Hints and Whispers

There’ve been many.

I’m an intuitive person by Nature (well, OK, maybe by Nurture, what the bleep do I know?). For whatever reason, I’ve relied on intuition my entire life. It’s how I process “data.” The thing is, though, it hasn’t been all that profitable an experience.

I see hints and I hear whispers. Unfortunately, the hints are indecipherable...the whispers inaudible. I can sense a change in the air; hear a subsonic rumble beneath my feet, but nothing more.

In my youth, I would lie awake at night pondering the imponderable. I would conjure a myriad of hypotheses; analyze EVERY facet as dark hours melted into dawn. Then would come the fateful day when
I finally learned the meanings of the auguries and portents, the hints and whispers that had haunted me so. I would be flummoxed, gob-smacked, laid to waste and devastated...each and every time. You see, I may be intuitive, but I am also naïve. That’s not a combination worth braggin’ on, or writing home to mom about. I mean, what’s the point of knowing that tragedy is in the air, if one can’t see the piano falling from the sky? I never possessed sufficient wisdom to know when life, as I knew it, would end. Despite the fact that I took careful measure of the angles...sifted, sorted and weighed the possibilities...
I ALWAYS overlooked the skinny chance that the faithful had lost their faith, that lovers no longer loved, or that something precious and beautiful may, someday, cease to be. I never considered
THOSE possibilities.

I said I was naïve. Believe it.

I’m different now. No, I still sense the hints and hear the whispers, but I no longer ponder the imponderable. I do not lie in bed red-eyed and frantic. No. I’ve WAY too many scars for that.

Nowadays, I merely lie prostrate...as storms rage and hard rain pelts my windows. I lie prostrate and listen to the wild winds shriek while coyotes yelp and howl. I lie silent, waiting, knowing only that...soon...

I will be drenched in my own blood.

* * *

Grinding Gears

The first car I ever owned had a manual transmission. Not only did I not know how to drive, I didn’t know how to shift gears via clutch and gearshift either. Two feet met three pedals. Chaos ensued.

I learned, but not without seriocomic drama. Oh, how the gears clashed! The car jerked and stalled, bounced, wiggled, shimmied and shook, all to a soundtrack of screeches, screams and squeals...and expletives...a whole lotta frustrated, angry expletives. Still, if I wanted to traverse from Point A to Point B, I HAD to learn to drive.
I had to learn how to shift smoothly and effortlessly as the road ahead demanded.

So I learned.

That’s pretty much the story of my life these days. I’m learning how to live, again, but with a heart, mind and soul most unfamiliar. The gears within clash and grind and tear into each other. Strangely, there’s no audio this time. Not one sound or note. There’s no music inside of me...no angry expletives, either.

Only tears.

* * *

I'm a Daffodil!

Soooooo...I was watching a science program on late-nite cable TV
(I am SO addicted!) about evolution, Darwin, natural selection and genetics. I listened to a geneticist remark upon the fact that, early on, scientists were verily stunned to discover that all of the genetic blueprints for life here on earth are remarkably similar. We now know, for example, that we’re 98.8% Chimpanzee (um...it shows, no?).

He casually mentioned that 30% of the human genome replicates that of the daffodil!

I’ve been smiling ever since.

* * *

(Seriously. I don't think I've been THIS delighted in years!!!)

* * *