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This morning was the first day I awoke without anything hurting, which I wasn’t expecting, as last night it seemed impossible to fall asleep because everything was. Whether related or not, it all began after eating the second Corsica bread stick while sitting, stretched out on the back seat of Sue’s car, on a “get-me-the-hell-out-of-the-house drive ‘up north’.” For those not familiar with Corsica bread sticks; which I recommend most highly, other than more than one at a time, especially on an empty stomach, they are pretty much saturated with olive oil, a mono-unsaturated fat notable for its cardiovascular benefit–as often is the case, too much of a good thing can, at times, be a bad thing.

A few minutes ago, my son and his girlfriend stopped by, following a trip “up north” with a gift of Corsica bread for dinner. They knew not of my over-indulgence yesterday, but, being fully recovered; I find myself looking forward very much to dinner, with a modest serving of the heart-healthy bread.

I’ve been a week on my back now, and have yet to write anything productive (blogging doesn’t count). I’m not sure where all the time goes. I sleep about twelve hours a day; still, the twelve remaining hours are considerable. I need to spend less time getting to the end of the Internet, but I’ve been so hooked on reading/listening/watching all that I could about Jason, now that he’s a celebrity: and of course there’s always the news–but, that’ll always be there, so Monday I think I’ll re-engage with my productive side.

The swelling is down significantly from this photo from PTD 5

Stigmata

Sue said that the foot looks like it should have a toe-tag on it, and I’d have to agree, and in fact, it very well may have given the mechanism of injury. During the dressing change last night, with the foot bare, open to air, our friend, Jan, who was helping (it’s easier with two people) said, “Jesus…it looks like a nail.”

I said, “it is; the only thing missing is the wood of a cross.” And as a point of further clarification, I added, “the only difference is that I’m no Jesus, and the only stigmata this is is the stigmata of stupidity.”

I can easily say this because if I’ve learned anything, I’ve learned that I’m a sinning, faulted, imperfect man, and humility comes quite easily to me. I’m also more convinced, than I’ve been in the past, of the existence of two worlds, those being the material and the immaterial or spiritual world.

The beauty of the material world: the milky-way of stars against a moonless night; the varying shades of azure surrounding the white sands of a tropical island, turning to the deep blue of the deep; the scent of roses in bloom on a trellis; the taste of honey; the sound of Pachabel’s Canon in D, all this beauty is accessible to any observer; but is rather meaningless to those observers who are not present in the immaterial world as well. And I don’t mean a “secular” immaterial world, because there is no such thing. I mean, truly, the spiritual/immaterial world–the other, eternal world, where He is.

By “present in” I mean to say having belief in the existence of God, and the moral values that implies, for that is what separates us from the other denizens of the earth. By “meaningless” I mean to say that what makes beauty remarkable is the awareness and appreciation of it, and if there is not that, what does it matter–kind of like–if a tree falls in a forrest, and no one is there to hear it, does it really make a sound. What lends meaning to beauty is the Wisdom to comprehend it, with the understanding that the Wisdom is in his image, and a part of the eternal, which is within us. 

Knowledge and intelligence are not synomonous with wisdom; they are the in the domain of animals as well as of man; whereas Wisdom is soley within the domain of man. So, when an atheist, such as Richard Dawkins, a most intelligent and knowledgable man all would agree, gazes upward, on a dark night, at a limitless haze of stars, it is meaningless, negated by his denial of the Wisdom within; he may as well be a chipmunk.

What’s that?

Oh, Dinnertime; gotta go.