Sol's Inner Vault

Speaking both generally and symbolically, the various scriptures of ancient religions were set in stone, and remain today the unsettled subjects of interpretation, debate, and query. The historical scriptures of science- the research studies, citations, documented data and records of results from experimental efforts- it's all a work in progress, always evolving. Everything in science and discovery is also by nature unsettled, variously interpreted, and continually questioned. Theoretically, religions disallow any editing of their scriptures, claiming divine authorship. The Bible's books of Matthew and Revelations  both declare and warn against changing or altering the Law. But, science is always an unfinished book that promises new pages, new understandings. There is no punishment for not knowing, no condemnation for always  asking the next question. How do I accept, for example, that the Bible with its many authors is most accurate? How can I know what Noah really thought, or

Parents of critters at home will understand, others perhaps not. My doggie, Pomeranian Princess Chihuahua of at least our zip code, has her very own tablet, a 5" Fire.  That's right, her own. Hardly unusual considering our hound has her own table chair, her own couch, and her own mini-house. We didn't start this way. Six years ago she was a nine-week old palmfull of fur and floppy ears. Happy with merely a belly rub and some puppy grub, it was all easy.  At some point, my pooch got online. Packages began arriving. New collar, lavendar shampoo, yummy treats. We knew life would never be the same. Lately, Widget has been watching the Dog Channels with feigned benign interest, but as soon as I leave the room, she's watching for sure.  It's all good, just have to block her Netflix and such, no human drama. Widgie @ 9wks.

Our Sun, actually blue-green, who would have guessed? Most mysterious of all, blue is the royally unanswerable question that defines all other questions, the color that spins down from unknown space, as somewhere there is an undiscovered galaxy entirely blue and pulsing across some corner of the cosmos, unnamed. The eye's physics number the cones at three, so that blue is the shade of self, the enigmatic subconscious, as if the suspected soul had a color. Or, human spirit which is breath sparked to our brain as the blue light of some higher power we may get only a glimpse of. Timeless Shiva of prior understanding, blue as the color of intimations, secret wisdoms, sacred laws. How is it, blue somehow comes up with the very best and worse moments, the same hue?

Pristine splendor of small miracles, green springs eternal, the color of generations unborn but promised by a faithful future. The unfettered hue of new ideas and optimistic expectations, a fresh view in the morning to consider, the color of creation yet undefeated, reaching up thru the incredulous cracks of impossibility and wonder. All life welcomes the color of green's hope.

How does red register with the mind, what's the first red our brain sees? When does red become an action? It's the color of attention, seldom subtle, the color of alarm, perhaps ominous. We stop with red (or, we use to), it often merits caution and warning. Our blood is red only outside of us, maybe not so good. It can be the color of heat or warmth, or a cool, crimson Mohave desert sunset. Red may be a color of passion or pain. Yet, also a hue of danger and style.