(San Castoreum)
A post in the middle of the night, or early morning (for me). Now, I feel guilty about writing another. Am I being excessive?
Guilty. Well, no. Perhaps not that feeling.
With Thanksgiving coming I have been trying to make a list of the things that I am grateful and thankful for, in the event that somebody asks me to pray during dinner (one of my favorite requests, perversely). It is me talking to their god, in front of them. What could be better?
The full Beaver Moon is hanging outside my window. It will reach its fullest here in a couple of hours. I am thankful for it. I will have a bellyful of coffee by then and perhaps some yogurt.
The gym calls from a great, dark distance. Perhaps I will ask Juan, the owner, what the word for Mexico is, in Spanish.
I will then cleverly relay that information to Rhys: Meh-He-Co.
Dios mio…
I am thankful and grateful for self-examination and mildly self-deprecating humor. Combined, they allow others to more easily forgive you of your less egregious errors. Without those qualities, some are lost, wandering within. They insist on the sole supremacy of self. Their sense of value is a punishable challenge, unable to laugh at, or with, themselves.
Poor, vanished souls.
If I were a praying man, then those helpless creatures would be the object of my daily celestial mutterings. They never even seem to know who they are. It is a sickness of self.
Ask anybody if they have a sense of humor about themselves, nobody will claim its absence. It is like driving well and being loved by animals, everybody wishes to believe it about themselves, wrongly believing that belief in a possessed quality produces said quality.
The world is full of bad drivers and those whom animals systematically avoid, just look around.
Those are whom I will pray for on Thanksgiving, if asked. The unrecoverable among us. The bad drivers and those who remain unloved by animals. I will openly thank GOD for my nearly flawless driving record (the facts don't matter here) and for hedging my way towards the top rung of the Saint Francis of Assisi heaven.
I will be President of the "helpless beasts" fan club.
Never ordained, but widely recognized as a lover of dam-buidling beavers everywhere.
That will make its way into my Thanksgiving prayer.
Count on it.
.
