Do you know what I really need?

If you do and care to oblige, don't bother commenting.  Just show up and deign somehow to fulfill.

Ha ha.

Of course, all <above> is just bullshit.

For,  "nothin' is plenty for me."  Remember that song: "I've got plenty of nothing..." ?  I keep sinking more deeply into the cast of those brilliant lyrics.  " Nothin' is plenty for me."   I repeat: Nothin.

is plenty for me.

Well, perhaps (we'll see), that, in fact, we're off to see the Wizard.  Or, perhaps alternately, we're on the road to the Blue Scout that Carlos Casteneda invoked in his exploration of "The Art of Dreaming".  (yes, I'm unclearly feighning here a measure of academic esotericism comparable, if not exceeding, that of Ezra Pound in his authoring of the historically controversial Cantos.)

We're off... Game on.  I do believe that every flag (American or otherwise) waving in the wind (that ever blows where it pleases - T. Merton) at this very nowness of instance waves uniquely in a way that no other flag has ever done or ever could or ever will.

And if a flag can be so, how beyond description thus every one of you.

I just said "I love you." in a few too many words.

Amendfully (Amanda-fully? Amanita-fully?), always lovin ya (beyond question.) 

For the first 18 years of my life, though a creature, I loved books more than other non-family creatures.  And all that I dreamed about was becoming a creature that would someday write a book.

But creatures are made for other creatures. 

I've never read a book with another creature.  Other than with my mom who read to me at a very young age.

Someday I'd love to just sit leisurely and read a good book with a good friend.  And discover our selves through that shared enjoyment.

Life is always so strange and always so funny.  But this I know: when I run, every step brings a new mind set - there is no 'static' in my life, no 'given' filter that mediates the rawness of the constant flow of our fully ungraspable existence.  I take allness in, as best as I can, as allness presents  itself to me.  And then I exhale. (I have not forgotten yet.)  As such I am an inventor.  And I invent the each and every changing infusion of now in every quarking quake of our passage in these our myriad dimensions of sustained spirithood (sisterhood, yes, sisterhood!).

I suck at business.  I suck with money.  I'm just a romantic.  But I'm the most dangerous romantic that's ever engaged in romance.  Ha!  

Me to myself:, thinking about today and yesterday:  "Things are going to be different now ."

Myself to me, reflecting on yesterday: "But weren't they different then ?

My higher power ( no not Freud's 'superego' - but maybe a vision of a native american spirit-eagle - Paracelsus - the Holy Spirit ): "No they are the same ."

Oh, by the way, this is the most meaningful and the most important post that I've ever blogged.

And I've been here for 7 years. (Time for Spock to have sex?)

I've been deluged with psychic stirrings lately and have had convincingly concommitant phenomenal corroboration of their concurrence with the experiential world.

In other words, I'm dream-envisioning again.  And the visions are right on.

Given yourself and what you know about yourself, when last have you had the sense of being at your most "intense self"?  In the movies in the '30s and '40s, plots often depicted "heavies" - James Cagney types - who were always the most damned intense of characters.  Now, few of us are "heavies" in that sense, but given the full gamut of your personal self-expression, there certainly are times when you are "heavier" and even the "heaviest " you.  Is not the "heaviest" you your most "intense self"? 

Examining my whole life, I'm now feeling very comparatively intense.  And I only expect the intensity to grow.  But I'm also feeling most relaxed just now.  Relaxation in action.  Let it go.

For the longest time of my adulthood, I have had a sense of my life as consisting of an unrelenting challenge and quest of true epic proportions: an odyssey.  And consistent with that sense, I have conducted myself boldly, intrepidly, fearlessly, even at times recklessly - attempting to be equal to the quest, worthy of my great calling.

But what was this great calling?

Success? Achievement?  Discovery?  Of what?

William Blake provided us both the Songs of Innocence and the Songs of Experience.  My odyssey definitely has always seemed to be a song from the latter song book: dark, mysterious, dangerous, ongoing.

Imagine a child who has a wondrous life.  This is, perhaps, not so hard for many of us, I believe, have recollections of childhood wondrousness.  Imagine this child a prodigy.  Or genius.  Or, perhaps, a borderline genius or quasi-prodigy.  Bright.  Perhaps the child is just bright!  In any case, what makes this child's life wondrous is her realization that the world is magical and transcendent - and, as such, ineffable.  Moreover, there is a vital niche in this wondrous world for this child - and she has found it.  It is, simply, just for the living. And living is breathing.  And living is loving.

A day comes in this child's life, however, when the child realizes that, though the magic and transcendence will never depart, her awareness and being-in-touch with its manifest wondrousness must go hidden.  Go hidden: you set down the Songs of Innocence and learn of the the Tyger burning bright in the night - with what immortal hands and eyes framing fearful symmetries.  But as the child goes hidden, she extracts a promise from her 'future self' to someday rediscover 'her' and the wondrousness of this being-in-touch, this living as magical as loving.  To rediscover the 'before-going-hidden' after the Songs of Experience have been sung out and it is time to traverse to the excitement of the next song book.

But what is the next book of songs?  Blake gave us Innocence and Experience.  What follows that?  Or is there a synthesis of these two?

It cannot be the re-experience of Innocence.  That's merely the fantasy of reliving one's childhood.  Fun, but futile.

It cannot be the Experience of re-innocence.  That's merely the fantasy of the Jehovah's Witnesses.  Captivating and de-clawing.

I now view both as merely recipe books.  The Songs of Innocence providing a recipe for frosting, the Songs of Experience providing a recipe for cake.  Children are more enarmoured of the sweet, adults more concerned with the substrate.  Learn of both and take from both: then bake a cake and frost it. And lick the frosting off the frosting spoon (for the child extracted a promise from his 'future self'.  And this 'future self', coming into the now, rediscovers the wondrousness of being a being-in-touch.). Then have a piece of your own frosted cake.  Let Innocence and Experience become synchronous: enjoy the overlap and the underlap in the same moment.  And realize that any odyssey is just a piece of (future)(frosted) cake.

I've been hotdogging-out lately.  That is, eating too many hotdogs and developing a reputation at work for such.

Just remember you become in the image of the god you worship.

On the financial front, I've just gotten some good news.  Which is notable only because of the endless string of bad financial news that had beset me for a long time.

I just spent a month in a hospital facility.  It was needed and I am much better now.  I ran 5 miles everyday and got a decent suntan in the outdoor confines of that medical land. 

"The true repo man repos himself above all else."    - Tao Te ChaChing$$

So I find myself once again transformed-reborn-revamped.

Hold on...  let me switch to simple talk. 

That's better.

I'm just sitting around and watching my cat clean itself.  I've never seen a cat lick its own butt, nor am I currently viewing that.   I've seen dogs do that--but never a cat.  Am I observationally deprived or is this a valid conclusion?

Anyway, I now realize I've been ignorant for a long time of my own ignorance.  Such arose from a world-view that I had adopted that was less than all-inclusive.  What was omitted?  The tenderest of all concerns: imaginative empathy for all sentient beings.  'All' being the keyword.  And even more: an inability to recognize and truly appreciate empathy in others, especially when intended for me.  Poor notforprophet.  Much less impoverished now with this knowledge of my previous ignorance.

In one corner, sex, romance, money, and drugs.

And in the other corner, truth and compassion.

It seems that I've switched corners.  SRMD is just old and so hypely oversold.

I'm now heading out of the house for a 40 minute T&C training run.  That's right: I've broken out of my habituated Dreamland (Cemetery) running ground routine and am running among the living once again.  Oh, Dreamland running is still available to me - I actually ran 5.3 miles there yesterday.  I've simply just expanded my potential running course to include the rest of the world.  Now if only the cars, trucks, and buses will stay out of my way....

I have been stripped by the lie-lashing winds, washed by the septic-banishing rains, and dried by the truth of the Sun.

Thus cleansed, I have come back into the essential arena of sobriety once again -  after so many rip-van-winkle years.

I am once again fully awakened.

Finally, I am ready for this quest of everlasting love and the challenge of immediate combat.

Though evil might yet deign to doom, I find the looseness of being-in-the-world most becoming.

I have learned this lesson: to whisper sweetly and genuinely to the deers, while yet howling earnestly like a wolf seeking wolfdom :: Treat all with compassion, strive for truth.