HRe: Podcast Ep 2

I found some files on a usb stick, which I found among some clutter, which was located in a room.

Among the files were some of the audio variety. These involve a man talking to himself in a truck.

Bad Sound From a Borrowed Truck
Ep 02 : Faith, Serendipity, Atheism, and Ikigai


Title music:
Fuzzball Parade by Kevin MacLeod

Re: Knowing Things

I have come to realize that (in my profession <SoftwareMonkey>), perhaps as in life, I rarely if ever Know any given Thing; I mostly just try and guess Things in real-time.

Oftentimes, this involves rolling up what I think that I once thought that I knew, and layering what I’m observing and feeling atop it all (and informed by intention, either conscious or some-sort-of-Otherwise), and making a decision about what I feel that I think that I now possibly know. Google is sometimes consulted – as are other Humans, on occasion.

This Never-Really-Knowing has something to do with Faith – though in what way, I can’t yet quite say.

I know this: I have Great Faith. Sometimes. I forget now and then, but it tends to return.

Teach Each Other; Help Each Other – we’re here to do these Things. This I most surely Know, through Faith in my God – who is also Your God. Our God. Through Whatever Names we call Them. We are here to learn, individually, and as a collective. To achieve some potential that we keep forgetting that we have.

I owe All of my Things to Every Body, while I’m here. I feel that I know this too. What is it that I faithfully owe to you?

Incremental Progress: Give yourSelf credit – for it’s your credit that’s due.

Re: Waiting for Cats

At times I grow weary of wondering if our cat is going to come home this time.

Every time, I wonder that, about our fluffy, precious, absent cat.

I could be canvassing the neighbourhood each and every time
I have this feeling or that –
about the chances we might once again regain our cat…

But I won’t.

This is always a waiting game –
and for me, a chance to explore what Faith might be.

Dear BB,

I wrote this poem because Jenkins hasn’t come home in two days and Mallory tells me I should channel my worrying into some kind of artwork. So I wrote a poem, and now it’s yours. It has some rhymes in it but not in all the places you’d want them, so I guess it counts. I do feel a little better.

Jenkins is probably still dead this time, though.

How is Roy? I hope his carrots come in this year.

Did I leave my scissors on your porch?