Random Thoughts from the Porch at Dawn

It has never failed to amaze me how a male cardinal will stand guard while his mate feeds. It has never failed to amaze me how a mockingbird can sound like a squeaky clothesline either. And, it amazes me today how easy it is for a reader to completely alter what a writer intends.

Our perceptions of the world are clearly governed by our own thoughts and circumstances. Our realities are clearly fleeting and chaotic; not that they do not exist, but rather that they are altered in each moment by what we perceive. It is no small wonder that we seek a place, a permanence, in a world that is constantly changing in our own minds.

But surely there must be constants in our realities. I just don't know in this paragraph what they are. Or perhaps our constants are merely what we refuse to let go of, refuse to cast out of existence. Perhaps that is why gods exist for us, or at least for some of us; to smooth out our continuous transitions. Perhaps faith is the only constant, although it seems to me that we each adhere to our own faith. Holy shit, what a curse it is being human. At least some of the time; at those times when we are trying to comprehend.

I watched two squirrels chasing each other around the trunk of a large oak tree. I really don't know if it was mirth, or folly, or anger, or whether or not I am allowed to assign any perception to it. It was whatever it was. But I enjoyed it.

No, I think that there are no constants. Certainly not time. We can alter time in the blink of an eye (what a stupid expression--who blinks just one eye). Certainly not love. Love needs to be changing, growing for it to last. Love is constantly wavering like a mirage, but that doesn't mean the water isn't there. It only means that it is there for as many moments as we choose to perceive it and honor it. And if gods were a constant, then there wouldn't be so many different kinds. And surely life is not a constant; it is chaotic and transitory, and most definitely temporary. And not death either. There is no certainty that it is even permanent.

I thought for a moment that perhaps dogs are a constant, but sometimes dogs run away to be dogs. No, I think I am happy being a weasel, full of stealth and evolving knowledge, scampering about, popping up from time to time to share what moments and shiny things I have come to cherish. The magic cards have been dealt.

I thought for a moment that music may be a constant; a constant droning d-flat that is always there for us to hear, but not all of us have perfect pitch, and we often seek the arpeggio. Or perhaps noise, but we all seek silence from time to time (See, if time were constant, you couldn't go from time to time), and while silence is golden, it is not constant either.

Perhaps, in the context of the Great Triad, nothing is constant. But 'nothing' is incomprehensible, yet still worth striving for. After all, our moments are most holy when they are inconceivable, difficult to attain, wrapped in nothing.

But, back to words. If I might be allowed to illustrate by recounting a recent conversation with Gail.

FA: What did you do today?

G: I cleaned my house. It's clean as a whistle.

FA: Whistles are full of spit. Is spit clean? Did you spit all over your house?

G: No, I am a lady. I don't spit. You, know, you can be really cold; cold as a witch's tit.

FA: What makes you think a witch's tit is gold?

G: COLD, I said cold. What are you deaf?

FA: Deaf as a haddock.

G: I didn't even know that haddock have ears.

FA: If they had ears, they wouldn't be deaf, would they?

G: Whatever! God, I'm tired of these dog days.

FA: What is it about hot, humid, sticky and still that makes you think about dogs?

G: Jesus fuckin Christ, you are frustrating. You can be dumb as a stump.

FA: Some cultures believe that trees, and stumps ARE trees, possess all the wisdom in the world.

G: Well, you certainly don't!

FA: That's not true. I'm smart as a whip.

G: My point exactly

FA: I gotta go.

G: Me too. Talk to you soon. Goodbye

FA: Goodbye? What's good about bye?

Well, as you can see, words can be confusing, but they're fun to play with. Maybe play is a constant, or should be. Well, I'm off like a herd of turtles.