A Pack of Jackels...

Early morning, when I am still in bed, the sun is peeking over the horizon, a new dawn, I am in a sort of "quasi-dream-state," or at least that's how it seems to me.  This is the time when I get weird messages,  dead pets call out to me, I have fractured conversations with long-gone relatives, and voices of folks from my past float into my head. I get assigned missions ("Your mission is to document catastrophic minds in catastrophic times..."), I get weird advice ("Float!"), sometimes Zen Koan-style phrases show up. "The good man does good, the bad man does bad. Be good."

This morning, I swear, a pack of vocalizing Jackels* passed by my window. They were yipping, yapping and chattering, maybe baying for blood or action?! I'm not sure. I take it as a dark omen. Lately, everything seems like CALAMITY. It is all a Waring-Blender of swirling, contradictory emotions. Hanging on. Trying my best to be my best. I take the messages and omens, and try to add them to my reservoir of intelligence. I believe in dreams and omens and secret messages. It's all part of the tapestry of existence.

* Update: I told my companion about my "dream-state-pack-of-Jackels," she corrects me: "Those weren't Jackels, those were Hell-Hounds!"  Holy Shite. I think she's right. Yikes!