Feathers and carrots

Back to the beginning is sometimes hitting against the wall to gain strength and accuracy but also to remember the movement. Remembering the feeling is more than halfway there to hitting the ball right.  The physical ability sure.  The strength, accuracy, the feeling from the deep roots of your heels up through your arms. But the real journey of a good connection is from the feeling of the ground running through your legs and arms and into your imagination. That’s where you can really lay into the ball and move it wherever you want. It’s also true whether it takes place on the court, against the wall, or behind your closed eyelids; or whether it’s a soft hit, seriously strong and powered or the surprising fluency from timing. 

When the fear comes or the darkness, it is like a cloud of sand that moves like a wave between the horizon and the plain. If only it were like a water spout, magical and from a distance, astonishing. Crowded by thoughts, by weights not entered on the periodic table core iron is pulled from your blood sending you into a sea darker than any ocean shadow. 

You forget who you are and why. You forgot what makes you smile. How this weight can come between you and what is joyful, that is the puzzle.  There is no set itinerary for the road back. Compasses are not helpful.  Yes it is possible to survive this time and enter your home or go to work. But the going and the coming are empty. In the rush rush world nobody notices. You try to engage. You pump the clutch; pull the gear into position and nothing. You look around for hills to gain momentum and trick the engine. 

Sometimes the carrot is a feather. A gift blessed by ceremony and connection; by meaning drawn from the shared experience of people holding the dream of our world in their songs and visions. You had to pick up the feather. Even as you accept such a gift, the feather always was on the wings of your soul. The light was always the night’s partner. The day is yours to remember who you are and what makes you smile.

Bacon on my brain - again

One of the many recent news articles about bacon noted that it may cause an addiction like response that people have to cocaine.  “Really?” you might say in total disbelief.  But just try not to want it when you smell it cooking.  Just try to resist.   Apparently the feel good hormone, dopamine, rises in rats gorged on bacon.  If you’re sitting there, stunned as I am, read on.

From rats to theories about how to deal with human obesity, that’s the story of this sizzle. It’s true, fatty foods might well be addictive.  They might even taste so good that you’d want them again, and yop, again.

Well then, now is the time to open up a Bacon Den of Iniquity. Don't you think?  Let's advertise the dark, sinister, sexy side of bacon and lure in people with deep fried cheese cake squares whilst our clients are treated to the sound of bacon sizzling as a teaser (and in the back room we're actually shredding paper - it makes the same sound) and then whilst they think they're about to indulge in a sinister delight, we serve them tofu strips, with all the markings of marbled bacon on it and create a sensuous fury and flurry of

Well I cannot continue in this vein. I took a break, sat back, a sip of tea and looked on my desk. Staring me square in the face is a big brown floppy teddy bear. Why is it there on my desk?  Because I was, hopelessly as it turned out, trying to figure out how to use the one size fits all cat harness on it - so that I didn't have to put Molly and myself through the torture of a live fitting. This bear does not bear any resemblance to a cat or Molly, but it was the closest stuffed animal I could find. I'm afraid to say that it wasn't the bear's fault that I couldn't succeed with the harness. It was as complicated to me as imagining a bacon/opium den of iniquity that was made out of tofu. 

My life is either getting more complicated or my brain has been reduced to its lowest level of simplicity.