Pump The Volume

For several years now it's seemed that I'm living the same day over and over, like that Amazon TV series, Russian Doll. It's as though raindrops keep falling on my head every day. I know that Rumi tells us to welcome all who come to our door, but hey! I don’t like it! I've become filled with anxiety, depression, and hopelessness.

I realize that may all sound terribly tragic. You may think my dreams are shattered like Napoleon's must have been after all that unpleasantness at Waterloo. But please don't think it's as tragic for me as you imagine it would be for you or Napoleon. 

You see, I'm diagnosed by those who do that sort of thing with a condition that the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual calls Bipolar Type II, Mixed-State, Rapid-Cycling. All it means, of course, is that I'm often depressed, anxious, and hopeless. It's just a normal part of my life. Makes me think of the words often attributed to Frank Sinatra, "it ain't no good life, but it's my life." Like that.

On second thought, those words of Sinatra's are song lyrics, aren't they? 

No one can get used to feeling that way but one can become resigned to it and that's been my condition ever since my mother died three years ago. It wasn't so much her death that threw me into this mental state as it was the fact that I'd been her full-time caretaker for several years before her passing and when she left, I discovered that I had no purpose and had lost touch with what I wanted from life.

Well, that's sort of interesting...I've never noticed how much my life parallels Napoleon's. Except for the Emperor part.

I've struggled for those three years with trying to find a purpose and a bien ettre, as the French might say, but for some reason, I didn't do the things that I knew would help. I allowed life to get in the way and to distract me from the principles I'd learned in my mental health recovery. I believe this reluctance, or avoidance, is part of the disease.

Recently, I've seemed to become more awake and to realize that I do have a marvelous life. I have a superb partner in Ms. Wonder, who I'm sure you've met by now. She has an amazing brain, probably because she eats so much fish--salmon being the number one constituent--and you know what all those omega-3 fatty acids can do for the brain, especially the EPA and DHA.

In addition to sharing the house with Wonder, I have the cats, who have done more than you can imagine to keep the Genome upright and balanced. Perhaps the word "distracted" would be the mot juste. 

I also live near the coast now and the ocean has always been my spiritual home. I have lots of free time for running up and down Ocean's Highway and experiencing the joy of the open road. This open road motif figures strongly into my Evil Plan for World Domination--more on that as it develops. Stay tuned, please.

So if life has been improving, albeit slowly, why so glum, Genome? Ah yes, that's where the rug burn happens...Princess Amy.

Yep, that defective little tyrant in the middle of my brain works ceaselessly to point out all the nasty aspects of living in a world dominated by humans. Chances are that you live in a world dominated by humans too. It seems to be another of those pandemics that are so popular today, but one that doesn't get as much recognition as the others. 

This doesn't mean that my plight (yours too?) is hopeless. Not at all because I have a secret weapon. I can't tell you what it is here in this post because I don't want the Morrigan to know the details of my Evil Plan. But if you're interested in hearing more about it,  leave a comment below and we can discuss it over coffee.

Though I can't speak of it in concrete terms, I can give you a metaphorical hint. Remember the raindrops that keep falling? Well, I recently had me a talk with the sun, that slacker, and I mean a big talk with impressive topspin. I let him know that I didn't approve of his inaction. Sleeping on the job is how I put it to him.

Still, those raindrops keep falling and I know I'm never gonna stop them by complaining. That's where my secret weapon comes in handy. Fierce Qigong, I call it. Again, can't give you the details just yet but my childhood mantra, "I'll never eat pine needles," is the core element. 

That mantra may be new to you. I don't speak of it much. It's an inside thing that simply means crying's not for me. You see, I know that the blues they (the Morrigan) send to meet me won't defeat me. It's never long before happiness steps up to greet me. 

That's essentially all you need to know about Fierce Qigong. And to be frightfully honest, there may be a few tears involved but certainly no wailing and gnashing of teeth. Nothing like all that outer darkness ranygazoo.

In those darker moments, I simply get a steaming cup of Jah's mercy (coffee), get out onto Ocean Highway in Wind Horse with the windows down and the volume turned up to 11. That'll fix anything.

When I'm feeling better about life, I get Mumps on the phone and we clearly identify each of the problems caused by earthlings and the options our alien shepherds should consider to fix them. And when I say "fix them," I mean the problems and the earthlings, of course.

Wow! I surprised myself with this one. I actually revealed the essentials of Fierce Qigong for the first time and I went a long way to establish context for my Evil Plan. That pleases me because I always want to offer something of real value to my tribe and you are a very important tribe member.

Thank you for giving me some of your attention today. Now, before closing, I'd like to offer my sincere apologies to Hal David and B. J. Thomas.

Insider Tip

The moon, as I'm sure I don't need to tell you, is traveling around the earth at 2,288 miles an hour, and the Earth is traveling around the sun at a whopping 67,000 miles per hour, and in the process, the light of each day changes from about 9 hours on the winter solstice to around 15 hours in late June.

Up till now, I'd thought of all that as a few interesting facts. Now I see it as a significant contributor to my daily life. Let's slow it down, please! Not only is the available sunshine constantly changing, but the time I have left to enjoy this marvelous universe is evaporating at an alarming rate! It's like sand through the hourglass and so are the days of our lives. I'm not at all sure that I like where this is leading.

What I need, it seems to me is a place, and please let me know in the comments below if you think otherwise, a place where I can serenely contemplate the meaning of life, the universe, and everything.

Well, I've found that place...

On a secluded stretch of sandy shoreline, not far from Sunset Beach but far from the nearest public access point (a two-mile roundtrip), is a haven from the hectic pace of modern life, although the heavenly bodies are still up to a bit of no good.

The spot I'm talking about is a spot where time slows down. Nestled between the sand dunes you will find an unlikely whatnot. It's true; at the most remote end of Bird Island, there is a mailbox with a bench beside it.

The bench is there to allow you to relax and write your innermost thoughts, wishes, prayers, and dreams in one of the journals to be found inside the mailbox. I personally like to write small missives to loved ones who've left this planet to sleep among the stars.

Before I found the mailbox, I would stand on the beach at Ocean Isle and talk into the wind that's always rushing in from the Atlantic. But this spot on Bird Island is even better. When you've finished you simply place the journal back in the mailbox where you found it.

The Kindred Spirit Mailbox receives an untold number of visitors each year. It's featured in several local news stories and it was the subject of a CBS news special. Even one of Nicholas Sparks' novels, Every Breath, centered around Sunset Beach and the mailbox. 

Visitors come here to open their hearts, bare their souls, and take comfort from the serene surroundings provided by the undeveloped beach, the surf, and the calm horizon.

My innermost thought while at the beach was that no matter how old I am, my whole life is always ahead of me. Curious how that happens, don't you think? Do you suppose it's a random coincidence or is there meaning in it? No matter, the point I'm getting at is that it's important to get as much from each day as possible and for me, that means making happy memories.

If you're looking for a reliable way to make those memories, I've found that it helps to do some little something to make someone else's day a little brighter. When I remember to do that, my skies become bluer and my days are brighter--brighter inside that is. I think you'll find nothing more valuable in this life or the next.

But I'm straying from the path, as I often do, so let's get back on it and come to our happy ending. But before we do that, let me interject that coffee and music help to make happy memories even happier. If you're looking for coffee before or after the mailbox, look no further than Beach House Cafe on the mainland side of Sunset Beach. 

If you need music...first of all why have to journeyed into the wild without music? Never be without music, my friend. Remember, music will get you through times of no coffee, but coffee will never get you through times of no music. I suggest you read my post titled, Magic in the Music, but not now--finish this post first.

Insider Tip:

The serene walk from the last public access on Sunset Beach to Bird Island and the Kindred Spirit Mailbox is a two miles roundtrip and will give you time to reconnect with self and spirit. Bicycles are available for rent at Sunset Beach but, believe me, riding a bike in beach sand is everything you imagine it to be.

Learn some of the backstory in this archived article in Our State Magazine, written by Katie Quine.

You can learn some of the secrets of the mailbox in this brief CBS news clip:

Proceed With Caution

Ms. Wonder joined me for breakfast this morning and it bucked me up. I felt that this was the way to start a new year--having breakfast on a weekday morning with my alter ego. I knew she'd have something important to say and I was eager to hear it.

'I have a question for you,' she said.

'Let's hear it,' I said without hesitation because even though I knew the Q would be the gateway to some sage advice. Sage advice is something I don't get enough of.

'Are you happy?', she asked.

I admit the question took me by surprise. I wasn't sure what to make of it, but more to the point, I wasn't sure how to answer it. I mused with the intent of giving it mindful attention.

'Did you hear the question?' she said.

'I heard it,' I said, 'but it's not an easy question to answer. It requires careful thought.'

'It's an easy question.' she said. 'You're either happy or you're not.'

'Well, if it's so easy,' I said, 'what's your answer to the question? Are you happy?'

'No,' she said, 'but we're not talking about me. I asked you first. So what's your answer?'

'No, I'm not,' I said and I said it with some topspin.

'Why not?' she asked.

I didn't answer right away. Not because I was musing but because I wasn't sure how deep I wanted to go over breakfast. I finally decided to take it to the limit. One more time.

'Frankly,' I said, 'I'm pissed! There, I've said it. I don't like saying it and I know you don't like hearing it but nothing else says it quite as well.

'Rem acu tetigisti?' she said, remembering to stress the italics but why are you so highly peeved?'

'Why? You know why. I constantly struggle with Princess Amy mucking about with my emotions. It's maddening. Everyone keeps telling me to get help but the only help I find is the fleeting kind. I don't seem to make any real progress.

I meditate, I exercise, I perform qigong and taiji, I work with therapists, and each of them makes me feel better--temporarily. Then Amy tells her little Feagles to start randomly throwing switches on the neurotransmitters.'

'And what are you going to do about it?' she said.

'Do?' I said with a shrug. 'And very well done with that rem acu thing. How do you come up with these things?'

'It's a knack,' she said, 'but don't change the subject. What are you doing about your problems?'

'I'm working on my Evil Plan,' I said. 'That's what I'm doing.'

'Ah,' she said, 'but is working on the plan actually doing something about the problems?'

You're probably thinking to yourself right about now, that living with someone like this Wonder, who sees through the fog and cuts to the quick, may not be as easy as it first seems. Talk about holding you responsible. Talk about taking you to task when the task must be taken.

'I see now,' I said. 'I see what you're getting at. It's that old thing about taking action rather than thinking about it, isn't it?'

'That's right,' she said. 'And it seems to me that forming a plan may be important in the great scheme of things, but even more important is taking action.'

'But don't I need the plan before I take action?'

'I think not,' she said. 'New plans usually don't actually work very well and must be amended after some action or other has taken place. The planned events and results must be updated with the actuals.'

'And so taking action while I'm formulating a plan should result in a more efficient process--one feeds the other.'

'One informs the other,' she said.

'Yes,' I said, that's what I meant to say. It amazes me the way you can come up with these things on the spur of the moment.'

'And so what are you going to do?'

'I'm going to take action,' I said. 'I can't think of exactly what I'll do, off the top of my head, but I can tell you that I'm taking some sort of action.'

'It's not what you do that's most important.' she said, "Doing something--anything--is more important than what you actually do.'

'Didn't Wen The Eternally Surprised say that?'

'That's what you told me,' she said.

'Then stand back, Poopsie,' I said. 'I'm taking action and it just might get messy. Full speed ahead and damn the torpedos.'

'I'd suggest proceeding with caution,' she said but I was already pumped for action and her words were mere background noise.'

On the Road

"Someday I will find the right words and they will be simple."

"The only truth is music." 

~~ Jack Kerouac

I've never told this story before and after you read it, you'll know why it's remained untold until now. I'm telling it now only because I've just finished reading Jack Kerouac's On The Road, considered by many to be the best of American travel writing, and a book that made Kerouac an icon of the Beat Generation.

In his book, Kerouac writes, "I have lots of things to teach you now... concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don't worry. It's all like a dream."

I finished the book in my bedroom in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night near the window that looks out on a pine tree. Close enough to Kerouac's description to cause me to meditate on the words, "It's all like a dream."

You see, my own life seems very much dream-like. Kerouac described the feeling with these words: "The air was soft, the stars so fine, the promise of every cobbled alley so great, that I thought I was in a dream."

That's much the way I often feel and it makes me wonder if all the things I think I remember could have actually happened. Perhaps they are only a dream. According to Jack, nothing ever happened, so no need to even ask the question according to him.

As I mused on this subject, there on that cold winter moonlit night, I remembered an event from my childhood. That in itself isn't remarkable; I often remember childhood landmarks or dreams.  This one involved my old childhood pal who featured so strongly in the post titled, "Beans Up the Nose." If you haven't read it then you'll want to do just that but only after finishing this one, please.

That pal and I as I'm sure you remember had sworn an oath of loyalty, just as the knights of the Round Table, to a life-long search for the Holy Grail, or specifically, to following our own path and none other, just as the knights in their search for the grail. It was the same for Kerouac in On the Road.

Kerouac is recognized for his style of spontaneous prose, or so I'm told. And this best bud of mine and I were recognized if we were recognized at all, for our spontaneous compulsion to explore strange new worlds and to boldly go where we'd not gone before and to do so by forging new paths. 

Forgive my mixing thematic elements; I've jumped from Camelot to Star Trek. It's another of the traits, or faults, to be compared with Kerouac. I want to stop, really I do, but it's a struggle and I'm sure Jack struggled with too. If you have any suggestions that might help, please leave them in the comments below.

Our spontaneous compulsion mentioned above was the reason for our being out on a quiet winter morning when snow covered the ground gently and was not deep, and the prolonged cold spell had frozen the surface of the lake near Armstrong Bridge. We were suited up in woolen armor and were seeking what opportunities might be in store for a couple of adventurous boys. 

What fun it was to walk out onto the ice, far from shore, and see that familiar lakeside from a different vantage point. At just the right distance from shore, where the ice was just the right thickness, our body weight was just the right amount to cause a curvature in the surface of the ice--much like gravity causing the space-time continuum to bend--yeah like that.

At the point where all those just-rights converged, there was a loud report, and I don't mean a report as in a book review; I mean a big bang like a gunshot. We immediately stopped and stared at each other with a look that was not complete terror but with an expression that shouted a silent, "Mama!"

It's amazing how quickly the emotions change when the saber-toothed doesn't immediately leap out and eat you. In a second after that first report, we were no longer afraid but ecstatic. We were giddy with excitement as we stomped the ice harder and harder to hear the reverb of the crack, bang, boom echoing through the hills.

The loud noises, which is dope to teenaged boys, were quickly accompanied by spider-webs of shallow cracks that radiated from our spot on the ice toward the shoreline. What fun! Stomp! Stomp! Whoa!

Immediately following that last stomp, which my buddy made by leaping as high as his bundled body would allow, and coming down with both feet, there came a great surprise. The saber-toothed unexpectedly appeared and leaped. Metaphorically, of course! Not an actual tiger, you understand, but something just as frightening.

In short, my old pal disappeared beneath the surface, leaving a gaping hole and only his bogan (a type of hat commonly worn back in the day) floating on the surface to mark where he'd been moments before. Seconds later, he appeared flailing around and blaming me for the unfortunate event. 

By the way, if all that was just a dream, then it must have been a lucid one because I remember that bogan floating on the water like it was yesterday. Despite the predicament, I must admit that I didn't half laugh!

Now it was a serious situation, as I'm sure you agree. My friend would not have gotten out of that hole in the ice if he'd been alone. But he wasn't alone was he? I was Gallahad to his Gawain and he soon enough stood shivering on the surface of the ice. Did I mention that his Great Aunt lived about 100 yards from the lake? We ran all the way and he found salvation wrapped in a blanket in front of the fireplace in his aunt's living room. She promised not to tell his mother, which was another bit of cake for everyone concerned.

I wasn't aware at the time, that Kerouac had provided a neat summary for the day when he said, "There's nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about.... Because in the end, you won't remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn." And then he delivered the punchline, "So climb that goddamn mountain!"

With the current subject, we might say, Walk that frozen lake!

Even though I'd not yet read On the Road at the time my friend was drying the tissues in front of the fireplace and his great aunt had agreed not to tell his mom, I still had a vague awareness that I should have followed his lead. That's right! Consider that if I too had walked the lake and fallen below the surface, I would have found salvation in front of that same fire and my mother would never have known of the affair. Just think what a story that would be!

What, you're probably asking, would the end be with none around to pull us both out of the freezing water. I don't know the answer. None of us do really but Jack reminded us that, "It all ends in tears anyway."

When at last I put the book down, after reading the last paragraph on the last page, the first of his words to come floating up from the darkness of my mind were, "My whole wretched life swam before my weary eyes, and I realized no matter what you do it's bound to be a waste of time in the end and you might as well go mad."

I don't know why those words intrigued me so. Not because they're uplifting, right? No, not inspiring but surely something to think about. Something to consider. You see, in my case, I've already gone mad so there's no reason not to climb that goddamn mountain. Follow me closely here because I've jumped the rails again. I'm not talking about frozen lakes but about my Evil Plan to Dominate the World.

And right about now, you're probably saying to yourself that this entire post was merely my way of announcing that I'm back to work on the Evil Plan. And you're right. And why not? What's to lose? I'm going to let you answer that because I have work to do elsewhere and time's a'wasting. So in closing, I'll list a few more of the Kerouac quotes that seemed to speak to me in a personal way. That way you can piece it all together for yourself. Or not.

"There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars." 

"Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road." 

"Happiness consists in realizing it is all a great strange dream."

Bean Snorting

Sometimes things just don't work out the way we expect and when that happens we're thrown into the lurch, in much the same way riding the bicycle without hands for the first time brings us face to face with denizens of the roadside ditch.

Reminds me of the time I rode my bike down the ridge road without braking and wound up in the blackberry patch, but that's a story for another time. Today, I'd like to explore the way Life tempts us, with perfectly reasonable thinking, into doing something that causes the mood to collapse into a heap on the floor.

And please don't try to convince me that these trials are intended to enrich our lives by broadening the soul and imroving the action of the skin. I'm not buy it.

Here's an example from my childhood: the best friend of my formative years, when we were about eight years old, was no doubt enjoying a mindful morning in the kitchen when he noticed some uncooked beans lying on the counter. The beans were probably escapees from his mother's dinner plans.

It seems that one bean in particular appealed to him. If you've ever taken the beginners class in mindful meditation, then you understand the appeal. Think of the raison experiment. If you haven't had the pleasure of mindful instruction, then nevermind. 

This particular bean, as I mentioned, interested him strangely. As he noticed the smoothness of the surface, the quiet luster of the shell, and all the other physical characteristics--I'm guessing, of course--I haven't had the pleasue of being introduced to beans on an intimate level. No matter what appealed to my friend, this bean tempted him in strange ways.

Taking a line from the Buddha himself, he began to wonder how else he might experience the true nature of the bean. And so, as is often the case with these metaphorical searches for the holy grail, he decided to find out by following his own path.

First he picked up the bean between thumb and forefinger, is it forefinger? The correct names of the metatarsils elude me right now. At any rate, he rolled the bean in his fingers to appreciate its small size and light weight. Then he squeezed it to feel it's hardness. He pressed his tongue to the bean to accertain its taste.

Having exhausted almost everything he could think of to fully experience the bean, he did what any one of us might do in the circumstances. He inserted the bean into his nose.

What he found was that it wasn't an unpleasant experience at all. It made him feel the way Christopher Columbus must have felt when he finally reached land after sailing across the Atlantic, which is to say thankful that his hairbrained scheme had turned out OK after all.

What happened next is where the concept of a practical joking Universe comes into play. What may have prompted the action is open for debate but I think I know. You see, I'm familiar with the logic that concludes that if one alcoholic drink makes us feel better, then two will make us feel twice as good, and so on. Whether it was that logic or one similar, we may never know, but the next step for him was to push a second bean up the nostril.

You see where this is leading? When he remarked to his mother that he was breathing through one nostril only, she suddenly took on the role of the mother hen, clucking loudly, dancing from one foot to the other, and waving her wings about in a frantic display.

Before my little friend knew what was happening, he was in the emergency room of the local hospital with men in white coats pushing stainless steel tools up his nostrils. This was far from what he had expected, if he had expected anything at all, and it left him feeling that he could never trust the Universe to guide him again.

I know the feeling. Been there many times. You've probably been there too even if you don't want to admit it. It's not unusual for me to get angry when I find the Universe is toying with my emotions. And I can't afford to be angry. When I lose my temper, Princess Amy goes berserk. Have you seen the Will Smith movie, Wild Wild West? Amy is like that crazed villain at the controls of the gigantic mechanical spider and I'm the mechanical spider.

It's hard to get away from Amy's control. She points out every negative thing in life with a mind to ruin my serenity. I have to ignore the people and events around me. I can't watch critically acclaimed movies--too much bad behavior. Forget the news, in all its manifestations. And politics? Politics is the worst.

Being the target of a practical joke of universal scale is a recurring scenario for me. I try to change my life and I know that the only way to do that is by changing my attitude. Easier said than done. I heard recently that we can change everything about our life, the people, the playground, the playthings, but we can't change the most important thing--Fate.

I suppose that's true but I'm not one to accept things that I think are wrong and I think that human civilization has taken a wrong turn. Instead of a better world, we're creating a worse. I know it's not what anyone wants to hear and it's not something that I want to experience. And so I've decided that the only option I have is to live in a fantasy world of my own choosing. Will that work? Probably not but what have I got to lose? Despite my best thinking and best plans, I'll eventually end up in the emergency room with beans up my nose anyway.