The truth will set you free

I have heard that statement:"The truth will....", and I think I have an inkling what that means. This week has been a dichotomy for me. I had my worst day in decades and two good days in a wintry stretch of daily blah.
About two years ago, I began sporadic research into the hidden history of this country. As I began to put pieces together, I became more skeptical and incensed. This week the pieces clicked, giving me a deeper sense of what this world is about. The horror of it was nearly overwhelming. I became very depressed. When that sat with me overnight, I woke with a different state of mind. It seems I had come to accept this aspect of reality and came to some kind of peace with it.

Brutal Honesty

Here is my private Guantanamo: First thing in the morning, before the delusions set in, I am best able to see my situation. No wonder that I dive into the endless daydreaming. However, the cure is the cancer.
I write this as a confession; as a manifesto; as an appeal. Now, you dear Reader, may have no clue as to what I am talking about. However, with some exceptions, I suspect we all suffer from the same trickery.
It began early. Belief in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, Good and Evil. I don't remember the process, I make inferences. It still runs on, though more sophisticated, adultish. In essence, it is endless Escapism. Anything but the Brutal Truth.

Perhaps it is the Voice of Conscience informing me of my particular weaknesses and shortcomings. I hear it most clearly when I wake-up. I have tried to listen to it, to stay in that state of lucidity, but I am a coward and turn my back on myself. Ouch. Lucky me, it is not insistent. It lets me have my daily fix of mental dope. From night dreams into day dreams, with the occasional blink of awareness.

In the movie "The Matrix", Neo has the choice between the Blue and Red Pill. This is the choice we make daily, hourly, second by second. Actually for me, I get the choice occasionally, always in the morning, always painful and frightening.

Layers of Reality

In discussing the behavior of a person that we know here at the cafe ( a "crazy" person), I reflected on the source of their "unease". Since I am about the last person that can afford to be inspected for traces of weirdness and I habitually run at the end of the conventional mental health marathon. I find myself stridently defending those that keep me company in this race.
Not that I am incapable of viciousness in thought or speech about the mentally handicapped. I certainly am not that crazy. And I may never get to that point, some Christ-like attitude toward the meek in spirit. However, I am able to keep some things in perspective. This is probably due to my own Quixotic nature, my witnessing people that were genuinely loving, open and forgiving. Also, I like to look at the bigger picture.
So here is the bigger picture:
This society is one wacked piece of work. Our priorities are nearly completely topsy-turvy, we steep ourselves in endless deceptions, behave like frightened cows and keep the scissors sharpened so as to shred the fragile fabric of humanity. Endless war, profits at any cost, victimization of the weak, the list is nearly endless and it is a damn miracle that anybody functions at all. Given all that, some guy with a bad case of Tourrettes syndrome, is behaving in a refreshingly honest and appropriate way.
In the words of Jesus, loosely translated for our times: "Y'all's truly fooked."

The Lesson of the Kingfisher

All is metaphor. Today I went searching for a bite to eat. Invariably that kind of search leads me to the grocery store. Invariably, I purchase fried chicken with jojos. I have written about the miracle qualities of the fried chicken from the store before, so I need not reiterate.
Searching for a spot to consume this delicacy I opted for a favorite place by the water. The wind was whistling against the wires of a sailboat and a strict sign forbade the trowing of rocks, directly across from a new pile of crushed rock. Why is it that when I see a sign like that, I get the urge to do what it forbids?
I saw a Kingfisher surface. Now I have a special relationship with that species. A number of years ago I had a dream about a Kingfisher. It was an important dream for me. Anyway, the Kingfisher surfaced and shortly dove again. He resurfaced on the other side of a pier and swallowed a fish he had caught. All is Metaphor.
It struck me. We have to dive deep to get a kernel, but to digest the experience, we have to surface (to normal consciousness). After digestion, the kernel or seed becomes wisdom.

Creating Beauty

Over the years, I have collected ideas and notions that I admire. Once I read a short book about a young man who traveled to Japan to learn Zen meditation. He became friends with a Japanese woman who very carefully structured her experiences so as to have a wealth of Beauty for the future. I imagined that to be something like a bank account. She would create beautiful memories and store them into this account; for a rainy day, for old age.
I read about the Hopi Indians who strive to "walk in Beauty" all their lives. I have been near to tears thinking about the power of this philosophy.

I can't seem to remember to remember to create beauty. I can't pull myself out of the morass of the mediocre to consistently Walk in Beauty. In the chaotic bucket that is my mind, as if by random chance, the realization that I can Create Beauty By Will, will occasionally slip to the top.
It would be enormously helpful to have reminders, to act on them and to Walk in Beauty for extended periods of time. The Hopis have an advantage, in that this sort of thinking is taught early and re-enforced. By comparison, I learned fear and divisiveness.

My Love Affair with Alcohol

Even though I have been flippant in the past about alcohol, I have been very concerned with the issue. It has been a love/hate relationship for many years. I have at various times gone on the "wagon" and fallen off. At times, the ride on the wagon lasted for years.
I became (once again) concerned with my reliance on alcohol this winter. With the onset of light deprivation, my normal tendency to depression is multiplied. I don't know this, but I accept that since alcohol is a central nervous system depressant, it would have compounding negative effects on me.
Instead of white- knuckling, my policy was to reduce my alcohol intake, but not terminate totally. I was hoping to not engage the automatic resistance demon that resides somewhere in my head. I would be able to drink once a week.
This has, for the most part worked quite well, without internal unrest or resentment. Though I have not stuck to the program to the letter, I have greatly reduced my natural inclination to self-medicate. I have also saved a ton of quarters.
Just writing about this has kindled the urge to drink. Fortunately today is Wednesday and I am able to launch into a drinking bout today if I wish. Which I am. Drinking. White wine.

What is notable is that the urge to drink has diminished greatly, to the point that mostly I no longer need to distract myself or agonize. Even when I deem it safe to imbibe, often I don't have the heart to get into it. I will, for example, start a glass of beer or wine and not finish.
What I have to watch out for is arrogance. Perhaps writing about this "success" is arrogant and I am in danger of a downfall. I have noticed this quite often in my life. I would like to be smug, but chances are, it bites me in the ass. There seems to be some kind of Leveler that turns the ground under my feet to quicksand if I start to celebrate my standing.

I know that it takes time to heal and that on the average, each day gets a little bit better.

Pain in the Neck

I thought it was because of a new pillow that I tried last week, this crinck in the neck. Not so, I now suspect. When it didn't go away I resorted to the old ask Dr. Rob. How this works is fairly simple, perhaps too simple. I asked the internal Doctor: "What is the pain in the neck?"
The answer did not come right away, but within 24 hours I did get a response. I had had this condition prior; associated with playing solitaire for endless hours. Just did not remember. Now I am looking for a cure other than the obvious.

I have been writing way too much about the weather. Sorry. It just seems that I get a bit of hope if I get to see that bright thing in the sky. Woo Hoo, the sun just came out!

By the way, if you have any questions for Dr. Rob, make a note in the comments and I will ask him to address your concerns. Try not to be too serious. No winning Lotto numbers, sorry.

Doors Wide Open

I woke dreaming. It was warm and sunny. It felt like an early summer morning, warm and fresh at six. I opened my door and let the morning in. Unassuming, it entered my trailer, curling into the corners and behind the couch. It comes complete, making no demands, no insinuations. Though full, it is open for more. It has presence and yet is discreet.
Coming to the cafe, I left the door open and nobody complained. Lucy the dog's fur reflects the blue of the sky and Buddy the other dog ignored my counsel to diversify his investment portfolio, as he does every time I proffer tidbits of wisdom. At least expand your bag of tricks, I gently prod; sneezing on command and begging for cookies, though honorable, do not make for economic independence. Buddy smiled the smile of the guileless and the innocent. I have only the best of intentions, Buddy, it is a dog-eat-dog world.
Everybody is making plans. I plan to wake up soon. Well, not really the Big Wake-Up, that is too frightening. I need the blanky of my particular delusions to keep me blunted. I get to work at the cafe today. All afternoon. The door will be open to let the music go outside to play in the street. What a dream I am having.

Vitamin D Farming

When I checked the 10 day weather forecast this morning, it was rain to the power of ten. So when the sun broke out of cloud jail and downloaded a ton of photons onto the scene, I got the bug to expose myself to the elements. I rolled up my sleeves and went to work. I was raising a fine crop of vitamin D and squinting like a Chinese mole in the Sahara. It felt good to be so productive. It harked back to fonder times, doors open and the perfume of sun-warmed blooms; the buzzing of bees and humming birds; the languid drone of distant lawn mowers and the smell of fresh-cut grass. Ah, summer, summer get thee here quick.
These moments, when the weather scheduling bureau screws-up and we get a break, these moments are the most precious. Though I will forget the beauty, my memories bleached out by endless days of gray and cowardly, piddling rain, somewhere in my being a small hand grips the moment in desperation, squeezing them into gold nuggets and deposited deep under a brawny hill. Each of these little treasures accrue and this hoard must last me through the ages before the harvest season, the salad days of summer.

The Transformation of Paul

Juju came breezing into the cafe yesterday with shocking news. Paul the cat is not a Paul, rather a Paulette. Eyes awide and incredulous, we took the news in stride. Could it be that all this time we fell for a simple ruse? Or was it a bit of sharpness on her part to hide the obvious; that for lack of certain chance Paul did not wear pants. Upon hearing the truth we laughed; we had been duped! Oh the lowness of it all; the lows to where Paulette had stooped.
What we thought were rivalries; the negotiating of hunting grounds at best; between Paul and a big Tom, are nothing more than the beginning, a new love interest. Try explaining that to a Human Child, those yauling sounds are just the sexy call of the wild. So now we are waiting breathlessly. Has Paulette been fixed? Will new kittens be nixed? On one thing we can all agree, this story's turning out to be, better than TV.

Call of the North

I hear them in the dark distance, the honking of North bound geese. Their calls sound comical and yet determined. Theirs will be a long travail and they are flying late. I imagine that subtle variations in their calls mean different things. Perhaps they even tell each other jokes.
Hey, have you heard the one about bird flew? Yeah, beats walking pneumonia. Haw Haw Haw Haw. Go left. Left.
The bright moon illuminates a thin veil of clouds and makes a perfect backdrop for the wing of geese and stragglers. The clouds are slowly moving north, silent, cold and resolute. A lone goose is lagging far behind, sounding forlorn. A sharp wind bites through my clothes, stripping away green hopes of early spring. I am a lone, bare tree, arms stretched into the sky, praying for the return of the sun god.