and Bob and Matt n Angel and whoever else gets it. (I mean really gets it.)
I've kept my religious and spiritual cards close.
Whatever your 'hand', it's not something to fight or debate. It is what it is and there are no trump cards. No winning hands. Your royal flush doesnt beat anybody elses royal flush.
It's a personal thing and if we all held our cards and more importantly, held our tenets, this would be a better world.
Having spoken thusly, Hal, Mr Johnson, I too have worked with my long deceased Father. I have no other way to understand or explain it.
It doesn't happen often. Not nearly often enough. I can't conjure it. When it happens, it happens.
I'm willing my fingers, hands, wrists and forearms into jelly. I'm lying on my face in the floor of a King Air. Pouring my right hand and a ratchet down one side of a seat track and my left hand and a wrench down the other side in order to touch "The Forbidden Sprocket" of a mechanical landing gear...
Or, trying to figure out the difference between the red lead and the black lead of a multimeter and wondering why an autopilot servo has so damned many wires...
AND, I feel it. I get it. I fix it.
It ain't me. I couldn't do it alone.
Cornered on a dead end dirt street. In a Teguc barrio. Out numbered.
I was not alone.
Sometimes, I can feel his hands on my shoulders.
Sometimes, he wants to shake some sense into me.
Unfortunately, that time, for him, passed thirty plus years ago.
WOW! Catharsis? Not the right feeling... Revelation? I don't want to go there. Realization.
NO! Recognition! That's it.
I need to learn to recognize why the unseen hands are on my shoulders and remember to ask myself,
"What is he trying to tell me?"
Thank you Mr. Johnson for setting me about thinking and thinking through.
(BTW... That should be the end of the Mister stuff!)
- ► 2008 (55)
- ▼ July (8)