Who am I? Who is the guy staring back at me in the mirror? Am I the same person I used to be? Have I changed? Am I still changing? Haven’t I changed enough already? Have I molded the life that surrounds me to suit me, or has the life that surrounds me molded me? Isn’t that like a wicked fine line? Is that a perfect balance, or are they both one in the same?
I suppose that these questions have raced through the minds of many a man smarter than me. Women too. Smile. I imagine the questions have pondered the poignant perceptions throughout the coggles of time. What the hell is a coggle anyways? Is there really such a thing as a coggle, or did I just make it up so I could slide into a parallel, non related burst of unrelated nonsense?
Who really knows, why would they care, and here we go.
Makes me think of the Jetsons. I wonder if Elroy grew up thinking about this stuff. I suppose if you threw a Spacely Space Sprocket into a couple unsuspecting coggles, you would probably have a futuristic galactic mix of something that’s out of this world, off the charts, and off the marble. . Wouldn’t that be ironic?
I was sitting out back on the picnic table yesterday afternoon, and I could hear a siren off in the distance. It grew closer, and then faded away. I wondered if it was coming down our road, or if it was heading down the next road over, across the valley from our house. I wondered if it was a cop, or an ambulance, or maybe a fire truck.
I guess I’ll never know.
As I was sitting there, on the table, I suddenly, and again, realized just how small I am. Now don’t get me wrong. I am a big guy, and I take up quite a bit of room, but that’s conveniently according to my own perception of space. Yes, when I step off the pool ladder and into the water, the incurring wake does displace some of the water. Probably more than I care to admit. It’s just a small pool though, in the grand scheme of things that have to do with pools. It’s just a little container of liquid, with a little spillage. Ok! A lot of spillage, but then again, according to my own perception of matter displacement, and it is my perception, so, back off!
It’s such a big world out there, and there’s so much space being taken up by so many things. I would like to think that my space, my volume of matter, well, I would hope that it matters somehow. I would like to think that by having continuously propelled my molecular frictional structure of molecules across this molecularly structured marble, that I have somehow benefitted gratefully, and gracefully enhanced said molecules that constantly swirl around me, molecularly speaking, by my doing so, indeed. I had to go over this last sentence several times before I could wrap my head around it. What the heck am I talking about? How come my fingers do stuff like that? It’s got to be preprogrammed or something, I mean, really? Are you kidding me? Who in their right mind types stuff like this?
Still thinking, and wrapping.
Too deep. Way too deep. I guess I’ll be moving on then.
Sometimes when I listen to the news, and hear all of the commotion going on around the planet, I wonder if it all matters to me. I wonder if it has anything to do, with me. I wonder if it ever will. I know that in the grand scheme of things, everything relates to one another. What I pay for this is determined by what someone did to that. How I feel about this, is swayed by what someone else said about that. What I buy and use, is related to what I heard or saw someone say or do about something. Such a tightly woven array of happenstance. Such a delicately balanced cycle of events, one after the other, day after day, and still, there I was, sitting out back, on my picnic table, wondering if at that particular point in time, any of it really had anything to do with me. I sat, in silence, wondering if anyone was wondering about me, as I was wondering about them. I sat in silence, trying to listen to anything that was going on, out there, away from me, and then, out of the blue, all of a sudden, a jet airliner passed overhead, from west to east, apparently slowing down to land in either Hartland, or Bangor. Probably Bangor. the goings on in the world smoothly shifted my way, and again, I felt connected to it all. I felt like a piece of the action. A small piece, but a piece, none the less.
As I sat there, and the jet liner quickly slid out of sound, towards somewhere where I wasn’t, I heard a blue jay in the trees surrounding our back yard, and a woodpecker over near the other side of the lawn. The woodpecker sounded like he was having a woodpecker of a time, again, hanging upside down from the suet cage that was hanging near the dog pen.
I tried remembering if I put a new brick of suet in the cage that morning. By the sounds of the woodpecker, hollering out his short, sharp, playful chirps, he was apparently, very glad that I did.