Ramblings At Small (vs. At Large)

  • Math. An accomplishment of vision. Art and math and science are all bridges between the human and the divine, beauty a means of access to grace. Mathematics, Simone Weil wrote, “is first, before all, a sort of mystical poem composed by God himself.”
  • I don’t know much math, certainly not higher math, but I have always felt that shiver of acknowledgement when thinking of the room that belongs to Pure Mathematics, the thoughts that would cause the mind to wheel and gallop and explode there. Generating enlightenment. A spiritual experience.
  • Lizzy Fig is on the patio wearing her lovely new do of a lion cut. She is still so tiny though not the wee one I was afraid of stepping on. Her current concern is the catching of bugs. I believe that is an occupation of note. To be so engrossed is the gift we long for.
  • Once again last night I was at university in my dreams. Ah! So now it occurs to me why I was thinking of math today. In the dream I was in a math class for a test. Interesting—the first ex was sitting next to me and we were both taking the test tho we had not been in the class together. Of course I had forgotten there was an assignment and test due and did not study at all. I knew nothing. And yet, when it came time to do the work I opened my booklet to discover the layout of many forms that I had begun. All I had to do was draw the line between them individually. I understood that I understood even tho I did not currently have the knowledge with me.
  • Perhaps math is such that it is because that’s what made the Universe.
  • I read somewhere that the things or occupations at an expert level that will drive men insane are philosophy, chess, and mathematics. My brother suggested we add astronomy to that. All of course enlist the search for Truth.
  • I’ve just now come back from an hours long trip around the bend of various articles and pages saved—the trip that begins with looking up a single thought and ends up with riding a monster tail. I do love monsters.
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  • P.S. I’m going to check into:
As Posted On Amazon


Voices in the Head

Good Grief! August? August really? It’s been that long since I’ve entered here? Apparently I had turned and faced another direction. It happens.

So, for now, some ramblings written at the invisible desk.

  • I find there are some places I went with Wolf that are now sacred. It doesn’t seem right to return to them, even to worship. The place where he got his Indian name, Arroyo Lobo, where we walked through the open space and jumped across deep chasms, later making a fallen-tree bridge. Some things, those things, live in memory, not in any sort of day’s reality. That’s were we came across Larry the Beetle, where we gathered stories and poetry along with the dried gifts of the tall wild weeds in autumn.  We had good luck there, good days.
  • Trapped in the Prism of Self. I know it’s becoming real because it is also terrifying. Are we all caged but unbowed resistors? I think not. I think we’re plenty bowed.
  • Even tho we step outside the bubble of life, the perforated lines that mark the everyday world, that will not give us the right to toss stones at it. Being dismissed, ignored, having little crimes committed (unpaid parking tickets, non-purchased licenses, unattended rituals) will bring misfortune. The world does not tolerate insubordination.
  • There are some books that must be set aside because they are too precious, too fine. I do not like the thought of them ending, they must be savored. One sentence at a time, one page. Notes. Underlines. Then closed to wait on the shelf for another time. The plot does not matter tho it is the brilliant sunlight on the pool of water that draws the reader into the drowning place. One foot on shore, walk on and wait. Draw a breath. Breathe thru the exquisite.
  • The Pleasure Centers move as the brain ages. Now the snow memorizes itself into the road in front of the house. The tree shadows form an embrace laying down their forms on top of the white, mingling stillness. The deer walk slowly, pause to look up at my window and question, “You still here? Still waiting for something to happen?” Only now that they are here, now that they ask, that is the something. Buddha on the altar behind me doesn’t care. He’s busy somewhere else.


Random Thoughts—or—Thinking Out Loud

  • And the Big Weiner surfaces again. Perhaps the aftermath in the public outcry is what he wants. Part of the exhibitionism? Is there a psychological category for “Just Plain Creepy”?
  • And his wife. The Huma factor. She had to undergo “much therapy to be able to forgive.” Really? Let me guess: the therapist is a man.
  • According to many biologists we have already begun the Sixth Great Extinction. Human beings cannot survive, any more than the dinosaurs could. There’s no guarantee that the earth itself will survive but likely it will. Just as it has in the past. I think we should have campaign buttons. “Proud Member of The Sixth Great Extinction.”
  • It occurs to me that all of the easily accessible news—the internet, TV, I Pads, et.al.—creates a problem. Now we constantly know what’s going on. I’d rather wait for the movie newsreel.