Speaking of psychedelic experiences

When I used to have the time to check out of reality for 12 hours at a time, I got to observe my own mind at work. Observing a leaf float down a creek has a lot more edificational value than you might think. Every thought we think has layers and layers of thought beneath and in and around it. Now I’m talking with someone who’s mind is slipping away and have to watch every one of those layers. When I say something like, “my wife, Ruth”, I’m identifying one person with two key identifiers, and each one has more identification that comes with it and more that comes to mind when it’s said. She’s my second wife, her family called her Ruthie, she kept her last name, she knits, we’ve been married for 20 years, and on an on. That’s just a simple example, but when you’ve lived for a few decades, nothing is simple. Depending on how happy all of these layers are, we call it baggage or we call it the rich experience of our history.

At the end of “The Good Place” someone told the Buddhist analogy of life as a wave. You can see it forming way out there, then hold it’s form as it crests and rolls in, then finally tit crashes on the shore and recedes, but the water is still there.


Another reason to do one’s best to get most of the today you have. Entropy is for real and will catch up to you soon enough.

Row, row, row your boat…

Now that I’ve reached the unimaginable age of 65, I’ve come to appreciate I’m moving in on the threshold of agedness, elderly and increasing incapacity. It should scare me more than it does. But than I’m fortunate to still have this present where my wife and I are of solid mind and body, if a bit less solid than it used to be, and capable of living where we want to be.

Lausten you also made me think of all the physics stuff I’ve been reading lately and the background radiation, and wave collapse and particles coming into and out of existence. It’s all of fractals, I do believe.


Good luck with your days and your wife and the people in your life.

Well, this is an experience. My grandmother’s name was Ruth and was often called Ruthie. She would often watch me especially during the summers, as she canned veggies from their garden, sewed (even made twin dresses for her and myself- in pink, our favourite colour), embroidered, crocheted, knit, and had many Harlequin Romance book in her bookcases (some even cost 5 cents, probably from before I was born). She often called me Doodlebug. She played the piano and the organ. I could go on forever about my grandmother Ruthie.