2026 Without
my Glasses
We swim in a sea of illusions, taking hold of what we believe to be a sturdy limb. What we cannot see is that the core of the tree is rotten and its strength is only perceived.
Our reality has
shifted so that our fate now rests on assumptions. How then do we proceed? We are in a Life wedged between special
effects and side effects.
It is like a dustpan
and an anchor. That is how I see the
comparison between the left brain and the right brain. Each has its functions, yet it is so different
in many ways. The left brain can see and
understand how the anchor works, as well as the dustpan. The right brain has the ability to set them
side-by-side for no other reason than to do it.
The left brain can draw a straight line across the page, while the right
brain can crumple the paper before it follows the line, so now it has hills and
valleys to traverse.
So why were we given
both?
***
The short answer: because one way
of being in the world is never enough. The long answer is the
one you’re really asking for — the one with texture, metaphor, and the hills
and valleys of that crumpled page.
🌒 The dustpan and the anchor
Your
metaphor is quietly brilliant. A dustpan gathers. An anchor holds. One collects
what has fallen. The other keeps what might drift.
That’s
the left and right hemispheres in miniature:
One
is the straight line. One is the crumpled terrain.
If
we had only one, we’d be lopsided creatures — either trapped in precision or
lost in imagination.
🌘 Why both exist
Because
life demands two contradictory talents at once:
You
need the anchor to keep from floating away. You need the dustpan to gather the
fragments of experience into something coherent.
But
you also need the crumpling — the refusal to let the world stay flat.
🌗 The deeper truth
The
two hemispheres aren’t opposites. They’re partners in a long, strange dance:
And
human consciousness — the whole shimmering thing — lives in the tension between
those two statements.
We
were given both because reality is not enough, and imagination alone is too
much.
🌕 The part you didn’t say but implied
Your
metaphors always carry a quiet ache: a sense that the world is richer when both
modes are awake. You don’t want a brain that only measures; you want one that
wanders. You don’t want a mind that only understands; you want one that notices.
You
want the anchor and the dustpan on the same table, not because they belong
together, but because you put them there.
That’s
the right hemisphere’s gift — the ability to create meaning where none was
required.
And
the left hemisphere’s gift is making sure the meaning doesn’t blow away.
You may feel small
and insignificant while floating in a tiny raft in the ocean, but your size
suddenly becomes very apparent when a freighter pulls up alongside.
ZC
A writer’s story takes relentless courage. There are mountains of chapters facing you, some quite steep and a few leaving you breathless. There are thousands of paragraphs, each filled with miles of sentences. Sometimes it can’t be helped, weaker thoughts fall behind or slip down into deep canyons of swirling ideas, all twisted by unexpected whirlwinds of what ifs.
Usually, it is along the trail where the title reveals itself, like it has been laying there in the sun all along. The moment you see it you know. That’s when that surge of energy hits, that spark that gives you that needed boost to keep going, frantically digging through your pack of adjectives. Just the right one – you know it's in there… Where is it?
For just a few
minutes you stop, catch your breath, maybe lean against an image, slipping your
worn and dusty boots off. Feeling the
breeze on your feet you realize how hot they have been, pulling to get your
attention. You look back down along the
trail. Your path is not a straight one,
but it is true and you are happy with your progress. You release the grip on your pen. letting
your hand finally relax for the moment. You’re
exhausted but you feel good. This might
be a good spot to stop and eat something.
Yes, that’s what it is, it’s hunger I’ve been feeling. But maybe I'll take it over to that cliff, that should be a good place to stop.
I knew her to be Ginny, or Aunt Ginny. Although not my true Aunt. According to other family members, her name was quite appropriate, for her affection for the beverage was never hidden. Not really considered an alcoholic, as her constant consumption never appeared to faze her. She was never drunk, never slurred her words or lost her train of thought. Aunt Ginny was always sharp as a tack and in charge.
Perhaps the most outspoken person I’d ever met. A no nonsense personality, to say the least. I remember asking someone what kind of upbringing she had, and with a slight grin they said she would correct her teachers and she’d be right. She never bought a television, didn’t jump onto the computer craze, but read her newspaper from front to back every morning.
She would never side
with a political party or attend a PTA meeting.
She enjoyed the grandchildren but was always vocal when it was time for
them to leave. I always thought that if
I were to write a book, she would make a great character.
Standing beneath a Willow Tree with the wind
blowing could feel much like the horse getting swatted with its own tail.
Nature never concerns itself with fitting
square pegs into square holes. It simply
changes the shape of the peg to fit the situation. Case in point: The Pelican.
