Sometimes, Humans go and do something catastrophic.
Such as: Die.
Or: Get Born.
In between is the matter of Life and the living of it.

Then, one day, you find yourself holding an infant at a funeral. Caught in the  handclap between these palm extremes.

Noise is vibrations in the air.
We don’t even hear all the frequencies; some animals hear a wider range.  Animals also know who needs to be cuddled.
Emotions are vibrations in mortality.

Music lilts on waves of their own. Microwaves beam. Light, color, all of it.

Life is those brilliant, vibrating moments in between.

Unadulterated and undiluted, watch a baby take in a room full of gesticulating adults. It somehow pacifie(r)s me to know I’m not the only one who gets totally blown away by all of this.
We can take in only so much; thus, for most of us, receptors dull life to a manageable din.
Ask someone with ASD what it’s like to live without those protective filters.

I struggle, learning to moderate emotional input. As an adolescent, it was paralyzing. A plane had but to fly overhead and I was crushed by so many unknown fates and histories. I would feel so afraid and angry sometimes that I was offended when earth did not collapse beneath it. If I was having a bad day, it seemed only natural that everyone around me have a bad day. Buttfingers spent years pointing out my narcissism in all of this. What am I, some sort of gate keeper?

Settling in to the rhythm of living I begin to embrace, [ergo: mold] that it is my charge to bear witness and tell the stories. To point out the waves and claps of spirit amoung us, across the miles.

Sometimes to achieve the intended platform, one must prove/pour themselves into attaining it. This initial and seemingly eternal plane of planning, saving, hoping, and stalling plays a very important part in the lesson. For example, when VailCorp gets around to paying me from several weeks ago (ahem), I will have saved up $10,000 of my own dollars toward my Cordillera Expedition.

It’s just some arbitrary number, a place holder, flood-line marker. I don’t know, I suppose I just wanted to share the achievment.

But now I must scram, for it is time to meet with the gang, to go to the cabin for the ice fishing tournament.
B/c, hey, how better to celebrate being alive, than to live it.

Hope it was a happy February, Flockers.