Hi Dan, >From my very limited experience, I'd say that the pre-static (before fear and >thinking) response is always to give 150%, but that is not very advantageous >for the survival of the "self" in dangerous situations. I did later notice >that from the intensity of the incident, all the thoughts that had been >floating through my mind that morning vacated. Gone! It made me laugh at >myself! I will get the details concerning the driver some time this weekend, >but from what I could see, they were very fortunate to have survived.
Outside the line is where the best stuff happens. I recently reread RMP's introduction to the twenty-fifth anniversary edition of ZAMM. He said Phaedrus was never insane. Outside the line is where all the creative stuff happens, but it is extremely dangerous. It surprised me that both Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg did a stint in a hospital for schizophrenia. Tough times, indeed! I had my moments of insanity, but love and responsibility to my children always kept me in check. But now I feel free to fly, and do so in my studio. Not as dangerous as flying over an un-netted sea like Icarus. My studio is my favorite place to be. Do you think that your sister being a writer offered you permission to go back to that childhood longing to be a writer. And there was 'LILA's Child', that must have stirred the juices. Did you get assistance from others? I had helpers get me back to making art, and I am grateful to them. Marsha > On Dec 21, 2013, at 2:44 AM, Dan Glover <[email protected]> wrote: > > Not only does she draw outside the lines, my sister writes too. It's sort > of funny that not only are we both artists, but we're both the black sheep > of the family... never living up to our purported potential in the eyes of > our parents or siblings. She moved off ages ago when she was just a > teenager and I followed suit shortly thereafter. I never made it as far as > she did, however... I only got about three blocks from home while she made > it across the country. > > My father only sneered when he asked what I wanted to do when I grew up and > I told him: to write. For a long time I tried to please him... perhaps not > consciously but nevertheless I found myself attempting to follow his path > through life. Only where he never failed to succeed, I never failed to > fail. A short time before he passed away he told me what a disappointment > I'd been to him, maybe not in so many words but I got the gist of what he > was saying. > > I have no doubt that he always did his best for me, but we were not only > separated by generation but by spirit. He believed in hard work. He had > fought a war and came home a winner. He had learned to hate the enemy so > thoroughly that it still simmered fifty years after the fact. The stories > he told us when we were children inspired me to want to be a Marine like he > was. When I grew older I realized my nature wasn't suited for such a > regimented life. > > He died a rich man but all his money couldn't buy him another minute on > this good earth. I never got to talk to my father about it but I think the > MOQ would say that money is a form of social quality. It has nothing to do > with biological patterns other than to use them to its own advantage. The > rich feed off the poor all the while rationalizing that they are the chosen > few and so deserve more than anyone else. > > Money lends a sort of useless succor to our lives. It fools us into > believing if we only have enough of it, we will be the comfortable and good > citizens who drop a few dollars into the Salvation Army bucket at Christmas > time. If we happen to see a street person approaching us, however, we > become fearful and cross the street to avoid the confrontation of seeing > the want arising in their eyes. > > Hard work only tires me out so I avoid it whenever possible. I work enough > to get by and then I stop. Today, a homeless man stopped by the church > where I work. The secretary and the priest turned him out empty-handed. As > he was leaving I followed and called out to him. I gave him the money I had > in my pocket and a lunch I had brought. I didn't do it on account of > feeling sorry for him. I did it because I had at one time been that same > person and someone had paid it forward with me. > > Is that why you stopped for that accident today? Did you see yourself > trapped in that vehicle? Or were you just being a good citizen, doing what > was expected of you? > > Everything changes in an instant. Most people never realize that when they > leave for work in the morning, they might not return. They don't recognize > themselves in the dirty bedraggled faces that haunt the shadows of the > alleyways and crack houses that dot the underbellies of the cities where > they live. Most people believe in forever. Others may face misfortune and > death but not them. > > I think it shocks us to realize the slender thread that holds us in place > can be snapped at any time so we tend to ignore that possibility. We > believe if we are good and righteous that goodness and righteousness will > follow us the rest of our days and we'll die comfortably in our sleep, old > and worn out, with our loving family there beside us, not homeless and > alone. > > Anyway... > > > >> On Fri, Dec 20, 2013 at 11:11 PM, MarshaV <[email protected]> wrote: >> >> >> Hi Dan, >> >> While inspiring a collage of different experiences, I find 'Butterfly >> Picnic' to be a little gem. I really like it. *That the woman was >> watching, but not seeing*. Such a familiar mystery! Your explanation is >> also interesting from several different angles. - Drawing outside the >> lines is an interesting metaphor. There is the dependence on the lines to >> be able to experience the freedom of moving away from them. And didn't >> your sister draw outside the line by taking you to the museum? >> >> Yesterday was an interesting day. It was very busy. My last stop was at >> the grocery store to shop for food for the weekend. I live two miles from >> the store and was driving home when I witnessed a very bad accident. The >> oncoming driver was not killed, but it was very dramatic. I saw the car >> lose control, hit many guard tails, take flight and twist through the air >> over an embankment to land right-side up in a gulch. It was surreal. Of >> course I stopped to help, but more experienced men arrived almost >> immediately. There was only the driver who was conscious and talking, but >> trapped in the car. Since I was one of two witnesses, I stayed to offer my >> name and explanation to the police. What had I watched? What did I see? >> The whole tenor of the day changed in a few moments, certainly for the >> driver, but also for this witness. I am still shocked how quickly and >> dramatically things seem to change. >> >> >> Marsha >> >> >>> snip... 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