From The Far Side of The Glass...what remains?

Journal Entry: 7/21/18
From The Far Side Of The Glass
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Death. Destruction. Chaos.
All before my morning coffee has even kicked in!!
How do you cope in a world where every time you look at a headline it tells of a new disaster? How do you manage not to lose empathy, stay focused, and continue to fight the good fight?

The underlying world order is not like this; and often the news emphasizes the worst of humankind to us. For every terrible thing you read/see/hear make a point to do one good thing in the world. Even if it means just noticing a flower blooming, smiling at a passing child, or holding the door open for someone.

Our worlds are made up of these small, tiny acts of kindnesses and each one will bring you closer to leading the kind of life you want. Treat each little act like a sacrament of kindness, or nurturing to yourself and focus on it. Only when we begin to do these things can we truly make a change in our world.

We often speak of “tiny acts of kindness” as a duty that we have to others. And while that’s true, it’s maybe truer that these acts keep us sane. They keep us in touch with what is best in us. They keep us grounded, humble, empathic, warm, and giving. They put smiles on our faces for the right reasons. Not the sneering grin of victory, but a gentle happiness that we feel because we are at home in the world. Not above, not below, but beside. They remind us what matters most. Not politics, economics, scandal, or outrage. But all that is right before our eyes. Life, love, beauty, goodness, and truth...Doc

Entry Note To Self...moments of joy

Journal Entry: 7/7/18
Happiness is nothing more than the feeling of joyful moments, spread over a longer period of time.

Those moments...a rainbow that turns your head. Fireworks, even if you don’t know what your celebrating. Ice cream, with chocolate drizzle. A crazy walk in the rain. That moment you "let go" not to regret the past, but to grow and live for the future. The smell of rain in May. Love letters written in the sand. When you practice gratitude, sense unexpected beauty, or in that moment when we truly experience forgiveness.

Those moments that take me by surprise. I do not seize them, they seize me.

And what does it take to capture a moment of joy? Not much. And what does it take to create a moment of joy? Not much.

So happiness for me is nothing more than little moments of joy that spread themselves over a longer period of time. And for all the moments in between? Well, I wait for It’s return...Doc

Entry Note To Self...short pants

Journal Entry: 7/27/18
sʜᴏʀᴛ ᴘᴀɴᴛs


I was having a cup of coffee this morning in a small brew house in Hot Springs. A beautiful little town with magic water to cure most all of one’s ills, except maybe a broken heart.

Across the way I see this unusual looking fellow. He was dancing all alone in ᴀ small green area, near the hot water as it flowed up from the magic springs, with it moist vapor rising through the air. He wore a tall hat and suspenders that held up his pants that were way to short for him.

He reminded me of a boy named Billy Ray back in the seventh grade. Billy Ray was unusual looking. He also wore pants that were to short for him, and his glasses were always crooked. Anytime Billy Ray was around, you could hear someone say, “Straighten your glasses Billy Ray.” Each time our English teacher asked Billy Ray to read his essay, she would always say, “Straighten your glasses Billy Ray.” Billy Ray would get up to bat and the coach yelled, “Straighten up your glasses, Billy Ray!” We later found out that his glasses were not crooked, he just had one ear that was lower than the other. Or maybe it was one higher than the other?

Billy Ray had an unusual tone when he spoke. Kinda through his nose and he accented all his “t’s”. Especially if a word ended in a t.

Well, all of that is beside the point. Billy Ray, like the rest of us, was headed into the seventh grade and back in my days that was one of those milestone years. As 7th grade boys we had no idea that when we walked in the door on the first day of school, we would be met with a veritable wall of full on breast, as grown by our female counterparts, over the summer.

There’s really nothing a person could have done to adequately prepared us. Even if “they” would have told us, we would have still been just as mystified, helpless and bumbling. With just the sheer volume alone, I’m not quiet sure why we did not lose consciousness or have to be sent home?

I remember hearing the nazzle tone words of Billy Ray as we stepped through the hallway door...”Did you see the TiTTies on Mary Ann?”

Billy Ray was getting so carried away that we had to tell him not to be saying those things and don’t directly look at them full on, because it would make him explode.

Well, anyway that’s my recollection of the story of Billy Ray as I watch this unusual looking man with a tall hat, short pants, dancing with himself...enjoy your day! Doc

Entry Note To Self...how we choose

How we choose what we do, and how we approach it…will determine whether the sum of our days adds up to a formless blur, or to something resembling a work of art.
—Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

All of us must make fundamental life choices and decide what is most valuable to us. We may opt for a life of reason and knowledge; one of faith and discipline; one of nature and freedom; one of community and altruism; or one of originality and style. We may even choose to live our lives as though they were works of art. In every case, hard work is required: Our lives are not just given to us, but need to be made. To live well is, in fact, to practice an art of living. The ways in which we find meaning, make fundamental life choices, and construct beautiful and well-lived lives for ourselves is an art form just as much as any beautiful painting.

We know what it means for a painting to be beautiful. But what about a life? Like great works of art, great people exhibit style, originality, and creativity. Maybe, then, to live well is just to practice an ART of living. But what should the values be that are important to a good life? Experiencing joyful moments, moral goodness, or friendship, for example – Are these not qualities of aesthetic beauty? Are the qualities that make a work of art good, that different from the qualities that make a life good? Is there really such thing as a "beautiful" life?

The Sane Asylum Alert. Warning, don’t go to the parade

Public Notice

I just received this alarming text from Jess...

Jess:  Doc, this lunar eclipse thing is way over rated.  Turns out the eclipse is not visible in North America.  

I've explained that information to Buck, but he is still anxious nevertheless.  It will be more trouble than it is worth to return the blindfolds, but Buck's dietary and hygiene requests are about to send me over the edge. I mistakenly read to him your explanation of causes and effects of the Buck Moon.  As such, he's on a steady diet of prunes, raisins, bran muffins, & jalapenos washed down with Metamucil and Phillips Milk of Magnesia.  He has stored up enough Lotrimin, Tinactin, and other assorted creams and balms to treat King Kong.
I've decided that he can't wear my costume to the parade.  I'm going to give him my old chest waders instead.  Besides, the Jaycees tell me there won't be any horses in the parade.  How were we going to explain the mess in the street? Wish me luck.  Buy Charmin stock.

Doc: Jess, I just ran into Less Wrong. He said he found Jess in a gravel wash down by River Road. Jess said he was looking for the Gold Coast. Then he spouted, "I’m reincarnating. I will be right back so don’t touch my stuff."

Wait I just got another idea on this Buck in retrograde thing. Maybe he does not go in and out of crazy, suppose he is always crazy, and we just mention it because today his behavior is relevant. It is like that you know? And besides we just don’t go around talking about it all the the time. It frightens us. 

So in the same vain, is there just retrograde and then non-retrograde? Retrograde and grade? Retrograde and normal? Maybe it's always in retrograde. I wish that just once someone would say to me, “Y’know, Mercury is in normal, so that’s why we’re all being rational. That would be really great to hear. I could die happy.

From Inside The Sane Asylum...Lady Jane

Conversation Between Dr. Ego Prozac and Jess. B. Rambling

July Full Moon

Jess: Doc, I can't join you to witness the July full moon. A family

matter requires that I do more than nothing for a change. My

cousin, Buck, showed up today and requires attention. 

You remember him; the high strung one. He barged in and

announced that he needed sanctuary for a few days. I said,

"Buck, you're not an illegal immigrant. Why do you need

sanctuary?". 

He tells me that he is quite anxious about the approaching Buck Moon and that I have to help him. I tell him, "It's just another full moon, full of lore as are most full moons".

He thinks it's much more than that. He's convinced he needs to

hide from this full moon because they've named it for him and

there is to be a lunar eclipse as well. I suggested that we find

him a cave, but he said he'd already checked on that. He claims

the nearest one, Blanchard Caves in central Arkansas, doesn't

allow visitors after dark.

I have him sedated for the time being and have ordered

blindfolds from Amazon Prime for the big evening so that he

won't witness the lunar eclipse of the Buck Moon. I don't trust

him to keep his eyes closed.

If we make it through the night, I'm going to let him borrow my

outfit and have convinced the local Jaycees to let him lead the

annual Watermelon Parade the next day. You know the old

adage, "When being run out of town, strut to the head of the line

and act like it's a parade".

PS...In one of his more lucid moments, Buck said he knew why

Dado had to change his name. Said it was because he seldom

had any Zippidy about him.

Doc: Jess... tell Buck not to worry. This dual thing is over

exaggerated. Mercury will be in retrograde so it want be as bad

as he thinks. You see, Mercury is a planet in space and

retrograde is a place in space that Mercury sometimes goes to.

It’s sort of a beta space, like a little embankment or like the out of

bounds area on a sports field. Mercury is still in space, but it’s in

retrograde, so, y’know, kind of on its heels. And since Mercury is

usually a really confident guy (planet), when he is feeling not his

best, it throws all of us off, too. It’s like Mercury is constipated or

has jock itch and we can’t look to him as our alpha, so we go

bananas. Then we catch ourselves being crazy and we go,

“Whup – Mercury must be in retrograde.” That is what “Mercury

in retrograde” means. I’m pretty sure.

I consulted Lady Jane, that psychic lady out on Hwy 80. You

know the one. You went in there one night in one of your rarest

moments. As I recall she ask you your name and you quickly

remarked, “I thought you were a psychic?”

Anyway, she suggested that Buck just tattoo open eyes on his

eyelids. That way it looks like he is awake when he is sleeping.

PS...If all fails, you could just have him change his name. Seemed to work for Dado (aka...Zippidy Do Da).

Two Clown Collaboration 

Inside The Sane Asylum...Do.da.Day

Butt Calling and other odd things...
Did I ever tell you about my good friend Dado? Didn’t think so...it’s a made up name of course. His real name is Doda, like in do.da.day, but all his friends just call him Dado. A man of his caliber should not be called Doda day. He is the resident photographer for The Sane Asylum and I feature some of his photography from time to time. Well, Dado called me the other day and told me one of his hysterical experiences. It started something like this...

“Doc...have you ever heard of Butt Calling?”

“Why no Dado? Why do you ask?”

“Well the other day, I took my relaxing materials and headed out in the backyard to catch a nap. After self medication of my relaxing materials, I fell asleep in the lounger. When I woke up there were paramedics all around me hooking up lines and pounding on my chest. I was trying to tell them that nothing was wrong with me and I had just talked to my doctors office this morning, when a tube was being forced into my mouth. Since being nice and pleasant was not working, I commenced to give them hell and a good cursing. The police arrived and said I was not being cooperative and to settle down or they would taser me. To make a very long story short...they finally decided that when I sat down in my chair my phone Butt Called my doctors office, and when they did not get a response, 911 was called and EMS was dispatched...Doc, I have a favor to ask...Can I borrow some bail money?”

Image by: Dado...Cuba trip 2013

Inside The Sane Asylum...Parish roads

*I am getting close to my home. Sabine Parish that sits sandwiched between the Louisiana and Texas state line. The Parish where I learned to love and learn and cherish and understand freedom.***

It’s morning in Louisiana. I’m driving. I tend to ramble when I’m driving, especially in this part of the world. Parish Road 21 takes me through green. Green everywhere. Large live oaks that have stories to tell. Rusty tin barns. Corn fields with perfect rows, that disappear into the green of the forest.

American flags are hanging from most mailboxes, horse trailers, workshops, treehouses, and semi-truck garages. Wet clothes  hanging on a fence. An ole dog laying in the shade. 

There are plenty of curves ahead, winding through the landscape. They take me past Faith Chapel Church, Providence Primitive Baptist Church, New Chapel Baptist, First Assembly of God, and a heap of other three-room meeting houses with well-kept cemeteries. And behind the cemetery’s, more green fields, and behind the green fields, cows and beyond the cows, the green of pine forest.

There’s the Perry Antique Store—which used to be a gas station one hundred years ago. It sits on approximately thirteen million acres of flat earth. Old men sit on its porch, chewing the fat. Watching traffic.

There are ancient mobile homes with brand new Fords parked out front. There are brand new mobile homes with ancient Fords. I pass red-dirt-road offshoots that lead to God-Knows-Where. Horses in front yards. Cattle in backyards. Weathered brick chimneys, standing in empty fields. Telephone poles with fading signs that read: “Elect Edwards for governor, for a brighter Louisiana.”

I pass small towns, small communities. Ebarb, Piney Shores, Zwolle. Converse is about as big as a minute, but they have a nice baseball field. Baseball is serious business in Converse.

I pass bumpy creek bridges—I have to slow down to drive across. There’s a crumbling red house covered in green vines—probably older than the late great Kathryn Tucker Windham. Bass boats sit by the highway with for-sale signs. Farm-implement graveyards stretch clear to China.

There is a man, burning trash in his front lawn. There are manmade bass and bream ponds. Overgrown yards with rusty swing sets and children’s playhouses, with wood rot. Rusty mailboxes with flags...I’m getting close to home..

Today we will talk about independence, freedoms, melting pots, mending fences, family...some arrived on different oceans, on smaller boats, from different ports, to a place where nobody wanted them.  Years latter, their children are physicians, shrimpers, grocery store clerks, farmers and all that is in between. It is possible, if you want it.

As Americans, we export and inspire a notion of freedom and openness, the dream that we sell as a promise. Sometimes, we make a mess of it. We forget what it is we are dreaming, and what we are selling as an ideal. It's all still an experiment, but we need to do better. I think we will. I have that hope. That's what is on my mind today... Doc

Entry Note To Self...God only knows

Journal Entry: 7/13/18
God only knows
Warning, adult content

After my walk this morning, I was craving some Ice Cream. I settled on yogurt, God only knows why.

I ended up at this little yogurt joint named The Frozen Frog. God only knows why the name. And God only knows how many flavors they have. Real cute little names. Lilly Pad Lollipop, Toad Road Caramel, you get the picture. I love orange flavors but not the artificial ones.

It brings back anxious moments of when I had my tonsils removed. The laughing gas the doctor gave me had this artificial orange taste. I didn’t like the taste of it then but I couldn’t say anything. One, I had my mouth open like the lips turned back on Winnie the donkey, and two, well the gas just made me not give a shit...I guess.

I didn’t remember much after it was all over, but I do remember the doctor’s words as we left his office, “For three days he can only eat ice cream.”

Of course my Mom stopped and bought a three day supply of ice cream on the way home. I had to stay in the car due to fifty feet of gauze packed in my mouth and I just wanted to sit there and try to remember what just happened. I also remember her words to this day, “I bought your favorite.”

You guessed it...ORANGE.

Then it all came back to me. The orange that taste horrible, not really giving a shit and there was this other thing that pisses me off till this day.

While I was in “The Chair”, the nurse was listening to this little transitor radio. I know many of you do not even know what those were. They are so old the spell check did not even recognize “transistor”. See how it spelled it wrong above?

Well, on the T Radio, Unchained Melody was playing. One of the greatest songs of all time and wouldn’t you know it...every time I here it play, to this day, I taste orange...

The Orange flavor still does not sit just right, so I avoid it and go for the coconut flavors. I don’t listen to the real radio that much, so I can control my music. But there are some days, to this day, I still don’t give a shit...God only knows why...Doc

Image by: Christopher Bryson