An Orderly Procession Of Exact Thoughts

Nothing is matching my mood tonight. Which is one of the desire for intense study and diligence.

I've been into the Ezekiel temple passages, Ezekiel 40 and following, for some time, and I've felt like studying that, as best as I can. It's minutes here, an hour there.

I have a great thing I got at Google called SketchUp, and someone made a model of the temple and environs. It's greatly helpful, since reading it in the Bible is a tough go without being able to visualize it accurately.

You get the SketchUp program at this link. Then the file that the program opens is at this link. You don't end up with a static picture like above, but a whole interactive set. Once you figure out the controls reasonably well, you can go places, walk up on the altar and look around, walk into the Holy of Holies and check it out, etc. There's all kinds of little places you can go, seeing it from many angles.

As far as making sense of the doorways, posts, etc., it is a terrific help.

One thing, though, it is tough to figure it out at first. Going up, going down, getting blocked by a pillar, losing your place. But keep working with the walking function and the looking around function, as well as the left button of the mouse and the shift key, and you can eventually get it. If not, there are helpful tabs at the top that let you go to the structure mentioned in particular verses.

So why am I so into this? I never was before. But the way I see it, without getting too far into it, these passages can teach us to be exact in our own temple, ourselves. That is, not just leaving our disciplines to chance or being lazy in our spiritual diligence, but being exact, precise, and focused. I'm not usually, by nature. But a little focus can be very helpful.

Another good way to train your thoughts is to listen to music. Such as Jimi Hendrix, who has a new album (!) coming out in March. I got the CD single from it today. And it goes right along with the whole temple thing.

The Drain Chakra

I've been involved in a plumbing project today, since there's ice in the pipes. That means the toilet isn't working in the sense of being able to drain. It could potentially be a mess, like if someone had to go, then went.

How much easier it was back in the days when we had the outhouse. Then the only thing that froze up was us, but fortunately we didn't literally freeze till we were on the way back to the house. It explains the motto on our family crest: "Step Lively!"

But with the passing of the good old days we have this new fangled system. So when the fangled gets tangled we suffer in a different way. Like trying to get it cleared out. We could wait till May ... or we can run hot water up the pipes until we clear the ice blockage.

I was manning the drain with another guy. Then he had to go on an errand, leaving it just me and the drain. I was sitting there thinking how low I was, right down with the foundation of the building. Me and a flashlight and a hose sticking in the drain. I could see the light bulb reflecting from the tiny pool at my feet.

It made me start thinking about the chakras, those energetic power centers in the body, the microcosm of a larger (presumably) macrocosm, that is the universe. I say 'presumably' because I'm never 100% sure the universe is actually larger than me, although the theory sounds at least reasonable.

I snapped a few pictures of it, including the one above. Look at the glistening of the outer ring. Then the energy of the serpentine hose pumping svadhisthana-like waters who knows where, an ice core somewhere up the line. The light dangling reflects itself, which I can cover with my thumb -- very cosmic. Many allusions from meditation suggest themselves.

Looking down at it, first I'm very impatient: "Get the ice melted please." Then with increased concentration, I'm thinking, "I'm here at the very base of the property, seeing my body's energy system mirrored at my feet." Let yourself go. Make the most of this time.

A frozen drain is a terrible thing to waste.

One Car -- Take It Or Leave It - (Atmospheric Remix)

I went by a tiny little car lot today, out in the country. I think they had four or maybe five used cars for sale. A few pennants were flapping in the breeze.

I kept going but I started stewing over how small a car lot could be and still have it pay off. Like what if you only had one car to sell, that's it? One car on the lot, with a few light bulbs and pennants strung around to make it look like a proper car lot. Maybe a modest sign, "Gus's Used Cars -- Let's Deal."

So you pull in, assuming you have a car to get there in, and you check out the selection on the lot. It doesn't take long. So of course Gus comes hurrying out, wiping his mouth and hands from eating chicken. Both of you have your eye on the car -- both you and Gus -- because that's all there is. You're trying to think of something nice to say, perhaps, or maybe you're really interested in the car. And Gus is sizing you up for the angle that will be most suitable to make the sale.

We'll leave you standing there...

I went by a car rental place one time, and the way I remember it they only had one car. Take it or leave it. There it set, waiting to transport the first customer wherever he wanted to go. I was thinking that everyone has to start somewhere, but still it seems like you would start with at least two cars. But if you need to start with one car and build a fleet, or maybe you simply want to stick with one car so the work load won't be so great, it's up to you.

Personally, just speaking for myself, if I ran a car rental place I wouldn't want to disappoint all the other customers who might show up, assuming they would. It's great to have one satisfied customer, sure, but not that great, in my opinion, for the rest of the town to be complaining. Or making fun of a car rental with only one car.

It really struck me ... one measly car.

You could start a taxi service easy enough with just one car -- if you could manage to successfully negotiate all the city waivers. Then to disguise your tiny fleet, every other trip across town you could put a different advertising sign on the doors and people would think there was more than one car. Although, again, it'd be bad for business if you started getting more calls than you could handle.

They'd be saying, "We've seen taxis all over town. What'd'ya mean it'll be four hours?"

One Car -- Take It Or Leave It

I went by a tiny little car lot today, out in the country. I think they had four or maybe five used cars for sale.

It made me wonder how small a car lot could be and still have it pay off. Like what if you only had one car? One car on the lot, with a few light bulbs and pennants strung around to make it look like a proper car lot. Maybe a modest sign, "Gus's Used Cars -- Let's Deal."

So you pull in, assuming you have a car to get there in, and you check out the lot. Of course Gus comes hurrying out, wiping his mouth and hands from eating chicken. Both of you have your eye on the car -- you and Gus -- because that's all there is. You're trying to think of something nice to say, perhaps, or maybe you're really interested. Gus is sizing you up for the angle that will most likely make the sale.

I went by a car rental place one time, and it seems like they only had one car. There it set, waiting to take the first customer wherever he wanted to go. We were thinking that everyone has to start somewhere. If you need to start with one car and build a fleet, or maybe you'll just stick with one car so the work load won't be so great, it's up to you.

Personally, if I had a car rental place I wouldn't want to disappoint all the other customers who might show up. It's great to have one satisfied customer, sure, but not that great, in my opinion, for the rest of the town to be complaining.

You could start a taxi service easy enough with one car -- if you could manage to get all the city waivers. Every other trip across town you could put a different advertising sign on the doors and people would think there was more than one car. It'd be bad for business, again, if you had a lot more calls than you could handle.

Do Not Disturb

We've all seen the old movies where the honeymoon couple puts a "Do Not Disturb" sign on their door. Then they shut the door and we're left to imagine what's going on in there. I would guess that whatever it is is pretty lascivious.

There's a scene in one of Elvis' movies, "Girl Happy," and he even sings a song called "Do Not Disturb." Part of the lyrics is: "Do not disturb, hang a sign on your door. Do not disturb, it's time to make love, and I can't wait ... a minute more." Now that's lascivious.

I've been to motels, of course -- most of us have at least one motel stay in our history -- and there'll be a "Do Not Disturb" sign there. As far as I'm concerned you may as well just step out in the hall and announce to the motel what you're doing in there. Because it can't be anything good.

You'd be down for the continental breakfast later and everyone would be staring at you, because of whatever they imagine must have been going on just minutes before. Did they wash up? And if you have that healthy glow like they show in Viagra commercials, when the guy shows up for work the morning after, they'd probably lose their appetite. This is only minutes later!

What's preferable from the privacy point of view, to me, is just leave the sign alone and dead bolt the door. Then the only one who can figure out your activities inside is the maid, and they never speak. They just make hand signals as they're going door to door with their cart and supplies, as if to say, "I've seen everything but I'm sworn to secrecy."

Now, someone will probably say that a "Do Not Disturb" sign could be used for other reasons. Like if you're super tired, you've been on the road, and say you got in late, you checked in at 3 in the morning and you don't want up when the maid comes around at 8 or 9. To which I would reply, "Yeah, sure, we all know what's really going on."

I myself have never ever put a "Do Not Disturb" sign out. I see them and leave them on the inside of the room, like they're radioactive. I like my privacy. And I wouldn't be crowing about it to the world for anything. You see one of those signs and it's the same as them saying, "Guess what's going on in my room, not that you'd need three guesses." Or maybe you do need three guesses, but the first two don't count.

The worst thing you can see is just a guy checking in by himself and he has a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door. You immediately suspect he's got a date, with a doll. It's disgusting. That's a room that needs to be completely disinfected.

I'd rather be safe than sorry. There's no sign. Go ahead, disturb me!

How To Undress In Front Of Your Husband

Prepare to be stimulated!

Since I don't run anything "blue," I'm going to have to be extra careful with this post. So I'll say what I can, then try to leave the rest to your imagination.

Here's an interesting movie ad:

 

In this particular ad it was the first feature of a triple bill. The ad is from The Evening Journal, Lubbock, Texas, April 4, 1939, p. 10. 

The movie stars beautiful Elaine Barrie Barrymore "and that comedy favorite" Trixie Friganza. In the course of the film Elaine shows us the intriguing and proper way to disrobe in the boudoir, while Trixie has a bad time of it in her room.

It's mostly narration by a male narrator and silence from the two stars, but Trixie emits a few discouraging groans and a few words of frustration with her presentation.

The narrator has a lot of admiration for Elaine, but nothing but jokes for Trixie.

About Trixie, he says, "That other celebrated taker-offer may be able to show us a few other wrinkles ... These ladies are all here to learn how to undress, they're not interested in how to take down an awning ... Isn't that awful. The S.S. Normandy is in ... Really ladies, I'm terribly sorry. This sequence has turned out to be a perfect bust. Well, anyway, a bust."

Then when we see the lovely Miss Barrie she's taking off and rolling her stockings. The announcer says something is coming off, "Oh yes, of course, the stockings. She has lovely eyes, don't you think? Well, to tell you the truth, I hadn't noticed them myself. There's a delightful nonchalance about this little lady. A studied indifference that is certainly effective. Invariably she keeps you guessing as to what she'll do next. A trick which never fails to intrigue the average husband. When Elaine rolls them, they stay rolled." Then with a laugh, "I mean the stockings, of course."

The film is a short film, and someone has it at YouTube, in two parts:





Part 1 has a few skips in it, but it's still pretty good.

Everyone's Energy Radiating Everywhere

I was looking at some old pictures of us -- including me -- today from years ago. For a while there it looked like we let people take pictures of us without acting self-conscious, shy, and ugly. (That's not me in the picture).

The big insight I had -- and I get this insight once in a while, so it's not new -- is how beautiful we were back then. I mean gorgeous beautiful. I'm looking at some pictures of me (not included at the website here) and I am stunned at how great I look. It's amazing.

But then, we think we get old and ugly, old and hideous, etc. And suddenly we're very self-conscious and shy, saying, "Please don't take my picture."

The insight mentioned above isn't just how beautiful we were back then, but how beautiful we must be now, if we would only realize it. Look at it this way: Back then we weren't walking around saying how beautiful we were. We weren't. In fact we were thinking others were so much better looking than us. We had an inferiority complex. Or we felt like 'if this was different' or 'that was different,' then we'd be content. In other words, we were thinking back then just like we're thinking now!

And what we ought to have been thinking then is how beautiful we are. And what we ought to be thinking now is how beautiful we are. It's a simple truth, and it is a truth. We were beautiful, gorgeous then. And if we could only believe it, we're beautiful and gorgeous now.

I would love to collect people if I could. If somehow you could latch on to them without hurting or hindering them and keep a copy of them in a big jar, maybe like the City of Kandor from Superman comics, that'd be great. Or you've got a big file of them, where no one gets hurt, no one suffers, and everyone lives happily as their beautiful selves. Because I guess I love people more than I usually think I do.

It's sometimes tough to be around people, though, because they have their own thing and they're off on it. You've got to keep your distance. You can't go up and say weird things like "I'd love to collect you." Or they'd send someone over to collect you, in a nice big file at the county jail!

Wouldn't it be great to be able to tell people how utterly beautiful they are?! I think it would. I saw a stunning couple yesterday at a function. And another guy went up and told them how "sharp a couple" they were. I thought, Hmm, that's probably not appropriate, but he was utterly right. This couple looked like a million bucks. I wanted to say something like that myself. Like "You two are DROP DEAD STUNNING," but I kept my lip zipped, since our typical thing is not to comment on people's appearance.

And everyone's got it. Even the craggiest, craziest looking person, has something intrinsically wonderful about them. Like me, or like I sometimes imagine I look. I have problems with my appearance. The big danger is to take a picture of me now, then look at it in 20 years and have to say, "Wow! I was beautiful back then!"

It happens. You're beautiful right now.

Note on the Photo: I don't know this young lady. This is a picture I got at an antique store. So in a very mild, limited way, I do collect people. It's quite a photo, I think. The room is so spartan and elementary. She's apparently dressed for Easter, with the bonnet. But she reminds me of Little Bo Peep. Another weird aspect of the picture is how she seems to meld right into the couch.

The Cards Are Dealing Death

The cards are shuffled one time. Then a card is withdrawn from the top of the deck, Death.

We put the Death card back and shuffle a few more times. This time we pull a card from the middle somewhere, quite at random, Death.

We put it back in the deck and shuffle them for about an hour, getting the deck so mixed up, as mixed up as possible, and pull out a card, concentrating on every other card there is, and it comes out Death.

We get an automatic shuffler. Then we shuffle the cards so many times there's no way they can't be random beyond all degree, all imagination. Yet when the card is pulled out, again it's Death.

The shuffler has a higher speed, so high, so fast, that the cards are whizzing by, virtually turning to butter like Sambo's tigers. I blink my eyes really fast and can actually see a stick of butter in the very heart of the thing, appearing then being enfolded back in.

When we turn the shuffler off, it's steaming, dripping, and giving up the ghost. We pick the first buttery card, which is Death.

Now I finally throw out the Death card and pull again, and it's Death. They're all Death cards, one after another, the whole drippy, buttery deck is nothing but Death. Everywhere, Death cards!

I run down the street, pursued by hungry tigers and Death cards!

The Lewis Hall Murder Mystery

I was looking at something on a microfilmed newspaper online today, more or less at random. I went from one page to another. Then I noticed this little tragedy, page 4, The Waterloo Daily Courier, Waterloo, Iowa, June 1, 1895.

 

I was a little sorry I saw it because I knew I'd be wasting some more time to try to discover how it turned out. Surely, I thought, the trial went on for years, so I was searching for 10 years after that. It sounds, like this article says, a little suspicious, since someone said they'd been quarreling bitterly of late.

That's one of the reasons I don't want to keep a loaded gun by my bed. The weird dreams I have, I could wake up at any minute and kill everyone I know. Then what do I say? I didn't know what I was doing? I thought it was a burglar?

That's a tragic story, the story of Mr. Lewis Hall. I couldn't find anything on the web about him other than the newspaper story. The short story: He's in Marshalltown, Iowa, he kills someone, and that's it.

Later in the day, I took up the search again, and managed to find one more article:

 

This is pretty close in time to the other article. June 6, 1895, p. 6, The Jewell Record, Jewell, Iowa.

So within a week it looks like it was resolved. It doesn't say how it happened, but somehow the coroner's jury exonerated Mr. Hall.

So apparently there's no mystery to it. That's it. He was able to go on from that point, his record clear, I assume, and eventually died himself. 

What a terrible feeling it must have been, though, to know that that happened. That you accidentally killed your wife one night, thinking she was a burglar. What do you tell the women you meet in the future? "I'm a widower." "Oh, what happened?" "I'd rather you didn't ask."

People Who Collect Sand

I saw this statement at Wikipedia, the topic being "sand":

People who collect sand as a hobby are known as arenophiles or psammophiles.

That's an interesting, if obscure hobby. I'm getting older everyday and I'd never heard of it.

I went there to look up "sand" because it suddenly occurred to me that I didn't know why we have sand. Think about it. We've got these countless little tiny rocks and no one ever wonders why. So I'm wondering, are they just rocks whose growth was stunted somehow? Maybe a full grown rock needs to attract to itself many smaller rocks to be all it can be. Which doesn't sound likely. And yet there are all these tiny rocks that never amount to much.

Sand is one of those things that is so omnipresent that we overlook it, at least I do. You overlook it until it annoys you, then it's hard to get rid of it. I can be throwing sand on some ice, and next thing you know I've got some in my coat pocket, my boots, my socks, stuck under my fingernails, everywhere. I get sand in my bed somehow -- and it only takes a few little pieces -- and I can't get to sleep, feeling it down by my feet.

You can pick up a handful of sand and look at it. You can look at an individual piece. Then you close your hand and you'll never see that piece again. It's everywhere, yet it's constantly overlooked.

I walked in some sand today that someone had scattered on the ice. It immediately helps of course. Ice without sand is slick as snot. But with some sand on it, you get the traction, because, I guess, the molecules of the sand and ice are in opposition. Sand digs in and nullifies the slick molecules of ice. It gives a welcome buffer zone to your boots, taking the place that the ice would normally be rubbing against.

We used to play in the sand -- and hope that a cat hadn't been there before.

Now I learn there are people who collect sand. My guess, they collect it for its mineral and geological story, not simply because they like tiny rocks. But there could be some who have other interests.

I know sand is a fun thing to mess with, if it's clean. Like the sand on a nice beach. To pick it up and let it run through your hands is a nice feeling.

I've Forgotten What I've Written

I think I've come to a very important milestone in my daily, incessant blog writing.

The milestone is this, that I've forgotten what I've written. I was just looking at some headers from things I wrote at the beginning of the month, and I couldn't remember what they were till I looked. If I were to look back further, who knows, it could be anything, I wouldn't remember.

I know before in my life, I think I remembered everything I ever did. So I could look at something and remember what it was perfectly. There wasn't any question. But with quantity, that's what you get. Your mind can only hold a limited number of things in its reserve without more cues, so a title won't necessarily do it anymore.

When we discuss what the authors of the past wrote, we sometimes say it in present tense, like this: "Emerson says, 'Hi, this is Emerson, I'm about to write another one of my very great essays.'" Or a better quote than that. So we're discussing that quote in its context, the surrounding points, the overall theme, as though Emerson was totally centered and focused on it. But what if you brought Emerson here now and set all his books in front of him. He'd surely say, "I've written a lot of things, but it's been a long, long time ago. I'll have to review what it is before I make any comments."

The same thing could be said for anyone, painters, recording artists. "I recorded a lot of things back between 1912 and 1932. I don't remember everything, so I don't know what you're talking about."

I'm about to post this little article. How long will it take me to totally forget it?

The Fenceposts Have Friends

The fenceposts have friends, other fenceposts.

Currently I'm feeling lonely. Except my dog Underbrush is here with me. I was looking at her and she was staring back at me. I was thinking about the thoughts she was thinking, just as I'd guess she was thinking about the thoughts I was thinking.

I was thinking any number of things about the dog. One, how present she is. It's a rare thing for her to be off in another part of the house. But it does happen. I also think about how vigilant she is, like when someone knocks at the door. Someone knocked at the door a bit ago with a question, but now he's gone, out in the cold somewhere. Probably in a heated room actually. The dog barked when he came, then quit when he left.

Any human contact would be good at this point. Not thieves or beggars though.

I've got a podcast going and a couple of guys are talking. They were recorded the other day sometime. They're winging it, it appears. If I were on a podcast I'd want to have it all sketched out, the definite things I was going to say, then I'd try to say them as casually and (apparently) spontaneously as possible.

When you're talking to somehow, it always pays to sound casual and spontaneous. Like when you're asking questions or commiserating. It's something I do, I can't help it. The guy at the door, I asked him casually and spontaneously how he avoids getting pneumonia. And he said, "Prayer, lots of prayer." I wonder, is that really it? He's out there working in the snow and he's praying that he won't get pneumonia.

It was nice to talk to him, even with Underbrush barking in the background, and even though it was a few seconds only. But I don't know, I don't think the conversation could've gone much farther, even if that's what he was there for.

We have an old expression in my part of the world. Like when something's confidential, we do say, "Between me and you and the fencepost." They have their own friends. They're dug in the ground and they stand there holding a fence forever.

Any Kind Of Turning Would Be Good

It seems like it would be a good idea to be turning, physically turning, maybe in circles, or turning something else.

Maybe I could twirl an open umbrella. That's always a refreshing thing to do. You give it a spin, it goes around in a pretty way. It feels light, breezy, and magical. An umbrella doesn't need much to spin in your hands, even though it doesn't spin very long.

I don't have a windmill and don't know where you get them. But they're fun to turn or to see blowing. We used to stick them out the window in the car. But if you're going too fast, they get caught in the wind and, theoretically, could explode into a ball of flames. If it were a really hot day.

Something that would be very easy for me to do would be to turn on a room fan or a ceiling fan. I read in a feng shui book about the good benefits of having a fan running in your room, even if you're not in there to get the immediate effects of it. If something like that is true, then maybe I'm on to a psychic truth in my sudden interest in having something turning.

OK, I went and turned on the ceiling fan in my room. It hasn't been on since fall.

But I could use some turning right where I am. There's nothing right here to turn. I'll check and see if I have a tiny fan I could bring in. Hmm, I don't see one.

Turn, turn, turn. That's a song, of course. A very philosophical song. And I remember a song from Jim Croce's first album (Capitol), "Spin, spin, spin, spin around." Any song with turning would be good. Just to watch a record going around would be refreshing.

I want to see something in a circular motion, a whoopee finger or an entire galaxy.

A Child Of God And Worry

A child of God, conscious of his or her place (his, in this case) in God, should not be worried to the point of having a sore stomach. He should not be worried to the point of a possibility of future ulcers.

I have so much worry tonight that it's not funny. And it's not welcome. I'm trying now to mentally/spiritually get rid of it. I told someone and she said, "I hope it works for you." I do too. I can't see why it wouldn't. I have the confidence to believe, the faith to believe that it will.

Part of it is viewing your life from a perspective different from just this [indicating my face and body] realm. There I picture the external me wandering through the world, beset on all sides by various dangers and challenges. At that point I am ego bound and bound to feel that wasting away feeling. Because the external me is facing the external it and there's no oneness; we are in a hostile opposition.

So in viewing your life differently from that, you want to see everything (and be convinced of) a more wholistic truth about it. That you aren't a separate thing in a separating environment. You are one with it all, the perceptions you have are mental and intrinsic (no division in those two terms). What is is and you are like an event in this realm of being. With God at the heart of it and me.

The burdens I allow myself to bear are rooted in my momentary ignorance and perceived separation. So it's a matter of worrying about the future. Instead of just being rooted in God right now and letting those other moments come when they come. Jesus says not to worry about tomorrow, that today has enough evil to contend with. By worrying about the future I'm trying to contend with all the evil in advance, of which most of it will turn out to have been imaginary anyway.

But what if I can't help it? That's the condition I'm in, or at least I was in before I started this post, which is a matter of spurring me to a greater psychic discipline, to overcome the feeling of dread I've had all day. If my life is in flux, so be it. It's bound to be. There's no security anyway in the sense of making everything perpetually OK.

I was thinking of something I read by Alan Watts one time about security and insecurity. In fact I was trying to explain it to someone today, and I might've put my own spin on it because I don't remember Watts' whole thing -- I never actually got the book fully read, like most books. The sense of security is false. The sense of insecurity leads to creativity and greater potential outcomes.

My feeling is one of wanting security and wanting to cling to it. So when things are in flux -- with many challenges lying ahead -- I want to shut down. Not eat, etc. That's no good. It doesn't help that last night I couldn't get to sleep until much later than my bedtime. I'm usually so dependable about falling asleep, but with these things hanging over my head -- which must be unspecified -- I was keyed up.

I will be done with this in a couple of minutes. Then I will get my Bible and start meditating upon some truths. Then some quiet, not clamoring prayer. Not even necessarily with words. But a sort of longing, welcoming silence. I hope with enough of that, something between five and 20 minutes, that I'll get my appetite back. I know I must be hungry, if I didn't have this terrible knot in my gut.

A child of God is denying himself his full place in God's care and provision by maintaining distance and a state of worry. Anything I'm facing can be left in God's hands. "Cast your burdens upon God, for God cares for you."

It's all true. Even if you can't fathom a big character up in the sky somewhere sitting on a throne, the germ of the thing is reality. "Cast your burdens upon God..." etc.

This child of God is about to overcome. Step aside, worry.