Did you know that 70 percent of Americans believe in angels and 55 percent believe they have a guardian angel? And some believe angels are hitmen?
We do know that while we’re on Earth we’re completing our lives. That doesn’t mean we’re on the verge of catching the angel train, it means we’re stretching for universal creativity. We’re busy.
Whether we think of ourselves as editors or mobsters or nothing burgers, we pay attention to what’s swirling around in our heads. When that gets too intense, we simply turn up Lovin’, Touchin’ Squeezin’ by Journey because the only words seem to be Na Na Na Na Na, Na Na Na Na Na. But the tune is catchy.
Anything can make us muy loco en la cabeza, just as anything can calm us down. We know we don’t ever have to be angry unless we want to be.
Wildflowers, chicory in particular, grow in full view and pride where honey wagons and Harleys and Spandexed riders ignore them even though they’re only three feet away. Chicory is happy growing right next to the asphalt, as if it’s counting cars and the one with the most wins. Chicory thrives on heat and noise.
Gardens, on the other hand, are babied and manicured, weeded and watered. They live because we insist on it. They surprise and inflate our well-being.
But sometimes we feel that everything we touch with tenderness becomes a bramble. That one’s easy to take blame for until we realize that if we had just listened, we wouldn’t be in this pickle. We don’t listen because we have a shortage of patience due to, oh, pimples, viruses, credit cards and such.
What I’ve learned in the past year is that the political far left needs to be listened to. Another thing I’ve learned is that the political far right needs to be listened to.
If you take out the word “political” and substitute women, men, congregation, tailgaters – any personal noun – it’s the same.
This is especially true about commissions in this town. We’ve seen four commissions be under storm clouds that discourage public input and reward secrecy. For two years! Because of what? People? Well sure!
Why are we so insistent in telling others what to do without considering their viewpoint?
Understanding gibberish is daunting. Why do people assume they know what others want when they won’t even listen to them shouting? Ah. That’s why.
If we won’t listen, perhaps we should write. Limericks.
There once was a table in town
Where everything got turned upside down
Those on commissions
By their own admissions
Didn’t know rules from a hole in the ground.
If that doesn’t work, we might try haiku: When I volunteered I knew to behave myself It didn’t work out.
If I learn anything at all this year, I hope it’s to listen. I think only 13 comments, phone calls, etc., since yesterday have given me the wrinkles. Not worry wrinkles, drink-out-of-a-straw wrinkles. To avoid that, I have decided to listen to critics and put myself in their socks.
There was an old woman from Ark
Who thought her life was a lark
She awoke last night in a shuddering fright
To find out she’d missed her mark.
Kiss an Angel Good Morning.