A list of people/organisations to thank floats on silken spider threads in the wind, seeking a spot to make web connections.

The web of thoughts in this aging brain looks to clear the dust, lint and dead skin cells that slow the route to a spider’s hold on life.

A tabby cat takes a scent inventory of a truck that pulled up into a neighbour’s graveled backyard.

A steady heart, 60-70 bpm, indicates a life without 30-60 minutes of aerobic exercise a day.

Naptime, while people do whatever they do to define their hold on life.

For me in this moment, a little drool and heavy eyelids define my life exceedingly well.

The wobble of our atmosphere, like the liquid and air bubbles wiggling in the space between an inner and outer ball/sphere, condenses nearby, compressed, seeking equilibrium, I think anthropomorphically?

To continue a thought process:::=>

If reading is no longer enjoyable – a combination of uninteresting/alarmist/uninformative news articles and poor eyesight – and television/DVD viewing is just about as difficult because of tiny/inoperable remote control buttons, one is left more frequently to one’s neurochemical activities (thoughts, for the most part).

How many decades can a person stay self-entertained and able to pick up/maintain an ordinary superficial social conversation at the drop of a hat or knock/ring at the door?

We may be states of energy and nothing more but we understand concepts of inner and outer worlds.

The tree of knowledge may provide my primary source of nutrition, as caustic and spicy as the fruit may be, but most have developed lifelong habits on the foodstuff of the simple sugars/salts of ordinary ignorance.

My species is a neverending game of multidimensional chess because I can still comfortably read, write, and press miniature gizmo control buttons.

In my 10th decade, should I live so long, will I willingly play games with my species when so little of the cultural habits of my formative years, or even my early adult years, exists?

The living heroes of 19th Century headlines are largely dead and forgotten (why never smallly? Clumsylooking spelling, perhaps?).

A nurse born and raised in Donegal, with three wonderful redheaded children, lives and works in east Tennessee.

Will the interconnected thoughts of the last two paragraphs (triggering both memories of working/playing in Ireland and the book about the fiery Chicago redhead from Ireland) have more importance on anyone besides me in 50 years?

Tonight I could be dancing to bluegrass at a venue in east Tennessee, southwest Virginia, western North Carolina or southeastern Kentucky.

Instead, I sit, read and write, missing a chance to re/immerse myself in the culture of my childhood.

I clearly see the thought process of my mother in-law and where she thinks she can go to live out her remaining years that most closely match the years of her life she fondly calls the culture of her childhood and early adulthood.

She’s a gentle persuader (trait of an ideal teacher/mother), not a coercer. Will she get what she wants in the midst of whateverybody else wants for her/them?

Glad I’m just the humble messenger/errand boy in this slice of life, far from any knowledgeable boughs, ignorantly following my bliss in joyful participation in the sorrows of the world.

This invisible hermit bows and thanks you for his future silence…humour clouds his common courtesy and pride causes him to write jokes that uncourteously offend others in their blissful duties.

Silence is my friend. Let all = all.

In other words, I have forgotten how seriously others take their social interactions in Life while I laugh in/at the face of Death, which has no/its grip on me.

[This is a personal blog entry to work out some issues – feel free to skip.]

In tearing away the self, nodes and filters reveal themselves for what they are or were.

And the pure rhythm of life taps, tappety-taps itself plainly.

Do I tell myself I exist and then see either the labels, or the entities behind the labels, of Paul, Bethany, Michelle, Denise, Steve, Charlie, etc.?

I…not a good sentence to start this train of thought.

Need to get past the personal, away from narcissistic mirror affirmation, and deeper/shallower.

Looking without sensing.

Throwing up unnatural barriers naturally.

So hypnotic, so seductive to be a self.

The eyes, the ears, the nose, tips of fingers sensing what a body should sense.

Right here in the middle of a dance with a wonderful partner and the split of I/not-I sensing an issue to be worked out but not on the dance floor.

Forgetting that this moment is all that exists – every thought is an illusion.

I do not exist.

All is all.

Perfumed bodies telling me otherwise.

A day like this I want to forget because the transition of I/not-I is too strong for I or not-I to deal with the issue in the moment that demands immediate attention and quick resolution.

What is time?

Does a second count any differently than twenty-four hours?

What is obvious to me is not obvious to the casual observer.

This day of meditation, when letting go of self was key, is shredded in the moment when what is left of me wants to enjoy the simple pleasure of spinning around the dance floor effortlessly, without thinking, without being not-me.

The music of my species and the steps of conjoined individuals soak up the energy devoted to removing the filters of self that hide the rhythm concealing the concept of truth upon which “I” exists as a blogger.

And then all the other labels fall in line.

All is all.

Wealth, happiness, humour…labels or facts?

Don’t talk about that which I do not want to exist in any form.

Different than the unexplainable.

Dig deeper.

Discard the obvious.

And yet, any and all words = the obvious as labels.

Something else entirely.

New?  Yes and no.

2011 is 26.8% complete, or thereabouts.

Fun as always but a difficult year, nonetheless.

Energy is limited.

The clock ticks.

Tonight, because of my Kenneth Cole tasselled loafers, I was labelled as a lawyer.

Perhaps I should have been.

Perhaps I am.

Another label, though.

It’s not always easy saying labels don’t apply.

But when the view of this planet from a great distance makes any nuances disappear, labels, what are they?

Every day, the similar body faces its previous self in the mirror, the skin a little less elastic than the day before.

Tick, tappety, tock.

Amid the noise and haste is a calm, straight pathway pointing forward.

Easily distracted?

Yes.

Forgetting where we’re going?

No.

Lost on the dance floor when the rhythmic flow of bigger issues beckon?

Indeed.

Resulting in a lost moment with graceful dancers.

That’s where “I” comes in and wonders if regret is what I should feel at a moment like this.

Nope.  In this alternate universe of a blog, I freely accepted the role of Committee leader, fully cognisant of the costs.

This blog is not real life and real life not this blog.

The fog of war is no excuse.

Cycles and spirals repeat their intersecting paths predictably.

Time to look at legal documents to make sure nothing is slipped in at the last minute under the fog of noise and haste to meet artificially-stimulated deadlines so that few can see what really just happened to them.

Which people are we fooling ourselves into thinking we’re going to fool?

How do I say that I don’t exist when every individual counts?

Hiking and dancing all week is exhausting.

Time to sleep and rest up for a real meditative session.

Then unveil the reveal once again, no matter how repetitive.

After all, I’m still a person, happily, noncommercially narcissistic as I am.

Every part of this universe is as important as every other.

Tonight, I was simply not light on my feet.