As long as they visit me and until I change my mind, I'm going to post my morning internal jukebox songs. If the day's volunteer music doesn't offer an intuitive prompt for an essay, you will just get the music, for which there must be some meaning, else why would it be nudging my brain as I wake up?
It was Freddie Fender's voice that I heard. Other worthy versions exist. Today, this is the one.
We look at ourselves and the rest of what we assume is reality through a veil, a scrim, constructed by experience, expectation, the presumed safety of not thinking and disbelief in the vast and pervasive role wonder plays in our lives. Its opacity is an illusion. On stage, a back light reveals it as the distraction through which we see what is really going on.
I am occasionally, mysteriously bruised about the arms and legs. My doctor says it is part of aging, which I find a bit dismissive and insufficient as an answer. How would I respond if he said my continual bumping against old beliefs, looking for a way beyond them, left me spotted with patches as green and purple as any black eye? I'd sure as hell know we weren't in Kansas anymore.
Finding balance in all things might be the greatest component of peace. Longing, dreaming, striving, planning; wishing for more or different, in our circumstances, in ourselves. Where is the sky-hook that will lift me out of here, out of myself and chaos I believe is of my creation and lower me gently into those calmer, greener fields? Once again, turned back with a smile and a pleasant encouragement to BE HERE NOW. Eventually the choices narrow until one is left with finding not only the good but the answer in what is. That's a teaspoon of what I may know today. Guidance or something like it from the morning jukebox.