2000-07-15 - 17:23 MDT

July 15, 2000

Psychic

In the past there seemed to me to be a peculiarity in my personality / character ? whatever. Day or night - - - not by the clock but definitely by the day, I would automatically sit down at the keyboard, not knowing what I was going to say and proceeded to say it at great length. At least for me it was great length, pre forums and diary any written thing from me was usually one short sentence long.

It began to be quite noticable to me the first few days of April, 2000 when one night I made this entry - - - http://bastion.diaryland.com/90.html - - - I wrote it, or rather the hands and fingers ruled by something other than me tossed that one off in a very short time.

Here lately I notice that many of us seem to be on the same raft. In peaceful waters or on storm stirred waves, we make our way to the keyboard and voila ! there is the entry !

What is this automatic, powerful thing that motivates us to calmly sit down and type up something that just didn't seem to be there but appeared in print before our eyes ?

Or at least that's how it is for me. When I trepidatiously contemplated doing a diary after posting in many forums and being fascinated with the various thoughts and outlooks on the same subjects, I e-mailed back and forth with three people who have been my blessed Mentors ever since at least December the realization that there were things I wanted to say, thoughts that were bursting out of my eyes and ears from the depths of my heart and off the point of my funny bone.

If the world cares to look over my shoulder, they are welcome - - I make an occasional faux pas and rile some one inadvertantly and back track and least make amends by private e-mail. The main drive of the entry remains the same, just that I have offended them in passing. Damn, I can't even explain myself to me at times. The hammer comes down on a thumb, sometimes not one of my own. Still it is an act of a man coming to grips with realities and the realization that there are many facets sparkling from each polished grain of truth.

I guess that there are many things boiling in my subconscious (the beast in the basement) that come out through my fingers instead of haunting my dreams. Down the line I can look back and read what I said - - - which is so difficult to do with dreams. Note book and pen on the night stand to be fumbled with in a half dream state while trying to find the light switch, knocking them all to the floor in the process. Hah ! doesn't work for me

I am deeply happy when some one says, "Hey there guy, nice shot there last night." But I am not too downcast if someone criticizes something I said. I will reflect and ponder about it and maybe be convinced I was wrong and then play, "Dudley Do-right" trying to make amends. If nothing else, wonder of wonder, this old curmudgeon's mind will be changed a bit. A fact seldom admitted to by ones who are younger than I.

No medals or awards, seat on the dais or notice by the media is needed here. The privilege and honor of being a free man in a free country having the right to say what I wish is all that I need. Not that I don't appreciate my friends, I do - - but if - - - - - I were the voice in the wilderness my kvetching would go on and on and on.

The realization that I am not the only one who sits down at the keyboard with psychic fingers not knowing what is going to transpire, makes me feel less alone and not quite such an object of ridicule as I thought. Amen

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