I'm feeling righteously selfish this morning. I guess I rolled out of bed thinking about me, me, me, so that's the way it'll have to be!
I'm my favorite subject in the whole world, and I don't normally play favorites. But ... hey! [multiple self-referential gestures meant to highlight my best features, which are all of them, and to suggest in an exasperated tone that the quality you see is the quality you get. And it's true, just like the TV manufacturer who may or may not still exist, the quality goes in before the name goes on!]
I like the way I look. I like the way I think. I talk in a natural enough way. When my jib was cut it was sliced to perfection. There's nothing wrong in this being, whether from the point on the top of my head to the flatness of my feet. In between there is enough masterful architecture to keep any opposite body well pleased and satisfied for as long as it physically takes.
I could see myself like on one of those shows where the human body is in is normal physical form, then it rotates in a scientific way with all sorts of clicking and whirring noises and is seen in all the various ways, muscular, skeletal, light forms; with labels in very small type and straight lines leading to the various parts. Then in for a close up of my head, the eyes, the straps of the muscles, the ligaments, everything revolving, then back to skin.
Of course in those scientific presentations of the self, they're usually in the nude. Which is a great way to be. If you walk around in the nude a lot, you're ready for anything. It's no problem at all to go to the bathroom. Everything's loose and available. It's very refreshing and only a problem when the UPS guy comes or they're collecting for charity.
To see the human form in a book, like this one book I saw and almost bought, terrific paintings (Ken Wilbur wrote the intro), it makes you appreciate that you really are more than just a walking bag of bones. Your mom and dad thought they were just making the back seat go up and down when no one was looking, but they came out with the light of eternity in a precious little package. Speaking of myself there.
I wander around the half acre and remember this is the place where I was deemed most precious. And that's before I even got to thinking about it myself. They were all my Number One Fans. Many black and white and color snapshots exist of me as a little tyke, wandering the half acre, standing by the pump, standing where Grandpa's garage is now, out by the flower trellis, over by the dogs, sitting or laying on one of Grandpa's boats flipped over, with cousins, with dogs, geese, goats. I'm the one constant. Paired with every creature that ever entered the yard. Paired with every object we ever owned. But I'm the only constant, except for the house in the background. All the dogs have died. The geese too. The goats. The boats are gone. The flowers go away every fall. But I live on. How great I must be!
I went to the pump to get some drinking water, earlier on. And I'm struttin' like a mildly irritated rooster. The morning sun when it's in my face doesn't show my age. I'm timeless, eternal, and very very persistent. No one can touch me. I'm riding high. I have a chariot that goes straight to heaven. And I'm on hiatus, beautiful, wonderful hiatus. No one can take this away from me.
I saw the devil today. He was passing by.
And this is my hiatus, my very own hiatus -- no one else's.
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