Author Archives: kyranravencroft
It was a cold December morning in the fine year of two thousand and twenty three; the day of great ungratefulness. We find the Ottoman Empire lying about in ruins due to the one million tasseled, miniscule chest lobed llamas protest march.
Disease ran rampant across the land – followed by the police in hot pursuit. The Queen of Gomorra, Queen Harlot, seeing the scores of super cute (yet highly underappreciated) panties being neglected questionably offered a decree to all stores in the land to hold a discount sale in an attempt to find the panties good homes.
The moon was observed to exist and the gourd stocks rose exponentially. In those days, masses of people boarded any boats and ships available to make the arduous and fruitless sail from New York and then back to New York again – making no progress in their distance from shore.
In the presence of weakness of world governments around the globe, one dictator, Mr. Ganglylegs III, rose to arms, soon after realized he had current ownership of two arms already and needed not a third, sat back down to tea and crumpets.
Queen Harlot was impressed by the unimpressiveness of Mr. Ganglylegs III and sent a message to the dictator via pigeon to happen upon a possible dinner meeting. The dictator, always one to never turn down a chance for a free meal, accepted the invitation.
Over cheesecake and a bit of “political” copulation, Queen Harlot and Mr. Ganglylegs III designed a Breakfast Committee that, to this day, still affects breakfast menus. Hence those annoying gnats that flutter over rotten fruits.
At the year’s end, it was the gypsy camps found in the middle of the woods, downtown Cambridge, that unearthly visitors visited and shared with the local vole museum curators technologies that would turn the page of the downtrodden economy.
Among the host of things shared, it would be the reusable teabag filter filtration system (patented in 1679) used for battery operated, commercial grade backpack type leaf blowers used by people wearing French maid outfits that would prove to be most beneficial.
After the three blind mice reclaimed their tails, corn began to seemingly grow from the ground in which it was planted. This led to such things such as roofers losing random nails in people’s yards, “B” words would officially begin with the letter “B”, and “poverty rates” would be used to describe the financial status of a population.
The following year, in two thousand and twenty two, married couples lived together. Figurative and literal compensation was awarded to men and women whose occupation was to take orders and give assistance in elevators in what was coined as tips.
In conclusion, it is easy to understand how the decisions and the effects of those decisions have made it increasingly difficult to find good web domains for websites. Evicting goblins stealing socks will help prevent a stressful living condition in the household.
Lately, I’ve been thinking off and on about the subject of death. Just one of those random things you find yourself pondering and begin to formulate a list of questions about. So here’s some of what I’ve been wondering:
- GOD. All through the ages, people of every culture has had, or currently has, some sort of belief or idea about what happens to a person after they leave this carbon based vessel we call a body.
But what is really waiting for us on the other side? Will we reincarnate? Go to a good place or a bad place? Or do we simply just cease to be? Do we follow blind faith or should we accept the fact we have ended this miracle we know as life and are resigned to nothing more than pushing up the daisies?
This is all up for debate, of course. You talk to one person and their belief is the only way to believe, the next person believes something completely different, but with the same attitude, and then the next person really has no idea or doesn’t even care.
Anyway, I think it’s worth giving some study and meditation to. In the end, however, I think it just boils down to – to each their own. But enough of that! Moving along . . . .
- PAIN. I have read, once upon a time, that it has been suggested that several minutes (or perhaps longer) after we draw our last breath, the brain cells continue to fire. So what I am wondering here is, say the person dies in a horrible accident; a house fire, for example.
Let’s say they pass away from smoke inhalation, but the fire quickly catches up to them. Use your imagination here . . . Now, we would say that at least they went out easy before the worst caught up to them.
However, based upon the above mentioned (I’m going to call it) theory, does the brain still recognize the pain? I ask, because although we feel pain at its source, the pain itself is registered by the brain telling you something is not right at such and such location.
Admittedly, this is a horrifying and terrible thought to even think about, but when pondering a topic such as this such things do come to mind, unfortunately. But enough of the gruesomeness. Moving on . . . again.
- Thoughts and Dreams. Going again on the “theory” that the brain continues to go on some time after death, then one must consider what the brain actually thinks about.
Does it recognize that death has occurred? Does it think about memories, things the person needs to do (not trying to be funny, btw.). I wouldn’t think so. It seems to me that the mind would carry on more in a dream state before, for a lack of a better phrase, fading away.
To support this crazy idea the brain is still working beyond becoming deceased, we can go back to the days of public executions a few centuries ago with testimonies of an executioner who would asked the beheaded head to blink if the beheading hurt or not.
The executioner had to be quick to get the answer he needed before losing the chance for the head to reply (thirty seconds or less I believe). Based on this, then it does help support the idea of the brain continuing to work after death.
But here’s a more realistic view: I have never personally heard of a deceased person (before the onset of rigor mortis) have restless leg syndrome, muscle spasms, or the need to scratch an itch.
And, personally, even if the brain loses control over the body it governs, I believe it is possible for the synapsis of the nerve endings to fire. The length of time this goes on and to what degree from one person to the next is up for debate.
Let me go on to say, I have never done any extensive research on the matter. This is in no way anything more than just me thinking out loud. But I would be interested in hearing what your thoughts are! So let me know in the comments below! So, ’till next time, I bid you . . . adieu!
Here is one of the short stories that can be found in Section Three of my book, Komplex Sinplicities; available on Kindle and paperback. Enjoy!
Jason stopped somewhere in the woods; heaving chestfuls of air into his burning lungs. Through the hills he could hear dogs barking and the trampling of horses. Men were yelling—their voices echoing on the wind through the trees. His knees were burning from exhaustion and his body was shaking from the rush of adrenaline.
Bending over with his hands on his knees he looked back from whence he came.
“Jason,” she said calmly.
Startled, Jason stumbled backwards; his arms waving about aimlessly. He did not see the old woman before, nor did he hear her approach. That would have been easy with the dead leaves covering the ground.
“Who . . . Who are you? How do you know my name?” he asked, the barking of the dogs getting a little closer.
“Never mind who I am, Jason. What is important now is who you are, and that we leave this place immediately.”
Jason looked at the old woman. She was shorter than him. Her long gray hair wiry and course. She wore peasant clothes; ragged and in many layers.
The sounds of the approaching hounds seemed hungry, but more distant now. Jason took to his feet and followed the hag briskly through the trees and over the hills. He couldn’t remember the moment when they began moving.
Jason had no memory up to the woods. He only knew he was a wanted man. He was running for his life for fear of something that would be far worse than death. And here he was—traveling with a stranger he had only met moments before that was unaffected by the terrain and their speed. She was, indeed, going very fast for a person of her years; unusually so.
The coming party a bit more distant with the passing of each hill, but something caught his attention in a field below that made him stop dead in his tracks.
Soldiers. Oblivious to them, but very interested in those under their guard. A path of well trodden ground came from between the hills and entered the clearing and made a large oval shape; spiraling towards its middle with a small circle ending the oddity.
Jason saw what appeared to be peasants on their hands and knees in the path of dirt and mud. Men and women, all scantily clothed, each pushing a very large rock. They were spaced at irregular intervals. Though they were all going the same direction they didn’t seem to be moving forward, but rather stayed put; struggling to move the stones they were enslaved to.
“What is this madness?” Jason asked.
The old woman stepped closer to him. “It is a punishment. There is nothing we can do for them.”
Jason turned to look at her and she met his gaze with fierce intensity. “A punishment for what?” he demanded.
“They are the sons and daughters of the gods and goddesses. They are the chosen ones the gods used for whatever the reason they needed them. This has been the fate of many from many different temples. Even the angels and demons are equals here.”
Jason was confused. He looked back at the people below and he could hear their sadness from the moaning and weeping that floated up to them.
“What have they done? Why are they being punished?”
“For being who they are,” answered the hag. “Nothing more than that. They will push their stones to the middle of the spiral. No one knows what happens beyond that.”
“Wha . . . What do you mean no one knows what happens?”
The woman moved closer to stand beside him. “I do not have the answer, boy. Those that have crawled the path will deny its very existence. It is said twas the fate of Adam and Eve. It is rumored that even Zeus, himself, once took upon a stone. They never sleep. They can not eat. And they never leave their stone.”
She turned and began to walk away. “Come, Jason. As curious as this may all be, your fate will be much worse than theirs if we do not keep going.”
Section Three is my favorite section. I must admit, it was very difficult for me in deciding which story to share. Thank you for reading,
Here I’m gonna share with you one of the scared scrolls of prophecies from Section Two of my book, Komplex Sinplicities; available on Kindle and paperback. Enjoy!
LOST SCROLL OF THE ABHORED NATIONS
There shall be professional weepers who will roam the land, and we shall pay them tribute for having went far and wide in their travels.
And we can rest assured that they will become disgustingly annoyed with the whole bit and shall put their weeping aside and seek therapy for doing such a silly thing in the first place.
And it shall come to pass in those days when the poultry will begin to randomly lay eggs at random places at random times throughout the day and night . . . randomly.
Yea, there shall be an albino jabberwocky with a gastrointestinal disorder whose flatulence will cause the fruit bearing trees within the immediate vicinity of the discharge to produce thrice their normal yield lest they firstly go barren.
Look not to put thy faith in any goat farmer whose stench is greater than that of his livestock. Nor shall thou also believeth his words when he proclaims unto the political leaders of the nations that communal free range goat farming is the answer to the world’s economical problems.
Do not ill mindedly burn a thing that doth not belong to you. For the owner may do something horrific back to you; like splash milk on you that has the consistency of kangaroo semen.
But not the consistency of kangaroo semen of today, but rather the consistency of kangaroo semen of the late 1930’s; particularly that of mid 1937 around June . . . or perhaps even July between the morning hours of 7:30 and 9:30 Mountain Standard Time.
Woe be unto the task masters that knoweth not of the tasks they are to be tasking! This will be a fearful day! For there will be great confusion in the land and many people who laboreth to provide a proper meal for their families will become unlabored in their tiresome efforts as they are seen in their confusion as unfit to perform their daily tasks.
And it should be so noted the unemployment rate shall dramatically rise to the ascending motion of increase.
Blessed are the pig tail eaters. For they know good food when others know not of it.
Blessed are the drain cleaners. For they shall inherit their filth unwantingly.
. . . and there ya have it. Thanks for reading,
Komplex Sinplicities is comprised of three different sections. Here are just a few samples of poetry from Section One of my book; which is available on Kindle and paperback. Enjoy!
Alas! My fair lady . . .
As I cast my gaze upon you,
I look into the eyes of someone
far more beautiful than beauty itself.
Should the angels in heaven
be so jealous of a kinder nature!
ODE TO THE PIGGY
The bacon on my plate,
it smells really good.
It’s the most de-lish
in the whole neighborhood!
But let’s take a minute,
let’s take some time,
to see how the piggy
has allowed me to dine.
Let’s se-e-e how the porkers die!
Piggy and his friends
are loaded off a truck.
They’re met by some men
who want to beat them up.
Sometimes a little piggy
will sense the end of time.
And piggy goes all crazy
in attempt for him to shine.
The pi-i-ig will lose his mind!
They check the truck for babies
the piggies leave behind.
They toss ’em in a chamber
and gas ’em till they die.
They’re sold to the schools
for the kids to have some fun.
So pick up your scalpels,
and cut out piggies tongue!
Let’s cho-o-op the oinkers up!
But back to the piggies,
and on down the line,
they’re headed down a ramp,
and for the final time.
They’re hit with electrodes
that give them quite a shock.
It blows out their rump holes,
and then they’re hung on hooks.
It’s ti-i-ime to bleed ’em dry!
They cut the piggies throats,
and let them bleed all out.
It pours into drains
the sewers carry out.
They singe off their hair,
and continue down the line
where the workers slice them up
unrecognizable as swine.
They u-u-use some sharp ass knives!
The workers cut them up
into things you like to eat.
And what’s not in byproduct
are things like ears and feet.
Sometimes the workers test
the sharpness of their knives,
and they’ll cut off a finger
to contaminate the lines.
They’re sa-a-aved before they die!
What you may not know
is piggies like pork too.
For if a piggy dies
he’s put in piggy food.
It may be the reason
to the question “Why?”
that sometimes little piggy
will lose his freak’n mind.
Let’s la-a-augh at the crazy swine!
Some folks eat meat,
and other people don’t.
I don’t care either way.
Whatever floats your boat.
But if it may be bacon,
or sausage on the grill,
LONG LIVE THE PIGGY!
The “oinkers”, if you will.
Long li-i-ive a tasty meal!
near and far,
I like my blood cells
where they are.
Beautiful fireflies dancing all around.
Ever so pretty until dead they are found.
. . . thank you for reading,
Continuous scenes of normal life pass by the window. A repetitious bloom bloom sound is noticeable, but has long since become mostly hidden with the rest of the ambient noise. Surrounded by strangers, always feeling out of place, and now, admittedly, getting a little hungry. Fantastic.
I’m lost in my thoughts. Nothing out of the norm there. I think I live in my head more than I do in this so-called “reality” I’m stuck in. Ah, if only I could remember why I’m here! Yay me for having the great chore of being some one else.
I often find myself chuckling. Only to myself, yet perhaps a bit out loud. I’m wondering such things like how this time would be viewed and judged if taken back and shown to a previous, more primitive, time?
For example . . .
Let’s take the lady sitting down the car from me. By any conceivable accounts, yes, she is very pretty! Good skin, nice hair . . . . Nothing out of place except she has a bigger bulge in her pants than I could ever hope for! A very sarcastic “Thank you” to Mother Nature; as I’m sure she’s thanking Father Science.
Or, how about this one?
Cars. Airplanes. Spacecraft! I mean, how would the mighty fleets of the old Spanish armada react if they seen a modern stealth destroyer? Or maybe take a tank and a helicopter to the front lines of the Battle of Gettysburg? And on the endless list goes.
The problem, my current problem, now is is that sometimes there’s a glitch when moving around. You wouldn’t think so, but it’s true. For most, moving around is known as such things like: astral projecting, past lives, deja vu, time travel, and whatever else there is.
For the extreme few who know better, it’s simply known Quantum Lapsing. And, as the name suggests, there is quite a bit of lapsing. In spite of popular belief, there’s a lot more of a process than just simply disappearing from one place and being magically transported to another.
Not to give too much away, but what you must understand about Quantum Lapsing is that the you that is being lapsed . . . isn’t the same you whenever and/or wherever it is you go. And, oh, one more critical piece . . . prepare to spend years, if not an entire lifetime, at the destination.
Which brings me to my problem.: this person that is me isn’t the original me. More than that, I have to expand my consciousness to remember why it is I’m here. Hence why it takes so long – being born (or reborn) as a whole different person.
Yep! Like the great majority of those of us who’ve lapsed, I was born into this world – this time. I have characteristics of my current “mother” and “father”, lived a life not unlike those around me, but there are also new changes.
I like and dislike things the real me did, but also things the real me didn’t. I have new habits, hobbies, skills (or a lack thereof), and so on. Then there’s the genealogy, time/space interferences, and let’s not forget the historical footprints.
I’m sure you have gathered by now the complexity of the situation.
There is a plus side, however. The more you lapse . . . the longer you live. Seemingly, at least. If I am able to return to my time, my original body, before I die here then I can go on living my life as I know it. And if I lapse again, then the possibility of living out a whole new existence somewhere is just another lifetime I’ve lived.
But, there is bad news, too.
Should I die here, which is also very, very likely, then that’s it for me. Not too fun, huh? Yes, well, it’s a risk we all take. And, ultimately, a risk well worth the taking. Well, I think so.
Also, it’s far easier to go forward in time than it is to go back. For a long time, it was theorized going backwards was impossible. We know now that it is possible. But it’s also extremely dangerous. A person’s survival rate of just making the journey alone significantly plummets.
Anyhow. Now that I went through all of that, which I probably shouldn’t had mentioned to begin with, allow me to resume my initial point. Which is me, on this train, here and now, with no utter clue as to why except that I have a purpose.
A purpose, I might add, that is beyond the normally perceived idea that we are all here for a purpose. I have that, too. It’s just mine is much greater than yours. No ego attached to that last statement, by the way.
So, I guess in the meantime, I’ll continue to drive myself nuts knowing that I know more than these know-it-alls around me, live my life as those who know me perceive and expect it to, and, of course, try my best to stay alive . . . again.
Aging. It happened before I even knew it. And as I fight my way to live life day by day, it keeps happening. And, most days, I can’t truthfully say I’m enjoying the ride.
When I was a little kid, the world was full of endless possibilities. Anything was within reach. And they were, so I thought, the best years of my life. But, unfortunately, that was about to all change.
My early teen years just sorta happened. But in my mid to late teens, I noticed more reality than I cared to. And the closer I got to eighteen, the more and more I dreaded becoming an adult.
I was blissfully ignorant of the things of the world despite my constant teachings and lectures from my father. I should had listened. But I already knew everything. Or so I thought.
My twenties came in like roaring tornado. A swirl of having to quickly grow up, getting my own place, paying my own bills, and the unexpected surprise of parenthood. And that’s how it goes, I guess.
In my thirties, I wizened up. I looked at teenagers and twenty something year olds and thought to myself, They have no clue. Little did I realize, but neither did I. It was my thirties I began to see life for what it truly was: a bitch.
I didn’t want to turn forty. And, even without having my consent, it happened all the same. It was at this point that I have started to look more deeply and more seriously at my life. I now understand what they mean by having a mid-life crisis.
This year for me (and my wife) has been a torrential cascade of bullshit in the worst kind of way. The events of this year have been the fuel that has propelled this rocket car of bullshit, slamming us into a brick wall only to discover there to be more and more brick walls.
It just doesn’t seem to want to end. But, even so, we have one another. And, for that, I am beyond grateful. I am blessed in that way. I can only hope she, as I’m undoubtedly sure she does, feels the same way.
Waking up everyday with a heavy heart, going to a factory job that continually sucks the happiness from my very soul when I thought there was none more to be gotten, and fearing what’s going to happen to us this time, leaves me everyday – several times a day – asking two questions over and over:
What is my life’s purpose, and where do I go from here?
I find myself at a crossroads. And a very important one. But, I must digress . . . .
When I was a young man-child, my dad taught a form of martial arts called Goju Ryu. Later, a man came from Okinawa and was handed the class. From there, I learned Kodokan karate. Interestingly enough, and to the best of my knowledge, both styles being Japanese.
During this time, I was introduced to the famous David Carradine movie, Kung Fu; a series that ran during the 70’s before becoming a singular film. Kung Fu . . . the grandfather to the Goju Ryu my father taught. With Kung Fu also came Tai Chi. Like Goju Ryu, another offspring.
In short, it was Kung Fu that planted a seed that I would find myself coming back to to water from time to time.
I was grateful for my dad being hard on me, teaching me how to defend myself all those years ago. But it was the spiritual connection I found in martial arts that captivated my soul.
With this, meditation to calm oneself and to look inward became a very real thing to me. Mind you, I came from a very Christian family, so, of course, my dad never divulged much on the topic being Buddhism the principle behind it.
On a side note, I one day managed to get my hands on a book about self-hypnosis. I’m not going to say much about this here, because this was a whole new avenue of self discovery in and of itself. But it did play its part in its own way.
Fast forwarding . . . I grew up in a strict and religious family. I’m not sure when it happened or what sparked it, but, at some point in my mid to late teens, I began to question the bible. It no longer made sense to me. I found it contradictory.
So, I started to look deeper at what it was saying – trying to explain things myself with historical and scientific fact rather than just accepting a belief on blind faith. This ideal to just believe in something made no sense to me.
Little did I realize then that I had taken it upon myself to follow a teaching, I would later discover, from the Buddha: To not follow something on blind faith, but rather decide for yourself if a thing is worth believing/following (to paraphrase).
This dissecting of the bible led me to “study” demonology. From there, I looked more into witchcraft; namely Wicca, of which I began practicing, then into Druidism, which I felt more comfortable with.
With witchcraft, there was also meditation. Different from what I had known thus far from martial arts.
I never got too serious into being a practitioner of the craft, but it made a lot more sense to me than what my family had forced me to believe in. On the other hand, I still found something was missing. Then came metaphysics. And suddenly, the rabbit hole I thought I knew well showed it’s true colors.
And, my god, it was beautiful! Albeit vastly confusing.
So, with all of that said, I come to this point in my life; confused, emotionally racked with pain and heartache, sad, depressed, angry, temperamental, and still ever curious. In what seems like a time when I would have my mid-life crisis I see a door. A familiar one. And, this time, I’m walking toward it.
I’ve told people many times before that if I ever once set foot in Japan I would never leave. That’s funny considering I’ve never been there. But I can say that because there has always been something about the Chinese and Japanese cultures that have drawn my attention. Particularly that of Japan.
Somehow, I feel drawn to it. It pulls my heartstrings in a way that only a bird, who feels when it’s time to migrate, can understand. Although modern Japanese culture is now technologically advanced and fast paced, it’s the simplicity of the old ways that I love and admire most.
And, so, here I am.
As I mentioned before, this year has been horrific. The results of events that have driven me to the edge, looking deeply into the abyss, contemplating if it’s worth it – reaching a level of stress and unhappiness that has me weighed down to my breaking point.
Of course, I could never make the leap. I’m not that kind of person. However, I know I can’t continue going like I am, so I began to re-evaluate myself and my place in the cosmos.
Many things I would do, places I’d go, I can’t. It’s the sort of sacrifice you make when you marry. You have to find a middle ground. Granted, this can be a struggle, going against what you feel is best for yourself, but part of the end result, the happiness at the end of the tunnel, is finding a solution that you and your significant other can be happy with together.
Moving to a new locale, at the time of this writing, is not a solution; even though we both feel a change of scenery would do us good. Unfortunately, I can’t change jobs either because of reasons I won’t go into.
What I can do, and must do, for now has to start with me and start at home. I must devote my energy doing what I enjoy doing whether there is money in it or not; writing, art, treasure hunting. Mainly because it’s inner satisfaction and tranquility that I’m looking for anyway, right?
Money is one of the leading causes to my stress and worry. It can only provide relief, but never happiness. And this is a new programing I am having to force myself to face because it’s definitely not how I was raised.
Enter Zen Buddhism.
When one thinks about Zen, they often think about gardens filled with sand and rocks. I know I do, but there’s an interesting thing about that. At least, for me anyway. Let me explain:
The rocks in a Zen garden represents different things, and I like the representation of the five elements; earth, air, water, fire, and metal. For others, they may represent islands. Hence the raking of the sand to show water flowing from and/or around the stones.
But it’s the raking that I want to mention here.
For as long as I can remember, I have often enjoyed sweeping. Somehow, I find it relaxing and meditative. I figured this out long, long before I learned Zen Buddhist monks rake the sand in their gardens for this exact same reason.
With Zen Buddhism comes the obvious: meditation. Ah, yes. There it is again. It’s something that I am all too familiar with. And something I have probably, and unknowingly, been grooming myself toward most all of my life.
But there are the roots of Buddhism, as well. This is where I put forth the real work in my quest for inner peace. And, admittedly, although I’m obviously not looking to become a full fledged Buddhist monk, it’s still something that will take a conscious effort on my part.
So what am I hoping to get from this? I can answer that question in a word: contentment.
To come to terms with your true self and not who and what you perceive yourself to be is a journey. To accept the problems you must face, and face alone, is also a journey. To understand where you belong in the grand scheme of things the universe has laid out for you as an individual . . . also a journey.
There are questions I keep asking myself everyday. Questions that, ultimately, are negative when you really take a hard look at them. And these questions need to be replaced with different questions; the right questions.
I heard once that to find the answers you are looking for you must ask the right questions. This is seemingly much more difficult than it sounds. Wording is everything. This is where meditation comes in.
I need to change. If not myself, then, at the very least, my outlook on things. I have come to terms with the belief that Buddhism is the answer; has always been the answer. I have just been too ignorant to realize it.
Buddhism has always been there like a shadow; you see it, but so much so you take it for granted. Only this time, I’m stopping to give it my attention. It’s time. Past time! It’s simply what I have to do.
It may seem easy on the surface, but it’s actually a complicated thing with many labyrinths of subtle layers.
I have a good idea of where I want to be this time next year. But maybe, somewhere along the rails of self-discovery and change, I’ll learn that the path I once believed to be the correct one for me will turn out to be something completely different. For better or for worse, only time will tell.
Let’s face it . . . No matter if you love them or hate them, these four legged, hairball puking animals are very high on the list of the world’s most interesting creatures.
Besides the occasional mentally deranged human being, they are the only animal on the face of the planet to kill just for the fun of it. And, for many people, these deadly house lions in miniature live right in our homes.
Enter one: Felis Catus. Or, as they are more commonly called, the domestic house cat.
Personally, I have mixed feelings about house cats. Whether I like them or not depends on the hour and the day you were to ask me. I have, however, if by choice or not, owned many. And by many . . . let’s just say I’ve lost count somewhere half way through my cat ownership years.
I have had some that I liked, some I couldn’t really stand, and only one I considered to be my little buddy; a Siamese mix who would wait by the door for me to come home from work, and, once I crossed the threshold, would begin telling me all about his day with nonstop, conversational style meowing.
We know the attitude. Even if you despise cats, everyone is fully aware of their personas. They think they are royalty. They con us to get what they want when they want it. They are not our pets, we are theirs.
Once worshiped by ancient Egyptians and even today by the most hard core of cat owners, they undoubtedly have their place in history on this planet we call home.
But one thing that has always fascinated me about cats isn’t just their quirky personalities we have come to baste the internet with, but the deeper side of whatever it is that lies behind those soul peering eyes.
Yes, the question we must ask now and probably forever more is:
What the hell do they think about?
Allow me to take a moment and give you a couple examples from some cats I use to know. I’m sure you can relate.
Gato numero uno: The name eludes me presently, but I had this one cat who took contemplating all things deep and serious to a whole new level. I am sure if he could speak English, he would sit, wining and dining, with today’s most world renowned scientists and theologians.
Perhaps it was some bizarre form of meditation, but his favorite thing to do was to walk up to a random position near point blank range from a random wall, sit on his haunches, and stare for perhaps a few minutes, to an hour, or maybe even longer.
With his nose mere inches from the wall, he’d look at this spot and then another; studying it carefully. He may look around the room just to maintain a visual of his surroundings, but other than that, he would simply stare at the wall.
I have no idea what the point and purpose of this strange act was, but this is a cat we’re talking about! He really didn’t need a point to do anything, did he?
Then there was Satellite. So named for her habit of constantly being spaced out; a space cadet, as my father might have called her.
Satellite seemed like a normal cat until, especially until, she went to sleep. She had this thing she would do that she would (be sound asleep and) suddenly, out of the clear blue, jump up all freaked out, sometimes doing flips in mid-air, which often times included taking off running full speed to a random place in a random room of the house before stopping abruptly.
This didn’t mean the end of her little session, however. She now had the option to either return back to the world and resume cat normalcy, whatever that is exactly, or take off again to another random place in, more than likely, another random room of the house.
Why did she do this? Was it a feline version of night terrors? I don’t know. I may never know! In fact, we as humans may never come to understand what it is that makes cats tick.
I had a very dear friend who once said, “Cats know things.” This simple, yet powerful, statement was coming from a past era of his life as a pagan priest; obviously in reference to cats as familiars and magickal animals.
And maybe they do know things! Maybe they were worshiped for a reason? And a damn good one? Guardians of some spiritual realm or reincarnated beings from another time and place . . . .
It all boils down to, for me anyway, natural behavior. Animal behavior and instincts is interesting to me. It’s fascinating! Truly! Why do they do what they do, and how do they even know to do it in the first place?
What I do know, what I can say for sure is, they are probably far more intelligent and far more in tune with the cosmos than I will ever be; no matter how hard I try.
And with cats, there does seem to be something serious, almost important, going on in those little kitty cat skulls. I very much wish I could read their minds. I’m sure that if I could I’d be able to write some of the best selling material the world has ever seen or ever will see.
In any case, loved or hated, furry or hairless, but always mysterious, these domesticated catchers of things from grasshoppers to birds (and everything in between) will remain in close proximity to us one way or another.
Cats. They’re here to stay. And they’re so much more than just a musical.
I’m not well traveled. I’ve only been to a few different places in country. I have college experience, but I’m not educated in terms of degrees. I am by no means the “correct” person to be writing this. But, I am.
I’m a people watcher. I look at people and how people think and act on a deeper level than the common Joe. And, the things I must endure myself with, drives me to the point of climbing a wall; scraping my fingernails on the stone in a hurried and vain attempt to get to the top and then over to safety.
What drives me crazy, really crazy, is how people are content with their ignorance. They have no desire whatsoever to look at life, religion, the cosmos, the greater picture (if you will) and try to find a deeper meaning. Everything is at face value, and, in their minds, fact as is.
Why? Why would you want to be like that? Or, for me, the more important question is: How? How is it that anyone can be happy to believe in things (and get pissed if you believe differently) without doing any kind of research and/or meditation to support their beliefs?
I’m set in my ways. I’ll admit to that. I was set in my ways before I ever became a grown up. I fault it on the way I was raised – the way I grew up. Life was hard and confusing. And you know what? In some aspects, it’s only gotten worse.
Of course people aren’t all the same. It would be a boring ass world if it were. But, at the same time, can we cut out just a little of the stupidity? For example:
- Bad/evil/self absorbed politicians.
- Flipping me off when YOU pulled out in front of me!
- Wear shorts, but also a jacket because it’s cold outside.
- Grown men (and women) who are less immature than a three year old and shouldn’t be.
- Holier-than-thou attitudes.
- Non-funny bosses who think they are hip and hilarious; more or less due to their fat, undeserved paychecks.
- People murdering people over stupid shit like .35 cents.
- Prejudice. Hatred.
- Getting into fights that can lead to death because you’re drunk or see someone from not from your turf. The fuckever, dude.
- And the list goes on and on and on . . . .
The human condition fascinates me, but pisses me off all the same time. It inspires my stories, but it’s what has driven me to wishing I could, more often than not, live on some deserted, life sustaining planet in another galaxy.
But, since that will never happen, I continue in my pursuit to find such a place on earth. As well as an ever going search for my lost drop of patience I’ve either used long ago or misplaced around here somewhere.
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Komplex Sinplicities has three sections:
Section One consists of poetry and things like poetry that aren’t poetry.
Section Two is made up of insane prophecies and commandments to live by that you probably shouldn’t live by.
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Thanks for stopping by, and I hope to hear from you soon!