8/01/19
Prompt or not: bullseye
~*~
Winning.
Trump consistently brags about winning.
He rarely mentions service.
In the summer of 2016, when I read Tony Schwartz's exposé, Donald Trump's Ghostwriter Tells All, in The New Yorker, I found myself drawing comparisons to how things turned out with my ex-mental health therapist.
I've been through some bizarre things in my life. Most people might think the trip with jimson weed would be the most bizarre. And it was bizarre.
Yet, even compared to that, my experience with John Knapp was bizarre and bewildering. The bewilderment has eased as years have passed.
In one of Knapp's thirteen 2011 online smear pieces, he made a statement, "Game on." But he was the only one playing a game. He lied. He threatened. He made himself out as a victim. He name-called. He assigned evil motives. He rallied his supporters, until he then turned on most of them.
Almost a year earlier Knapp's last words to me in an email, where he accused me (among other things) of "destroying our friendship" and of disloyalty were, "Have a nice life."
Almost a year later Knapp threw those same last words publicly at one of his defenders whom he had turned on. Someone who, like me, had been one of his clients. Someone who, like me, Knapp chastised for their disloyalty.
As I read Schwartz's exposé, it was uncanny -- the similarities with Knapp. But the uncanniest words came at the end when Tony Schwartz writes Trump's last words to him, after Trump chastises Tony for not being loyal and for not remaining silent. Trump said, "Have a nice life."
For a moment, I stopped breathing.
August 1, 2019
Knowledge
7/31/19
Prompt or not: knowledge
~*~
I do not want to craft a piece of writing.
I do not want to polish it.
I do not want to make it understandable.
I do not write for you.
I guess that would make me a non-marketable author.
Or no author at all.
What do I desire when I write?
It varies.
Sometimes I dump my thoughts.
Plop. Boing. Richochet. Plop.
There is no bullseye.
But there are margins.
The edge of the page.
The edge of the computer screen.
Is there an edge to consciousness?
I tend to think not.
Consciousness expands to make room
for more thoughts,
for more feelings,
for more space from where ideas originate.
There is a difference between thinking a thought and expressing it.
If we all had our thoughts laid bare for others to see,
to examine, like under a glass dome in a museum...
Would we put ourselves on the critic's pedestal, seeing only "them" under the dome?
Or would we identify and realize those thoughts could, just as well, be "us?"
I'm going absolutely no where with this.
Wait Carol...come on back.
You don't have to know where you are going.
How often has serendipity been with you?
The answer is, "Often."
Do you plan serendipity?
Well no. Otherwise it would not be serendipity.
So back to this edge of consciousness-thing.
What do you envision?
I see something like the universe, or at least its accepted rendition.
An ever-expanding expanse, with no detectable beginning or end.
What if that rendition is wrong?
Or something like that.
At one time, I wholeheartedly believed that is how the universe was set up.
Some literal, some figurative.
I used to wonder if the vast expanse of the Universe is a distortion.
That in reality, what humans are really seeing via Hubble or other telescopes, are multiple reflections from the waters of the Deep reflecting back on themselves from all directions, creating an illusion of forever, like when a person is in a house of mirrors.
The Way had scripture to back up all their teachings.
Some of it was twisted.
I question though, was it anymore twisted than any other group's claim to the right interpretation?
The Way taught that we don't interpret the scriptures; we allow them to interpret themselves.
Twist on that for awhile.
Prompt or not: knowledge
~*~
I do not want to craft a piece of writing.
I do not want to polish it.
I do not want to make it understandable.
I do not write for you.
I guess that would make me a non-marketable author.
Or no author at all.
What do I desire when I write?
It varies.
Sometimes I dump my thoughts.
Plop. Boing. Richochet. Plop.
There is no bullseye.
But there are margins.
The edge of the page.
The edge of the computer screen.
Is there an edge to consciousness?
I tend to think not.
Consciousness expands to make room
for more thoughts,
for more feelings,
for more space from where ideas originate.
There is a difference between thinking a thought and expressing it.
If we all had our thoughts laid bare for others to see,
to examine, like under a glass dome in a museum...
Would we put ourselves on the critic's pedestal, seeing only "them" under the dome?
Or would we identify and realize those thoughts could, just as well, be "us?"
I'm going absolutely no where with this.
Wait Carol...come on back.
You don't have to know where you are going.
How often has serendipity been with you?
The answer is, "Often."
Do you plan serendipity?
Well no. Otherwise it would not be serendipity.
So back to this edge of consciousness-thing.
What do you envision?
I see something like the universe, or at least its accepted rendition.
An ever-expanding expanse, with no detectable beginning or end.
What if that rendition is wrong?
What if, like The Way taught, there is a border to the universe?
What if, like The Way taught, the gigantic bubble of outer space is surrounded by water?
What if, like The Way taught, the water is probably a saline solution, like embryonic fluid?
Embryonic water protects the fetus; the outer waters, called the Deep, protect our universe.
That wasn't always the case. It was those waters, from the Deep, that flooded the earth in Noah's time.
God said he would never allow that again and gave us a rainbow as proof.
In the Deep is where some of the fallen angels were casts and await judgement.
Others of these fallen angels move about on earth creating havoc.
After Jesus was raised from the dead, he visited the Deep to show himself to the imprisoned spirits.
He had conquered death.
Beyond the waters of the Deep is another expanse.
That expanse has no margins; it is eternal.
It is where Christ ascended to the right hand of God, if there really is such a physical place.
What if, like The Way taught, the gigantic bubble of outer space is surrounded by water?
What if, like The Way taught, the water is probably a saline solution, like embryonic fluid?
Embryonic water protects the fetus; the outer waters, called the Deep, protect our universe.
That wasn't always the case. It was those waters, from the Deep, that flooded the earth in Noah's time.
God said he would never allow that again and gave us a rainbow as proof.
In the Deep is where some of the fallen angels were casts and await judgement.
Others of these fallen angels move about on earth creating havoc.
After Jesus was raised from the dead, he visited the Deep to show himself to the imprisoned spirits.
He had conquered death.
Beyond the waters of the Deep is another expanse.
That expanse has no margins; it is eternal.
It is where Christ ascended to the right hand of God, if there really is such a physical place.
Or something like that.
At one time, I wholeheartedly believed that is how the universe was set up.
Some literal, some figurative.
I used to wonder if the vast expanse of the Universe is a distortion.
That in reality, what humans are really seeing via Hubble or other telescopes, are multiple reflections from the waters of the Deep reflecting back on themselves from all directions, creating an illusion of forever, like when a person is in a house of mirrors.
The Way had scripture to back up all their teachings.
Some of it was twisted.
I question though, was it anymore twisted than any other group's claim to the right interpretation?
The Way taught that we don't interpret the scriptures; we allow them to interpret themselves.
Twist on that for awhile.
Hiding and ...
7/24/19
Prompt or not: hiding
~*~
When I was child, us neighborhood kids played a hide-and-seek game called Sardines. One person would hide while the rest of the players closed their eyes. One designated close-eyed would count out loud to 100 giving the hider time to hide. Once the counter shouted, "100!" the seekers opened their eyes and started to hunt. When a seeker found the hider, the seeker would join the hider, hiding from the rest of the seekers. That's why it was called "Sardines," because the hiders packed into the hiding place like sardines in a can.
I don't recall what happened to any seekers who couldn't find the sardines. Looking back, I'm intrigued that any of us trusted that the seekers actually closed their eyes for the whole count of 100. I played Sardines in elementary school.
Werewolf was another favorite. This was a traditional hide-and-seek tag game, except that it was always played at night. That's why it was called Werewolf. One person was "It," the Werewolf, the seeker, who also protected a spot designated as home base. The rest of the players would hide and then try to run and tag home base before Werewolf could tag them. If Werewolf tagged the runner, then the runner became Werewolf, the seeker.
Sometimes we played Werewolf at Oakwood Cemetery. I didn't play Werewolf until my teen years, the same years I was learning how to French kiss and ....
Oakwood Cemetery is where I learned to drive a car at 14 years old. Mom used to take me there so I could practice for when I would legally learn how to drive. I don't think I told her about the Werewolf game. I definitely didn't tell her about French kissing and ….
Prompt or not: hiding
~*~
When I was child, us neighborhood kids played a hide-and-seek game called Sardines. One person would hide while the rest of the players closed their eyes. One designated close-eyed would count out loud to 100 giving the hider time to hide. Once the counter shouted, "100!" the seekers opened their eyes and started to hunt. When a seeker found the hider, the seeker would join the hider, hiding from the rest of the seekers. That's why it was called "Sardines," because the hiders packed into the hiding place like sardines in a can.
I don't recall what happened to any seekers who couldn't find the sardines. Looking back, I'm intrigued that any of us trusted that the seekers actually closed their eyes for the whole count of 100. I played Sardines in elementary school.
Werewolf was another favorite. This was a traditional hide-and-seek tag game, except that it was always played at night. That's why it was called Werewolf. One person was "It," the Werewolf, the seeker, who also protected a spot designated as home base. The rest of the players would hide and then try to run and tag home base before Werewolf could tag them. If Werewolf tagged the runner, then the runner became Werewolf, the seeker.
Sometimes we played Werewolf at Oakwood Cemetery. I didn't play Werewolf until my teen years, the same years I was learning how to French kiss and ....
Oakwood Cemetery is where I learned to drive a car at 14 years old. Mom used to take me there so I could practice for when I would legally learn how to drive. I don't think I told her about the Werewolf game. I definitely didn't tell her about French kissing and ….