. Spinning .

Nice rainy day and silence enough to hear the raindropping and dripping off the leaves, a random rain sound but for those drops dripping off the corner of the barn which, at a given point of saturation, become a synchronic metronome.

Good day to think about the space and tricks of light and darkness, where the sun creates a different scene than this grey dullness constantly in motion, each drop a fall of measured distance, each spot, beyond its own globular distortion changing what is there.

The grass at midnight turns the color of the asphalt road it borders.  It truly does; whether I am there to witness it or not. But then again, the times that I have been, I too become one with the grasses and the road, as well as trees and buildings and the sky. 

So if darkness is the time of unity, is there any doubt that day, its opposite, is one of strife?

Children that won’t know me,
blood of my blood thinned by the water of greed,
flows down and, drying,
leaves no mark nor trail.

Generations beget forgetfulness
of branches cut from the tree,
still reaches up and, touching,
streaks clouds upon the sky.

Driving, chewing gum, curving up the road at double speed.  Only just because that is the kind of day it is; stand-still-summer-sweat.  So move and move and roll around the land a bit to try it out.  Taste it and recall past lives filtered through the music drifting like a cape behind the car.  Spin around past fifty when you wrote a book, forty when you found yourself and found yourself alone, thirty when discoveries were made and fondled much too long and then to twenty, ah, twenty and Dick C.  He looked a bit like Evil Dick on Big Brother, softer though, and rounded, and just a couple of tatoos.  Long hair, mustache and goatee as black as Evil’s and the devil’s sends shivers through my core as if a hot wind blew straight through the tunnel behind the train.  The echo of the voice the same and honest. Even now.  You wonder where he is, you wonder if he’s well. I wonder.

Wandering around the Farmington Malls on Sunday, getting shoes at Bob’s and browsing Barnes & Noble, the man and I stop into Luna’s for just a snack, a slice of sausage pizza each.  "I beat!" I said–a house tradition–and ask the waitress for the check. $7 plus tax and tip and it ends up at $9 for a lousy slice of pizza and a cup of water.  Jim doesn’t eat the pizza crusts, and offers it to me.  I take it gladly, bite right in just as he reaches for his wallet and…

"I beat!" he says.  And laughs.

Read an article in an April 2007 issue of Time magazine yesterday at (where else?) the doctor’s office about Albert Einstein’s answers to the question of a power beyond science and the immortality of man.

Interesting question to ask a man of science.  Basically his reported belief is that there is something beyond our realm of knowledge that is responsible for the organized patterns of the universe, in other words, while not necessarily God, the order is not something Einstein felt was random or without purpose.

"Try and penetrate with our limited means the secrets of nature and you will find that, behind all the discernible laws and connections, there remains something subtle, intangible and inexplicable. Veneration for this force beyond anything that we can comprehend is my religion. To that extent I am, in fact, religious." 

He also questioned the reality of free will, though this is another whole can of worms whether looked at philosophically or biologically.  He did not, however, lean towards a theory of the immortality of man via a soul.

Now that’s quite a twist. Not bound to be a popular theory though; man is interested in the idea of a power or force that oversees nature and man mainly because of the rather selfish concern for his own immortality.  If it doesn’t include that possibility, well, who cares?

Unless they  catch me or I myself suspect a serious problem (like three band-aids won’t stop the bleeding) I do not go regularly to a doctor.  I do not even have a primary care physician, depending upon the gynocologist I used to go to on a fairly regular basis (every four years?) to at the very least glance up at my face now and again.

But an appointment I thought I had to reschedule was rescheduled by the cardiologist’s all too efficient office staff and I must face him, go toe to toe with him this morning.  He’s tough; he looks me in the eye.

Do I still feel yucky?  Yes.

Have I been exercising?  Good God, no!  I don’t even have the will to make a sandwich much less hop on a bike.

Have I switched to decaf?  No. Would you give up chocolate for the rest of your life?

Have I stopped smoking?  Maybe.  The stress level’s gone down a bit and the depression makes me reluctant to open my mouth wide enough, so yes, I think finally I might have.