You're Not Alone

One day, while searching for classic vinyl records in the thrift shops of Carrboro and Chapel Hill, I was treated to one of those serendipitous, magical moments that make you think the universe has a fun side after all. 

I stopped at the Open Eye Café for a mid-morning coffee break and I'm not setting you up when I say the barista who took my order looked exactly like Maggie Gyllenhaal. I know! It's true!

I wish I could post her photo here as proof, but I opened our conversation with that old line, "Don't I know you from somewhere else?" You can imagine the awkward response if I'd then asked to take a selfie with her. 

As Maggie made my coffee, I was struck by the thought, like a bolt from the blue, that life is absurdly unfair. Stay with me for a moment and consider, for example, that some remarkable musicians become World Party, while others become Fields of Mars. Not that there's anything wrong with the Fields. A fine, deserving group of musicians in my opinion, but I think you see my point.

Still, some Gyllenhaals become movie stars while others become baristas. This cosmic imbalance weighed heavily on my mind as I collected the coffee and took a table outside in the sun, but not too near the street.

My thoughts drifted into the void while I mused on the words of the Buddha, "All things are..." how does it go? Begins with an 'I.' Imperfect? Improbable? It's a word meaning things don't last forever.

As I said, I was lost in the void until awakened by another thought, one of many that arose like shiny, multicolored soap bubbles. Impertinent! No, that's not it, either. Give me a moment. Where was I?

Oh yes, another thought arose and this one reflected the iridescent words of Karl Wallinger. "What I see just makes me cry...clouding up the images of a perfect day."

So, how do I deal with the things that make me cry, like the Maggie / World Party shortcoming? That's my question. And after a lifetime of analyzing the thing, the best answer I've come up with is that one must simply find a way of accepting the situation and get on with it.

It’s not as grim as it sounds! Often, the things I think are disasters turn out to be blessings in disguise. Not always—I’m no Pollyanna—but enough to give me hope.

Looking back over my life, I realize that the best scenarios came to me accidentally. My best plans never worked the way I hopped--but the accidents--ahh, that's where the magic was found.

This perspective isn’t exactly warm and fuzzy—it requires a willingness to embrace a little risk. But here’s the thing: it’s much easier to face life’s curveballs with a tribe by your side. And The Cicurlar Journey is always here for you. 

Do you need a sympathetic ear to share the absurdities of Life? Simply leave a comment. Are you looking for someone to be by your side, you have them. You may not have met them yet but they're all around you.

You only need to remain open-minded and accept help no matter the source. If you do that, you will attract people to you.  And that, my friend, makes all the difference.

I was taught a little slogan to remind me that my tribe is out there looking for me--alone I may fail, but together we will succeed.

Give it a try. You've got little to lose. Stop judging, stop criticizing, and accept the help that's offered. You are not alone. 

Impermanent! That's what the Buddha said. I knew I'd think of it. I've been working crossword puzzles to improve my memory.

Point of No Return

My story is a simple one and one that’s all too common. The whole thing can be condensed into two words—"I drank." 

What It Was Like

  When I was only a boy, my father and uncle used to give me a small taste of beer, but it tasted wicked. I didn't like it. I did like the feeling it gave me--feeling as though I was breaking a taboo but with permission.

 

My story isn’t one of a teenager gone bad. I stayed sober through high school. My downfall began when I joined the hometown boys in college.

I was one of those young men you read about in the Hollywood tabloids. I had no self-confidence. I felt that everyone around me knew something about life that I’d somehow missed in the instruction booklet.

And then I was introduced to the awful power of all-out, uncontrolled ridicule. Young college men are a hard-living lot, wild and reckless. They engaged in keg parties, drunken dances, and X-rated movies, and they laughed at me when I chose to stay in my apartment listening to The Supremes and Simon and Garfunkle.

Eventually, I gave in to their raucous urging. The next time I was offered a drink I accepted. Immediately, they treated me as a member of their club. They initiated me with a complimentary nickname. 

The Jack Daniels and Coca-Cola we drank made me drunk, but the sudden popularity and their wholesale acceptance of me completely intoxicated me.

How vividly I can recall the next morning! Those merry faces that had partied with me the night before, and the slaps on the back convinced me that I was the life and soul of the party. It was too much for me to ignore.

I was addicted to the attention that I found only while drinking.

At first, considerations of health didn’t trouble me. I was young and strong, and my constitution seemed immune to negative effects. Gradually, I began to feel threatened. I was losing my grip. I had trouble concentrating on my work. I became anxious. In what seems like a very short time, I lost everything. My car, my home, my job, my family. 

Life had become a wicked taskmaster.

What Happened

Eventually, I met a man. I’m not sure how it happened, but it doesn’t matter. All that does matter is that I met him and he knew something about my problem.

"If I am to help you," he said, "you must tell me everything. Hold no secrets.” Our long conversations gave me hope, and he provided a list of instructions for living life on life's terms. I did everything on that list, and life began to improve.

I soon found other people who suffered from problems similar to those that plagued me. These few had also met someone who gave them a long list of instructions, and we joined together to help each other stay on the straight and narrow.

Then, I met Ms. Wonder, the girl who transformed me. She was the opposite of me in temperament and outlook. We did share an early life full of difficulty but under different circumstances. 

What It’s Like Now

We began to see a lot of each other, and our differences began to morph into something like a musical comedy.

I remember being so overjoyed at the prospect of spending time with her that I often sang, “Oh Joy! Oh Pep!" Maybe not that song. I sang a lot of happy songs that all carried the message of "Oh, Happy Day!" As we spent more time together, our acquaintance ripened, and one night I asked her out to see “Moonstruck.”

I look at that moment as the happiest of my life. We had time to spare before the movie started, and we drove round and round Clear Lake talking of this and that. Eventually, we parked, and when I couldn’t unbuckle my safety belt, she declared, “And I thought you were a live one!"

Our time together that night began my transformation. I experienced joy for the first time without alcohol.

It was hard at first. Something inside me tried to pull me back to my cravings, but I resisted the impulse. Always with her divinely sympathetic encouragement and her mysterious ability to work wonders, I gradually acquired a taste for life on life’s terms. 

We’ve been together for a lifetime, and the joy increases daily. Someday, I hope to show her how grateful I am for all she's done.

Emmy Grammy Oscar Tony

My book agent (the one currently residing in a recovery day spa) is urging me to finish Out Of The Blue because he's working with a playwright to turn it into a stage production. He's telling me that he thinks my book could be the first mental health memoir to win the coveted EGOT. One day I might have a story right up there with Wicked!

But I'm having trouble working on it because Ms. Wonder thinks the idea has about as much chance of coming true as an AI machine has of becoming aware of itself. When Ms. Wonder isn't behind me, the motivation that drives great doings is lacking by the bucket load.

To be completely transparent, which is one of the prime directives of this blog, I must confess that I keep being distracted by shiny objects, and by shiny objects I mean things like soap bubbles, or trips to the beach, or hanging out in coffee cafes.

And so, to resolve the main issue and deliver the goods to my agent, I've decided that my only option is to stay at home until I finish the book. 

Wonder doesn't think much of this idea either. She thinks that isolation is a risk to my sanity, my sobriety, and my physical health. And there you have it, just one damned thing to deal with after another.

She encourages me to hang out with friends. The idea is that friends will keep me on the straight and narrow. Hmmm?

Past experience has taught me, and I'm sure you'll agree, that it's always best to consider Wonder's advice. And so this afternoon, I asked a few of the inner circle to meet me in Southport where I could work on the book while they solved the world's problems.

And that's how I ended up here in Ocean Isle writing this blog. I know! But before you jump to the conclusions that you're about to leap to, let me explain. You see the 80's countdown of hits from 1983 was on the radio and I didn't want to miss the top 10. Understandable, don't you agree? Then as soon as the countdown finished, Rick Springfield's show started and the topic of the week was Women in Rock.

When that show ended, I turned around and started back toward Southport, and then, damn it! A new coffee shop that opened in Bolivia and not just a new shop but the one and only craft coffee emporium in Brunswick County.

I think you understand. Not my fault. The Universe operates a vast conspiracy against me. And not any old mundane, run-of-the-mill conspiracy but one of multilevel intricacies and legions of agents. I'm sure of it.

Another day in paradise but another day that fell short of expectations. Will it ever be different? Who knows? Not me. Still, I'll never give up and I hope you don't give up on me. Keep coming back because anything could happen and when something does, I'd like you to be here to enjoy it with me. And don't forget to leave a comment.

Take It Easy

The day opened bright and fair brought me into the peak of my form, fizzy to an almost unbelievable extent, and enchanting one and all with my bright smile and equally bright wit.

We were in Wilma Fine Arts Gallery, Ms. Wonder and I, to de-install her most recent photography exhibit, Harbor Impressions. 

At the apex of good cheer, I stepped out of the gallery for the cooling breeze and hot coffee, where I was offered an opportunity to buy a pack of cigarettes for a gentleman who seemed in dire need of them, and on his birthday no less. 

I'm not a cigarette handler so I gave him a bit of cash instead, assuming he could find someone who would accept the money in return for the coffin nails.

A few minutes later, I had a similar offer to unite a man in need with his personal needful--a can of Mountain Dew. What a day! Does it get any better?

It was as if, Sysiphus had been provided with a bulldozer to move that boulder up and down the hill.

And then, Bang! Pop! Pow! Just as I was feeling like saying, This is the life! along came the first of those wicked text messages. The phone lay on the counter too far away for me to see the messenger, and I eyed the thing askance. I think that's the word I'm looking for. It means an untrusting look, to look with suspicion as if expecting something to pop out and bite me in the ankle.

You may recall that it was a text message that started the rannygazoo involving Lupe and my Aunt Maggie. The posting is called, An Aunt's Curse, but I wouldn't bother reading it now--not germane (closely or significantly related; relevant; pertinent).

Had circs been different, not that they ever are, but if they had been different I might have enjoyed an after-dinner saunter down Front Street with Ms. Wonder who was back at the gallery wrestling with canvas prints and cardboard boxes. It's her alternative to working crossword puzzles.

The air was full of warm summer richness. A gentle breeze coming off the river refreshed the spirit, and the sky was probably full of stars. I say probably because they were dimmed by the street lights but I'm sure they were there. Probably.

But to enjoy the gentle night requires a tranquil mind and tranquil was exactly what my mind was not. Not tranquil; full of thoughts about text messages. What to do about them was the question I asked myself.

"Do about what?" asked Ms. Wonder who had shimmered from somewhere up uptown to join me outside Drift Cafe.

"Did I say that out loud? I asked.

She didn't respond to my question. Looking back on it now, I suppose there was no reason for her to elaborate.

"Poopsie," I said. "I've gotten text messages that I'd rather not have gotten."

"I'll bet they're from Crystal Cove, aren't they?" she said.

"You do know everything, don't you?" I said.

"Don't let it worry you now," she said. "The night's too beautiful for worry. Remember that tomorrow is another day and there's always hope in tomorrow. 

"That tomorrow is another gag day might have worked for a Broadway play like Wicked," I said, "but it doesn't work in real life."

"I believe you're confusing Wicked and Annie," she said. "But it doesn't matter. Look--forget the text messages, enjoy the evening, and by tomorrow morning your cares will have melted away like snow on the mountaintop."

"But what if they don't melt away?" I said.

"In that case," she said, "you might want to get away to where your troubles can't find you."

"You mean somewhere like Cheers," I said. "Taking a break from all your worries sure would help a lot. Like that, right?"

"I was thinking of somewhere like Jamaica, or Australia, or even the United States of America," she said.

"I've heard that Australia's nice," I said.

"See," she said, "you feel better already, don't you?" 

Then she put her arm in mine and we sauntered on down Front Street like F. Scott and Zelda living another day in paradise.

Coffee Therapy

It was one of those breezy, humid mornings when nature seems to be considering scaring the bejeezus out of local inhabitants with a hell of a wicked thunderstorm.

"Better stay home. Who wants to negotiate downtown traffic in a monsoon?" The words floated up from Princess Amy's control room deep in my brain. The mid-brain is the location of her command and control center, or so I'm told, but I wouldn't know the mid-brain from the suburbs.

"Sorry, Amy," I said. "I need to get out of the house. I feel like a balloon with more than the recommended dose of atmosphere, if atmosphere is the word I want."

Wind Horse was purring smoothly as we crossed the newly renovated Memorial Bridge. I immediately saw the thunderhead rolling up the river from the stormy Atlantic, moving past the port, on its way downtown. Lightning bolts danced about in the depths of the darkness. It looked wicked and I didn't like it.

"Faster, faster!" urged Amy. She was talking to me, not the storm. "Castle Street's going to be a river by the time we get there."

"Easy, Amy," I said. "Don't allow your knickers to get all twisted."

By the time I parked, the floodgates had opened, and the downpour obscured my vision. I walked quickly through the rain with a bowed head and an angry heart. I was fed up with all the nonsense that Life was throwing my way over the past week. I was mad as hell and I wasn't going to take it anymore. That's what I told myself but I was at a loss as to what I would do about it exactly.  

Pausing halfway through the cafe door, I assessed the state of the interior. Several people were in line ahead of me. Not good I thought and I could feel Princess Amy taking it big too. 

"I told you!" she said. "We never should have left home. Maybe you'll pay more attention to me next time"

Rather than getting in line, I waved to the barista behind the bar in a way designed to indicate I was desperate for an infusion of Jah’s mercy, and pleading for her to do her utmost to do something about it.

She nodded in a way that assured me she would attend to the matter immediately. I knew this maiden well and I was certain that just like an Arabian genie when her lamp is rubbed, it would be with her the work of an instant to vanish from the crowd and reappear at my table with the promised elixir.

"There's nowhere to sit," said Amy.

I scrutinized the room and there to my wandering eye appeared, my old pal, Doyle Jaynes, seated in the middle of the room, with a peculiar look on his face. It was a look usually seen on the faces of dog walkers who, on rainy days like this one, wish they'd chosen another career. 

I crossed the room and nodded to Jaynes who had finally looked my way. As I sat, I asked, "What's wrong with you? You look like...well, never mind what you look like. I probably look the same."

"Mine is a long story," he said, "full of heartbreak and grief. I've been abandoned by the one I most depended on."

"Well, so is mine a long story," I said, "although I'll bet it shares nothing in common with yours. Still, a warm, friendly environment and a bottomless supply of steaming brew-ha-ha help to make a fine day for it. Who'll get us started, you or me?"

And just at that precise moment, the barista arrived with my cappuccino. Perfect timing. A good day to die, as my ancestors would say. It's a traditional term meant to indicate that one has lived a good life and has no unresolved regrets hanging around.

Each day is a special and unique gift. No matter what comes with it, it's the same day--good or bad, happy or sad. Seems to me, we might as well accept life as it is and get on with it. When there's a dry spot with a friendly face in it and a mug of globally brewed and locally roasted, who needs therapy?

Prince of Happiness

The key to happiness is found in fantasy. I'm not saying that it's the only key to happiness. There may be others. I'm sure there are. I just haven't found them.

Life is chaotic and messy and it never unfolds the way we expect. Fantasy, on the other hand, can be anything we want it to be. Fantasy is predictable and that makes it immensely satisfying.

The kind of fantasy I'm talking about is the kind you create for yourself. It's a fact of human psychology that we all tell ourselves stories about our lives. The stories we tell become the lives we live. That idea is the reality behind the notion that we create our future. 

You see, we don't always clearly see the situations we're involved in. We make mistakes in that regard and see circumstances in ways different than any other sane person would. But it doesn't matter in the long run because whatever we choose to believe becomes our reality.

Intentional, meaningful fantasy can make the world a happier place by simply changing our view. That's why I write The Circular Journey. I create a fantasy that explains and overcomes the nonsense in my life. I accept the fantasy because it makes more sense to me and seems more real than so-called physical reality.

If you aren't quite convinced of the truth of my argument, consider the following:

For decades I've loved the song, Rasberry Beret by Prince. I could never be unhappy hearing it. The curious thing is that I didn't know the lyrics, only a few words and short phrases. I decided to learn the lyrics so I could sing along.

What a surprise! I didn't like the lyrics; they didn't agree with my scruples. Wicked? I stopped listening to the song. I felt like a man chasing rainbows with wild abandon until the rainbow turned around and bit me on the leg. My spirit was broken, as broken as the Ten Commandments.

Then one day, during my routine physical therapy, the song began playing on Spotify. I was so focused on the therapy, that I began singing and feeling joyful before I realized what I was listening to.

From that day forward, I was able to enjoy the song again by simply choosing to ignore the lyrics.

Eureca! The principle of displacement! 

Not the displacement that Archimedes was so fond of, but Eureka just the same. Displacing one value with another made me as happy as damn it! I don't know what that means either, I just like saying it.

What's it all about, Genome? I've heard it said, and I believe it, that if you don't like the way your day is going, you can change it. You can start your day over as many times as you like.

Happiness doesn't just happen to us. We must choose to be happy and demand nothing less. Then we must keep on choosing it every day.

Hard Like Water

I found her at the cafe table where I'd left her only minutes before.

"Lupe," I said. "I'm so glad you haven't left."

And I was too. You see, we'd finished that conversation which is now the gist of the last post and I'd shared my advice about wooden nickles and ankled away. Then I remembered the real reason I'd come looking for her in the first place.

Adorable Vectors by Vecteezy

"Still here," she said, "but If you have a long story, it will have to wait until our next appointment. I'm meeting friends in the Castle Street Arts District to see Wicked at the Tivoli."

"You'll have time for me, you young geezer," I said. The remark was made in the warmest, most loving way of course.

"Walk and talk," she said getting up from the cafe table and heading uptown.

"What's happening on Castle Street?" I asked.

"No time for that now," she said. "You'll have to wait for tomorrow's Star News and read about it there."

"Big stuff," I said and was about to muse on it but she came to an abrupt stop, looked me in the eye, and said, "Talk."

"Ah, right," I said. "I need some advice about changes I want to make in my life. I've been struggling..."

"I know," she said.

"I practice all my power principles and yet I seem to make no progress. I'm beginning to feel that I'm stuck in some wormhole or other. Or maybe I've crossed over the horizon boundary of a black hole or whatnot."

"Well, I know how much you like to compare your life to quantum fields," she said, "but you're wasting subspace energy looking there. Your problem is that you've forgotten Fierce Qigong."

"Mankiller!" I said coming to an abrupt stop. You've been around these parts long enough to know that when I use this former shrimp's surname I mean business and I want it to show.

"Never do I forget Fierce Qigong. It's my raison d'ette."

She came to an abrupt stop. It was looking like a big day for abrupt stops. She turned around and took two slow steps toward me. I knew she meant business.

"What is the foundation of Fierce Qigong?" she asked.

It was a rhetorical question, of course, but I had a strange feeling that we were about to get somewhere and I thought it best to play along.

"Fierce Qigong is founded on taiji chuan," I said.

"Chen style," she said.

"To be sure," I said.

"And what is the principal difference between taiji chuan and kung fu?" she said. "Or should I say, wushu?"

"Wushu or even sip pal gi in case any of my Korean masters hear of this conversation." 

"Genome! Put a sock in it! Back to the question; what's the difference between taiji and wushu?"

Well, checkmate, I thought. She'd done it again and with only two questions. Forget Sherlock Holmes, forget Jeeves; when this Lupe Louise Mankiller accepts an assignment her mysterious something works wonders.

"The difference is soft hands," I said. "Hands like water--soft and yielding and yet unstoppable; cutting through stone."

"Taking a relaxed approach," she said. "Never losing inner harmony. Performing the next best thing without striving and without planning the outcome."

"That's what I haven't been doing," I said.

"Rem acu tetigisti," she said.

"Fierce Qigong," I said. And I meant it too.