On a More Personal Note

I seem to be fascinated with whoever finds their way to my blog recently, and I spend an inordinate amount of time in Google analytics, trying to discern why anyone would read what I write. I am indeed read internationally (although it would appear that most visitors don't waste much time reading), and although I must admit that most visitors seem to be of the 'western' ilk, I get enough from the Asian subcontinent to constitute a sizable percentage of the minuscule sampling. And the most notable trend among my readers leads me to a rather disturbing conclusion. NO ONE SEEMS TO KNOW WHERE THEY ARE.

The vast majority of my readers (not including the three or four that are my friends) arrive at the Great Triad via various search engines, and all seem to be concerned with the difference between 'space' and 'place'. I would have thought, that after millennia of exploratory angst, we might have found something approaching an answer. This is damning evidence indeed of the snail's pace of both our intellectual and spiritual evolution. So it seems that it is up to me to provide humanity with the answer. It's really quite simple...in a forest-for-the-trees sort of way...WE ARE HERE.

Now the Pirate has her version of the struggle. She flies her skull-and-crossbones while alternately sailing the choppy seas of reality, and the unnavigable oceans of the ethereal, but it is clear to this writer that she is right where she belongs; landlocked in the beautiful Black Hills of South Dakota, talking to bullsnakes and chipmunks; failing to see that myriads of gypsies and cartoon characters delight in sailing alongside. Yet she is happily aware, that as the crone of sea captains, she is leading pirate fledglings on the righteous path of looting and plunder.

And Gail. Well, her course is different. She alternates between the stairclimber of simple joys, and the crutches of ancient pain. But she's OK...as long as her storehouse of frozen hotdogs, and the occasional icepack are at the ready. And she is, for the most part, happy and satisfied...settled into where she belongs...content with the simplicity of home and hearth.

Now the Nun is a rather convoluted story. Too many self realized facets. She stands very strong as the mother bear, falls down a lot as the girl, and is as blind to herself as any mexican freetail. While she is perhaps the most embodied human I know, she can't quite figure out who should take the point on her path through the moss covered woods...alternating between Mr. Head, Mrs. Heart, and Mademoiselle Snatch. But when she finds her moments, she finds them wrapped in unbridled joy...and she finds them often...or maybe they find her. Either way, I'm certain that all of her will find her way...once she remembers...once she figures out that it's OK that everyone loves her...even if they don't understand why they do.

And what do they have in common you ask. They have all suffered a mighty blow to the head...two literally, one metaphorically...and all have realized that no matter how hard the hit, you can't get knocked out of an infinite space. It's all there...and you're right smack dab in the middle...wrapped in love...with all direction and choice there for the stepping...no matter how much your head hurts...

So, as the sun reveals for the first time in several days, I guess it's time to offer a little of myself. As I erase the lines of my life...some drawn with the momentary twitch of thumb and forefinger...some drawn with the powerful drag of heels...I find myself dropped into the middle of the great unknown...and I suspect that this is where I have always belonged. My blows to the head are too innumerable to recount here, but I have followed my own advice. You can't sleep when concussed, and you simply need to stay awake to see that you are here. You can't paint a blank whole. You shouldn't. It is perfect...simply waiting for you to withstand the blow...get back on your feet....maybe bleed a little...and to stand within.

They say you make your own luck. I'm feeling very lucky today.