REFLECTING

Richard Thompson: On Becoming a Sufi`~


“What it was really,” he says, “I had been waiting as long as I could remember for an appropriate way to thank God. Simple as that. I wanted to say thanks for life and creation for being here and I didn’t know how to do it. It sounds pretty basic but as I prayed for the first time, I felt an overwhelming sense that this was what I had needed: to put my head down on the ground and feel I had submitted to something greater than me.”
Question: To stop searching for meaning?
“To stop using my brain for thinking and to start using it for reflecting.”

Down at my NA group we talk a lot about prayer and meditation. I think about this quote a lot when we do. What a great way to use the word "reflecting".
How do you think he means it? What form(s) of the word reflect do you think he suggests?

What it means to me is that whatever gets thrown at me I always have the opportunity to live by the principles I have learned in my program, to demonstrate how a higher power has worked in my life, and that no matter what may shine on me, I am responsible for what shines from me.

Something like that.


image courtesy of crashinglybeautiful

Your Catfish Friend

"If I were to live my life in catfish forms
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
at the bottom of a pond
and you were to come by one evening
when the moon was shining
down into my dark home
and stand there at the edge
of my affection and think,
"It's beautiful here by this pond. I wish
somebody loved me,"
I'd love you and be your catfish
friend and drive such lonely
thoughts from your mind
and suddenly you would be
at peace, and ask yourself,
"I wonder if there are any catfish
in this pond? It seems like
a perfect place for them."

- Richard Brautigan

I love this as much as anything I've ever run across. Ireally really do. Its like I've spent my whole life in this poem.

DIRECTIONS (excerpt)

"But it is hard to speak of these things
how the voices of light enter the body
and begin to recite their stories..."

Billy Collins, from "The Art of Drowning"
 
Heres a more complete passage, which I won't pretend to enjoy as much as the single line above...
 
 
 
The best time is late afternoon

when the sun strobes through
the columns of trees as you are hiking up,
and when you find an agreeable rock
to sit on, you will be able to see
the light pouring down into the woods
and breaking into the shapes and tones
of things and you will hear nothing
but a sprig of birdsong or the leafy
falling of a cone or nut through the trees,
and if this is your day you might even
spot a hare or feel the wing-beats of geese
driving overhead toward some destination.

But it is hard to speak of these things
how the voices of light enter the body
and begin to recite their stories
how the earth holds us painfully against
its breast made of humus and brambles
how we who will soon be gone regard
the entities that continue to return
greener than ever, spring water flowing
through a meadow and the shadows of clouds
passing over the hills and the ground
where we stand in the tremble of thought
taking the vast outside into ourselves.

THE UNDERTOAD

This is a picture from when I was in San Diego. I wanted to swim in the Pacific, and I did! Its much colder than I would have expected, the water, and I didn't go out very far because it just about took my breath away and I didn't want to be pulled out by the undertoad.

And they have little clams in the Pacific, and I ate one (it was delicious), and then I saw the sign that said "Dont eat the little clams".

Its all good.

"Pasties and a G-String"

I had a lot of trouble with this one a while back. Had to completely delete the post. 

 Photo credit my pal Martijn.

I LOVE A GOOD LAUGH IN THE MORNING

Embrace

You know the parlor trick.
wrap your arms around your own body
and from the back it looks like
someone is embracing you
her hands grasping your shirt
her fingernails teasing your neck
from the front it is another story
you never looked so alone
your crossed elbows and screwy grin
you could be waiting for a tailor
to fit you with a straight jacket
one that would hold you really tight.

~ Billy Collins

Ten little known facts about George Stephanopoulos:

1) George Stephanopoulos looks good in shorts.
2) In school lunchrooms in Greece, children can order the government funded “George Stephanopoulos Plate” No one really knows what’s on the plate, but it is delicious.
3) Bob Dylan wrote a song about George Stephanopoulos, only he had to change the name to “Johanna” because nothing rhymes with George Stephanopoulos.
4) When you mouth the words “George Stephanopoulos, it looks like you are saying “I've got a Gyro in my pocket”.
5) When the moon is in the Seventh House, George Stephanopoulos looks 2.5 centimeters taller.
6) George Stephanopoulos carries a pistol in his purse.
7) George Stephanopoulos has a Masters Degree in Animal Husbandry, and is responsible for the development of Wolf Blitzer.
8) Nine out of ten women find George Stephanopoulos more attractive than Sam Seaborn.
9) The names of the 7 dwarfs are Sleepy, Happy, Grumpy, Doc, Bashful, Dopey, and George Stephanopoulous.
10) George Stephanopoulos is included in spell check programs everywhere except blogger.


Thanks to the Blog of Grant Miller for the concept behind this posting. I had nothing else to do.

"THE WAY YOU EAT THAT OATMEAL PIE"

Ny friend the Red Dirt Girl has voted "Crash into Me" as the sexiest song ever. But thats because she has maybe never seen this video. It may not be the sexiest, or most romantic, but it gets me going everytime!

TREMBLE

Earlier this year I met the Editor of a small town paper that used some of my stories in the paper. I wrote about it before, and about how we had a falling out over the titles she was giving my stories. They sucked, they really sucked bad.


Well, we never really made up, but she is one of my Facebook friends and this week she posted a poem about a guy she met in a hot tub in Colorado a few years ago. It was at a place called Trimble Springs, and he had red hair, and they made out in the hot tub and she never saw him again. It was really a pretty good poem. The title of the poem was “Trimble”, and given the mildly erotic feel to her poem, it was a nice play on words.

I want ya’ll to know that I left her a nice comment because it was a very good poem, and I took the high road by not suggesting she change her title from “Trimble” to “Red haired man and slut suck face on snowy evening in hot tub”

PIANO LESSONS

I dreamed about my mama last night.

She was living with me, and we got our food and milk from the neighbors, they were very kind, and we had three cars in the driveway, and we took one to go pay a bill (Mom owed money to a Christmas Card company where she had tried to sell Christmas Cards one year and it was a lot of money that she paid with cash pulled from an eyeglass case in her purse), and then on the way back home we stopped at a nursery and bought Snow Pea seeds, because if you plant them in September you will be picking them come Christmas, and then when we got home we parked in the neighbor’s driveway and we went in through their side door like we always do, and they were asleep still, but we had milk and cookies and left them a note for being so kind and to say goodbye because we were buying a new house somewhere and were going to be packing today, and we got home to pack and all I could think in my dream was it was so nice to have mama alive with me again and how I wished I had kept up with those piano lessons back in the sixth grade so that I could play for her now and that maybe we should get a piano when we got to the new place.

CASTLES IN THE SAND

I nearly married a girl that could Etch-a-Sketch like you wouldn't believe. Castles in clouds with rock walks that lead to wooden doors with wrought iron handles and you could even see the keyhole.

She really had nice fingers, I mean the best.

BACK TO WORK

I was sick yesterday and didn't work.
But i want ya'll to see this pic from my friend at Assorted.
Its called "Back to work".

End of Quarter

Man, I can't think of a thing in the world I want to talk about just now.

WORLD TRADE CENTER

Everyone has their story to tell concerning 9/11 and so do I. I have been posting this story every year for a long time. Tomorrow I will write a different 9/11 story


In February of 1993 I had been looking for a Chef position for several months. I finally found work with a good company out of Dallas called “Culinaire’ International” . They had their fingers in a lot of pots, so to speak, including several Private Clubs and a High End Catering operation that did a lot of business with Ross Perot. The biggest part of their operation was doing foodservice for some large concerns in the Trade Area of Dallas. In addition to the Apparell Mart (Clothing), the Info Mart (Technology) and Market Hall (Housewares and Furnishings), they also did events at the Dallas Convention Center. They worked out of a huge kitchen in the World Trade Center @ Dallas.

Bear with me here...

On a “try-out” basis, I was hired to work mainly on one event coming up- the “Mary Kay” convention @ the Convention Center. It was Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner for 10,000 ladies for 3 days. We spent 2 weeks operating as a food processor, sealing foods we prepared into bags and storing them in two 18 Wheel Trailers. This was all done in and just outside the World Trade Center@ Dallas.

When it came event time, the trailers and an awful lot of equipment went to the Convention Center from the World Trade Center. Included in the Equipment were about a dozen of what we called “Boiling Oceans”. They were big water baths or “Bain Maries” as we call them in the business. I don’t know how many gallons of water they held, but they were about 12’ x3’ and 2 feet deep. We used them to heat up all the food that we had been "Seal-a-Mealing” for the last 2 weeks. The heat was generated by big propane tanks, not the backyard BBQ kind, but the one’s that look like Torpedoes.

The 3 days went smoothly, and I was impressed by the company and they seemed to like me. It took 2 days of hard work to get the Conevention Center cleaned up and everything back to the World Trade Center.

On my last day there, one of the last tasks I had was to take the leftover Propane tanks and put them in cages on the 2nd floor of the World Trade Center. On the way up I checked to make sure the valves were completely closed. Outside the cage, I again checked to make sure the valves were completely shut. And after putting them in the cages ….checked again. All 40 Propane Tanks are secure. Cage is locked.



An hour later I was on my way home. It’s a beautiful February day in 1993 and I am excited about the prospect of going to work for “Culinaire International”. At some point I turn on the radio for some tunes but what I get is a “Special Report”.

It is breaking news and what I hear is this:
““There has been an explosion at the World Trade Center. I can see smoke pouring out of the 2nd Floor window and people are being evacuated. Emergency vehicles are arriving but we have no further information. Stay tuned for further information..”“



““WHOA!““I am freakin’ out.
I says to myself ““I know none of those tanks were open. I checked them all. I double checked them all…”
“Then what caused the explosion?” the other voice in my head asks.“


Should I go back and explain that it could not be the tanks on the second floor that I had “Secured” that had caused this explosion? Sure, I’ll tell the newsguy that and the backdrop can be the smoke pouring out of the 2nd floor window.

Like I said, I’m freakin’ out.

I frantically search the radio dial all the way home. One more report confirms the explosion being at the World Trade Center and that the smoke is coming out of windows all the way up to the 5th floor now and there appear to be only a few minor injuries. Information is still sketchy as this has just occurred within the hour.
Freakin’ out.
I'm losin' it.

Pull into my driveway, run into the house to turn on the news. I am sure that not only have my chances at”Culinaire” gone up in smoke, but I am forever to be known as the guy that blew up the WTC @ Dallas.
T.V. is on.
I can stop freakin’ out.
By coincidence some fanatic had parked a Van full of fertilizer in the garage of the World Trade Center in New York City.
It was February 26, 1993 and that event that day would come to be known as the , "First World Trade Center Bombing".

That was 13 (sic) years ago and I had no idea at the time just how common* this kind of thing might become.
I had no idea I would wake up one morning to find someone had flown a plane into each of those two towers.
That’s my story.

*This was written some years ago. Fortunately the steps that have been taken to help protect us have worked well. It has not become a common occurance on our soil , but like Kissyface commented a few years ago, some folks have really made a foul use of us perceiving it that way.

PAYING ATTENTION

"No matter how careful you are, there’s going to be the sense you missed something, the collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn’t experience it all. There’s that fallen heart feeling that you rushed right through the moments where you should’ve been paying attention."

— Chuck Palahniuk

FULLY CLOTHED WOMEN

 "I do respect her but...still love to watch her strut"

"Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world."

— Marilyn Monroe

"But first, are you experienced?"

THE BACKPACK

Labor Day marks the official end of summer down here in Texas. After ringing up 68 days of 100 degree plus temperatures, we celebrated Labor Day this year with a high of only 93. It was glorious, and I had a splendid day at a BBQ and Bluesfest where my good friend Buddy Whittington played.


Buddy is a local boy, and there are always a great group of friends at his shows. At Sundays festival my son was there, and the ex-Mrs Bulletholes was there too. My son Rip had a young lady with him, and he had a backpack too, I assume it contained Rip’s clothes and a toothbrush in for whatever he might be doing with the young lady after the show.

It was Rips backpack that became the center of much controversy, and nearly ruined my own plans.

See, the Ex Mrs Bulletholes has been keeping up with the boys backpack ever since his very first backpack.
In the first grade she would ask him if he had his backpack when he was getting ready for school.
In the second grade, she would have to take his backpack to school after he forgot it.
In the third grade, she would have to take him to look for his backpack whenever he left it out in a muddy field somewhere.
In the fourth grade, she would have to buy him a new backpack after he lost his.
All the way through 12th grade, she would task herself (often drafting me as well) with anything associated with his bloody backpack. The first question after school every day for twelve years was “Rip, where is your backpack?”

Everyday. Twelve years.

So Sunday night Rip is at the festival with his girl, and everyone is having a good time, and I'm up dancing in the crowd, and people are cheering me on,  and I have a very elaborate plan to slip away right after Buddy plays. There is someone meeting me outside the back lot, see, and the show is over now, the next act is setting up, and I’m just about to make my big break when the Ex Mrs Bulletholes grabs me and asks “Where is Rip?”.

‘He was sitting right there.“ I say, and I turn to point to his lawn chair. The chair is empty, except for his backpack.
“Well, he’s not there now and he left his backpack” she says.
“Hmmff” I say, because I could give a rats ass about where he is or what he’s doing because all I can think about is slipping out of this gig, and getting myself to the backlot.
‘You have to find him” she says “And make sure he gets his backpack.
I’m trying to stay cool. I need to split, like now.“Why don’t you call him?” I say ‘And you can see what he wants YOU to do about his backpack.”
“OK” she says and starts dialing her phone, so I say “Good, its settled” and start to leave but she grabs me and says ‘Wait, I may need you to help make sure he gets his backpack.”

Dear God in Heaven.

Well, that’s just not happening, because I couldn’t care less about Rips backpack; my business is ducking out to the backlot in the next 5 minutes… Here he is, 21 years old, 17 years experience dealing with a backpack, and the Ex Mrs Bulletholes has still got her finger on the pulse of his backpack, and is still, after all these years, recruiting me to help deny him his pain, his pain of losing his backpack. So while she was making her second call to him about his backpack at the Bluesfest, I was non-chalantly slipping further out of range until I turned and ran as fast as I could away from there.

I never even had a backpack, except the one in Scouts, and my momma never had a thing to do with it.

CREAMY CUCUMBER SOUP

Funny, here I am with all these blog posts covering 4 years and outside of a few "Shoe Based" menu's, I have never left ya'll a recipe'. At a readers request (Kim)  here is something nice and light and tres petite for the end of summer...


Creamy Cucumber Soup
Peel and seed cucumbers, half inchrough dice, into the food processor with just enough heavy cream to fill halfway up the cukes. Get it?
Pulse lightly, don't overdo it.
S&P, finish with lots of fresh dill cut with a knife, not in the processor.
Float a little dollop of sour cream and dill sprig as a garnish. Or not.
Best if you chill nicely for a few hours. Keeps well overnight.
Serve in a big red wine glass.

Clean, so very clean on the palate. Some folks put yogurt or lemon and other stuff. I prefer it unmasked and pure.
Have a nice Holiday Weekend!

The God Who Only Knows Four Words~

Every child has known God.

Not the God of names.

Not the God of don't.

Not the God who ever does anything weird.

But the God who only knows four words.

And keeps repeating them, saying:
'Come dance with me.'

Come

Dance.

~Hafiz (16th century Sufi poet)