Tag Archives: pondering

What Do You Think About When You Think About Nothing?

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She says:

“Erase all thoughts from your mind.”

“Melt into the floor and think of nothing.”

I don’t know about you but I find it extremely hard to think about nothing.

The lights are out now. I guess that’s supposed to help.

I’m laying on the yoga mat (didn’t do Yoga but “all-in conditioning”). Body is tired and yes there is a bit of “melting” going on if sweat pooling beneath a torso counts.

Think of nothing.

I’m not good at this. All I manage to do is think about how to think about nothing.

What are the other seven people thinking about in their “nothingness”?

How does anyone think of nothing?

I try not to think about the errands I’ll be running when class is over, about what I’ll be photoshopping when I get home, about how to improve the playground that I’ve set up for my grandkids in my backyard.

Sigh.

I stare at the back of my closed eyelids.

Better. It’s dark there.

I’m thinking about how dark it is. But there is nothing to touch, nothing to see.

I’m a little bored.

And then I see it.

A wee wisp of floating light.

A silk scarf in space illuminated by a moon that sits somewhere out of my line of sight.

Or is it a star sliding sideways in slow motion leaving a jet stream of light?

Nah, it’s an angel thread,

an angel fiber,

angel cilia,

angel strand.

I’m still thinking. I’m thinking of the perfect word to describe that thing floating in my blackened vision.

“Start moving your fingers, your toes. Open your eyes,” she says.

What? It’s time to get up?

I’m not finished thinking of nothing.

Angel Wisp- CDW ©

THE STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN HAS HANDRAILS!

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I’m glad. Who knows? I might need them when the time comes. I also happened to notice a lot of cigarette butts on the steps. Guess some folks listening to Led Zeppelin wanted a last smoke before entering through the pearly gates.

As you can guess, I didn’t climb the stairs. I still have a lot of blogging to do. 🙂

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Why must I?

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always write outside? Even when I travel, I search for a place out in the elements where I can plant my tush, open my laptop and write.

Perhaps walls close in my thoughts.

Or the heater or AC turning on sounds too artificial.

Or I don’t like the fake lighting.

Maybe it’s because I got used to writing (or painting) outside when I was a smoker. But that was long ago.

Maybe it’s because, outside,  I can sit at a table and throw the ball for my mini-Aussie using a right-handed muscle memory with no thought but for the words I write.  So he and I, kill two stones with one bird (yes I meant it that way) – and it makes us both happy as he returns for another 50 throws.

I have one of those propane heaters, kinda like restaurants do. So if it’s above 40 degrees, I’m still good to go.

Because I live in Texas, the temp works with me. Right now, I think it’s around 68.

I like the soft wind, the openness, the expanse and, at least the hope of, the unbound creativity where no walls surround me and world shows up and says,

“Howdy do! Break Into – your creative zone”

Any maybe, it’s also because I get to see this:

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Why am I sad?

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Because I fed her and the rest of her eager mates in water world every morning?

Because I was excited when Alex the Fish Man said yesterday she was bloated and may be ready to have babies?

Alex the Fish Man is on speed dial. I told him she was laying on her side, panting as she stared at me. He said she could have been bloated because of a something-something disease. The companions continued to swim by her, nudging her. “Get up. Get up!,” they said.

I turned up the oxygen level as told. Her panting slowed but she did not get up.

The others stared at me like saying, “aren’t you going to do anything?”

A brief visit to my computer, I went back to check. No movement. Nothing. Gone.

All I could do was say, “I’m sorry.” And to the others, I said the same.

Life.

As I often say, during the good or the bad, “There goes that Universe again.”

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She was still alive in this photo. Posting her dead would have been callous.

 

The Magic In-Between

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You know that state when you’re laying in bed? When you’re not asleep but not awake, and thoughts or images pop up from seemingly no where? Do you try to grab them before they slip away and make yourself remember?

I had one last night. But before I tell you this one, I’ll tell you one from the past.

During one– in particular– in-between, I caught a word, a name. “O. R. -something”, last name “Ryan.” So, of course, the next day, I made a search of O.R. Ryan. I kept looking until Orion appeared. Orion’s belt? I’d heard of it.

I didn’t know anything about stars except to look at them! Like I did that night before.

The next day, after telling my friend about what I found in my in-between, he said, “Yes, you can see Orion’s Belt clearly now from your backyard.”

I had been staring at Orion’s belt thinking about anything but the constellation.

But Orion had thought of me.

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Last night, I saw an arched light blue wooden door. From my perspective, it appeared about five feet away from me. Like Mr. O. Ryan, there was no feeling attached to this door. Since I’m terribly interested in my in-between, I searched for a photo.  It looked sort of like this, same color, same perspective, but without the ivy.

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This door lives in Ireland, not the top of my bucket list of places to visit, nor the bottom.

So now I’m thinking. Did I write a poem, some analogy about a door? If I did, I’ll find it.

When you hear the whisper of magic in your in-between, grab it. It will tell you something. You just have to pay attention.