Centering

Yes, my questioning warrior, this one is inspired by you. Thank you. The very meditation I needed this chaotic morning.

In the dusty triple digit heat of The Southern Great Plains, siestas (afternoon naps) are a downright sensible tradition. I don't care to do the research, but I'll bet ya there are allot more cases of heat stroke through our local ERs than frostbite in the arctic ERs. Sleeping through the heat of the day and working through the cool of night is the simplest heat stroke prevention I have found for those of us who work the outside the AC zones.

Yesterday's Foster Care interview started in the early siesta hours. By the time the social worker took her clean, pointy, sequined toes back to her car, siesta hours were nearly over and I was feeling like I'd been rode hard and put away wet. Rather than look for an innocent bystander to target with my irritable discomfort, I passed out in front of the television and woke early, even for me. Last call at the night owl hunting grounds was still a half hour off. The sleep had settled my irritability far enough that I passed on the easy prey of hunting the bar closing rush at the local restaurants for an innocent bystander to chew the leg off of. To paraphrase my favorite questioning warrior, I woke feeling Centered. The high winds of family dysfunction and cultural chaos are still blowing uncertainties around me, but with the feeling of a strong, strictly personal center, I can bend and adapt as needed in those high winds. I think. Maybe. We see what grows.

First light is still about 2 hours off. Wishes for certainty on behalf of the GKs are still bubbling through my colon but. . . Center. . . Small steps, big faith and lots of prayer. The delivery system for the 20 feather turkey babies is far, far easier to track than the multiple bureaucracy delivery of the 3 skin turkeys, but. . . Life is what life is and not as *I* would have ^it^. For now, I am working the potentials for brooding the feather babies in the gelding pen of the big barn. First step: finish unscrewing the creative screw job of the Man Cave the farm handy screwed into the gelding pen. The gelding pen, itself, is now clear and holding the rabbit hutches I am hoping will safely brood the turkey poults when they arrive later this week. The more creative screw jobs which will require more creative demolition options are in a chaotic pile in front of the pen. Think I'll go tackle that creative demolition. Maybe.

My guitar case is on the safe side of that kluge pile. Guit-chi sure does help settle those colon knots. Best gut massage ever! ! ! Downright sonic. My guitar strap is positioned so that the back of the soundbox sits directly on the center of my bubbling colon. As I send sonic vibrations through the soundbox, the guitar slides around that gaseous, spastic center to aim sonic vibrations directly toward the most painful of the bubbles.