Youth days at the aquarium are inimical to fishes, for students feed the goldfish far beyond our wishes. They agitate the sharks and rays by knocking on the glass. They irritate the piranhas and terrorize the bass. Scientific discovery is great for teens and tots, but part of education is discovering the “nots.” I think we’ll bring an ending to this day at the aquarium, and for your next school outing would you please choose the terrarium?
My cursory comments I doubt will draw raves, garner no compliments, create no waves. Words cast to the wee hours have little wit. It would be no loss if they never were writ. And yet they keep coming, first one, then the next. Doubtless their readers will be sorely vexed to see that these lines here are nothing but fluff. Cursory comments are rarely enough!!!
This trail of salt reveals to me you’re led by superstition. Eyes shut tight, you stumble on, following tradition. Like a deer in headlights, you are blinded by the light that others cast, refusing to be guided by insight.
There is a light inside you that will lead you much more surely. That little nudge that prompts you will guide you more securely. Trust that spark within you to tell you what to do. You need not fear those instincts you carry within you.
They are the wisdom of the universe, trying to get out. If you do not heed their whisper, you may later hear their shout. What you deem as accidents might be communication from that inner part of you, prompting your education.
Although those outer voices may continue to deride, trust your inner voices. They are firmly on your side. What you find within you may be genius that’s unknown that won’t come to fruition until it has been sown.
You are its only guardian. Only you can plant and tend and bring these new world miracles to their fruitful end. Do not let superstition or fear of the what could be keep you from that within you that is your destiny.
Objects are dependable. Objects are the best. Objects do not leave you. They remain there at rest. They soothe the eye with beauty or operate as slaves, for objects have served us since humans lived in caves. Since the first stone hammer or flint carved to a point, objects have helped to feed us or to pretty up the joint. Carved into a cave wall, a bison or a bird. Art lasts for millennia. That’s why I find absurd those who say things don’t matter, for what I have to say is that it’s art that lingers. People just pass away.
Fandango‘s prompt today was object. Before you start exclaiming in protest, I’ll issue the disclaimer that this is written a bit tongue-in-cheek. Albeit, I love art. Wouldn’t want to live without it. But I do realize people are more important.
There are certain practices I’m anxious to curtail, but I find my past attempts were to no avail. Cookies placed before me vanish without a trace, and if you’re toting donuts, you’d better bring your mace. I should eschew both cake and pie, for I cannot afford it. So just in case you plan to share, please change your mind and hoard it!!
Temper has no reason. Temper has no rhyme. Temper keeps us agitated. Restless all the time. If it is abundant, we lose all control. We can’t escape. It holds us firmly in its bowl.
Others give us wide berth, fearing what we’ll do. They navigate around us as we rage and stew. The only ones who’ll meet us are others of our ilk for whom the brew of anger is like mother’s milk.
We draw on it and fester as it sours inside. Ire is what carries us. We mount it and we ride off to bloody encounters, thirsty for the fray, intent that those who anger us will be the ones who’ll pay.
We do not stop and reason, for revenge is our goal. We don’t consider it may be ourselves who’ll pay the toll. For other angry people, on the other side, may have an equal anger, as tall and deep and wide.
Some causes warrant anger. When liberty is sold, to the highest bidder, we must be strong and bold. We might use ire to drive us, but it’s reason that must lead. It is more easily directed, yet draws a finer bead.
My friend Chuy says it is peyote leached into the soil the corn grows from that gives Mexicans such a remarkable sense of color. The bright pigments of imagination flood his canvasses. His peyote dreams leak out into the real world and wed it to create one world. “Peyote dream” becomes its opposite— a freight train taking us into the universal truth. A larger reality. This stalk of corn, this deer, this head of amaranth, all beckon, “Climb aboard.”
So when you bite into a taco or tamale, when the round taste of corn meets your tongue, and pleasure flows in a lumpy river down your throat, look up at what is standing in the shadows and see that it is light that creates shadow. See the many colors that create the black. Follow where the corn beckons you to go— into the other world of poetry and paint and dance and music. Hot jazz with a mariachi beat.
Chew that train that takes you deeper. Hop aboard the tamale express and you will ride into your new life. It will be like your old life magnified and lit by multicolored lights and the songs of merry-go-rounds and when you bite into your taco, it will taste like cotton candy and a snow cone and your whole life afterwards will be a train that takes you nowhere except back into yourself—a Ferris wheel spinning you up to your heights and down again, with every turn, the gears creaking “Que le vaya bien.” I hope it goes well with you and that you see the light within the shadow and the colors in the corn.