Bag of Skin
Excepts From A Braided Cord
Random Harvest
The top banana of the Greek Gods, mighty Zeus, swallowed his wife Metis
at the time that she was pregnant with Athena. Eventually, Metis gave birth,
and Athena, in utero at the time of the meal, had to emerge eventually, twice
born, through the top of Zeus’ head. This isn’t a story about food or obstetrics
or neurosurgery or even a cranky husband though it may brush some or all of
these topics. It’s about control, or rather the lack of it. Zeus had to deal with
Athena’s arrival on her timetable rather on one of his choosing. She ended up
being useful to him, rather than stronger than him as he had originally feared!
Segueing along, if I am a fermentation vat, from time to time a bubble arises
from below, breaks my surface with a “boing,” and produces a spreading ring
that lasts a while. The vat doesn’t know when the bubble is going to break out
and can’t stifle it. Like Athena, the bubble rises up in its own time, ruffles the
surface, and thereby is part of the fermentation. The quality of the product will
be up to the taste of the tasters. The random harvest of thoughts that arise de
novo; grasped at and scribbled about, without questioning the timing of the
birth process, and without stifling yourself, is therapy of a sort, like accepting a
quizzical stroll through your head. It’s clear that there is a lot to see there, but it
only shows itself to you when it will. Like Zeus, I must have eaten a lot of stuff in
my life that is still sitting around waiting to be born, or wanting to be born, but
perhaps I am too thick-skulled yet to let it all out. Possibly I am still stuffed with
stuff and long to empty myself, but I must wait for Athena, Goddess of Wisdom
to emerge. It’s at least intriguing to me what the muse will say next, and when the
bubble will arise. Constipated notwithstanding, I am content to sit on the stoop
and wait for it.
The top banana of the Greek Gods, mighty Zeus, swallowed his wife Metis
at the time that she was pregnant with Athena. Eventually, Metis gave birth,
and Athena, in utero at the time of the meal, had to emerge eventually, twice
born, through the top of Zeus’ head. This isn’t a story about food or obstetrics
or neurosurgery or even a cranky husband though it may brush some or all of
these topics. It’s about control, or rather the lack of it. Zeus had to deal with
Athena’s arrival on her timetable rather on one of his choosing. She ended up
being useful to him, rather than stronger than him as he had originally feared!
Segueing along, if I am a fermentation vat, from time to time a bubble arises
from below, breaks my surface with a “boing,” and produces a spreading ring
that lasts a while. The vat doesn’t know when the bubble is going to break out
and can’t stifle it. Like Athena, the bubble rises up in its own time, ruffles the
surface, and thereby is part of the fermentation. The quality of the product will
be up to the taste of the tasters. The random harvest of thoughts that arise de
novo; grasped at and scribbled about, without questioning the timing of the
birth process, and without stifling yourself, is therapy of a sort, like accepting a
quizzical stroll through your head. It’s clear that there is a lot to see there, but it
only shows itself to you when it will. Like Zeus, I must have eaten a lot of stuff in
my life that is still sitting around waiting to be born, or wanting to be born, but
perhaps I am too thick-skulled yet to let it all out. Possibly I am still stuffed with
stuff and long to empty myself, but I must wait for Athena, Goddess of Wisdom
to emerge. It’s at least intriguing to me what the muse will say next, and when the
bubble will arise. Constipated notwithstanding, I am content to sit on the stoop
and wait for it.
The Story’s Butt End
It was often my habit on a work day, to go fishing at daybreak off the waters of
Lotus City! I would start at 5 am and finish before 8 am, change on the boat and
go to work. I fished alone at that time of day and there was nothing more pleasant
than to troll along the Discovery Islands at Strongtide Bay on ebb-tide, with
the wire lines humming and the trolling bells on the rods rhythmically ringing
with the gentle tug and swell. Because it was early morning, nature usually called
sometime shortly after the setup, and in the cabin on the throne I would rest a
bit, watching and listening to the bells through the open cabin door, in repose,
with an air of contemplation and expectation. The joy I felt on the briny deep
in pursuit of the salmon was enhanced by the embrace of Mother Nature, who
was mine alone at that time of the morning. The world was still asleep! My lines
were fishing deep, the depth maintained by planers, that when tripped by a
strike prompted the rods to ring the bell urgently. The planers rose to the surface
quickly with the fish on, causing line slack. The fisherman always needed to act
with alacrity to get to the rod and tighten the slack to avoid the fish throwing
the hook! In the midst of my meditation, suddenly the bell rang stridently on
the starboard rod and with great speed I hopped off the throne, pants dangling
at the ankle; I bounded to retrieve my rod from the rod holder and began to reel
in the slack to tighten the line and start to play the fish! I suddenly heard great
cheering and looked up to see high fives from a quartet of tourists on the guide
boat, fishing long-side me, starboard. My boat had little freeboard so I wasn’t
entirely sure that they were cheering my catch or my crotch! I wasn’t fishing for
compliments but so much for ego! Thank goodness it was a time well before
cellphones with cameras and Youtube. You can’t hold your rod and wind up your
knuckleduster reel and pull up your pants, all at the same time unless you have
three hands. Something had to be let go and it wasn’t the fish.
It was often my habit on a work day, to go fishing at daybreak off the waters of
Lotus City! I would start at 5 am and finish before 8 am, change on the boat and
go to work. I fished alone at that time of day and there was nothing more pleasant
than to troll along the Discovery Islands at Strongtide Bay on ebb-tide, with
the wire lines humming and the trolling bells on the rods rhythmically ringing
with the gentle tug and swell. Because it was early morning, nature usually called
sometime shortly after the setup, and in the cabin on the throne I would rest a
bit, watching and listening to the bells through the open cabin door, in repose,
with an air of contemplation and expectation. The joy I felt on the briny deep
in pursuit of the salmon was enhanced by the embrace of Mother Nature, who
was mine alone at that time of the morning. The world was still asleep! My lines
were fishing deep, the depth maintained by planers, that when tripped by a
strike prompted the rods to ring the bell urgently. The planers rose to the surface
quickly with the fish on, causing line slack. The fisherman always needed to act
with alacrity to get to the rod and tighten the slack to avoid the fish throwing
the hook! In the midst of my meditation, suddenly the bell rang stridently on
the starboard rod and with great speed I hopped off the throne, pants dangling
at the ankle; I bounded to retrieve my rod from the rod holder and began to reel
in the slack to tighten the line and start to play the fish! I suddenly heard great
cheering and looked up to see high fives from a quartet of tourists on the guide
boat, fishing long-side me, starboard. My boat had little freeboard so I wasn’t
entirely sure that they were cheering my catch or my crotch! I wasn’t fishing for
compliments but so much for ego! Thank goodness it was a time well before
cellphones with cameras and Youtube. You can’t hold your rod and wind up your
knuckleduster reel and pull up your pants, all at the same time unless you have
three hands. Something had to be let go and it wasn’t the fish.