Crap Shoot is just another/better word for miscellaneous. Here will go entries that do not fall neatly into the categories represented by the other pages.
******************************************************
- [Watch The Skies. Watch The Water.] (8/23/2022)
: Narcissa-Christine: Lyons.
[I have not dared to nod my head or tip my hat for a while, not for lack of wishing to, but for other ties that bind and pull. More immediate, less frivolous, and for me to use the word frivolous anywhere near the word writing is almighty insane. Looking in the doorway of this blog I can see it is dusty, creaky. If my site could make a sound it would be that of stepping on attic floorboards in the heat of summer, not an unpleasant sound, but weighty in meaning. The things that are housed in an attic, the relics of past existences, lost hopes and dreams realized. And some things just forgotten and destined to remain so.
But I can’t afford to be romantic in this conveyance, since you all realize it’s been a very weird couple of years. I have been busy absorbing, deciphering, and, in the end, understanding why I was born, a startlingly late observation given the grays on my head, but no less stunning because of it. I will talk about that one day, maybe the next article or the one after that, but today’s writing is more to do with spreading awareness on our ever changing, milking skies. What it means. What falls from it. Why it is no longer wise to look up during a warm summer pour with open mouthed joy.
I was driving home from work one day in August of 2019, and the sunset that I faced was nothing short of astounding. I had never seen a sky so colorful, dazzling, jaw dropping really. I imagined that this is what a sunset must look like in one of those places on earth known for such things, because New England is known for many beautiful things, but sunsets are not one of them. It elated me. It made me feel some kind of ascension and calmness, and I hummed for a few hours even after that while making dinner and putzing around for the evening, the sunset in the back of my mind consciously or unconsciously.
I felt a shift occur over the next few months because I started seeing a LOT of beautiful, stunning sunsets—to the point I noted it out loud to friends occasionally. “You guys notice the sunsets have been exceptionally beautiful over the last few months?” I don’t recall answers, but I knew I was asking for a gnawing reason, even if it was casual. Until that summer/fall, I had been one of the least observant people I knew, enough that I had a reputation for it. Let’s just say it was not a tough endeavor to plan a surprise party for me. So I have the sunsets to thank (or curse, as the case may be) for completely altering that aspect of my personality. I notice.
The continuing prettification of my New England skies meandered my mind enough to register a past word I had heard to which I had paid little heed: “Chemtrails”. I realize some of you know what those are, even if only conceptually, but I started to delve into it because I did not trust what was above me any longer. When something does not make sense, or has changed inexplicably, it prompts the inquisitive to check it out, and I started to do so.
Geoengineering is a thing–you can study it in college, and that is the scientific term for what planes have been doing to our skies globally for decades. It was not that noticeable before, but after the initiation of Covid in 2020, the amount of trails increased dramatically. I am no scientist, but I very easily recognize the difference between a contrail and a chemtrail. A contrail is comprised of water vapor or ice crystals and is left behind sometimes by jets in higher altitudes, are fairly short, and usually dissipate within a minute. A chemtrail is long and is made up of various chemicals, but most commonly a combination of barium, strontium and aluminum nano-particles (“Don’t Just Spray ‘Em, Barium”–perpetrating pilots’ slogan for which they actually have badges*). Dane Wigington, an extremely dedicated activist in the field, has been battling this sky assault for decades, and you can learn much more at the site he began, geoengineeringwatch.org, and to get a very good understanding of the subject and how it’s been affecting nature as a whole over the years, I strongly suggest watching his documentary, The Dimming. The change from a sometime spraying to now constant, was subtle enough that most people did not in fact notice, and many still have not. We are a busy bunch, what with working, getting chores done, and then of course worrying about how not to die from some weird sickness that was so dire we had to shut down the world’s economy, other ensuing catastrophes be damned. The sky was and is the last thing a person has time to look at anymore, really look at…unless you rely on it for your livelihood, or realize something is amiss.
Watch the skies. Watch the water. An age old piece of advice to heed, and now more so. We are a part of the most phenomenal worldwide droughts and deluges in recent history. Worldwide. Droughts happen, heat happens, deluges of rain happen, and record colds. What has happened over the last year or two, has not. An unprecedented amount of tornadoes in the midwest, shivering temps for an extended period in Texas earlier this year. Major snowfall in the southeast states debilitating highways–several times during the season. Not the usual few flakes the weathermen can chuckle about because the south lacks plows, but the amount of snow that is dangerous, that strands people, that threatens more seriously getting home. I hope they buy more plows as I suspect this winter may be no more kind.
Climate change, the buzz word doomfully uttered by all self-named and a few elected leaders, is a fact. With a caveat. It is climate changing. The climate is not just changing on its own. Do we humans add a degree of nuisance with our footprint? Sure (actually only 7% of total carbon footprint even with nearly 8 billion people). Pollution from factories? OK. But that is tiny compared to the barium, strontium, and nano-particle aluminum with which we are being sprayed, and you can now find in soils at the top of the mountains, where no such particles belong. Of course aluminum exists in nature–but not in nano-particle form. And the shit stains that are trying to impose ridiculous emissions limitations on the world’s population, shove us into electric cars that are no better for the earth than gas powered, stop us from eating farting cows, are the ones creating it. If you know this already, please get busy helping me spread the not-so-news. If you don’t, or if you are reading this with a dubious expression, read on.
Weather does not this immediately deteriorate. Nature, weather–natural weather–does not happen as it has been this last year. Not in our lifetime or ever. Constant whipped up winds in an area of the country that experiences them occasionally is not natural. 102 degrees in the middle of winter in California DOES NOT HAPPEN. But it did. Our ability to grow food is being limited, as is our access to plentiful water. Lake Mead, the largest reservoir in the country has dried up enough to have revealed not just one, not just two, but four sets of human body remains, and there is a crisis on the diminishing Colorado River. The fact that the drought is hitting so much of the planet is yet another anomaly. Sudden same weather pattern is not a natural thing, nor has it ever been. We are geographically different and are affected by different weather disasters of many kinds, but not at the damn same time, and in some cases not ever. Ireland, of all places, has 32 water sources in severe drought, and has been plagued with wildfires. As I write this, Breakheart Reservation in the towns next to me, has already lost 20 acres to wild fires, the smell looming in the streets. I’ve been here several decades and that has never been a risk, let alone an event, but when I look at the brownest grass I have ever seen on my front lawn, I am not shocked. While many nations are being this way struck, others are over-sodden with endless wash-the-crops-away rains. There is no in-between.
The geoengineering of our skies has been admitted by various nations, because, you see, they need to help with curbing the sun’s rays, and the ever-increasing heat it is emanating, and this program is “Solar Radiation Management” or SRM. As these poisonous trails expand (not dissipate like contrails), the claim is that they will deflect the rays, and lessen the damaging effects. Uh huh.
A necessary and related aside. Those of you not yet aware of Agenda 2030, formerly Agenda 21, being spearheaded by the lunatics of the World Economic Forum, should start taking a serious look at what is in store for us if we do not stop this madness. Why would there be a large, global, exceptionally well coordinated attempt to control our weather the naysayers ask? HOW could this kind of a large scale execution be this coordinated? Two large truths: time and money. The orchestration began decades ago, at least 40 years, and is backed, as you guessed it, by big tech and and a vast array of very large companies that cover the full spectrum of what we purchase. A good synopsis that takes a worth-it hour is here, informing well on the relationship of money, the investment companies and families behind it, large corporations and media. The culmination of the various damages being perpetrated on human beings (Covid malarkey, economic ruin, increasing crime, depletion of key personnel in the military and health care industries, intentional deterioration of education, list goes on) is the playing out of their well funded desire to control the population, albeit a vastly diminished population. This isn’t easy to accept if you don’t already know it, and I am not saying there aren’t wild stories out there that are fantasies from the paranoid, but there are truths in between, and all you need to do is look up, look around, hear the threat of war, the now constant roster of next new diseases, etc., to comprehend that things are just. not. right.
They have other tenets only a bit less horrific, but all towards their goal of controlling the entire population. “You will own nothing and be happy,” a quaint motto of theirs they actually advertise, included in this short Australian news clip, but also readily accessible on line. The best and most efficient way to control people is controlling food and water, plain and simple, and weather modification gets to that end quite efficiently. Many reading might wonder why they have not read of this before and why would this not be being broadcast far and wide? A lot of you know the answer already, given the desperate acts of censorship, deletion, cancelling, “disinformation” negation, and the now endless propaganda of why we all need to kneel to the “green” effort, which is anything but. Most major media, social forums like Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and platforms like Google, ad infinitum, are all owned by those completely on board with the World Economic Forum agenda. There is money in it. Ridiculous money. Build back better, my ass. They won’t tell you about what they are doing until you won’t be able to turn it around, and then you’ll just be carbon taxed for the foulness you contribute.
I am not suggesting panic. Doesn’t do any good and it’s bad for the soul. I am suggesting you talk about this and fight it, share information any way you can as often as you sanely can. Even if you are not comfortable sharing information online, talk about it with your friends and family, act locally. Get it out there. This presupposes you have believed this truth and exactly what it means for humanity–I hope so, but don’t just listen to me….go to the sites I recommended and others. Look up at the skies. Our once occasionally piercing blue skies.
Do all those involved (pilots, airplane chemical cannister loaders, administration, etc.) know they are contributing to their own demise? I suspect it’s a mixture. Maybe the men in the picture below don’t know, believing I guess that they are helping to curb harm from the sun. And military related exercises and jobs are commonly compartmentalized so that a person is only working on a piece of what is a much larger puzzle – for security – and to prompt that person to continue because not all puzzles fit together to form something harmless. But how long do you witness the crisping and evaporation of that which you spray from above without realizing that you are in fact the problem. No amount of money will help these pilots live in the chaos that will become if they are successful. And please don’t make the assumption that only the US Army is involved because of the picture below. This is NATO, private contractors, a global effort by many pilots, all of them still to be identified. The thing is, all these pilots have parents and families. If enough of the world learns of this, families of pilots might just ask some questions, start a conversation, get angry…..you get the idea. Contact your legislatures, call the EPA, talk to your town’s climate board they now all have, use your network. Whatever and everything. Once you get a rock to dance, you get an avalanche…If you want to take back our weather, and therefore our freedom to feed ourselves and breathe clean air, start talking. Start shouting.]
[In all this, remain steadfast, kind and loving to your fellow man. Love yourself. It’s a strange, strange life, and we can’t fix it with bravery alone. Wear the armor of God and be light itself.]
[As Always, Be Thee Well.]
*
- Next (5/7/2019)
By Narcissa Lyons
Truth I
Not finite.
More than one twilight.
Not finite.
Windswept misty mornings,
Falling water on skin,
Fables by the firelight
And smiles of wicked glee.
This is a witch’s brew,
And Oh, the taste of this stew.
Why cook if not to feed the men?
Why eat, if not to dine again?
Not finite.
Not finite.
I’ve held for many years to the fact that we don’t end. That ending doesn’t make sense. So I prefaced this article with a poem relating to just that tenet written years ago. Many would argue that this is just wishful thinking on my part, and the part of many death fearers. We don’t like to think about it, it’s true. How do we go from ironing shirts, driving around the corner, cooking a decent meal, kissing, erasing mistakes and making new ones, to–just–nothing? To the fading memories of others bound to fade in the same way? While that is an understandable slant, it does not negate what actually happens. “Well you were not around for centuries, maybe billions of years, you were nothing then, so why would you NOT go back to nothing?” I can picture that line coming out of one of my friends in particular. I’ll call him Juan. Juan, I love you, cynicism and all, but that’s a big ol’ unknowable assumption.
Sure, these physical skins and bones in which our energy is ensconced will turn to dust, crumble, feed the bugs. But the essence of who we are, our “soul”, if you will, does in fact go elsewhere, and science backs that up (The First Law of Thermodynamics ). Energy is not created or destroyed, but merely changes forms. I don’t claim to know how we are dispersed, but I have been doing a rather lot of research, and I only find more evidence of my LGO Theory (Life Goes On) I am here positing.
To the extreme skeptic there is no way to prove any of it, but to the logic minded, a preponderance of evidence will sway. Until I started researching the subject, my sole basis for the belief, that we don’t end, was just because of everything around me–the details, beauty, shattering horror, minutiae, sky vastness, all of it–pleasure and pain (see poem above) was enough for me to realize that nothing else makes sense. Really? We could just be accidentally created, like the rest of the universe, for no reason? That somehow, absolutely every molecule came into creation on its own? Seems on the weightier side of absurd and I really don’t get that line of denial. We just happened.
No. Back to the preponderance of evidence. I have been attending meetings of the Boston chapter of IANDS (Internat’l Assoc. for Near Death Experiences), with each meeting hearing about the experiences and theories of those that have experienced NDEs (Near Death Experiences), and have conducted interviews of some of the NDE experiencers, in addition to the woman, Susan Hebard, who oversees the Boston chapter of the group. While not surprised about what I have been learning, I am still consistently overwhelmed by the immensity of it, the grandness of the overall meaning, and the emotional impact felt by those who crossed that bridge, if only briefly.
There are commonalities, most of which any reader here will not find new. The experiencers see their body being worked on by EMTs or Doctors and Nurses, usually witnessing from a top corner of the room before they are whisked into the next plane. There is the feeling of undefinably profound benevolence, sweeping acceptance and love, light and light and light. There are life reviews with no condemnation of sins committed. The lesson that humans are all connected beings, even if most of us don’t realize it on this plane…that in fact we are part of a greater, unified energy/light and are evolving so that more of us realize it. Some theorize we are finally starting to fight back, in some small but growing fashion, against the continuing horrible tide of animosity, atrocity, neglect–all things terrible, and part of the battle is this growing awareness of our collective consciousness. I know full well that the majority of you likely are still at the hocus pocus bogus phase, and that acceptance of this is not now possible, but I know what I saw in the eyes of those that have seen part of what’s next, and I know how to recognize the perplexed but grateful awe with which they retell their stories. Some of them are telling about their only experience 20 or 30 years ago, but are no less reverent because of lapsed time. To some degree, the speakers relive as they tell, and you can feel the haunt of it–the overwhelm of it. I have yet to see an agenda. There is no weirdness of character or otherwise telling sign of a possible charlatan. It has just so far been everyday people telling of their experiences and the humbling effect that ensued.
The humbling may be the only reason they come round to talk at such gatherings. Other than talking about it to those of us eager to learn and to also be among others that may have experienced similar, they want to help spread the hope of what they have seen, and be part of the movement to which I referred earlier. You hear it all the time, but part of the inferred message is to live in the moment. To to be kind. To spread joy. Be. Kind. I am not preaching if it sounds like it, just repeating what is obvious to some but needs to get obvious to all. We all stumble through bad days, get annoyed at the prospect of a long grocery line, and often feel our joy moments are too few and far between. Maybe so. But two things here if you still have the patience….even if you do only rarely experience happy, it is not to deprive others because of this lack. Better point, the more you instill feel-goodness in others, the more frequent will be that joy that before was so sparse.
And then that gets me to one point where I must differ. There are some NDE experiencers who believe we are all of us going to be forgiven, that one of the several powerful emotions conveyed is utter and total forgiveness of the things in your life about which a moral you would not be so proud. We’ve all got them, and I am not looking forward to the review of some snippets of my life, even while I won’t shy away from most of it….but to forgive the truly horrible human cannot be the way it works, particularly since that alone would likely increase, at least a little, the amount of bad shit that is happening around us. Absolute absolvement means a present life without consequences, and while good people are good because they want to be good, there are quite a few good-ish people who are so because they don’t want to be punished for doing otherwise. Less altruistic. I do not know how the energy of the evil will be dispersed, so I will do some investigating on that and write about it later, but it’s a tougher topic. I’d have to talk to shitty people who have experienced an NDE, and they are not easily identifiable or regularly doing talks. That I am made aware of. I suppose I could post something on Craig’s List – “Murderers with NDE Story Sought”. Or walk the walk in a maximum security prison. Pish tosh.
I went to see Joel Kaplan and Leslie Gabriele make a presentation that was billed more as an NDE presentation than what it was. While Joel did speak of his experience from 22 years ago, the presentation was more about he and Leslie using their respective healing powers on the audience. Joel has been clairaudient and telepathic since grade school, but his NDE enhanced his abilities, and here let me explain that I am skeptical of these talents–not that some people are gifted, because some people do have special sight–but there is a large population of shysters in this arena. Joel travels internationally to perform his healing, sometimes with Leslie, but almost always for charity. During his 9 minute NDE, one message to him was that he would return to his life and continue to use his talent, and that it would be enhanced. What strange magic I saw. Through the course of 2-1/2 hours and at least ten different audience members, Joel made odd movements, sometimes clacking his teeth, sometimes shaking his hand in the air near the “patient” or speaking across the room to another spirit while Leslie also added her own movements at times. There was no pattern and each person was treated differently. After some of this activity, he would have the individual walk back and forth and help them “balance” themselves, and each and every one of them was grateful when the session was over, several of them in tears. One woman, clearly a skeptic, walked and deeply thanked him. “How do you feel?” Joel asked. “I am just so filled with joy”. He told us that we are all so much more than we think we are, and they had both promised we would be happier upon leaving the meeting, even if we had not been directly one of the specifically healed.
About halfway through the presentation I noticed that I was extremely relaxed, calm, almost stoned. This was a week ago and I am still without my usual angst. I don’t know if some aspect of my diet (CBD oil?) kicked in right then or what, but I am grateful regardless for the experience that day. What a beautiful kind of power, and wielded as part of the overall effort to better the planet, or at least his possible portion of humanity.
It is a very cool world out there. And out THERE. The magnitude of it regularly astounds me, and I will keep investigating and listening, not just because it fascinates and is growing, but yes, it is comforting. And just because something is comforting does not mean that it is made up or fabricated for that end. It just is.
As always, Be Thee Well.
- A Glimpse of the Flash (2/16/2018)
By Narcissa Lyons
Life is tenuous, teasing, and flirts too often with death even when we don’t know it, but if we are living right we don’t think about that too often. If we are living to enjoy life, we do not dwell on the fact it could end at any moment, because let’s face it–it does. All the time all over the world. I know there are poor souls out there that do obsess on this tenuousness, and therefore are not really living as I think God meant us to, but I would bet most of us only dwell on it when we go to a funeral or hear of an untimely death of anyone we know, or anyone famous. Point made by me and absorbed by you I assume.
But there are other times you might jump to nasty conclusions, imagine the worst thing you can in order to prepare for it. I had to have a biopsy done on one of my breasts, and it was not my first for what I have now (not lovingly) come to refer to as “troublesome lefty”. I would not have written this article if I’d received bad news, so breathe easy, I won’t be depressing you or myself, for that matter. When the nurse showed me this new patch of whatever, I liked it less than I admitted, looked different. To me. As if I know anything about these things. So when she told me I needed the biopsy but that more likely than not it was nothing, I believed her. At first.
The biopsy itself was one thing, but I had to wait 7 days to get the results, and when you know there is a 20% chance that it could be cancer, seven days is a fucking long time. I mean a really fucking long time. Women get breast cancer all the time, get benign results even more, so why is it such a big deal when it hits you? Me. Well you’re older, your fear of death more realistic since you’ve flipped through more calendars than you’d care to admit. You have complained more regularly than you probably should about the things that suck in your life, and if it’s so bad then why wouldn’t you deserve to suffer a little for real just to teach yourself how to be happy again? I’m not sure this makes sense, but I’m analyzing as I write.
And then 7 days is plenty of time to go on the internet and look up really stupid things. I learned about the four stages of breast cancer, the fourth one not actually curable, just qualitatively improvable, whatever the shit that means. Oh, and there is “end stage”, fairly self explanatory. Going to work was actually almost bliss, since being busy stops this particularly stupid web surfer from thinking about the possibilities. I had so distraught myself one evening that I went to sit and watch what someone had left on the television–the intricate relationship of snow monkeys in the Japanese Alps, and then didn’t stop watching the consoling station until I went to bed. Interesting bunch with all the simplicities they handle day to day, and then and there I envied their connected struggles and the intimacy with which they managed the wilderness. Why are we humans so complex, thought provoked, convinced this is why we are more supreme than animals? I grow less and less sure over time that complexity is more enjoyable, because here we are. As we’ve all evolved, animals included, knowing more than the beasts that roam is more the burden, more the bane.
I found my rings during that 7 day abyss. This was a set of five rings I had lost about 8 months ago for which I’d searched high and low, actually stooped to going to three different jewelry stores to ask if I’d already dropped them off for the respective repairs they all needed. I am one of many women who put things in a safe place only to forget that safe place, so I finally wrote them off about two months ago, crying, since one was my extremely nice engagement ring. Anyway, I found my rings, like I was saying. I did a mini shreak and shed a grateful tear or two, getting firm hugs from my husband and sons for this little piece of glee they realized I was experiencing.
But then my mind shook me earthquake still. These had been missing for 8 long months, so why were they turning up now during my seven day suspension? Maybe God had let me find them for the obvious reason that people notably are buried wearing their favorite jewelry. Yup. That’s where I went.
I thought about the usual things….how to spend a good portion of the money I had earned until this point since it wouldn’t be for retirement above ground, how I did not think my husband would begrudge us more travel than usual, and I thought about having to repeat the story over and over again, and rebuff some of the unending pity and soulful eyes at which I’d have to look. I thought about what clothing I’d start to wear, that I could get more audacious than I am, get away with more, drink more, obviously re-dabble in drugs. I think there have been many stories and movies on just this subject, and I don’t think any of them are ridiculous. I haven’t seen them all, but having seen a hint of the death promise can understand any reaction is possible. I cringe for those that do more than glimpse, that fall into the wrong percentile and really do face the battle. Not just cancer, but any perilous illness through which one realizes one must travel, and the mental havoc it wreaks. God Bless us all.
I was lucky this time, skated away with a stupid ceramic chip to mark the occasion, and less than a day later the house had the same buzz, my pace at work the same, my gaze, after the two obligatory cups of coffee, not wandering off but focused on the next issue someone brought through my door. Just like that.
So I can talk about enjoying shit, going to concerts and pretty nights out, turning up the music to frazzle the eardrums, touching often the ones you love, inhaling the smell of wet cement in summer and listening to rain pelting on the roof, because I’ve done it before, but nothing really emphasizes it like a glimpse of that infamous flash. May we all be present in as many moments as we can, and may most of them be exquisite, even if otherwise ordinary.
As always, Be Thee Well.
- If Ever I Would Leave You (1/6/2018)
By Narcissa Lyons
OK I’ve been kind of quiet…..some would consider absent, but we’ll stay off the details. I realize I have not earned the right yet, particularly due to recent lack of material, to take a sabbatical, but that’s what I am going to do. I have been feeling my own pressure to write for this blog and about a month and a half ago it was because I was experiencing what we writers lovingly refer to as “writer’s block”, or, more realistically, “what the fuck am I going to write about”? I had some ideas, but having made the topics somewhat niche, I found I might have limited output that stayed true to the if not for Passion theme. But blogs evolve. I recently met with another writer, Sara Marks, who taught me several things in a relatively short period of time, and one of those things is about how her own blog had evolved–and so what if it had? What if one day I have an epiphany about shoe dust that makes me want to write? As long as the content is enticing, well written and engaging, who cares if it is not a subject about which most are passionate? Although that could be a bad example because our population has a good share of obsessive-compulsives who would actually find any dust worth reading about. But you understand. And you may also grasp that this article is possibly an introduction to future material that may not be so deep or enchanting–but will hopefully still keep you happily reading. After the sabbatical, that is.
As a few of you know, but a rather a sad portion more don’t, I have written a novel Artless, and it’s time to write my next book. Whereas I don’t have enough time to promote Artless as I should (the full time “day gig” hampers everything quite efficiently), I’ll work on that a bit, but it’s really important to truly leave Garrett, Carmen, Sophia and Mack behind, the characters of Artless with whom I fell in love, and helped me write a very cool story. I think I most closely associate with Mack since he is very similar to the man I shall be in a next life, though I think my hair will be a little darker. Anyway, I’m ditchin’ them, or mostly, because I will now focus on Finn Darrs (Garrett’s brother) and write his story. Which may or may not be a romance, but since he is a sloppy but exquisite chef with a penchant for poker and having dangerous fun, I think that piece will also have to happen. Women are suckers for men like that, we really are. I’ve known for a while I would spin off from Artless because it just needs to be done, but until just before New Year’s I couldn’t start the flippin’ thing. There are novels written, or at least many weighty articles, on just how important the first line of a book is, on just how immensely important the first paragraph is, and for good reason. So how does this strike you? “Finn walked to the post office all by himself.”….Kidding, Oh God that would be so bad, and not even so bad that it’s good. No, I’m not going to contribute my first words about Finn Darrs here, was just having some fun.
My point is that I will be concentrating on him and where he goes, the adventures he manages, so on and so forth. That, and I will be continuing a sci-fi/fantasy I started many years ago but lost. My sister found said manuscript so I’ll take it back, polish up what’s there and then finish it, something I am looking forward to. Never actually thought I’d ever write a romance, actually. I was always about sci-fi, mystery, and maybe horror if I could ever get something out there before it’s all been written. But I guess all that takes is bringing back to life some of the horrors of childhood and the monsters we lived amongst–thankfully in our case, made up ones, and not the real shit some poor children have the misfortune of experiencing. But right now that is where I am, and it’s an important path, a worthy path I believe.
I won’t miss an opportunity to write an entry if something wonderfully wicked or interesting forces me to write it down and share it, of course. But if I am doing my job, hunkering down and writing away, I will be keeping myself out of the opium dens where the cool stories come more frequently, if you see what I mean. The sheltering life I will need for a while cannot at the same time be a seeking life (other than mentally) if I am going to get things written. I might occasionally write about the process if I think anything is relatable, but can’t see how it would be. Problem is I miss the rambling, personal aspect of blog writing because I feel like I know everyone who is reading this material. Not the same when you write a novel. Clearly. OK, I’m going to end this ramble before it get’s boring (too late you say? Oh you).
Don’t forget me too easily. Feel free to write me an occasional note to see how it’s going. Or if you want me to take a break and write about something that catches your fancy, lemme know! In the meantime, have some fun yourself. Knock the shit out of life as happily as you can and later we’ll chat.
As always, Be Thee Well.
- You Don’t Say (9/19/2017)
By Narcissa Lyons
I had a conversation with a friend the other day about a topic that has long puzzled me, and I’ve got few answers here today. It’s no secret people like to talk, and a rather large portion of those people like to talk about themselves. It is human, and often it is not daunting, can be entertaining and funny, give oneself material for thoughts later about just how weird we all are. I won’t focus on talking about yourself, because in the end I don’t know all the reasons for it. I know why I do it, although I think I am good at limiting it. One could argue my writing is a direct contradiction of that, but writing ain’t talking and it’s easier for anyone to anonymously stop reading than to walk away from a conversation. But since I said I wasn’t going to talk about that, I’ll move on.
People feel pressure to talk, to not let too many moments go by in silence. I’ve been part of those conversations and gotten so caught up in marveling at the situation that I lose the thread of the words being spoken to me. Which is not exactly convenient if you’re then asked “don’t you think so?” Conveying information is important, and relating observations is fun, but there is also something very deep and soulful about sharing silence. I won’t think you a fool because you’re saying nothing, and there is in fact communication going on when there is nothing audible other than the wind through the trees, the vibration of tires on tar below you, the chatter of others in the area, countless interesting backgrounds. And in that shared communication there is the growth of that respective relationship, regardless of who it is. You can exchange a glance, possibly a smile or a raised eyebrow, but you don’t have to. Whatever happens, as they say, happens. I am not saying that to break that silence would be sinful, because if something needs to be said, then something needs to be said, but a lot of the time it just doesn’t.
What I don’t understand is how this pressure came about, and I say pressure because that’s all logic will give me. I sat at a bar the other day having lunch and when you do that you automatically overhear conversations, particularly when on your own. Two gentlemen were together, and from the content of their discussion it was apparent they were friends, decided detective me. It was not all unpleasant, but honestly, I did not understand why most of it was important enough to be said. What, I wondered, would be so abominable about finishing tuna on rye without mentioning a gift certificate one received a year ago to a different restaurant or when to cover the pool? If they would have been husband and wife the pool cover might have made sense, but that was not the case. One man told the other about talking to his wife about it. Is that a conversation? I may be coming off as harsh, but I am trying to be scientific, get to the origin of the necessity to fill what has apparently come to be sensed as a void, when all lack of words is, is quietness or quieter. I have heard of some that practice hours or even a day of silence, but I am not being that extreme (if that is even extreme). These men were not from that group of people. It’s possible that they saw each other rarely enough so that they felt they needed to say as much as they could while they were together whether it was impactful or not, but I don’t think so.
Not speaking is not equated to being a bore, although I grant you that’s a tougher line to sell at a party. When a person talks about someone else being the “life of the party”, they are never referring to a verbally shy person, and often the success of a party is gaged on just how raucous it is. Muted conversations and many exchanged understanding smiles don’t a rave review make. But a party is an exception, as is a work function….although here too, why is silence so ungolden? At a work function, someone will take it upon themselves to keep a conversation going even if it means raising painfully mundane topics, to which then people must work hard to keep the appropriate expression on their faces so that they are perceived as listening and entertained. I suppose this could be looked at as an art form in its own right, and other silent communication takes place between the employees that are not speaking. Those kinds of exchanged looks, what-have-you, are worth a million bucks because the people in question are trying to convey a lot of content with only their eyes so as to remain undiscovered by the conversationalist. The various nuances around the table can amount to something astonishingly fun, cracker barrel lunacy.
Do animals do this? Will two wrens tweet to each other about the twigs used to build their nests or that it’s a tough time of year to find bugs? Or dolphins. No, I think dolphins most definitely do not have useless conversations. I think they are spending too much time being graceful and beautiful that staying around to commiserate would dampen the joy. I take that back. I just looked at some pictures of them and was reminded of just how chatty they can be. In fact, when my eldest son was a baby he made sounds like a dolphin so we called him “Flipper” for a while. That animals are like us in that regard is comforting, and I suppose we are social beings, so talking, at least for many, is a requirement even to the point of what might be deemed excess by others. We are typically seeking knowledge and talking is part of that, even if sometimes it’s more imparting than absorption. Some like to talk, some sit back and take it all in, toss in a word or two to keep things lively, and some? Well some just natter. And while nattering is shallower than this particular writer likes, it is still hearty fuel for thought, and fills a need. I think I’ll return to that establishment this week and see what those gentlemen are up to. Maybe even comment on the salt and pepper shakers.
if not for Passion 