"Once," I said, "but it happened so long ago that the scar is barely noticeable. Can you see it?" I asked, pointing at my nose.
The Circular Journey
Mostly true stories of joy, enlightenment, and just one damned thing after another.
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Yuletide Spirit!
"Once," I said, "but it happened so long ago that the scar is barely noticeable. Can you see it?" I asked, pointing at my nose.
Zeus in Red Converse
I’d been awake for a minute or two—long enough to determine that I would probably survive—when Ms. Wonder peeked into the bedroom. She was wearing a geometric print blouse and black slacks. Not that it matters; I mention it only in passing.
“What’s with this?” I said. “Why aren’t you working?”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Wow,” I said, “it must be serious if you’re checking on me. Does my face look swollen?”
“Not bad. How are you feeling?”
“The right side of my face throbs with my pulse, but other than that, I feel fine.”
I rolled out of bed, thinking I’d spend the afternoon at Luna Cafe. But when I walked into the kitchen, I managed to spill my water bottle, drop yogurt on my shoe, and drip coffee down the front of my pajamas.
Well, that does it, I thought. Driving to Luna would be risky. Apparently, the gods had taken the afternoon off, or maybe they’d left for Florida to escape the cold snap along the Carolina coast.
“I don’t know,” said Wonder. “Maybe you’re looking to the wrong god for support.”
I cut my eyes in her direction, surprised that she knew what I'd been thinking. I mean, sure, she works in mysterious ways, her wonders to perform and all that, but this was over the top.
“I was thinking of Zeus,” I said, attempting subterfuge and misdirection to disarm her defenses.
“He’s not in Florida,” she replied. “In fact, he hasn’t been heard from in centuries.”
“Surely not that long,” I said.
“I’m afraid so. I’m pretty sure he’s no longer around.”
“You mean he’s clocked out?” I asked. “How did he go?”
“I think it was ruled natural causes,” she said.
“Makes sense,” I replied. “I mean, who would want to kill Zeus?”
“Probably lots of people,” she said. “He was an okay guy, but he messed around a lot. And I think he owed a bunch of people money.”
“I won’t be the same with him gone,” I said.
“It hasn’t been the same for a long time,” she said. “I’m told there’s another one now.”
“A replacement for a god? Now that’s something to think about over afternoon coffee.”
“The cycle of life,” she said.
“Well, yeah,” I said, “I suppose that’s the only way to look at it. But still, it seems like replacing a god wouldn’t be so easy. My crown upgrade was more challenging. Do you suppose they keep a file of applicants in an office cabinet somewhere?”
“I think they use an app called "Indeed" now. But however it happened, you know that Zeus wasn’t real, right?”
“Someone thought he was real,” I said, “and when you get right down to it, that’s all that counts.”
Suddenly, I remembered reading somewhere that Zeus wore red Converse tennis shoes. The thought seemed to support his existence. I chose not to bring it up, though, because Ms. Wonder appeared to be musing on what I’d just said, and that was good enough for me.
“Still,” I said, “it just feels wrong to go around replacing other people’s gods.”
“For sure,” she said.
Happy, Joyous, and Free
Belloc* wrote about "the unchanging place where all we loved is always dear." He described it as where "we meet our morning face to face and find at last our twentieth year."
His words speak to me about memories stored in my mind and heart--memories of an idealized time where everything I once cherished—people, places, events—remain as meaningful and precious as ever.
When he speaks of facing the morning of our twentieth year, he means the place and time where we realize our cherished youth is behind us, and we come face-to-face with our future, with all its challenges and opportunities.
I read somewhere that when a patient wakes from anesthesia, the doctor asks several questions to assess their level of awareness. One of the questions is, "How old are you?"
Regardless of the patient’s age, the first response is often "nineteen." That answer may be repeated until sufficient consciousness returns to respond accurately.
For me, the age corresponding to Belloc's "carefree fields of a glorious period" came much later in life. I suppose the age isn't the same for all of us.
My passion for life, my friends, my overwhelming optimism, and my bubbling enthusiasm from that "glorious period" shine through in every story that Princess Amy shares with me about the present—whether joyful or sorrowful, whether truthful or embellished.
The Genome I remember before "meeting my morning face to face" was a kind, chivalrous, naive, aunt-ridden, code-driven, schoolboy.
I tend to overlook the low expectations for happiness that haunted those mornings. It was sufficient for me to simply escape uncomfortable circumstances.
In The Circular Journey, the Genome frequently faces bewilderment, indignity, and bullying. The source of my predicament typically lies with one of two nemeses—either Fate's practical jokes or my misguided belief that I'm the Lord of Misrule.
I almost always pay for my escape through some form of atonement or forfeit, but in the end, I'm happy to simply escape unscathed.
There’s an important life lesson in all of this—a lesson that, if I truly embrace it, could potentially transform my life and help me live happily, joyfully, and freely. However, I don't have a clue what that lesson might me. If you have any insights, please share them in the comments.
Moons Out Of Orbit
"Oh, sorry, my morning is going well," I said, and I was about to ask her the same, but she didn't wait to be asked. Good for her, I thought, seize the reins and all that.
"Mine's crap," she said. "I've totally lost my mojo. Something has gone wrong in my energy zone and everything is out of whack."