What does it mean to run from shadows? I am fairly certain that there is a perfectly philosophical reason for it. There is probably a psychological one as well.
That describes my latest quirk in general; now for the details. I was going to feed the dogs one evening, and flinched a little when I saw a gecko running into the house as I opened the door. It was only an inside gecko, though, so I easily resumed my course of action. There is the rub. There was no gecko. As I reevaluated that brief experience, it soon occurred to me that the outer doorknob had been silhouetted by the sun's rays.
That is not too uncommon, I suppose. There could plausibly be someone else who has gone through a startling brush with a shadow, even on a number of occasions. I might just chalk it up to the regularity with which I meet geckos and other creatures, within and beyond these four walls.
Friday afternoon, for instance, I had just finished sweeping the floor after we fixed our ceiling (just your average poorly installed job). As I went to put up the broom in the corner, I crossed a ray of light with the handle. I quickly and cautiously (and briefly, fortunately) slowed my pace to see what new creation I was beholding, before realizing the silliness in what I had done.
I am not sure whether it is a symptom of age, however early; or of sheer genius, since that is an adequate evaluation mine intellect (if only in my own eyes, and that only every now and again); or if there is a more sensible and readily available reasoning behind what I have been experiencing for the past month or so.
What of you? Any new findings as you study yourself? Have you made a practice of self-examination? If not, I suggest you begin at once, and continue indefinitely. You may be surprised at who you find. I am going to keep searching for any explanation or purpose attached to what has become my own kind of shadow dancing. If you remind me, I will be sure to let you know of my progress, if any.
It is 2013, after all. New Year's resolutions abound, even almost a week after that one midnight countdown.
That describes my latest quirk in general; now for the details. I was going to feed the dogs one evening, and flinched a little when I saw a gecko running into the house as I opened the door. It was only an inside gecko, though, so I easily resumed my course of action. There is the rub. There was no gecko. As I reevaluated that brief experience, it soon occurred to me that the outer doorknob had been silhouetted by the sun's rays.
That is not too uncommon, I suppose. There could plausibly be someone else who has gone through a startling brush with a shadow, even on a number of occasions. I might just chalk it up to the regularity with which I meet geckos and other creatures, within and beyond these four walls.
Friday afternoon, for instance, I had just finished sweeping the floor after we fixed our ceiling (just your average poorly installed job). As I went to put up the broom in the corner, I crossed a ray of light with the handle. I quickly and cautiously (and briefly, fortunately) slowed my pace to see what new creation I was beholding, before realizing the silliness in what I had done.
I am not sure whether it is a symptom of age, however early; or of sheer genius, since that is an adequate evaluation mine intellect (if only in my own eyes, and that only every now and again); or if there is a more sensible and readily available reasoning behind what I have been experiencing for the past month or so.
What of you? Any new findings as you study yourself? Have you made a practice of self-examination? If not, I suggest you begin at once, and continue indefinitely. You may be surprised at who you find. I am going to keep searching for any explanation or purpose attached to what has become my own kind of shadow dancing. If you remind me, I will be sure to let you know of my progress, if any.
It is 2013, after all. New Year's resolutions abound, even almost a week after that one midnight countdown.
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