Sucked in by Another Addiction; Drowning in Another Passion

Yahoo! Anybody there?

Yes, I’m still here. Not often though. Another passion has taken over with burning fervor. I keep hoping (and so does Hub), that I’m fairly close to burn out.

Some days I feel I’m very close. Other days, when the tiles are the best that tiles can be, I’m pretty sure not. But if, and when, burn-out happens, I know what I will do. I will do what I have always done since I lost the competitive spirit of my youth.

I will eventually leave. And on my day of leaving, with no real destination in mind except the comfort and familiarity of places I have known, I will tread the circular pattern of someone lost for a time in life, ambition, and spent passions, but eventually returning to the comfort of my Blog.

But right now, I’m kind of stuck where I am with this feeble excuse. I’m not often going back and forth, because one cannot go ‘back’ without first going ‘forth’. And so in the meantime, despite a heavy ‘nebula’ (Note: good Scrabble word) of guilt, I am hanging out way too much at “Word Biz.com”, my pseudonym is “Keat”, and I am busy, very busy, playing Scrabble.

So if you’re missing me, like I’m missing you, come play a game or two with me. Just ask for ‘Keat’. We can drink coffee, play Scrabble, socialize, and tweet, rather than twitter. And perhaps some new word or bit of tweet will lend itself to the subject matter for a new Blog-rant.

Or, if you prefer to be helpful in another way, Hub would much appreciate any hints, or solid 2-step plans, to cure my latest out-of-control addiction before it drives him to complete distraction. Escape is complicated when one is trapped in an addiction that clutches most firmly lovers-of-words.

The Inspirational Phenomenon

Often I find that writing inspirations are born in my mind, at an ungodly hour, with such intensity they arrive kicking and screaming. Minuscule in size, but with the strength of Charles Atlas (or the strength of that other guy that holds up the world with slightly folded legs and hunched back under the strain).

And so, when inspiration comes with that kind of intensity, I am certain the newly birthed, crudely formed Phenomenon in my mind, when bathed and the umbilical cord cut, will be an utter thing of beauty and wonder that will live forever.

And despite the torrid slime of birthing fluids, even in its naked rawness, the Phenomenon looks good, sounds good, and is bright with an aura of thought provocation. I am certain, that it is a notion so inspirational that it will fit nicely into my own lifetime legends and equally as nicely into the external long-term consciousness of society as a whole. No doubt, when properly groomed, and securely kenneled, it will hold forever a shining place in my catalogue of writs (or should I say 'wits'?).

And when I blog this new inspiration, even come-by-chance-flat-minds will read my rant with blasé-ity, and in the midst of that read, the flatness of their conscience will be whipped into 30-foot-swells that will leave them forever mindful of the new notion—with a magnitude that renders a zealous wonder-dipped combo, of brutal soul-ache and singing joy.

Already I am imagining, some time in the future, the finely-dressed-in-text Phenomenon taking up a space on Book Store shelves reserved only for works, once so sophisticated, but now so much less formal than mine, of Billy Shakespeare, Jeffy Chaucer, Johnny Keats, and of course, my close friend, Chuck Dickens. Obviously there is no time to lose. The Inspirational Phenomenon must be penned, texted, and shared.

So 30 minutes later, after the birth of the Phenomenon, I run to my computer.

But already the prose composition, that the infant thought was going to form, is pretty much de-composition-ed. And though weak and fading fast, the Phenomenon still has strength enough to shun (though I apply with mighty force) attempts to manage and check its struggles with a sharp pen (usually so efficient) and close iron-meshed text—but alas, to no avail. The Phenomenon is too intent on plunging free and unfettered—for me to hold it, for me to pen it. And so it slips out of my grasp in its rawness and still unrecognizable form, to some other individual hungry for inspirational thoughts.

And, of course, we know what will come of that.

Again it will pervade a mind, and play the ‘Provocative Phenomenon’. Again, by another’s hand, a penning attempt will be made. Again, it will kick and throw verbs and adverbs, similes, even rhymes about, with a force phenomenal as itself. And yet again, with unequaled strength, it will blunt the pen, knock down carefully meshed walls of text, and rage away, until escape is managed, though it be weak, broken, and now of no particular matter or interest to anyone.

That Which is Fact and That Which is Fiction

It’s easy to believe that touching a blue spot on paper each morning can put one in protective custody for the rest of the day. And that a bowl of oranges on the table can provoke congeniality within a household. Or metal bracelets can relieve physical distress, or potions of the most unlikely mixes of raw ingredients can relieve pain. Or practicing mental stretches of thought can provoke a life of wealth and success, and vitamin supplements of unknown origin can extend earth life, and a dab of frog-sweat on the epidermis can cure skin disorders.

Yet, in this mix of unscientific and trumped-up unproved convictions, why can’t we wrap our silly heads around a belief in a loving and supreme creator though it seems to me, in light of these other convictions, it should be easier than easy.

But of course one has to understand that if our magical and mystical potions do not work, there are good and valid reasons. Most obvious is probably because our biological make-up is too alkaline or too acidic. Other easily understood reasons – the blue spot is too dusty, or the metal bracelet was too close to an electronic device that drained its power. Or the potion was contaminated with a metal spoon, or our mental stretches were too fragile, or the frog sweat was collected prior to sunset, etc.

But really, there’s no problem when these things fail. It is easy to accept that such therapies waver in heat, and cold, and light, and temperature. And of course, it is understandable, as well, that these are therapies that only work for some of the people some of the time.

Still, let me remind you, that these are convictions about potions and rituals that are regularly and forever collaborated in a reasonable way by others in the group who have been cured and cleansed of a depressed mind and ill-health by following the prescribed regimen with dedicated resolution. And furthermore, small moments of doubt, of faltering disbelief, are usually not long-lived. Not with a common sense approach that sets a proper context for standards. When these remedies fail, so what?

It is undoubtedly our own fault. We obviously erred in the application.

On the other hand, when it comes to the God-thing, we are intellectual and reasoning realists. In light of that, we are totally unable to accept a fairy-tale God without solid proof. Since the Big Bang Theory, drop it. There is no collaboration in the God-thing provided by trees, breezes, flowers, and sunsets.

And of course, if there is a God, he/she is unquestionably obligated to benefit our being ALL of the time – with unsurpassable perfection and profuse blessings. We can’t have none of the wavering that accompanies our other collection of deeply embedded and ever expanding convictions.

What excellence in critical minds, rational minds, thoughtful minds—like ours, that have sufficient wisdom to so wisely filter out that which is fact and that which is fiction.