Positive and negative, black and white, on and off, up and down… and spirit and matter. All are conditions of each other; one can’t exist without the other.
Overly pensive and abstract?
Think about it this way, using one of those old, wise sayings: You are what you think.
The trick then becomes rather simple: Think.
The more you think, the more your emotions become relevant, appropriate, complete and in the end, the truth. It is what honesty, loyalty and integrity are built on.
It is the alignment that begins wholeness.
Yes, it’s abstract, but give it a few moments to mull around and alight on something substantial in your memories.
So many things are subjective, and they become moreso if what you feel happens without thought. This is everywhere and used mercilessly as a way to get you off the couch and move you into action. Like, a few headlines I just read: “1-year-old burned alive,” or “Floods wipe out homes, dreams,” or “Teacher found not guilty at ‘dirty dancing’ trial.” You are burned, wiped and dirty-dancing your way into framing the facts of those stories based on your initial emotional reaction.
Coming from the north on Highway 67/167, right before the highways splits and merges, then splits again and again before crossing the Arkansas River to Little Rock is this gigantic church. More than once, we’ve commented about the unGodly amount of money it must’ve taken to construct such a behemoth of a building and how that money would’ve been better spent actually helping people. From what I understand, we’re not alone in thinking that. It’s a sight to see nonetheless.
The photo is a prelude to my next blog post. Sorta gives “John Deere Green” new meaning, doesn’t it? Well, when you’re short, like me, a lot of things become a heck of a lot bigger, and I was introduced to a mountain of big things today. I’ll tell you all about it soon.
Today, a conversation took on the topic of news and how it’s possible that, since very little of what hits the news is about good things, we’ve all come to believe that everything is bad. Yeah, that’s possible.
Putting them both together, I ask, has the news industry changed? Sure it has. And over the years, so has my own interpretation of the news changed.
Years ago, I read this book called “The Other,” by Thomas Tryon. It was a strange story about this boy that had put a pitchfork into the hay pile that he and his identical twin used to jump out of the hay loft into. The twin brother died in that fatal jump that day, but you don’t know that until the end of the book. It’s a sucker-punch, compounded by the boys’ grandmother that teaches him to concentrate on and become a butterfly or a flower or a bird. I often wonder if that boy hadn’t been so mentally ill if he wouldn’t have grown into someone that was compassionate, empathetic and understanding.
A few days ago, I talked about anthropomorphizing, giving human traits to animals in order to increase our understanding of them, and in so doing, are more likely to be compassionate, empathetic and understanding to others as well as to animals. This is not to say that in order to understand the world through animals' eyes ignores the fact that they are what they are. You certainly don’t want to forget that a dog may be wagging its tail off its back end while all the while growling and snarling and that those teeth are sharp, no matter what message the dog is trying to send to you. And, no matter how close you feel to your horse, that’s not to say that horse will stop being a horse and mow you down if something startles it enough.
On the first day of my Abnormal Psychology class, the instructor said, “When people take this course, they automatically assume that they have all the disorders in the book. So, if you think you have this or that dysfunction, don’t worry, it’s normal.”
Huh? Do you mean it’s “normal” to be certifiably textbook crazy? Well, the instructor was right, I was back then, and since I remember that first-day-of-class statement often, I am now too. Normally crazy. Crazily normal. Whatever.
I thought of it again today while making up a tub of macaroni salad. (Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. Just a second while I refill my bowl… Ah, there.) I may be busting at the seams and that tub just about licked clean by the end of the day, but I can’t help it. If there is macaroni salad, particularly the mac salad I make, in the refrigerator, I have to have some. I absolutely can’t control myself with this stuff, it’s so good.
OK, that’s not exactly a textbook disorder. When the macaroni salad is gone, it’s gone. No big deal. I may be a few pounds heavier as a result of pigging out on this wonderful stuff, but no harm done.
The 1,600 pound horse, red in color, ran around his fenced-in area. At a distance ranging from 100 to 500 feet, the sound of his gait was not always synchronized with the visual of his hooves hitting the ground. The speed at which the horse was traveling often blurred what he passed, unless he was headed straight at you.
Compare that with this:
Proud head up with a playful glint in his eye, with muscles rippling with power as his mighty hooves threw up clods of earth in his wake, the copper horse’s mane and tail streamed in the wind. He felt good, he was feeling his oats, and he was happy to include me in his play. I knew he wouldn’t run into me, he was always aware of me and my role of leader in our little herd of two, but still, his massive size coming at me full bore was enough to keep me on my toes, ready to jump to the side should he carelessly forget to respect.
Aside from the fact, I hope, that it is more enjoyable to read the second description of Odin coming straight at me at a dead run than the first paragraph, what is conveyed in the latter is more understanding. You now know more about what happened than what you could glean from just a statement of facts.