So many people claim to hate the song MMMBop. I challenge each of you to read the lyrics. Hidden in plain sight is an undeniable truth of life. Take a moment and try to imagine what the lyrics are. And then go find them. It’s a joy to hear a song in a completely different way after hearing it 1 billion times as an upbeat pop song.
X
.
PS I will put a link to a video that highlights the disparity between what we hear versus the words being sang.
I followed this bird upstream for a long time. It was aware of me. As long as I stayed in the middle of the stream, it would let me go past it slightly. It would then take flight and perch a few yards from me. We repeated this cycle for 20 minutes. Just me, the bird, and the cool water. It was the most Zen match of tag.
X
.
I went tree climbing a little bit earlier. I’m not perched high above the creek with my phone in my hand. I am standing in the middle of the creek in the cold water though. I saw that one side of the walkway dam had a couple dozen Osage oranges. The last time I looked them up for trivia, I was amused to see that Pennsylvania residents refer to them as ‘monkey balls.’
What still fascinates me about these and the trees that produce them is that only female trees produce the fruit. These are the largest fruits derived from trees in the United States. Thousands of years ago, these trees proliferated because mammoths would eat them and then spread the seeds as they traveled. I’ve still not tried the stinky process of roasting the seeds from these. It can’t be much different than watching my dad “cook” suspicious and unidentified meat, or looking at my mom’s famous Winston cigarette ash-speckled mashed potatoes.
I did climb the tree in the background of the photo. While I was up there, I practiced a few fake bird calls, hoping passersby might question their sanity or wonder if a small pig was being forced to listen to excerpts of Donald Trump’s book of poetry.
Ciao.
X
.
“Take a minute before the minute takes you.” – X
If you’re waiting on life to be simpler or less distracted to do something, you’ll turn gray waiting for your fingers to stop tapping. Doubly true Is the folly of waiting for someone else to appropriate time. Time is the currency we use to pay for our decisions.
Someone smart told me that they couldn’t stand the phrase, “Stop and smell the roses.” Take the time to grow them. Or go outside where they grow and meet them on their own terms. We’re all too busy making money in order to buy the flowers, something that’s available in abundance all around us.
You can go to Disneyland and bring back the memories. You’re still going to have to find a way to enjoy washing the dishes that stack up on the counter, in the sink, or in the unloaded dishwasher.
I made it clear that jumping out of an airplane wasn’t to test my fear. I never felt a moment of apprehension because it’s an entirely safe act. Yet these things spray gray across things that should be as colorful as a prism’s rainbow. You don’t get a taste of the diverging universe that’s out there for you without thinking about the million mundane ways that you focus on ridiculous nonsense.
I say these things as a hypocrite in the truest sense of the word. I also say them as a tourist, visiting places but staying at the airport.
X
.
I did a small thing for someone who didn’t ask for it. His reaction was beyond gracious. I wish I could describe how big his smile was. And how small and selfish I felt a couple of minutes before. Driving away, the disparity must have triggered something in my head. Tears came to my eyes out of nowhere. I stopped randomly to enjoy the outdoors. It turned out to be the complete opposite of random. The moment and place spanned backward in a huge arc, traversing almost 40 years. I’m not sure if I’m crazy or the world is. Since I’m a part of it, there might be no difference, much in the same way that colors on the opposite end of the spectrum are an illusion of optics and nerve endings.
X
.
I’m sitting outside in the dark at 3 a.m. There’s a beautiful breeze, the cicadas are buzzing, and I’m watching the surface of a small beautiful swimming pool. Above me is a crescent moon. Occasionally I can hear the flap of a small American flag across the street snapping in the breeze. Next to me is a delicious cup of bitter coffee. I’m in a conflicted state of Zen. One part of me is experiencing the beauty of the dark, absent other people. The other part of me is thinking and overthinking.
Over the weekend, a friend posted a list of guidelines for living a good life. Superficially, they are great rules. Something about them, though, bothered me.
“Honesty builds trust and integrity. It involves being truthful and consistent…”
“Never pose with alcohol. Maintaining a responsible image is important.”
There is a dissonance to some of these guidelines.
Image over authenticity is dishonesty. It sometimes provokes a wolf in sheep’s clothing and goes to the heart of secrecy.
Feeling obligated to dress well outside the confines of comfort and practicality is foolish. Clothing is artifice, concealment, and misdirection. It does not add respect or enhance either you or the job you do. Underneath those clothes, you are a human being, functioning like all the rest. Fashion is a wasteful misdirection of veneer over authenticity.
Using the example of alcohol, if you choose to drink responsibly, people see you drink and you’re setting a good example of how to do it. If you’re not drinking responsibly, concealing this takes away the accountability of your choices. It also leads people to misjudge whether you need help before it’s too late.
So many of our problems as individuals stem from our apparent need to control what people might think of us. Some are one person on social media and another in private. It’s why we have alcoholism, drug use, depression, and hidden toxicity.
The issue isn’t image or professionalism. Rather, it’s how we live our lives in each moment, openly and honestly. If you choose to drink, smoke, or even enjoy crocheting small turtles, the people around you should know. If you’re in a picture doing any of these things, the picture is a true reflection of your choices.
If you don’t go to church often, it shouldn’t be a secret. In the early centuries of the church, worship was almost exclusively conducted in small groups or at home. If you don’t believe some of the practices of your church or religion, reveal them so that people can understand you. Even if they don’t understand or agree, the truth is that every person I know picks and chooses which parts they find to be meaningful.
If you’re gay, transgender, or enjoy wearing clothing that other people say isn’t inappropriate, live your life anyway. It’s passing quickly and expecting to have the approval of everyone around you is a goose chase over hot coals. I’ve rarely met a person who doesn’t have some secrets.
Why are we afraid for people to see the real us?
Why does secrecy play such a large role in our lives?
The cicadas buzzing all around me don’t have an answer.
I don’t either.
Love, X
.
I’ve been here at the apartment simplex for a little over 3 years now. One of the best parts of the year, even though my door reaches almost 180°, is the return of my favorite hummingbirds. One of the hummingbirds I recognize has brought a tiny version of itself to investigate my feeders. It flies faster than a 4-year-old boy trying to explain that he is not the culprit who ate all the cookies.
X
.
Shortly after 5 a.m. the hard rain finally started. The distant thunder and illuminating lightning approached slowly. It gave me time to walk my neighbor’s dog twice before the rain commenced. We examined every inch of the sidewalk adjacent to the street. I let the dog plow me through the low-hanging branches of the unmaintained trees. The moon was gorgeous this morning.
As we stood near the southern end of the apartment, watching the moon and sniffing the grass (mostly Jackson doing the sniffing), I heard the lightest scratch behind me, against the long wooden fence along Gregg Avenue.
A little mostly white opossum was calmly ambling behind us next to the fence. I love possums and their weird little faces. The possum turned to look up at me as it continued walking. It was less than two feet from me as it went behind me.
Jackson, on the other hand, half-jumped and froze for at least two seconds, his eyes fixed on the innocent possum. It looked like he had been hit with a taser.
I luckily locked the retractable leash as Jackson unfroze from his bewildered stance. He lunged toward the possum without barking. But it took every ounce of my weight and strength to keep him from slinging me into the fence.
I think he wanted to give the possum a kiss. The possum was uninterested in canine affection and walked to the end of the fence and turned, continuing on his way, into the much darker brush along that side of the fence.
I gave Jackson extra leash and we walked along the fence behind the possum. He sniffed like an 80s pro basketball player at a party as he followed. I tried to avoid the brush along the fence but Jackson was leading the way.
The possum finally went through a gap in the short chain link fence behind the apartments and into the wild no-man’s land there. Jackson looked up at me with a dejected look. I was glad to be able to let my guard down.
I returned to the apartment after depositing Jackson back into his lair.
I knew the lightning and rain waited. As is the case with life, everything is eventual; both the rain and the sun.
X
.
Things you’re not supposed to acknowledge…
Yesterday, a compliment and acknowledgment echoed back to me from decades ago. One part of the experience resulted from me sharing a piece of myself years ago. It lay dormant until the universe collided after waiting for the right moment to be awakened. One of the outcomes of which is that I experienced what can only be characterized as deep regret. When you are young and naive and trying to flourish in the middle of trauma, everything is a danger signal. Even when you don’t have the knowledge or insight to recognize it. From the contemplation of those almost forgotten memories and regret came a flash of rare insight. Pieces of the me that I am today were obviously right on the surface. My prolific nature. My love of words and converse loathing of their alleged structure and use. Valuing rare moments wherein people take risks and open themselves up to harm through vulnerability. As the universe invariably does, I was dealt another direct hit early this morning. A reminder that treachery can nestle behind both smile or anger. There’s a perverse duality to this set of seemingly disparate and distinct experiences; one of whispered memories and the other a demonstration that everyone has something to learn. The letter part is doubly true when the person does not want to see themselves clearly in their mirror’s reflection. Arcane or factual knowledge has its place but dims and dissipates, contrasted against the type of realization that you feel when it cuts you from the inside. Earlier today, a song came on that overwhelmed me. Instead of shirking away, I gave it my attention. And then the next song blasted me out of the reverie. Life is like that. It demands both kneeling and dancing, often like a madman’s gyroscopic kaleidoscope. Love, X
Of course I was asleep by the time the rain started. But I got to steal a moment from the other end at 1:00 a.m. A few diehard people were still shooting fireworks at that hour. Even though my jaw was still sore from the pry bar on Wednesday, I stood out on the landing and watched the lightning continuously light up the sky. By 2:00 a.m. the thunder rolled in with another crescendo of rain and gave me canopy lighting, as if the sky were a strobe light. The temperature dropped to 69° as the cool air hit me.
X
.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 