Ramblings

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So many things on my mind this morning as I do what I do at this time of day. Working, playing, drifting, thinking, habits, chores, attention, distractions. So I pause a moment to sit before this screen and try to capture it. Floaty thoughts, hard to grasp. Wondering about the world. This computer brings it to me. I see life, all around me, I'm right in the middle of it, but the world and its details is something that has to be fished in. Hunted for. No TV no radio, no papers, this is it, besides word of mouth. Here I see not just that which is reported and commented on, the news and information sources, but also the blogs and personal sights and posts. Strange way to look into someone's life. I read of a woman who hurts because she wants to love her people and her country and cannot, because of what she finds out about them. But her love is still there and suffers so. One could heal the world if one could harness that force and spread it evenly. She loves humanity now, and our earth instead. The dogs are barking, cowboys on their horses going by. It's a gray day, dripping dew, all is damp. The horses shine with it. Going to work on a horse down a dirt road. A little hay instead of some gas. And I turn back to the computer after gazing down the road after them. Reading now what the ones that think they are the intelligent ones of the bunch think. Amusing how many ists and isms and ites they can get in one sentence. A constant proving of their realm. I wonder what the cowboys were thinking, I could hear them laughing, laughing with the goodness of life. My dogs bark so much, but no one cares, it's just dogs barking, so what. They keep checking the fence lines, ever curious of what goes on, open to it, as I sit fading out from it. My mind once again picks up the question of how a woman can belong to an organization that claimed to be against pornography and then use it for her humor. Just recently she was worrying about one thing leading to another and now she seems to make no connection between her crudeness and what she professes to be against. Where does disrespect for the sexual and private really start? I think of the cowboys again as my dogs start to settle in and slow down. American women have a reputation for looseness and are not respected here, although treated politely. The easy hugs and kisses, the touches and the pats, bold laughter among those you just met, looking into peoples eyes prying. It makes me glad I am who I am and not that. A quiet buenos dias from me, when one tipped his hat as he passed the gate. I think of people that I can respect, its mutual. Then I read a poem from India, some days there are new ones on this site. I reread the one about women, and feel a feminine hurt. Why do cultures suppress us so, how does one escape. A man answers her back and feels his guilt, how beautiful that it touched him so. So special. I wonder if the cowboys have wives and how they treat them. I've known these type of women, been in their houses, shared with them. So accepting, so into their role, mother, wife, housemaker. Here come the dogs, to settle back down around me, secure in that all is fine and waiting for the next alert, the cowboys forgotten. I look back on my screen once more, turning to a favorite site for bits of a book, poetry and offerings on life. But once again, no new post, only the lonely girl on the bicycle on the empty tracks. I suppose waiting for the writer to come back, I have grown to quite enjoy him. And I realize, the day is moving on and so must I. I put my thoughts of what my screen brings to a distance in my mind and watch the sky as the sun tries to make its breakthrough. Time to get busy, I suppose.