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Start of March 2022

Wednesday Wanderings


This past week, I decided that one day a week — Wednesday — I would take a wandering trip in my Cadillac, to somewhere in my vicinity. The price of gasoline to fuel my vehicle has limited me to a certain perimeter-mileage, but I’m okay with that limitation. I work well within my own prescribed boundaries.


It’s the boundaries dictated and imposed by others, upon my life, that drive me . . . to wandering.


Wandering is a state of mind, just as much as it is a physical yearning for new, or newer, sights. Wandering is what helps me to work through my wonderings about life, about myself, about the realities of the world out there — and to arrive at the fullest measure of the truths that are being lied about, at warp speed, ad infinitum, as click bait, as propaganda by media morons who have lost whatever moral compass they might have had.
Having worked in that shady industry, I can solemnly say that the ethical journalist is more fiction than fact.  My experiences in the Snews business taught me many lessons.  The most salient and unforgettable is that the narcissist in the news dooms herself, and himself, without anyone’s help.  Tone-deaf, amoral, with a bottomless pit of avarice and bitterness, the Reporter and Report-ette now mimic the putrid politicos for whom they shill.

A compost pile of corruption is the Media, as they spew a blizzard of lies.


I plow through that blizzard of lies as if I’m a knife slicing through a cake. My sharply edged weapon is the result of wandering, both planned and unplanned, through the places and spaces around me. My wandering is not aimless; any sincere and faith-filled wandering is always a search for those bedrock certainties upon which to move with more certainty in this journey called life.

Wandering is the way in which I find my paths off the beaten path, because that beaten path has been beat to death.


Wandering is the way to forge the unforeseen path that leads to a vibrant tomorrow.


Wandering is the road to the future, to the past, to the present moment. What more could anyone ask of any wish, desire, activity, goal?


Whether or not the wanderer finds all that he set out to find is immaterial, for the material is not the objective of the wanderer. The pilgrimage ennobles the pilgrim. Turning any dream into reality takes some money, but even more necessary are love, kindness, goodwill, the gentle nature of a dreamer — and her courage to believe in her beloved dream.


The road that stretches out ahead of me forces me to see the ugliness in others, the greed that did them in, the hatred that corroded their souls. I’m not one to catalogue those sins of others, or to focus upon them. My life is what it is today because I have not only survived, I’ve prevailed over those unavoidable demons in life. The vulgar sights of the vicious people are flashing billboards along the highway: the distractions from which my eyes look away. They’re the hyenas in our midst, and my ears silence them right away.

My eyes and ears stay laser-targeted on the blacktop before me.


The true wanderer is not a nomad, vagabond, gallivanter, rolling stone, gypsy, roamer, or rover. Ha! I’ve had every one of those names hurled at me, and more!


This wanderer is a dreamer, wandering with objectives in mind, in the creative mind that I cherish and protect so very much.


And, so, I wander like a lark, a bird in flight, and then I return home, to my nest.


Wander with me if you will. We’re all looking for that sunny day.