Flailing, flailing, over the dah da dum... however the song goes. I'm flailing along trying to find the steering wheel to this craft... wondering and wandering in the ocean of possibility.
If you're gonna find inspiration, you gotta act. You gotta go for it, cause it doesn't come and get you when you're all primed and ready for it. You gotta exercise and fight for it.
So that's what I'm doing today. I'm writing to you from the Flail-a-whirl. Hands and feet and legs and toes and all just spinning, whirling away. Fingers hands nose and toes. All hands on deck. To the mustard room, stat! To infinity and beyond!
I wanted to stop and get a drink before I started. So I did. Just ended up being procrastination. But now I'm here, and I'm creating. In creative mode. Create in, create out. Breathe in, breathe out. Spell check now, spell check later. There goes the procrastination again...
Had someone come to our door the other night and ring the bell. The dog was in the back yard but still started going crazy. I listened to the spiel and found my cue-- I asked for a flier that I could respond to later. He was glad to oblige and thanked me. It was pleasant and left me wanting to do more. Wanting to help.
Not like when that isn't enough. Like when they want you to buy something or give them some money like right now. I'm bothered by that, but who isn't? This was a nice man doing his job for the United States Mission, an organization that helps the homeless to help themselves. We have a "chapter" in San Jose, and I've helped them out before with monetary donations. And they are thankful for whatever you can do. I once took a bag of clothes and old shoes down to them and they were very thankful for that kind of donation too. Not like Goodwill who refuses to take things if they can't see a profit in it. They flatly refused my dad's set of golf clubs. This was a donation, certainly they could at least take the irons and melt them down or something? But no, there wasn't any worth in them, so I had to dispose of them. Made me angry.
Surely some sports organization looking to make its way would appreciate a set of golf clubs in any condition-- for some kid that has none, perhaps? Would that a young wannabe Tiger be assisted in some way, if he (or she) were in need of some equipment?
I dunno. It seems to me that we're all thinking in small minded ways these days. We don't see the forest for the trees. We see lumber to build houses, but for whom to be able to afford? There is no shortage of empty buildings in my current city, but there is no economy that could ever afford to house it again, since the dot-bomb boom. We are lavished in things like television sets, high definition flat screen beauty, but there are hundreds of channels of nothing on. A parade of blandeur. I just made up a new word. I think.
We all are searching for something greater than ourselves. That's what it means to be alive. We are looking outside of what we know and what we have to find something that brings more of the magical, festive emotion to our hearts. We do things like paint, read, converse, write-- all with the intention of getting somewhere better. Of uncovering more truth or awareness. Or learning about your supposed enemies. We flail on a scale that includes all parts of this whole thing we call life. We're all connected. Interwoven like cloth. We reach out and touch each other as we flail, realizing that we're trying and we're in it together. Each of us strings in the blanket of life. Somewhere, String Theory comes into play here. But that's a subject for another ride.
There's something special that goes on when we dream. We find out things that we thought couldn't happen. We find answers to unanswerable questions. We create reality out of nothing.
Imagination is the engine that churns out life. Reality is just our perception of it, our consciousness of it. Imagination is in flux, just like life. It is dynamic, organic. Like a river or the ocean. A moving train.
I've stopped typing long enough to think and that has derailed my train. Don't know if I can climb back on track.
All in the name of progress.
I do this because I'm trying to get somewhere. I don't know where that is, but I'm still flailing along, trying to do it. Writing, imagining, yearning, dreaming-- reaching out into the dark to find my way to where I'm going. My most re-quoted quote, from Anne LaMott, who was quoting E.L. Doctorow: "Writing is like driving at night with your headlights on. You can only see a few feet in front of you, and yet you can make the whole journey that way." I flail, but I make progress. I spin, zig and zag, but I move toward the goal.
"You have to admit, it's getting better. A little better, all the time." -- The Beatles
What am I? A brain? A soul? An amalgam of parts that add up to make an entity floating in the river of life? There are so many millions of things that are a part of me-- ideas, concepts, dreams, fingers, organs, blood, sweat, toenails-- and all of these things are moving with me on the flail-a-whirl. Up, down, spin to the left; up, down, spin to the right. My right pinky finger and its however many cells-- Millions? Billions?-- spins on the same axis as the rest of the world, relatively speaking. I share much in common with my fellow human organisms. And there are trillions of things that we have in common, yet are each separate and our own. Trillions of conceptual atoms that form our bodies, our worlds, and the universe.
Trillion is a really big number. Relatively speaking.
What do I really know? I'm just thinking here. Just trying to figure it out. I'm flailing along this rapid river without so much as a paddle-- just a keyboard on this stream of consciousness. Feel free to jump in and swim to your own conclusion.
As for me, well, I just keep on imagining that I'll somehow find a way to get off this carnival ride and find the Tunnel of Love. I've heard good things about that one.