Life in the Mind.

The mind is a wonderful and fascinating thing. To know that we have a rolodex in our brain that can collate, file, and record every circumstance and experience that we have gone through is both an amazing gift and an eternal tormentor at the same time.


When we encounter circumstances in life that challenge, and hurt, we perseverate, these experiences within our mind and memory for a time. In doing so we torture our current existence and limit our existence daily for a time, in short we are there, but we are not there. We are both present and absent, hearing, but not listening, living yet, dieing to self for a time. The movies are horrors, and the reviews are endless and played back continuously for a time, if we allow.

In these times if one takes the time to consciously think about and go to the file of good memories and experiences and attempt to align it side by side with the bad, and push play, eventually the good will win out. The days will come back into focus, life will resume as it always has, and hope and faith will once again rule.

Whenever I have had a good experience in life, I try to compartmentalize that in its own file cabinet, separate from the other. Here in this cabinet life truly exists, comforts, and renews, here life is as it should be, a wonderful adventure with us as wandering optimistic tourists.

Home

When people talk about wanting to go "home," it is not so much the physical space of the house as much as it is the idea of what that place means to them. In my memories, home was a place of thought, and open idea sharing. It was a comfortable existence that included love, and discipline, but mostly love, and always--- thought. Here my confidence was built, my life was started, the stones of my personal foundation were laid.

In this idea I smell supper cooking, I here my sisters talking, and my father coming through the front door to greet my Mother. Instruments were played, voices were raised, and thousands of pages of books were turned. The downstairs was my domain, my restaraunt, my entertainment room, my library.

In my mind I'm always going home, although my body hasnt followed lately. I am there in thought and reflection, and that is what sustains me and provides comfort when needed. So I guess I would disagree with those who say " you can't ever go home," I go there daily and that makes all the difference.

Farmer and Wife

He is small in stature but his forearms are evidence of hard days not behind a pencil. His straw hat is soiled on the rim and has seen its share of tractor seats and pickups. The pearl snap cowboy shirt isn’t starched but looks clean and sharp. They are seated outside which is fitting, the open air with its rain, and sun, and storms has made or broke their yearly lives. She is a pretty woman who loves this man you can tell from the smile and the look. She looks at him, and he looks at her and also stares across the open field in the distance. He is maybe thinking of that old John Deere, or that Allis Chalmers combine that broke down right before the storm…or maybe about how much he loves this woman and open fields. All is right this day for them no more worries about storms or wind, or rain…only thing on the agenda is a sip of their coffees, black…and the retired life.