Great Divide

Were I to set out on a journey endeavoring to document the world's Great Divides (Continental Divide), there would be no cause to wade out further than the watershed in my own backyard. I don't really have a watershed in my backyard, however, once there I would drain a basin brimming with dissimilar conceptions and misconceptions of the upper class, middle-class, and lower class, and then there is your typical hemorrhoid, “the pain in the ass”.

We populate a chockablock world of diverse peoples, cultures, and nations. It is no wonder the mind boggles when bombarded by princes of bombastic brittled banter dangerously bordering the brutality of whip-crackers with tongues resembling bullwhips. (kinda just liked the sound of that ramble.)

"There will always be a critic, but never allow them to silence your voice."

Diversity breeds division, and division is what makes up a vast world of Great Divides. Humanity is divided within humanity. Communicable relations have been, and will undoubtedly continue to be severed by the double-edged sword of written and spoken words alike. There will always be lush landscapes of elevated terrain whereon abide the high and mighty thoughts of high-minded lords lording over the lowly thoughts of mute peasants in the valley below.

"Standing atop a mountain peak is a wonderful accomplishment. Nevertheless, never lose sight of the fact that you, yourself, started your climb in the valley below, where the beauty of the lily flourishes."

The voice of columnists, composers, critics, dramatists, essayists, journalists, lyricists, novelists, playwrights, reporters, poets (and you and I) are just a handful of a much larger number making-up our Great Divides.

Diverse penman from every genre, color, and race, pen oceans of words with only one thing in common: they flow in different directions. There are works of literature on every level ranging from scientific gibberish to something easy enough for the hobo on the street corner to comprehend.

"Herin lies the Great Divide. Get over it and learn how to swim against the current."

I am still trying to figure out the purpose of this write. I suppose it is all a bunch of nonsense, as it should be, but somehow it all makes sense to me. Yesterday, I spent the entire day, and continued well into the early hours of the morning working on a piece for today's blog entry, however, I did not finish it. While I know where it is I would like to go, I have yet to figure out how to advance through the road blocks to get there. Perhaps I will have managed a detour before Sunday's offering.

Seasoned or Unseasoned... it's all good

Thought can seemingly take on the shape of a seafaring vessel navigating the imagination into a hydrosphere of an open sea. From aft, to bow the mind becomes a floating work of force bobbing thoughts from crest to crest, until the water’s edge becomes mere vapor, and the imagination becomes engulfed in a body of images, and an ocean of words seasoned with salt.

There are also times when thought is wind-bound. A seafaring vessel on a seaward course caught up in a seaward wind will sail the imagination right into an offing of high seas where clarity is tossed back and forth until finally it lay shipwrecked in a backwater, due to the turbulent flow of a briny flood and its sting of unseasoned words.

Sharing nuggets obtained on a seafaring journey into the deep might well be taboo or considered uncharted territory to other vessels. I would venture to say that thought, when put into words (seasoned or not) would often cause other vessels to tip one-way or the other. This is what seamen call a walty ship.

I believe all seagoing vessels of thought need a little tipping now and again. Life’s entire journey is not a voyage of smooth sailing after all. In addition, navigating the small crests offers up experience and prepares us to glide through larger crests that might otherwise set us off balance.

So, if you are one who hangs on every word spoken or written by another, and you gauge your worth by these words, I offer this... acquire a taste for salted and non-salted alike. Too much salt causes one to retain water, anyway. It adds extra weight, and the unnecessary baggage we refer to as love handles will not (by some magic) lift you out of this open sea of life should you capsize.

For everything there is a season, and sometimes our season is to digest that which is unseasoned.

Confession Session

Open session . . .

Today is the day I voice my confession. It is quite my desire to leave an impression, as I unburden myself of this secret obsession in an honest attempt to unload this oppression. Failure to do so would result in depression. So follow along and watch my progression, as I bear you my heart… my only possession.

Please pardon my fault should I sway toward digression. Join in for the ride and follow procession. I pray you not judge my tiny transgression. To do so would lead to further repression. In turn, this would aid to worsen suppression, which might well be worse than our present recession; no doubt, it would lead to your own great depression.

Before I move forward, I ask your concession. Above all else, I must ask your discretion. Repeat not a word of this heartfelt confession. Should you indulge in this act of aggression, forced is my hand to follow line of succession, and seek out those in the legal profession to take all you own through transferred possession. I tell you all this to avoid misimpression, and to spare you the cost to take repossession.

Continuing with this harmonic progression, would no doubt delay the close of this session. Therefore, I move to the act of compression to undue the damage of this mass decompression. By now, you might think of psychotic depression, though I tell you no lie, this is not my confession. To avoid accusations of blatant digression, I will bring to an end this senseless expression. However, in all of these words in succession, I call not to mind my words of confession.

Perhaps I’ll recall in another bull session.

Picture Perfect

Our globe is stage to road maps comprised of people having differing picture perfect ideas. Individuality and the scope of a mind’s eye makes for a vast grid of mindsets ranging anywhere from simplistic to philosophical in intensity. Depending much on frame of mind, personal perception and cultures, ideas will either reach far beyond preset boundaries of the norm, or spend a lifetime confined within self-imposed borders with the normal. In retrospect… our definition of picture perfect has the power to leave us seeing nothing more than dots on a map or to see the map as a whole.

Don't blink. You'll miss your destination . . .

There are people who will (when viewing a map) see a plat of only dots and lines void of meaning, and destinations well beyond their reach. Some, however, will see a photomap of varying depths of field beckoning them to make a journey of discovery. On scale… the mind’s eye will either see an oasis of plush panoramic landscapes ushering you within inches of realizing your ideas, or leave you miles away (in a desert), forever groping at mirages: the former need only apply footwork to make the trek possible, while the latter requires a change of mind and a second or third look.

Chart out a new course . . .

Canvassing the above, I began considering limitations and lines that, I, myself, may have drawn in the sand in charting out my course. Perhaps it is time we all take a new boundary survey in order to reestablish and broaden our borders, catch the high tied to conquer the backshore of parched eyes and build monuments that can be seen from space. I hear the aerial view is a sight for sore eyes.

My Quirks and My Compass
Even in unremarkable stories we are remarkable.