I took two of our three dogs to the dog run this afternoon. Sun on face. In the center of a whirlwind of K-9’s smelling, playing, chasing. A woman sat next to me. What kind of breed dog? A King Charles and a Spaniel.
Diamond shadows drift above sleeping maid and dreaming dogs.
i thought that King Charles was a type of Spaniel, not a separate breed of dog. And of course, now that I’m here at my Googly eyed computer, I’m sure of it but that lead to her telling me that she had Googled the longest words, longer than antidisestablishmentterrianism. Her friend had mentioned a protein that was even longer. She told me that the longest single syllabled word was schmaltzed and strengthed. So words worked their way to writing and to the fact that she’s re-editing her first novel.
Her novel has a 75 year old narrator remembering her childhood from age seven to fourteen, a childhood which took place in the sixties. The mother is a hippie, she explained to me, so there’s a lot of sex, drugs and rock and roll, somewhat autobiographical.
I told her about my being in my sixties and having lived through the sixties, now thinking of relaying those experiences. In shorthand, I told her how I’d joined a non denominational Christian order, learning about the laws of creation, visualization, child of the Universe, you have a right to be here, no less than the trees and the stars. And yes I blossomed, like a missionary, full of purpose, salvation of life, no less. I wore a wooden cross on a string, walking through the streets of San Francisco, doing healings and drawing energy from … the One.
And is it so different from dialectical and historical materialism? The communism of communal life, of sharing the wealth and wonder of society and the means of making more wonder and more wealth. These laws that nature obeys, hard gravity, soft love, attraction of large and small bodies, laws of nature, laws of society, the dialectics of opposites, opposites turning into one other, day into night, hot into cold, up into down, the ying yang, the sing song sang of every bird, of every word by word, of every whirling world and orbiting orb.
Sky and Cloudy and Me
Curious dogs came by to smell my fast speech. Being the devil’s advocate of the spiritual within the political and vica versa. Tails wagging mainly because i love to pet, soft fur, the luxury and miracle of feeling touch. Did i make my point? You’d have to know me better. And you will. And it turned out that i had a contact of a publisher, a woman specifically interested in her genre, pre teen and teens. Vampires sell and suck. I’m just saying.
And I told her about Tolstoy being a vegetarian and revolutionary who abandoned his wealth to live amongst his serfs. And Percy Bysshe Shelley, the author. Was he murdered because of his political beliefs, his strong vegetarian stand? There, the waves, he in the boat, killed, drowned, the water washing, over. And over. So there’s more. There’s wet. There’s wild. There’s mystery behind and beneath. Sand in the dog run. Barks and bites. And duty calls. I bid adieu, much ado. About noting.