Durable Truth

I've oft been invited to ponder caution of being involved in other people's drama as a type of an addiction towards distraction; a substitute to tending my own frustrated desires and intents as it were.
  There is adequate everyday evidence that points in that direction anyway. An abundance of examples strikes me as proving a claim to be temporarily true without implying it’s the unequivocal TRUTH; in other words, a bunch of facts doesn’t necessarily mean consummate truth, just means a more likely consideration. Kind of like balance is better than indiscriminate sampling when it comes to ultimate, no kidding, there are no exceptions to this rule kind of truth seeking.
    Mainly, everything, someday, will be proven false as a one-size-fits-all solution to all questions. It can muddy up any desire to discern what is right or what is wrong.  Supporting the wisdom in the age old whisper of avoiding something and it will leave you alone?
I know a lot of people use that logic when it comes to voting in an election.

   If we are not involved, then are we not by definition separate?  That is the entire premise of mistaking mindful ways over coming to ones senses. Perhaps I'm blabbering, but it is becoming clearer to me that by witness and by participation we find discrimination over those methods that do not serve us to 'feel better'.
  Sure, we can talk about the history of how we got to where we are. We can even conjecture on techniques to improve our performance. But in doing that, aren’t we just rehearsing a rerun while neglecting a call to be more sensitive to what is actual? Does repeating the steps we took help to distill a way out of habitual rituals when evaluating our living conditions? Is being right the goal in order to feel better?
  Ask that and then, respond accordingly. Me, I’m still toying with the difference between intentionally hiding facts and omission based on judgment of relevance. I’m still manipulated, but somehow intent has a lot to do with degree of outrage.
   It’s a great tickle to abandon a heretical standard of choosing by the limits of guilt, blame or punishment.  Wouldn't any alternative be superior to those choices?  Surely making a decision free of fear would be better and more rewarding as well as robust in an experience of living in wonder than cowering in fear of retribution.  I’d rather be liberated from a restricted and confined list of possibilities than penalty implied consequence as my motivation for correct behavior.
  Consequence to a fresh new approach is like a promise. And that too can become an addictive attraction. An "only if…" wistful comparison would somehow deliver to me an orgasmic result. Then, when not achieved, depart from any inkling of an idea that modifying the fashion of navigation would reap any reward worth seeking. Ah, reward; see how the vocabulary of captured thinking can color predictions? 
  We walk our dirt paths to feel the cool loam and earth on our feet.  Yes, the occasional rock along the way urges caution whenever we step on them. But never, in all my years of exploring the unfamiliar, did the thought of giving up the walk was a better solution to those pains, than being more care full.
   Have a day of exploring and delightful discovery. And how about not anything more exotic than perceiving with loving eyes....wow, look at the changed geography.

Sprinkles

I take the time to sprinkle my comments about the present with opinions from my past.  I have collected a number of essays from past endeavors to address a specific idea, but alas found no forum to post for consumption, so they languished in a folder.  I didn’t know then that I’d end up doing a blog where I could retrieve them; dust them off a bit, and breathe life back into them.

   Today, it’s different. Today I am playful with the notion of ‘what if’.  It all started when my wife-work out partner, took a pause to visit the bathroom.  While she was away I struck up a conversation with a fellow gym rat; one of those nodding acquaintance personalities we are all so familiar with living the busy lives we do.   The thought just struck me while watching them knock out their reps.

   “I think they should invent a potato chip that makes you lose weight”

They smiled.

  “The more you ate, the more you would lose, now wouldn’t that be something” I added.

   “They need to invent a pill that actually made you lose weight, I’d take it” they replied.

“Yeah” I said “What’s the hold up on that? They’ve been promising that for decades”

   “I know” they grunted their last rep, then gathered up their bottle of water, towel, to move on to another machine.

“I’d guess perhaps we have our priorities mixed up.” I said.  They stopped to hear me out.

  “We shouldn’t be dedicating all this science to saving the sick.  That’s just natural selection in practice.  No, I think they need to support those who demonstrate they’re interested in staying around.  We need tools to help us live longer.”

We laughed.

“I had a friend that told me, if I worked out, I could eat as much as I’d like and as much as I’d want because I was burning off those calories.  Problem is, once I began to do that I no longer wanted to eat all the junk I loved, I knew I’d have to work harder to take it off”

“Not me, I had a pizza last night” they replied

“Well then, don’t let me hold you up” just as my wife-coach came back.  She scolded me for being a nuisance.  I told her about my idea for fat-reducing potato chips. She was not impressed and thought I was making things up to cover up slacking.

I’m thinking why don’t they just make a potato chip bag that SAYS that it reduces weight?  May-be the overweight will avoid chips thinking that it’s good for them and won’t taste good? Or if the overweight bought them in droves thinking it was a quick fix, well then the potato chip company would make more profits which would mean more taxes…then, indirectly, I could be saving the planet…

   I got an additional 20 lbs to my next set for that one.  For wasting energy on these ideas, I’m told.  She is clueless to the mind of the dreamer…clue~less I say.

On The Way to Feeling Better

Dear Distant Friend:

Remember, not so long ago, how I'd just spill out with ideas and thoughts and feelings about anything from the fat squirrels on the lawn to the order of stars in the heavens?  Did you consider me quite mad?  Lonely? Parched for connection or the milk of human kindness?

These days, months, now years have progressed, and yet, do we know one another better?  Or just those passing details like appointments, illness and general day to day benchmarks about where we thought we were going.  As if we knew.

   Even now, I go back and look at the messages that I had written, and on occasion I can recall the spark that had me write such a proposition.  I also experience a tweak of embarrassment at my then narrow approach or inflexible response to an innocent observation.

Reminding me once again that 'time' is an issue of measure that is only meaningful if we want to compare it to now.  Otherwise what does it serve?  The past is shaded, I know.  The future is just a reproduction with names changed but desire for a better result if we choose our lines more carefully.

Perhaps past calamities even serve as a lesson of avoidance.  What does that serve but restricting the experience of new?.

Nested in the future is the elusive fairy of hope. Where our wishes will be delivered.  Perhaps that's why we spend so much time looking over the horizon's tomorrows.  I've lost track.

  It can be similar to that in-between state of dreaming. Hearing my own voice in a dialog of trying to solve a puzzle, or dialog with a mythical companion whose agreement is important.  Then in observing my presentation I realize I'm watching then find myself confused suddenly by what is this I am doing?  What was the point?

I've watched movies that depicted similar situations as that feeling.  Where the principal actor is disoriented in a world that wonders what is wrong with him.  As I grow older and notice more and more of the duality of living, of words, of interpretations.  I am reminded of a song I had learned as a child Row Row Row your boat, gently down the stream...some say the stream represents life.

Merrily, merrily, merrily merrily...life is but a dream.

Really?

I walked up to my mailbox in a drizzle of Bartlett Pear tree petals hearing in my skull, "Charmed life" and I wondered that if I just touched the bubble of my objections, I would deem my life quite charmed.  Look at the wonder before me.

All that love and I stumbled on the unnecessary of obtaining permission. Or seeking approval of those that cower at the fear of living.

Thank you so much for assisting my shaping me into a place where I can see with fewer filters

Yes....that's the ticket, as the doctor might say.

On the way to feeling better.