Whistling Past the Graveyard....

We all do it. But something I recently understood was that everything we do is simply that. Our daily rituals...everything from trimming nose hairs to checking what day it is with the newspaper, is us, whistling and stringing momentary lapses from the fear of death into one long sense of ignorance and bliss. A simple joy... like the first sip of a favorite beverage on a hot day...a smile from a friend...realizing there are other people out there that think like you...everything we do throughout our conscious and subconscious day is just a path to that bliss. It is psychic survival. So I've decided to craft my whistling into something meaningful. Something more than just a comfortable feeling once I reach the end of the cemetery grounds. I could just learn "Ol' Man River," or commit to memory the entirety of "Dark Side of the Moon." That would work. But too much work. Carlos Castaneda had me going for a while...till I learned his stories were fiction. Even then, the concept of believing Death to be always on your right hand was beneficial and kept me on my toes. So accepting truths from a fictional sorcerer was no more silly than believing religion will save me. So I whistle...in all my ways to whistle and...come to think of it...I think my whistle needs wetting. One way to remain comfortably numb:   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jySUpMqmzd4