Swim at Your Own Risk


This page is not for the faint of heart or for book burners or banners.

"Every third thought shall be my grave," Prospero, "The Tempest"

For the Record: This page is for my personal use as I grapple with life and death on planet Earth. God willing and the creek don't rise, I'll have traveled around the galaxy, on the third planet from the sun a total of 75 times by mid-February 2023.

Anyone 12 and over is welcome to visit this page, which I update sporadically, but you are not allowed to complain if you don't like the content nor are you allowed to report me to the thought police. 

But if you are 12 years old or under, let's make a pact: I won't tell if you won't tell. Because a secret once told no longer is one.

"So, Baby, face it. You're all gonna die," says Laurie Halse Anderson (read her books, all of them, as soon as possible; hopefully, your library hasn't been forced to ban them).

So just what is a Glyphix? It is a very useful device for keeping your thoughts to yourself if you plan to write and if you don't want prying eyes to know exactly what you mean or what you are thinking until you are darn good and ready. According to L.J.C. Shimoda (from her book: "Glyphix for Visual Journaling" p. 13):

"A glyphix is a visual language; the abstract representation of a word; a kind of graphic communication; the form of a word's feeling; the shape of a word's spiritual meaning; a written/drawn language that evokes a word's spirit; a pictorial definition of a word's essence, power, richness, defying the false etiquette of explnation; honest word usuage that reveals the root of its feeling and doesn't allow for blurring of meaning."

So what serves as a guiding principle as you face the idea of life and death and legacy:  

Again, L.J.C. Shimoda speaks:

"If I knew this were my last day/ week/ year of life, would I be doing this? I ponder this question trhough the day and sometimes, the answer is no. I would not bother with this, or I would not risk doing this because it is my last only chance. I awoke this morning asking this death question--why? I want to be patient but the question begs me to move closer to what I want to be doing, nearing completion when I die. Every day I reassess what I do. If I knew I would die next week, each day I would record my meaning and gifts on paper, be with and in love with [name of significant other or friend]; enjoy nature; exercise, stretch, test my mind and body. I want to be doing what I love" p. 71

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