10/26/13...

August 2024 

I reach into the pocket located on the back of the front passenger's seat in Edward the Explorer. I keep maps in that pocket, and a recorder (the flute kind), and a nature book or two. I felt something odd -- a small, glossy-coated, hard square. What is this? I wonder. I pull it out with curiosity.

"Wow..." I hold it up for Hubby to see. 

It's a small handmade (not by me) journal, about 3 inches by 3 inches square. A copy of a painted white peony graces the front cover. The artist's name is handwritten in the lower right corner, "Jean R. Reynolds." The cover is overlayed with clear contact paper giving the cardboard a glossy feel. 

I open it. My handwriting on the inside of the front cardboard cover reads: "Purchased 10/26/13. Art and Coffee Cafe near Massanutten Resort, VA."

"So, I last saw bears in 2013," I say to Hubby. "I was thinking it was 2012 that I took that Massanutten trip. But it was 2013. I guess this journal has been back here for almost 11 years. Wow..."

On that October 2013 visit, I'd seen a cub (or maybe it was 2 cubs) high up in a tree at dusk. I was in my vehicle. I didn't get out; I'm sure Momma Bear was close by. Not did I hang around; Momma Bear could get the best of me even in my vehicle. 

I've been wanting a bear sighting since that last sighting. I hear that this year (2024) there are a plenty of bear sightings in the mountains, but none for me...yet. 

There is only one entry in the journal. Interestingly (to me) it mentions politics. In the last coupleish months, I've found myself, yet again, navigating the poly-ticks (ha ha) of our time. I know I'm not alone. 

In October 2013, I had not yet begun the steroid lumbar epidurals. But I had been properly diagnosed with polyradiculitis in May 2013. (The onset had been the end of April 2011.) So, I was pretty sick with symptoms at the time. August 2013 is when I downsized my pet-sitting business from approximately 180 clients to maybe 20. (I slowly downsized more until I had to close completely around 2018.) The folks who worked for me inherited many of the clients I had to give up. 

Anyway, Poly Rad was the dominant force in my life at the time. And it has been relentless to this day. Some may advise, "Don't say it's the dominant force in your life." But that is my day-to-day reality. I've had to learn to embrace Poly, while at the same time continuing to find ways of relief and living with my limitations. It's probably better said that these "ways" find me. 

With most (any?) chronic illness or disability, isolation is part of the package. That isolation happens for different reasons -- limited mobility, limited energy to engage, folks not understanding the debilitating symptoms which is especially true with a rare disease, and other stuff. One has to learn to evolve from loneliness into solitude. I've made that transition for the most part. I rarely feel lonely anymore. This is simply my life...

So, below is the journal entry, mostly unedited...

I share with a little embarrassment, but it is what is and was what it was...

Maybe it will somehow help someone...

10/26/13

Yet another little journal. I used to be somewhat organized with my journals. Now my scribblings are spread around. 

I have become a loner. I think it is official. 

I'm, I can't think of the word, some "dis" word with Facebook. I don't want to pursue relationships. There was a time when relationships were important to me. But not anymore. The only time or thing I really feel passion about is nature. And I don't get in it that often. I just think about it. 

I feel again that I am unintelligent. 

How can I right my course? Then again, it's not like anyone pursues me. If they did, I'd put my arm up and say, "Back away." 

I desired this loner life, after the Knapp stuff. I now have it. I feel guilty and selfish. What am I contributing anywhere to anyone?

I'm not attached. Except to animals. 

What is the best thing about America? The air quality. Clean water. Roads. Trails. 

What are my thoughts on politics? Large scale, it overwhelms my mind. Like a huge corporation. Poly ticks. 

Politics is like a large debate. What does the word itself mean? "Poli" comes from polis = "affairs of the state." "Ics" = "matter relevant to." So, matters relating to the state or the nation. If I am alive, I am part of a family, community, city, state, nation, globe, solar system, universe. 

Politics itself is the various opinions in the system, the voicing of those opinions, debates to prove their opinions are right.

What is right?

~To deal honestly is right.

~Accountability is right.

~To think of the consequences or our actions is right. 

So, in order to vote I determine who is right. How can any of the people running be right when each has to spend bundles of $$? 

It's a mess.

Religion -- a person's belief system in action. 

I believe it is more important to give than to prove I'm right. 

I'm not a critic. It's something I don't do well -- criticize. 

I can be myself more when I am alone. When with others, my perceived expectations of things can inhibit me. It can even cause me to say things contrary to what I really believe. I get too concerned about another's opinion. 

This online life. It causes disorientation. How can I disentangle? 

I think I tire of talk and debate. I think I look at something and think, "Well, let's fix it." 

And I write some more. 

Well, another weird solo vacation. I guess it was okay. No art. No writing -- or very little. 

I am lost. I am alone, I guess I'll stay that way until I am not. 

~*~

A song came to mind while transcribing the 2013 journal entry. 

It's short (1 minute, 19 seconds) and funny.

Be sure sound is on; for me it comes up muted, and I have to click the unmute icon. 

Also, the captions that show up on Twitter, generated by AI (I reckon), aren't right. Lol.

Hansen is one of my favorite contemporary Chirstian authors... 

Click the link below to hear Brant Hansen sing...

"I'm Right About Everything..."

Below are the correct lyrics... 

By Brant Hansen...

Well, it's hard

Harder than people think

It's rough

Rougher than a kitchen sink

This burden I bear 

To be so unfair

Oh, it's hard to be right 

About everything

I'm right about everything

I'm right even when I sing

Every conclusion that I draw

Every bit of my dogma

Oh, it's a heavy thing

To be right about everything

You can sing along

If you just admit

You are wrong

Thank you for listening

To me being right 

About everything

~*~

No more pictures...

 I sit here, at this keyboard, thinking about what to share...

The daytrips I've not written about --

Love Valley; Lin Cove Viaduct and the rain washing away my cares and then being able to climb into the back of Sir Edward the Explorer in the pouring rain and maneuver which is quite a feat for me; the fresco viewings in Statesville, Morganton, and Montreat; Hickory to visit a longtime friend and Bunker Hill Bridge; Grayson Highlands which was a huge trip that took me three days to recover from but was worth it; Meadows of Dan and visits with folks at The Poor Farmers Market; and whatever else I'm not recalling at the moment.

The political deluge -- 

I was disappointed that Kennedy dropped his campaign. I was appalled he decided to endorse Trump, and that switch causes me more doubt about Kennedy. I had had a couple red flags but had put them aside. So now, I trust Kennedy less. And I wonder, How can a person have unity with a psychopath? Only by agreeing with the psychopath. Does the psychopath fulfill a certain role in society? Do I really believe "psychopathy" is a real thing? I mean, it's hard to fathom that a person has no empathy. How can a person be human without empathy? Unfortunately, experience has taught me that maybe... "some humans ain't human." But deep down, I don't believe that. I want to believe that one day, all wrongs will be made right, even with people who seem to have no empathy. 

I won't be posting any more personal pictures on my blog; Google now requires a blogger to allow Google access to the blogger's photos to post a pic. That wasn't the case previously; I could upload a pic straight from my computer without granting another machine access. But then, who knows; maybe Google had access before but didn't make that known. Still, I'm not comfortable with the new(?) set up. My pictures aren't that good anyway; I use an old SE iPhone, and my hands most always tremble.

~*~

The other week as I was thinking about the frescoes, the thought ran through my noggin, These frescoes. They are so rich and deep. It's like the people and animals could walk right out of the wall. They feel so real. Ahhh....in another time they were physically there. Each animal and person in the frescoes had a real (most of them living) animal or person as a model...

The past couple months I've been meditating on II Corinthians 4:18 attributed to Paul the Apostle: "So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporal, but what is unseen is eternal." 

I cannot see those models in the flesh now. Nor can I see, in real time, the people whom the models represent. And even if I could, they are temporal. Everything dies, eventually. Perhaps everything breaks, eventually. So, I can only see these stories of the past in my mind's eye. Are stories temporal? But the past cannot itself be changed. It can only be remembered or forgotten. And memories are a tricky thing. One reason I like journaling in the present moment - to capture any given moment in real time. 

I've looked at the unseen air as I've pondered that scripture. Air cannot be seen. Breath cannot be seen. Spirit cannot be seen. Music cannot be seen but can be heard. Aromas cannot be seen but can be smelled. Tender touch, or harmful touch, cannot be seen but can be felt; same goes for emotions. Thoughts cannot be seen but can be expressed into art, into words. 

Soul itself cannot be seen, but it is the mechanism which makes me, me and you, you. It includes the life force that keeps our physical hearts beating. It includes our genetic make-up. It includes cellular memories which date back to the first blood. It probably includes aspects that are beyond our human grasp.

Ecclesiastes 3:11, attributed to Solomon, states that God has set eternity in the hearts of humans. Does that not imply that every heart has divinity within it? Does it mean the soul is eternal? But Jeremiah 17:9 states that the human heart is deceitful above all else, wickedly sick, and beyond cure. A prayer attributed to David states, "Create in me a clean heart, O God..." So, did the ancients believe that the human heart contains eternal divinity and also a wickedness beyond cure but that the cure was for God to create a new heart within an individual? Of course, that heart is not the physical organ, but is figurative representing 'the seat of one's personal life.' 

~*~

I think if I had to make a choice as to which daytrip has been the most magical, that's a hard choice. But Grayson Highlands would be near the top, along with the trip to Montreat. 

As most of my trips go, I was one of only a few humans at Grayson. By the time I got back to Edward to eat my picnic supper, he sat alone awaiting me in the parking area. I was the sole human as I ate my salad with nuts and chips and took in the scene(seen) and the unseen and the just-hiked memories on the mountain. I had seen 16 feral ponies, four of them foals. 

Montreat was completely different in that I wasn't solo; the campus was bustling with students and faculty...

I first met up with an online friend in Black Mountain. We had never met face-to-face. Funny thing - we each brought a small gift to give to the other. After our visit I headed up the hill to Montreat College campus where school was in session and where I had gone to college in the fall of 1977. I enjoyed the fresco and other art in the Chapel of the Prodigal which didn't exist when I went to school there. I really enjoyed talking with some of the students and faculty. In talking with one professor I asked, "What do you profess?" He chuckled and answered, "Philosophy and biblical studies." I asked, "Did you know Dr. Newton? He was my favorite professor back in '77." The man's eyes lit up, "Yes! I knew John. He was a good man. He died a few years back." 

~*~

While at Montreat, a lady mentioned that she had seen something on PBS about Ben Long and the frescoes. Later I searched and found the footage below. The narrator describes my thoughts from a few weeks prior to finding this footage.

The fresco that the clip shares the most about is located at CoMMA Performing Arts Center in Morganton. This fresco is on the ceiling in the large area right outside the auditorium where musicians perform. The music volume has to be kept below a certain decibel; if it's too loud it can crack the fresco. On the floor directly under the fresco is a large round braided rug. The rug hides a turntable that is built into the floor. So, I lay down, stared up at the fresco, and watched the parade of muses as the turntable slowly turned. The fresco is too large to fit into one picture frame. 

When I visited, I was, as typical, the sole visitor. Two employees were working, one who had worked at the time when the Sacred Dance of the Muses came to life. So, I received some personal information including a copy of a handwritten list of the models for the fresco. After looking it over the next day, I realized that the list was probably written by Ben Long; beside his name was penned "Woe is me." In the fresco he is sitting on the stairs, wearied from frescoing a ceiling. The CoMMA employee told me that Long had a massage therapist with him during his, and his team's, time putting pigment to fresh plaster on the ceiling. 

PBS: Our State -- Ben Long Frescoes/Peaches & Cream/Fort Macon