Monday, January 21, 2008

Buen' Dia, Todos, Hi-Ho!

I woke up this AM with a clear direction to post a new blog, while drinking my morning coffee here at Palmer House in Glenwood, currently filled with things to pack and unpack, software to import to my new laptop (an HP Pavilion Special Edition, with bronzed, engraved finish, like me after a week in Teote), and a vast and growing collection of works by my great friend, Wewer Keohane of Carbondale. My "Silver," a Subaru Outback, sits out in front, awaiting my key. Yes, that "Silver," as in "Hi, Ho, Silver, Away," though I'm hardly the Lone Ranger or Tonto, except, I suppose, in my long-held sense that, from gratitude, I can make the world a better place, one clear step at a time, just as the ever-young Loner did, in fifties-America TV. Unlike "Kemo Sabe," however, I don't see the world in black or white, don't chase "bad guys" with black hats and bandanas over their nostrils, don't even see bad guys, for that matter.

When people come at me with anger, it's not me who's bothering them, really, but, rather, something hidden deep inside them which they're denying about themselves, unfortunately projected on me. In other words, it's none of my business, all that angst, unless I, now in my mellowness, recognize the interaction for what it really is, a cry for help, too well defended to be spoken. Sometimes, I make that my business. But, otherwise, I let those horny projections whiz right by me, gracias a Dios, as a bull whipping past a matador's taut, scarlet aside.

H-m-m-m, That'll end up in a poem someday, I'm thinkin'.

Once that energy's past me, as all things do pass, I can, then, go about my business of loving that currently angry-one-of-us for the hero/shero really in front of me, or, again, face and feint for another pass until I tire the pobrecito down to a weary grace. Works, most of the time, but, of course, not always: I can get as rattled as the best and worst of them, but Life's a fandango, and, as I continue to lose weight and grow in esteem, I may become a lithe bullfighter yet, dancing in the sand, suited in lights.

Gracias, CenterDoug

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