“Order and disorder can be seen when the witches prophecy that everything is not as it seems” Macbeth
I am probably the only putz who writes what he’s not going to write about. It will not shock you that it is Friday, late afternoon. Thank God I didn’t walk home, because I would have started off with a story about my walk and the music I was listening to at the time. While I was driving home, I felt relieved I didn’t have to go off on some musical tangent.
I want to say a couple of things about writing. I don’t know how to tell you any stories without including the fact that I am writing these damn things right now. I decided when I first started this business, my stories would always have the moment in them, no matter what the fuck I was writing about. I also know it makes my writing much less appealing commercially, because I keep interrupting myself. All this could be more like a diary I am sharing. It’s another way of saying thank you to those of you who do read this stuff.
Coming into this week, I was thinking I’d been unrelentingly heavy for the last bunch of stories. Maybe I should share a past adventure or two and spin them together in some meaningful manner, while lightening the load just a bit?
I did start thinking about my past and how really interesting it has been. I’ve got a fucked up way of looking at my history when it comes to my writing. I’ve already written about most anything that’s happened to me, at least until ten years ago. After I finished my book, I didn’t want to write about myself like that any more. In that memoir for my grandson, I was straight ahead honest, at least at that moment, I sure as shit was. I just don’t feel terribly interested in revisiting all that stuff again on paper.
So, I started doing an inventory of all my adventures and there are a shitload. I am thinking, “What story should I retell with a new spin?” The truth is, it’s not my bag. I like letting my history baste with time. It just tastes better and better and feels more like a dinner for one, the longer it rests in the memory of moments passed.
I am not sure which morning it was when I decided to take on the entire Universe. I started thinking about my life, which has some length to it, marveling at my good fortune. Trust me, there are painful shadows, but I’d be a fool to bitch.
Is it an infinite series of unrelated coincidences that are the architects of my life? Does how I live my life have a bearing on how it turns out? The more I thought about it, the more I liked it as something to talk about.
Let’s say you’re a healer and you’re damn good at it. If you had your chart done and it doesn’t matter the discipline, you’d be an All Star. You have impeccable, spiritual credentials and I am not being sarcastic either. Now, let’s say you’re sitting in the rubble of your home in Marrakesh and your entire family has just washed away. What the fuck have you done to deserve that life? Is this shit random or is it preordained?
I think I know the answer, but I don’t know why it’s that way. We are dealing with a level of complexity that is impossible to fathom. It’s like the ocean and trying to predict the precise shape of every wave, everywhere, all the time. I think it is an overwhelming amount of chaos, so large, it is perfect, perfectly random. I swear I am not crazy, at least not about this.
I also believe there are people, who are attuned to the invisible world and find order within the chaos.There are shapeshifters and ghosts and all sorts of mysticism. I believe we are much more responsible for our lives than we think, the currency of karma.
However, it doesn’t explain how billions and billions of people over the millennia having simply been pawns of time, innocent victims of the chaos. When all you can think about is your next meal, why would you give a flying fuck about this conversation?
I think the higher you climb life’s ladder, the thinner the air becomes. Maybe that’s the explanation for why I bother thinking about this kind of stuff. An oxygen starved, shrinking brain is a wild card. In some ways, as vision gets shittier and shittier, there’s a bunch of stuff you get to see more clearly.
Somehow, I just slid into thinking about why things happen. I started looking over my life and how incredibly rich it has been, wondering if I’m just lucky or if I have been cared for by some force beyond my comprehension. In a way, it really is why I write. I can’t think of a better way for me to repay my good fortune, whether by accident or design, I don’t give a damn. For the record, I believe in magic.
PS: Crap, I just don’t know how to keep it light.