fool on a hill

I don’t really want to write anything about what I’m feeling as I type this. It’s funny, because in the Tuesday night Oakland Zen Koan group I’ve been an active member of for nearly three years, part of the conversation last night regarded being a fool. Sure, perceived as as a fool – easy – but also having that distinct sense — I may be a fool, I’m not sure. It’s possible. I wouldn’t mind.

I will say I am most grateful for the six folks who took their time and energy to complete “reference” forms sent to them for my application to work as a “Member Engagement” cat for the Channel Islands YMCA here in San Luis Obispo. It worked. Those six – some reading this now – made it happen.

I spent afternoon time yesterday up on Cerro San Luis – aka Madonna Mountain – and much of it on the bench I’ve discovered more than a quarter of the way up. It is a special place, for me already, me alone and kind of drifty here. A place of natural awe, and grace and wonder. If I went there everyday it wouldn’t be too many. Thoreau would sit in his doorway for eight hours and just see stuff.

Did I say I don’t like being told what clothes to wear to work. And that cows pretty much make more sense to me than people, at least lots of the time. A cow has never used the word “Onboarding” to me. They have said “Moo.”

Plus, I’ve had this wicked urge lately to get on the 101 and drive long distances. I’ve got no particular place in mind, and with barely any extra money, there’s a good bet I won’t. But the urge is cool.

The Talking Heads have a song named “Born Under Punches,” and one of its lines is, “I’m so thin.” I feel like that.