Attention Paid
There is a body builder holding this for me. I’ve been remembering him since Thursday. He was wearing a T-shirt that had me in silent stitches. I am sure it was mocking him and I the shirt.
(Note to self: must consult the mocking-expert. He has a perfect ear for mocking, but I also must remind him, when souls come down to bear witness they cannot mock in the negative sense of “put down”. They come to endorse, encourage, and point out your peculiarities, without judgement, with curiosity. Maybe, some inconsolable melancholy, too. They are a bit cat-like. Can scare some of us off. But that can't be it for the consultant who would probably give his last fish to a stray cat.)
The T-shirt read as if it had been bought by his fed-up ex. This rather square man, tanned and hair slicked back, making up for me the prototypical Popeye man; with a muscle tone thát tense the skin struggled to stretch over it, he didn't have a very relaxed air about him as he was dunking his teabag like a buoy that wouldn't sink in his hot water, on a terrace on the pavement. A good place to show off you T-shirt. May I interrupt myself, to say nowadays if you want to dress to impress, you only need a T-shirt. The text will do the rest.
- It read: I AM WEARING THIS T-SHIRT BECAUSE I am looking for creativity and inspiration.
A brilliant text as far as that goes, conveying something I highly promote. Seek, search and fulfill your dreams! I have to approve of the text but I doubt the body builder had put it on that morning with the kind of intent I might be expecting. Now, that's me all over: jumping to prat conclusions! Fie on me.
Muscles do tell secrets.
There is a journey that raises up remains not yet docked. It traces the more subtle, intangible muscles of our chakra system. Energy centres noone can deny, and a travelling that is for a moment the world itself travelling, also not to be denied if they have had the right lover. My calculation is that would be 6 people in total. I don't know if that is at any given time, or since the beginning of time. The rest practice kama sutra and will count themselves in anyway.
Another easier journey to go on is the walk of life. The Persians‡ invented a map for that: chess. You'll know when you've covered enough mileage in a day, the brain muscle will start to ache. (Not a muscle, I know, but I'm not being very accurate today, am I?) I suggest for the more trained brain, another good way to know how far one has walked and whether it is far enough, would be to look behind you, every so many paces, and if your brains have fallen out, you can take a rest.
Muscle cramp
Use it or lose it, that's what they say. Why do old people even have sex? Still don't remember the title of that film (Spanish?) where they do. They must be pushing seventy and fall in love like delirious teenagers. No, that is not true, a teenager cannot be delirious. He can be hysterical, or soused as a herring, but then he'll soon fall into coma, or become aggressive or very sick. I have noticed that talented young child actors, for a laugh, can pretend to be adult in almost every very convincing way, acting out typical grown up situations, most eloquently; but they cannot fake being drunk. Likewise teenagers cannot be delirious (a falsetto love). They can be in love. Doesn't happen very often, but I won't have it said a 15 year old cannot experience the sanctity of love. It is just not a good time for souls to be that committed to that concentrated and consolidated work it is to have the flesh reside in the mood of love, which needs constant regulation like a controlled climate. They are still not all here till age 21.
Love without something tangible cannot be intimate. It can be high and mighty (often self-aggrandising) proclaiming the Truth without any self-indulgence, free of all yearning but for the Will of God, but then you can't proove it. You need to eat the pudding, or God could just as well have learned to love himself. Any Existentialist can tell you that.
How can you tell if you have loved enough today? You'll go to bed a little sore.
Arnica or St. John's wort soothe all muscles. A few drops of red tangerine, lavender, rosewood and frankinsence in a vaporiser will ease the mind. As does the laying of a hand.
More T-Shirts to impress. Pick your favorite here
- No. 6 appeals to my slightly dark sense of irony. Not an appropriate one to wear to work or a cafe. Will be perceived as mocking the world.
- No. 18 is not funny and No. 24 is really not funny, and actually brings back a lot of trauma for me, remembering how I was mopping up a flood at 3 in the morning, on my birthday, the rain pouring into my annexe faster than I could bail, causing the plumber to spend 3 days fixing what the renovators had done wrong, and costing me both my arms and legs.
- No 31 is even more traumatising; when I designed a birth card in a simlar vein of the little person moving home from tummy to world, my grandmother practically disinherited me. How could she show that to the other OAPs? Talk about "embarrazada" being embarrassing to some.
- No. 54 sustains my despair with men. I don't know what's worse, the shirt, the time wasted at the gym instead of spent on something more durable, or the behaviour like a 2 year old. Where's he gone then?
‡ The first game of chess is described in a Pahlavi treatise, to have taken place in 10th C. But I recommend you read about the game described in the 11th C in Ferdowsi's Shanahmeh. An excellent, superb, unsurpassable translation is out there translated by my sister. Great Christmas gift idea. Order now. I think she receives the equivalent of 1SBD for each copy sold. Not a great business to be in.
Art at top: The Chess Game, 1555, by Sofonibisa Anguissola. The minute I can remember this rare example of a Renaissance female artist's first name, I will get a cat and call it that. Must practice loads and not be tempted in the meantime, or it won't ever know when it's dinner is ready or time for bed. (Domestic cats must sleep indoors and keep your feet warm. Be prepared to wake up with a hot head though.)