One of my passions is snow skiing (second only to skydiving), my wife loves water skiing. So you have probably surmised, our summers are filled with weekend trips to the lake and bikini’s while the winter months are spent on snow topped mountains with ski caps and gloves.
A flittering, white pixie dances on the wall as the morning sun peeks through a tiny crack between the bedroom blinds. The lazy remnants of last nights slumber slowly evaporate and contentment sweeps over me as I absorb the warmth of your body, still silently resting beside me. Our souls intertwine. Your smooth, naked breasts rise and fall in perfect harmony with your breathing. Your body, beautiful and desirable is a chalice, capable of mixing the miracle of life.
My wandering mind imagines two mountains, two bodies, one tree and a long river that flows into a far away sea. The sea reaches out and touches a tiny harbor with houses and streets and little shops with music playing in the background. Will our children live in this city?
Beyond the shops and houses nature regains control. It is there that I see you standing beside a small stream. The morning sun rising behind you shines through the thin, white material of your dress, outlining the naked silhouette of your body. Seeing me from the corner of your eye, you slowly turn, facing me and smile. In your hands you hold a glass filled with water. A ray of sunshine reflecting through the glass catches my eye as you press your lips against the rim and sip the water as if it was something precious and rare. A soft breeze rises from the valley below. You appear to dress and then undress as the sun reflects off your dress and then back through it. As I move closer to you, the sound of a gurgling stream and the songs of birds remind me of the magic of the universe. “What song are they singing”, I don’t care, my thirst grows. “Will you quench my thirst by offering me a sip of your water? The wind stops, under your garments you are naked above your garments you are virtually naked. The sensual silhouette of your body fills my senses. You reach out your hand, urging me to come closer.
Thirst overpowers me. Encouraged by your gesture I move ever closer, my mind transfixed on the glass of water and the hand that holds it. I see only your four fingers holding the glass when my attention is divided, first focusing on your smile, those sensuous lips then on the glass of water you use to draw me nearer. I am drawn toward you by an invisible force.
My tongue thickens in my dry mouth, upon reaching you I resist the urge to grab the glass and quench my thirst. Instead I begin to prepare the food I have brought. The red blanket, spread over the grass on the bank of the small stream has in its center two red apples and a yellow one. You sit across from me, barefoot, facing each other barely touching with our hands and fingers. The stream beside us begins to fill, it bubbles with energy as an unseen storm feeds its tributaries. I will not eat, I will watch you eat.
Looking into my eyes, you slowly raise the glass, brushing it across my lips. Sensing the moisture, my body aches for relief. I sip slowly but sipping doesn’t quench my thirst, if anything it causes my thirst to grow. My hands grab at the glass, uncontrollably, my fingers intertwined with yours I drink deeply now. Our desires become one as you tip the bottom of the glass against my lips, helping me, us to quench our desires.
The sun reflecting in the swelling stream catches my eye. I look down into the reflection and you are looking back at me. In the mirror you are two, in the other three, eleven, fifteen, twenty-four. The stream is suddenly filled, the universe is filled and not a single mirror, only a swelling stream and an empty glass on the blanket next to us.
Joined now, our lips meet as do our tongues. You shudder as my lips gently kiss your ear, so small and tender, sensual pleasure beyond birth, beyond death. We gasp for air as our saliva thickens, hands and fingers intertwined, grasping at the blanket, the stream becomes a river.
Words, when united, are like veins, blood pulses through them. Paper lights up when joined with words as does the skin of man and woman when united. The words pierce the paper and come out the other side. One body pierces the other and touch taste and smell take over starving sight and sound. The eyes hunger for light as the sun disappears and the moon emerges. The melody of birds fades as a leaf falls onto the streets in the harbor and is picked up by a blind man.
Unpersuaded, nostrils flare, mouth, tongue and body take over, smelling tasting and groping as the two become one; mind, soul, and body focused on a single act. My fingers entangled with yours, yours entangled in mine, unable to detect which is which for we are one.
Love, the essence of life, our greatest desire, we search for love from the moment we take our first breath. With love we exist as one, you and I become we.
“Good morning love”, you say, bringing me back to our room and to our bed. The dancing pixie disappears momentarily as a bird lands on the windowsill and begins to sing. I smile and repeat, “Good morning love”.
The moment we die, we surrender the shell that is used to carry our mind and soul to the ravages of decomposition. The body's own enzymes immediately begin to digest surrounding tissues and bacteria in the gut and skin and begin the process of purification.
According to Wikipedia, an unembalmed adult body buried six feet deep in ordinary soil without a coffin, in a temperate climate normally takes ten to twelve years to fully decompose. A dead body immersed in water skeletonizes four times faster, eight times faster when the brain and soul transportation vessel is exposed to air.
A Wikipedia search reveals that the average human body, consisting of about 100,000,000,000,000 cells, has about ten times that number, 1,000,000,000,000,000 (one quadrillion) microorganisms in the gut. Bacteria make up most of the flora in the colon and 60% of the mass of feces.
When we die this army of bacteria quickly invades our bodies but when we are alive our gut is a battleground. The fortress of our body is on constant alert, fighting back these bacteria and rebuilding any part of our defense system that is compromised during the battle. Our intestine is lined with sticky mucosal cells. I like to think of these cells as the moat that fortifies our castle. Behind the moat lies several layers of epithelial cells, the wall around the castle, and hiding on the castle walls, inside the moat and scattered among the invading forces of bacterial is our Gut Associated Lymphoid Tissue (GULT). These GULT are the gorilla fighters of our fortress, giving up their lives for the better good of the whole. The harmful bacteria, like nomads hungry for land and power, have one goal, to get to the oxygen rich cells inside our bodies. Once the bad bacteria breach these protective barriers they are free to march throughout our bodies, via our blood and circulatory system, invading other organ defenses and fortresses along the way.
Last Saturday my fortress was invaded. The warning alarms of my body sounded in the form of pain. I didn’t panic, confidant that my troops would make short work of the rogue marauders. It wasn’t until Tuesday morning that I began to doubt the strength and stamina of my intestinal troops and my son drove me to Arrowhead Emergency Hospital where I was subjected to hours of BDSM type activities (I’ll spare you the details), all while dressed in nothing but a flimsy, backless, pink and blue nightie. Once everyone that worked in the ER had a good look at me, inside and out, I was admitted “for treatment and observation”. The war was on and the battle was named “Acute Diverticulitis”. The efforts of my hard working but fatigued intestinal troops were augmented by antibiotics, the mustard gas of bacterial infections. The warning alarms had been quieted by morphine, and I was placed on a liquid diet. Breakfast, lunch and dinner consisted of ONLY beef broth, Jello, water and decaffeinated tea. Each time my meal arrived, I thought of former POW Senator John McCain, sitting in a cell at the Hanoi Hilton in Viet Nam.
Today, nearly a week after the invasion began, I live to tell the story. The pain alarms are quiet and the battleground has been cleared of debris and dead soldiers. In the coming months more BDSM type activity will occur as professionals in medical practice thoroughly inspect the battleground and sweep for hidden land mines. The attempt on my life was narrowly avoided and the processes associated with mortification and purification, reserved for the dead, appear to have been arrested.
The term “The American way” was once said with pride. Recently “The American way” seems to have digressed from a hardworking, self-sufficient society to one which has grown lazy through its use and dependence on modern technology. The bicycle is an example where technology is being applied to serve society's desire to avoid unnecessary labor.
Originally, the bicycle was considered a healthy, enjoyable and efficient means of travel and exercise. It was common to see entire families out on a ride in the evening. Like taking their first step, teaching your child to ride a bike was considered one of life’s milestones. Riding a bicycle was therapy. As the rider moved quietly along, the sound of the wind moving out of his path could be heard as it brushed by his ears. The rider was both the rider and the engine. The redundant simplicity of pedaling resulted in locomotion and was an enjoyable form of exercise.
Could American society have forgotten the original purpose of the bicycle? Progress has given way to motors which can be attached to a bicycle frame. These motors press against the tire, turning it and eliminates the need to pedal. Bicycles were designed to be a social form of exercise. With a motor propelling the otherwise sculpturesque bicycle, the only possible exercise the rider experiences is that of holding oneself onto the seat and gravity helps with that. Will future technology advancements result in motorized tricycles with radios and seatbelts? Bring on the bon-bon’s and potato chips. Is it any wonder that Americans are overweight?
Has the meaning of “The American way” transcended from implying hardworking and independent to its modern implications; fast, efficient, low cost with high profits?
Rather than enjoying a leisurely after dinner bicycle ride with our family and neighbors, we find ourselves alone, idly sitting in front of the TV or computer passing the time, growing our fat cells, waiting to die. Could it be that “the good old days” my grandpa spoke about really were the good old days and that technology, intended to make life easier, has in actuality contributed to society’s lackadaisical attitude? Do you have your own bicycle? When was the last time you rode it?
Driving to work one morning I began to think about my life’s goals and evaluate if my thoughts and actions were consistent with what needed to be done in order to achieve those goals. More than 5 years ago I documented 6 common goals. The goals I selected to document were not special; in fact they are probably shared by nearly everyone. I documented each goal on a small slip of paper. I slipped those papers, in order of priority, into a small but conspicuous pocket in a black notebook I keep my notes in. Occasionally, without much forethought, I pull the stack of dog-eared and torn papers from their protective pocket and reevaluate their order of importance. Each time the tiny, yellow ragged pieces of paper, representing my life’s goals are evaluated, I find that the original order is appropriate and carefully slide them back into their protective pouch to be evaluated another day.
The papers, in order or priority have these words written on them:
While driving, my mind, influenced by habits and hormones, (and perhaps too much caffeine) begins to question why I rated "Wealth" at the bottom of my list. "You can’t take it with you", I thought. This is a phrase commonly muttered by people about to spend large amounts of money on some luxury item that had no lasting value. The purchaser is convinced that they will love the item and that owning the item will bring them happiness. My commute meanderings were interrupted when, from the corner of my eye I spotted a big breasted blond driving a fancy, silver Porsche Carrera GT. The Carrera GT is a 5.7 liter, 600 hp V-10, high performance, sports car, with a top speed of 205 mph and is capable of accelerating from 0 mph to 60 mph in 3.6 seconds. I sure would love to have the $440,000 in greenbacks needed to buy one of those. Behind the Porsche Carrera GT, a super pumper slowly passes me. A super pumper is a truck hauling a large cylinder used to transport sewage removed from porta-potties and backed-up septic tanks. The sign on the side of the Supertanker said "McDonalds Pumping, Licensed, Bonded, Insured".
The tractor trailer, tugging its sewage filled tank pulled along side of me I looked up at Mr. McDonald. He looked like a happy, middle aged man and appeared to be whistling. Mr. McDonald looked down at me and smiled. I smiled back.
I pressed on my breaks as the Porsche Carrera, GT slowed in front of me. The license plate on the back of the super pumper said "Ron1". I assumed it was short for Ronald. The license plate on the back of the Porsche Carrera read "Dancer1". I assumed the driver of the sports car was a dancer, whose wealth was accumulated by rubbing her surgically altered breasts in the faces of nameless, lonely, rich guys.
On the back of the sewage containing cylinder someone had rubbed the dirt away with their finger allowing the stainless steel tanker to shine through. The letters read, "Show Your Tits".
My grandfather, before the ravages of chronic emphysema prevented him from absorbing oxygen, used to whistle constantly. His favorite tune to whistle was "Blue Moon". "Blue Moon was a classic, popular song written in 1934 by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart. The lyrics and title of the song refer to an English expression "Once in a Blue Moon" as it pertains to a stroke of good luck. According to Wikipedia, a "Blue Moon" is either the second full moon in a month or the third one when four full moons occur in one season of the year, which is somewhat of a rare occurrence. If something happens "Once in a blue moon", it almost never happens.
Ronald McDonald and his super tanker loaded with unwanted cargo slowly chugged past the Carrera GT. As fate would have it, the blond with the $440,000 udders noticed the shiny letters on the back of the tanker at the Macdonald off ramp of the 101.
In addition to whistling, my grandfather often talked about "Prosperity" and about how much better things were now then when he was a kid. He would say, "Scott, study hard and go to college so you can make lots of money. Wealth brings prosperity".
Once again I pressed on my breaks as the Carrera GT slowed, now even with Ronald McDonald.
This is the moment, at the off ramp to Macdonald and the 101, that the prosperous, buxom blond did something extremely dangerous while driving. She lifted her top up and over her head.
I saw Ronald McDonald look down and smile. The suggestion etched into the dirt on the back of his sloshing, elevated, silver cesspool had been answered. Ronald McDonald didn’t care if the naked breasts were surgically altered or that they might have been rubbed in the faces of nameless, lonely rich guys for money.
The boobs in the Carrera GT sped off, and Ronald McDonald looked up and began to whistle. I wonder if he was whistling "Blue Moon".
Our bodies are amazing instruments. Not only do our bodies provide a fairly efficient means for moving our brain and spirit from one location to another they have an unequaled ability to process billions of biologic and electronic signals and processes with little to no cognitive direction. BUT occasionally these automatic functions are responsible for some uncontrollable and sometimes inappropriate thoughts and actions. For example, you might remember RT's recent posts on public flatulence.
When I was in high school I was encouraged, rather forced, to read a book called “All Quiet on the Western Front”, by Erich Maria Remarque. The book is a WW I war novel about the truth of war. In the novel the author vividly describes the battlefield that lies between your compadres and the enemy. This area is described in the novel as “no-mans-land”. No mans land is a place where there are no friends and you’re as likely to be shot by your own side as you are by the enemy.
In one of my previous posts, “Honesty”, Matthew Jabs commented “The reason a lot of people lie is to protect someone else’s feelings”.
The simple statement, although obvious, caused me to think.
I try to live my life honorably, treating people as I want to be treated and trying not to misrepresent the truth or tell the truth, leaving out important facts that help define the truth. I also try to learn from history and from experiences I have had. For instance when my wife asks me, “Do these pants make me look fat?” experience has taught me that the answer is ALWAYS a resounding “No”. The answer is nearly as automatic as a reflex now as I’ve learned any, even minor, hesitation will be interpreted as a “Yes” regardless of what I say.
Why hesitate? My mind races, processing more data in a few moments than the newest CPU sitting on Intel’s test bed. I might be thinking; “Wow, I don’t like that color, those are too short or too long to be seen in public, why are the pockets spaced the way they are, who thought it would look good to use orange thread in green cloth, isn’t it great the way those pants make her butt look like an upside down heart, those shoes don’t really go with those pants, I wonder if anyone is reading my latest blog entry, does she like those pants, how does she expect me to answer, am I in the mood for a discussion about her butt, . . . and finally . . . how do those pants make her look?”
I’ve been in this “no-mans-land” before and without hesitation I answer, “They look great honey”. She smiles and slowly walks away knowing that I still love her.
It seems Matthew Jabs was right, we do occasionally lie to protect someone else’s feelings and that’s okay.
I do not spend any time thinking about death. My responsibility is to enjoy my life otherwise I need to step aside for another and let him use the valuable resources necessary to sustain it. It is a crime to remain alive and unhappy particularly in the western world given its toll on those of the greater world. To think about death when I am alive is selfish in the same way it is selfish to think about flying over Alaska at dusk when I am flying over Africa at dawn.
History has moved us to the present where still we have not learned to emotionally connect with one another in the way we each need. This is understandable, given our harsh past. As infants we cry until exhausted under the caring and watchful eyes of daycare. We receive our training at cold, mind dulling, schools, and we work in environments where innocently showing affection could lead to sexual harassment charges. We pretend to be 'normal'. The pretending and lies we tell, in an attempt to hide our uniqueness and to ‘fit in’ leave in their path unbearable loneliness. Perhaps after this generation and the next, far into more hundreds of years, we will learn to respect and cherish those things which make us unique, for it is our uniqueness that make us lovable.
Man and woman must join together realizing theirs is not a union if they act unequal as is taught. We must replace inequality with shared dreams and truth. Unequal partners are not partners and can not share anything of value. Mates must know what beliefs they hold close and let these beliefs be known to each. True love is possible today for those who have the energies for truth and prefer its reality to that of games and pretending.
I derive happiness from helping others to become more than they hope for themselves. The better I understand myself the more hearts I may touch. I am blessed by those that understand my actions and words despite some that choose to misinterpret them.
Carefully, I love those who try to prove my worthlessness, remembering that I am vulnerable, subject to the efforts of those who would try to gain power and status from misrepresenting who I am. I choose my own friends and in doing so, work to create a loving environment.
My friends allow me the pain and joy of life without interference, even if they don’t understand it. My social environment and my family are my creations and I want and accept that responsibility. Individuals who claim to understand more of my intention than I, or claim to know more of what is best for me are predators. I avoid these marauders because they attempt to steal my reality by trying to live their lives through mine or would have me live their life.
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