Flotsam. Jetsam. A Yurt.

There was a time I had a deep desire to help people.

I'm not sure where that desire dissipated to.

This past week I strolled down Madison Avenue in Ardmore walking sweet Oscar, one of my dog friends.
Oscar and I strolled past the bamboo patch that grows at the roadside.
As we passed, an image of the ocean appeared on my mental landscape. Debris floated amidst sea foam.

The debris represented information; the ocean represented channels - not just one channel, but a multitude.

Billboards. Television. Smart phones.
Books. Magazines. Blogs.
Information. Opinions. Facts.

Sometimes I feel I am drowning in it. There is no escape from the noise of it.
Each piece shouts, "Hear me! Pick me!"
Each piece hollers, "I'm right! I stand for what is moral and good and righteous!"

All across the sea spin tiny vortexes.
Round and round go the pieces of debris, bobbing and swirling.
Some drowning faster than others.

Every so often the vortexes cease, and the litter floats worn and ragged.
Flotsam and jetsam.
A sea of information.

I have another dream of late.
I'd like to clear part of our woods in the back and plant bamboo and erect a yurt.
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