Stung By A Bee

The fat round creatures with black and yellow stripes.  The ones that make sweet honey. They hover when they fly, sometimes right in front of your face. They land on bright and beautiful flowers and collect pollen. Then they fly for miles back to hives made from wax to make us delicious sweet honey. They are so cool.

     It stung me. That fat  bee bitch . I was just standing there, and it landed on my hair. When I went to pull it out, that angry buzzing fuzzball stung me...right in the web of my fingers! Ouch!!  Never mind the honey!  I really don't eat it much anyway. That was totally uncalled for. Maybe bees aren't so great.
  

About a week later, I was innocently walking down a hiking trail and tripped over a small rotting log.  Proud of my recovery and glad I avoided a face-plant, I smiled to myself in a half grinning "Sheewsh!" , and strode forward while glancing back.  Something was wrong.  Things got fuzzy. I squished my eyes together to clear the sweat from them. But it wasn't sweat . It was a cloud. A cloud of the bee bitch's sister cousins called yellow jackets. I ran...they followed. Sting!  Sting!  I guess that log was important to them. Sting! Sting! Forty-seven stings later ( wasn't counting while I was running) ,  I lost them when I passed three hikers coming from the other direction.  Sorry innocent hikers. But I had been stung enough! I made my way back to my car and drove home in tearful rage, cursing all 'winged creatures related to the bee!
      Against all that had been indoctrinated to me, I developed a sort of , well, ...."prejudice"... against bees and their kinfolk.  When I see a bee, my instinctive reaction is to run, or to kill it! My instincts contradicting the Americanized  politically correct.indoctrination of non-prejudice. To pre-judge...is just wrong! 

  Or am I to be allowed this learned instinct?  Am I allowed to carry my experiences  and developed wisdom  of pre-judgement into the human realm?  Am I politically incorrect to harbor instinctive biases?  
      I am allowed to think, and think freely. To contemptuously insinuate that I am either wrong, or bad....to dare straddle the lines of political incorrect-edness is in itself a hate filled bias against free thinkers. I am allowed my instincts and they are not necessarily wrong.  I can pre judge, and I will pre judge.  Because I say this, what will you judge about me?

Captured

Eternal soul. Trapped...caged..tricked ..into accepting the concept of time. For time cannot exist in eternity.   Spirit embodied ..and spirit freed. Captured and released.  Shown the path to light in the vast darkness.  Saved from the chaotic search for a home in the void.
For now , this body is home for a captured soul. Given the hope of solid ground . Feet to trod a path to an eternal home.
 

European Southern Observatory
Gamma-Ray Burst
The "rebels" who fight the Big Bang theory are mostly attempting to grapple with the concept of time. They are philosophers as much as cosmologists, unsatisfied with the Big Bang, unimpressed with string theory and unconvinced of the multiverse. Julian Barbour, British physicist, author, and major proponent of the idea of timeless physics, is one of those rebels--so thoroughly a rebel that he has spurned the world of academics.
Julian Barbour's solution to the problem of time in physics and cosmology is as simply stated as it is radical: there is no such thing as time.
"If you try to get your hands on time, it's always slipping through your fingers," says Barbour. "People are sure time is there, but they can't get hold of it. My feeling is that they can't get hold of it because it isn't there at all."

  

European Southern Observatory

Gamma-Ray Burst

The "rebels" who fight the Big Bang theory are mostly attempting to grapple with the concept of time. They are philosophers as much as cosmologists, unsatisfied with the Big Bang, unimpressed with string theory and unconvinced of the multiverse. Julian Barbour, British physicist, author, and major proponent of the idea of timeless physics, is one of those rebels--so thoroughly a rebel that he has spurned the world of academics.

Julian Barbour's solution to the problem of time in physics and cosmology is as simply stated as it is radical: there is no such thing as time.

"If you try to get your hands on time, it's always slipping through your fingers," says Barbour. "People are sure time is there, but they can't get hold of it. My feeling is that they can't get hold of it because it isn't there at all." 

Kazoo is a most delicate instrument for only highly skilled musicians..

Something makes me think of you
When I lay my lips on my kazoo
The humming sound like bees so busy
Takes hold of me and makes me dizzy
No violin or brass or drum
Can make my lips feel quite this numb
Kazoo Kazoo my midnight friend
Brings my love back home again
Do you know how much I love you!
At 3 a.m. with my kazoo?!

The Transition

I am finding that I must make a transition.  To change from my world filled with dreams of what could be....to a reality of what will not.
And so the immortality of youth fades with the study of my own psychometry. Fighting the urge to leave the warm effervescence that kept this will alive in the arms of hope...I have decided to somehow capture it here...before it is lost in the abomasum of life and is gone forever.  That wonderful and life-giving perspective of youth is fading,  and I fear it will be gone in perpetuity...
     And so it begins.   The Transition. I can only hope that much is not lost already. That beautiful and wondrous perspective of youth,...however locked in perplexity....kept alive and fed by eternal hope.   The will and ability to dream has begun to cannibalize this heart,  ..for the dreams were my own and my heart kept them alive. But now reality has muffled them and my heart must beat harder to prove they are still within me..
   Yes, that awesome and resilient perspective that is only gleaned by youth,  has lost some of it's impermeable shield. And as it's layers of protection wear down to a thin membrane, ..my heart,..my soul begin to feel the sharpened tines of a new reality.         A changed perspective.
One that I can guess by the experience of those I have encountered there,..will build hardened layer upon hardened layer....like a blackened pearl in a sand infested oyster...to shield against these wretched times, and help them adapt to the new reality.  Keeping them shielded from the rays of hope, which they now perceive ...as the clutches ..of hope..

Embers

                                                       

Embers


What is left
to fuel the fire
secrets kept
of my heart's desire

Embers burning
smoking coals
of what once filled
this empty soul

Bellows blowing
'cross fading red
My heart not knowing
if my soul is dead.

Emptied dreams
squelched and smothered
obscured glow
of what shoveled dirt's covered..

What can rekindle
and begin to refuel
dying and emptied
heated flames cooled

Looking for something
to offer for flame
Gently blown coo s
Hovering over with shame

Reaching for palms
some straw or a leaf
Can't leave!  must console
this pitiful grief

Can't leave the embers
that once sparked something good
can't find the fuel
just burning wet wood

                                                         elrok