Sea of Joy

My favorite blogger has done it again. Tone Deaf inspired me to write a post. 

I started commenting on his blog a few years ago. Okay, I don't really know how long ago it was. Does it matter?

Robbie may be as old as Methuselah, you know, 969 years old. He is scary honest, and starkly opinionated. There is no one else like him. Consequently, I had to force myself to overcome my trepidation when I first commented on his blog. I expected to be ridiculed and outed as a hack. Sometimes that happens, but mostly I learn a lot. Most of his comments on my or other blogs make me laugh out loud.  

He writes about many things, just about anything really. Sometimes he writes about aging without apology or fear. When the spirit moves him, he doesn't hold back. He probably wouldn't anthropomorphize the creative spirit. But I will.

He wrote today about the various restrictions aging has imposed over time. That was interesting, but then he included imagination in that lot, which gave me pause. 

Now this post becomes about me, because that pause turned me inward. I'm hoping the creative imagination is the last to leave. Coy as she is, withholding, and then bam! A Muse holds us close to her heart and the words flow.  

I think creativity is an act of faith.  Surrender.  Blind Faith.  Sea of Joy.

Just following my Muse where she takes me.  

Halloween approaching

I bought a pumpkin, but I can't put it outside or the Florida heat will make it rot.  So it is sitting in my dining room until Halloween.  Sometimes I buy two so that both Tom and I get a chance to carve one.  I don't think I will this year.  I'm not all that interested.  

Our granddaughter was home from college last weekend, so I got two small pumpkins for her and her brother.  I thought they might like to paint them, but they insisted on carving.  They turned out pretty cute.

Making a change

I am taking a break from wine. I don't know if it is permanent. Probably not. I just know I haven't had anything wine all week.  

A friend of mine went to an Ayahuasca ceremony a few months ago. She came back reporting she had a good trip, but the message she got was that alcohol is poison. I'm not going to go that far, but I heard what she said and I know what she meant.  

I will order a drink or a beer if I go out to dinner, or I am with friends. But at home, I'm not drinking. What I find is that my anxiety levels have been reduced to almost nothing. I wake up happy, and have energy to do things throughout the day. 

Let's see how long this lasts.

Afterwards

Well, that was rough, going to a funeral for a 32 year old man. Death is always hard, but when a young person with so much to live for dies, the loss delivers a particularly potent punch.  

Birth, death, and all the living happening in between. It's all so very odd, isn't it? We all come from nothingness and eventually turn back into the same. Is dying simply one's "time?" Or is it just random cruelty? I surely don't know.

Then, almost immediately after a significant loss, there becomes a new normal. A normal without them. It isn't fair, it always sucks, and it is never okay.