iotaJot

What do you say to a dying man?

Do you say anything at all?

What wisdom can you really impart to him?

Does the wisdom of ‘living’ apply?

Since we all die, are we not all ‘dying’?

Then, what would a dying man say to a dying man?

Do you say anything at all?

Wisdom is shared, not held for oneself.

As far as I can tell, we all die, but not all are ‘dying’.

Some live.  It is possible to live.

Some live while dying.

To live during dying.

Life is ‘what to do?’ while dying.

Life cannot be held on to, there is no point to grasping.

One never possess it.  It is not owned, nor can one give away what one has never had.

But you can. Give it away.

Is it mine?

We have control but not really.

We have control up until we don’t.

When does one relinquish control?

Live in experiment until you can’t.

Live with ‘what if’.

What is possible?

Anything that ‘can’ is possible.

Possible is a question, just a question.

Possible is just ‘the potential’.

‘Possible’ is just the test, the ‘what if’, the experiment.

If one puts anything in the realm of ‘possible’,

it still remains just a test, awaiting trial.

Therefore anything can be put into the possible category.

“Anything is possible”

Except the impossible, until you just ask…”Is it?”

then you’ve moved it to the possible category.

As soon as one questions impossibility it becomes possible, just with the question.

Yet, one can never consider a possibility as impossible without a conscious decision to define it as such.

Mark, What are you currently holding as impossible?

I woke at 2:30am, thinking it was impossible for me to say anything to change a dying man’s life.

Now I feel it’s possible.

I hope this spawns some thought.

I was having a perfectly good day until I walked through someone’s fart at the grocery store…I hate ‘public’.

It is a constant reminder that we are nothing more than monkeys that can drive, and even that is questionable, most of the time.  Whatever status I elevate my ego to, a journey into ‘public’ has a way to force a mirror into my face and apply a crushing smack-down as if to say, “silly man, you are but one of these…dirty idiots.  Whatever divinity you feel you may have right to, as a cerebral creature, you are but animal, minimal at that, just barely an ecological milli-year above grunting and clicking a fast food burger order.  Sure, dominion over other species in your ignorance as you think theirs is subordinate.  But step into the cage just one more time…I dare you.”

I recently saw a television show where a trainer was walking his lion through a crowd of people.  The lion, being a lion, turned and clamped onto the trainers leg, mouth and teeth.  The trainer’s mullet donned, Whopper eating helpers wearing black t-shirts that said “Lion Security” frantically waved cat toys, consisting of a stick, string and fuzzy balls in the lion’s face, trying to distract him from the taste of dirty idiot flesh, to no avail.  I wonder if the lion walked through someone’s fart from the crowd and just thought…”I’m tired of these dirty idiots.  You have a cat toy.  I am a Lion…let me remind you.”

I went jogging.  I laughed as I couldn’t hold a fart back any longer and let it go.  I laughed, not because I laugh at farts, but because I fully knew someone was closely behind.  Not close enough to hear it but close enough that I knew within seconds, they would be running through my fart.  I secretly hoped it would take their already ‘stressed from running’ breath away, and that they would have to grab a knee, cursing me as I ran into the distant horizon…a dirty idiot.

Moral:  Happiness is as fragile as a Dirty idiots fart.

Spent the past two days on the beach, running around in circles, kite in hand, not really sure what to do.

What is it going to be like when the Chinese rule the earth?  Let’s wait and see.

Until then, go fly a kite, (and don’t crash it, if you can help it, which you can’t, so if it happens, which it will, it may not be so bad, but it might, so if you get hurt, don’t call us, we don’t accept it, tough cookies, fortune cookies, with fortunes that say: sometimes crashes happen, so avoid them, because you can’t.)

It feels a constant battle.  The drive I have is not unflinching.  It waivers.  At times my head spins with ideas and thoughts and endless lists are the usual result.  Much about what I can do, should do or want to.  But the actions I take don’t seem to always be given the equal treatment.

‘Am I a determined?’ and ‘Do I have the determination?’ seem two different questions.  I know I want to get ‘there’ but am I making the push?  Some days Yes, others…resistance wins.

It feels a constant battle.  Whether or not I have the determination…will be determined.

All content ©Mark Petko

Home alone with cookies.  They sit and wait, but for how long?  My control is little.  ”It is bigger than me.” So I decide.

If one chooses to give up or give in because it is “beyond my control”…there is still a choice being made.  Therefore, nothing is beyond control.  Even if reality dictates that it is, one can choose to not believe it and live accordingly, right?

So ‘who’ are the usual suspects ‘beyond my control’?

“When I Die”

The time and method of my death are not in my power to control, unless I choose not to believe this.  There.  My death is totally up to me.  How do I want to die?  Old.  Happy.  Asleep.  How do I get there?  Live long.  Be happy.  Get lots of rest.

Breakdown:

Live long.  One can only do this day by day (especially if you choose to die in your sleep).  So live today.  Be alive today.  To be or not.  Then…To Be.  Be what?

Be happy.  Don’t worry.  About what?  Death, first off, because you chose not to die in your sleep last night.  Work at excitement.  Find something that tingles your guts and do it, fully, wholeheartedly, with out abandon and exhaust yourself to satisfaction.  Wear yourself out.  Then…

Get lots of rest.  Shut down, dream to choose again…should I wake tomorrow?

Hell yeah!….especially if there are cookies around.

I sent my Pen Pal a post-card of Lessons Learned During my Europe trip. See It Here.

This was her reply:

I have also created a page of all our correspondences (here).

exactly like New York City…(but with airs).

Please…mind your head.

The most recommended ‘to-do’ by previous visitors we conferred with…the open air, double decker bus tour.

With jet-lagged eyes and minds, limited window of opportunity before a work obligation for my wife, and a desire to follow suggestions of others while submitting our initial hours in London to ‘cheese factor’.  Why not hop on a bus to see the highlights on an unlikely sunny London day?  All in all a good start, yet next time:

no fat heads in front.

sunscreen?…in London?…who’da’thought? Not me, until now.

When they say 2 hours…they mean 3…before you’ve had enough and hop off to the next metro to jet back to hotel.

Tour is ideal if you have time to frequently hop off, give your ears a break.  Don’t try to cram it all in….(that’s what she said!…sorry…still jet groggy).

Charging my batts, figuratively and literally for a solo-walkabout tomorrow.  A boy, a map, and a camera.

There are many reasons to hate air travel.

Here is my latest:

received another correspondence from my pen pal:

Click here to see my reply

I have also created a page of all our correspondences (here).

‘Tis True……