October 30, 2011

  • Transcendent Doughball

    Yep. I used to post. And I will again. But this Sunday, please indulge me in this reprise of a little old-fashioned, sappy, complicated, light.

     

    It’s amazing how long it takes to work through the memory of a large character in ones life. I just woke up from a dream that ended with me on the bank of a creek, using a long pole to keep my father’s stiff, lifeless body from being carried down and away by the current. It was hopeless (but please read on, because this post is not).

    What the hell is this thing called life? What is death?

    Now there’s a couple of “Featured Questions” to work on for the duration, huh?

    I’ve been looking for a handle on life since I came out of the Poppin’ Fresh Dough Machine. Lookin’ for that handle has bought me a lot of time, both good and bad. 25 years ago I faced death and ran like hell in the opposite direction. Since then I’ve had a lot more time to ask myself why I ran so hard. Until recently there always seemed to be a working answer. I’m not so sure there is any more. But that’s not a bad thing, see? I don’t think I would run so hard now. I might not run at all. I don’t think I’d need to.   

    A friend just posted something that ended with the thought that maybe all we really need is love.

    Years ago I would have said, “All we need is WHAT? Oh come ON. Get with the program, you silly love songs. A sea slug can find a better handle than THAT.”

    And so I kept looking for it.

    And I kept running my hand across the massive inertial surface of this thing called life, tenuously drifting through the blackness with it, sure that eventually I’d find that handle. A few times I thought I’d found something, but as soon as I tried to grasp it, I realized it wasn’t a handle at all, but at best the smallest of convexities. Still, I kept searching.

    At this point I’d like to report that I’ve been over this sphere-life-thing several times, with a fine-toothed comb.

    There are no handles. And there is nothing else.

    However, I have discovered a certain warm softness to it; a certain doughy pliability. I think, Instead of seeing myself as something separate and this lifeball as something to be managed, maybe the thing to do is simply press myself into it – to become one with the Pillsbury Doughball. Maybe I already am one with it. Maybe I always have been.

    Anyway, I gotta tell you…this Pillsbury Doughball…I’m pretty sure it’s Love.

    (doesn’t it just figure there are no love-handles? ;)

    I commented back to my dear friend that I hope love is all we need, because it’s certainly all we’ve got.

    It might even be all there is. But I’m not quite there yet. I mean…I’m not sure how to fit Drakonskyr in there. And stuff.

     

    So go ahead, Dad. Drift on. It’s all one Big Doughball.

    Love

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