There remain the great questions of life: From where does consciousness come? Are we merely an illusion, the product of our own imagination? Is there but one reality? And how do we know... KNOW that our thoughts are congruent and one with that which is real?
Yet there was another question I pondered last week. An even greater question that has disturbed me in my days of aloneness. It first occurred to me several weeks ago in the garage... as I studied the pattern of oil droplets that have accumulated beneath the '98 Pathfinder.
And so... after studying the flight of arrows, after laying my palm on
the shoulder blade of a goat, after the counsel of my Shaman, I
approached this great question with humble sincerity, avoiding not the
pain in my wallet---
Should I replace the front main bearing and camshaft seals myself, or should I take it to the mechanic? After days of fasting and partaking of the pipe (and a bottle of Vodka) the Universe provided unto me the clarity of the path forward: "David... you must go forth with your Craftsman tools, believe in yourself and your inner strength... take consult with the Youtube videos. Tear the front of that 6 cylinder engine apart, lay bare for all to see the leaking seals and the frayed timing belt. Yes David... do it yourself."
And so I answered the calling. I gave my blood and the skin of my knuckles and pronounced out loud the many phrases that begin with "F" (see footnote), and I bore witness to the neighborhood by means of my suffering and bleeding scratches that I--at last--I had no fear of this stinking pile of shit in my garage, nor the oil droplets spewing forth from its bowels.
Ah, but when does bravery become humiliation? Where in the spectrum of light turning to darkness does one give in and give up? Where in the curvature of time does one say: "I am defeated..." and when does one understand the videos on Youtube make it look easy... because, as one slowly realizes, one's own Pathfinder has air-conditioning and the one in the video does not?
The final blow: "This job should take only about 5 to 7 hours." Yeah. I read that somewhere on the sixth day. But there was nothing left to lose. I carried on, putting the parts back on, then taking them off because there were other parts that had to go on first. One thing I have over all those Youtube videos... they disassembled and reassembled but once. I did it three or four times.
And now, all is well. I am at peace with the Pathfinder, and I have a bond with my Craftsman tools that no torque-wrench could break. I love the Universe again, though I know it has not stopped laughing at my stupidity.
Footnote: Phrases I used that start with F:
"Filthy Pig"
"Flippin' piece of fecal matter"
"Fizzled piece of flank steak"
"Fowl smelling hunk of funk"
"Flying flunkout"
"Fixed fang rattlesnake"
Should I replace the front main bearing and camshaft seals myself, or should I take it to the mechanic? After days of fasting and partaking of the pipe (and a bottle of Vodka) the Universe provided unto me the clarity of the path forward: "David... you must go forth with your Craftsman tools, believe in yourself and your inner strength... take consult with the Youtube videos. Tear the front of that 6 cylinder engine apart, lay bare for all to see the leaking seals and the frayed timing belt. Yes David... do it yourself."
And so I answered the calling. I gave my blood and the skin of my knuckles and pronounced out loud the many phrases that begin with "F" (see footnote), and I bore witness to the neighborhood by means of my suffering and bleeding scratches that I--at last--I had no fear of this stinking pile of shit in my garage, nor the oil droplets spewing forth from its bowels.
Ah, but when does bravery become humiliation? Where in the spectrum of light turning to darkness does one give in and give up? Where in the curvature of time does one say: "I am defeated..." and when does one understand the videos on Youtube make it look easy... because, as one slowly realizes, one's own Pathfinder has air-conditioning and the one in the video does not?
The final blow: "This job should take only about 5 to 7 hours." Yeah. I read that somewhere on the sixth day. But there was nothing left to lose. I carried on, putting the parts back on, then taking them off because there were other parts that had to go on first. One thing I have over all those Youtube videos... they disassembled and reassembled but once. I did it three or four times.
And now, all is well. I am at peace with the Pathfinder, and I have a bond with my Craftsman tools that no torque-wrench could break. I love the Universe again, though I know it has not stopped laughing at my stupidity.
Footnote: Phrases I used that start with F:
"Filthy Pig"
"Flippin' piece of fecal matter"
"Fizzled piece of flank steak"
"Fowl smelling hunk of funk"
"Flying flunkout"
"Fixed fang rattlesnake"
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