Up until this woman named Isabella got on her high horse about paradox. I only thought I knew what the term meant until she nailed me to the cross for the way I carelessly used it. Then, I had to get serious about how I might more thoughtfully approach the word, if ever, if I was going to use it at all again.
That's not how I came to my subjective understanding of projection that this same woman disagrees with vehemently. She's almost polite about it. After all, she is a self-professed Libra, but she must have grown up around seaports.
She's apparently used to not having her academic references go unchallenged by nincompoops like me, and there's no blame for her not wanting to deal with that, but I like her feedback, so I ruffle her feathers occasionally to discover exactly how she will attempt to put me in my place. I've never met her in person. You know how it is online. The face-to-face truth might be she ain't a she at all.
As usual, I had a vision about what projection is, and returned from that rather spectacular vision (aroused, roiling, white light event horizons and all) muttering, "Everything is nothing but the idea that it's something, and it could be anything at all." The fact that I got back with it in any coherent fashion at all was a miracle. I wrote it down, of course, but like with my remembering vision there was no need. How could I forget?
This vision happened in the same window of ti-me as my remembering vision, but in a different location in the same town during a different season of the year. Both visions, however, happened within a hundred yards of the Tar River upstream from the Pamlico Sound that's contained for the most part by the eastern-most ribbons of the outer banks near Manteo. Take a look:
http://www.pamlico.com/
This quaint (to me) statement I found myself uttering and sputtering to get it out into the sensory dimension as if by will power alone was to haunt me for decades, and still seems perched proverbially above my "chamber door" and croaking, when asked if will ever leave and begone from me, "Nevermore!"
I don't actually know if that statement is the real God's own truth or even a false god's truth, but as I reflected on it's possible me-and-thee-ing (meaning) for three decades it became some sort of truth for me. but with my creative beret in hand.
I just now returned from a visit to my fig tree. I took a step ladder out there to reach the juicy, sun-drenched ones on top. I wait all year long, and worry myself sick over potential late frosts in the Spring for this fig fruiting season to come into being. I have to compete with the birds and June bugs to get a share of them, and that's why I haven't eaten anything else today but tree-ripened figs. There's not a chance in hell I'll get sick from over-indulging because they get gone too fast.
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.
