Life, actually…
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ZEN THOUGHTS, ZANY UNANSWERABLES
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In the wee small hours of the toss-and-turn morning, when the whole wide world–with the sole exception of me–is fast asleep, I lie half-wakened and try to re-direct my rabbit-hole imaginings.
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If I don’t get some control of these overlapping dreams and intrusive ideas, I fear that I’ll be lost, lost and drifting in an endless sea of space and time unfettered.
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See what I mean? Things can get out of hand if I don’t jump out of bed and refresh the daily realities.
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But some leftover thoughts hound me, make me ponder, make me laugh.
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For instance:
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How many ouchies make a boo-boo? Or vice versa.
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How many more museums do we need to satisfy the needs of preservationists?
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I suggest one more–The Museum of One-Time-Use Objects. You know, an exhibit of things we toss aside and never again explore. Like toilet seat strips in motels, coffee-holder bands, self-adhesive labels on fruit, band-aid strips, gift tags, cardboard squares the car service department leaves behind, ticket stubs…when the mind veers toward ideas like this, the list seems endless. You have my permission to complete the compilation.
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What is the relationship between duct tape and Velcro? Have they ever dated? When unrolled or pulled apart, which sound is more irritating?
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Why is Saran Wrap out to get me?
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Why aren’t all batteries the same size and shape? Just when it seems safe to assume I have a variegated supply on hand, some toy or household necessity arrives with a weird-shaped battery only available in…some faraway, unknown place.
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What about a Museum of Unreadable Instructions? I have stacks of mixed-language mixed-literacy instructions piling up and ready to be donated.
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And one more thought fell out of this morning’s dreams and rests in the part of my brain where escape is possible…escape from mind to fingers to keyboard to published work. It’s about writers and writing. Here goes:
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A writer doesn’t say, “Oh, no, what terrible thing is about to happen?”
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A writer instead says, “I wonder what will happen next?” or “I wonder how that happened?” or “I wonder what she is really like?” or “I wonder what’s up?” or “I wonder why I wonder?” or “I wonder what it’s all about?”
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You see, when you stop wondering, dogma begins to set like concrete. It can take root and become immutable. Then, the worst of all possible things can happen: Your imagination freeze-frames.
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My point is, at my best, I try never to stop wondering one more step beyond whatever appears to be a universal truth. I am suspicious of any situation that smugly folds its arms and defiantly says to me, the writer, “You don’t have to wonder any more. Just consult me–I know all the answers. Depend upon me to resume your thinking for you.”
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That’s when I run for the hills and hunker down till the Defiant Blockader gets distracted and picks on somebody else.
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This leaves me time to get back to what’s important—thinking my own thoughts, finding my own way.
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It frees me up to return to tomorrow morning’s dreams and ideas. If I’m going to wrestle with uncontrollable inspirations, I have to be willing to face the unpleasant. I have to be wiling to acknowledge and find beauty in the scariest possible things.
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If this doesn’t make any sense at all to you, please proceed at your normal pace and try elsewhere to find written words that make sense. They must be around here somewhere
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Jim Reed © 2021 A.D.
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