It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time

Words we live by, Gentle Reader. Although the explanation for some of the things that seemed like good ideas at some time is often rendered in advanced shellfish, so we really Don’t Get It At All even after the fact.

It’s hot again. HOT. Too hot to really do anything, although the garden is calling, saying, quite clearly, WEED ME…perhaps later. But our small and active mind is pondering communication at present. Or lack thereof.

I am the kind of person who can be at the grocery store and know what everyone in line is thinking. This goes along with, see advanced shellfish above, sometimes a total inability to divine what the person right in front of me, talking to me, is really meaning in what they are saying. Probably that has to do with my vintage coping mechanism kit. I thought I had left that behind…..But I have been noticing that when there is a disconnect somewhere between the words coming out of someone’s mouth and the feeling state that is coming along with the transmission, I get, actually, nauseous. And nervous. Yeugh, in short. It has to do with feeling the feeling strongly and getting, perhaps, a bit overwhelmed by it. Especially since usually the words coming along with the feeling are quite different in meaning. Confused, is what I get.

How does one get on the same page again? This is my question. Perhaps those uncomfortable feeling states are an inescapable part of life, not to be denied, and not to be wallowed in. To be observed and learned from. There certainly seem to be quite a few of them, I’m just saying. And, naturally, there are the other feeling states, all kinds of them, all colors and degrees and temperatures, and the same thing applies. There’s excrement and there’re roses. Intertwined and of a piece in the big picture. Everything moves and shifts, and while at times that is exhilarating- when you are in the flow of it and aware– keeping one’s balance is a neat trick. Apparently, being an old dog, it’s one I’m still working on. Along with all the other dogs, young and old, on earth, of course. If this was all so easy, Darfur wouldn’t exist, Khameini would be drinking tea quietly and enjoying his advanced age, wisdom and lovely garden, people would drive properly, and…well. I think you get the picture, Gentle Reader.

On to weeding the garden. That, at least, is clear.

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