Sanskrit to Ponies

Years back, I had a friend who mentioned frustration when trying to convince others the merits of her position.
   "It was like speaking Sanskrit to a pony." She said; exasperated.

I roared with laughter at the imagery and freshness of her metaphor. I realized as time when on, what captured my imagination and attention with new found facts was this ever increasing degree of deviation from the mundane; where the popular, well trod path, was not only predictably safe, it was revealed to be comfortably unchallenging.

   I sometimes inflict gaping wounds on myself. Not to say I don't accept all my wounds as being self inflicted; because ultimately I know they are. It’s just sometimes I run with scissors. While at other times I'm methodically stabbing away at an offending limb; once more metaphorically speaking. Both extremes are painful, but the intent of each is totally different. A surprise is somehow so much more exhilarating; as if you earned something for the suffering.
  Something that gets my noggin thumping is my incredible talent to not connect with others on observations I think are crystal clear.  The Sanskrit of life reveals its vibrant flavor and colors; then I am gleeful and anxious to share my new found discovery.  I approach the herd with anticipation; then try as I do to navigate the manure in the field, I end up with ca-ca crammed into every seam of my boots. 

   I used to think I pursued the ultimate no-nonsense bedrock truth, yet got bogged down on the subjectivity of all that. It really does have a bearing on point of view as to what truth prevails. Thus proving once more:

   "Reality is a slave to perception"

Right on Space Rangers.

   What tremors I experience are not caused by earthquakes of abrupt violation to the institutional values I cherish, but rather by subtly dishonesty eroding my integrity. Knowing as I do, truth can never be distilled to the ultimate fax from God. Detailing, as it were, his will in easy to follow directions with diagrams.  I've done my share of reading, and engaging in discussions on the topic. Yes, long nights with countless pots of coffee and 'oh wow' experiences with facets of Guru speak.  Each mountain top experience reveals another range of mountains as they continue to elude a conclusive roadmap that serves the wanting mind; the colicky heart; or the discontent spirit. 

  Seems for some macabre, persistent, reason I suspect our collective expectations, those orbiting self serving tendencies, appear to gravitate towards the notion that solutions to any really difficult problems we happen to face, needs to be obscure; as in answers must come from an enigmatic whisperings revealing long hidden secrets. There is a tendency to blindly trust compelling formulas possessing vagueness beyond hoping they are the keys to our success. In other words: it must be difficult to be meaningful.

   So we drudge along under the burden of a belief where unraveling the mystery of contentment, harmony, and serenity, is a process of effort; ignoring all along, the simplest of road signs; be true to yourself.

  Perhaps it’s more in the order like waking up one day finding a Shetland in your living room hoofing its way through a massive collection of spiritual and metaphysical paraphernalia muttering all along to itself,

"Damn, it’s all Greek to me."