Sunday, January 31, 2010

Wavy Davy rides into the sunrise

Janus is thirty-firsting, so if I am to blog in the month of the 2-faced god, it must be now.

I did indeed venture to the northlands, & in doing so escaped a grand snowfall--12 inches--that shut off power in the house where I live for 4 days. By the time the electrical flow was restored, the temperature inside the house was 34 degrees. So, it was snowier down in the westnorth of the southeast than it was in the states that border Canada when I was there. Go figure.

I am deep in the throes (& sometimes throws) of re-organization. It is not a new year's resolution so much as a seepage (& sometimes eruption) of the new state of cosmic ordering within me into the reflecting surface world we call reality. So much fun!

We just had another snowfall. It was forecast to be 10 to 15 inches but stopped short of that. Still, it is beautiful & crisp & (for some folk) crazy-making. I happen to love it. What else do I love? Pierre Teilhard du Chardin & Carl Jung, slow dancing with Einstein. Maple truffles with smoked sea salt. Envisioning Narcissus falling in love with his own true self, rather than just his pretty face. My new leopard print storage boxes with black diamonds on their magnetic closure lids. An ongoing Star Trek movie marathon--only one left to go! A powerful, personal worldview.

I say goodbye-hello (perhaps aloha would be a better word) to my uncle Dave, who turned into a different version of himself the day before Christmas & to my second cousin Marvin, who did the same the day after Christmas, & my dad's best friend Phil who is no doubt playing pinochle with my friend Cathy's mother, since they both exited/entered the same day in January's first week. I already had a dream visit from Uncle Dave & look forward to more. We scattered his ashes on his dog's grave--13 fenceposts from the corner of the cemetery & 13 paces out into the pasture.

Blog alternative:
182. Celebrate a friend or relative who no longer inhabits a point in the space-time continuum--or at least not a point that you can reach with your physical senses.