Join Al Dennis in his attempt to retire and stay retired with a little bit of net worth and a few more weeks of unEmployment Insurance coming to him from the government. He thinks it's pretty easy. He would like to suggest that you change your notions of what 'retirement' is, then do it too.
Ice Dawg loves all people.
That's what you do with the DS. Sometimes an image can work better than a spiritual reading. This is what occurred today after I opened an email to see this image this morning.
There is just so much to be unsaid that I won't bother. In this episode we learn what apposite means. It might not mean what you think.
Don't.
This podcast, like its title, contains all sorts of Saskatchewan literary amalgamation.
Lorna Crozier's touching, perfect little memoir has gotten me rambling about the passage of time. Ruminating, yearning to brumate.
Thru the Garden confirms itself as a Salvation Book.
Good talks this morning. Therapeutic. Getting to the heart of what makes me feel anything, think anything. TREEPLANTERLAND and the trials that came from it. I could have missed the pain, but I would've had to miss the dance.
ROB, I LOVE YOU.
The props wash in.
Resuming after The Break DIY is the theme. The Spirit of Christ is the consideration. (Pictured is the dismantled cement mixer that I must now learn how to 'mantle')
A nice little phone call with my Ma about the great book by Lornia Crozier, Through the Garden: A Love Story (with Cats). Lorna signed this book to me and I started reading on the night of my birthday. Her handwritten, pre-epigraph, to me. "one breath, one foot at a time on the path wherever it goes --"
This Notebook is a goldmine and a wonder.
Pictured is Canada's elusive prophet of folk, Raghu Lokanathan. His magnificent song, and the beautiful community of Wells, BC, should be enjoyed here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eq72SUln1QQ Here, now, is an excerpt from BEEFHAMTON: He could hear the men praying, chanting from another room. Andy's heart swirled like a swallow trapped in a barn. Should he enter? He entered silently. He slipped out of his sandals. He cleaned his feet in a little basin. And his face and hands in another. He stepped into the masjid barefoot. The chanting was beautiful. It took him directly to God, Allah. He began towards the prayer room, but somehow was unable to enter, he slid into a side classroom instead, and got to his knees and put his forehead against the floor. Allah, he said. Allah ak bar. The second his forehead touched the floor a voice came at him firm, insistent, but also patriarchal … like some sort of numinous finger of Abraham Lincoln. The voice said: GET UP AND GO TO WORK RIGHT NOW. YOU HAVE ONE MORE DAY ON THIS PAY PERIOD, THAT'S WORTH AT LEAST $200. COLLECT YOUR PAY ON FRIDAY AND LEAVE BEEFHAMTON FOREVER. NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU GET, JUST LEAVE. GO TO WORK NOW AND NEVER GO BACK! Andy lay for a moment with his head pressed against the cool pine floor. He exhaled and deflated himself with gratitude for a moment, then was up on his knees. He inhaled and exhaled, one last time before opening his eyes. He knew that when he did so he would be totally refreshed. He opened his eyes. On the desk in front of him was an English-Language copy of Quran. Andy's mouth fell open. He winced. He grabbed the book and stood and went for the door immediately. He stuffed the Quran in his backpack, which was Will's backpack, actually. He'd started using it when the Crybaby captured his. He wondered if he should go back to the Crybaby to reclaim his old backpack, his manifesto, before he left. He could not face this thought just yet. He hopped on his pushie, and pushed off towards the abattoir before anything could distract him from his willingness to obey what he believed was a direct order from God, Allah.
As the mist leaves no scar On the dark green hill So my body leaves no scar On you and never will Through windows in the dark The children come, the children go Like arrows with no targets Like shackles made of snow True love leaves no traces If you and I are one It's lost in our embraces Like stars against the sun As a falling leaf may rest A moment on the air So your head upon my breast So my hand upon your hair And many nights endure Without a moon or star So we will endure When one is gone and far True love leaves no traces If you and I are one It's lost in our embraces Like stars against the sun
Today, in honour of locating a 1989 loonie, I cast a hex on myself. Turning to the I Ching, I ask: What are the underlying causes leading me to drink alcohol and will clearly identifying them lead me from anger to sobriety and peace? Okay, so I tried to cram a few questions into one consultation here.
The first good episode in a while. Oh, well ... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clw_E53vFGk He is a wellspring of determination ..
https://www.amazon.com/Farmer/dp/B001BNJ0NS Meanwhile, I must get back to advising millionaires how to make more money.
Is it chronic clinical depression, or is that guy just having a siesta?
Surprised by waking up to minus six degrees centigrade, the host resumes his path. Eats, forgetting everything but the mixed bowl of KD and cream of leek soup.
ay?Pseudonomically speaking, who are you anywy
St Paddy's sobriety. New beginnings. The icicles from the leaky upstairs bathtub (pictured).
Are these Canada Geese in the picture?
Desiderata, why don't you come to your senses? You've been out riding fences for so long ...
In the image is a picture of the Duke Blueberry bush. I'm going to see if I can't order some Duke Blueberry seedlings to be shipped here.
The ducks I am trying to identify through a pair of the worlds worst binoculars in this episode are closest in appearance to a cross between a merganser and a an oldsquaw. Bill Aide would know.
I believe that now, at last, the quality of the literature might improve. The tragedy in the loss of handwriting is not the loss of handwriting. Only those with the handwriting know. Handwriting is meditation. Handwriting contains blood, Nature is man made. Cities will pour into countrysides, electricity will pour into old bans, and old barns will fall into oceans, be raised, razed or remain jubilant wobbly... Water will touch underskirts, spritz plants. Slide down your hand hold the ---- with me here water sifts, spritzes under skirts as the page turns not only your fingers to yourself, your thoughts, divinity (handwriting like fingers to yourelf) upholds you how you want to be held, your back to the bed, hard and hearty against the bed, and otherwise. cities will pour electricity into your countrysides the incomes, the outcomes, the sunlight, the ducks on the tide.
Learning a new word, and rehearsing a poem.
I felt like a character in a Chekov for a while tonight. That's a good feeling. The sign in the picture was found in the basement. It dates back to the Gertrude Thurber days, when this place was called Tiverton Tidalview B & B. The B &B is gone, but the Tidalview remains.
Spinning, unravelling, settling. Hopefully settling. Many rivers to cross.
March 9. The funny thing is, none of us should be at the banquet. Yet we are allowed to be at the banquet. And there is a banquet, and there is laughter, and there are many years to make milestones. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Dreams. And none of us should be at the banquet. Keep this in mind and you will understand humility: There is a banquet, we should not be at it, yet we are allowed to be at it and are at it. This feels as good as a belly laugh. (The picture does not really depict the rare colour of sunlight that hit the pond this morning, March 9, 2021)
The picture is of the seaglass I collected yesterday in my humility walk to Israel Cove. Humility. I will still seek it today. Still weep a little inside.
Have a joyful Sunday. Walk slowly. Appreciate.
Sometimes we experience so much joy that we forget we are still in great pain. When the intensity of the joy departs, the pain is still there. It surprises us. It bites us again. When we are off the path of the superior person, even a tiny bit, we are more vulnerable to this pain, and we react to it poorly. The first thing to do is return to the path of the superior person. Be humble, shrink the ego, stretch, breathe, disengage from our pain. One way to do so is through Simran. That is, the Sikh practice of reciting the Name of G-d to one's self over and over. This is one way, to humble ourselves enough to ensure that we are capable of shrinking our ego. Love.
Walter Gretzky died on March 4, 2021. The image is the autography Walter Gretzky signed for my Mom when I met Walter in the Vancouver Park Hyatt lobby during the Vancouver 2010 Olympics. I filmed this video in Vancouver 2010 seconds after Crosby scored. I believe this moment stemmed from the power of a Walter Gretzky hug: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jB-r55vp6yc #waltergretzky
Apparently, there was no March 3. Is that a glitch in the matrix? This podcast has nothing to do the fact that there was no March, 3, 2021. That has nothing to do with me. New ideas. New time frame? New life.
I found the image while looking for an image of the elusive Blue Notebook. It embarrasses me to admit that I did write this. I'm sharing it because it feels like something I would share on Instagram and it might be general enough to like it.
Lunar eclipse, a liminal moment. Feel the light shining inside you. Continue the path, resolute like one crossing a wintry stream. Joyous of heart.
After the moon, reflect.
Enjoy the full moon. May it reflect upon you reflecting upon your life.
For posterity's sake, here are the lyrics to my song to Castro: O to run all night! O to run all baby! Castro baby, fifteen miles, O you do not know... (ch.. ch.. ch..) O you do not know! (ch..ch..ch..) O you do not know! Where's that baby? I don't know. O you do not know! (ch..ch..ch..) O to run all night! O to run all baby! How many babies do you know? O you do not know
Here is the great song Sleep the Clock around by Belle & Sebastian: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3mB8V9Lz7u0
How much is that fish house in the picture? This is the fishouse I would love to buy, photograph taken on my morning walk. It would be the best summer hangout, up there over the sandy beach, the clear water rolling in.
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