Mostly true stories of joy, enlightenment, and just one damned thing after another.
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A Day in Paradise
I Love Lucy!
Having bounded onto the bed, he licked me in the right eye, then curled up and settled in with his head on my arm.
"Isn't that sweet?" said the Wonder who had shimmered into the room. I could not fully subscribe to this point of view. What is sweet about getting out of bed before God wakes, only to go back to sleep again? Silly, it struck me as.
I extricated myself from the cat and brought myself to a fully upright position, the better to slosh a half-cup of tissue restorer into the abyss. It was only then that I realized Ms Wonder was knee-deep in boxes, looking like a sea goddess walking on the rocky shore.
"Unpacking?" I asked.
"Getting the Halloween stuff out. I thought it might help to keep busy today," she said. "Takes my mind off things I don't want on my mind."
I understood her meaning to the core.
It seems nothing brings more healing balm like anticipation of the holidays and our hearts were sore in need of healing. Lucy, the recently rescued little princess of sweetness and light has been adopted by another and is even now getting used to her new surroundings.
It's an excellent situation for her, of course, being the absolute center of attention and becoming a member of a permanent family. Still, it leaves a void in our hearts. It seems that when Lucy left, the sunshine and bluebirds followed her.
We love you, Lucy, and we miss you terribly and if history is any indication, we always will. I will always remember being wakened by your tiny, cold, wet nose.
Be happy, be healthy, be safe, my little girl.
A Walk on the South Side
I enjoy greeting the people that I see out and about in the early morning. They're people with purpose and I wonder what it would be like to be a purposeful person again. I struggle to find purpose but no matter how hard I try, it seems that I spend my days in Heaven's waiting room.
I don't expect you to agree. I'm not a fool. Or rather, I may be a fool, but... oh, I don't know. Let's not get derailed by existential philosophy.
I watch a favorite barista from Ethiopia who makes the little faces and hearts and fern leaves in the lattes I drink in Native Grounds and I wonder if it would be possible for someone without purpose in their life to do that.
This morning, pacing the south side mindfully and feeling the anger--not to mention the pain in the upper back--I began doing a few qigong wudangs. Swimming Dragon, was the first, followed by Parting the Clouds and then finishing with Embracing Heaven and Earth.
I was near a storm drain, and that mundane piece of municipal infrastructure became a metaphor for the neural networks in the shadowy region of my brain that support my depression.
When my attention returned to the here and now, I realized that about a dozen people were moving around me doing whatever they were doing at this hour. Upper-dressed young women going to work at Nordstrom's; corporate ID-tag bearers heading to Panera's for coffee and bagels; cargo pant-ed leaf blowers. All looking at me.
"Had to be done," I said.
They all nodded and continued on their way because they all knew what it was like to be messed with. And they instinctively knew that I was yelling in the right direction. Down the storm drain.
Abracadabra, Alakazam!
"Wonder," I said on my way to the sal de bains, "I'm feeling boompsie-daisy."
I never expect Ms. Wonder to take anything I say big and she didn't surprise me this morning. These descendants of Russian nobility do not let excitement move them from their center, remaining balanced at all times.
Up one minute, down the next, that's the Genome known by most of the Villagers. It's a chemical thing with a lot of technical jargon and a lot of guff about the amygdala, the little organ in the brain that's the center of the limbic system and the source of emotion.
My point is that I see my depression as being part of that Great Web. In my case, the web is one of Serotonin reuptake inhibitors and whatnot. Marcus Aurelius! Yes, that's the perp I was thinking of!
As soon as I set out, I tuned the radio to "60's Gold" where Louis Armstrong sang "What a Wonderful World," which was followed immediately by The Loving Spoonful singing, "It's a Beautiful Morning."
I may never be completely depression-free and I may have to feel those blue emotions forever, but I don't have to let them steal my song. With sweet memories of the loves of my life, one of them being Abbie Hoffman, I can rise above the clouds of depression on the back of the spirit horse of fierce intent.
The Twee System
I began my morning walk, with emotions soaring over the rainbow. The skies were blue, the sunshine warm, and the Mockingbird Five were performing live at the Brunswick Welcome Center. I was feeling fine, better than fine--the word is hiding from me right now; begins with an 'E'.
Then, little by little, I felt my mood slipping. I began to worry that my daily inventory was going to be disappointing. I felt that I'd stepped out onto what I've heard called, the slippery slope.
Genome, you say to yourself, what is happening to you?
Well, it's no mystery, my friend. It may border on tragic and it may be heartbreaking. But it's no mystery. It began when a well-meaning friend, one who cannot leave well enough alone, suggested that I might benefit from those martial arts exercises you see advertised everywhere.
My people-pleasing nature caused me to consent and before you could say lower dantien, I was enrolled in classes taught by Asian ambassadors for martial arts in America. My personality began to change. I became like one of those self-absorbed young men you see in TikTok videos.
After a few weeks, I was no longer quiet and calm. I became hearty and talkative even at the breakfast table, driving Ms. Wonder to distraction, perhaps to tears if I’m completely honest. I often boast to her of having been out with the dog walkers for a bracing walk hours before she awoke. Nothing to it, of course. I probably got up when she was in the bath, if I'm honest. But I feel that I should say something to let her and others too know that I’m working to improve myself.
If you think that's bad, better sit down. Throughout the day I sashay about town with a brisk, even jaunty, step. I greet everyone with a boisterous Good morning! I shake hands, I slap backs, and I'm generally a nuisance to almost everyone I encounter.
Naturally, this behavior has lost me a great many friends. But far worse has been the effect on my moral fiber. Although I like to think of myself as a mild and inoffensive man, I fear that Nature, the silly ass, has given me a ready wit and a short fuse. Whenever I find myself with a difference of opinion, and I do find myself in such situations more often than is probably healthy, I can’t help but think of a snappy remark or superb comeback. I sometimes decide it's a great pity to let it go to waste.
Brooding intensely over this troubling matter, and relying on my systems analysis skills, I’ve developed a program of spiritual exercises designed to improve the soul so that it keeps pace with the self-assertiveness. I like to think of it as keeping self and spirit aligned.
The key to success for this new system is to a mindfulness technique I mastered long ago coupled with the philosophy known as Twee (look it up). Imagine that you’re performing the kung fu hurricane kick. If you can’t imagine doing it, then imagine me doing it. Works just as well.
Now as you lift the leg above the waist and swirl around toward the opponent, instead of thinking about driving your foot through his head, you think instead of the dictum that all creatures have co-evolved on the earth and that we are all endowed by our creator with certain inalienable rights and among these are the right to enjoy life, freely as Nature intended, in pursuit of our needs and desires.
Having completed this exercise, you stand in the horse position, hands crossed at the lower dantien, and say the following words: I offer myself to you totally, good and bad, to do with, to make with what you will.
Doesn’t matter who you’re offering yourself to; the words simply set the intent to get out of your own way.
Ecstatic! That's the word I was looking for. Sorry for the interruption. The word just popped into my head and I wanted to be sure to get it on record.
Space forbids a complete list of my new spiritual exercises, but I'm preparing a small illustrated booklet, found on the advertising pages. The portrait included here is taken from the booklet and shows me immersed in mindful Twee.
You'll notice immediately a sort of rapt, seraphic expression in my eyes and a soft and spiritual suggestion of humility about the mouth. A big difference in my demeanor and the offensively preoccupied expression you see in most of the public today, don’t you think?
I hope my experience will benefit you as you travel your own self-improvement path. Remember, my friend, it's a wide, wild, wind-blown world we’re riding through but you don't have to let it blow your skirts up. Fierce Twee!
Goodness and Light
"Sure," I said, "it's the capital of Tunisia and it's on the northeast corner of Africa, near the tip of the Italian boot or, if you prefer, the island of Malta."
"So what's the northwest corner of Africa near," he asked.
What, if anything, I wondered, is this leading to?
"The northwest corner lies just across the Straight of Gibraltar from Spain," I said.
"Spain," he said with a quizzical expression as though he were musing about the implications that particular bit of geography might have on his personal philosophy. I was prepared for more, but no, before Irv could think of another question, someone else took the stage.
"I'd like a double cappuccino, half-caf, with oat milk, a drizzle of caramel, and just a sprinkling of cinnamon. I want only enough foam to be aesthetically pleasing but no more."
The request was made by someone you've read about in a previous post. I described him then as being the Lord Sidcup type and I may have implied that he often instills in my mind the thought of beating his brains out with a brick. I call him Spode because he reminds me of that P.G. Wodehouse character.
I looked at Irv, who was looking at me, with the same expression; an expression that said, Oh no, not again, Lord. Why me?
This local version of Lord Sidcup is a bit of a celebrity because he writes a column for Port City Magazine in which he reviews local hot spots, and the arts scene, and keeps us informed on the goings on in the city.
After placing his order, he walked toward the seating area but, immediately slowed to a standstill. He resembled the man who, after lunch with old friends from out of town, suddenly realizes he left his wallet on the kitchen counter at home.
"Oh!" he said as though it were a surprise. "I haven't found a table yet. I can't enjoy my coffee standing here in the middle of the room."
"There are a few tables near the window," said the barista and there are several tables along the far wall."
She made a delicate sweep with her arm as though revealing tables that had not been seen up to now. Her gesture was so dramatic that I wondered if she was enrolled in drama classes at UNCW. I thought I'd call her Desdemona. I don't know why. Just one of those things, I imagine.
"Oh, that won't do at all," he said. "I need a cafe table in the center of the room because the light is too bright near the windows and the television near the far wall is too loud. I need a quiet, well-lighted space to enjoy my coffee."
As she walked past our table, I caught her eye and said to her, "Well, that turned a little dark, didn't it?"
"That's alright," she said, "I like it dark sometimes." Then turning to glance back at Spode, she said with a low menacing tone, "I can go dark too."
"Excuse me," he said to people at the front of the line, "I've ordered but need to make a small change."
"I've decided against the sprinkling of cinnamon on my cappuccino," he said to the guy taking orders at the counter.
The order taker didn't say anything but gave Spode a look that said, I'm not a major player in this episode, only an extra who has no speaking parts.
"My order was a double cappuccino, with a drizzle of caramel, and a sprinkling of cinnamon. But I've decided against the cinnamon."
The intrepid extra demonstrated a professional ability to improvise by looking at the barista to his left who nodded knowingly and then moved away, presumably to take care of the change.
Spode turned back to the seating area and walked to a table that had just opened up very near our own. He sat, took his tablet out of a shoulder bag, and signaled to the barista that he was ready for his coffee.
Desdemona soon returned with his order. "I'm sorry, said Spode, "but that's simply far too much foam. Can you remake it with half as much?"
"I'll get a spoon for you to remove some of the foam," she said.
"Does that ever work? I mean really work?" said Spode in a tone that left no doubt it was not a question.
She took the coffee away without a word.
"Excuse me," Spode said to the retreating Desdemona, "I don't want to be a bother, but I changed my order to leave off the cinnamon and yet there's cinnamon sprinkled all over the foam."
Desdemona gave him a long, slow expressionless look.
"I simply will not be able to write my article if I can't enjoy my coffee exactly the way I like it," he said. "Anything less will ruin my entire day."
Desdemona didn't reply. Her expression was unchanging.
"Please," whined Spode.
Still silent, she took the coffee away again.
Several minutes went by without noticeable barista activity. Spode began to appear anxious and occasionally looked up to glance toward the front of the cafe. Finally, he raised a hand and gestured for attention.
"Am I ever going to get my coffee," he said when Desdemona arrived table-side. "At this rate, I'll have the article finished before it gets here."
"Hang tight," said Desdemona. "We don't want you to lose your cool and disappoint the people with an anxious article. We're driving a master barista from Calabash to make your coffee."
A Story I Can Believe In
Given that this feline has her paw on the thermostat of my happiness, you would expect the Genome to be proclaiming his standard, 'It's a beautiful day!' But no, it was not in the works. There was a somber and low-spirited mood in evidence. And I'll tell you why. It wasn't the gray sky and threatening inclemency. No, the reason for the leaden heart is the recent arrival at Native Grounds of one who gets the Lord Sidcup treatment, but one that I shall call Spode.
I don't have to tell you how important to my mental health are these morning assignations at the den of caffeine. But one sowing discord has recently joined our little klatch. You probably know someone whose presence causes you to fiddle with the keys in your pocket, do a little dance from one foot to the other and generally behave like a turkey caught in the rain. Well, in the case of this slab of gorgonzola, that's just the beginning.
This guy dominates the conversation, telling stories that make everyone uncomfortable and then offering an unspoken eye-to-eye challenge in his theatrical pauses daring you to disagree.
I want to ask him to leave, explaining that he is taking up space that's better used for other purposes. But I don't. Instead, I shush the proud spirit of the Genomes, the one I encouraged yesterday to stand up and speak out, declaring to the world that it is worthy and good enough to deal with whatever comes. You're probably thinking, 'So why don't you tell him to buzz off?'
The reason I hold my tongue even though the urge to beat his brains out with a brick descends upon me like Papa Legba riding a Voo-Doo devotee is that I don't know him well enough. You see, there is always a lot more to the story than what we know. I don't want to take away from someone the very thing they need to cope. Perhaps this man needs a group to hang with. Perhaps he's vulnerable and the challenging looks are his way of determining whether or not we will accept him.
I have made a decision and having made that decision, I shall ignore any and all evidence that doesn't fit with my plan. Here is the plan, as I see it. I am booking passage on the first freighter to the interior of the Amazon where I will live with the Tupi Indians as one of their own. That is my first choice. If that requires more time than I have available, then I will find another local caffeinery and begin building a new tribe. That is the plan for now and as always, the plan is flexible and may change.
The Buddha pointed out that all things are impermanent and I certainly don't want to seem in conflict with the man. After all, I have taken the oath to uphold the Sangha, or is it abandon myself to the Sangha, I forget which. I'll check with Ms. Wonder. The point I'm trying to get at is that no matter how I resolve this little crisis, there is one thing you can bet the mortgage on. I will not give up. The Genome does not eat pine needles.
Not Like A Melon
Charlie and The Extra
"Sometimes," the Emperor said to me, "a man must muster all of his courage to simply be calm, quiet, and present in the moment. Only then can one be kind to all without judgment."
More Joy in the Morning
"And sometimes it takes us by surprise," he said.
"You took the words right out of my mouth."
"Sir?" he said and I remembered that English isn't his native tongue and he's not fully equipped with all the gags and wheezes in the language.
"I was just about to say that," I said.
"My concern," he said, "is that fighting the negative forces seems ill-advised. It's well known that struggling against magic, we become more entangled."
"Ah," I said, "having found a talking point. "We do not struggle. We do not fight."
"We?" he said.
"Abbie and I," I said.
Abbie sat up to receive the recognition.
"Yes," he said in a soupy sort of voice, "the cat."
Abbie squeaked and directed one cold eye in his direction. This cat is a weapon when annoyed and channels the ancient Irish hero, Chuhulain, when in fighting mode. When one eye becomes larger than the other and steam escapes from the seams, the wise observer gets into the lead-lined jacket.
"We don't oppose the Witch of Woodcroft," I explained. "She's full of good works. She pulls the elements of decay from our environment and uses them as compost to feed a garden of wholesome and healthy delights. It's all on her website.
"I don't consider it delightful to be pulled away from very important business with the court," he said.
"Yes, I fully understand," I said. "The dross of her distillation, if it is dross, accumulates to critical mass. Then a loud report is heard and something that would rather not, pops in or pops out of one world and into another. Like you. It's all very disturbing."
"You'd go so far as that would you--disturbing? Well, what can you possibly do about it?"
"That's where our plan comes into play," I said and Abbie Hoffman, who seemed to have calmed somewhat, stopped washing a paw and gave Feldspar another warning look to make it clear that he would harbor no backtalk about cats.
"We will intercept the dross as it accumulates and replace the negative charge with a positive one--an effect greatly to be preferred because it will be healthful and enjoyable."
"How do you intercept the accumulation of dross?" he said.
"Ah, there you have me. It's something that Abbie Hoffman does but it's a trade secret and known only to him. But intercept it he does and then we use the raw material of it, he and I, to build a humorous story and then have a laugh. You can't be hurt by something that makes you smile."
"That sounds like Fierce Living," he said. "It's the solution you write about for managing runaway emotions. You're writing a book, aren't you? Is it finished?"
"Almost," I said. "Thank you for asking and yes, I am talking about Fierce Living. It works on everything. It's unbounded; it's wild and free; it's as wide as the sky and as deep as the sea. Why don't you join us, Feldspar? It will be like old times. We will make a team of three and nothing can stop us."
"Well," he said, and then looking at Abbie he added, "I don't know."
Abbie sat bolt upright at this, leveled a gaze at the troll and began washing the right paw with the intention, no doubt, of being prepared to deliver another single whip or possibly a repulse-the-monkey or a white-crane-spreads-her-wings. I'm sure you would know better than I.
Then suddenly Abbie Hoffman jumped down from the desk and approached Feldspar. I wondered if he was advancing to attack but then realized he was sniffing the chair. It was at this very moment that I noticed a distinctive odor.
"What is that smell?" I said.
"When the curtain between the worlds was rent," began Feldspar, "I was meeting with a gaggle of goblins and I fear that one of them fell through with me and I inadvertently sat on him."
"A goblin is beneath you?" I said leaning forward to get a better look.
"I'm afraid it's true," he said.
"Shouldn't you let him up?"
"On no account will I be responsible for releasing a goblin into your world. Remember the Middle Ages, sir."
"Right," I said. "So when you pop back home, he will pop back with you, is that it?"
"We can only hope, sir."
"I'm never going to get the smell out of that chair."
"I suggest burning it," he said.