As if I have to post something here in order to be patent and manifest...

As if I have to comment around here in order to approach ubiquity...

Ha.

Don't you understand?  I am now in the underfabric of it all.  I am part of the 'Sign In' button you click when you log in.  I am part of the 'Save Changes' button you hover over as you ponder submitting a blog.  Every eprop issued is carried partly along through my vascular system.  Every  posted in graphic form correlates with a thump of my heart.  I am here.  Everywhere.  I am panxangic.

                                                                  ***

Buddha appeared to me the other day in majestic apparitonal form and informed me that, upon my next incarnation, I would be, first, an instantial Boddhisattva and then, by middle age, a full Buddha, the very Buddha, too.

"No thanks," I replied to his luminous revelations.

"No thanks?" said he.  "What's wrong?"

I observed the obvious: "Sir, you simply are not worthy."

I almost posted something.

But it is not yet the time.

The monkey is off of my back.

And I don't care any more.

Don't care that there's not one woman in this world that cares or attends to my sexual needs and desires.

I used to care.  I used to spend much too much of my devotable spirit/soul/mind pondering 'my dillemma'.

I used to.

And that was my monkey.

I think the monkey was on drugs.

It still probably is.

But it is now off my back.

So I simply don't care anymore.

About that.

***on another note***

Did you hear the battle call?

I heard it this morning.

Far and distant.

A far and distant call that sparks a fire in one's belly.

Better far and distant than perilously near.

It is better to hear it quixotically afar than Jericholly a'blaring at your door.

Well, it's an indisputable call for me to return to battlemode.

The damn thing is that I'm now in better shape (for battlemode) than I've been for the last 20 years.

I am indisputably in the best shape I have been in for over 20 years.

And I dare any one of my incarnated (sometimes inflated) warrior-selves of the last 20 years to challenge my fully-defensible boast.

Double-dog-dare-ya.  Go ahead.  The Master has returned to the Cave.