Back In the Village

Well, here I am again, back in the Village of Crystal Cove and staying at the Inn of the Three Sisters. I know what you're thinking. As determined as I am to avoid this place, how is it that I end up here so often? 

Well, I'd like nothing better than to explain but it's a long story and for God's sake, I can't into it now. Right now I want to tell you about the dream I had on my first night here.

In my dream, I was in a hotel restaurant in central Missouri. I know! Central Missouri! Dreams can be so weird. I was eating a bowl of wabi-sabi--I know, I know! The waitress, filling the tall, amber drinking glass with tissue restorer was Susan S. and she looked exactly the same as so many years ago when she was a doctoral candidate at Rice University.

Susan inclined her head, the way the best waitresses do, toward the sidebar and recommended the sauce in the bottle there over the sauce in the bottle on my table. Of course, I walked over to investigate but discovered that the indicated bottle was uncapped and that the mouth of the said bottle was all crusty! When I turned to protest her recommendation, Susan was gone. 

Guess what happened next. Right! I woke up. You will not be surprised to know that my immediate thoughts were of the nature of the dream. What the hell, I thought. 

Now I am well aware, just as I'm sure you are, that many great and wonderful breakthroughs come to people through dreams. I'm sure you remember the story about Albert Einstein unlocking the secrets to general relativity because of a dream in which he rode through space on a sunbeam. Or was it a comet? Don't quote me.

What you don't know is that this Susan S. is the person who taught me to decipher dreams. The technique requires that immediately upon waking, you use guided imagery meditation to put yourself mentally back in the scene of the dream and then you direct your questions to one of the characters in the dream. You can speak to a person, a rabbit, a zombie, it really doesn't matter. Ask a direct question concerning events in the dream and you will get a direct answer. It really works. Try it sometime. I tried it with this dream.

I soon was back at the same table in the restaurant in the middle of Mizzou but, as I'm sure you've guessed already, Susan wasn't there. The waitress was played this time by Amy Normal, Backup Mistress of the Greater Durham Night and part-time barista at Native Ground. 

I considered the change of personnel to be irrelevant, a side issue, and one that I would not let distract me from unlocking the secrets of whatever my higher self was trying to tell me. I decided that this Amy, not to be confused with Princess Amy, although come to think of it they do have a lot in common, would be met with the same respect I show the idle wind, which as Poopsie Wonder tells me…oh forget it. Not important really and I'm in danger of getting derailed. Let's get back to the pertinent details.

I rolled up my sleeves and got into action. She--Amy Normal that is--raised an eyebrow and I saw immediately that she was going to play hardball. I decided to take the direct approach. Always best when the witness is hostile. I'm sure Napoleon would approve.

"Hey, Normal," I said. "What gives?"

She rested her elbow, the one connected to the arm holding the coffee pot, on her hip and gave me a look.

"Simple," she said. "You're wabi-sabi has got stems on."

This got right by me. Stems? As you well know, this Normal and I have our differences and she can often become a thorn in the side but I've always maintained that her IQ is of the highest and brightest. This comment however had me reeling. I was sure she had finally come undone. 

"Look in the bowl, douche-bag," she said.

"Bowl?"

She stomped her foot, just a little, like a horse stamping the ground prior to charging into the fray if fray is the word. She looked toward the ceiling and sighed and for some reason and it immediately dawned on me what she was driveling about. I looked into the wabi-sabi bowl and you will never guess what I found there.

Cherries! The wabi-sabi, whatever the hell that is, had become a bowl of cherries--with stems on.

It was at that precise moment, back in the waking world, that Uma, Empress of Chatsford, began licking the top of my head. I woke but lay motionless thinking about the dream. Uma put an end to the meditation when she began playing Dig-the-Mummy-Out-of-the-Sand. What the hell, I thought. You play the hand you're dealt. 

I rose, moved to the window to salute the sun, and then performed the morning ablutions. This day was going to be filled with more good than bad and I was ready for it. I may not know the meaning of the dream but I have the support of Poopsie, Uma, Susan, and yes, even Amy. And like icing on the cake, I have you, my 1000 real fans, to rely on to get me through the day. What's the worst that could happen?

Coastal Camelot

Morning comes early in Southport, North Carolina. You're probably thinking that it comes early where you live too, but let me tell you, there is far more to the morning here than you can imagine.

On a clear day in this small seaside village on the edge of the Atlantic, the dawning begins with a rosy glow that gradually becomes a golden curtain draped over the horizon. Then, as if on cue, the curtain opens to reveal that familiar old ball of gas in his most pleasing aspect of Monarch of the Heavens.

Reminiscent of that perfect original garden.

Soon after sunrise, the morning clouds gather in the east, puffy and white, to soften the morning light. The day’s unfolding is reflected on the serene surface of the Atlantic Ocean—the surf calmed by numerous barrier islands. It's all very much like Camelot in the way it resembles perfection.

This morning opened with a show so grand and so majestic that I found myself questioning Mr. Priddy’s sixth-grade lesson about the earth’s rotation causing the sunrise. Surely, I thought, gazing at this glorious beginning of the day, only a goddess driving her divine sun chariot could put on such a spectacle.

Each evening, just about the dinner hour, clouds gather on the western horizon, and the sea breeze grows even more refreshing. People gather to stroll along the waterfront—some playing with children, some walking with dogs, and some arm-in-arm with lovers.

The mystique is irresistible.

Little streams of people begin to pool outside popular spots like Fishy Fishy Cafe, Southport Provision Company, and Port City Java. And of course, people gather wherever the movie du jour is being filmed. 

The charm of Southport is so alluring that there's always a movie or television series being filmed here. It's not unusual for two or three projects to shoot concurrently in this charming community.

We arrived at the Yacht Basin early hoping to claim the best vantage point to watch the filming of “The Waterfront,” a new television series slated for release in 2025. 

While many visitors hope to catch a glimpse of the stars of the show, we came for the behind-the-scenes excitement—the flawlessly orchestrated hustle of the production crew is a spectacle in itself.

The docks of the Yacht Basin have been converted to serve as a film set but all was quiet when we got there. We soon discovered why. The action of the moment was taking place behind us. 

An ocean-going freighter had entered the Cape Fear River, and the harbor pilot was climbing a rope ladder to board the ship and guide it into the Port of Wilmington. Not even a movie production can compete for attention with a scene like that. 

“Picture’s up!" yelled the movie wrangler, calling our attention back to the set in time to see the extras go into action

“Rolling!” Called the principal cameraman, and men began loading crab crates onto fishing boats. An actor dressed in a deputy sheriff’s uniform strode through the maze of cameras and onto the set. 

Cut!" yelled the First Assistant Director, and the command echoed around the set. The fishermen began removing and restacking the crab crates for the next take. 

One of the visitors in the crowd said to his companion, “This is some serious acting.”

"Hmmm," I said to Ms. Wonder, and I emphasized the statement with a raised eyebrow. She raised an eyebrow of her own to indicate that she shared my opinion of the spurious review.

"Cart's here!” she suddenly exclaimed, and I didn’t need to ask what she meant. We hurried to the loading zone to board the touring cart for the next excursion through all of Southport’s most popular destinations.

Time moves more slowly in Southport.

In a world where everything is constantly changing, Southport offers a comforting sameness. And there's no better way to experience how dependable the town can be than by joining the one-of-a-kind tour that is Southport Fun Tours.

Dan Guetschow, affectionately known as “The Rev.” conducts the tours and regales his passengers with tales ranging from local history to local gossip. Dan earned his nickname while playing guitar with the Boz Skaggs band. I know—Boz Skaggs! It’s little surprises like this that make Southport feel even more magical. 

Later in the evening, Ms. Wonder and I strolled along the saltwater marsh on our way back from the yacht basin. A line dance of pelicans passed overhead, playing follow the leader. The first bird glided to the right, and one by one, the others followed. The leader moved back to the left, and the rest followed suit. The aerial waltz was repeated several times until the birds were out of sight.

The perfect spot for happily ever after-ing.

The music of Jimmy Buffett drifted up from Southport Provisions cafe while we searched for the best spot to photograph the sunset. We met a local native enjoying the evening in the company of her Scottish terrier. I nodded as we passed.

"Crabs are out," she said, and she said it with authority.

"Ah," I said after searching the data banks and failing to find an appropriate reply. My subconscious, working in the background, continued to puzzle over her words. Before I could think of a satisfactory response, she spoke again.

“Big blow coming,” she said, glancing over her shoulder toward the evening clouds.

I smiled to myself, knowing full well that it never rains ‘till after sundown in Camelot. This time I had the perfect comeback—bright, optimistic, and cheerful.

"Stay dry," I said to her in my friendliest tone, and I felt pretty full of myself too. 

"Didn't say rain," she corrected. "Wind!"

"Ah," I said again, and I consoled myself for that second blunder by reminding myself that, in short, there's simply not a more congenial spot for happily-ever-after than here in the coastal Camelot that is Southport.

The Remedy

I deftly rolled to the left and dislodged a pod of sleeping cats, making it possible to retrieve the phone from the bedside table. It was six o'clock.

"Good evening, Ms. Wonder," I said.

"Good morning," she said.

This surprised me. Thinking back, I was sure that I had taken a nap right after dinner.

"Are you sure," I said. "It seems dark outside."

"The skies are overcast this morning. It's supposed to rain all day."

This disappointed me. What's the point of the mild winters in the mid-Atlantic states if every day is dark and gray? How does one maintain a stiff upper lip and a calm mind when it's cloudy all the time?

"Poopsie, I think we've had enough cloud cover for one month, don't you? I don't like the way I feel when the sun refuses to shine. I think even the bluebird cries in her beer at Mattie B's."

"It may be seasonal affective disorder," she said. "Many people suffer from it in winter, especially now during the most depressing days of the year."

"I don't see what's more depressing about this time of year over any other," I said. "I keep a calendar of depressing days and I've found that I'm pretty much affectively disordered throughout the whole damn year."

"You may not be aware of the formula for determining the most depressing day of the year," she said. "It uses factors for weather plus the amount of debt you've accumulated and multiplies that by the days since Christmas raised to the power of the days since you've failed your first New Year resolution. "

"Poopsie," I said.

"That value is divided by the product of your motivational level multiplied by the critical level of your need to take action," she continued. "The result gives you the exact date of the most depressing day of the year."

Don't you find it annoying when someone is dumping more information than you can bear and then fails to abate the nuisance when you try to change the subject? Well, I do and it occurred to me that I don't have to allow it.

"Well, let me tell you something that you may not be aware of," I said. "I majored in math at MTSU and, although I did not excel in my studies, I know that anyone who works out a formula like that cannot help but experience a disordered seasonal affect."

"Effect is the correct word," she said, "meaning result or consequence. Affect conveys the idea of an influence or control over something."

"Thank you, Poopsie," I said. "Something you bumped up against in the last few days?"

"Yep," she said, "but you must admit the words are easily confused."

"It's just too much, Ms. Wonder," I said, getting back to the point, "too much to deal with this morning. You're sure it's morning are you?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to hit the reset button and go back to bed."

"I thought you might feel that way. You will find one of my pick-me-ups on the table in the insulated mug."

I looked and by a strange coincidence, she was right. "Ah, thank you," I said.

"Not at all," she said.

I bunged the tissue restorer down the hatch and waited for the usual unpleasantness to pass. As expected, the top of the skull ricocheted off the ceiling, the eyeballs popped out and rolled around the floor, with Eddy and Abbie chasing after. 

Once retrieved and replaced properly, I felt that I could face the day. I'm not sure of the exact ingredients of her special concoction but I'm sure there's Blenheim's Ginger Ale in the mix.

I took a deep breath. "I am powerful," I said to no one in particular. I took a second breath. "Life is good." I took a third breath. "I am enough for today."

"Ms. Wonder," I said, "life comes hard and fast but today I am ready for anything."

"That's great," she said, "I knew you'd feel better and that's why I don't hesitate to point out that you have 6 messages waiting for you on your phone. I heard the alerts."

Normally, this news would give me the bum's rush but with the recent tissue restorer doing its best, I felt that I could handle anything that Life cared to bung my way.

"Fierce Qi Gong, Poopsie!" I said.

"Fierce Qi Gong," she said.

Share The Joy

"I will have more joy if you are there to share it; and the more of us there to share, the greater will be the joy of all."

-- Thomas Merton, Seeds of Contemplation

I posted this article several years ago when I was road-tripping far more than I have in the last year--for obvious reasons I hope. I ran across it today and realized that it had more meaning for me today than ever before. So I'm re-committing, if that's a word, and wanted to invite you once more to journey with me. Here's the original post:

Are you familiar with the film, "Finding It," which deals with sacred pilgrimage? If not then I recommend you find it. Wait a minute, you say. Why am I talking about an old movie when I'm inviting you to share the joy? Fair question. It's like this.

The setting of the movie is the most famous spiritual trek in Europe, Camino de Santiago de Compostella. As all good stories should, this one uses the outer journey to mirror the inner. It's a beautiful film and I recommend it highly. 

All roads eventually lead to the same destination 

Each time I hear or read or view something about pilgrimage, I remember that we all live our lives on the road to Compostella, or to Mecca, or to Graceland. It's not the destination but the journey that really matters, which is something I don't need to tell you.

This morning I'm planning my upcoming pilgrimage to the holy sites of my own personal mythology. The journey will take me to the Summer-lands of the South where I will meet the spirits of my ancestors at 3300 Beloved Path in Perdido Bay, Florida.

Then I will visit the Gray Havens of the West to restore the tissues and refresh the spirit with lots of chicory coffee and beignets--Laissez bon temp roulez. When the sun rises on the first day of the new period, I will head North to the Court of the King where I will pay my respect to Elvis and give thanks for the riches in my life. 

Always follow the sun 

Finally, I will travel East toward the rising sun, make a brief detour into the Land of the Spirits, my hometown, and then back to my current home. And happy to be here as always.

I don't know how long the journey will take. Probably the rest of my life. But I do know that I will write about it here on Circular Journey, of course. My audience would expect, or rather allow, nothing less. 

All that I write will be metaphorically true, although I may enhance the telling of it to make it more interesting. As the Wee Little Men in the books of Terry Pratchett are fond of saying, "Dragons and elves always make a story more interesting."

The fun is greater when it's shared 

The quest is for me and I realize that only I can make it. However, I'm reminded, as I prepare for the journey, of something I read recently:

"I will have more joy if you are there to share it; and the more of us there to share, the greater will be the joy of all."

-- Thomas Merton, "Seeds of Contemplation"

That's why I'm inviting you--to share the joy. I will do my best to make it entertaining. Princess Amy will see that it's interesting and exciting. If you decide to come along, you will find yourself on a pilgrimage of your own. I'm sure of it. Come on then. Share the joy.

You'll Be the First

It has been well said of the Genome, by those who know him well--that if there is one quality that distinguishes him more than any other, it is that he keeps the upper lip stiff and makes the best of things. In words of my own construction--I don't eat pine needles. (It's a longish story and we don't have time to go into it now.)

Waking this morning to another day, minus the lark and the snail, I rushed out for the cup of dark roast. Having refreshed the tissues with that first cup of needful, and hit the road with the windows down and SiriusXM turned up to 11. Still, I was disappointed to find the heart still down.

Down among the wines and spirits, as I've so often heard Ms. Wonder describe it. And not only the heart but the head too. I was suffering from a distinct apprehension for an inclement future. And I'll tell you why I was suffering from a distinct A for an inclement F. Ms. Wonder and I had left the old metropolis of Durham and traveled to Crystal Cove, on the Crescent Coast near Wilmington.

I've received numerous tweets asking why, given the option, I avoid the Cove. After all, as one follower describes it, "It's a picturesque village, surrounded by manicured fields, apple orchards, and with a willow-fringed river running through it."

And to that I would add, it is the home of my favorite cousin, Gwendolen, and my most amazing god-niece, Lucy Lupe Lightfoot Mankiller, the company of both never tiring. And so you ask again, Why? It's the question Ms. Wonder asked as we drove the bridge leading to the River Walk and our meeting with the Inner Circle.

"Why do you dislike the Crystal Cove? It seems a perfectly pleasing place to me."

"Perfectly pleasing?" I said. "Perfectly pleasing is it?" You may notice a touch of annoyance, possibly some indignation, in my reply. I noticed it and, having done so, I thought better of it. This Wonder, who has done so much for me, deserves the softer touch and so I modified the tone.

"Yes," I said. "You no doubt look around the premises at all the luxuries--manicured landscaping, river frontage, a plethora of inviting outdoor activities--and you might reasonably think that life is ideal in Crystal Cove."

I paused for a few seconds. Not sure why. It may be that I'd forgotten where I was headed with that line of dialog. Or perhaps after mentioning a few items in the pro category, I was reluctant to begin listing the cons.

"However," I said, "Though every prospect pleases...."

"What about it?" she said. "Though every prospect pleases--what?"

"Oh, well, I'm not sure. It's something I heard once and it impressed me considerably. I like to throw it into conversation every now and then to add a little whatsit."

"I wish you wouldn't," she said. "Every time you throw quotes around, I waste time trying to make sense of them, and it's annoying."

"Are they supposed to make sense?" I asked. "Quotes I mean? Everyone quotes Shakespeare and his lines were nonsense when he wrote them."

"What! I can't believe you just said that. And you're supposed to be a writer too."

"I'm not just supposed to be a writer. I am a writer," I said with no little energy. "And you can't deny that Shakespeare was in the habit of shoving anything that came to mind into those plays."

She looked at me with large eyes and...no. What is it? Incredulous. That's it. She gave me an incredulous stare.

She opened her mouth to say something but the words didn't come and so I continued, not that I had anything more to add really, I just wanted to fill up the empty space.

"You might also consider the poet, Keats," I said. He speaks of stout Cortez staring at the Pacific and all his men looking at each other with a wild surmise, blah, blah, blah."

"So?" she said.

"Well, it wasn't Cortez, was it? Balboa was the bird that first stared at the Pacific."

She immediately fell silent. Her eyes were soft. I could tell that she was musing over my words. It made me feel better immediately. It always makes me feel better to think that she's considering my words.

"Alright, you big stiff," she said. "You're right about Balboa, But it's a big ocean and it is open to being stared at, so I see no reason why Cortez may not have given it a goggle too. Now, that's out of the way, answer my first question. Why do you avoid Wilmington?

"It's not Wilmington that I avoid. It's the Cove. And the reason is the local gendarmerie, one Vicky Mason, who has sworn to sign me up for an extended stay in the Brunswick County caboose."

"Really? For what exactly?" she asked.

"It's something to do with an unfortunate accident that occurred just before last year's winter solstice. She has hard suspicions, but no matching evidence, and so she sneaks around watching everything I do with an eye to catching me bending."

"Why she can't let the dead past lie I can't imagine. Just because I was in town when the fishing guides dormitory burned, what of it? It's not like I haven't explained to her that it was not my fault. More than once, I've pointed out that I didn't have a lot of time to consider options. I simply had no other choice. Burning the place down was the only way I think for hiding the evidence. Get over it, Vickie!"

I waited to hear Ms Wonder's response. I'm still waiting. I'll let you know.