Ah yes, some days just don’t go quite like you planned. One day your running free in the jungle and then you felt a little stick and you wake up behind bars with dry hay to eat instead of the fresh garden in which you ran free.
I just got released from the hold of a hospital bed. I felt it was just another of my familliar panic attacks, but my BP went to 247/143 with a pulse rate of 133. I took my regular meds, but just could not get it down and the need to breathe was getting harder and harder. So, we call 911 and it is off to the hospital. A bunch of nice people ( the EMT’s and hospital nurse’s were just incredible), but I would have much met them all someplace for a beer.
The cardiologist was firmly convinced I had experienced a heart attack and must have some blockage in my heart. So, pokes, prods, needles, ekgs, cardiograms of several types and the worst a chemical stress test. So strange to be injected with a drug and see and feel your heart race to 150 beats per minute in less than 60 seconds. Kind of felt like a panic attack.
And in the end, after all the tests it was what I originally thought, a panic attack.
I wonder if the gorilla has figured out his dilemma?
I”m living life free, as it should be, just as I am……peace out….jasL
We watched them graze like cattle. They moved with such grace in the air. Once they left the earth they left their awkwardness behind. It was nothing but grace.
It never ceases to amaze me how a new happening becomes imprinted in the soul. I was not at all prepared when they turned and in mass headed my way, twenty feet off the ground. Directly over me. For just the time of one shortened breath I felt the brush of the soft stir of air as it flowed over and under their wings and through me.
One of those fleeting moments in life that leaves you with no way to replace the feeling of the moment into words. It became like the smell of a freshly washed baby. A smell you will always remember with that part of your heart that stores such things away for your use only.
monos en theos ††† jasL
I am stuck on a leaf kick. But hey you work with what falls on your heart.
“The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched, they must be felt with the heart.” Helen Keller
Wear your heart where it grows! Monos en theos †† james
Yes you do! As scary and unlawful as it may be!
And yes my dog Grace’s eyes are that blue. She is also gifted with total deafness. So unlike my wife, she doesn’t even have to pretend she can’t hear me. But they both have me wrapped around their pinkees!
Do dogs have pinkees? Or you can just roll with the urban dictionary of pinkee: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=pinkee
monos en theos †† jim/james/jas/jimbo/jimmy jam/gymbo/jimber or kozmic kowboy…….a guy of many handles and still searching for who I am!
But somedays it is just too easy to drop our guard and misplace our direction!
“Let’s roll, Hey be careful out there!”
monos en theos†††jimbo
I am having fun working in my Kelly Rae Roberts e-course on mixed media and collages. I still have not really dove into the mixed media part of the class. Some of it is fear and some of it is just the comfort of working in a familiar tool: Photoshop. Plus it gives me a venue to see some of my old images in a new way. Or hell, maybe it is just being lazy. Anyhow, my latest effort was done just for fun. Plus I got to discover and read a little of J Cole. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J._Cole Not someone I had ever known and works in a genre that I would not normally put my ear to. Warning, not all his lyrics are this calm and nice.
monos en theos ††† james work
I have always been aware of my hands. From an early age as I viewed my hands outstretched in front of me, I somehow felt that the image of my hands would always be there. That one would be able to frame the present through those same hands and measure the passage of time by seeing the change upon the frame.
My hands now carry the scars and memories of my life. As do most everyones. I have always heard that the eyes are the window to our soul, but I believe the hands expose a more detailed view of our story.
My hands are stiffening with age. They carry the pain of arthritis. Having never thrown a punch in my life, I still somehow question how I could even have the grip to toss a baseball, much less a punch.
Deadheading flowers in the garden is about as tough a foe as I deal with.
It is a marvel to find details of life within the wrinkles of time.
What story do your hands tell?…monos en theos…†…jim