On GAB, and 'diddley squat'
Posted on September 19, 2019
Posted in The Great Cosmic Kindness – Group
Cosmic Wanderer July 30, 2019 03.15 am Insomnia…
On Gab, and 'diddley squat'
I have written six books, including two long novels.
That is not a boast, and hopefully, has not swollen my little Irish head. I am careful to remind myself it means diddley squat. A quiet morning in a public library always cures me of excess pride. As I wander, in a reverie, past thousands of books, and hidden writers' lives, that I cannot hope to all do justice to. Their thoughts, hopes, and dreams. Their struggles, pondering, and meticulous research. Who, indeed, am I? Save just another, tiny, curious, inquisitive mind? Peeking, like a little church mouse, out at the Universe? Exploring the Cosmos? Hoping, against the proven odds, to find Kindness?
Gab, despite its reputation as a haven of undesirables, has actually been a rich resource of interesting insights. Poignant truths. And unutterably sad revelations into the human condition. I studied one just now. And left a tiny comment. It leaves me weary, and depressed.
The truth, you see, and I respectfully submit, is very different from the Jews-stream Hollywood version. And damning, too.
Gab's 3,000 character limit is a mere 500 words. A challenge to punch hard, yet briefly, at puzzles that have occupied my tiny mind, all my little, roaming, restless life. I shall continue the wander. And hopefully, meet kind souls, who will furnish an anecdote here, a reference there, here-a-hint, and there-an-insight. I doubt if I will particularly advertise or promote this group. It will more likely be a memory dump, a passing soul sigh, with a hint of the ephemeral.
I will always remember the years spent drifting around the middle of the Pacific Ocean. And the many thousands of nights, alone, lying on the helideck, gazing up at the stars. I describe the reverie in a humble story on my website (“Starry, starry night”), which has no literary merit. But does tap, like a persistent woodpecker, on a soft spot, in the bark of the tree of Life.
There is great, great, haunting, splendid Beauty out there. And the sense of the Presence of a Wonderful, Patient Creator. But here again, this mouse falters. For although he senses a Cosmic Kindness, a rational, sensitive, source of much Good, he knows that all too often, he has fled the company of strident, marching, l-o-u-d Christians. And even found greater kinship with intelligent, soft spoken Atheists and Agnostics.
Permit me, a lightweight mouse, not terribly bright, to wander & question. To prod & poke. Do chuck me the occasional morsel. A suggestion, or an anecdote.
And together, you and me, maybe we can sense the rocking of the ship, the soft breeze, the calls of sea birds, confused by the resting ship's lights.
The sleeping ship's generators intrude on the silence. Below decks, the crew, asleep in their bunks. But up here, on the helideck, stretched out along the float, a supine figure. Gazing up.
His tiny mind. Restlessly.
Jul 30, 2019, 04:11 · Web · 11 · 34[/font]
Last edited by Francis Meyrick on November 15, 2019, 3:51 pm