Fools and me.. or maybe it's just me

I've been reading a series by a wonderous author name Robin Hobb. Not Robin Hood.. but close enough. It involves magic, dragons, sadness, joy, intrigue, love, hate.. hmmmm.. pretty much my life. I picked it up... wait. no.. There's a story behind this:

I was pissed off. I left my apartment because I needed to go somewhere. I drove to the library.. not for any good reason. I walked in, and the quiet and serenity descended on me and cloaked me just because it knew I needed it. I was still not quite me, so I walked back towards the back, to the fiction section (I read fiction because if I wanted real life, I'd be living it.. Hey! Wait!.. I AM!). Before I got to the shelves, something caught my eye. It was a bag.. hmm.. make that a buncha bags. They contained clothing, probably some food..more than likely a bottle or two. In one of the internet kiosks there was sleeping one of the homeless of tulsa. Or maybe he was just tired and had gone shopping at one of the nearby retail dumpsters. Regardless, he was sleeping and he was in the public library. The man next to him, well dressed in suit and tie looked at me with a mix of horror, pity, sadness and a bit or "Hush, don't wake him" in his eye. That wee bit of consideration made my day lighter and brighter. Perhaps it was the artwork of the two gents. Wish I had my camera, long gone, suspected stolen, to capture the moment.

Tim.. you should hang with me. things like that always happen.

I proceeded toward the shelves.. maybe looking for Pratchett.. my long time pal and nemesis. Instead, a set of books..three of them, caught my eye and called out to my hand. My hand reached up, pulled one out and I read the first few words of the book and knew that I needed to be reading this one.

It was called "Fool's Errand".. no better title for my life have I ever seen.

I've been warned I should really be reading the first of the series before the end. I would, beloveds, but they don't have it, and the library is where I find the books I can afford.

In the book that I read, I came across some well written, fully fleshed out characters. The plot was plotted well and coherent (I love that word) strung together with just a few twists and pathos to keep me going "Poor schmuck", and wanting to find out how his life turns out. Here's the kicker to me. Reading about Tom's life (not his real name), I've come to the conclusion that it's just an ordinary life with extra ordinary events. The same as Me, the same as you. Good things, bad things.. it happens. Cool side is.. it's written like you or me would want a book about us written. Well. Not really a lot of tremendous adventure. Most of the book is the main character musing about his lot in life. And I gotta tell you, he's pretty pathetic, really. Same as me, same as you. Aren't most of our thoughts about how crummy our life is? Now.. when something does go right, he spends a few wonderous moments blessing his fate, loving his life, feeling accomplished. Then he goes back to being pretty normally miserable, the basic state of life.. same as me, same as you.

Much as I can identify with the character, he's not the one that caught me up and had me fall. He's part of the whole, but not the whole. Fool that I am, it was the Fool. Secretive, hidden, duplicitous, goofy, maddening, sad, ecstatic.. on and on and on goeth the adverbs.

And that is where I am, and that is what I am, and therein lies the secret of NIMH.. sorta.

DiscreetShadow, a youngster that I have known since birth (hey kid.. let's do coffee), has read this series before me. She's appalled that I'm starting at the back and working my way toward the front. I think, since that's the way the Universe gave them to me, that's the way I'm gonna read them. Besides, ask most of my friends and they'll tell you I tend to go about things ass backwards anyway. The end doesn't ruin the story. To me, it's like gravy on potatoes. I Love gravy, and it doesn't ruin the potatoes, but it does explain why the potatoes are there. (hmmmmmm.. I really gotta work on my simile)

Anyway, beloveds, I'm doing better in my heart and head. Still the hermit, though, and I think that's ok. I've dabbled in the ways of the heart, and the ways of the flesh, and Yepper, I like's em. But complicated and hurtful. I have enough information to go and do other stuff. Maybe I'll revisit them someday.

Till later, with even more stuff that doesn't matter a whole lot if you understand the underlying cheeseburger effect....

CjB
House of the Singing Water.

OH! Before I go.. Tim - A story about a guy that goes into the library and finds his autobiography.. that he didn't write. Here's part of the twist.. it's a work of fiction.

(aint we all got that sometime or another?)

A story.... Sherry, you know this one.

In the Village of ShopKeepers, if you go left from the Dragon Gate, and head
past the village square, which isn't really square, you'll see a small alleyway
of to the right.
If you travel down that alleyway, and go alllll the way to the end you'll see a
tall 3 story building.

At the very tippy top of the building, there's a window where the attic is and
if you were to look in this attic window, you'd see stacks and piles and
bunches and tons of paper and books old ink wells, old pens; sharpies, bics,
quills.

It's all illuminated by one single lamp, way in the corner over a small desk,
which has 3 legs of the same length and the 4th, well, it's propped up by a
book. Sitting at that desk is an old old older than old man with little wisps
of hair on his ears and little round glasses sitting on a long pointed nose.

In his hand is one of a hundred pens on his desk, and he's writing writing
writing on parchment,on paper, on old phone books, on anything that will hold
the letters. Even his clothing are full of words.

And on a night when the moon is full, and the wind is high, sometimes you can
see him stop writing.

The sound of the scritch scritch scritching will stop, and the chair he is
sitting in will screeeeeech away from the desk, and, wearily, tiredly, he will
gather up the story he just finished and scramble his way to the attic window,
and with a heavier sigh than stone ever made, he'll open the window and wait.

He'll wait for the moon to have just the right shadow, for the taste in the
wind to have just the right flavor and then...

And Then, with a capital T, he'll take the story he's written and FLING it out
the window, with as much strength as his arm can muster and you know?
Those pages just seem to take wing and fly away, out out out to the world to
find, to seek, to locate just those children that need them the most.

And if you were to watch the man at the window, after the pages were all flown
away, you'd see just the tiniest hit of a tear in his eye, and just the
smallest possibility of a smile on his old craggy face,right before he closes
the window and shuffles his tired, lonesome way back to the chair, the desk,
the pen and his dreams

The end

I have a soul??

You Are a Visionary Soul

You are a curious person, always in a state of awareness. Connected to all things spiritual, you are very connect to your soul. You are wise and bright: able to reason and be reasonable. Occasionally, you get quite depressed and have dark feelings. You have great vision and can be very insightful. In fact, you are often profound in a way that surprises yourself. Visionary souls like you can be the best type of friend. You are intuitive, understanding, sympathetic, and a good healer. Souls you are most compatible with: Old Soul and Peacemaker Soul

What Kind of Soul Are You?