So friends, I moved into a house on a busy road, with a porch. Finally I’m sitting more out on the porch these days, mostly evenings, enjoying the view, taking in the new neighborhood.
I was over in Montrose I think for too long and it’s good to be out. Now when I’m back over there, I’m an outsider. Feels right. Here in Eastwood, it’s all a little more raw. GF says one night there was a man slowly going past the house, scuttling backwards, like in a recent novel I’ve read. And so many books this year, until I moved.
Now, no reading schedule. Prepressing and adjusting. Okay, so I’m adjusting. A move can take a lot out of a person, not just this person. Ah, yes. Remember, we call these things bardo realms, transitional periods, some rougher than others.
Observe with some clarity your transitions. Sometimes someone is going to help you through, tremendously, maybe just a little, maybe not at all.
From the front porch I tell my friend, again, again—”If you’re really looking, there’s teachers all around you. If you want a teacher, you’ll find one. It might not even be a human. It could be the side of a wall. Could be a complete asshole. You never know.” Time to adjust, best I can.
This ain’t no comfort zone. This either/or shit. Oh man, the election. This shit is a bitch. Less evil, less evil, less evil, at least, like we’re ordering a drink. Leave room for milk. Why do we always leave room for less evil?
A tad of a journal entry. A spot, a spotty dalmatian, some Disney movie from some time ago attaches itself to your young brain and you drag memories with you like bashed up old luggage.
Don’t look at my eye infection and it won’t look at you. Things are swell but swollen.
Concentrate on the music festival coming up, who you wanna see most. The watch on your wrist will remind you to stand. Remind you to be kind, if you set it.
Compliment someone today, if you can. Thank them, if they’re around. Morning sun comes in soft and says last night’s mistakes are going to matter a little less now, provided…
Provided, yeah.
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