Flannel Pajamas

There is finally a touch of fall here, and I'm entertaining myself with thoughts of fireplaces and hot chocolate. A dog is curled up next to me, one eye blinking lazily at me when I stir. It's peaceful, at long last, my head is clear.

Nothing to do with Anything

At the end of yoga, during our relaxation poses, the instructor has us laid out, eyes closed, focused totally inward. Then she rings this bell thing. I've never actually wanted to open my eyes to see it, that would spoil it. But for descriptive purposes, it sounds like a much deeper version of running your wet finger around the edge of a water glass. It gets inside your head somehow. At the end of this long tone, you start wondering if it is just in your head, if anyone else hears it, if you are perhaps so deep in a meditative state that it's only for you.

Tonight was like that, only with bagpipes. I know there is a debate over whether or not bagpipes are an actual musical instrument...some people think they sound like cats being stepped on. But what a delicious caterwhauling of sound. Just like that yoga bell, I closed my eyes, and that cacophany got inside my head and I could feel it all the way inside, rattling my bones.

I forget how good that feels, that transcendance.

Of course, it helped that the bagpipe player had a sexy brogue and a beard down to his waistband. Mmmm.

Snakes on a Crane

This morning, I saw a long-legged bird scratching for worms. I was still fifty yards away or so when I saw the bird pull up a very large worm. As I got closer, I realized it was a small snake. It was twisting and writhing, and the bird tipped up its head, trying to gulp the snake down its throat.

As I went past, I watched. I was torn between wanting to save the snake, and a philosophical call to the circle of life. I don't have any particular fear or hatred of snakes, nor any great love for them either. Same with birds. I suppose my decision to do nothing was born from my ambivalence rather than any hesitance to intervene.

I continued on my journey, thinking of the snake and the bird, and was reminded of a poem by Stephen Crane...

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter-bitter," he answered,
"But I like it
Because it is bitter
And because it is my heart."

Spilled Milk

Once upon a time, I was capable of many things without including emotions or feeeeelings (the extra e's are for sarcastic effect). Including...no strings attached sex. Sex for the sake of sex. Pure, unnamed, unemotional, biting, clawing, walk away with no phone numbers hot steamy muscle ripping sex.

Sigh.

No more.

It's not sex anymore. It's some spiritual hooplah that makes me gnash my teeth after. Sure, it's still hot steamy muscle ripping sex, with the addition of bruising from hitting implements, but something has changed in me.

Now, it is as if they can pierce my soul when they drive it home. Oh, I'm not so deluded that I could call it love, or even a reasonable facsimile. But it is a meeting on a different plane, and I can't deny that any longer.

I'm becoming ridiculous, with my injured little aura.