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The possibilities of what showing up for that colonoscopy next Wednesday could have on my future has taken to dominating my thoughts presently. The fact that the surgeons might find some sort of cancer there, and immediately determine that it's too late to do anything about it. Admittedly, that's the extreme case, but my doctor at the VA scheduled me for a colonoscopy directly because she wanted to know if that situation exists in fact. She also tentatively made me an appointment with the eye clinic, but that's put off until after the colonoscopy. Everything is. My life is on hold.
Presently, it seems futile to read about events that will happen after June 17, 2009. There is a real possibility I might be well on my way outta this world in a relatively short amount of time from a pain in the ass. I wonder just what kind of reaction I might have if they tell me I'm in dire straits and about to croak. It's not like if I am, that I'll have to live with the shame of not "taking it like a man". My relatives might be embarrassed if I act cowardly, but I'll be gone to the sweet bye and bye. I don't care, at least at this juncture, I've been there many times even while occupying this body.
I watched this TEDtalk video again:
http://www.ted.com/talks/evelyn_glennie_shows_how_to_listen.html
I didn't start out to hear it a second time. I just responded to the title about learning to listen and figured I probably couldn't ever know too much about that, and clicked to see whatever came up. As soon as I saw the woman demonstrating 'how to listen', however, I was very happy to sit down and watch it again.
There's something about her presentation that makes me weep with joy for what she has accomplished as a deaf person. It also makes me feel ashamed that I really haven't tried to accomplish anything with whatever musical talents I may have. My take is that I never attracted the right teacher. Either that or my fate wasn't supposed to take that particular primrose path.
This Evelyn Glennie has taken percussion to an end I can't even imagine was/is possible. I've realized in the past that I needed to know more about percussion and counting rhythms. Five or six years ago I bought a professionally made djembe drum and began playing what for me was in earnest. I felt emotionally met in some ways, but not inspired to sit and play hours on end.
I found it impossible to feign dedication and devotion simply because I mentally keened that's what it took to get where I might wanna end up at, if I had my way. After a couple of years I drifted over to trying to learn the various scales on the piano, and found out by the difficulties I began having that I have rheumatoid arthritis, and I'm lucky I can still type.
Writing stuff is what makes time fly for me. It's no struggle at all to get lost in saying what I see for hours on end. It's not just creating the images I like to conjure that is even the most of it, but editing what I create from attempting to capture drifting thought is what make time evaporate.
That's a big deal to me. I searched all my life for an activity that was so interesting to me that I'd get lost in the very doing of it. It only happened when I bought my first computer in 1988 (or so), and then got an online account with the local ISP. I was literally convinced to get an online account by having it proved to me that I could join a discussion group about NLP. I live in a small rural town in the Bible Belt of the Old South. There wasn't many books about NLP in the local libraries, and there wasn't gonna be any.
I only discovered that I could write for hours on end and lose track of time when I had the chance to exchange e-mails with people who were much more familiar with NLP than me. Even after my lust to understand NLP abated, I still liked the idea of belonging to e-mail discussion groups, especially after I started keeping a blog.
If I were use my daily writing habit to describe Joseph Campbell's "hero's journey", I might describe the editing of what I attempt to capture with words the part of the journey that happens after I get back from the dreamtime and am trying to manifest what I brought back from the pearl of great price in my hidden wallet into the sensory dimension.
I don't seem to get so infuriated with myself as much anymore when after I've worked for hours on capturing and editing for prime time the drifting thoughts I've encountered as a vagabond and passerby, then discover after I've published online that my editing itself was flawed.
I wrote about something yesterday that I spent entirely too much time editing to screw it up with typos or omissions. I worked and worked at it. Thought I had it down pat. Published it. Then, when I was re-reading it here, I realized that I had forgotten to re-insert an "I" that I intentionally erased, but I forgot to go back and re-insert that "I", and the whole piece didn't make any sense. "For loss of a nail... "
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I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
