05 April 2009

Symbolic journeys, low stress and generally soft stuff

Holy Week

We take symbolic journeys all the time. Every imaginable club, fraternity/sorority, fraternal order, scout troop, marching band, garden club, tribe, motorcycle club, gang, professional association, university and every other group of people who hold anything resembling a ceremony do so to mark passages, advancements, and commemorations.

We start the principal journey for the Christian churches this week, commonly known as Holy Week, commemorating the Last Week. Observe it as you will. Or, roughly as Scrooge said, observe it by leaving it alone. It’s important to me to take this one journey seriously.

New climatological observation

Based on the experience of the winter of 2009, I have determined that if March comes in like a lion, it goes out like a penguin.


I always carry a little pocket notebook. I’m not sure when I started, it hasn’t been too many years ago that I decided that juggling cards and scraps wasn’t working. I remembered that my Dad always had a little notebook, and by golly it works. I’ve noticed others around me starting to do the same. Low tech, and it works.

Holy week, revisited

Yo, Pastor Josh, Palm Sunday as an example of hypocrisy? Darn, one thing I like about that guy is that he stretches you and gets in your face a bit and makes you uncomfortable. His point is that the “vox populi” on the first Palm Sunday was “hosanna,” or “yippee, we’re glad He’s here,” but by Friday, it was “Crucify him.”

It is hard to stick to your guns when you feel the breezes of everyone who’s been around you rushing away.

Stick with Simon & Garfunkel

One service this week will include “meditations” by lay people on the last words of Christ. Parson Jim Norton (laity to us) is reflecting on the “why have you forsaken me.” At lunch today, I was surprised that he didn’t remember the S&G song, Blessed, which included that line three times, so I sent him the lyrics:

Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit.
Blessed is the lamb whose blood flows.
Blessed are the sat upon, spat upon, ratted on,
O lord, why have you forsaken me?
I got no place to go,
Ive walked around soho for the last night or so.
Ah, but it doesnt matter, no.

Blessed is the land and the kingdom.
Blessed is the man whose soul belongs to.
Blessed are the meth drinkers, pot sellers, illusion dwellers.
O lord, why have you forsaken me?
My words trickle down, like a wound
That I have no intention to heal.

Blessed are the stained glass, window pane glass.
Blessed is the church service makes me nervous
Blessed are the penny rookers, cheap hookers, groovy lookers.
O lord, why have you forsaken me?
I have tended my own garden
Much too long.

Some songwriters are pretty good poets. Simon is one. James Taylor another.


I’ve a couple of articles in progress. One is prompted by Son Tim and his increased EMS/fire duties, based on what the “old guys” (gender non-specific) have to teach the current field people. There are several lessons, one of which is “Cocky kills.” Become dead certain you know what you’re doing and you or somebody else can become just dead real fast. Helluva note to end a post on, but Mr. Reality isn’t a pleasant guy at all.

Pippa passes.


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