No arthritic pain pills and you slept a third of the night on a living room chair. Breakfast at mid-morning. Carol kindly waits until you are up to eat with you, but you do not see the sense in it.
At least she has read the paper. Carol is a very good person, very responsible and she takes her family seriously. I on the other hand am a bit scruffy around the edges. I don’t think I have ever waited for anyone to eat breakfast. I have to have food with my pills so I take my pills and have breakfast to be done with it. Mostly I sit around. Yesterday I read Time and Discover. I don’t have patience and am rather grumpy most any time. Carol puts up with a lot. I have always been self-focused which is probably more politely put than self-centered, but then the blog pretty much covers that. To borrow from my Grandfather Orndorff's vocabulary, I’m not worth a “tinker’s damn” in comparison to my good friend, Carol.
Words are at least stable. You put them somewhere and they stay. Being bound in books is comfortable, thus, I attempt to write.
Why don’t we actually focus on Ezekiel for a change, boy. He deserves some notoriety too.
Fine with me.
Scene 4
An unusually frosty late Fall pre-dawn nests on the vegetation along the presently named town of al Kifl in Babylonia in the sixth century BCE. The Euphrates, low this time of year, flows to old Ezekiel’s left as he stands for the last time, looking across the river and the desert west towards his birthplace, Israel. His last thought, ‘I see my Israel coming at me on this commonly dry and strong southwesterly wind.’
**
What a surprise beginning. Here we are right into it, with Ezekiel’s last thought nonetheless.
It is the man’s last moment, let it be. Post. – Amorella.
Until tomorrow, orndorff. Post. Amorella.
You mowed most of the grass this afternoon after a Papa John pizza for a late lunch. Why don’t you finish the yard and then relax now that the news is over. Later, dude. – Amorella.
Getting on dusk. The yard is fully mowed and you are feeling better about it.
I am thinking about that opening paragraph and your comment, “Let it be.” I like that. Completely unexpected from my perspective. I have respect for the Dead though, even in a fiction, Amorella. You reset my mood though and I have left it alone and will do so until tomorrow. Let his last moment last a day, at least. I’m sure he was a good man; and he also was as human as the rest of us.
There was a time you were not so sure of your humanity.
It is easier to be human when you are older and retired and living well.
Tomorrow we work on another paragraph. Your nearly passing away in the Grand Canyon will do as a parallel.
It would be better for me if I have had a near death experience to fall back on for description but I have not had anything so dramatic. No tunnels with light at the other end. No Angels awaiting, or even family for that matter.
You have heard the Dead speak though.
Several times. I have heard lots of things. When one has a vivid imagination it is possible to hear and see lots of things, but that doesn’t make them real (to paraphrase a partial line from Moby Dick). I have seen a single eye stare at me with my eyes closed, once or twice it even blinked. That’s the transcendentalist talking. Subjective and imaginatively formed reality only, that’s the way I feel about it. An intuitive eye is as far as I’ll go. Your eye, Amorella, that’s what I used to think; that is, I used to think it was a possibility, not a fact. I have to say it is still a possibility. Slim to none as far as chance goes, but to deny a subjective reality is to deny my own existence. Fat chance of me doing that.
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