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Saturday, 12 July 2008 |
“For myself I am an optimist – it does not seem to be much use being anything else.” – Sir Winston Churchill, speech at the Lord Mayor’s banquet, London, November, 9, 1954.
Prescience [pre-sh(ē-)ən(t)s]: the power to see the future.
Butterfly Effect [buht-er-flahy /ɪˈfɛkt/ Pronunciation Key i-fekt]: large output from small input, the supposed influence exerted on a dynamic system by a small change in initial conditions.
July 2007. Alone in the gravel pit, I leaned against the truck and ran my fingers through my matted hair, chunks of dirt and grit falling away. I stretched and yawned. A quiet moment, welcomed after a day of intense activity. The day had been hot and humid like the others past, and the hot July air covered my exposed skin like a heavy blanket. There was no denying it; I loved the heat.
I surveyed my surroundings. The day was growing late, the sun had almost set. The air was still and the trees ringing the gravel pit were motionless. The “whoosh, whoosh” of beating wings indicated a bird of prey swooping nearby. I smiled, placed my arms across my chest, and settled more comfortably against the tailgate. I closed my eyes and sighed.
I thought of what I had accomplished so far. I thought of what I would accomplish. I thought of all the ruffed grouse we had seen this year, and how many times I slowed down for the little chicks as they followed momma bird across the road. I thought of how I had noticed the transition between spring and summer, and how many leaves were on each tree. I thought of how beautiful…how satisfying…how gratifying…all this work was…mmmmmmm…the sweet taste of accomplishment through continuous progress…yes, there was no doubt. I was enjoying this...
I opened my eyes and lifted my right hand to my face. “Yup,” I thought, “I’ll need to put some peroxide on that.” Hamburger knuckles, the bane of the mechanic.
As I leaned against the truck enjoying the peace, I forgot for a brief moment the issues at hand…breakdowns…
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Monday, 19 November 2007 |
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"There are those that say, if you do the uncomfortable thing long enough, it will become comfortable. But we are really not encouragers of that. We are encouragers of coming into alignment, and then taking the action. We are encouragers always of getting rid of the fear; we would never want you to keep doing things that you feel fearful about. And maybe the path of least resistance is just not get on the horse. Maybe the path of least resistance is to get on a different horse— but we would never move forward in fear.” – Abraham, The Teachings of Abraham – excerpted from The Art of Allowing Seminar, June 21, 2003.
"If this thing starts to feel like she’s going over, you jump the hell off and don’t worry about the other guy, ok?” By other guy I meant me.
Frank just nodded and didn’t say anything. How was I supposed to reassure him the truck wasn’t going to turn over while we were in the back shoveling gravel out the side and at the same time warn him of the possibility?
We worked feverishly, light fast disappearing. The temperature had dropped and it was cooling quickly. The rain was coming down steadily and I didn’t know if the unbalanced weight of gravel and rain water would get worse over the night and destabilize the truck from its already precarious perch. So we continued to bail gravel with spades, keeping weight on the high side of the truck box to help with stability. Several times we both stopped as the truck springs creaked, unsure exactly what was going on as we lightened and re-distributed the load.
I was clad only in shorts and old running shoes, standing in three feet of gritty sandy gravel, shoveling. Twice in my haste I nailed my foot with the spade. “Serves you right for wearing shoes,” I told myself. Then I laughed. “So this is how many shovelfuls are in a cubic yard of gravel! Who would have known!”
Sweat mixed with the grit and rain as we shoveled on. Very uncomfortable. And dangerous.
Or was it?
If it was so uncomfortable and dangerous, why did I feel this way?
Why did I feel so alive? |
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