So, every time I hit ‘Publish’ here, and a today’s post flies into your home, it’s like the curtain going up. On the movie of me. And when “I do not think, therefore I do not am,” it’s the curtain going up on ‘just this.’
It’s kind of like the B52’s singing, “Dance This Mess Around.” Right. This mess. Where ‘mess’ may conjure up some particular image. Then again, how about The Beach Boys’ “You Need a Mess of Help To Stand Alone?” That ‘mess.’ Or, in a life not remembered, sitting around a campfire, cook yells, ‘mess.’ Yet another ringing bell in this life. Come and get it.
The singer Donovan, a very cool cat, sang, “First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.” Perhaps things aren’t what they seem. And wasn’t it Stan who said, “We’ve made a fine mess of things this time, haven’t we, Ollie.”
Somehow, in the move from an attic on SE Cesar Chavez to a basement on NE 16th, I lost a beloved small statue of the Buddha and a complete sheet of 20 postal stamps.
Curtain time. What a mess.
from a mountain bench 
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