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40 Days

March 28, 2018

Between Ash & Maundy I write in silence.

It happens to be Lent. I happen to be at Level 23. I most always do this every day anyway, but 90 minutes, every day, is a lot.

Like this morning, while writing, I trigger some unknown algorithm on my new IPad, and some weirdness happens, but stuff gets done. (Sorry for the phantom post, BTW).

Like my childhood, it is a time of screaming. Almost every channel that I usually watch while working out every morning is trying to express a point, to validate its presence with a conviction. It is depressing.

I retreat to Law & Order reruns when they are on, and I have missed those during these 40 days, And replays of NFL games. In these 40 days I have heard no Joe Scarborough or Jack McCoy (or is it McCaughey?) for the 4th Lent.

Four years ago, it was just Holy Week, where I ranted about what none of us know, but what is undeniable.

Next year I wrote a modest set of observations, mostly to myself, about myself in the world.

Last year I tried to be more thoughtful, graphically evocative, and then BANG (or better, POP) a defective vein burst and I missed a day, the Spring Equinox, with the first gap in two years, a planned gap, but not because I was in Yale Hospital, but because I was to be in DC. Which was cancelled. A good thing for those scheduled to fly and meet with me. (THANKYOU, God).

That event framed all the other events since, even though apparently, according to all those doctors, I cured myself – despite 100 hospital hours and $64,000 of insurance. But I take 4 pills, every day. So this morning I am at 120/67BP with 49 HBM.

This 40 day period is, intentionally, of the Flood, the Wilderness, and any other allusion the learned can devine. But Lent is, like, 45 days long, or 44 – because the Sunday’s should not count, but, that does not work out either, as there are 5, and Leap years, and…

This year I initially noted the point guard on F&M’s basketball team was on the verge of an end of his 4 years that may be exceptional to the tiny number that care. It turned out to be mixed. He got the record 2,000 points, the 4th First Team All Conference, the NCAA Sweet 16 (D3). But missed all the national honors that were hoped for. If you cared about numbers you were happy and sad.

Like Lent.

The numbers do not matter, and yet I, we, pay attention to them. Devoutly.

A lot of it does not matter. But I seem to care. So this year, I upped the game and got newsy, spicy and provocative in the writings, and pushed them more, on more platforms, and, Voila, over 5,000 visits this month, maybe 8,000 since I began, and maybe 10,000 all in. A record. Like the F&M basketball player.

Meaning nothing.

But it was good enough that I thought it could have another platform, a printed thing. I am giving a thing with other questioners in NYC on April 27: so a friend copy edits and employees format and send, and I try to give away and sell enough to break even. It turns ipout I made this for you. Thanks.

So these days, on a new bike, I burn 28,000 calories in the 40 days, not sure if I lost a pound, maybe 3, but I stop, for a while, the pattern that was comfortable. Reaction to noise is automatic. Creating silence takes effort. Then creating words is another effort. At a time where absence enhances perception, I fill the pause with stuff.

But in silence.

I suffer all the confusions and rejections that reject the projection of the personal into the Internet. It is, essentially, a profane place. Not the cursing, offensive profane, but the fully godless place, more “God Free By Choice”, that may need these kinds of things most.

I fear the preaching on the net is getting louder and more and is more screamed to those who already believe, and this is all, all media, melding into a mantra, a chant, designed to allow us to feel good about ourselves, where we are, what it means.

But this is not a mantra.

Some readers were not sure I was of right mind in some, took offense at others, even offered to pray for my confused state, I was not saying what they wanted to hear.

I do not know if that is good or bad.

Will I do this next year? Right now my legs are simply full of lactic acid. My brain is full, too, but without insight or incite beyond expression, That is self serving, so I may, thankfully, shut up for a while.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. March 28, 2018 8:50 am

    Thank you. No offense taken here. 🙂

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