Rich Pickins'

I pick up stuff when walking, seems like I'm supposed to. Connections are then made between these physical items and my spiritual condition. These non-happenstances are often startling, mostly affirming, sometimes puzzling, but always overflowing with rhymes between spirits & facts, making mockery of our addiction to linear thought.

Recently I found a tattered golf scorecard on a neighbor's lawn from an Akron country club my dad Bernie and I used to play on 35 years ago. Dead since 1984, Bernie was telling me to carry on, despite the crappy email received that morning rejecting some of my creative work.  

This morning I completed an unexpected trilogy. First it was last week’s nickel-sized photo of a little girl's face, probably cut from a class picture, now glued to piece of fuzzy purple pipe cleaner. It joined a 2 inch blue plastic bust of a robot ("Rock-em, Sock-em” vintage), suitable for finger-puppetry. Rocko sat on the ground outside a church I exited Monday night. 

This morning the trilogy gelled around a 6 X 4 inch shiny plastic strip with the word "Surge" emblazoned across it, one of those velcro-enabled wraps that you see on a kid's bike.

So, a little girl's face, a fighting puppet piece and the command to move on with purpose. You could spend your whole life debating the holy mystery of this trinity, or just realize this: life is about remaining child-like, struggle is inevitable and keep moving forward if you want to get to heaven. Real simple.

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