May 17, 2006

• A Little Polish. . . . Literally

  
  

  From time to time, both Kathy (aka SuSu) and I blog about the  wonderful things great and small that we have gotten out of the dumpster behind my cabin.  So often, things that we have an immediate need for crop up that I have come to speak of the Dumpster Deva,  a kind of guardian angel-type spirit that watches over me and gives me needful things when I’m feeling, well, needy.  Stuff like clothing, bed linens, furniture, books, videos, jewelry, small appliances, watches, food, cash, drugs–the list is almost endless.

  
  

  Recently, the Deva gave me a small bottle of sparkly purple nail polish.  I toted it home–I tote home most anything that moght have some value or use sometime–and decided, what the hell.  So I painted my left pinky nail with the stuff.  I did such a sloppy job that I decided that going any father was just asking for a mess.  And then, a few minutes later, I touched the polish to see if it had dried.  It hadn’t.  So now I have a little fingerprint in the stuff.  But still, it has been an interesting experience,  this small touch of polish.

  
  

  It has been an awakening experience, in the Gurdjieffian sense.  That is, in his metaphysics of transformational psychology, it is best to be awake–that is, aware and vigilant in a Zen-like sense.  He–and more  modern exponents such as E. J. Gold–contend that most of us spend–or rather waste–out lives as sleepwalkers.  We are slaves to our biochemical machines, and functioning at levels far below our actual potentials.

  
  

  And for a while, when I would spy that little dab of color, I would sort of start, think “Huh?”  And wake up, become more fully aware of myself.  Such is the power of the machine that I soon got used to it.

  
  

  It has been a few days, and it has survived one shower.  I probably won’t bother touching it up, just watch it gradually go away.  It’ll be fun seeing how fast my nail grows. However, I did come up with a great reply in case someone asks.  I could say “I am wearing it in remembrance of my little sister.  Purple was her favorite color.”  She’s still alive, but still. . . . .I haven’t seen her for years and probably never will see her again.

  
  

  So far, only one person has   actually noticed it, one of the denizens of the strip.  He cackled and hooted, said “Greyfox, are you going weird on us all of a sudden?”  I assured him no, that I have been weird all of my life.

  
  

  The he asked what  Kathy  thought of it.  I hadn’t even bothered to mention it.  My guess was that at most, she would maybe raise one eyebrow a few millimeters. 

  
  

  My sweety is hard to faze.

  
  

  Besides, given my history, anything I do that does not involve firearms, alcohol, loud noises,  police, and/or public nudity is hardly worth noticing.

  • 4:32 pm
  • 2 Comments