Going Inkless

On August 7, 1913, Samuel F. Cody fell out of the sky.  Despite having done so before on several occasions and generally being thought of as indestructible, his luck had run out this time.  Investigations concluded that a bamboo strut in his biplane's wing snapped under pressure due to the sustained heat wave in England at the time.  Immediately, stories circulated about sabotage and murder.  People were convinced that some nefarious plot had played out that summer day.  A mere accident could not have been the end of Cody, adventurer, inventor, and showman. Now, unless you're interested in the history of aviation, you probably haven't even heard of Samuel F. Cody, much less the controversy at the time of his death.  I wouldn't have known, myself, were it not the subject of a book my father pressed me to read.  This exchange was fortified with stories about Cody's career in Wild West shows (and the inevitable conflict with Buffalo Bill,) the use o...

     The perfect thing to write about struck me suddenly the other morning.  It was a bolt of inspiration, like opening a door into Springtime.  The subject was one of those new truths that bubbles up from time to time, distilled out of suffering and experience left to simmer quietly over time.  Like many such revelations, it was profound, yet simple, a shift of thought that welcomed peace and happiness into the soul.      All was there in that quiet moment.  This one harmonious chord was accompanied by the phrasing and ideal words to be able to share the secret with any who were open to the idea.  I determined immediately that I would put it all down on paper the minute I woke up. Yes. It came to me in a dream.      Cliché, certainly, but cliché for a reason.  There isn't a culture on this earth that hasn't placed some importance on what goes on behind our eyelids when we go to sleep.  Even bey...

It's an unsettling feeling to be halfway through telling someone something and realize that you've said it all before...to the same person. There's doubt, too, because they didn't stop you. So, you try to gauge from their expression whether they really don't remember or are merely being polite by not calling you on it. You continue speaking because you can't be sure, and well, you've come this far already, but underneath it all, you're thinking, oh no, I'm that guy. We've all known someone who repeats their stories or jokes so many times that you wonder if they even notice their audience at all or if they just play back the words in automatic response to a given stimulus. Could they really not remember that you were there the last four times they recounted the funny thing that happened when...? For me, the supreme example would be my Dad, who generally entertains with his nonstop tale-telling on first meeting, but after a few decades...

Just thought I'd add this bit that's been floating around in the back of my brain lately as I watch all kinds of people struggling to find themselves, catching bits of truth while other pieces drift away: We're all lost, and we don't ever really get unlost. We can all just hope to do a little good on our quest for those clues. A happy person is the one who's OK with being adrift.

I rarely wear any jewelry but my wedding ring, a simple thing composed of slender gold bands and tiny diamond chips (two of which have been missing since year one.) It just doesn't occur to me to put any on. Though I do have a small collection of jewelry, mostly inherited or gifts, they spend most of the time jumbled in boxes on the dresser. However, a short while ago, when I learned my uncle had been taken to the hospital with heart problems, I decided to wear a particular necklace and it's been with me ever since. Like most of my collection, it has little material value. A plain metal pendant strung on a waxed cord, it bears a single rune, uruz , for strength. My sister gave it to me years ago when I was going through some difficult changes, saying it seemed appropriate and that it suited me. Since then, it comes out of the box every now and then when I need a little boost to carry me through. My uncle's illness was one more discordant note in my world in recent ...