I Don’t Understand

I’d almost forgotten how much I love being alone — kitties, dogs, turtles and ants excluded. They’re lots of fun to have around. And birds and bees and…well, you can get the picture — Mother Nature. Humans — not so much.

We’re WAY too much trouble even though we could be part of her as well as all the others.

We just all seem so fake in comparison.

Though there are some that are fun and some that are interesting and some that are good for making you think a little deeper.

I love to think.

And think.

And think and think some more. Thinking to me is like breathing and I need more and more and never get enough.

Most others say I think too much.

That might be why I like to be alone — no one to criticize how much I like to think.

I don’t always think as well as I might be able to but I do try to think as good as I can with what I know so far.

So this whole thing came along just when I was feeling dead to the world. Wondering when I might die. Thinking it might just be tomorrow.

Now I really want to live to see where it all goes and to go my way alone if I just have to. But, I must say, I’m glad that I have lived just long enough to be here when this happened — this great awakening. I didn’t think I’d get to see it. I knew it was coming but I didn’t think it would come in my lifetime. I’m so glad that I was born at just the right time to get in on when the most obvious things were started — toward this time that we could have a great awakening.

Tavistock, MKUltra, Nuclear whatever, Henry Kissinger, The Trilateral Commission and the NeverEndingWars — The Freaks who were the original Hippie actors — LSD — Charlie Manson — and all the others who were sent in to try to fool us.

I’ve never thought that I needed to try to cause my own death to feel alive and that is what LSD does inside the brain — it stops the brain from saying, “I’m not dead yet, no, not yet, no, not yet, no, not yet…” until the links that have the ability to say “I’m not dead yet,” are snipped and the only thing left to do is download a lifetime of memories and face the light before coming back to where the links are reconnected.

No thanks, I’ll have to try to meditate instead. I have a fairly good enough imagination.

Why use a crutch?

People other than capable use crutches.

“I don’t understand,” someone said to say to someone wearing a mask.

I don’t understand what you are saying.

I don’t understand why you are foolish enough to wear one.

The list goes on.

I don’t understand where things went wrong.

That’s not the slightest bit true. It’s clear as a bell. It was at the very beginning — whenever that actually was — that’s up for grabs just like almost everything else.

So, in the meantime, it shall be ants and cats and turtles and birds and bees and flowers and trees and I won’t wash my hands any more than I ever did because, you know, like George Carlin said, he swam in raw sewage in the Hudson when he was a kid to get cooled off. It seemed to serve him well as he said he never did get sick.

It’s all already inside — the good and the bad. The difference for getting sick or not is mind over matter, belief, and how a body is respected.

Mother Nature knows it all and is perfect in her plan.

Mother knows best.

I shall look to her for what to do for anything that matters. She’s is very easy to understand and never wears a mask. She doesn’t need to hide what she is doing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Was 27

I was 27 one year. I was beautiful that year — or at least I had convinced myself that I was. There was a man who also thought I was and almost worshiped me for that year that dribbled into a few others enough for a tiny bit of measure. At least he said that he thought that I was beautiful.
“You are so beautiful. You should have been a model,” he said. “I could look at that face for hours,” he continued… on some pictures in a card…after we had parted. He sent me the pictures he had taken of me and wrote on the backs of them. He said that he was crying. Well, he wrote, after he had written that he could look at my face for hours, “…the trouble is, I keep running out of Kleenex.”
He took pictures of me all the time. It was like he was expecting me to leave and he wanted something from which to view so that he could remember how sweet it was — that year that I was 27. He gave me all the duplicates like he thought I didn’t know the way I looked. Maybe he wanted me to see the way he saw me.
I loved the way he made me look in pictures. The way I was looking back at him.
I loved to dance and I danced a lot that year and several before and several after — at a place we used to like to go when I was 27.
He stopped going before I did. And then he moved away.
I think I went back hoping he’d walk in again the way he did when I was 27.
I’m much older now and I keep thinking that I hear people tell me that I should be glad that I had a good year when I was 27 and that that should be enough and it might be time for me to leave now and make some space for someone else. I don’t seem to have a value — there’s no relevance to who I am. I’m not beautiful anymore and I didn’t do enough to count, it seems.
I think it’s because I believe the earth just might not be a globe, although I’ve never said that — I think they might suspect from other things I say. I’m not sure it’s flat but I think it’s fair to ask as many question until the proof is clear. And it’s not clear to me and that makes me a crazy cat lady — in their eyes — and someone who seems to always want to argue. I’m okay with that but it can get kind of lonely not having anyone who sees the way I do and will sit at the kitchen table or wander around the house and talk about it — to wonder what the truth is.
I’ve gotten good at talking to myself and to the cats whenever they will listen. But they are like most people and only want to talk about happy, easy things. Even though we do agree, that’s all they seem to know just how to talk about. They don’t think at all about whether the earth is a sphere or something else — they might not even know they simply walk so softly right upon it. It’s still nice that they look back at me while I am looking at them.
“Meow.”
“I don’t have anything to hide,” she said.
I said, “It isn’t a matter of not having anything to hide. It’s a matter of being herded.”
I guess I’ll have to settle for the cats meows or crickets.
I guess I’m just too old to know that WiFi is essential.
Off this mortal coil it might have to be because I don’t want to live the way they do in China.
It was a very good year that year that I was 27.

Today The Ants

Someone in my head said that it was beautiful outside, so I looked to see what I could see and they were right.

It was windy though.

Somewhere there had been a tornado the day before. The news in the form of a YouTube video said. I only read the title. And another one said that the weather was another form of warfare now — so, I had to get off as quickly as I’d gotten on so that the ones inside my head would quit clamoring so hard for attention.

It might not be true, anyway.

“Don’t all speak at once,” I said — just like my mother used to say when no one would confess to doing the dirty deed that she was looking for the culprit she’d finally say was Kilroy.

“I guess Kilroy did it,” she would have to conclude since none of her children stepped up to take the punishment. Poor Kilroy, he really had to pay a lot but we never did see him get any kind of whipping and we never met him either. He seemed to be very good at hiding.

And Mom, of course, was pretty kind.

There is no one to trust but the ones inside my head as far as I can tell these days but sometimes they get a little noisy so I have to go outside to garden where they all like to play the same way I do and we all get along so nicely and quietly while enjoying each other’s company — me and Fear and Loathing and Anxiety and Frustration and Cynicism and Depression and Hope and Prayers and Lies and Truth and Deceit and the rest of the gang and not a single one of us will agree to wear a mask.

Today the ants were out marching. Some were going to and other were going away from wherever they were finding the debris they want to take back to their nest to make the fungus food that will keep them when it’s time for winter hibernation again — quite awhile from now. They each only have a tiny morsel — some larger morsels than some others and some clumsily struggling along with a lopsided tiny thing they have to keep trying to pick up different ways until they get it balanced just right so that they can march on towards home. They look so proud once they do.

The ones going away from home were empty handed.

I watched to see where they were stopping to pick up their individual morsels and it was a pile I had piled up not knowing they would like it but I was delighted just to see that it had made them all so happy.

It might also keep them from taking down the tree they’ve liked so much every year before.

I have a sneaky suspicion they have it on their menu too.

It was hard to keep from stepping on any of them but I did my very best and went the other way once I knew where they wanted to be.

I wasn’t afraid they’d bite me. I just thought they needed me to let them be the way they wanted to be and not interfere with the hard work they were in the middle of.

I’m trying to learn their hours.

It’s so much better watching them than watching any YouTube videos.

Image credit: pixy.org

 

Poo Poo Platter

Such a beautiful day with birds doing what birds do and almost invisible bugs eating the pretty flowers that were there just long enough to remind anyone looking how beautiful a flower can be.
Everybody has to eat. Even flowers. There are other bugs in the ground feeding flowers — and if you’re very lucky there are also worms.
The worms crawl in and poo and make lots of tunnels that help with water penetration. Things are so much better with them in the ground.
Their poo is fertilizer to the things under ground that may need it.
And bugs aren’t disease — they’re just hungry. The flowers must not be getting everything they need or they would be able to tell the bugs where to go. Or, could it be that they were intended to feed the almost invisible bugs?
Does anybody know? There is one who surely does.
GOD — the natural ONE.
Gawdawful that we can’t seem to remember that.
This minute, paint the furniture needing paint, out in the yard getting oxidized by the lovely sun.
Dig a hole and drop a sprouting potato in or lay them on the ground and cover them with straw.
Ruth Stout did and ended up with more potatoes than anyone could eat — until they needed them — potatoes keep pretty well in a cellar.
Wash clothes. Wash dishes. Cook a meal and eat it. Lie on a sofa and watch a favorite movie — put it on repeat and fall asleep.
Just another day.
No noise is worth a bother.
Change the pitch to soothing.
There is a pupu platter being made somewhere in the world.
There’s probably a poo poo platter also being made.
Maybe only in a movie. Is it still real if it is only in a movie.
The news is a movie. Who knows who’s telling the truth.
The things we don’t know — they are so numerous.
We know that worms crawl in and worms crawl out and we know for sure that they are doing what they are supposed to.
Maybe the one linked to Ovid is too.
Some stories are just stories being told by someone who might just be nefarious.
Ovid, he is known to be one of the ones who herd sheep:

ovidius. … This name derives from the Latin “ŏvis > Ovĭdĭus”, meaning “owner of sheep, shepherd, wool”.

Has there ever been a better time to try to plant seeds or potatoes?

 

image credit: The Conversation

Terribly Slippery Slope

I miss her. I miss him. I miss them. So many that have left by now. I crave them and feel the voids they left in heaviness of air and darkened light. I was thinking I might be soon going to go wherever they went and was getting up each morning in some kind of dread that had to be fought through until the sun came shining through — it always seems to. Now I am getting up to meet the enemy and finding their absence just as disturbing – I wish I could call upon them to speak about it or to divert my attention with the love that surrounded us. But at least I am not dreading — I am fighting and feeling some kind of purpose.

We all need a purpose.

There is one I think he and I would be saying, “See, I told you,” to each other in the agreement we always seemed to come to. I think he would somewhat delight to find that he hadn’t been one of the stupid monkeys. I speak to him in the air and say, “See we told them but they wouldn’t listen.” He doesn’t answer back but I kind of feel his spirit and imagine that he pats me on the back and says, “It really doesn’t matter much because it only matters what you know. Live your life with the knowing that you know.”

I still wish that I could speak to him this way and that way or any way I want to and know that he would never hold any of it against me since he never did.

I miss knowing love in a present moment or that it will show up at my gate in the not too distant future. But then again, one never knows. Some kind of luck may have it.

It’s a terribly slippery slope we stand upon and the hardest part to reckon is that some don’t see the slope at all — they even see a hero in the asking to reduce ourselves to ghosts.

The only rebel I can be is one only I see. I can speak about it but only those with ears to hear will see and then, just like my dear, departed friend would likely say, “It really doesn’t matter much because it only matters what you know. Live your life with the knowing that you know.”

Would he have said that or would have I?

Who is the enemy?

 

 

 

Image credit: Chaos is order yet undeciphered/Enemy