1:00 AM -- FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY THE FRIDGE

 

Remember Dagwood and Blondie Bumstead?

Their children, Alexander and Cookie?

Don't forget the dog, Daisy.

You're seeing this because last night, at about 1:30 AM, I awakened with a driving hunger pang.  I ran out to the fridge, opened 'er up and the first thing that flashed before my imagination's eye was this:

Once I got over the shock of the first wave, the first thing that came to mind was, "I wonder how many millennials know who this is?"

Then I started to muse about the value of such a memory.  Why was I covered by a cloud of "Dagwood-ism?"  What was the value?  What was the Lord Almighty trying to tell me?  I was really mystified and I am still digging around in the spiritual centers of my being to see if I might find something important to learn about this experience.

In the fog of reflection and quasi meditation, I never got an answer to my mental probing about how Dagwood ever did get to wrap his mouth around the monumental sandwiches that he was fond of contructing.

One thing did come to mind:  The difference between Daisy and Snoopy.  Daisy never did quite make it the exhalted level of Snoopy.  She never strutted around on two legs like that most famous of all Beagles.

Finally, as I was going about the business of taking the lid off the agenda of the new week, all the while reminiscing about Dagwood, I began to try to count the number of jobs I have done in my lifetime.  

Now, that, as you may all imagine, is a story for another day.

SEASHORE, and MORE, -- VOICE OF GOD

 "DOES THE SONG OF THE SEA END AT THE SHORE OR IN THE HEARTS OF THOSE WHO LISTEN TO IT? 

Kahlil Gibran

This is one of those thoughts that made me shake my head when I read it.  The person to whom it is attributed is a favorite thinker/poet/guru whom I have followed for many years.  It is a fascinating reality that after having dedicated so much spiritual energy basing my personal meditations on Gibran's thoughts that I could have been confronted by this one out of the blue. 

Besides the fact that this thought is engendered by the soothing memory of music, I have to confess that I have been reaching inside of myself to make sense of the rages of water, fire and innimical viruses as they have become rather prominent factors affecting our human situation of late. 

One of the facts that have been lingering around the edges of my meditative nature have been the memorial celebrations surrounding the obsequies for my godson, Hadjr.  The deepest solemity was celebrated on the breast the Pacific Ocean, in many ways, the soul of true San Diegans. It was there that the Song of the the Sea swallowed our hearts and minds in the unison of love. The Song of the Sea did not stop on the sands of the beach on that day...Not for me.  How about you?

You were not there, you say.  Ok, let me ask if the rage of the fires in the northwestern corner of our country end when it runs out of fuel or does it continue to make our soul shiver even long moments after we have been freed of its infernal fury.  

These are just some musings concerning the impact that lingers in the spiritual corners of our being as a result of what we experience in their presence.

MY MADONNA, by Robert W, Service

 How many of you have a favorite poem?  Think about it. You must have one.  From           Early to bed, Early to rise,  Makes one happy, healthy and wise ,  to “The Song of Hiawatha” or one of my favorites,  “Evangeline.”  

Each poem is like a little piece of time travel. That’s really the beauty of poetry. It has the ability to take you back to that very sparse moment that the poet experienced. A true poet can capture both massive and microscopic events and portray them in words with the same vibrancy and grandeur. One man writes about the tragedy of Gettysburg, while the other muses on the delicate way Autumn’s first leaf touches the ground.  One makes me cry as Evangeline’s canoe slips past the one in which her beloved is sleeping while another one reflects on the bygone virtues of the anonymity of those who fill the graves in a small country churchyard.  This is why I love poetry. All moments, both large and small can be captured the same.  Think of national anthems. Some are loving and sweet and some are bellicose but, in every case, they become the core of the citizenry.                                    

Think of religious hymns. They are poems that proclaim what we believe.  The following poem is one I picked out for its sweet cynicism and poignant humor.  It is one that makes me think. I have visited it and revisited it many times over the years.  It always takes me from the surface to the depths.  Hope you enjoy it too.                                          My Madonna – by Robert W. Service                     

         Let me suggest that you Google  "Robert W. Service"

I discovered him some 20+ years ago.  His work is vast and varied.  I am a "mood" reader of his.  

Enjoy.

 

REPORT THI