Rusty's Armory

Plowing the Sod (סוֹד‎)

Posted on October 15, 2017 Updated on October 15, 2017

“Thou shalt write each and every day.  The profound and the mundane, thou shalt write of it.”

And it was evening, and it was morning.  The first day.

A quickly passing squall left the stoop to damp to sit in this morning, so I sit in my cozy but messy studio to sip coffee and consider the world through my PC monitor.  I think we have flogged Harvey Weinstein sufficiently, but I doubt that our ever-vigilant press is done with him.

The Kurds are showing unusual strength in dealing with independence.  Even Iran fears them.  I can’t help but think it is because they do support Israel, though I do think their zeal is more politically driven than ideological.  Still, Israel is the place to look when fighting a war when you are surrounded by the enemy.

So I turn from world events back to my usual self-absorbed musings.  Soon Snooks will be wondering where her brunch is, and I am still in PJ’s.  Enya plays in the background, mostly for Kippur da Budgie’s benefit.  She needs noise, and I desire silence.  Enya is soft enough that I can bear the intrusion into the cottony softness of my morning reverie.

I have gone back to the beginnings in my cerebral life.  The beginnings of faith.  The beginnings of Scripture.  I want to hear once again that voice that quickened me those many long years ago.  Knowledge is wonderful stuff, but experience is what secures truth.

So I thumb my nose at Saint Paul.  I’ll return to a milk diet and a time when God moved mightily within me and demons ran from me.  Of course, there were people who didn’t see the fire in me, just the obnoxiousness, but I have acquired a few manners since them.

Maybe after I am on this milk run awhile I will return to the Sod (סוֹד‎), the deep, the esoteric.  But I am weary of digging for treasures.  An old pragmatic sage I once knew used to say that if a mystical thought can’t get you to work on Monday morning, it is idle speculation and not contemplation.  Well, you would have had to know him and been there.

And I have run out of time.  I can stall no more.  Time to mix up some waffle batter and drop it in the waffle iron.

Good morning!