Divine Ya Ya.

The phrase appeals to me! There’s thunder and lightning in that phrase!

I completed Rob Brezsny’s email on the topic of fate. Read his post: Fate Bait click here. (Brezsny used the phrase, Divine Ya Ya.) Fate is an interpretation of life as subservient to the effect of prior causes… A crude way of putting it would be: you do what your father done. That’s fate, a grim prospect indeed.

Let’s think about that.

Thinking, formulating strings of ideas, the progression of thought requires words, symbols that by shared agreement serve as pointers to a segment of experience. Sans symbols, and the grammar of proper arrangement, we’d be unable to re-present much if anything to ourselves. Much like a dog, – we’d be aware of sensation, of colors and forms. But we’d be , without a lego-like ability to recombine those memories… Of course a dog mind “knows” hunger or fear. And little else.

If I could not marshal words would I be judged as human? And that my friend is to be irrevocably the victim of fate, of what came before. If no reconfiguration of memory = behavior is only repetition.

Circling around to the initial point, what is meant by the finger pointing at the universal sense of mystery?

No one knows, honestly speaking.  But as language enabled, (bedeviled) mammals, – who among us is not constrained to keep on referring, that metaphorical finger always pointing to that-which-we-know-not-what! Mystery comes as serendipity, a lily blossom shading from light purple to dreamsicle orange. Or the mechanical scream of a racing engine, at that moment when Hoosier slicks hook hot asphalt, etc., etc.. A wonder that is ineffable.

No matter our embeddedness in circumstance, – “fate be damned!” The Divine Ya Ya calls my name and calls your name! I know it and you know it – even if we cannot describe with precision what is meant.

Our expectation of the unprecedented is like that of a child, you and I voyage on…

Newness is our birthright!

Music! Let there be music! I propose music, and I suggest theater as the ultimate gesture of our insistent reference to the ineffable.

Enjoy MacArthur Park (Live) by Donna Summer.