(462 words – 2 1/2 minute read)
Strawberry Moon 6/23/16
Full moon and solstice on the same day yesterday. Last time it happened was 1967 – Summer of Love (to be followed in 1968 with Year of Protest) and the coincidence of the full moon on the solstice before that was in 1948 when Britain began the National Health Service (I was four years old). A hopeful prognostication.
My astrology (Sagittarius) says this full moon will be a new focus for me, and I feel it. Maybe because I’m taking a couple of weeks off of working at the Assisted Living Home. Time to rest up and and consider things.
“When an old man dies a library burns down” African Proverb. Just read that on twitter. I think that’s it. I want to empty out. I collect and hoard knowledge. Nothing wrong with that. It compensates for my feeling stupid. But I am an old man. Lighten the load by writing it all out, and maybe what I have to say will be helpful – or entertaining.
I am painfully aware that we are being assaulted by an overload of words so I will do my best be brief and to the point. I find a two minute read of about 400 words to be a tasty word snack.
I have kept a journal since 1984. A jumble of to-do lists, events of the day and deep thoughts. It’s a compulsion now. Evidence of my existence. Time to go through it.
My mind jumps from thing to thing – tangentially connected. Does yours?
When I write I feel I should sort it all out into a logical order and come to a tidy conclusion; but thoughts and memories can be juxtaposed into a multitude of combinations, like a crazy jigsaw puzzle where the same pieces fit in different ways to make different pictures. So I may as well write that way. Makes life easier to skip the “let’s make it logical step”. And maybe more interesting. Stream of consciousness, synchronicity and all that.
When I was working as a CNA (fancy name for hospital orderly) there was a cantankerous old man on the ward. He kept on about this book he had to finish before he died. His family told me he’d been on about this book for the last twenty years. They were sick of it – and him. Then something happened; spasms, fits, seizures. He was thrashing around and yelling in pain. All the doctors in the hospital tried various extreme measures. Blood spurting all over the place from trying to get a line into him. Bloody mess. He died. Didn’t finish his book, whatever it was about. It was the last thing on his mind.
I don’t want to be him.
462 words. A two and a half minute read. Just about right.