meltdown

as in, what was once solid is now becoming a mass of liquid, flowing all over, not able to be held in one place, but flowing all over the place. Meltdown is the nuclear reactor core meltdown, when something happens to the nuclear reactor and it's a bad deal - some movie with Jane Fonda in it, as I'm remembering. So everyone's having meltdowns in the past few days - nothing is easy, all parts of their lives are pressing in on them, and we just can't do it anymore, and we don't even know exactly what "it" is, but we know for darned sure that we can't do "it" anymore.

So I'm patient, eternally patient, blissfully patient - I say I can't take it anymore, then I realize I'm blowing smoke - what else CAN we do but take it? And that doesn't seem fair. Yet again, I ask my "higher-ups" to knock it off - lighten up - they have no idea what it's like for us down here in Dense Land, making these changes. It might look easy from up there, like "just forget everything you've ever known, forget how you've ever done anything, and just let everything that's familiar to you just go up in smoke - simpy." Not so simpy - darn hard, downright exhausting at times, scary and tiring. So, what else can I do? Just let go - just stinking let go - don't expect anything, don't grab for anything, don't try to hold onto anything - just let go. So that's what I'm going to do for one week - do you hear that, Guys? You've got exactly ONE WEEK to switch this stuff around, or I might go back to my "try-to-figure-it-out" ways and smack my head against the wall a few times, apparently. See if it will work THIS time. Seriously, it's better than just sitting around, waiting, always waiting.

But on another note: COOL BEANS, Bill, my little Buddha, sitting at Bistro, waiting to pick up our lunch to take home to Mom and Dad. I see a slice of lemon floating in his glass of water. I say, "Bill, try to make it move with your mind," so Bill leans in really close to the glass and stares at the lemon slice. It starts to swirl, not so slowly, around in a circle. I think, well, it must be something that's already happening, so I ask him to let me try it. I lean forward, look closely at the lemon slice, and it promptly stops dead in its spin. So there you go - I wish Bill was older and I'd have him watch "The Matrix" and the segment of the little kids bending the spoons and making the stuff float in the air.

"That's nothing," Bill tells me. "I can also hang spoons all over my face." I look at him - now THAT'S something I have to see.