INSIDE

My soul was in the cranial theater, watching the big life screen on the optic nerve, and I had a character role in the movie. My error was thinking that was me out there in the character instead of me in here with the soul.

I used to work in an aerosol can and hiss out stress. Now I can hear myself think again and my arteries are user friendly.

The intuitive soft voice of the soul is best heard by the blind mute.

The perfect couple is depicted in a garden and orchard and they speak to God every day... They are full of fresh antioxidants and listening to heavenly inner peace. On what channel of my cable station can I watch more of that?

Perhaps we are on a rotating Planet Earth to remind us that:
Time on Earth is a linear loop but eternity is an endless circle.
We can travel to new time zones, but our now never changes.
The sun and stars are not moving out of view soon, we are.
Perhaps the Earth rotates toward the light to teach us the balance of why there is also darkness.

There are swarms of white corpuscles, memory neurons, and DNA related health issues affected by those lies we’ve been telling.

I like living in the now, but if you don’t really need it now, put it away for then. If so, your person then will thank you in the future now.

Spring is budding petals, kind sunshine, flowered bursts of color, and new life. Summer is exposed skin, sped up molecules, harvested tomatoes and watermelons, blue sky, and excited life. Fall is oil painted ochre and blood orange leaves, an orange full moon, and crisp air and hayride love affairs. Winter is suddenly bare trees, ecru grass, pristine snow with sinful boot tracks, I.V.s at the E.R.s, and goodbyes. Then there is spring again….

Everyone is looking out two port holes (there above the cheekbones) to watch the journey and guide the navigation while on this planet. Some are poor drivers. Give them plenty of room.

Are we mankind or man unkind?

If they did an autopsy, inside her hardened heart would be all of his money.

Inside the swirling eddy of molecules & of DNA, the spiritual being Myra, thought she was a human relations person. She was distortedly close to the truth.

A bike tire is like an ego, when deflated it is hard to go very far. When confidently inflated able to go a long way, but when overinflated in for many topples.

One time I went back into the house to unplug the iron and it saved my house from burning down and it took me out of sequence with the time line in which I had that head on collision.

Man is limited so he made up time measurement. This invention is very popular as a counting game while waiting for death. This New Year’s Eve man will say things will be different starting tomorrow, but he will continue in the very same circles of Earth he has always traveled. And the hangover will be exactly the same.

So inside the two hemispheres of the brain there is the soft almost inaudible voice of the soul consciousness, the physicality and survival messages of the nervous system, the boisterous voice of the ego, the educated voice of the intellect, and the sensory overload of incoming signals from the ears, eyes, smell, taste, and fingertips, not to mention the aches, pains, and other distractions. “Be still and know that I Am God.” Well, we can’t hear Him in all that distraction.

Thank you for opening your pupils to let me in. Nice brain. May I look around? What’s this behind the curtain over there? Hmmm… why the guilt?

Mr. Stanley

My profession for some years was as a representive for an American upper end clothing manufacturer, traveling and directing sales in the field nationally to one account, Neiman Marcus. The retired "President Emeritus" of Neiman Marcus and also the son of the founder of this American retail empire, Mr. Stanley Marcus joined our manufacturing company as a consultant. It was my distinct pleasure to spend time with this gentleman on a number of occasions. It was my perception that he was a uniquely keen observer of the human condition, a man who thought concisely and precisely, and an icon in his industry. Here are a couple of my stories about this wonderful fellow.

Stanley Marcus was an invited writer of editorials to the Dallas Morning News. Once he told me that he had over 1200 email responses to one of his controversial editorials on the subject of drug users, and whether it would wise to convict only the pushers and hospitalize and treat the users as victims. He said that he answered every single email. “How in the world did you do that?” I asked. He answered, “I simply sent out a blanket email in response and told them all, 'Thank you. You may be right.”

Stanley Marcus leased an office in a high rise building near downtown when he was at ninety years of age. He set the lease for ten years. The first time I visited his office I waited on a couch that faced the wall of the hallway leading to his office. There was a work of art facing out toward the couch that immediately was identifiable from that distance as the image of his face. This was not oil but instead appeared to be an unusual medium. I thought perhaps it was like those toys we once played with, where one could push up a hand from below a frame, and spikes would rise above the frame to create the shape of whatever was pushing from below. This art could also be described like protruding nails, with some white flat heads and others black, arranged in such a manner as to image his skin, his beard, his receding scalp, the outline of his head. When the receptionist said that Mr. Stanley would see me now, and I rose and neared the door, the image disappeared into separate white spots against the black with the image now gone. When I arrived at the turn into the hallway and could examine the work closely I could see that it was framed dominos.