Halloween! Time to start a Mess!


            I am a real estate broker. Although this website is mostly about my writing, I still have the ability to help people make significant changes in their lives, by changing their homes, location, and overall lifestyle, through selling their present house, or helping purchase their new home.


            But nothing is more UN-inspiring than to interview for a home to be listed into the real estate market, and to experience its cluttered feeling. Filled with junk, beautiful things, and memorabilia; all of which, yes, holds significance to the potential seller, but some of it is not conducive either to your emotional/mental health, or your physical health. And sometimes, the whole reason one feels the need to sell—outside of the obvious reasons, like foreclosure, job move, divorce, death, and the like—is because they feel overwhelmed in their own house!!

So let’s start with the Physical clutter.


            My side business is a natural talent to me. I like to RE-organize tight spaces, and move items, furniture, desks, papers, whatever—I like to organize messes! These days, there are many people who do this, including those who call themselves to the task of staging a home for sale, by organizing and/or eliminating material, furniture, and/or nic-nacs that simply have no reason for displaying them in the sale of a home. These people who help organize and re-organize everything are phenomenal people, indeed. But there is one thing we should consider.


            I have thought about this for many years. I really LOVE to organize. It’s a special mental process: 1) assess the area, 2) plan change, and 3) change… 4) reconsider the changes, and re-do if need be.

            I love this. I don’t know why, it’s in my nature, I must suppose. But I realized another thing about this. Just taking over and changing and organizing or re-organizing things for people is simply NOT ENOUGH. They need to know how, and why, and to perform these things themselves. THAT is a hard job for most of these stagers. One needs to be very good at four things: 1) empathy, 2) communication, 3) instruction 4) inspiration. I happen to have these qualities, which makes me wonder if this could actually be a … shall we say … Calling?


            Actually the activity is NOT the calling. The Calling is called “Helps,” and its actually one of the fruits of the spirit of God. Amazing isn’t it! So it truly is a calling and not just a busy-body pursuit.


            I am starting a business. It’s to reorganize peoples’ homes BEFORE they sell, and maybe once they LEARN how to organize their … stuff… they may even not care about moving. I’m into making a living of course, but I’d rather make a living helping people work in what they already have, than to move, and remake the mess. So… anyone want to be my all-encompassing client? Consultation includes:


Sales consultation of costs, vs. Reorganization costs.


            Let’s see if people even realize what they need, I think that has always been the biggest problem: people do not realize what they can do to make their lives better. It does not always mean they need to move. By the way, Happy Halloween! It’s coming, and along with it… MESSINESS and DISORGANIZATION! But don’t worry, I’m here to help.



Time is running…

“The clock is running…” I remember a teacher saying to the students—of which I was one—all the time, no matter what we were doing. Be it taking a test, running into class, doing desk work, guessing an answer, leaving her room at the end of the day, she was always reminding us that time is running.

Time is always running. Of course, since she said it so often we took the phrase for granted and waited until the very last moment to hustle. Now that I’m older I understand the validity of that phrase about time. Time is always running, and it reveals the truth about life and the responsibility we take for it. Time is also segmented so that we can pace ourselves, so we don’t suddenly have to hustle at the last minute.

We are all on the clock. No matter where we come in, where we came from, we are moving within time. This sounds philosophical, but what does anyone expect from an HSP? (Hyper-Sensitive Personality). Clearly, time is a backdrop in life, but if one is truly observant, and not only observant, but reflective, one will realize—hopefully, sooner than late—that the thread of existence that keeps us all within a course meant to create a slow-making awareness within us like evolution of the soul, can be the most valuable asset or the most horrible realization at the end.

I realize now—only too late, of course—that time is a precious commodity and should have been used better in my own life. But some do not realize this immediately, and some are acutely unaware of it in the background, thinking only their momentous drama is what counts. Some never realize time is running, and that is a misfortune.

I learned the awareness of time late in my life, which is why I was not one of the smart ones, who knew its force and power, and set myself to plan out my life carefully. Sure, I worked toward specific goals, but I should have planned that by a certain age drama and trivial pursuits should be released for more valuable opportunities that would have helped to get me where I needed to get, by a specific frame of time in order to be prepared for the physical reduction that comes in later years.

Now, I am quite late in the bloom of my life, nearly to the end as far as beauty and height in flowering, and I realize how many wasted years I spent dilly-dallying around, carrying on with useless drama, with this situation and that issue, and this person, and that broken-hearted memory, all in the guise of moving forward through time, but I was at a standstill, while time kept running. It was I who stopped moving in time, and time was still running… the clock was running, and sooner or late it would stop for me, of which I was never aware.

Every day is a precious moment for choosing what one must do to make it to the next moment and the next, and like a journey, assess the location in time where one finds oneself. I don’t mean one needs to rush through, or hurry the pace. Just make every moment an awareness of a chain of events in moments. Assess what is being done and make good choices—I did not. Now, I live from day to day, wondering if tomorrow I will have another chance at an opportunity that will benefit me, and at the same time not overburden my family, keep me steady and healthy on the treadmill of life, and make my life a sense of accomplishment. Everyone wants to feel they have played their cards well, as well as they can play them. But not everyone realizes that it is time that teaches us what we have accomplished—time is always running…make the most of it, or you will find yourself only DREAMING of what it could have been, instead of having it be.


Fearfully and wonderfully made… yes, we are…


14 I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

Wonderful are Your works, And my soul knows it very well.

~Psalm 139:14.

Yesterday, I was driving about, when I had an epiphany about people in general; and then, about myself in particular. 

Every car, bus, truck, and motorcycle—of which I suddenly became acutely aware—were all suddenly metal or titanium vessels in which human bodies rode within.

These human beings with physicality harbored all the DNA details, desires and disturbances in the physical body, all that which thrives upon the hopes and dreams and happiness and despair of the human body’s reaction to the rest of the world.

These physical bodies hold more deeply within the soul and energy (spirit) of the beings, the truth of those reactions and responses.

It was amazing to watch all these bodies of energy and souls moving in directions, keeping steady paces with their cars, all following the lights and rules for pedestrians, regulations for turns, and guides on roads, highways, freeways, streets, and in parking lots at stores, post offices, and shopping centers, etc—knowing full well, that their minds and souls were interacting with memories and joyous or traumatic events that occurred in their lives, and I was blown over by the reality of this phenomenon. The metal or matter with which they were surrounded disappeared and I saw them gliding through movements, intently looking forward to wherever they planned to go. Some of those bodies I envisioned crying or laughing, or going through funerals or weddings, or going to the doctor, and on and on and on. I saw all these people, and I was overwhelmed by emotion and felt that tinge that tells all of us when tears are about to display the slight pain in our hearts—the pain of compassion and empathy.

Not everyone goes through this, but those who are hypersensitive to the world around them, like myself, like the few “HSPs” (hypersensitive personalities) that witness such epiphanies and come to some sort of resolve within their spirit. Even some HSPs do not go that far. They simply experience the epiphany and leave it at that. But those of us who are deeply affected by this type of personality know what happens next. 

I suddenly realized I was one of the many doing exactly as others were doing, and I felt emotional because I had snapshots going on in my head while driving, of my daughter’s dilemma, my sons’ decisions, my husband’s inability to understand me, my own inability to make myself known; those I loved, who died, and I missed so terribly, and those who were born recently that I prayed God would be merciful to, since they too, would become one of us. Do you think this is all I thought about? No.

I realized that we had laws in place for drunk drivers, text-ers, teen-age new drivers, and so forth, but! We had nothing in place for those who are thinking so intently (as I was) and make mistakes on the road because of it. I realized that many of our “accidents” on the road is particularly the fault of our not paying attention because we are working out scenarios in our minds, and feeling the emotions that are attached to such scenarios. I realized this because I am one of the many, and therefore, that makes me an expert in human behavior.

Next, I began to compare the differences in distractions during being on the road. Drunk driving is all its own problem, as well as having taken sleeping pills or pot, or taking hyperactive or diet pills—essentially any mind altering drug: all these are or should be in the same category because the natural mind is altered, and cannot be relied upon to do the same and act the same as when it is in its natural state. Therefore, there ought to be (as there is) severe punishment for these people who think it’s okay to spread their need to alter themselves upon innocent bystanders who do NOT take anything but are effected just the same by drinking and drugs, through translation.

Next, I began to consider the difference between texting and mind altering drugs. The difference is that the person may be in his or her natural state, but they are distracted by messages that could actually change their mood from dark to light, or visa-versa, nonetheless, changing and distracting from the energy to PAY ATTENTION to the road ahead. But here is the reality of texting in itself. Texting is not the actual problem—just the symptom. Distraction is the problem. I nearly hit a woman’s car on the side when she pulled adjacent to me, into my lane, while showing some kind of garment to her passenger. She did not even see my car next to her. I had to swerve. On the freeway, I have been thinking so deeply about one of my children, that I had entered another lane forgetting to look back AS WELL AS the rear view mirror due to a blind spot on my sports car. Thank GOD that person WAS paying attention, and SWERVED.

How do I tie all this together? Human beings are so amazing. They can interact with others as well as interacting with themselves at the same time. That means they are following rules on the road, parking lots, library and postal drop-offs, and so forth, and at the same time, be thinking about a host of issues in their lives. We truly are wonderfully made. But we truly are fearfully made too. There is a bible verse that talks about that.

To be fearfully made, the term “fearfully” has changed today, but back then, it meant to have respect for, or awe, or a great deal of honor to. To be wonderfully made is to admit that with all this great honor of a making, it is also greatly capable of so much.

So the POINT I wanted to make here is how little respect we have for each other in the world, yet how capable we are of making a courteous, respectful, and truly excellent world if we really tried to focus on that. Do not be distracted when other lives are at stake. Every time someone gets on the road they owe millions of others respect, courtesy, and kindness. A driver is not only affecting those other drivers but their families, friends, and even people that don’t know them yet, but should.

We all complain about losing people we love, whether by accidents, drunkenness, or just plain stupidity of themselves or someone else. But THINK: if every human body and soul were focused on what they should be focusing upon, there would not be distraction, and there could actually be less loss.

 Thanks Mom and Dad, for teaching me Bible truths even before I understood them. It was for epiphanies like this one. 🙂 


Writing is a passion, and Sometimes, passions are painful…

If any one of you reading this, is a writer, you will understand the title quite well. There is this passion inside of me as a writer, to convey something, whether it’s a joke, a story, an essay on why suffering is prevalent in the world, or just a descriptive moment observing someone’s profile… it’s all there… passion in wanting to share an innermost sense or thought, or observation. There are times, however, when that passion feels painful, and we are not quite sure why, just that it is hard to get it down on paper. The feelings are there, the emotional pain is there, but the words don’t come easily, and so it is actual pain. The only way it will be released eventually, is when we can get it down on paper.

It is not far from the truth when Hemingway said: Writing is easy, just sit down at a desk and open a vein. If someone tells you it isn’t hard at all, nor painful, nor such passion as I am describing, that someone is most likely a shallow person, and ultimately creates shallow writing for the shallow reader… there is a place for us all. I am talking about a very unique kind of writer, storytelling, and reader: deep, passionate emotions, hidden beneath the exterior and conventionally polite politics of human interaction. It is the kind of thing we never talk about in the open. It is those particular things that make us cry, or make us feel lost, or make us so innately pleased with life, or angry so much that we actually do something about that part of life. It is the kind of writing that after hurting the writer in putting it down on paper, it hurts the reader….but good. It is the kind of reading that makes people change, move mountains, shake their lives like a gorilla shakes a tree.

I promise you, if you are that kind of writer, it is not far fetched to say you open a vein daily, just to put it down for someone to understand that emotional moment of which you speak. It hurts so good, and sometimes, it hurts so bad… but it must be told, because as they say of the muse, when the muse comes calling, the writer has no choice but to bleed.

A Good Night’s Sleep is All y’need!

I remember when I was a kid, having had a tantrum of some sort, and hearing my mom say: “a good night’s sleep is all you need.” And then I grew up and had my own children, and I remember saying the same thing to them. But I never really thought about the truth of it until now, in my “older age.”


Oh how very precious life is…. when you get the right amount of sleep! Most mornings I wake up tired and grumpy… because I get ABOUT 5-6 hours, and if less, I am DEPRESSED, (probably because there is no energy for everything I have to do).

But last night I fell asleep at 8-8:30 pm. I awoke at 5:00 am, and I FEEL WONDERFUL! I actually started this “wonderful” yesterday, when I forced myself to take an earlier shower, not at noon, but first thing, then took my doggies to the park, and let them enjoy the beauty of the morning. It was going to be 106 degrees in the day, and I was considering running up to the mountains before it got hot.

Then, suddenly a thought hit me…(I’m sure the Lord in heaven was speaking to me): Why must you always find some reason to ‘run away?? What is so bad about heat? Instead, why don’t you embrace it?

At that instant I agreed, enjoyed the morning further, “visited” the outdoors in mid-day, and I began to feel FREE from my fearful self, which helped me step forward and onward even more!

So last night I told myself, “I don’t care. I don’t need to get on Facebook at 8 or 9:00 pm, until 11-12:00 midnight. I don’t need to read myself to sleep. I don’t need to check my emails. I am going to sleep! And I did. It was between 8:00 and 8:30 pm. I did not wake up at all, because I convinced myself before I fell asleep that I needed to SLEEP. When I awoke this morning I was feeling… well, happier than the usual happy I have experienced lately. I was ready for a productive day. It must be starting already, I haven’t been on here blogging for quite some time!

When your WILL takes hold of your INSTINCT, I think you will find you will, or CAN do just about anything. But FIRST, you have to convince your will to do the right thing for the rest of you. SLEEP when you need it, don’t fool around with your health; when you do, it’s your instinctive EGO that is running the show.

Motivation - even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise

Endless Waiting for Godot

This essay was born after my reading, reviewing, and contemplating of the famous classic play 410gnFMui1L._AC_US160_of the 50s: “Waiting for Godot.”

Lydia Nolan
© March 14, 1998

Meaningless Waiting: On a Universal Approach to Waiting for Godot
Perhaps it’s because everyone, all the others, are convinced in

some unformulated, irrational way that one day everything will

be made clear. Perhaps there will be a morning of grace for humanity.

Perhaps there will be a morning of grace for me.”
 ~ Eugene Ionesco
(Extract from “The Hermit”, 1973)

It is right that he [man in general] too should have his little chronicle,

his memories, his reason, and be able to recognize the good in the bad,

the bad in the worst, and so grow gently old down all the unchanging days,

and die one day like any other day, only shorter.
~ Samuel Beckett


     What was the purpose of the Absurd Theater? Its presentation was a different form of communication than that of the conventional play of previous centuries. One of the leading absurd writers of his time, Eugene Ionesco puts it plainly in this way: “Cut off from his religious, metaphysical, and transcendental roots, man is lost; all his actions become senseless, absurd, and useless.” (Abrams 1).

     Ionesco does not necessarily mean that given all the props we have we are not aware of our emptiness, but on the contrary: when we are aware that everything around us are props, then we experience a cutting off from this present reality, and the reality of our true self—senselessness, absurdity, and uselessness—comes into full focus. That everything we have and do is all together without meaning, if we do not have a hope of something more than what we experience in the routine of life.

     The Irish playwright, Samuel Beckett, wrote and portrayed a perspective on the absurdity of life through his dramatic presentation Waiting for Godot. In discussing this work, and suggesting an interpretation through analysis, we filter it from Beckett’s perspective through Ionesco’s definition of absurdity, and having portrayed it in absurd theater, we are inclined to read his intention on a much deeper level than the hoax of humanity, but instead to manifest our secret hopelessness—or disbelief—in the resilience of humankind by its unique ability to be absurdly hopeful beyond any reason for hope.

     In this analysis, and the reactions to it—by the audiences, literary critics, and we ourselves—we may consider a conclusion in which we might surmise a conclusion with purpose : The play could be analyzed as merely entertaining and imaginative; portraying essentially nothing but sheer absurdity, which would be written off as simply a play on words, actions, and contradiction to a sound mind. Or, the play is ingeniously structured with a universal message—we might not otherwise perceive, if it were not through laughter and absurdity—that the playwright uses this media of performance, rather than a didactic method, to convey the hopelessness of waiting for what seems every lifetime that has ever been in existence: the hope of an explanation for our very existence and purpose of living.

     Author Ruby Cohn, in her Casebook on Waiting For Godot, states that: “In his four characters, Beckett summarizes human relationships; in their activities, he sums up human living” (Cohn, 7). Martin Esslin, in his essay about the play’s performance at San Quentin, told of the reporter who received feedback from convicts of the meaning of the play. “Godot is society,” “He’s the outside.” In other words, prisoners are waiting to be set free from prison, simply justified by this explanation. However, “[The prisoners] know what is meant by waiting…and they knew if Godot (or freedom) finally came, he would only be a disappointment” (Cohn, 84). But Beckett’s Godot is much more than this. A monumental mound of literature in the form of commentaries, biographies, and critical works, have been produced by critics around the globe about Beckett’s complex, yet paradoxically simple rendition of life in the world of Godot.

     On the other hand, communication of universal ideologies is not necessarily intentional on Beckett’s part, as his idea of portraying absurdity of life itself, is ingeniously left generic enough for personal interpretation to be accomplished by others, such as the San Quentin prisoners.

     Hence, we find that directors have used artistic license to interpret their own local or political ordre du jour while postponing, and even neglecting, the presumably deeper meaning of the play.

     Nonetheless, because of its essentially generic template—created deliberately vague by its characters and sparse scenery—the universal theme of the play comes through in spite of directorial license. We might even surmise that Beckett could have made a mockery of the idea that people make something to mean whatever they wish it to mean, as long as it is vague and sparse enough, which in itself is ingenious.

     One such interpretation might be that of the subtle frailty and redundancy of humanity and its absurd propensity to hope in spite of a changeless world, though this is still too defined. Another might be simply that humanity is expectant of something—no one knows what for sure—and keeping ourselves busy in routine activities is therapeutic. Until that something or “Someone” has arrived to bring meaning to our existence, we must keep on living. An interesting occurrence is the one noted by critic Shoshana Weitz after interviewing hundreds of play-goers of Waiting For Godot, put on by the Haifa Arab Troupe of Palestine. It was politically biased in reference to the Israeli-Arab conflict. She states, “It is evident that this [Haifa Arab troupe] production was perceived [by interviewees] primarily within an existential/universal perspective, secondarily within a class-oriented context and only last as related directly to the Israeli-Arab conflict”(Scolnicov, 197).

     The opinion of its meaning can only be derived by each one’s own understanding. By looking at the second and last act of the play, and particularly the interaction between Estragon and Vladimir, we see the height of these characteristics of humanity in Gogo and Didi. This part of the play is where we also receive the message of hope in humanity, in spite of the characters’ haunting phrase, “Nothing ever changes.” So then, what can we make of these two characters?

     Some define the characters of Estragon and Vladimir merely as two tramps (Zegel, 12); some suggest that the two characters form one composite character (Johnston, 34); still others refer to them as clowns (Busi, 5). At any rate, these two characters dominate the stage. The interaction between these two is constant, yet seemingly of no real conversational depth. In fact, they seem only to speak, and interact for the sake of passing time while waiting for someone named Godot. Through numerous outlandish contradictions—movements when speaking of rest; non-movements when speaking of activity like hanging, beating, and so forth—nothing seemingly goes on. Throughout this context of interaction, they are met with two other dubious characters who we might consider standing for any of a number of universal or philosophical archetypes or ideologies. Pozzo-the wealthy and powerful owner of Lucky the human slave—might easily be representative of the devil, the rich, governmental authorities, religious organizations, anyone or anything with the tyrannical machinery to victimize or oppress a weaker group, or the general populace. Lucky can easily be seen as the victim, except that at one point, he seems to be accepting of this role, and even “kicks” or incapacitates another to keep himself from being saved. Thus, Lucky could stand for those gifted or talented, but irresponsible kinds of frail, cowardly figures in society, that allow for the rich, or powerful, or tyrannical forces to lord over them. We could say, in relation to the devil, that Lucky could stand for fallen humanity that chooses to be under the devil’s command. Lucky could be anyone who prefers victimization over the dynamic responsibility of initiating power over one’s own life. As put by another critic, the general consensus of the play is that nothing happens, but the waiting is the happening itself: “This is not all. In the course of the play, nothing happens. Such dramatic progress as there is, is not toward a climax, but toward a perpetual postponement” (Hobson, English Review, 1955). This seems true in totality of the play’s content, yet what of the subtlety of those universal truths that emerge from a deeper study? Could there be a general formula to fit any circumstance, or are there only subconscious shadows of our own desires that define what is seen? We search then, for clues that Beckett may have embedded into the general matrix of the play, to prick the subjective and/or collective conscious of his audiences.

     There are no scene separations, but in Act 2, at the opening there is a segment in which we will look to find some of these qualities of “human relationships within the characters, and human living within the activities,” as Cohn previously suggested (Ibid). The stage is set essentially the same as in the first Act. It is bare except for a few neutral items. A tree is propped at the center of the stage with perhaps a slight, rocky mound beside it, where Estragon sat in the first Act, struggling with his activity of removing his boots. A country road leads ad infinitum behind the tree, and nothing more. Note, one difference from Act I is that the tree now has a few leaves—indicative of the passing of time—but nothing of particular enlightenment is added to the stage setting. The boots of whom Estragon complained in the previous act, now stand alone in front of the tree, also waiting for something or someone. Vladimir is the first to return to the same place. He looks about him with agitation, as though he is not sure how to begin his wait; the same wait he must always begin, the wait for…“Godot,” who neither he nor the audience knows. Now, the audience too waits for Godot. One interesting subtlety is that Estragon was first to show in Act 1. He was trying to remove his boots, when Didi came in at that act. At the close of the first act, Gogo succeeded in removing his boots, those of which the two men had a nice argument over, and Gogo walked off stage barefooted. Here now, the boots stand as they were left. Didi, in an acutely agitated state, looms about in a furious frenzy looking outward with his hand shading his brow, anxiously, expectant. He seems to need some form of distraction, and suddenly notices the boots. Picking it up, he attempts to examine the one boot; smells it, and recoils with a pungent scowl. Carefully then, he sets it back in its proper place. Once again, he leaves; returns; looks outward, and the whole routine is done all over again. At this point, he does not merely stop walking, but halts abruptly as though he had thought of a sufficient distracting activity to help him in his wait; he begins to sing. All this stage activity of one man creates a sense of acute expectancy in the audience, and wonderment for the way one may culminate activity in order to tolerate one’s own anxiety in waiting. Even his manner in which he sings helps in distracting himself, for he is in search of the right pitch, the definition of his words, the nostalgic power they have in inciting his brooding and contemplation; singing, then brooding again. At this point he begins the whole lunatic activity of pacing, when thankfully he is distracted by Gogo entering somberly, with his head down, and at a slow pace.

      The directions here seem so long, yet, we must remember what the title indicates; we are waiting; waiting for Godot. These are the humorous, neurotic things we all do sometimes, while we wait for life to end perhaps, or for things to “change,” and these distractions while waiting are naturally accentuated here for purposes of its exposition.

     “You again!” (Estragon halts without raising his head, as though he was caught in the secret act of his appearance.) “Come here till I embrace you.” Interestingly, Vladimir says that same line at the beginning of the first act when he sees Estragon fussing about with his boots. It indicates to me that Didi is the “instigator” of activity, while Gogo is the “responder,” but this is not always the way. Gogo usually instigates with subtlety, or perhaps we could say, he is good at pretending he does not care. Didi, on the other hand, is one for “making a point.” He is always rousing his audience for response, seeking his own validity in the response of others. One might equate Didi’s character with the politician, the philosopher, or a union leader, rousing his comrades; even a parental figure—all in the position of “instigator.”

     By contrast, Gogo could be looked at as the voting mass, the societal subculture; the “follower.” He could be a metaphor for women, homosexuals, religious groups or children—namely, those who have no power but look to those who are powerful to help them be heard. So then, it all begins again as in the first act. Both are present to distract one another, and to help each other wait; wait for Godot, as we all wait for who knows who or what.

     “Don’t touch me!” Estragon, head still bowed as though in a state of shame and self-loathing. Much like a rape victim, he appears to have been “beaten” as he puts it. Didi looks pained, but frozen, in respect for Gogo’s need for space to brood; Gogo brooding, as a remedy for healing. Didi tries to accentuate this remedy, once again looking for some way to allay the situation.

     “Do you want me to go away?” There is a silent pause: “Gogo!” Vladimir appears to be genuinely attentive as though his contributive resolve would fix everything for Gogo.

     The very attenuation of this scene with little dialogue, much monologue, and more stage directions than anything else, indicates that Beckett meant for us to see its importance. This small excerpt is a fragment, but wholly exhibitive of the interaction between these two paradoxical characters in full juxtaposition. As they continue to wait for Godot, their interaction is much of the same. Hints of ideologies are found perhaps, like the concept of purposelessness, but activity in the inevitable continuum of the cycle between hope and hopelessness. This all seems quite morose and fatalistic, and that may seem to some, to be the way we are meant to live. The one note within this entire charade—absurd waiting, arguing, audacious interaction with the grand Pozzo and his masochistic slave, Lucky—is the sneaking suspicion that we are all a little of all of the characters.

     We are all some of Gogo and Didi, and even Pozzo and Lucky, at various times. If we look at it this way, we can look at this play merely as absurd, and we can laugh at ourselves for it. But if we choose to look deeper, we will have to reckon with the fact that we all at some time in our lives have a tendency to have a kind of inner expectation; a daunting hope against hope and hopelessness. This is evident in one of the first lines Beckett chooses to have Didi say, when he says: “Hope deferred maketh the something sick, who said that?” This is an indirect reference to the Ecclesiastical book written or spoken by Solomon in the Bible. This was a proverb posed philosophically about life in general: “Hope deferred maketh the [heart] sick.” It is curious that Beckett makes many references and symbolic allusions to Christ, and Biblical principles. There is also a battery of commentaries to this defense.

     It seems, however, that the encompassing theme of Godot seems to be that of form more than meaning. Perhaps that is why Beckett chose to use the theater of the Absurd for his play. He chose to decide that the idea of waiting for someone or God, or a savior of some kind of something was absurd because it makes one irresponsible for one’s own life choices. Perhaps Beckett merely wanted to convey the natural events of humanity like waiting, hoping, staying active while hoping; losing hope, regaining hope, and so forth—just the basic propensities in human behavior.

     It is plausible that Beckett’s play helps to make us see how we “move through life,” and gives us all something to assess about our place, our life, and then to better our existence and rule our destiny by accepting ourselves, and our contributions. As Didi states in one speech when he and Gogo have the power transferred to them from Pozzo, by Pozzo’s need for their help: “Let us not waste our time in idle discourse! (Pause vehemently.) Let us do something, while we have the chance! It is not every day that we are needed…”(Godot, 51).

     Maybe it was simply humorous to Beckett, in a sentimental way, how all of humanity looks like these characters at some point. We all have been as Gogo is, in his fatalistic acceptance of being ruled over. Or we have all experienced control like Didi, in his diligent attempt to resolve everything in his life. Sometimes we run roughshod over other weaker sorts by our inability to empathize or by our own weakness of being shallow and self-inflated, like Pozzo, or we give in fully with no more conscience, like Lucky.

      We can only project our own definition to this play, for Beckett himself was reluctant to translate his meaning to us (Busi, 3). There is however, some contrasting allusions formulated to various meanings given, that it does have connotation toward religion and God, but not in the existential, or fatalistic connotation we are often used to hearing. Frederick Busi postulates this careful thought, when he concludes “In the same year that Godot was first staged, Beckett published Watt and expressed a pragmatic compromise in the conflict between form and content. ‘For the only way one can speak of nothing is to speak of it as though it were something, just as the only way one can speak of God is to speak of him as though he were a man, which to be sure he was, in a sense, for a time, and as the only way one can speak of man, even our anthropologists have realized that is to speak of him as though he were a termite.’” (Ibid.). This could indicate that Beckett might have been more concerned with a good piece of art rather than solving the question of universal tenets and existence, yet may have unconsciously insinuated personal views about the existence of a higher source than humanity.

     In conclusion, we are reminded of ourselves in Beckett’s play; in our endless search for more in life, while musing on our plight, waiting for some alienated being or figure to unite humanity in some form so as to bring a kind of universal relief from strife,sorrow, and weariness. We can only be thankful for the contribution of genius, the expansion of our cultural and humanistic view through that single human voice. Playwright, Samuel Beckett, and his ingenious depictions in Waiting for Godot, show us about ourselves and how we may look even at the incidental or insignificant things in our lives.

Works Cited

     Abrams, M.H. Glossary of Literary Terms. Ed. Ted Buchholz.

Florida: Harcourt Brace College Publishers,
1993. 1,2.

     Beckett, Samuel Waiting For Godot. New York: Grove Press,

Inc., 1954.

     Busi, Frederick The Transformations of Godot. Kentucky:

Scholarly Publisher for the Commonwealth, 1980.

     Cohn, Ruby Casebook on Waiting For Godot. Ed. Ruby Cohn.

New York: Grove Press, Inc., 1967., 7., 84.

God. The Bible. Heaven. B.C., A.D., timeless.

     Hobson, Harold “An English Review: Tomorrow”. Casebook

on Waiting For Godot. Ed. Ruby Cohn. New York:

Grove Press, Inc., 1967., 27.

     Johnston, Denis “Waiting With Beckett”. Casebook on Waiting

For Godot. Ed. Ruby Cohn. New York: Grove Press,

Inc., 1967., 34.

     Weitz, Shoshana “Mr Godot will not come today”. The Play Out

Of Context. Ed. Hanna Scolnicov & Peter Holland.

New Yor: Cambridge University Press., 1989.,

     Zegel, Sylvain “The First Review: At The Theatre De

Babylone: Waiting For Godot by Samuel Beckett”

Casebook on Waiting For Godot. Ed. Ruby Cohn.

New York: Grove Press, Inc., 1989.

Pondering inside of Silence.

Marriage is the hardest thing anyone will ever do in their lifetime… most people don’t ever really master it…

Oh sure, people STAY together for a hundred years, but that isn’t mastering… many times that’s just accepting…

Perhaps the alternative is simply too frightening to carry out…it would mean we’d have to think again; make choices of our own, and accept consequences for our own behaviors… you know: the OTHER person isn’t there anymore, so we can’t blame them…

So we just… do nothing, squelch those dreams we had once upon a time, and go through the routine of life without any remarkable events, choices, or drama… Kind of like waking every morning, looking forward to going to sleep at night…

I have waited for so many years, for what? I’m not sure… It just seems accentuated sometimes, this sense that I am missing a very urgent place I’m supposed to be at, or a train that is waiting for me, or someone wants me to visit, but I don’t know who.

If occurred to me that it is the same exact feeling I feel about God. I have this relationship with an invisible being, who I am told love me and longs for me to be in this being’s realm—longs for all of us to be there.
It is not unlike the way most people feel about God. We keep living, breathing, doing, waiting for that death, then, the expected life that comes eternal afterward. We keep cleaning and going about our business, wondering when the big day will show itself, when we get to meet our God, and ask all the questions that were unanswered, see everyone that left, and finally, we will get to really rest—they say, it will be rest like we’ve never understood, but longed for.

So we keep going, even if we sometimes feel very weary and tired of the grind, of the routine, of the unremarkable vapor of our lives…

Oh, but there is that routine, and there are those in it that look to you or they or whomever, and expect that routine, because it gives a sense of comfort, security, ease from the storms of life, and a grand but tumultuous plight of purpose. What purpose? I’ve already covered that, in short: I don’t know. But there have been a billion and one that have gone before us, and probably just as many that will be coming after us… so we keep it up. We glory in the grind, because we know even if we don’t know here, that there is something beyond “here” that we are working toward…

Maybe it isn’t all that bad; maybe we’ve have mastered marriage after all…


One of those things

Just one of those days, I guess, when I finally see what is really happening with such clarity it scares me to bits!!

People have no scruples, moral code, ethics, courtesy, and some of these things that seem to elude them, that makes life a bit easier to get through.

I was thinking this morning how difficult it is NOT to get depressed sometimes, about MANY people (I won’t say MOST, although I think it) have no sense of right from wrong, or they have a diluted sense of comraderie and call it “friendly business.” (It’s more like friendly fire.) They say, “well, it’s a dog-eat-dog world, so I’m only keeping my own hide protected.” Isn’t that the way of things? Many give a resounding YES! But many disagree.

Morning folks, here is another of my rants because I have been getting TONS (and I mean tons…metaphorically, of course) of anonymous challengers to my website security, trying to BREAK-IN to my website here.

Seems I am getting many subscribers, then I get many break-ins, failing to break the code, but trying multiple times per day. What does that tell us about people these days? Is it important to invade someone else’s space for their own selfish intentions? Is it fair to rape and pillage someone else’s private website, just to creep into their sense of peace and tranquility, so they can build on someone else’s foundation? Are they just curious about what they can steal or distort? Are they just mischeivous? Are they terrorists trying to infiltrate our internet for the sole purpose of bringing this country down, so we can be third world miserable like them?

I have been receiving notices from my website people that there are so many failed login attempts the site itself is being punished and NO sign-ins are allowed for 24 hours, and 24 hours, and … Do you get it?

I would like to see comments and sincere interest in what I talk about.

I would like to see others join in on my rants, in the forum of pubic access.

I would like to see all people’s habits of minds enhanced, to engage in preferably the best in men and women.

And yet, all I get is spam, asking if they could run this show, or if I could buy their product, and … my readers, fans, or subscribers?




Does anyone know what “FEEDBACK” means anymore…??










Seeing every day multiple times,  “FAILED LOG-IN, 24 hour lock down,”

–over and over again, well, frankly it has me this close to closing shop forever, because now I’m asking myself:

Why am I doing this?

Does it mean much to anyone?


I’d be better off hittin’ the comedy clubs and berating the audience:

(comedians are loved for that…)


Okay. Let’s look at this logically…

Since there are no comments, but there are a LOT of attempted break-ins,

Must I assume it does not matter to any friggin-one that I am blogging, chatting, yakking, ranting, whatever? … …


HELLO?  images-3images-2images-4

images-5 HELLO??


So why am I here?

Yes’m, you are right! NO REASON.


I’m sure there are better things to do with my life….hmmmm


images Is there anybody there yet?

It is time to go finish my academic work, where others are DYING to listen to my reports,

students are ANXIOUS to hear my lectures,

and other teachers are ENAMORED with my every word… (who am I kidding…)

lLqeLiD2 Have a nice day…

Oh!! By the way, thank you public access, for all the pictures of Jon Lovitz, whom I love, and whom I wish to be in audience being berated by him as well. I love comedy… especially tragicomedy, like this site.

Too many lost lives, suicides, and clueless gamers…

I am in graduate level coursework currently, attending a California State University. I am a candidate for a Master of Science degree in Reading and Literacy. I will become a specialist, an expert at knowing what it takes for someone to read, but not only read, rather: to become fully literate.ladyofshalott

By the time kids leave high school they are supposed to be fully literate. Most do not feel that way, but know something is missing. Maybe they can read, maybe they cannot. Maybe they can barely read, enough to finish up a botched understanding of an assignment–just as long as the instructor instructs them through it completely, or a friend helps with the assignment. But there is still something missing. So they go to community college, because they aren’t sure what to do next.



So they take a community college assessment test, and find out they are not as graduate as they thought, but still “gradual.” Being literate does not mean simply that you can read, and not even simply that you understand your reading because there are different levels of understanding as well as knowing (epistemology).41x7o+EX8VL._SX332_BO1,204,203,200_

This is where I come in. Most “teachers” want to teach reading to beginners, because they are challenged by the idea of a Tabula Rasa, or a yet unused brain muscle, and they believe they will make it come to life. There is some truth to that,  however–something happens along the road through K-12. It’s called overload. Students get so much thrown at them, that by the time they are able to sort it out, their brain has seized.

I want to help those kids in college that are trying to find a way through the maze of their own mind, and see some value to all the turning leaves of knowledge winding blissfully around their head, but unable to be caught by them.

Eventually I will get my degree perhaps, to add to my Masters degree in Education, my Bachelor Degree in English, and my life degree in the making of a human being after having been taught not to recognize myself in any context… or at least that is what I was taught; not by word, and not by deed so much as by complete and utter neglect. Yes, that is what is often learned in school from Kinder, to graduation: you are naught; it is the “stuff,” the minutia of teaching methods, approaches, strategies, and so on and so forth, that was the goal, and the teachers were so busy fulfilling those standards, they forgot that school was all about making kids WANT to and learn HOW to learn; not fill their head with empty rhetoric. I don’t want to blame the school system singly, for more than anyone it has to do with the child’s first nurture: parents. Parents don’t tell the truth to themselves, when they know they need to do more for their children but get caught up in the minutia of financial competition with neighbors, friends and family, while kids strut around not knowing what the heck is going on…


And so they do whatever they can to stick around for a while … well, some of them…

I hadn’t planned on becoming a reading expert. All I wanted in life was to teach English Literature, to facilitate the themes, the lessons of life given in a beautiful turn of phrases, words of magic, the metaphors of love, the pains of loss and how life works for many authors as well as their characters, to enrich young people, so they could go out in the world and see with new eyes–some spirituality along with intellect. But that is not what the school system does, any longer. They do not teach a young person how to value themselves because they do not value them; they do not teach young people to respect oneself, because they do not respect them.

You cannot put young people–or any people for that matter– in rooms like cattle, with one cattle prodder and expect them to feel good about the multitude of grain they are being overfilled with.images

So I decided to get on the other side of the aesthetic and become a damage-control-helper. Yes, damage-control, because the damage is already done by the time they graduate from high school. Most teachers really don’t want to deal with those students, unless of course they are the cream of the crop, economically untouched by adversity.

So I decided someone needs to get to those young people: going to work, going to war, going to parenthood, going to jail, going to hospitals, going to all sorts of places, still wondering: “what was that all about?”


If one is neglected enough, one will not be able to respond coherently in any situation, and will even be considered outrageous, moronic, nerdy, expendable, wasted, many of the names one can think of when thinking of someone who stands in the corner with eyes darting to and fro, attempting to be invisible, or risk becoming the all-encompassing clown via innate cluelessness.

When that someone grows up to be what the “normal” world calls “an adult,” they usually find some niche in which to hide. Be it music, reading, drinking/drugs, eating, promiscuity, perversions, seclusive, anything that will keep the distance between the one and the oneself, as well as distance from everyone else. Sometimes that person can even become a professional student of not only academia, but of life, yet never understanding like the “What’s it all about, Alfie?” movie of the 60s. That was probably the first real time in our country’s life where we began to question everything not just for the many but for ourselves, so the schools got busy and bombarded kids’ brains, so as they keep from knowing themselves to well. Well, I hope  you know by now, some of this blog is just my rantings and ravings, but it’s true to some extent, so I wanted to get that piece of paper the system insists one must have in order to enter the gates of hell–anywhere in the country; hospitals, schools, rehabilitation centers, etc.

So I am well equipped: I have my real estate broker’s license, and my minister’s license, and soon will have two master’s degrees instead of one, and probably next the Ph.D., but who’s paying attention? I just want to be useful to some who have been having a difficult time growing up… take it from me… I was one, too.Why-People-Commit-Suicide   It does not have to end that way, we can work on skills in reading, writing, life….. especially…. life….