Thursday, September 8, 2011

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 2 :: The Carpet-Bag

Mister Ishmael ~

Surely, you know the value of having a safe place to lay your head at night, or at the end of the day, or even for a nap. A safe and quiet place, where you can not even hear the crickets' chirp, where slumber and dream time are encouraged to come as assuredly as the rising sun. This place need not be fancy, as you well pointed out, or even all that clean, but the respite that comes when a proper spot can be secured to hold the small bones of those weary of walking, moving, and doing - that bed that cradles the cranium, shelters the skin, moulds the mind like no schoolroom, no apprentice shop, no stoic under a tree can. Nay, the gods themselves send Hermes with dreams to a well-supported head, the nightmares too, for the peace-doves and the ankhs, the zombies and werewolves, mere symbols which have endured and withstood time come unhindered by conscious thought, which is often best, to warn us, encourage us, guide us, and to give us pause to ponder. Is that what you meant? That we too should miss the boat, maybe on purpose, so the sea-side stay can last through the weekend or longer?

With a warm Starbucks blowing in my hand and points of light overhead maybe I will ~ maybe I will donne my red silken night wrap, sit by the cooling coals keeping my toes safe, read some Sapphio, Robert or Joseph, finish planning my trip to Carthage, Santorini and Cyprus, or if I am feeling really wight, dive into contemplation of my fortune & copestone, and just make it so.

Trust Your Journey (tm)
 ~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver


note to self: 
  • check the worthliness of my water craft. 
  • pick up photos at store and get more batteries.
  • see if Mister Temple can come by for a spot of White Lotus tea and crackers at the Five Trees Inn this afternoon.

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