Streaming Universe

"You're in such a wicked mood. What's happened to you anyway? You had so much promise when you were younger and we expected much, much more from you. Didn't we Claudia? Genome, did your mom drop you on your head as a child?"

Claudia didn't look up from her phone, but she did snicker, and not in a flattering way.

The snarky comment came from Lupe, but you probably guessed that. I'd come to Native Grounds this Friday morning needing a quick pick-me-up but found Lupe here instead. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. She may offer only a half-dose of whatever it is she brings to the table, but she's always there for me. Something to be said for that.

"My mother did drop me on my head as a child," I said, "and it's not funny. Think what might have happened."

"That's what I'm thinking of, and I'm convinced that whatever might have happened did happen."

"Oh, shut up," I said but with the velvet glove because I didn't really want to offend. "Let me tell you why I'm so bent."

"Do," she said. 

"I recently went to Ocean Isle, to the memorial sand dunes, to give the Universe a piece of my mind."

"The memorial sand dunes," Lupe explained for Claudia, "is what he calls the spot on the beach where he talks to the Universe and all the souls who've passed through the veil."

I waited patiently for Claudia's response. She first glanced in my direction and then at Lupe. She offered a sort of eyebrow-lifting hint of a shrug and then went back to the phone.

"You, stooge," Lupe said to me. "You thought you'd get tough with the Universe, didn't you, and I bet it didn't work, did it?"

"Stooge is right," I said. "Believe me, Lupe, I want to believe all that guff about the Universe watching my back and looking out for my best interests. I really do. I've tried. But it doesn't work for me."

"You misunderstand me," she said. "I didn't mean stooge as in someone who always becomes the butt of practical jokes."

"You don't?"

"I mean stooge as in one of the Three Stooges. Someone who, no matter how hard he tries, always looks silly in the end."

"A comedy ensemble from the 1940's," Lupe explained to Claudia who had looked up from her phone with a furrowed brow and a sideways glance at me. You do the translation.

I mused on her words because if you remember the recent post mentioned above, I gave it my best in Ocean Isle but my best just wasn't good enough. If you missed the post, you can find it by searching The Circular Journey for A Day of Reckoning.

"The Universe has been watching over you all your life," Lupe said.

"She's done a poor job of it," I said.

"Are you completely looney?" she said. "Forget that, not a question. Of course, you're looney. Looney to the eyebrows, if I remember the full diagnosis.

"Lupe!" I said. "Rally around you, little geezer. You're supposed to be on my side."

"Look, Genome, you're not a bad guy. I'd say most people like you, just in small doses, right Claudia?"

Claudia didn't respond. Apparently, something big was trending on TikTok.

"That's right," Lupe continued. "You've had a fantastic life. You have wonderful stories that people love to hear. Even Claudia and I love to hear your stories, and we're the last people you'd expect to appreciate your antics."

Claudia looked up from her phone and looked directly at me with a crooked smile and nodded at me. It was a tiny nod. Barely perceptible but I got the message.

I was having a hard time taking it all in. I've heard about the limited bandwidth the mind has for processing information but this was information overload on a massive scale.

"You see, all those wonderful things that happened to you weren't the results of your plans or your actions. No, they occurred serendipitously."

"Stop right there," I said. "I know what you're going to say. I've said it myself when trying to convince myself that there's hope in the future. But believe me, you little half-measure, it's all random, accidents. Nothing more."

"You don't know what I'm going to say," she said. "Consider the earwig on the lanai this morning."

"How do you know about the earwig?" I said.

"What's an earwig?" said Claudia, finally a part of the conversation.

"Why did that earwig live to tell the story?" asked Lupe.

"Because I chose to let it live another day. Live and let live is my motto."

"I'll bet that earwig is telling its buddies the story right now. The friends are probably saying, You should be grateful that the Universe is looking out for you today. But the earwig is objecting. It's not the Universe, he's saying. "It's just random accidental events. I was lucky that's all."

"Now, I ask you," she said to me. "Was it just an accident that the earwig is still alive?"

"No," I said. "He survived because I decided to let him go. It was an intentional gift of kindness."

Lupe didn't respond right away. She watched my face in silence giving her words time to sink in for full effect. At least, that's my take on it. You may see it differently.

"Here's the deal, Genome. Consciousness. There's only one. It's Universal. The Universe desires physical experience. If you want my opinion, our brains are tuned into one or more channels where we get subtle suggestions and a little nudging. It's like tuning a radio."

"It's a box where people listen to music and talk shows," she said to Claudia.

"I know what a radio is," said Claudia.

"Bottom line," said Lupe. "The Universe has been looking out for you since you were fetal." Then as an afterthought, she added, "There's a chance you may still be."

"Fetal?" I said. "Are you calling me fetal?"

"Did I say that out loud?" she said.

"Fetal?" I said again because I didn't fully understand her point and was trying to hide the fact by appearing to be offended. Don't knock it. It may be a new concept to you but it seems to work for many.

"You'd think," Lupe said to Claudia, "that just having Ms. Wonder in your life would be enough to convince a person that they've been given a special ride."

Claudia put the phone down. She looked directly into my eyes as if to avoid any chance of misunderstanding. Then she nodded knowingly and that nod spoke volumes.

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.

Sad Songs Say So Much

To combat the familiar feeling that I take up space better used for other purposes, I decided to invite a few friends over to listen to the new Spotify playlist I created for my birthday.

"Good for you," said James. "Music is the medicine that cures whatever ails you."

When we were settled on the lanai, each with a favorite tissue restorer in his hands, I explained that my birthday playlist contained songs guaranteed to cheer me up when I'm blue.

"We'll start," I said, "with Whitney Houston and I Will Always Love You."

"This song became the best-selling single of all time by a female solo artist," I said.

We all sang along with Whitney and when it ended, Jim said, "Did you know that song was written by Dolly Parton? She wrote it for Porter Wagoner when she left his TV show to pursue a solo career."

"It's a great song," said Dennis, "but a little sad, don't you think?"

"Some sad songs make me feel better," I said. "And let's don't jump the rails with side issues. I've got a lot of great music to play.

I pushed play and Billy Vera began singing the heart-breakingly beautiful What Did You Think.

"Oh, my Lord," said Dennis. "That's the most powerful song I've ever heard. Makes a grown man cry."

"Yeah, Genome, I thought these songs were supposed to lift your spirits."

"Well, they do lift mine," I said. "Even though I feel like crying when I hear this song, somehow, some way it makes me happy at the same time. I'm happy knowing that my life includes the kind of love that passeth all understanding, as the Big Book says, and I've recently found my life's purpose. Does that make sense?"

"Not at all," said Jim. "It's either a happy song or it isn't. And it's the Good Book, not the Big Book."

"Okay, okay" I said. "Stop judging and listen to Rita Coolidge singing Bird on a Wire."

"Oh man!," said James, "I love this song. Have you watched The Great?"

"I'm watching it now," said Dennis. "What a series, right? "The way Catherine struggled to give the signal for the coup."

"Right, said Jim. "You could see the heartbreak in her eyes because it would cost her the love of her life."

"Yeah," said James, "Elle Fanning nailed it!"

"No, no!," I said. "This has nothing to do with the television series and it's not about the Simone Istwa arrangement of the song. It's Rita Coolidge."

"It's Istwa," said James. "Istwa, not Itswa."

"I didn't say Itswa."

"Yes, you did," said Jim.

"Do you have a happy, upbeat song in this entire playlist?" said Dennis.

"Didn't say happy," said James. "He said they lift his mood."

"Yeah, well, I expected to have my mood lifted," said Dennis, "but so far..."

"Okay," I said. "I get it. But sometimes in life, we have to accept the loss of something we love for the greater good. Like Catherine the Great."

"You think so?" said Jim and it wasn't really a question.

"Fine," I said. "I give up. I don't care anymore. Do what you want, but I'm going to listen to Billy Joel singing, Keeping the Faith.

"Oh, man, I love Billy Joel," said James.

Instead of replying, I began singing along with Mr. Joel.

"If it seems like I've been lost in 'let's remember..."

Everyone joined me and our voices soared until we got the attention of the family next door.

"Then you should have known me much better..."

I heard voices coming from somewhere off-stage and I assumed the neighbors were joining it.

"Still I would not be here now if I never had the hunger,..."

The others stopped singing when the neighbors came to look over the fence but I continued to sing solo.

"Cause I never felt the desire
'Til their music set me on fire
And then I was saved, oh yeah"

And that," I said opening my eyes, "is the punchline that brings it all home: I’d never felt the desire 'til the music set me on fire, and that made all the difference."

"Genome," said Dennis, "do you have another of those mimosas lying around that someone isn't using?"

"I'll get that while you guys listen to Linda Rondstadt and Long, Long, Time," I said.

"Oh, my god!" said Jim. "You and your uplifting songs. That's got to be the saddest song ever written."

"Especially when Linda sings it," said Mumps. "She puts more sad notes in a song than the writers."

When I returned to the lanai, everyone was sitting quietly wearing deep-thought faces.

"Sssup?" I said and I meant it to imply What the hell?

"The invitation said an afternoon of uplifting music," James said.

Silence filled the early evening air. Darkness had fallen like a soft velvet curtain. The hibiscus blossoms had closed their eyes and their heads drooped in slumber. I wondered if hibiscus flowers dream. 

An owl hooted in the shadows. Small creatures of the night rustled in the undergrowth. Eventually, James said, "Let me tell you a story."

"Oh, good," I said, "I was hoping to hear stories when I planned this hullabaloo."

"Once upon a time, in my younger days," he said. "I had broken up with my girlfriend and was driving home one Sunday night. I knew that Linda was going to be on the Ed Sullivan Show that evening. 

 We had no Spotify or Apple Music back then. So I stopped at Charlie's Tavern in South Daisy, bought a beer, and asked Charlie if he could turn the Sullivan show on. I heard Linda sing Long, Long Time. I loved it but I cried all the way home."

"I understand," I said even though I really didn't. "But why are you telling me this story now?"

"Because we all want to hear our own sad songs but we don't want to hear someone else's."

"Say that again," I said.

"Think about it," he said.

"Anyone interested in one more song?" I said. "The last one is Sad Songs by Elton John." 

"Let's dedicate it to Jody," James said. "I wish he could have been here. He loved Sir Elton and he loved all the sad songs."

"Sad songs say so much," I said.

And so it went. The day had turned out nothing like I expected. In other words, the usual day in paradise. But listening to Elton John and thinking of Jody, I couldn't help but feel that it had turned out exactly as it should.

When Dimensions Collide

Be assured that I'm going to ignore the modern concept of eleven dimensions because it's all theoretical and because it has nothing to do with the Twilight Zone where I sometimes live.

The Twilight Zone was the subject (and the name) of a television series that began in the late 1950's. Rod Serling, the host of the show, described it like this: 

"There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call The Twilight Zone."

I don't always live in the fifth dimension mentioned above. Instead, I seem to slip into it occasionally, remain there for a bit, and then return to the usual four that define what is generally considered to be physical reality.

My mythical therapist (a real therapist who specializes in personal mythology) explained it as follows:

With the analog radios of yesterday, listening to a preferred station required manually tuning to the assigned frequency. Sometimes the station would drift and the broadcast would become mixed with another frequency. It's one way to understand how my tuning sometimes drifts and becomes mixed with another dimension.

Even when no action was taken to correct the situation, the preferred station (or dimension) would eventually drift back in tune all on it's own.

In the past, slipping into the Twilight Zone was a smooth and unremarkable transition. I became aware of the shift only when I began to experience augmented reality, a sort of middle ground between light and shadow. I had no control of the situation and could do nothing more than try to cope with the chaos and hope that my home dimension would drift back into tune.

That all changed last Tuesday morning. I woke to a bizarre reality and could only imagine that while I slept, my normal reality had been struck by a rogue dimension and that I was living in a world stuck between science and superstition. 

Judging from the wicked drama that resulted, the Twilight Zone must have rushed into my regular world like Lady McBeth intent on hearing the latest gossip from the guest room. 

I'm fairly certain that it was Shakespeare who said that just as you're feeling on top of the world with a bluebird on your shoulder, Fate is around the next corner, placing banana skins around the storm drain for the amusement of sewer harpies.

The Bard described it well. The collision of dimensions generated shock waves in my world that made it impossible to function. My vision was blurred and I was unstable trying to walk or even stand. It was very much like the earthquake I experienced in San Francisco while attending the Sybase conference.

After a few hours, things began to stabilize although there were at least two aftershocks over the next couple of days. It seems that my world has settled down for the most part but I fear that some parts of my world are forever changed.

It makes me wonder if my life will ever get back to what I once knew. No, that's not true. The truth is I'm convinced that life will never be the same. I don't like to admit it because I get some unusual looks from people when they hear me say it. But you know that I can't hide anything from you, my loyal public.

If you want the complete truth, I'm reserving the right to contact my agent back in Atlantis much earlier than planned. But I promise to give you advance notice before I go away. 

Until then, remember to sing in the sunshine as often as possible and laugh every day, without fail. It's all part of fierce living and without that, well let's not talk about that right now. Just sing in the sunshine and laugh every day. That's enough.

Beignet and His Magic Sunglasses

The remnant of tropical storm Jazz was full upon us as I drove through Duke Forest on my way to an appointment at the university. The trees tossed their heads and waved their arms in a frantic frenzy, if frenzy is the word, exactly the way Shaka Khan used to do on Top of the Charts.

Leaves swirled across the road in great profusion. Blustery is the way I would describe the morning, yes, blustery is the mot juste. Not a small army of squirrels could have been camouflaged in those leaves. I drove slowly.

As the pre-frontal cortex navigated the storm-strewn road, Princess Amy, that almond-eyed little gargoyle, was seated at a corner table in the darkened recesses of my mind. She was seated, not too  near the band, of course, where she could keep watch for danger. 

She reminded me that Fox lurked out there somewhere waiting to spring one of his practical jokes. I suspected it would come in the form of a broken limb falling across my path but Amy wasn't so sure. Never know what to expect from Fox was her opinion. 

Amy seemed to overlook the bigger issue, which was that something just as wild and far more dangerous than Fox was out here in this forest. That wild and dangerous thing was me of course.

Most days when Amy is worked up I practice my training as a qigong coach to relieve some of the pressure and keep Amy calm. Take a deep breath I tell her. But today I was in full agreement that the weather forecast was gloomy and full of v-shaped depressions. I speak of the emotional weather. Gale force winds with thunderstorms possible are about how it was lining up.

Duke Integrative Medicine Library

Then I arrived at the Center for Integrative Medicine and entered the library, a work of art in wood, steel, glass, and stone. My body sat in a chair near the windows and waited there for a clinical study coordinator to call for me. 

My mind was immersed in a wonderful, magical experience that had calmed my frantic mind as soon as I walked through the door. Muted light from an overcast sky and the soft notes of a Native American flute enveloped me, the sound of the flute barely audible above the soothing sound of falling water coming from somewhere deep inside the building. 

It was a tranquil refuge from the storm.

My coordinator came into the room with a stack of paperwork and even that didn't faze me. I wasn't ready to quote Ben the Cat when he puts on his magic sunglasses--"The sun is shining. The sky is bright. Birds are singing. Everything's alright." No, I wasn't feeling that good but I did have a sense that although Fox still lurked, I was in a safe place for the time being.

Ben the Cat

Elizabeth, the coordinator, talked to me about the clinical study we'd just completed together, and her voice was soft and strangely alluring. I could have listened to her talk all afternoon. Eventually, the paperwork was complete and Elizabeth offered to give me a tour of the building. 

Of course, we actually looked at all the rooms, even the "practice" rooms where I've already meditated, qigong-ed, and yoga-ed. Then we visited one I didn't know about.

The Quite Room is where acupuncture and massage patients wait to be called for their therapy sessions. It's large and open, two-stories tall with a large skylight that allows natural light to flood the floor space. 

A bamboo forest grows on the floor of the room. Not in pots, mind you. Pots I could understand but these plants grow right out of the floor, which is covered in round, dark gray stones. 

One wall of the room is formed by a sheet of water that falls from the craggy heights of the ceiling and creates a curtain separating the Quiet Room from the administration offices on the other side. This is the source of the sound of splashing water I heard from the library.

The Quiet Room

Elizabeth pointed out a toy panda, sitting amidst the bamboo shoots in the far end of the room. She told me, and I would have believed anything she told me, that no one in Integrative Medicine is sure who moves the panda nor exactly when it's moved, but it's in a new location every morning--even on the weekends. 

This news intrigued me strangely. I felt the need to get to the bottom of this. Do you feel it too? I mean this could be one of those overlooked phenomena that hold the key to fitting Newtonian physics with the quantum variety. I'll look into it and report back.

Well, everything is impermanent, the Buddha used to say, which is one of those annoying announcements, of course, and is the reason why all right-thinking people want to avoid his company. And so was my visit to the Integrative Medicine Center impermanent. I had to leave. 

As I drove away, I was conscious that Princess Amy was much calmer than when I arrived. Her hand no longer hovered over the panic button. That's right, Amy, take it easy. I've got this.