPOk-FXj400Y5eRPGDpVAHr94R=s320" width="320" /></span></b></a></div><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEixmgVxJy-PkDiJBmMrQJ7G0EKeGcs19-ClDlmwN9xUwj9JQkiyB-A3BGK0KMKQrHV6fOOWZ1pEArA6Jt4MbOY8ZZhY8BHrVJXaAVkqs5vU6KxCxJZTLwEwUPVX8q7ccpEaTlHn6MP5hvXoXdyYIRfF1fiYaSgD2wo1tSoekF4CLvoYYP2ivnuJvmSd=s1400" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="787" data-original-width="1400" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEixmgVxJy-PkDiJBmMrQJ7G0EKeGcs19-ClDlmwN9xUwj9JQkiyB-A3BGK0KMKQrHV6fOOWZ1pEArA6Jt4MbOY8ZZhY8BHrVJXaAVkqs5vU6KxCxJZTLwEwUPVX8q7ccpEaTlHn6MP5hvXoXdyYIRfF1fiYaSgD2wo1tSoekF4CLvoYYP2ivnuJvmSd=s320" width="320" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhk_lXh7zr0rwxWBgUK70LXD8uvodOIB2_mSKmZMqFbhKrCo349AdyFURXozq4AuZu39l1ClgXQ5XPJlKiSGDFS--MHQyJajl1VU-s0AFkyeisIJnRsy3i92dtinJXJ4mIDsPNY_h4CjMaqgygKCVFZqW5vjjyHfYNrxQB05Rg9d40US-pWY7GTnhKE=s911" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="911" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhk_lXh7zr0rwxWBgUK70LXD8uvodOIB2_mSKmZMqFbhKrCo349AdyFURXozq4AuZu39l1ClgXQ5XPJlKiSGDFS--MHQyJajl1VU-s0AFkyeisIJnRsy3i92dtinJXJ4mIDsPNY_h4CjMaqgygKCVFZqW5vjjyHfYNrxQB05Rg9d40US-pWY7GTnhKE=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br />Stick your head in a bucket of cold water. <br /></b></span><p></p><p><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I like the 'time warp', having an evening with drinks, clothes, pictures, old movies, everything to put me in a particular moment in the past. A bath in memory. </span></b></p><p><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">An easier one: 'listen to sad music'. I don't know why it works but it does. I've been listening to cool jazz from the fifties. It gives me the feeling life will go on and on.</span></b></p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-27618040517781737272021-12-25T12:09:00.001-08:002021-12-25T12:15:16.894-08:00Enthusiasms<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHC2Bd3xQiB9DM59jV2PrPWxj9KvOg_UlIlRf2DDBQ8FvX6lUMKbXrj0EBkzjVhWUQcIG6YGfu3yoWX7yUaeUQMx4aZv6iih2-ywpbT7v3xIth6jDDRN8KWvcV0WSrvJE5046A15iv-3T8Hktc535FN4JW0EdWW3LV0fTx32UfoG9_f2JcS2X0x1D_=s3200" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="1440" height="475" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHC2Bd3xQiB9DM59jV2PrPWxj9KvOg_UlIlRf2DDBQ8FvX6lUMKbXrj0EBkzjVhWUQcIG6YGfu3yoWX7yUaeUQMx4aZv6iih2-ywpbT7v3xIth6jDDRN8KWvcV0WSrvJE5046A15iv-3T8Hktc535FN4JW0EdWW3LV0fTx32UfoG9_f2JcS2X0x1D_=w214-h475" width="214" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Alas, i'm rummaging around in memory for something to light my fire! I've listed as many as I can remember off the top of my head. Unfortunately, the one i feel most pleasure from is FINGERPAINTING in the second grade. Doesn't seem a fit occupation for a man of a certain age. 🤔 Looks like I'll have to sit with the record for awhile. Wish me luck.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>PICTURE BOOKS</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>SKATING IN THE WOODS </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>MAKING AN IGLOO</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>FINGERPAINTING (2ND GRADE</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>WINNIE THE POO</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>SCOUTS</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>BASEBALL</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>PLAYING IN THE SNOW </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>KICK THE CAN</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>POOL</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>SWIMMING </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>GIRLS</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>WOMEN </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>DANCING</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>MARBLES </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>PHOTOGRAPHY </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>POETRY </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>TRAINS</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>TRAVEL</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>ART</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>THEATER</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>MOVIES</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>BUTTONS</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>BOOKS -READING</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>STORIES - MINE AND OTHERS</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>SLEEPING </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>WALKING</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>FRIENDS </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>MOUNTAINS</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>OCEAN -BEACHES</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>BOATS</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>TAROT</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>SHAMANISM</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>MONEY (TO LIVE)</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>HEALTH</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>COVID</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>MUSIC, LATELY COOL JAZZ</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>DAYDREAMING </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>LOOKOUTS </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>LEARNING</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>PHONE! COMPUTER </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>INDIA</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>JAPAN</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>RUSSIA</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>XMAS</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>LAUGHTER (COMEDY)</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>PAST LIVES </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>PSYCHICS </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>COUNCILORS </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>SUICIDE</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>WATERCOLOR </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>MYSELF!!</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>DRIVING </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>AMERICAN INDIANS </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>MUSEUMS</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>EATING</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>SEX</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>ICE CREAM </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>BREAD AND CHEESE </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>ALCOHOL</b></span></p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-54010988376233891052021-12-07T19:40:00.003-08:002021-12-08T18:50:58.966-08:00IF ONLY I HAD A REPUTATION TO RISK<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuZTseqAhtIxmZv3cPQOFz-8jLju5KFIir07Tk7QpszRotFmGNpPkeGtA5jv_Yhl-7HEL1LSrDeFD_866ZKMxlGDB1Q6bZzQqjW0p_Xs3ZMFnOvRMO5rs92pDbyY5ZO9SKEvgqf4lMNgxq4jBal6BQqbEyG-3aRpyPZ47XIfgqq3migGve3ZEuKOWr=s4000" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuZTseqAhtIxmZv3cPQOFz-8jLju5KFIir07Tk7QpszRotFmGNpPkeGtA5jv_Yhl-7HEL1LSrDeFD_866ZKMxlGDB1Q6bZzQqjW0p_Xs3ZMFnOvRMO5rs92pDbyY5ZO9SKEvgqf4lMNgxq4jBal6BQqbEyG-3aRpyPZ47XIfgqq3migGve3ZEuKOWr=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-size: 16px;">Tonight I'm going to risk my reputation as a rational person. I am working out of many past lives. I know this is a theory for most people, but I think for me it's an actual holiday.</span><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-size: 16px;">The 1st psychic I went to, Gloria Sax, gave me a whole list of past lives. I wrote off a bunch of them. They were the usual kings and queens and all that kind of stuff, but she gave me some very specific ones that have stuck in my mind ever since.</span><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-size: 16px;">Number one she said I was a scientist on Atlantis who helped develop the power that blew up the island. I had seen many people die. Then, let's see, there was another one. An American Indian one where I was a counselor and chief, a spiritual leader. And after there was a dark one. a kind of evil shaman type and that I had never worked those evil deeds out. And the last one was...</span><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-size: 16px;">Those may have been the only ones I remember</span><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-size: 16px;">I thought it had one more but anyway my point is that in this lifetime I have gone through periods of being obsessed with shamanism , with American Indians and and maybe with destruction which would fit with Atlantis and the end of the world kind of feeling, my shadow.</span><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-size: 16px;">For more recent recent times I really think that my interest in Russia and the revolution probably comes out of a lifetime where I died in that particular revolution. And I don't know if I feel like I'm Jewish now but I have a lot of Jewish friends and our family did visit the concentration camps. I had done research on those. So these are all things that are very familiar for more recent lifetimes.</span><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-size: 16px;">I'm thinking now , well, maybe I'll get another chance after this once I'm out. I'll come back as quick as I can and get involved in the the results of global warming and all the turmoil, whatever happens. If we have a Virus that kills off almost everybody and I'm left with The Leftovers, very much the theme as in STATION ELEVEN, a novel by Jill St. John.</span><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-size: 16px;">What I like about this for myself is that I may get another chance. I am living out this lifetime enjoying myself. Gloria said and several more psychics said the same thing: in this lifetime I'm meant to take it easy in the sense of not accepting a lot of responsibility and authority. And it's definitely been the case. I haven't had a family I haven't had to be a father figure and I haven't had a career where I've had to supervise a lot of people, in fact I've hidden out on top of the mountain. The whole thing of looking for fires may come from Atlantis and blowing a place up, a premonition of the future.</span><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-size: 16px;">I know this sounds kind of nutty. I don't pretend to be any kind of Indian Hindu guru type. I Like the literature but the the numerology and all that kind of stuff doesn't appeal to me, though it might come in handy building destructive weapons.</span><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-size: 16px;">What am I saying tonight? I'm saying that there's probably no reason I should be depressed. It's true I have had a lot of depressing experiences both in past lifetimes and this lifetime.</span><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-size: 16px;">But if I get another chance then there's no worries, there's no sense it's over, that I can't do anything, that I can't rectify my mistakes in this lifetime.</span><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;" /><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-size: 16px;">I don't have any real conclusions to make as far as other people go. I can only say that this feels right for me. I can justify my feelings through my experiences, my interests, and my travels. Being born into a religious family might be also part of this in order to have that extra dimension, which everybody's looking for and which everybody finds in other ways. Past lives are not in the stars or the Accepted standard of the moment.</span><div dir="auto" id="ms-outlook-mobile-signature" style="background-color: #141414; color: #f8f8f8; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 16px;"><div><br /></div>Get <a href="https://na01.safelinks.protection.outlook.com/?url=https%3A%2F%2Faka.ms%2FAAb9ysg&data=04%7C01%7C%7C8fd0a02ae72245a34f8008d9b9fb0ee4%7C84df9e7fe9f640afb435aaaaaaaaaaaa%7C1%7C0%7C637745310202685410%7CUnknown%7CTWFpbGZsb3d8eyJWIjoiMC4wLjAwMDAiLCJQIjoiV2luMzIiLCJBTiI6Ik1haWwiLCJXVCI6Mn0%3D%7C3000&sdata=vvof9kNSNmoAwAjfkRjtEpH0l%2BT151H2rQ7QygbW77Q%3D&reserved=0" originalsrc="https://aka.ms/AAb9ysg" shash="U95O/AaGiVTfhlU29CYIjWGP1S2F2g/JVEcqvw1MEqgRVtiChlXmdCnmdqRlbbEaJ7g1higFr2pJytOhAS9aAB4UbldQf3LieydXw6xMZs/HFyx5qwQoqd7C1TftCvdF+uSyE4yP6uxALJUMzBxOIbbNqFkbBbpfI3nWU3J3HHc=" style="color: #3aa0f3;">Outlook for Android</a></div>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-21963580218984755642021-06-30T18:10:00.001-07:002023-03-12T08:46:20.071-07:00FALLING FALLING FALLING <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLRrMc9TvjwPcV_bA20dRYJejEHdwtsQFn-TzXB0naCn-YepDURq3Q1NK31pII4Jw85RapZhzhvWsMOvoPi7cnHmT3P-rsGJeZ5Dvo8f5zvR40PTGLKnefsz1qb4Lys7JkLp5sHUYEo4M/s730/FB_IMG_1624977099275.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="690" data-original-width="730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLRrMc9TvjwPcV_bA20dRYJejEHdwtsQFn-TzXB0naCn-YepDURq3Q1NK31pII4Jw85RapZhzhvWsMOvoPi7cnHmT3P-rsGJeZ5Dvo8f5zvR40PTGLKnefsz1qb4Lys7JkLp5sHUYEo4M/s320/FB_IMG_1624977099275.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> Can I write a blog by talking? Here's a chance to find out. FALLING, FALLING, FALLING. I have fallen, six, seven times on this trip. First, in the airport in Brasilia, in Brazil. I don't know what I was doing, I twisted around with my luggage and actually a few minutes earlier I had lost my phone and I was fit to be tied. A guard found it, tangled up in the luggage carriage that I had used. So I was obviously not in the best of the frame of mind. When I fell like it was on a rug. I did spread a lot chocolate chips all over the place.</p><p><br /></p><p>Since then, in Oaxaca have now fallen six times. The first two times were simply careless. One I was taking pictures near a little park and I tripped on a curb, I thought I could make it. And I didn't. Smacked my face in cement on the left side. I had a black eye and a goose egg, and I lay there. Well, a guy came up and said okay, just don't do anything and we'll call a Medico, And of course I was bleeding onto the sidewalk. A woman handed me some Kleenex to wipe up the blood, and I sat down on the curb, and waited for a while and nobody showed up. So I decided to hell with it. I'm going to go ahead and go back to the hostel. And I was able to find it on the phone with the map.</p><p><br /></p><p>Second time I was just outside my room, and there's a kind of airway, right next to it, and I had dropped something from for my window and so I stepped down but I miscalculated and fell right on my head again against the cement. Luckily only my hip was aching, and that was the same left as before.</p><p>The next four times were actually in my room. And they were from dizziness. I tried some supplements from Mexico, supposedly to help with the virus, or anti virus, anyway. And they made me dizzy as hell. So in the middle of the night. I fell at least two times. Once right on my pee can, so I had piss all over my room and I had to clean it up at two in the morning, and I did it one more time, and the same kind of thing. I had to clean pee up at two in the morning.</p><p><br /></p><p>And then I had two more times. One was in the room, and didn't seem to do much damage except it skinned the hell out of my left elbow. The next time it happened was in the coffee shop where I go. I bent down to pick some postcards off the shelf. And when I stood up too quick, I passed out, and I didn't actually realize I fell until some guy came up to me, an American guy and said, Are you alright. Damn, I had passed out again. So, this is getting to be</p><p><br /></p><p>monotonous and not very healthy.</p><p><br /></p><p>I did read once years ago that after 65. You will fall. And I don't know how often that means, but it's how people break their hips. Of course I hit my hip. Every time my left hip, and it didn't break, but it's still sore right now. Now the only time I had this kind of occurrence was probably about eight years ago. I increased my dose of Prozac. And that made me feel very good, but it also made me careless.</p><p><br /></p><p>Now one thing I know is that you cannot, it is impossible to multitask. And if you are trying to multitask, you're getting in the way of yourself. You can only do one thing after the other. So be really careful when you're stepping, when you're walking to do one thing at a time. Climbing a ladder, don't be thinking about a girlfriend or whether you want to fly, or hat you're going to paint. Just don't do it. And if you're driving a car, you may zone out. I can probably can still exist with that. But at some point when I get older I will not be able to zone out and keep control of the car, and that's why people have to stop driving at a certain age.</p><p><br /></p><p>Now, at 81 I thought I would not live this long, and I wasn't planning on living longer than this. I came into Mexico and I thought, well this would be the end of it, but I just keep on going. So, I don't know exactly what's going to finish me off. As long as I don't start drinking and step in front of a car, hopefully I will be okay. But the sidewalks here are treacherous, the motorcycles run up and down the streets like crazy, and they go around cars so you don't necessarily see them. So this is my warning to me that I had better watch my step. Okay, falling, falling, falling, just like Alice down the rabbit hole.</p><p><br /></p><p>Get Outlook for Android</p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-37849847125209199312021-04-28T11:11:00.001-07:002021-04-28T18:01:47.620-07:00Too old to die young<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO7EDISH5KKr9qe0ytGT5njJJwJypW5siovUrTicB8ixM9czqJGI2REiEcuEG0zcdLDsdwvAKqWk2HXtDiBnYoVq7rz79m3P4wJwggkkUaCjtr69NCvWjg0MQyK6rF10SHV6wDC8hIg-Q/s4000/20210407_192040.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="1800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO7EDISH5KKr9qe0ytGT5njJJwJypW5siovUrTicB8ixM9czqJGI2REiEcuEG0zcdLDsdwvAKqWk2HXtDiBnYoVq7rz79m3P4wJwggkkUaCjtr69NCvWjg0MQyK6rF10SHV6wDC8hIg-Q/w180-h400/20210407_192040.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /> </div><p><br /></p><p> <b>I’ve often said, “Don’t outlive your own life,” thinking i knew what it meant. Now I’m befuddled. Does it mean, don’t live past your physical capabilities or something else? It could mean, don’t outlive your friends, which would be a wise thought or, if circumstances change and you can’t change with them, abandon all hope. This morning I’m thinking it means, don’t outlive your curiosity. </b></p><p><b>If i find the day dull and colorless, is it merely temporary, or a suggestion of something deeper? For example, after being in Oaxaca for four months, the bloom has worn off. At first, everything interested me. I took pictures of art, handicrafts, walked all over town looking at the murals. Observed people with appreciation, clicking photographs at every turn, not always getting smiles. These folks seemed vital, fresh, and not like the dull citizens at home. </b></p><p><b>Alas, the day has come when i see protruding stomachs and dirty fingernails, obesity an immense problem, probably due to the sugar in all the pastries. For a long time the noise in the street sounded refreshing. With time it’s become abrasive and the crowds pushy. With everybody wearing masks it’s hard to realize how beautiful so many of women are. I’ve even had flashes of homesickness, despite the fact i have no desire to be there. Small wonder i meet so many nomads who keep moving.</b></p><p><b>Yes, I’ve met many who’ve been on the road for years, traveling dozens, even hundreds of countries. How do they do it? They don’t become attached to places or people. They can say hello and goodbye easily. That’s how pilgrims have always done it. The movement itself is sacred. True, i don’t see many on a spiritual quest. Most like seeing themselves in exotic places. The lands around them scenes for their own rolling movies. Others like the feeling of being in motion, riding a bicycle, staring out a bus window, the the foreign smells roiling their hair.</b></p><p><b>I myself am attached to visual spectacle, constantly looking for the odd details, excited by the tilt of unusual looking buildings, colorful clothes flashing the the sun, old buses painted with slogans. I get used to sights and smells and they begin to bore me. I have to climb on a airplane and seek a contrast. And yet, i am really a person of attachments. I begin to yearn for familiar voices and faces. Even the electronics of this age can’t bring me the flavor of a friend or the crunching of a known street under my feet. I am certainly a failed wanderer, though i like to play the part. </b></p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-17046543582089788022021-03-19T12:42:00.002-07:002021-03-19T13:47:50.077-07:00Bums, beggars, and layabouts<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZm0RDJGxsE3-Xde2siTdxZjOXlPDjuzzEkd3S69YvJrI3LGAteKuBsRclzwOQ1HLe7h-Alc84R1we0BEt8xoDsEcDfG5PIjp0vYnGT4TI9Zbhi3RIBMsi-P8kvP1emZHgjI8zWjfDcsU/s4032/20210226_162621.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="4032" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZm0RDJGxsE3-Xde2siTdxZjOXlPDjuzzEkd3S69YvJrI3LGAteKuBsRclzwOQ1HLe7h-Alc84R1we0BEt8xoDsEcDfG5PIjp0vYnGT4TI9Zbhi3RIBMsi-P8kvP1emZHgjI8zWjfDcsU/w400-h180/20210226_162621.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><b><br /></b></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Alas, alack, I’ve discovered another lethal strain of Puritanism in myself: i believe a person must make a contribution to the common good. I think mostly in terms of beauty, creativity, and art. That’s awfully narrow. It leaves out caregivers, policemen, garbage collectors and the great mass of people. What about parents loving their children or bill-collectors being kind? Every kind of giving might be considered essential.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Yet the other day I discovered a distain in myself. I met a young beggar from Kentucky displaying the sign I LOVE TACOS AND MEZCAL. He usually had a sign MONEDA PAR UN CUARTO. Yes, he asked the Mexican passerby to pay his hotel bill, and he’s remarkably successful. The general Mexican citizen has allowed him to travel all over México without a dime, and he’s been doing this for years. A young American begging succor from his Mexican hosts.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Now he is very charming, a good talker, his Spanish good enough to cage a ride to the coast, where he resides now. Friends at the hostel lauded this as courage. HE’S CHOSEN HIS LIFE. And i demurred without saying why. I didn’t want to admit a traveler needs to pay his way somehow, whether he’s in the depths of the tropics or on skid row. I’m an ardent fan of street singers and performers. Anyone can learn a few tunes on a harmonica or strum simple chords on a ukulele and belt out a song.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Skill is not the question here, though I’m inclined to give more money to the more </b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzH8l-tMAdGtI_-raw74Z9DAm77-QMCfeVnyzSOuJgODbAcEINzgecdZ6-XLYxptuWXmJ94CSAceTmMmSmawA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></b></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br />tuneful. Yes, i always give money to street musicians. Fifty cents to a dollar. I receive their thanks with magnanimity, or i smile as they merely plunk away without looking up. They’ve the pride of their profession. Any artist with any salt does. I like artists who draw on the sidewalk, those who yank and bop at puppets, jump through hoops, mangle a dance routine.</b></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>I don’t tolerate fakes however. There’s a guy on the streets of Oaxaca who carries a bronze soprano sax and sits with his son. He’ll play three notes, sit and wait, play the same three notes again. I want to throw a ten peso note at his head. A jerk like this spoils the whole scene. Luckily, he’s the only one. There is a young violinist who plays badly, but i encourage him with a few coins and he gives me a big smile. I want to encourage him till he plays at Carnegie hall!</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-72824000338740128312021-02-24T12:33:00.002-08:002021-02-24T13:17:56.257-08:00Retirement: the land beyond time<p> </p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBewJj7j1I-Hqxk-48Fb6XL-lIFaK8Ypihmnit_CRENmZTi7Z0RdNK0cFMiTdzVjdSPZKC694B4OzPv4oiHLE-A1FOD_tR4qcrCb52frdopOSi1e30l48o4UG8xUMzxXz2NhgikCQo8ow/s4032/20210220_123654.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="4032" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBewJj7j1I-Hqxk-48Fb6XL-lIFaK8Ypihmnit_CRENmZTi7Z0RdNK0cFMiTdzVjdSPZKC694B4OzPv4oiHLE-A1FOD_tR4qcrCb52frdopOSi1e30l48o4UG8xUMzxXz2NhgikCQo8ow/w640-h288/20210220_123654.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I swore i would never retire. Ah, but at 80 maybe it’s a different story. Like all my friends who have retired i would have to find a new life. My identity as a fire lookout has served me well. It astounds the common crowd ho believe fire lookouts disappeared long ago. And it confuses foreigners who find the very concept bizarre, belonging only to Tibetan and Chinese monks. Other than in the quest for enlightenment, why would anyone sit on a mountain top, alone for months at a time?</b></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Now, i never dreamed i might live on social security and savings. Until i discovered i could in Mexico. And more than that, Mexico has revealed the deadness of life in the USA. By than i mean, in my home town the streets are empty. People drive the block to the corner grocery. At the most they walk their dog around the block. In Mexico, where there are only small shops, the sidewalks are full most all day. There are common markets with many food stalls and places to eat. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Maybe it’s the difference between Catholic and Protestant, the churches of the former crowded with saints and paintings, the churches of the latter almost totally lacking in color. The Protestants believe in individual salvation, the souls of others left to make their own way. The Catholics extremely social and community driven. You can get to heaven by helping others. Of course, there is a price to pay. The dogma driven into little kids with a hammer. It’s truly tribal. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Expats don’t have to abide by these rules and can live appreciating the bright colors and peaceful parks. Street musicians appear everywhere, not driven into oblivion by rules saying you can’t sit on the sidewalk or raise your solitary voice in song. True, the language is foreign. And I’ve barely exerted myself in that direction, feeling I’ll be dead before i could hold a decent conversation. I enjoy the company of expats and travelers, the common language English. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>I’ve met so many people who’ve spent most of their lives on the road, backpacking through India and bicycling all over Africa. I thought i was something, having been in 40 countries. And that fellow has been in 90 and that fellow 117. I feel like I’ve wasted a good bit on my life on security and habit. And what now? Yes, if i retire, i will enter the land without time, as long as i don’t seek stability. Deepak Chopra says feeling old depends on two things: the view of people around you and the despair of so little time left. If I can ignore others and imagine i live in a place where there is no time </b></span><b style="font-family: georgia;">i will be fine. </b></p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-28785646629889912722021-02-08T11:55:00.000-08:002021-02-08T11:55:59.074-08:00“Falling, falling, falling.” Alice<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFkHWj-WrWxNStHw0KuCGTI5Nx-sH0MpOVMiqHXapEzTRv9DvwYj535pu0EoI6Pud1v1OevLiiixWgm06k-h0pqaSKA1sNsQWpTznbT0a0p_zcTbyya1trooLuXdhLM2ComAMCkXaTNG8/s4032/20210203_164855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="1816" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFkHWj-WrWxNStHw0KuCGTI5Nx-sH0MpOVMiqHXapEzTRv9DvwYj535pu0EoI6Pud1v1OevLiiixWgm06k-h0pqaSKA1sNsQWpTznbT0a0p_zcTbyya1trooLuXdhLM2ComAMCkXaTNG8/w180-h289/20210203_164855.jpg" width="180" /></a></div></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Having fallen twice in the last several weeks, the first time flat on a cement sidewalk, i don’t even want to think about it. PTSD i suppose. Just before leaving </b></span><b style="font-family: georgia;">Mexico City, i met an Argentine woman in hostel who had no front teeth. A drunk had slammed her agains a wall. Now she was terrified of everything. She couldn’t even get on the plane to return home when relatives sent her the ticket. Her hands like claws, they seemed to be convulsively clutching a life-raft.</b></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Now i understood her condition. Yes, a couple of kind Mexican woman handed me Kleenex as the blood dripped from my face, a fellow helped me up, had me sit down and insisted i wait till the medico arrived. I waited half an hour, then walked dazed several blocks back to the hostel. The landlady bought arnica for me and i smeared it on the goose egg by my left eye. I flopped on my bed and slept for 12 hours.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>If i were 20 instead of 80 I probably wouldn’t have taken seriously. They say you feel old when you have a permanent injury. Would i be crippled for life? The face wound retreated, but it took several weeks for the muscles in back and chest to stop aching. Then two days ago, i fell entering an air shaft to dry pants i had just washed. Was i getting senile? I’ve always been in too much in a hurry, trying to correct mistakes after they happened! If only i could go back in time.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>So far i seem to be recovering again with a sore shoulder and elbow, a glitch in my hip. Still, i’’m feeling fragile. No wonder our basic fear is of falling. Ah, the poor child learning to walk. And what must Alice have thought, falling into wonderland? Of course, it was a return to childhood. And for me a look at the coming decline of age. I’ve sworn i would never let it happen. No, better to fall on my sword. The trouble is: I’m enjoying life more.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Yes, I’m seriously thinking of settling in Mexico, where i can live on my social security. Covid 19 has made everybody in the United States a little crazy. ‘Normal life’ has crept under the carpet. Sure, the vaccines in process, but will a life with masks retreat from consciousness? However, the real question is: as I enjoy living more can i let go of it as easily as last summer, when i felt like jumping off a cliff every day? Only time will tell. </b></span></p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-77756171079089518802021-01-10T10:30:00.000-08:002021-01-10T10:30:44.225-08:00The gods must be crazy<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAqSRAkiWFeo6arKJS_OQcTRvuCJ_wAfJDsroMb-C86Kb2Yiy8hM3wtTycGCBU7DCQ8VJVdo_5cKk1kTANG8A2JT8FXgPr8Zt22Y0Zfm0xsnOPlEpdW7IPyjYcDONejGDOLLMMY98RNyI/s1000/0B85686D-2FB0-458D-8357-731ABE5CC579.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="676" data-original-width="1000" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAqSRAkiWFeo6arKJS_OQcTRvuCJ_wAfJDsroMb-C86Kb2Yiy8hM3wtTycGCBU7DCQ8VJVdo_5cKk1kTANG8A2JT8FXgPr8Zt22Y0Zfm0xsnOPlEpdW7IPyjYcDONejGDOLLMMY98RNyI/w400-h270/0B85686D-2FB0-458D-8357-731ABE5CC579.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><b><br /></b></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Or i must be! I know perfectly well what i have to do to escape a virus: boost my immune system. No TOBACCO. ALCOHOL. SUGAR. Plenty of sleep, exercise, vegetables. Lower my stress in every way possible. Stay out of bakeries. Take VITAMINS A, D, B, and ZINC. Research everything i can about the immune system. YouTube has a wealth of information. Sure, people contradict each other, but i try to use what little brains i have. What is the unhealthiest country in the world? That’s a no-brainer. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6Lfi0CM-h3c" width="320" youtube-src-id="6Lfi0CM-h3c"></iframe></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>OBESITY</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>I know I need to lose weight. Why don’t i do it? I like being the weight i am. If i gain, i feel bad. If i lose too much i look like a scarecrow. Who was it said, “if human beings weren’t vain, they’d have nothing to talk about?” Of course, I’m a disgrace to the species. Wealth has ruined us all. If i were a hunter-gatherer I’d be lean and tough as nails. </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Yes, I’ve drunk too many lattes, resided too long in coffee shops. Read too many books. Grown too old, a prime target for any self-respecting virus. “We can’t let this guy go. What would they say back home?”</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>And it feels there’s no place to run to. If the USA is bad, Mexico has the highest level of diabetes in Latin America. (Yes, stay out of those wonderful bakeries.) And to be good, you have to live in a country like CANADA, where people being barricaded inside their houses, or AUSTRALIA, where police rounding up people on the streets. In other words, I’d have to be pleased fascism is saving my life, so I CAN sit at home and stare at the wall. </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Unfortunately, I’ve been raised as an individual and will sneak around as best i can to find nooks and crannies of normality. Somebody’s got to do and i believe it is my duty and sanity. </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><b><br /></b></span><p></p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-23130853441525300922020-12-18T15:07:00.002-08:002020-12-18T15:34:14.924-08:00Always carry a backup phone when traveling!<p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgAT2do5CUz7uxhI11jAU7iej_g64Xn_qDmS3gYZUdziKZPSLCc8xNpoA25TOnfzZYXuz-_wAcaPbI6Sng1X-GgKisyPq5LIEV6kUFUtvn5xb-a8-3kXiLsomFkPN7HUugrxchaQU4ueI/s1536/0CDD6F19-1599-47E1-BCFF-9606AA1D010A.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1528" data-original-width="1536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgAT2do5CUz7uxhI11jAU7iej_g64Xn_qDmS3gYZUdziKZPSLCc8xNpoA25TOnfzZYXuz-_wAcaPbI6Sng1X-GgKisyPq5LIEV6kUFUtvn5xb-a8-3kXiLsomFkPN7HUugrxchaQU4ueI/s320/0CDD6F19-1599-47E1-BCFF-9606AA1D010A.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> I look down at my shirt pocket, AND MY CELL PHONE IS GONE1 A moment of absolute panic. Here i am in the huge airport of Brasilia, Brazil. I can’t believe it. I run down the stairs to the last place i had it, a booth of the airlines. No one in line has seen it. I run back up, trip on the escalator and dump food all over the place. A the information booth the woman speaks little English. She calls for another, who does. I find out Find My Phone won’t work here. She can’t call a number out of country. I moan and beat my head. Then a call comes. A security guard has found a phone. I wait in a state of suspended animation. Yes, it is my phone. He found it hanging from a luggage cart.<p></p><p>How dumb. The chain tangled itself in the cart. It’s usually around my neck, but I’d been taking pictures. So much for this nightmare. I ate ice cream and drank a cappuccino to calm down. I have a backup phone and didn’t bring it. Okay, there’s the experienced traveler totally losing his cool. Here in Mexico City I’ll search for an older phone. I know where the iPhone store is. At the same time I’m totally exhausted from the 20 hour flight. I dragged my bags all over on a six hour break. Not only that after the telephone fiasco i tripped on my bags, raisins all over the carpet. Later i find I’ve sprained my left wrist more than I thought.</p><p>Okay, i did sleep almost sixteen hours before sitting down to write this. There’s something not so good about having my mind befuddled. I’ve paid for two weeks at the Selina Hostel to get me through the holidays, waiting to see if i brought back Covid with me. I doubt i have. No symptoms. And i just checked with my hometown. Nine more people died, so far I’m better off and I’ve had some very unusual experiences. Better than lying in a bed in familiar surroundings , the grim reaper haunting my dreams. Of course i used to think, “Make good memories and you can die happy.> ah, that illusion has been dispelled forever..</p><p>I flew off to Brazil on invitation from a young woman I’d barely met in mexico last winter. I hesitated. My friend Lucas said,” you might as well have an adventure in Brazil in the warm air instead of a sitting here waiting for winter.” his words took hold. And a wild time it turned out to be, though nothing I anticipated. We cycled through lovers, mates and friends in one week, the fastest complete relationship I could imagine. We left it at friends i hope. What’s odd is we had more in common than two people have a right to be. Born in Brazil, she moved to Germany at 19 . Studied dance and theater in Holland. We knew all the same names and places. At thirty two she gave up dance, to become a therapist astrologer traveling around Brazil, learnng kite surfing and giving ‘readings. It just proves having a lot in common doesn’t mean being soul mates. </p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-31320640751697714142020-11-24T07:34:00.000-08:002020-11-24T07:34:04.089-08:00A cat separated too soon from its mother<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtwNCZvHjWkjnKQfOcCWmpeQSJyrTPj8BbsHcyp2TiR7req0PMzUN0otwu2UkWZtRHWxJ5OOLEdveZ74nGs_0lnmnQS8m2NTY8QxtUyKqEvWrzcpOQDSKaPK8gcRgLe3z4jl-71EKBS8U/s588/0F33EF65-8B31-4DED-B70F-95C5CBB482F8.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="459" data-original-width="588" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtwNCZvHjWkjnKQfOcCWmpeQSJyrTPj8BbsHcyp2TiR7req0PMzUN0otwu2UkWZtRHWxJ5OOLEdveZ74nGs_0lnmnQS8m2NTY8QxtUyKqEvWrzcpOQDSKaPK8gcRgLe3z4jl-71EKBS8U/w391-h305/0F33EF65-8B31-4DED-B70F-95C5CBB482F8.jpeg" width="391" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> <b>Well, now i am embarrassed. I had an astrology reading from a woman, Kay Taylor, and afterwards i felt very unsatisfied and told her so. Partly this was due to my phone not recording the session. I couldn’t listen to the session again, and that’s when i learn the most. She had recorded it. And when I listened again, it made more sense.</b></p><p><b>What bothered me was it was so gloomy. Betrayal. Distrust. Fear. In fact she said my chart dominated by the last. She said my recent past life came from a death just before WWII. My birthday May 5, 1940. I’d always felt I’d been Jewish. She said I’d been betrayed by the community and had troubles with trust.</b></p><p><b>So be it. I’m prey to pain attacks which I never had when younger. In fact i had a bad one early yesterday morning. It took the whole day to shake it off. And now I’m very conscious of how fearful i can be. I hope i can say with Georgia O’Keefe, “I’ve always been afraid and I’ve never let it stop me from doing anything.” </b></p><p><b>This morning it occurred to me i act like the black cat i shared an apartment with briefly after leaving the lookout. The landlady said it had been separated from its mother too early. It kept kneading pillows for example. I just looked up the characteristics of such a cat:</b></p><p><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; font-size: 14.666666984558105px;">From a mental or developmental standpoint, kittens who have been separated too soon may not be as easily socialized, whether that is with their people or other animals. They don't know what they are. They don't know what normal cat behavior is.</span></p><p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 14.666666984558105px;" /><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; font-size: 14.666666984558105px;">Kittens who have been separated too soon can have physical as well as mental problems. In terms of physical problems, they may not have good coordination or understand how to stalk prey and how to translate this behavior into appropriate play with their human. They may be aloof, wary or fearful of touch.</span></p><p><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; font-size: 14.666666984558105px;"><b>The more i read, the more sense it makes. My first grade report card: He doesn’t play well with others. And my mother saying “You played alone so much I never thought you’d have any friends.” My sister born just a year after me. I was dethroned! I became a real pest after that. I did everything i could to upstage my baby sister. Poor girl. She too had a rough start.</b></span></p><p><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; font-size: 14.666666984558105px;"><b>The astrologer gave me one piece of good advice: pursue pleasure and happiness. I’ve never been good at that</b>. </span></p><p><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; font-size: 14.666666984558105px;"><br /></span></p><p><span face="-apple-system, HelveticaNeue" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; font-size: 14.666666984558105px;"><br /></span></p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-7482240539503166102020-11-19T08:28:00.000-08:002020-11-19T08:28:08.436-08:00The horrors of travel<p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLF1cvKK51DIOotKGTqwtZ6ud5x1crySK_ZbkcqxlRGT7AVrFD4kFjeI9-gX21m6A49wvOkyioO6Vcyel80m-y7GE8eaGu0-UbGIO1lbFmqyKhVbpRFI3dikFgTsiyB2IC8l2K78l5vy8/s2048/11562491-3FFE-404C-91DD-D0D33A8DED6F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLF1cvKK51DIOotKGTqwtZ6ud5x1crySK_ZbkcqxlRGT7AVrFD4kFjeI9-gX21m6A49wvOkyioO6Vcyel80m-y7GE8eaGu0-UbGIO1lbFmqyKhVbpRFI3dikFgTsiyB2IC8l2K78l5vy8/w274-h365/11562491-3FFE-404C-91DD-D0D33A8DED6F.jpeg" width="274" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b><p></p><p><b>Yes, yes, i could have stayed home, stared at the wall with everything in town closed and continued to be suicidal. Instead i decided to fly to Mexico City where people wearing masks and NOBODY SOCIAL DISTANCING. So it may be a form of suicide yet! Mexicans do not have the luxury of Americans. They can’t stay home. They have to work. Everything open - except a few of my favorite museums - the streets and subway often crowded. I’m taking chances i would never take at home. If this is goodbye, have a sweet time with the rest of your lives.</b></p><p><b>I am discovering again why i like to travel. I walk all day, then in the evening I go to bed early and do nothing, like read, watch YouTube videos about people traveling in other places like turkey and Serbia, and daydream a lot. At home i have to always be doing something. Just lying around not my style. Only in Greece years ago could i lay for hours on the beach, soaking up the sun. Travel puts me in a different space, brings out the idle human being. Jung once said, “Don’t underestimate human laziness”. Ah, what a pleasure it can be!</b></p><p><b>With no paintings to look at, I’m wandering the streets and discovering new places. One is a market area near where I’m staying. I sat in a little square with a semi-circle of smiling and laughing metal heads on pedestals. Memoirs of poets, singers, goofy politicians? I never did figure it out. One fellow in the spiffy dress and big mustache of another century plopped himself down next to me. As i said, social distancing doesn’t exist, except by me. I moved to another bench. </b></p><p><b>I have never seen so many chopped up chickens, wings being bagged up, breasts piled, feet discarded. This definitely a foodies paradise. One huge market held traditional foods from all over mexico. Mouth-watering, to say the least. I bought prunes at a specialty store, a hundred spices in jars. Yes, I’m having trouble with my plumbing, the opposite of what you’re supposed to expect in mexico. I am afraid of eating street food, exactly what every guidebook on mexico raves about. This city considered a heaven for gourmands. I need to search out some of the vegetarian restaurants. I know they exist.</b></p><p><b>Here comes the sun after four grey days. It makes a hellava difference. The city rather grim without the blue sky. Yes, it’s true. I’m just biding my time until leaving for Brazil next week. I’ll be joining a friend for three weeks travel in the northeast of the country. According to the web, that area has few cases of Covid. At least I’ll have someone to get me to a hospital, if i need it. I loaded up on travel health insurance before leaving. Alas, i have to get where i can use it first. Wish me good luck. As my brother said, “If you’re afraid, you will never travel anywhere.”</b></p><p><b>U</b></p><p><br /></p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-58709674158968182382020-11-05T08:59:00.000-08:002020-11-05T08:59:24.458-08:00How can i escape my age?<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKXGDuNuiSeB1IUueQ1qOJ6MGucz1jEJ3D9zinixXLgu8COCNKJvIuj9iSEc-KRBGh7KjYNybe506Fv8Mo9uD9iIgxPbWQObBx9QWRSq73LaugdyJyBIqj49WpwactF3Mn9YkH2TJZ_N8/s300/news.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="238" height="421" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKXGDuNuiSeB1IUueQ1qOJ6MGucz1jEJ3D9zinixXLgu8COCNKJvIuj9iSEc-KRBGh7KjYNybe506Fv8Mo9uD9iIgxPbWQObBx9QWRSq73LaugdyJyBIqj49WpwactF3Mn9YkH2TJZ_N8/w333-h421/news.jpg" width="333" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> i grew up being told, "You have to watch the news. You must know what's going on." alas, i learned the news bad for my health, physical and mental. the reason: it really has nothing to do with facts and everything to do with SPECULATION. what i'm given on the boob tube is never what is happening but what may happen, and it's always scary as hell. like everyone, i like to drive slowly past a car wreck, looking for blood and bodies. and yet, to have it in my living room every night makes me bolt the door and crawl under the covers.</p><p>once i get there, i know what to do. read a novel, about life in another time, took at art works, listen to classical music, in other words, desert the information age for the age of stories, of episodes in history having meaning, perhaps simply by being purified. i need to experience love stories, happy ending or not, epics of bravery, even if the hero killed. i ride on the wings of song like a magician on a magic carpet. underneath the blankets the world becomes bearable. even tragedy lifts me up. i can face the violence and stupidity of our age by visiting that in another and knowing civilization survived.</p><p>as for my own age, of course, death is the only solution. sooner or later my decrepritude will subsume me. and in the mean time, all i can do is escape into exercise, fiction, conversations, travel, hoping when the time comes i will still be able to master my own fate. alas, the general population doesn't want to pay taxes for the arts. everybody enjoys them. in this period of being house-bound, what sustains them but music, movies, books, adventures in fictional time?</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuK9x0KuNZLR8-ZPufkkO3gxUqVTNCogqDfieMLEG0fJNcPOiVDhcRT2cenyyhopo1sQ0FwBwDiBhFTXV8-8WSGNIouDGEenFMbRORGAMPX9ZSA5nAzYTkGMNDZVDcfjGQ3bVCOEnipNM/s642/election.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="642" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuK9x0KuNZLR8-ZPufkkO3gxUqVTNCogqDfieMLEG0fJNcPOiVDhcRT2cenyyhopo1sQ0FwBwDiBhFTXV8-8WSGNIouDGEenFMbRORGAMPX9ZSA5nAzYTkGMNDZVDcfjGQ3bVCOEnipNM/s320/election.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>and now i watch the election results with horror. RED means i will not pay for the society i live in, hospitals, schools, symphonies, traffic lights, asphalt to fill the potholes. I WILL NOT BE A PERSON OF MY TIME. what irony! what good has all that news done but make misers of the voters, they grasp their pennies as if they would save them from global warming. avoiding the public good, they put themselves in danger. how do they not know it? maybe human ignorance is bottomless. staring at the screen, i see a vast void behind it. </p><p>at the same time i can go back to old stories, old pictures, and find hope. other ages have been far more disastrous than our own. peter the great leveled whole cities and massacred the population, attilla the hun didn't do much better, and the romans raked carthage into the ground. we survived the middle ages and recent terrible wars. not that we're in the clear. still, it helps to know history. that is news that stays news, as ezra pound said about poetry, the news people die from not knowing. i always speak for the arts. they really need no reason. yet i have to say something to keep from going mad.</p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-73025565801140114702020-10-23T12:44:00.000-07:002020-10-23T12:44:26.673-07:00How do i re-connect with my own mythology?
<p style="text-align: left;"><img src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1N86mm9lR6tEOwRngLVjTI3bIOI92XnkS" alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1N86mm9lR6tEOwRngLVjTI3bIOI92XnkS" style="max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"><br></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nLGXj5s6pK9xzwCjIIrDFjoumSFycFtSXtAg1IeZHhgOB_8NeRrFYRCEpat8asej9VUA4gHafzdfnxJ9THvGGHsIX5l00VJeuFPlt78EuePK3W1nd3044v0dU4ajQH5iUTFc1jZL_bc/s2000/clown+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1402" height="507" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nLGXj5s6pK9xzwCjIIrDFjoumSFycFtSXtAg1IeZHhgOB_8NeRrFYRCEpat8asej9VUA4gHafzdfnxJ9THvGGHsIX5l00VJeuFPlt78EuePK3W1nd3044v0dU4ajQH5iUTFc1jZL_bc/w354-h507/clown+2.jpg" width="354" style="max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br><b><br></b></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>interviewing a lot of lookouts about their work, i discovered everyone dominated by a personal mythology, or a way of seeing things. one lookout always had a mirror out, looking at everything from two sides. another had a log fall on his father, right after his father had told him how not to have that happen. once he sat in his tower, and a tree fell close by, loggers at work without his knowledge. i had the feeling he was always waiting for the log to fall (maybe on him). </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>the way i discovered this was recording the interviews and then listening to them for clues. certain words, certain images would come up over and over again. there's really nothing mysterious about this. yesterday, i read a lot of ancient greek and roman poets. any creative person reveals themselves, in fact they have to for their work to resonate. all of us somewhere reflect on the agonies of love, the inevitability of age and death. the ancients sound very like me!</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>and that's the consolation of the arts. they tell stories of what we've all gone through. i myself am a part of human history and not alone. i may be somewhat unique in experiencing LIFE AS THERAPY! this morning i listed all my therapeutic activities: </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b> 1. theater</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b> 2. travel</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b> 3. art</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b> 4. writing</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b> 5 . photography</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b> 6. love affairs</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b> the list could go on and include actual therapists (3) and psychics (5), all of whom kept me going, even if they couldn't cure my anxieties. one said i'd been too impressed by death when young. i'm not sure if this came from newsreels of world war two or my preacher father's celebrations of funerals. i do remember running out of the room to escape the women in black and the friend underneath glass in his coffin, this the day after i'd been playing with him.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>as for my own mythology, when i first started writing a lot at 17, i imagined myself as a clown falling through the universe. i think that my dominate image, though i also thought, interviewing myself, I WAS ALWAYS HIDING IN THE CENTER. i suppose that's like being invisible even as i exposed myself in photos and poems. this could be the reason i've never pursued a public career. one psychic, after reviewing my past lives, said, "You carried so much responsibility in past lives, including being a scientist who helped blow up Atlantis, you get to play in this lifetime."</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>yes, i do think this time as cavorting in a playground! unfortunately, even as i've enjoyed process more that product, i wish i had something to show for it, a legacy i could leave. maybe throwing out fifty boxes of notebooks and journals not such a good idea. still, as a friend said some years ago during our new year's day consultation, "nobody will want to deal with it all." i realized she was right. only the publically accomplished have their papers installed in institutions.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>i haven't really answered my original question: how do i re-connect with my own mythology? theoretically, any of my old methods should work. i don't know what's stopping me from taking the first step. i suspect it's looking for results, rather than merely enjoying the process. there's always a chance drawing the first line could end up being a rembrandt! does it really matter. acclaim doesn't wake the dead, alas. on the other hand, merely taking a walk with observant eyes always brings something new. </b></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br></b></span><span style="text-align: left; font-family: georgia;"><img src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1x0QK8Xq4u-CwM3zkaTtS8zI9OhhslhPU" alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1x0QK8Xq4u-CwM3zkaTtS8zI9OhhslhPU" style="max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"><b><br></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><br><p style="text-align: left;"><img src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=185s9mV-y6Ly-XqrWfFHtRsvBUWuykn6j" alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=185s9mV-y6Ly-XqrWfFHtRsvBUWuykn6j" style="max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"><br></p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-51943074448715519172020-10-20T08:31:00.000-07:002020-10-20T08:31:13.744-07:00Where have all my heroes gone?<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM1xpx3ptCX4PTmhPehDFqRlkf22ZOqk48igZfZPKmnQpdytJfnq5MyO7tYQcAITTvut3LT1Ja6TmA6Axowv5CLWVzsjNryVp6XSOO_v8uUGw6dyQlXhh0ku8MUyh-QplnJNdpipjxHIs/s300/heroes+journey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="286" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM1xpx3ptCX4PTmhPehDFqRlkf22ZOqk48igZfZPKmnQpdytJfnq5MyO7tYQcAITTvut3LT1Ja6TmA6Axowv5CLWVzsjNryVp6XSOO_v8uUGw6dyQlXhh0ku8MUyh-QplnJNdpipjxHIs/w376-h395/heroes+journey.jpg" width="376" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> actually, they haven't disappeared, i simply forget to consult them. for example, FEDERICO GARCIA LORCA. as i sat in the san francisco poetry room of city lights books, looking at all the tomes on the shelves, pulling out this one and that one, searching for inspiration from poets past and present, only when i pulled down lorca's collected poems did i feel the rush of delight from the past. it is very odd, in a way, since he was obsessed with death from the beginning, and it's always present. early on he treats it in a child-like way, the landscape, the moon, stars, wind, the girl in the apple tree, always surviving the death of the rider passing by. there is a certain permanence in the song.</p><p>let's see, another hero might be CG Jung, the analyst and magician of the collective unconscious. one summer on stateline lookout at lake tahoe, i read 44 books by and about him. i'm not sure how he consoled me. mostly his concept of the Anima, the image of the perfect woman in each man, seemed to apply to myself. he describes her as very demanding, never satisfied with any human woman you may choose, also competitive with her and extremely critical. my own moods seem dominated by such an inner witch. not surprising, since my mother harsh with all my girlfriends. she, too, couldn't stand any competition. </p><p>jung's concept of the archetypes explained a lot to me, especially the trends of history, how one would dominate a certain time i lived in. ah, i've forgotten how he did it all! the vision would certainly apply to the time we know and hate. Could it be the archetype of the Lie? what i admired most, i supposed was the life he created, how he kept himself sane, working with his hands and having a brilliant mistress. he knew how to stabilize himself and actually created a psychological mythology and method which could be of use to many people, especially artists. and he could pursue a thought down to the depths of a rabbit hole. also with mandalas, he created a way to use art as a stabilizing force.</p><p>what other heroes came and went? i'm trying to think of my early days in sports. i was never very good at any of them, though i played tennis, baseball, football, basketball, and bowling. not being a team player, i could never pass the ball and served out my days on the third string bench. i do remember admiring willy mays and i quote him often: "i go with my strengths and forget about my weaknesses." that still seems to me very good advice. alas, i have spent way too much time being lost in efforts to be rational and calm. even years of therapy never brought that about. </p><p>the only politician on my list JOHN F KENNEDY, a bit tarnished by time, all his messing about with prostitutes secretly brought into the white house by the back door, his suspicious shadow over the death of marilyn monroe, his getting us involved in vietnam. a hero may only remain one by my knowing too little more than too much. they're really actors on the stage, magnified by their simplicity. the character strutting the boards before me not human beings but mythologies. that's what heroes do, they create myths of themselves. and i absorb the energy they give off in the process.</p><p>alas, all heroes prove to be human-all-too-human. as real people they die. that's a fact i can never quite get beyond. true, their stories live on, i can participate in them vicariously, and be inspired by certain events, certain works. i have become too cynical, too worldly, and yet when i remember to go back to the source, THE HEROES JOURNEY, and do what i can to remember my own, i'm revitalized. it's a lesson i have to learn over and over again. </p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-30034532933557197702020-10-16T08:35:00.000-07:002020-10-16T08:35:23.836-07:00How do you recover your balance?<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDTZwCoC0_LlGv62ZwiH6kocUoj6af1ezGodXG6eda0DFf21hGezaUCpXz3MEtp2cBpFlHWIx10J8Vd2T2tFuDrFJJGHF4FpzXnt5eWcdFv9ELeSx9F_caerFT55dOefGRVi6E9C3KEKA/s2048/IMG_2579.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDTZwCoC0_LlGv62ZwiH6kocUoj6af1ezGodXG6eda0DFf21hGezaUCpXz3MEtp2cBpFlHWIx10J8Vd2T2tFuDrFJJGHF4FpzXnt5eWcdFv9ELeSx9F_caerFT55dOefGRVi6E9C3KEKA/w330-h440/IMG_2579.PNG" width="330" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><b><br /></b></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>i have to admit i feel off-balance 75% of the time. for example, i arrived at the lookout after four days off. it was dark. the wind blew hard. unwisely, i carried my first load up the road and lookout steps, overburdened. i'd driven most of the day, a total of seven hours. no wonder i lurched badly sideways ascending the steps. as usual, i forged ahead without thinking what i was doing. i reached the landing, thank god, then had trouble inserting the key in the lock. once i did, the siren went off. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>the relief lookout had set the alarm. boy, it damn near broke my ear drums. hastily, i rushed to the basement and punched the buttons. thankfully, the sound stopped. by now i was at least alert. this is just one example of rushing through the world and almost losing it. at times i seem to forget how to walk. making it conscious, i have trouble putting one foot in front of another. it's mostly mental. when my confidence returns and my self-consciousness subsides, i move through the world like nothing ever happened.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>of course, physical equilibrium is the least of my problems. all summer i've thought about suicide, i'm even reading a book about it SUICIDAL, WHY PEOPLE KILL THEMSELVES by Jesse Bering. this isn't really something new. at 17 i remember being afraid to sleep in a room with knives, afraid i'd do myself harm. maybe i'm always trying escape, as the author surmises. escape from what, you may ask? sometimes it seems hard to do anything i need to do, like pick a pencil up from off the floor. there's a resistance to any action. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>so far, i've been able to pick up that pencil. and i wonder why on earth it seems so difficult? other times i clean the dishes, wash the clothes, and proceed without any hesitation. i do think it has something to do with mental balance, that which comes and goes. often if i can perform the right action, i'm standing back on my own two feet. living alone in a room, everything stable around me, i dive off the deep end into a desire for non-existence. and this doesn't seem to happen, when i'm in motion, when i travel.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>for example, last week i reached the end of my tether, worrying about the end of the season and leaving the lookout in a couple weeks. i'd planned a trip east and no one, even friends and family, wanted a visitor who might bring covid. my support system dropped right out from under me. okay, i decided to make a test run. i drove to san francisco and stayed in a youth hostel. they put one person into a room and i had four beds to myself. that was great luck. i had a chance to practice traveling in relative safety. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>for the next two days i visited museums: the De Young, SFMOMA, and the Asian Museum. i soaked up the art as i always do, a vision of perfect worlds. artists create places we can go when life becomes too much for us, this time when nothing seems ever finished - fires and viruses - a chaos without true order. security doesn't really exist except as a result of the imagination. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>to finish off the trip i walked up grant street through chinatown. certainly eerie, 90% of the stores and restaurants closed, and browsed in my old haunt of 60 years ago, CITY LIGHTS BOOKS. it brought back a certain peace. it had changed very little. i sat in a rocking chair upstairs in the poetry room and surveyed the shelves. true, i felt my own poetry could never compete with all this, yet i kept looking for a new poet, stumbling across the old ones. finally, only my own standby, FEDERICO GARCIA LORCA, brought me the solace in needed.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>yes, i did stumble blindly on the steps, in the dark and high wind, and two days later the euphoria of travel has worn off a bit. this morning i woke up anxious, wondering if i'd caught the virus. i took a tylenol to calm down. still when i think about it, i enjoyed setting myself up in the hostel room. even the homeless on the corners with all their oddities give a kind of consolation. and sitting in the cafe at the de Young, bathing in the sunlight and observing the folks eating and chatting without masks, brings back a sense of normality, and enjoyable existence. i hope i've broken the spell, regained my balance, and am ready to travel again. </b></span></p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-41371767508073017582020-10-06T07:03:00.004-07:002020-10-06T07:03:37.794-07:00Getting started: process or results?<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRCdr9AVdBDYTdnIWqA5R0a40m86TRT6LWgP-QxCvCaJA1nTEyQ-R9Vd_I0w9u_7uAeURiGhWiKx3pOUM1JbIU7wTjz-vJ2zuKLTL9ElBaeF-cDpeTw3Rg5i0gzp4fOOQTkmZPYj8gxBo/s474/1a460d89ce12c44ecfe39af8c31e5f20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="474" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRCdr9AVdBDYTdnIWqA5R0a40m86TRT6LWgP-QxCvCaJA1nTEyQ-R9Vd_I0w9u_7uAeURiGhWiKx3pOUM1JbIU7wTjz-vJ2zuKLTL9ElBaeF-cDpeTw3Rg5i0gzp4fOOQTkmZPYj8gxBo/w432-h245/1a460d89ce12c44ecfe39af8c31e5f20.jpg" width="432" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> <span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>my biggest problem: i can never take my own advice. i know what to do. then i'm too lazy to actually do it! they say, "a journey of a thousand miles starts with one step." how true! yet that initial move inhibited by my fear of getting on the wrong path, of committing myself to an endeavor i will most certainly find dangerous or pointless, having wasted half a lifetime to reach an unsatisfying goal. (Carl Jung said, "we shouldn't underestimate the power of laziness.) </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>how do i overcome my lethargy? i really have a bad memory for what works. i do know i have been inspired by copying, like an artist drawing old statues or famous paintings and making them her own. i have a friend who copies chinese ink paintings, the results beautiful. he doesn't really know what they are. Are they his own or merely false interpretations? ah, but what is important, every evening he retreats to his desk and becomes an ancient sage. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>if he were too concerned with results, he probably wouldn't do anything, yet the process is its own reward. a choreographer told me i liked process more than results, whereas she focused on the latter. of course, that's one reason i've never become famous. i have completed a lot of projects (fifty books of photos, letters, poems, plays, novels, on amazon). once done, i do find them satisfying. i enjoy, especially, reading my own poems. often they make me laugh. what could be better than that? </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>unfortunately, i filled a five by ten foot storage space with at least fifty boxes of journals, notebooks, photographs, manuscripts, and asorted creations - and then i turned eighty. my god, what would i do with all this stuff! in the end, i've thrown out practically all of it, saving two boxes and sending them to my niece for family history. sure, i hope to be discovered. still, i feel now i'm a light-weight. not that i regret writing and filming so much. i have the bulk of results on external hard-drives. my choice of discards: what merely reflected process.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>by that i mean diaries, sketches for plays, journals, etc., everything i felt reflected 'mere' preparation. this might have been of interest to a scholar, but every dying artist who hasn't made a name for himself needs an advocate, someone to preserve and promote the heritage. i have one friend doing this for her deceased artist-husband. it's taken her several years of concentrated work to catalogue the mountain of creations: drawings, watercolors, journals, writings. she's created a website. now comes finding an institution to house the rest.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>recently, at a session devoted to how to keep your work alive once you are dead, an artist said, "recently four artists in town have died - and all their work is gone.' this, of course, is a good reason to devote myself to creation for its own sake. gardening is the most popular hobby in the country and the best physical exercise! for good reason: you can eat the results. alas, avid gardeners usually produce too much, eager to give it away, if they can find takers. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>yes, ultimately, for most part, i have enjoyed the process. getting up at five in the morning for days on end, or struck by a certain call from the personal genie anytime whaling away on a collection of poems with a theme (i hardly ever wrote a solitary poem). the book FLOW by </b></span><b style="font-family: georgia;"> </b><a class="a-size-base a-link-normal" href="https://www.amazon.com/Mihaly-Csikszentmihalyi/e/B00J4J5CFQ?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1601991531&sr=1-1" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #c45500; cursor: pointer; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px !important; outline-offset: -2px; outline: 0px;">Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi </a><b style="font-family: georgia;"> tells the secret. once i get going, there's no stopping me: not worries about fame or results, nothing related to my image</b><b style="font-family: georgia;"> in the world. i expected to be a famous playwright someday and didn't have the right personality. to hell with it!</b></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>when i get depressed, i know i'm too inhibited and lazy to take the first step. just doing something will usually change my mood. these days, having thrown out so much, it's difficult to make a move. if i could just draw one line, it would lead to a work of art. if i could put down a few words, it would lead to a poem. i know the right answer to the question: how do i get started? its really easy if i take delight in the dictionary, as i did in the old days. i need to put on a french chanson and soon i'm sent spinning off from france in the fifties into my own heaven.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><i>for Linda</i></b></span></p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-20933922093546846742020-09-26T09:50:00.000-07:002020-09-26T09:50:23.048-07:00How do you become a master of change?<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZfopTdEcurv9jZkI4bfqPcLaYIHzZMOU901vbKJUlpDkgXodGlOSv2XFBiJqXY-EHSDcberAGrRNAUjiTyarYZ_USCarW3_yBrnKdIQH1DjIlliQeWFvVDmKBWp8srZMCylHhMYrxgtU/s300/australia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="211" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZfopTdEcurv9jZkI4bfqPcLaYIHzZMOU901vbKJUlpDkgXodGlOSv2XFBiJqXY-EHSDcberAGrRNAUjiTyarYZ_USCarW3_yBrnKdIQH1DjIlliQeWFvVDmKBWp8srZMCylHhMYrxgtU/w281-h400/australia.jpg" width="281" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><b><br /></b></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>The end of fire season staring me in the face, how do I avoid panic? I look through quotations on change. None of them seem to help.</b></span></p><p>Life is never a material, a substance to be molded. If you want to know, life is the principle of self-renewal, it is constantly renewing and remaking and changing and transfiguring itself, it is infinitely beyond your or my obtuse theories about it. Boris Pasternak</p><p>Everything flows. Nothing stays the same. Heraclitus </p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>As true as these things are, i still find it hard to roll with the punches, even with changing habitats at least two hundred times in my life.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>My family moved 32 times by the time I had left high school. This included California (many times), Montana, Washington, Indiana, Utah, Wyoming, and finally Germany. So, i should be used to it. alas, moving with my family not the same as being on my own. now, the lookout job accounts for 114 moves, back and forth every year. and my determination never to buy a house has kept me searching every winter.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>my passion for theater took me to new york city several times. with the help of friends i found places to stay and classes to take. memories of europe pulled me off the lookout for two years. i lived in greece, germany, and england, pursuing art and literature. (and girlfriends - yes, they led me a merry chase). for some reason i never questioned my ability to cope.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>i started using chico, california as my base in 1981, making good friends and taking university classes, plus taking millions of photographs: dance, theater, the community. at certain times i did travel: bali, india, adventures with my friend berta: five months in europe, time in central america, sri lanka, thailand. her death really deprived me of a good friend and a great travel companion. i did make a trip to japan with my friend marilyn and one last gasp in europe: amsterdam and paris.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>911 put away any desires i had to travel for 16 years. finally, several years ago, the urge, even necessity for change, took me twice to australia and twice to mexico. it took me awhile to get into the rhythm of it. my first days in australia i felt afraid and depressed, not finding solace in youth hostels and museums. eventually i did get going and after a month i felt more confident and full of vivid and creative culture. i spoke the language and had some great conversations.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>there's the key: people. my mother said once i played so much alone she never thought i'd have any friends, plesantly surprised when i did. despite so many years on the lookout, i've rarely felt lonely, only in the first days when i felt horny, and then i couldn't wait for the season to end. unfortunately, the covid scare has changed things. i can't have visitors in the lookout. for 20 years i spent my days off house-sitting in chico while a friend spent the summer at her house in france. these days she doesn't want to get on an airplane.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>many countries won't allow americans into them. i can go back to mexico city, and am looking forward to it once the museums open. i have missed friends a lot, and i think that accounts for the depression coming and going all summer. alas, i need people and conversations. though i'm frequently seen as a loner, especially by fellow forest service employees. now i want to take a swing east, visiting friends and family in nashville, atlanta, south carolina, maryland, washington, dc, new york, and finally for some warm weather, florida. please wish me well!</b></span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PwHCMXu6MM8" width="320" youtube-src-id="PwHCMXu6MM8"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-43921372866981734582020-09-04T10:36:00.000-07:002020-09-04T10:36:00.358-07:00Any virus calls the body into question<div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4igPbJDZ0Fs12DL82VsfQba4EzuRAqP_3E-o4zZzX6i3KLCLkrrbWcJCs8jVALeD6fW_L4f0QK2HqVO5lX7wbk_e5cdy9xShMqB88iz5WWsPPXb1A0y7I2ReyUvfaBb3UCjLraF2JBk4/s245/brain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="163" data-original-width="245" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4igPbJDZ0Fs12DL82VsfQba4EzuRAqP_3E-o4zZzX6i3KLCLkrrbWcJCs8jVALeD6fW_L4f0QK2HqVO5lX7wbk_e5cdy9xShMqB88iz5WWsPPXb1A0y7I2ReyUvfaBb3UCjLraF2JBk4/w383-h255/brain.jpg" width="383" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>i resist at the facts about my body. they're too astounding. i lose all sense of control. </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"> <i>my veins are a 60,000miles long</i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i> my blood travels 60,000 miles a day</i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i> my blood travels through it three times minute</i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i> my stomach lining replaced every seven days</i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i> my eyes focus 100,000 times a day</i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">all this goes on while i'm trying to cook dinner or solve a math problem. i have absolutely no awareness of what's happening. my body is on automatic pilot.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">for someone like me who likes to be in control, this is a disaster! i feel terribly vulnerable, not just to illness but to fate. every move i make could disrupt the system. what if i accidently poison my blood?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"> <i>platelets created in my blood: 200 billion a day</i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">i can't even grasp that. or </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i> 15 million blood cells destroyed every second</i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i> 2.5 million created every second</i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">hmm, how is that disproportion solved?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">some are more fun, like those of sleep. supposedly i think more in my sleep and am smarter. my body paralyzed while i'm in deep sleep. and i am to have erections every hour and a half during the night, even though i don't know it. what a shame, since a prostate operation destroyed that ability. it would be nice to be aware of them. if i were intelligent, i would have more dreams. and my body is 98% replaced every year, which gives me hope of improvement.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">unfortunately it seems to be working the other way. my brain 80% water and getting milkier, even though it's the most powerful computer, 3000 Ghz, even if it stops growing at 18. and the body can function without a brain, very evident in politics. and it's claimed it can have more ideas than atoms in the universe. if that is the case, no wonder i'm driven crazy by thinking and get very confused by all the contradictory things it invents. paradox and ambiguity seem to be my natural mode. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">given all this, with my skin shedding 600,000 particles an hour and it replacing itself every 27 days, my stomach acid able to dissolve razor blades, and my heart beating 100,000 times a day, holding myself together in the midst of the ordinary, not to mention a crisis, is no small task. yes, mindfulness is not all it's cracked up to be. as the chinese saying goes, you are blessed if you have a bad memory. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></div>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-23423144615694980202020-08-11T08:00:00.002-07:002020-09-06T20:36:14.260-07:00The fine art of making memories<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1dGoVbdNJnvQqNqUg5vlboXyNrdmFdE5GD7o3ci5Uhvf1XXPzKr7hwm4s0TjuCFWYpgPJMCCaQFMx86XcaYfuMciIPyOJGtZFhkjDPsqZlakdm8hFurKf8Ybfkzd6rtvFcaDAJWVtpS8/s720/wayne.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="518" height="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1dGoVbdNJnvQqNqUg5vlboXyNrdmFdE5GD7o3ci5Uhvf1XXPzKr7hwm4s0TjuCFWYpgPJMCCaQFMx86XcaYfuMciIPyOJGtZFhkjDPsqZlakdm8hFurKf8Ybfkzd6rtvFcaDAJWVtpS8/w575-h800/wayne.jpg" width="575" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>i recently read an interesting article on time and the pandemic. many people feel time slipping away from them without a trace. the article ventured the thought: without memories, our lives empty. we create time when we create memories. tough to do locked in your house with an uniterrupted flow of magazines, television, bickering with your kids. oddly, memories created by change, anxiety through contact with other people, failures in the world. nothing risked, nothing gained. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>and this set me to thinking: if i don't keep making memories, i get obsessed by old ones, and that can feel like death, ie. life over, everything passed. how do i escape this, sitting in my tower, waiting for lightning. (last night it didn't reach me, all the thunder in the distance to the east). if i didn't get a fire, at least i got a magnificent rainbow. is that enough? i have been watching movies by two film-makers who stir my thoughts and emotions: woody allen and ingmar bergmann. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>i started with woody, not just for the laughs, but for the career. it gave me lots to think about. (do thoughts create memories? can they do it on their own? i doubt it.) i found myself moving and talking like his main character. i put a new voice in my head to drown out the negative voices often obsessing me. replacement may be one way of dislodging old memories. i become someone else. not all his movies worked this way. the early ones too much slapstick and shtick. long ago i though Bananas funny. now it seemed labored. and one i thought awful in the past, stardust memories i now think his best. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>as for bergmann, i'm again obsessed with his carrer. once i watched almost everything he made. now i have to pick and choose, avoiding the silly comedies or the really grim ones like hour of the wolf and shame, searching for the positive in smiles of a summer night and wild strawberries. when i was very little, four years old, a member of my father's congregation owned the local movie theater. i could walk in and watch them anytime i wanted, which i did. i remember sitting in the aisle and watching the prince and the pauper. essentially, they created my identity and watching films now, i put myself back in time. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>are these new memories or merely visits to old ones? can i look back the next day and still feel i've experienced time? maybe not. last winter i spent two and a half months in mexico. during travel i don't get depressed, so many new scenes and people, museums and art, crowded together, i'm full of change and the unexpected. i don't sit around wishing i were somewhere else, which can be the knife in the heart of solitude. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>travel a bit like high school where my memories dominated by the anxieties of changing hormones, trying to fit in, embarrassment at school dances, fights before class, constant change and the unmanageable. memories most created when life out of my control. true, i ache to have everything under control. like most people i crave security. alas, the security of the zoo and prison not very satisfying. i only experience an accumulation of being through change. </b></span></p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/9POZtEhdmIY" width="320" youtube-src-id="9POZtEhdmIY"></iframe></div><br /><p></p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-16904850012869520982020-08-08T15:02:00.000-07:002020-08-08T15:02:48.308-07:00Will the lockdown re-elect Trump?<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnzrK5Mjmx8ZNx4YBocvou3VKnFShG5Xz__vgIwK6I5y_DGSnjMmcmTaqzi34d8Y7B7au5PYMVC1kAZRGCfvVOvfnU6ln5X9-PU_pQshjkQg7bbML6xBYKMBut8zaDqXz4cvxbzB-oro/s1200/20170522-everyone-should-be-like-the-lone-ranger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="516" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnzrK5Mjmx8ZNx4YBocvou3VKnFShG5Xz__vgIwK6I5y_DGSnjMmcmTaqzi34d8Y7B7au5PYMVC1kAZRGCfvVOvfnU6ln5X9-PU_pQshjkQg7bbML6xBYKMBut8zaDqXz4cvxbzB-oro/s640/20170522-everyone-should-be-like-the-lone-ranger.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>i have several theories about this, none of which make me happy. Yes, the polls right now put him way behind. alas, when people poled, they're not really thinking about their own self-interest, not even about how they ultimately feel. people polled react more to the news than facts and figures. if someone isn't obviously popular at the moment, they go with the mass, lemmings over the cliff. when it comes right down to it in november they think about something like TAXES. yes, people hate them. </b></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>and what drives them up: government programs, those meant help minorities and the poor. those meant to preserve baby seals and the arctic from oil pipelines. who proposes these? the democrats, of course. look at the percentage of voters who don't believe in global warming. it's enormous, even though the potential for a world catastrophe much greater than for a measly virus. and as for covid 19, trump has taken a positive attitude from the beginning. he's the voice of HOPE, saying essentially americans have dealt with much worse, the depression or world war two. he appeals to americans sense of invincibility.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>and the most vocal of governors, newsome of california and cuomo of new requiring the most draconian (extreme) measures, both of them democrats, californians and new yorkers not beloved by the rest of the country. this plays into the feeling democrats always want more laws, more restrictions on people's behavior, more money for everything under the son. a large part of the population doesn't give a damn about the disadvantaged or minorities. they can be persuaded once in awhile to join demonstrations, or even do some community service. unfortunately closing down churches doesn't help anybody's cause.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>most of all, is the lockdown doing any good? with everybody wearing masks the cases going up in california and new york. even closing the beaches doesn't seem to be helping. and what is the logic of keeping grocery stores open while putting bookstores and museums off limits? those places the easiest for social distancing. and talk about damaging the cultural heritage of the nation! the visitors to those places the most vocal in the country, and their numbers the smallest. thousands of museums may have to remain closed, laying off workers right and left. this may very well drive many people not well-disposed to vote for trump. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>and i have to say, <span style="color: red;">when biden said he would make everyone in the country wear masks, he drove a nail into his own coffin</span>. i feel that alone may lose him the election. so, there are my glum thoughts. here's hoping none of it proves to be true. i'd rather save a few reindeer and keep the public lands cared for and unpolluted. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></p>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-70488678715458593832020-08-01T11:13:00.001-07:002020-08-01T11:13:41.522-07:00Log from May 12, 2020<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); clear: both; color: #29303b; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://nam10.safelinks.protection.outlook.com/?url=https%3A%2F%2F1.bp.blogspot.com%2F-rdSs4AkFGQA%2FXrqtZ3DqTCI%2FAAAAAAABC8E%2F5RYg4YP7ytIAfc0dEum188O4diPnK8MYgCLcBGAsYHQ%2Fs1600%2Fb0473d621268ae5204d0e0db7413bd30.jpg&data=02%7C01%7C%7Cde9c849670a848e4671708d7f6b62dc1%7C84df9e7fe9f640afb435aaaaaaaaaaaa%7C1%7C0%7C637249134612734458&sdata=gcoI2RpBRS2zGz14A936%2FFX76Me3mVSsxk49w1b7UvA%3D&reserved=0" originalsrc="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGGD8qg8_0_HRhnM4xZnXpCii2Erc5xkvZqqgkqDo0wasGLX1hy-kaXry82bBhM1pFzaXk2vaBT2bt-ZmgHQRmeTlyLz6cebadoQ-XRqmMiRYqvhAP68o8Id6-nQYOT_3nZbg-3AsjwdM/s1600/b0473d621268ae5204d0e0db7413bd30.jpg" shash="lRU0s+AD2RtOKNt1s/fr3goXvgDSZAcVWIBdFRg7c15ZFtOsI0hfKhspJpnkqx54Hs171Pt/Jtsh4RqRkp6nN5/XeJwy+eVQPYBSjkZSLR5zjUBMeNJxxJhtoGrEOAJYBvuud4xIb3N73ACYT4sOli/Va+CHzeyuovd83FZ9kiM=" style="color: #956839; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGGD8qg8_0_HRhnM4xZnXpCii2Erc5xkvZqqgkqDo0wasGLX1hy-kaXry82bBhM1pFzaXk2vaBT2bt-ZmgHQRmeTlyLz6cebadoQ-XRqmMiRYqvhAP68o8Id6-nQYOT_3nZbg-3AsjwdM/s400/b0473d621268ae5204d0e0db7413bd30.jpg" width="388" /></a></div>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>twice i have been put on a pedestal by younger friends and been knocked off, both times receiving a powerful dose of disappointment and sarcasm. it's been surprising and painful. i enjoyed their admiration, especially criticising myself so much! a bit of praise makes up for a lot. unfortunately, in disappointing them i fall from grace myself. </b></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>this must be why i've always hesitated to be a counselor or teacher. or even a politician. i'm not great at being called to task. my older friends know my faults and hopefully are more forgiving. Especially, they know their own failings and can put themselves in my shoes. also, i tend to joke a lot. and that is not always understood. </b></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>i have now written over five hundred blogs showing what a fool i am. it should be no surprise to anyone. however, when i set up expectations and don't fulfill them it's a shock to someone not in on the open secret. those who value me too highly know too few facts, no matter how much i throw them out there. somehow i have to shout from the housetops how imperfect i am. </b></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>now, that's certainly a claim to fame and form of vanity. can i really be worse than Jack the Ripper, Alexander the Great, Attilla the Hun? i've never reached such heights. i merely forget an appointment, over-reach my ability to empathize, forget the clean the bathtub. these aren't minor pecadillos, i grant you, yet they don't seem to in the same class a serial killers!</b></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>true, i'm not always honest. i do pretend to be better than i am. i'm easily embarrassed when i'm found out, when i don't prepare a speech adequately, or miss finding a fire and have to make it look like i didn't. a counterfeit, that's what i often feel like. as a teenager my favorite song was The Great Pretender. i played it over and over again, driving my family crazy. children should never spend too much time with their parents.</b></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #fff3db; caret-color: rgb(41, 48, 59); color: #29303b; font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>and speaking of parents, how i hated discovering mine had feet of clay. this seems to be a common occurrence in our society. i don't know why it takes so long, until puberty. this must be a shock to have their sweet child turn into a monster of sarcasm. maybe that's why i avoiding being a parent. i knew the day of reckoning would come. alas, and now it's come to me again. </b></span>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-23616463058696487152020-08-01T11:10:00.000-07:002020-08-01T11:10:10.990-07:00 Log from May 23, 2020<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; font-family: "Comic Sans MS", Chalkboard, cursive; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bold; line-height: 28px;">
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SATURDAY, MAY 23, 2020</h2>
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LOCKDOWN: how profoundly anti-American it is</h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>i really don't think we thought this through ahead of time, reacting to an internet panic. yes, i see this as an internet virus more than a medical one. after all, what makes Americans?</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b> 1. Freedom of movement</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b> 2. Limited interference of government in public and private life</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b> 3. The formation of small groups</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b> 4. Eating out</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b> 5. The denial of death</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b> 6. A lack of fear</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b> 7. Individual identity</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>take number 7. masks erase identity and make us all bandits. more than once i've been unable to recognize someone i know, even after talking. masks also make communication difficult, voices muffled, hearing impeded. and after all the talk of covid being so transmitable (now CDC, months later, says it's very difficult to pick the virus up from surfaces), couldn't it infect the eyes? i feel like we've all been in a form of Islamic purdah. </b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>as for the denial of death, this is the very foundation of the American psyche. i always think the most dangerous thing i can do is climb in my car. 50,000 Americans die on the highways every year! the line down of the middle of the road is no protection, especially if the trucker coming your way falls asleep, or you do. we live with death on the road every day, yet how little this impinges on me if i answer my cell phone. people die out of sight, in hospitals, immediately shunted off to funeral homes.</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>and so i live most of the time with a lack of fear. foolish of me, i know. having been hit by a sedan in a crosswalk and thrown over the top of it, i no longer trust traffic signs to protect me. okay, that does contradict what i've said. i am afraid of cars making right turns at a stop signal, and i look both ways when crossing a one-way street. once in Berkeley i was hit by a bicyclist going the wrong way and landed on me back in the middle of a busy blvd. stupidly i stood up and walked away. </b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>eating out, forming small groups. i am actually very social. at least i like sitting in coffee shops and meeting friends. we hug, pat each other on the back, shake hands. we breath on each other as we converse, keeping the normal American distance, which is probably 2 feet. at 6 feet i might as well be alone. avoiding people doesn't come naturally and i really feel sorry for the kids learning to do so. and was this really necessary, since kids don't get covid 19, with a few exceptions?</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>the biggest anti-American attributes of the situation: freedom of movement and lack of government interference in private life. commanded to stay home (which i still believe to be illegal), i lost my right to freedom of movement. and forced to wear masks, not meet friends, or go to church, i feel the basic rights of American life taken from me. even a European country like Sweden, where there are more rules, did not take this route. at this point i feel like i've been bamboozled. </b></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><br /></b></span><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8012085121177872145.post-60357760326919384162020-07-31T12:02:00.000-07:002020-07-31T12:02:37.543-07:00Jump off a cliff or risk the virus!<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>i wonder how many people are feeling the like myself, as the lockdowns around the world continue? to be trapped in your own house must feel like death itself. no theaters, no bookstores, cafes, churches open, means we're afraid to breathe. even where i am, high in a mountain tower, isolated as always on the job, i feel anxious before my days off. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>i have watched a lot of youtube videos. adventurous travelers keep on trucking, where ever there's a crack in the system: snorkling off naples, moving to a new home in portugal, flying to the coast of mexico, taking precautions and accepting the risks. since i can't do any of those things while working, i feel the presence of the end being too close. </b></span><br />
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<b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">the question is: how do i keep going while in prison? i remember george jackson in solitary confinement practiced yoga all day. it certainly helps to have a cause. i don't really have one. the worship of beauty, the magic of poetry and art seem irrelevant in this time. true, i know that's not true. many folks surviving watching movies, studying art online, visiting with folks in the backyard, yet i have always been haunted by the sense of the transitory...</b><br />
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<b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">that's part of the problem. feeling nothing i do will survive or have meaning. the truth is any life is finite. as i looked up at the magnificent passing comet a couple of weeks ago i felt awe and at the same time very small. the irony is all of us made of stardust, the right hand from a different star than the left. i'll be recycled in water and air. any breath i have will be breathed by almost everyone on earth as long as humanity survives.</b><br />
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<b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">how long that will be <i>should</i> be no concern of mine. yet the present crisis masking the real thing: global warming. the spread of the virus nothing compared to the melting ice-caps and rising seas. i keep wondering if the antarctic will crack in half, the whole earth wobbling, or meteors fall from the sky. to find the whole earth engulfed by an epidemic leaves me facing my own mortality. i think the best option not always clear. </b>Smokysunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13981162087721255115noreply@blogger.com