Believing in something can be tricky business.   To believe in something is to accept it as true….  to feel sure of the truth of “something.”

The capacity of the human brain is phenomenal.
Our ability of “thought power” holds incredible capabilities.
What we think, we do.  What we believe… truly believe… becomes truth for us.

People believe in a lot of different things.

I always feel like I equivocate.  I believe in a LOT of things… but I don’t know if any of them are true in existence.  There are always many possibilities, I think.

I’m not smart enough to know the secrets of all the Universe.
Are there Pearly Gates?  I don’t know one way or the other.
Same goes for Forest Faeries.  And Ghosts.

We can see things happen in our lives that may point us in one direction or the other.  But can we ever, ever, ever… really be sure.

Once upon a time I believed in Santa Claus.  I had proof too.  I saw his stories on TV and read about them in books.  I saw his photo in the newspaper, and such.  Smarter people than me told me great stories about him.  AND.  Every Christmas Morning… he would leave me gifts under our Christmas Tree, and in my stocking by the fireplace.  From, Santa.

Who else would have put on such a hoax if it were not true.  Much later in life, I learned that there may have been other possibilities.

Believe in YOURS. It is important that ALL of US do.  But tread lightly.  Mine and yours may not be the same.

Believe that life is worth living and your belief will help create the fact.
— William James

Believe you can and you’re halfway there.
— Theodore Roosevelt

As I have promised, no more stories about chickens for quite some time. Tonight, I want to tell a story about deep dark despair, panic, trauma, and misfortune.

Albeit, there might a chicken or two involved.

So a brief recap. We have Orpington Chickens, and New Hampshire Chickens. The Orps and the Hamps. They are separated in their chicken coop and run, by fencing. You see, the Orps are older and they are fifteen in number (Which include 9 Roosters, 6 Hens). The Hamps, just juveniles, only four by head headcount (all little girls).

I have to transport the Hamps in a plastic tub from their sleeping quarters, to their “run area” and back again…. each day. I can assure you, it is no small task to catch chickens, and enclose them in a plastic tub. But so it goes.

Eventually, they will have to be introduced into the same space, and hopefully, they will get along like champions. They say it takes 6 to 8 week of this side-by-side-ness to get acclimated. Mary thought we should give this WWWWWAY LESS time, and try it after a few days, or even a week. “My Orpingtons are sweet chickens….” she said.  That’s what she said.

So. This morning, as I dreaded catching and tubbing chickens… I decided to give this a GO. I let the Orps out into the main yard. Then I let the Hamps out of their “coop area”….. to meander into the main yard. Hopefully unnoticed.

This I can tell you my friends. It got ugly. FAST. Chickens NOTICE things. Like Foreign Chickens.

Yes, at 6:45 this morning, I had an ANGRY MOB of 15 Horrible and Ruthless Orpington Chickens, chasing down 4 little, Sweet-As-Can-Be New Hampshire’s.

Let me continue. The main yard is much bigger than any other area. AND. The larger the space… the HARDER it is to catch a small chicken, especially when it is being mobbed and pecked by chickens twice it size. Imagine this times four. In a yard filled with a muddy, wet, grassy surface, and chicken poop. Much to my dismay, I spent the next 40 minutes or so, diving, rolling, swatting, grabbing, for any feathered beast I could get my hands on.

I speak to you now, from the bottom of my heart….  .. ….. THIS was NOT my finest moment in life. My vocabulary, however, was quite stunning.

Eventually, I caught the chicks. Eloise suffered the most damage. But they seemed to be doing okay today.

I will not be trying this again. Ever. We shall build another coop. We shall have two flocks. And Chicken Life will be good.  In a segregated way.

Tonight’s quote is lovely… but this guy clearly did not own chickens.

“My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.”
— Jack Layton

How much do we notice?  This universe, this very planet, is packed with things that we are not even aware of.  And if by chance we are privy to them…..  often times they are things which we cannot see, or hear, or touch.

Like the air.  Or electricity.  Energy without “physical” form as we know it.  How often do we consider such wonders?  The perfect molecular composition of the atmosphere we breathe?  What about heat, or gravity?  Oh the things we have!  WE haven’t even started to talk about cookies and ice cream yet.

OK, so then, there are the multitudes of gifts we CAN see and hear and smell and touch.  The sunrise melting the blanket of dew from the morning meadow.  A song by the likes of Patty Griffin, or Vampire Weekend… or maybe Opera is the apple of your ear.  Do we take the time to see, to hear…. to notice?

Henry David Thoreau wrote some very keen observations when he penned Walden.  You see, he went into the woods to reflect.   And that he did.  Old Hank said…. “To be awake is to be alive.”

He also said that he had never met a man  who was quite awake.  And I have to agree with the most of it… I think these people are few and far between.  When we begin to recognize, and realize… to grasp the incredible immensity of this gift…

…this gift we call life.  And yet we strive to exist.  We get by.  We survive.  But I wonder how many actually live?  By waking each day with the immense anticipation of what might await?

Thoreau goes on to tell us, “I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by conscious endeavor.”

Conscious Endeavor.  Oh to see, and hear, and smell, and touch.  To grasp and perceive.  To breathe each lasting breath

“The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.”
― Emily Dickinson

“Earth’s crammed with heaven… But only he who sees, takes off his shoes.” ― Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Tonight, I went out looking for the small.  ANYTHING small.  I’ll try to explain this as quickly as possible, so please bear with me.

You see, I had just read an article in Scientific American.  It focused on the recent discovery of five very large black holes, by NASA.

Succinctly…. NASA’s orbiting telescope… a thing called NuSTAR….. has found five supermassive black holes that were previously hidden behind clouds of gas and dust.

This is pretty big friends.  We are not talking Circus-Elephant-Big…. we are talking…. END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT BIG.

Here’s the deal.  Black holes mainly occur after a whopping BIG star…. which is about 10 times larger than our sun….. explodes.

Kapow.  A huge big sun blows up and sends its matter shooting into the universe.

And that blown-up-matter condenses into a relatively small space.  It becomes this little black sphere about the size of New York City.

Yet despite its tiny size, the weight of that small sphere has a gravitational force so strong….. not even light can escape its pull.

Okay… are you getting the deal here?  And, they are now saying that even though they have recently discovered five… there are millions out “there”.

And it gets worse…. at least in my mind… it gets WAY worse.  It has to do with Dark Matter…..    Here is the “what.”   Dark matter cannot be viewed by any piece of technology, but scientists are certain it’s there.  This scares the peanut butter me.

Dark matter is believed to take up 80 per cent of matter in the universe, according to a study to be published in The Astrophysical Journal.  This scares me even more.

This Dark Matter makes up 80% of the Universe… and we can’t view it….   Arggggghhhhhh.  YOU have GOT to be kidding me.

And YOU don’t think things go BUMP in the night?  Blame it on scary Dark Matter which is EVERYWHERE…. and WE just can’t put our finger on it.

So tonight… I went looking for anything small.  You see….  I was hyperventilating after I read the article… I had cold sweats… and dizziness….., and I needed to connect with anything SMALL.  Like…. a  Little Who in Whoville.

I found a gnat.  It was one of those pesky little things which nip at you relentlessly….at dusk.  The little Dude was drowning in our bird bath.  It couldn’t get a grip on a leaf. Clearly it was struggling beyond its own belief.

So I saved that little gnat.  Lifted him right out of the water and watched him fly away.

And suddenly……  I could breathe again.

Albeit….. he did fly off into all that Dark Matter.  But nonetheless.  He flew away without nipping at me…

I think I’ll be okay.

Well.  I was not going to bring up the chickens again any time soon.  I figured you all were growing tired of the Chicken Scoop.

But I scoop chicken poop from the chicken coop.  I think I’ve been duped.  By the entire troupe AND the group. Yes, oh yes.  Here sits a nincompoop.  But if they are not careful… they might become soup.

Oh.  I’m just jerking around here.  I love those chickens.  But not enough to kiss them, as was warned by a good friend, Jean Bussell.  Apparently, there are a lot of “Backyard Chicken Farmers” who really, really love their chickens.  Enough to kiss them on their little chicken lips.  They hug them and squeeze them and bring them into their homes.

I can only imagine.

Okay.  Truth be told, I do pick up the chickens and hold them for a bit.  I talk to them, while I am at it.

What about?  Oh… you KNOW.  The usual stuff.

“What’s new with you chicken?”
“I’ll peck your eyes out human.”
“Oh, c’mon chicken.  You like being held, don’t you?”
“You just trying to ruffle my feathers now, right?”
“Now, now there chicken.  I thought you and I could be friends.”
“Seriously?  I don’t really give a cluck.”

That’s pretty much it.  I don’t think they really like us so much.  They put on a great act when we have food.  But besides that… it is “Talk to the Chicken Butt.”

They know I am going to take their first born.
And their second… and as many dozen as I can pilfer.

Therein lies the reason for their dislike… for ALL the Fried Egg Eaters in the world.  We are ruthless.  Especially when toast and bacon are involved.

One of the most beautiful qualities of true friendship is to understand and to be understood.
— Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Since there is nothing so well worth having as friends, never lose a chance to make them.
— Francesco Guicciardini

Drawing on my fine command of the English language, I said nothing.
— Robert Benchley

Mesmerize.  Compel.  Bobble.  Dispirit.  Buoyant.  Obscure.  Long.  Indelible.

I have words that really stick to my gizzard.  Like the yellow outer Twinkie to the cream filling.  That’s how sticky.

Yes.  Words about life… and the comings and goings of days.

And.  Those are some of them.

I have found that I am pretty good at all of these words… from time to time.  Like just today, I had a whole plethora of emotions, thoughts, and feelings.

Tonight… I sat and watched the chickens.   I was mesmerized.   I think this happens to some people when they watch campfires.  It happens to me with chickens.  I think I am waiting for an egg to drop at any given moment.

Earlier today, I was compelled to send someone a note.  Because I am feeling like I may have bobbled a certain situation.  But I didn’t write it.  I went back and forth.  And there it sits… right beneath the keyboard of my computer, waiting for my brain to tell my fingers to tap the right keys.

Some days… I feel dispirited.  Other days.. quite buoyant.  I think both are okay.

However, most days, things seem obscure to me.  Always looking for the answer to how all this works.  Wondering about different dimensions, the possibility of time travel, the outcome of situations, the true-ness of someone’s words and emotions…. it seems I question it all.  From the existence of a Higher Power…. or a greater realm… all the way to the age-old question of…. why Donald Duck doesn’t wear pants.

And sometimes… when I find myself a little sad… it seems that I am longing for something.  In most cases, I can never pinpoint what that “thing” might be…. it eludes me.  Other times…. I can see quite clearly the piece of my life that I am yearning to know again.  Like the smile on my Dad’s face… and the sound of his voice.

It has been a while, but July 9, 1922 ….. was a good day on this earth.  Exceptionally good and indelible…

The most beautiful thing in the world is, of course, the world itself.
— Wallace Stevens

Some things in life, simply don’t make sense.  Not one little bit, I’ll tell you.

Peter Piper… the dude who picked a peck of pickled peppers.
And then he did it again… picked a peck.  What the heck, Peter… YOU are a Piper.  Not a Picker.  That is why no one, in the end… knows where the peck of  pickled peppers that YOU picked, went to.

Same thing with the dang Wood Chuck.  What do they mean….. IF a Wood Chuck could chuck wood.  Of course he can… HENCE the NAME.     He’s a dang Wood Chuck.  Unlike goofy Peter… who is NOT piping anything… at this point.

And how about the Emperor… and his new clothes.  C’mon Dude. You are SO NAKERS.  And you won’t even admit it in the end.  Here’s the thing though… that little kid in the crowd… that yelled… “The DUDE is NAKERS!”  Well…. neither the kid, nor his family, were ever heard from again.

NO sense at all.

Or.  When you can eat and eat and eat.  And someone says…”You must have a hollow left leg!”  Why left?  WHY always the LEFT Leg.  It just doesn’t add up to me.

Finally, those Crazy Disco Nights….  spending hours and hours… until the wee hours of the morning… dancing the night away like helium-headed-fools.  It seemed fun then.  Now… I wouldn’t last past 9 p.m…. which by the way.. was TWO HOURS early for showing up at the Disco, back in the day.

But here and now… I much prefer the more grounded,  even-keeled all-of-US-generation.  It just seems like we care more about doing the right thing… instead of doing what we please.  As K.C. and the Sunshine Band so aptly put it… “That’s the way I like it.  Uh-huh.”

Besides that… just getting out of bed in the morning at this point in my life… wellllll … … I quote Gloria Gaynor every time my feet hit the floor….  “I will survive.”

Look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Try to make sense of what you see, and wonder about what makes the universe exist. Be curious.
— Stephen Hawking

First learn the meaning of what you say, and then speak.
— Epictetus

How is it, we get the unexplainable “tear in our eye?”  You catch a glimpse of something, like a small child reaching for someone’s hand in a moment of sharing.  Or maybe you hear a phrase from a song that evokes that little “something” in your heart… and before you know it… that little tear appears.  A breathtaking sunset, a story on the news, a passage from a book, the perfect peanut-butter-and-banana-sandwich on Wonder Bread with the crusts cut off.  That’s right.

Yes.  Those are the sort of things that cause that little tear to magically appear.

I have a theory about how this happens.  Of course I do.  I have theories about everything.  Pathetic.

Anyway… it involves a whole bunch of little dudes inside of us… tiny little dudes.  And they have a tiny little pump apparatus…  which looks like one of those see-saw deals….. and when they get a signal…

OK…I am JERKING YOU AROUND right now.  I have theories…YES. But I’m not totally whacky.

My theory is this.  Miracles.

I know I’ve mentioned them before.  But my postulation follows.  Miracles are everywhere.  They are every day.  Yes. Most certainly, they are extraordinary in every way.  We simply need to notice.

They can take shape in so many different forms of being.  I do not think they come from thunder above in the clouds.  But they enter our lives in a more subtle approach.  It happens at that moment when you can see, and hear, and experience… like you never have before… and never will again.

That is how each moment of our lives go…. by the way.  Things happen like they never have before or never will again…. but I digress.  Back to the box of miracles.

They touch a place inside of us.  A place we know… has always been there… but the little (or big) miracle has stirred it awake.  And when it does, we get that tear in our eyes, or a grin on our faces, or the tingle in our spines.

We come a step closer to knowing ourselves, and our purpose.  And that is where miracles are born.

Tonight, I finally saw one of our Mama Deer with her fawn.  I stood in awe as I watched the two of them, carefully frolic through our field, and into the Houdini-Land of the trees.  My heart swelled.

As it is…. with the bird on the branch in the rain, or our old gal Maxine.  It could be an unexpected gift in the mail, or a comment of encouragement.  Any of those things…. are… …  the touch of life…. which reaches out in that moment of sharing.   In sharing our hearts with the greater good of it all.

Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors where there were only walls.
— Joseph Campbell

Miracles happen everyday, change your perception of what a miracle is and you’ll see them all around you.
— Jon Bon Jovi

Oh.  To be born beautiful.

All of us are.  Really.  Each and every one of us come into this world with an untarnished heart.  We are …. momentarily…. so free of all things nefarious.  The truest of true.  Innocence illuminated.

So much beauty and goodness in this world, from the very beginning of life itself.  Deep in us.  Indelibly marked in our being.

You know… it is like someone wrote on a wall with Sharpie Markers.  That’s how it is written.

And as such… no matter how hard someone tries to wipe those writings away… even if they use a Mr. Clean Magic Sponge… those etchings never, ever will be removed.  They can spit on them, rub them out, snub them… but that chirography remains.

Yes.  That true love, that uncontaminated goodness, that spirit of honor and decency remains.  In us.

It may have been spit on, rubbed out, or even painted over.  But underneath… it all still remains.

The love in our hearts.  The good in our spirit.  The life… in our lives.
Beautiful at birth.

I have some good brothers.  Three, to be exact.

Well.  Sort of.

Two are natural-born brothers.  Ed & Jerry.

The other is an add-on.  Jeff Golden.  He is so much like a brother to me… he gives me a real-ribbing…. but in exactly the right way.  He cracks me up.  He keeps me thinking.  He is easy to be with.  He has a big heart of gold.

My other brothers, Edward and Gerard… are the same way.  Yet.  They are very different.  Jerry is more all-business, get the job done, motor-head, and man-cave kind of guy.  He is goofy by default.  Honest, forthright, and upstanding.  He has a big heart of gold.

Now my other brother Ed… is creativity defined.  He loves beautiful things.  Most of his life has been filled with creating beauty.  But it doesn’t stop with his talents and gifts… for sewing, knitting, cooking, painting, drawing, space-scaping, and on and on.    His love for life beauty shows in his eyes and in his smile.  He has a big heart of gold.

Today, my brother sent me a book.  An Epic piece about Chickens.  I won’t tell you which one sent it… but tonight I do the Chicken Dance… in joy.  I am lucky to have such good brothers.

What if you gave someone a gift, and they neglected to thank you for it – would you be likely to give them another? Life is the same way. In order to attract more of the blessings that life has to offer, you must truly appreciate what you already have.
— Ralph Marston