Why are you so angry and afraid?

Accidents can happen...and they can be weird...and beautiful...catastrophic...and mythic. Three fates? Variation of Rublev's Trinity? Magic and mystery, sorcery and holiness, comedy and wisdom are all founded, sourced in the number three (as are past, present, future; beginning, middle, end). Fly Geyser in Nevada is the result of an accident---folks were digging a well in 1916. and this happened.

I had set today aside to go exploring...i simply need to hear myself think and, more importantly, feel. i have some questions (tools needed for digging) that don't have answers, perhaps, but that might provide lamp light to this current emotional path i have wandered onto. i hope to bring myself back into the balance of this listening to myself more intentionally, listening for and to the Voice i love.

so far this morning i chose to catch up on a few insights from Nadia Bolz-Weber. "Unable to pretend we are not in need," from October 1, was a providential place to start. Then "The Little Apocalypse: Superhero Showdown of Crumpled Time" carried even more of the ideas and questions buzzing my core (also a nod of recollection to T.S.Eliot---all time is eternally present; what has been and what will be are both perhaps contained in time present and time present contained in time past. that's from memory, don't hold me to word-for-word quotation, it's from Burnt Norton of the Four Quartets. looks like i'll have to dig that out, too).

took a break to eat some oatmeal and warm my cockles and everything else; i usually watch something specific on tv while i eat. yesterday i embarked on watching all of the eps of Doctor Who from the 12th Doctor (Capaldi)---another significant number in my realm of symbology. SO * MUCH * FUN to live in the open space of synchronicity. Anyway, i just happened to be up to the third, i believe, episode called, "Listen." Their adventure into the heart of listening to fear of the dark...it is a magnificent episode ("free" on Amazon Prime) and has opened a lovely TARDIS door into my own inner-exploration.

the episode is steeped in so many different ideas that resonate for me---particularly the dreaming. and i am reminded that listening to my own dreams will be as much an imperative part of this trek as anything else. i dream wild and crazy and significant stuff with story and images every single night. i have gone through phases of tracking those dreams and images; once again it is time to seriously take it on.

then when i opened the computer to get to the page upon which to begin writing today, the image of this Fly Geyser was the (i don't know the proper word for it) screen with the password window that has random images. this was the first time this image came up. i don't think it was this very image, but the image i did see clearly (and with romance in the composition of the shot) showed the three protrusions and i was immediately delighted by the sense of the Trinity Icon by Rublev as well as the mythology of the fates and so many stories involving three persons. and when i read just a smidgeon, it was too funny---digging a well, accidentally tapping into thermodynamic watchiedoo and creating this phenomenon in 1916 that still blows water today. Strikes me as a fair companion image.

i love synchronicity. magic and mystery of things that come together as you listen to the inside and outside of being. i always like to get started on a journey early so this was quite a prolific morning. it remains to be seen how faithful i will be to return to the well-spring hidden in my soul and imagination in the coming days.

it sounds schmaltzy to pose the question that i've typed and erased three times (yeah, i know--"three" again, but it's true) because asking this question in this platform sounds stupid ... the truth is i would go to each of you, my friends, and ask you face to face and facebook or this blog for all its cool advantages and possibilities doesn't really let that happen unless you "tag" someone so that's why a sincere and personal question on this platform can come off sounding kinda hokey. but i really do wish you'd also write and share what you're looking for in 2018. i'm listening.

may 2018 bring you many blessings and delightful surprises (even those that are cloaked in sorrow, loss or pain i hope will bring those unexpected joys)....

080316 Awareness

This will come as a shock
so sit down.

You do not really matter
beyond the boundary of who you really are.

Not even the woman who gave birth to you
can love you
the way you need to be
consumed.

Consumed like a phoenix
to rise above the ashes of the futility
of everyone else’s dreams for you

and

where
where are you
clicking the heels that bring you
home
they’re your own
and those who love you
love you
but they cannot be the you
you need to be
to be better than
who you fear you are

this is not the time to be born
and not the time to be born again
when you feel
the need
to be in control of things you
can’t control

let go the fear

that’s all the control you really have

what you choose
to take hold of...
what you choose
to let go of...

palms up!
With gratitude
receive as gifts
all things that come
(even the scary, sticky, sad...)—
Only then will you recognize
what you need
who you are

yellow marble...untitled...writer's block...

What is it? She asked, turning the small yellow object in her hand.
Enjoy the downtime, he’d said.  That was three months ago and still her muse was silent.  Not just her muse but her will.  Her interest.  Her passion lay dead on the floor.
I think it was once a marble.
The yellow...thing...did now seem to possibly fit that identification but still it was misshapen for a marble.  But yes, perhaps it was glass.
What am I to do with it?
Let go of the future.  You cannot make or be held to a promise that is so dependent on other variables outside your control.  They will all come to know that.
Besides, she added in her own skepticism, they have no doubt already forgotten.  I have already become a joke, a part of their story.  Remember that one teacher we had junior year...?
The silence screamed like fingernails on a chalkboard.  There were no real thoughts.  No dialogue.  No characters pulsing with a life beyond this ticking clock. The dead heart beat still pounding out the passing of glorious and open minutes with no sound and no life and no impulse.  Just fear.  And rustling of leaves so green and voluptuous in this season of afternoon storms and searing sun.
You must lose weight.  And get 8 hours of sleep.  This will keep your memory working and your brain will get younger.
I want to lose wait, she quips silently back to the flat LED screen whose prophet is bald and wearing all black.
Seriously, what is this thing? She rubs it between her fingers and the tiny sphere’s odd pocks and markings are rough among the smoother surfaces.  It is as if someone had blown a length of thick glass and while it was still warm, wrapped it into a ball.
You know what it is.
I know what it was intended to be.  A kind of story device.
A beginning.
A place to start.
A ticking of the clock with something.  Anything.
The threat of passing wakefulness empty of any story has shut you down. 
The anniversary of her death approaches and she would say what to you today?
No, those are your words of futility.  Your expectation weighs down the future like an anchor dropped through the glass bottom boat.
My words exactly.  You are sinking.
We are all sinking.
But I can’t hear you speak.  I find no voices only passing motors and whispers of all the green.  Green upon green of mindless joy and vibrancy.  Mindless pleasure itself growing and plump with the fullness of their intended being while I sit here in this stifling heat and wonder where my next meal will come from.  My next story.  This story.  Two stories that lie flat.  Unbreathing. Unmoving.  And I ungrieving look on. 
A marble.  This imagined thing that did not lead anywhere.  I could thump it with my thumbnail across the empty room in my head and it would hit no wall because it does not exist.  This yellow marble flawed by the glassblower who isn’t even a character and I have nothing to offer the blank page.  The marble has failed.
She pops it in her mouth to keep from speaking.