Question Everything Like a Fox

I sometimes surprise people with my picture of reality and my version of the truth. The reason, I believe, is that I was taught to see life through the eyes of my father and through the lessons taught to me by Fox.

“Question everything.” 

~~ Euripides (480 BCE - 406 BCE)

I was reluctant to go so far as to say I'm fortunate to have been guided by Trickster, and yet to say anything less would be misleading. 

“Re-examine all that you have been told.” 

~~ Walt Whitman (1819 - 1892)

The Trickster is recognized in many different disguises in cultures around the world. For example, he is Hare to my Creek and Cherokee ancestors; Fox to my Celtic ancestors of Britain and Britanny. He is Coyote to the Indians of the American southwest and he's Anansi, the Spider, in Ashanti and Yoruba cultures of West Africa. 

No matter what form he takes, he’s always a thief and a liar; he's the patron of wanderers and the lost; and in his most interesting form, to me at least, he guides the souls of the dead into eternity.

"Red hair, in my opinion, sir, is very dangerous."

~~P.G. Wodehouse, Very Good Jeeves

The last time I journeyed to the spirit world with Fox was in that automobile accident a few years back. It wasn't really Death who brought the image of Death's Doors, but Fox in the guise of Ferryman, the one who transports the dead across the River Styx in Greek mythology. 

That's Fox for you, always irreverent and joking around no matter what he’s up to.

 

"It's always when a fellow is feeling braced 

with things in general that Fate sneaks up 

behind him with a bit of lead piping.

~~ P.G. Wodehouse, Jeeves and the Unbidden Guest

Being shepherded through life by Trickster isn’t always a satisfying experience but it isn’t as bad as you might think. Yes, he is subversive, which is always unpopular, and his schemes sometimes backfire landing him and me in the soup. 

The short of being tutored by Fox is that I'm not always good and noble. I may be the hero of my personal life story but I have my off moments. Still, my virtual mentor, P.G. Wodehouse wryly observed: 

"Everything in life that's fun is either immoral, illegal, or fattening." 

“Teachers hated to see me in class because they knew I'd question everything.” 

~~ Carl Jirlds (1922 - 1992)

Fox, I believe was also my father's personal guide and that's probably why I'm so much like my dad. Dad taught me to question everything rather than follow blindly along with the crowd. He was the kind of shepherd who nudged his son off the familiar path and out into the wilderness because that’s where our own true path is found.

My feelings for Fox are very much like the feelings I have for my father. I admire and respect them both but have a healthy little bit of distrust at the same time. It's a difficult dichotomy to explain, probably because I don't really understand it myself. 

“The important thing is not to stop questioning.” 

~~ Albert Einstein (1879 - 1955)

I can't imagine a more fitting spirit guide for someone on the path of self-improvement, nor can I imagine a more fitting father for a son, but I confess that I'm biased because for better or for worse, I've become fond of them both.

I haven't seen Fox since the day of that traffic accident. I've searched without success but eventually accepted that he's gone, at least for a while. I think of him often but have little hope that I'll see him again. After a lifetime of getting used to his tricks and lies, I find that I miss him.

My new guides have no shortcomings. I am grateful for their help, their guidance, and their compassion. But I miss you, Fox. I miss your tricks and your lies, and mostly I miss your laughter.

Be well, my friend. I will always remember our time together and I will never stop looking for you.

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.

Don't Bring Me Down

I know your time is important and I don't want to waste it. But it's important to me that I keep you up-to-date on all the happenings in Wilmawood. So let's get to it.

"Don't bring me down, Lupe," I said to the little pinprick when she asked me why I looked like someone suspected by the authorities of stealing a pig.

And don't tell me that she meant well. I know she was only trying to cheer me up with a friendly barb but I wasn't in the mood for it. What I wanted was a soft pat on the head, and a consoling "There, there."

But did I get what I wanted? Did Mick Jagger? I'll tell you what I got. I got jokes and a burst of laughter from Claudia who thought Lupe and I could be understudies for Stiller and Mira.

The morning opened well--as smooth as a Barry White ballad, with the kind of light that you only get in mid-October. The kind that suggests you should be up and at 'em. But just a few minutes earlier, as I crossed the Memorial Bridge into downtown Wilmawood, instead of Barry, it was Marvin Gaye on SiriusXM radio crooning "Ain’t That Peculiar?" 

The song was oddly fitting to the mood generated by the mixed messages coming from Princess Amy as I entered the Egret Coffee Cafe & Dance Bar. Still, I looked forward to 16 ounces of Jah's Mercy and a few precious minutes to myself before the paying customers arrived.

Instead of solitude, I found the girls already there. After ordering the needful and resuming the pour parlers, I decided to give the morning a second chance.  But then Island Irv entered the joint. I can't say I wasn't happy to see him. I was. But his presence was going to require a different style of delivery than the one I'd planned.

"So, you all know that I've recently been obsessed with writing my blog," I said.

"Oh, Lord, what now?" asked Lupe.

"I'm just saying," I said, "that I love my blog and was excited at first when my agent told me a production company was interested in movie rights."

"I didn't know that," said Irv.

"Why are you bringing this up? said Lupe. "What's gone wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," I said and while looking for the next words, Claudia spoke.

"That's wonderful!" she said. "Aren't you happy that your blog may become a movie?"

"Yeah," said Irv. "Congratulations."

"Oh, it's not a done deal yet and I'm not sure I actually want to do it, now I think about it," I said.

Mixed exclamations and questions erupted after that statement but it's all too much to try to sort out now. I think the gist will fall out in the next minute or two.

"That's what I wanted to talk about," I said. "You see, I've always thought of The Circular Journey as special."

"What I'm getting at," I said, "is that I recently read about a group of neuroscientists who measured the brain output of subjects while the subjects viewed the Vermeer painting..."

"Girl With The Pearl Earring," shouted Claudia as though she was a contestant on Lucky 13.

"Oh, no, here we go again," said Lupe rolling her eyes from earth to heaven. "I don't know how you manage to make these quantum leaps from one topic to another. That bridge doesn't exist."

"Don't I know it," said Irv.

"Yes, thank you, Claudia," I said. "What they found is that the viewer's attention was held captive for a few seconds by something they call "Sustained Attentional Loop."

"What are you talking about?" said Irv. Then he looked at the two girls as though he thought they'd provide the back story. Claudia only shrugged. Lupe spoke.

"Let me see if I can guess," said Lupe. "First, we know he's talking about his blog. That blog has been a recurring theme for the last two weeks. And, unless I miss my guess, he's found a way to turn a good thing into a crisis." 

"And why shouldn't I be talking about my blog to my best friends, if I can call you that?" I said. "This whole movie business is very attractive but I love The Circular Journey and I don't want to lose control over any of it. I'd much rather publish it in book form than adapt it to the big screen."

"Calm down," said the Islander. "Start once more from the beginning and I'll attempt to be your best friend, if you can call me that."

"Me too," said Claudia.

"Ok then. That's better," I said. "So the researchers found that when looking at the Girl, the viewer's eye is drawn to her own eye, then down to her mouth, across the face to the pearl earring and then back to her eye."

"And?" said Lupe. 

"One of the neuroscientists who carried out the study explained that when someone views the painting, their attention is captured and he or she must love the painting whether they want to or not."

"I seriously doubt that," said Lupe. "But I'm guessing you think the people who read your blog must love it whether they want to or not."

"Exactly," I said. "I knew you'd understand if anyone would."

"I understand too," said Claudia.

"I don't," said the Islander. "Not in the least."

"The researcher I mentioned, said the research team knew the painting was special. But why it was special came as a surprise."

"And, of course," said Lupe. "you can say the same thing about The Circular Journey. You knew it was special but didn't realize why. Like the movie version of Wicked."

"I'm not sure I understand the Wicked reference but the rest makes perfect sense to me now," I said. "It's simply the Sustained Attentional Loop in action. When people read my blog, they have to keep reading whether they want to or not."

"But why do you think that?" said Claudia.

"It's like this," I said. "My blog has a wide readership with hundreds of thousands of readers who come to the site from more than 50 countries."

"Now 100,000 divided by 50 is 2000," I said. "That number divided by 30.417, which is the average number of days in a month, will give you 65.753. No wait. That's not what I meant. It's 2000 divided by, give me a second. My math is a little rusty."

"Forget the math," said Irv. "Give us the unvarnished English."

"Ok," I said. "I will but we'll come back to the math because it will be useful later."

And so, with much excitement and volume, I explained everything that I've already told you, dear reader, in that blog post titled, "Let's Get On With It."

"I get it now," said the Islander.

"Don't take the movie deal," said Claudia.

"What would we do for fun around here," said Lupe, "if you ran away to Hollywood?"

"We don't need Hollywood, do we?" I said. "We will always have Wilmawood."

"What was all the math about?" asked Irv. But I don't want to burden you, one of my most loyal readers with all that. I appreciate you too much to bore you. 

Fierce Qigong, and all that! I'll bet you haven't heard that in a long while.

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.

Modern Life and Cats

"Modern life is not a lot of fun if left to its own devices," I said to Ms. Wonder and I felt it to the core.

"You seem low-spirited," she said and I think I've made it pretty clear that it was so. I was as low-spirited as I could stick even though Uma, Queen of Cats and Empress of Chatsford Hall lay at my feet doing an impersonation of an eel out of water in the hope, no doubt, of receiving a treat for the effort.

Empress Uma Maya 

"No, Poopsie, modern life is not much fun at all. Consider how Napoleon must have felt when Nelson sailed the British fleet into Cairo Bay and burned the French navy. Couldn't have been pleasant for him."

Sagi (Sagitarius) M'tesi

"It must have been much the same for Peter II when Catherine the soon to be Great, led the Russian army to the Winter Palace where he was in residence. No," I said, " modern life is just one damned thing after another, just as Shakespeare told us."

She gave me a quizzical look and I realized that she was about to interrupt my soliloquy with some drivel about Shakespeare but I wasn't done yet. I continued.

Beignet Lafayette

"But instead of searching for the silver lining of life's muddle-headedness, do you know what most people do? They get all hotted up and the pressure builds until they start leaking at the seams. You can find them grinding teeth and clenching fists and giving passersby a look that could open oysters at 20 paces. Only makes things worse, if you ask me."

I waited for her response, one that would make me feel that we commiserated if that's the word I'm looking for, but she didn't say anything, just gave me what passes with her as a compassionate look.

Lucy Lucille Lupe 

I remember thinking that brown eyes do a better job of portraying compassion than green eyes, but then it isn't her fault that she has the eyes of an elf, and besides, I knew what she meant. 

"Something really should be done before it's too late," I said.

"Done?" she said. "You mean something to change the general attitude of people you meet? Do you think that's possible?"

"Thank you for asking," I said. "I really would like to see people sweeten up a bit and I think I have the perfect antidote to whatever it is that poisons their outlook."

"Go on," she said.

"P.G. Wodehouse," I said. "It's imperative, the way I see it, that modern man, and woman too if she cares to join us, read Wodehouse to learn the importance of aunts, or rather, the importance of avoiding them."

Abbie (Abracadabra) Hoffman 

"But not cats," she said, always having her finger on the nub. "People must realize the importance of socializing with cats."

"Cats to be sure," I said. "Of what value would life be without cats? I mean, what's the point?"

We began to discuss the Wodehouse cannon and the relative importance of aunts and cats but somewhere along the way, and I'm not sure exactly where it occurred, I began talking about my own writing, and my hope that perhaps I could help supply some relief to pedestrians as they navigate life's potholes.

Eddy Spaghetti 

"I've paid my dues, the way many writers do, and I feel it's time I give back some of what I've learned," I said. "I shall stick to writing about what I know, which is normal life, or in the words of George Costanza, nothing at all, because that's what I know best. 

I'm as apolitical as an oyster but I'm not naive, at least I don't think so. I hope that I can follow in the great man's footsteps--I allude again to P.G.--and produce quality work in my latter years, just as he produced in his. Neither he nor I peaked early."

"I hope you consider offering spiritual guidance to your readers," she said.

"Not as such," I said. "My stories will be in the context of my own spiritual outlook but I will not be explicitly spiritual. I don't care to be preached at and I don't intend to engage in the practice. I have some knowledge of the Bible due simply to the age in which I grew up. We memorized and quoted Bible versus in primary school and I can nail down an allusion as quickly as Jael, the wife of Heber, who was always driving spikes into the coconuts of overnight guests.

"The plots I prefer are much the same as those of Shakespeare's comedies. The foibles of love and the antics of those trying to win or escape from love's embrace. There will be a scarcity of mothers and fathers, only because of my own upbringing, but a pile of aunts, uncles, and cousins, of which I had so many that laid end to end would stretch from here to the next presidential election."

"And cats," she said as Abbie Hoffman, who had just wandered into the room, and apparently decided that the number of felines in attendance exceeded the fire marshal's recommendations. He left the way he came.

"Absolutely cats," I said. "Cats add value to any subject and the absence of cats wounds even the best literature."

We both mused on this concept for several minutes, cats being a deep subject and a wide one too.

"I shall attempt to apply what I have learned from the master," I continued, "and use metaphor to the fullest extent. From bees fooling about in the flowers to the stars being God's daisy chain. I hope I can do it. I've certainly marinated myself in his works--not God's but Wodehouse's. I do hope so. These are truly troubling times we live in and we must battle the powers of darkness before we are undone."

"Excellent plan," she said. "I can't wait to see where this new path leads."

"Me too," I said and I meant it like the dickens!