Employment Woes

I just found out this week that my job, my official business role, for which I perform professional services and for which I am paid so I can in turn pay the wolves prowling around my door (you know, the OTHER service providers, some professional and some not), is funded only through next week.

A neat arrangement, isn't it? Evidently my services are dispensable, but the OTHER services are not, so I have to keep paying them no matter if I am paid or not. I think I got into the wrong line of work. I should have become a tax collector. Can you imagine folks saying "We don't need his services - we don't have to pay him!"... when the tax collector comes calling? Ha!

But I suppose I should not lament this all too frequent state of affairs too much. I am inclined to celebrate diversity, in nature, in human culture and experience, in many ways. If I were ever to be concerned about lingering too long in a job, it has turned out that diversity has been my guiding light - even if it is more accurately called the hand I am dealt in a game of strip poker where what I must strip off is the illusory cloak of security and comfort in familiar surroundings.

But the imminent demise of my daily refuge from unemployment can be seen two ways: a problem or a set of opportunities. Or even it might be both? I think it is often that we don't easily see opportunities until we have a problem to solve. In any event I do intend to solve this problem by exploring potential opportunities. In fact I have already started. Wish me luck. Thanks.

Dreams of Earth and Sky

The sun shines brightly above the gray and wet blanket that hangs heavily in the nearby heavens. The light is scattered, spread by a sky-broad brush. Colors sink back. The trees whisper together.

Still the moss is green. The water still runs. Clambering through clefts, over rocks, searching endlessly for its destination. All the water knows where it must go. The sea beckons. But no sadness does the water carry. It knows it will return to the mountain top, after leaping from the clouds to which it will miraculously rise from the sea.

There is no sorrow in the gloom. Though the day be bleak, the fire of the spirit is warm. Swift feet dance around it. Colors, bright and rich festoon the scene. Music plays! Beneath the willow, tree at the river.

When night falls, nightfall, river of night, then sleep, night's daughter, comes to you, let her see through your eyes the colors rising, reflecting on your water.

So fly on over the beaches, leave the fields behind.