As much as I would like to know my path, a part of me is telling me that it is better not too know too many details about the end destination or the obstacles on the journey. If I can only see as much as my headlights will show me, I can travel safely through any kind of weather, knowing that there's life through every sunrise and sunset and when the light is not shining as I'm used to, I can always assure myself that the night sky will show me many fulfilled dreams and hopes portrayed through shining stars, and every now and then reveal me a part of the moon which reflects that everlasting light, whether fully or not, making me aware that the shadow will always have its' mysterious beauty as well in the process of underlying a part of the truth. So let's continue like this, with our eyes set out far away in the galaxy, but with our feet firm in the ground from which we have been raised. Only so will we be able to ground ourselves deeply and reach immeasurable heights, like a tree deeply rooted in mother Earth that stretches its' branches up to the heavens.
Take care of your car in the garage, and the car will take care of you on the road.
Large Squares, 1965 -Last BeetleThe body is much the same as the previous model, aside from increase in window size all round. Door handles and lock mechanisms also changed as well as seat and dashboard designs. Chrome beading became thinner, mounting holes for these also smaller. Chrome was later replaced by black anodizing or plastic to try and modernize the Bug. Tail light clusters changed from the oval shape to the ‘headstone’ and then the ‘elephant’s foot’ jumbo units the bug saw its last days with. In 1965 new larger windows all round. 1966 saw the last 6v bug, and also the first 1300cc motor. Those horrible little air vents behind the rear side windows came out in 1971 that caused lots of rusty bugs. Sloping headlights looked much nicer but went out in 1967.
I've been talking to myself a lot lately. I don't know what that's about, but my mother was the same way. She hated to make small talk with other people, but get her into a conversation with herself and she was quite the raconteur. She would tell herself a joke and clap her hands together as she let out a laugh; she would murmur to the plants as she watered them, and offer encouragement to the food as she cooked it. Sometimes I would walk into a room and surprise her as she was regaling herself with some delightful story, and I remember how the sound would dry up in her mouth. She stood there, frozen in the headlights of my teenage scorn.