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A hunt for Lillith
I have been working on this tale some years now. It is one of those ideas that continues to ferment, and each time I rewrite the intro, a new aspect pops up, and most of the old work becomes useless. Still, I love this legend for some reason, and maybe I will finish it ..
He groaned with desire at the soft touch of her lips caressing his chest. She was in estrus, and the scent of her sex enveloped R’amet’s thoughts. She gently pushed her body against him, silently mouthing the words “NOW!”, and R’amet rolled over to pin her to the ground and woke with a start as she vanished from under him. Gone was the Succubus, having stolen his seed, and left him unsated. He knew she was near, but she still surprised him again.
R’amet sat back against a fossilized tree trunk that poked out of the ashen greyness, and looked around his resting spot. After all the æons, he had found her ancient garden. Her ærie had to be near. All that remained of her garden now was ossified obsidian like tree trunks stretching endlessly from horizon to horizon. The branches had fallen off long ago, leaving twisted boles pushing out of the ashes.
But R’amet had no interest in the ruins. He was close to his prey now. Resolutely he stood and began walking, letting the thrill of the hunt start coursing through his veins. Then he began to run when his instincts located a vague image some distance away.
There was no daylight on this interstellar planet. Just pinpricks of starlight in the vacuum. But R’amet was not constructed of interstellar stuff. He was formless in the universe, but substantial in the spirit world. Still he ran on in the interstice between spirit and matter. She would not escape him this time!
Her ghostly image in his head grew more distinct with each passing parsec on the interstitial arc. Her scent was now leading him. He indefatigably sped on, her presence now touching him.
A bright flash broke on the horizon, and leapt across the stellar horizon. She escaped!
R’amet sank to his knees in exhaustion. She escaped again. One day he would find her, and when he did, he would kill her.
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Empiricism, Rationalism and Gloom
It is overcast and threatening rain on this Sunday morning. The weatherman says in about an hour, I can look for a deluge for another hour, then tapering off as the rain bands roll majestically over this tiny spot on the map.
Today is was spicy sausage, chopped bell peppers and yellow onions in a scrambled egg hash, and reheated biscuits from the fridge. Yeah, nuked biscuits are a tad on the chewy side, but we waste not so we want not. Put enough strawberry jam and salted butter on them, and they go down fine. The spicy sausage is still pleasantly burning in my tummy, but I am certain that I will pay for the pleasant feeling later.
I was going to attempt a short story, but when I sat down to write, a coffee post spun off my fingers. A friend’s loss of her beloved dachshund of 16 years has me pondering about life, loss, grief and joy. It seems so odd that as a specie we mourn death when death is such an inevitability. However, we do. Moreover, our pets appear to grieve as well.
In addition, of course, such pondering leads me to wonder about such things as an afterlife. The rational side of me (as in rationalism as opposed to being sane) finds no evidence of an afterlife in nature. The empiricist side of me does. I am conflicted. How many coincidences does it take before one declares a miracle? Is life simply the sum total of my experiences? That I do grieve is empirical evidence that life does not continue. Then was that profound spiritual experience I had in 1973 negated?
Such thoughts remind me that I am still a depressive. They darken my soul in gloom and despair. And I cannot write fables when I am in such despondency. Therefore, I write coffee posts. And my universe completes one full circle again.
Good morning!
Mourning dove …
A blog friend of mine posted that she went out to work in her garden, then was washing up and going to meet her best friend for lunch.
I marveled. I am a snail in the morning. One cup for waking up, and one cup to ponder. I marvel at people who have half a days work in before I even try. I did get out on the porch for a little communing this Shabbat, but on weekends, food prep is my chore. We have a good system. I like to cook, but hate cleaning. Snooks hates figuring out menu’s, but doesn’t mind cleaning. So I cook, she cleans on the weekend.
It was already hot and very humid when I went out on the stoop with my second cup. The mocking birds and cardinals had already sang, and only the mourning doves lonesome dirge, wooeeewoo woo woo filled the air. They usually call out most of the day.
But the reverie was cut a bit short by having to go in and whip up some pecan waffles. One of my morning staples. Usually it is a Sunday thing, but I forgot to get potatoes for hash browns this morning, so my usual Shabbat country breakfast of eggs, spicy turkey sausage, and hash browns with onions was postponed. Nevertheless, I do not get many complaints with the waffles either, so I am good for the day.
Yesterdays rescue run went well, and I managed to get them handed off to the next relay before they pooped. Glad I missed that one, because they weren’t traveling with a grain scoop.
Not much happening on the religion front. I am still uncommitted to an assembly. I seem to be more content and spiritually fed when I am with a group. Very odd for an anti-social curmudgeon. Yeesh. Synagogues got just about all that annoys me. Children, mothers, save-the-whalers, do-gooders and cloying sweet speech. They bleed for everything, and aren’t shy about telling you so.
So I just smile back benignly, knowing that you scratch anyone deep enough, the ugly comes out. They can be very sweet and loving if not challenged or forced to spend an extra couple of hours with the needy. I find that to be true more often than not. The arseholes in life seldom give me the problems that God’s children do.
I am still on a creative hiatus. We old knights need a fair lady to dedicate ourselves to. All that tension and stuff that tales of valor and romance are built with. The agony of understated, unrequited love. The rose we hand to the princess is quickly tossed aside and trampled by the masses as the fair maiden rides off to the easy comfort of her castle. The prose and dragons we slay lie covered in dust, now objects of disgust rather than gratitude at their vanquishing. The lady turns into a fickle, self-centered [bleep], and the battered old knight retreats to the fresh clean air and honesty of a waterfront bawdyhouse and the loving arms of the slatterns within.
Let the reader understand.
Anyhoos, so’s it goes … the sun set, the sun rose. The meal was consumed, the dishes washed. A line of prose and poes here, a line of prose and poes there. A sun at 15° past noon bakes the greenery. And a little Shabbat snooze is next.
Good morning, good afternoon.
Bill Grogans Goat
Bill Grogan’s Goat was my earworm on rising this morning. How that happened is a mystery. I am not a big fan of barbershop quartets. I suspect most of you may have missed that era too. It is a throwback to the good old days when barbershops where the hub of manhood. I was born a few years after their slide into obscurity (thank God!). But barbershops were still the hub of town activity when I was a boy.
It is a glorious morning here, the fields are green, the temperatures are mild, and other than two chigger bites behind each knee, I am well and good. One thing I do miss about city living and Colorado is the absence of chiggers.
It has been a crappy week on the social sites this week. Two individuals wanted to pick my friends for me, and when I would not comply, they unfriended me. I think I will go into cyber sorrow and weep some cyber tears.
I have never wanted to visit any of my cyber friends. I think they would disappoint me, and I would disappoint them. I am much more effusive and caring in script than I am in voice. I do not even like calling them. The few I do have numbers for, I text rather than call. I am a conversational dunce.
I have only met one cyber friend, and while it was not a disaster or anything, I left wondering why I wasted my precious time driving to a coffee shop and making small talk for an hour. Another one I came close to meeting, but something always seemed to get in the way of the meeting. I think it was a good thing, because it was one helluva train wreck when the cyber relationship ended. I cannot imagine what it would have been like in real life.
I am a bit sore this morning. I am reasonably strong as long as I am erect, but when I get down on my knees to work, it just kills me. I pressure washed the tractor and push mowers yesterday, changed the cutting blade on one, pressure washed the sidewalk and birdbaths since I had the washer out anyway, and now I am eating Ibuprophen like it is candy.
So unfolds the day. A request to haul two mastiffs from Waco to Austin this Friday is now being scheduled. I am sure to get this one because of their size. I am waiting for the final schedule to emerge from the chaos. The coffee cup is empty and I need to go refill it. And the tomato plant and citronellas on the stoop need water.
Good morning!
I sits me down
So I sits meself down to write a simple little coffee is good post. It has been awhile, mostly because I have been residing in my nothing box the last few weeks. Down my once quiet little lane, a housing development is drawing endless dump trucks, cement mixers and other construction vehicles. The city folk I fled have followed me. They striped the pavement. Little yellow signs now tell you where the bumps, curves and children are playing. A green sign tells people the name of the street I live on.
I can no longer wander out the back door with my coffee cup until I put some pants on, and now I must put up some visual barriers so that I can enjoy sitting out on the front porch. Nevertheless, there still is a pasture across the road, and trees to block the view as teens rumble by with their oh so cool subwoofers rattling the window panes. I take a little schadenfreude in their misery of having to go to work each day, and having to eat peanut butter for breakfast because they blew all their paycheck on cool.
But the dawn today was still gorgeous in spite of all the post millennials encroachments. Birds of various varieties flock to the two birdbaths for a furtive sip and dip. The front porch is hidden behind sweet potato vines and citronellas. And Snooks coffee is at its usual perfection. So what if I can’t go outdoors in my skivvies or pee off the porch? No one promised me a perfect life.
Good morning!
After the storm, there is coffee …
Sunday, the first day, dawns sunny and dewy. The big rains have moved off to the East, leaving a lot of Texas real estate under water. It was a tragedy for so many, and a boon for so many. The rains fell on the just and the unjust, so did the floods. So many lost everything and have to start over again.
*sip!*
I feel a bit guilty that I escaped the misery, sitting high and dry on the escarpment at the junction of Salado Creek, the Leon River and the Lampasas River where they merge into the headwaters of the Little River. The little Rivers then flows into the Brazos River, which eventually flows out to the ocean, carrying all the floodwaters with it. There is a parallel of life in all that, but I am too groggy to wander down that avenue.
*sip!*
My yard is lush with the moisture, and long dormant grasses are pushing out runners over the bare spots and the trees are pushing up suckers. Much, much work this week and I am not sure where to begin.
*sip!*
Many volunteer organizations stepped up to the plate this year to mitigate the disaster. Animal lovers showed up at the flood threatened kennels of one of Austin’s shelters, each ‘adopting’ a pet for the duration. I hear that happened at several shelters. Disasters have a way of being especially hard on domestic pets, and many of the animal lovers worked tirelessly rescuing abandoned and lost pets.
*sip!*
I think the muse is ready to start writing again. I have begun to receive suggestions and hints at several writing projects, and when I sit down to write, the words flow. I don’t know whether to pick up an old project, or start a new one.
*sip!*
But while that is all swirling around in my head, there is coffee. A warm mug helps banish sleep-swollen fingers, and gives me a moment to compose as I draw from its rich dark contents. This will be a two cup meditation morning.
Good morning!
A Mewling Lament
All go to the same place. All came from the dust and all return to the dust. Who knows that the breath of man ascends upward and the breath of the beast descends downward to the earth? I have seen that nothing is better than that man should be happy in his activities, for that is his lot. For who will bring him to see what will occur after him?
Fort Logan National Cemetary
Situated in Denver, Colorado
There are some 73,000 plus headstones are here, arraigned row upon row in several sections. Meandering roads lead you from one section to the next, and there are several kiosks for memorial services. Some days all the kiosks are in use throughout the day.
My parents headstone is one of the 73,000 headstones. My fathers inscription is on the front side of the stone, my mother is inscribed on the back.
The last Memorial Day I visited the grave, grief had run its course, and I stood there, empty. A small group of aged Viet-Nam veterans wended itself through the cemetery, going unerringly to the resting spot of fallen comrades, and standing each one for a few minutes with heads bowed before moving on.
The futility of it all fell on me. The world is a graveyard of spent lives. We spout. We grow in fertile ground, or we barely thrive in the meanest of soil. We wither. We die. And in one generation we are forgotten.
It is good to stand in the place of the dead when we are young. However, it is a bitter goodness. I am a long way from Fort Logan National Cemetery now. Others will need to stand silently before that headstone now, silently bowing their head before moving on to the next one. And so the sun rises, and the sun sets in my little corner of the universe. Day follows day, and year follows year. And my bones too will slowly crumble as the æons slowly grind by, forgotten and unheralded.
Yet I have hope. Curious, no?
Tuesday Seven and a Half
Dawn. Clamber out of my new hospital style bed. I still awake groggy and stupid, but it is a pain free groggy and stupid. Good, I think. The bed is working.
Snooks rose before me, so coffee maker is sounding like an asthmatic, wheezing and gurgling. No coffee yet. So stagger down to studio, open blinds for stupid bird, flip on local channel to see if anything new happened overnight in Waco. Nope. Turned off TV, which pisses off the bird. Kippur needs noise like I need coffee, but I need silence.
What day is this. Lessee. Monday? Tuesday? Must be Tuesday because Snookums went to the grocery store yesterday. The week is getting away from me already.
The kitchen erupts in stomping, thumping and barking. Snooks must be getting ready to go outside with the dogs for a few minutes of throw the ball. But first she comes in with coffee for me, and birdseed for Kippur. Good. Rusty needs coffee. Then off she goes with the dogs. They all have to go thru the doors at the same time. Each doorway is cause for a wrestling match, first dog though wins.
*sip*
Waco PD is towing off the bikes from the parking lot. About 200 of them. Then the cars and pickups go later in the day. Not everyone is in jail, dead or in the hospital. Don’t know why they just can’t take their car there. But then, it causes all them bikers more grief as they got to get their vehicle from the pound. I bet their will be hefty towing and storage fees. Towing is one aspect of city greed that pisses me off. Towing and impound doesn’t hurt the wealthy … just the poor working stiff …
*sip*
Gotta call the AC man. It started limping last fall, but I decided to let it go the winter without repairs to stretch out the cash flow. I don’t have to dip into my reserves to pay for it that way. But hot weather will soon be here, and I suspect there will be a six or seven day lag right now. But first I’ll pressure wash the condenser and evaporator coils in preparation. Damn. More work this week.
*sip*
[refill]
Got the plants potted … started training the tomato already, now today need to pick up and put away the gardening tools … ‘cept for the rake. I discovered that the fireflies put their eggs on the fallen leaves from the previous year, so I quit raking the leaves. This year I got a bountiful crop of fireflies outside my window. Just love sitting out on the deck at night at the glooming, and watch them soar higher and higher in their love dance.
*sip!*
Well, I am not going to make ten, this morning … just too cotton headed.
Good morning!
My Gawd! What happened to me??
My god, what happened to me?! I sure don’t look like this now.
I don’t have any old pictures of me, so I had to go online to find one. I had just finished my enlistment in the Army, Haight Ashbury was a happening, the fall of Saigon was yet to be. A brief four line walk-on on a low budget but well known movie, and a very quick retreat from Hollywood.
Hollywood was no place for a country rube.
Morning, coffee, Arbatel, and lazy gardening.
Whosoever would know Secrets, let him know how to keep secret things secretly; and to reveal those things that are to be revealed, and to seal those things which are to be sealed: and not to give holy things to dogs, nor cast pearls before swine. Observe this Law, and the eyes of thy understanding shall be opened, to understand secret things; and thou shalt have whatsoever thy minde desireth to be divinely revealed unto thee. Thou shalt have also the Angels and Spirits of God prompt and ready in their nature to minister unto thee, as much as any humane minde can desire.
Shabbat dawns a mild but humid 70° this morning. I arose before Snookums so it is my job to make the coffee. In this house, it consists of hitting the brew button because Snooks makes it up ahead of time. The coffee pot seems to wheeze and gurgle forever, sounding like an old man having an asthma attack, but eventually, it delivers up the thick black brew that I crave.
I have been reading a translation of an old mystical book; Arbatel De magia veterum (Arbatel: Of the Magic of the Ancients) that first appeared in 1575. It was written to be read as aphorisms to an illiterate populace, and used the gospels extensively, but I still do not recommend the book to those without a strong grounding in scripture. It is a deceptive extra-biblical treatise.
But I do find the early methods of teaching scripture a refreshing departure from todays method. One could just sit back and listen to the expositor and not fact-check every word with every translation ever written. I am not so convinced that the wisdom produced by today’s scholars match the wisdom of the ancient sages when it comes to spiritual matters.
Today is my cooking day, and I have no idea of what we will have. Pecan waffles sound good, but then so does eggs, ersatz bacon and hash browns. But we haven’t had pancakes in awhile, so maybe ….
I still have several planters that I need to fill and repot. Some of my plants are still in the shipping pots. My lone tomato plant is growing like a weed in its new pot, and the plants I did get into the planters are growing twice as fast as the ones I have yet to do. Still, it is Shabbat, and one must cease from their labors, so I apologize to the unspotted plants for being a slacker, but inform them they will have to wait ‘til Sunday.
And later today the long schlep to the synagogue in the next county. I really hope to find a congregation a bit closer to home, some day. But I sure do like the late afternoon services at this one. I can have an unhurried breakfast and awakening, time to ruminate, and more time to come up with a good excuse for not attending …
Good morning!
Rusty's Armory 