Periods of Seclusion

“As you get older, you come to peace with things you once thought to be utterly irreconcilable” – the phrase became seared into my memory as I was carried off to sleep the other night by Morpheus‘ bastard son Trazadone. The words, they were from some wise television show my wife was currently viewing (an integral part of her bedtime ritual).

Thankfully, the descendants of those wise, sleep-blocking words were cordoned off from my inner sanctum thru the miracle of Mac’s Ultra-Soft foam earplugs  (the official sponsor of my bed-time ritual).

I’m pretty sure I had a sublime dream rivaling Chuang Tzu’s Butterflies, but I really don’t remember.

Yet, three days later, here I am – still fiddling with words barely grasped by my ear-fingers in the first place.

The desire to communicate our inner experience with the outer world – what is that?

Who can say?  Certainly not me.

Maybe it’s a drug. The thrill of being part of the conversation, of directing the conversation… of dominating the conversation?

Growing up in a devoutly Mormon household, I have instinctively learned to shun drugs of any kind. I write this as I am sipping coffee and taking occasional tokes of Medicinal Marijuana.

Conscientious hypocrite that I am, I have learned to fear the slippery snakes which are words, the deadly quicksand of Facebook, the hypnotic wasteland of the soul that is Pintrest, the swarming, stinging bees of text messages, and the ear-crushing ring of the cellular phone.

Yes, I am a bit of a technophobe. Yet, I have created and currently maintain two websites.

Or maybe, I’m  simply reclusive.

And perhaps this is why I am compelled to communicate via the internet. A Hail-Mary sort of maneuver which the extremely introverted can use to say ” Hey, I still exist. I am reaching out… in my way.”

I just need tons of space.

And if I haven’t seen you in awhile, don’t take that as a bad sign.

It could be a really good sign because when we do meet again, we will have so many fresh tales to tell each other. We each will have changed in innumerable ways since we last met. And the adventure of noticing and appreciating all of that will be sublime.









Baked Blueberry-Boy

After a long walk by the canal… Face sunburnt by surprisingly vigorous February sun…I imagined myself a sunflower (sunglasses would have been nice)….compulsively gazing at the shimmering golden arcs of the sun reflecting off the water was mesmerizing…. my lobster skin, my Sunday tithing.