BLUEPRINT FOR PERFECTION

THE SKY'S THE LIMIT

 Two summers ago I sat in a canoe at sunset on Anglin Lake in Northern Saskatchewan. The dragonflies had come out of their seventh moulting after four years under water. Thousands & thousands, clad like joyous mardi gras revellers, looping the loop & swooping the swoop. The mosquitoes were abundant. The evening was calm.  Male & female sought each other with kaleidoscopic abandon in their aerial courtship. I sat motionless in my light water craft, my paddle barely stirring the glassy surface of the dark water. Then it came to me. The dragonflies had one interest only - not food, not sunset, not love. They had discovered flight at long last. Three hundred million years in the making, the individual dragonfly rises out of the water. Those gossamer, stained glass wings. The 360 disco ball eyes. That aerodynamic, cantilevered body. Mother Nature, Gaia Herself, ever whimsical, perfected the nature of flight in an ancient, alien form then set it loose. The sky's the limit.

FREEDOM

For the sake of the rest of us, the great heroes of our history  are called upon to enter into the presence of death - of genuine mortal suffering - with open eyes & flowering courage. The fear is real.  They accept that by welcoming death through personal sacrifice all will change. Adam, Osiris, Woden, Jesus died on the tree they were bound to. Francis of Assisi , Thomas More, Joan of Arc, Gandhi, JFK, RFK, MLK, JL (the list of the luminous goes on) all accepted the necessity of suffering followed by certain death to open our eyes to the freedom of the true Kingdom that lies just below the surface. 

BONDAGE

Are you like me not ensnared by the bonds of cause and circumstance, by the perimeter of flesh, by the parenthesis of intelligence? Visions of the Divine come to me in flashes. Usually when the very sky seems to be falling all around me. The Creation is perfect. It cannot be changed for the better or for the worse. The rope that binds me contains me. The time-bound captivity of the span of my lifetime becomes manageable.  I solve the puzzle set before me one piece at a time. The chains I used to chafe against are loose these days. I could cast them off but I choose not to. I Still have a ways to go.

THE HANGED MAN

VINCENT: INSIDE OR OUT?

What I love about cats (as compared to say dogs) - they are all the same in basic design but completely individual in their selves. Vincent remains the most handsome, cool cat I have ever known. He is the familiar of my friend Victoria. In the alley, behind where we lived, there was a Saskatoon Eastside Story gang of assorted cats who would congregate in & around our porch. Vincent never had to puff out his tail or hiss to establish dominance. He had the authority of Ramses II or Louis XIV. The other cats deferred to his presence. He lived outdoors as much as indoors. His one foible - he never knew whether he wanted in or out. While inside, he stared longingly at the outside while making the slightest mewl. Within minutes of getting his wish he would stare longingly at the inside from outside until let in. This sometimes went on for hours. Inside or Outside... which is it Vincent?

DOPPELGÄNGER: VINCENT & VINCENT

Cats live on a higher dimension than us mere humans. Try to figure out how they see - what they know. Look in their eyes. A cat is satisfied just being a cat. No questions asked. A cat revels in his individual self. "I am what I am and that's all what I am." No apologies. No shame. No guilt. If a mouse needs to be toyed with mercilessly for a lingering while before the inevitable, gratuitous execution - so be it. Bring on the mouse. What did you expect?  After the blood sport there are whiskers to clean in the late afternoon sun. Move on. We humans are always looking in the mirror. My shadow self arouses a kind of horror. I see a me I would rather not see. I call that a 'conscience' It is really just a reluctance to fully embrace the other side of who I truly am.