An Occasional Eden

The morning had opened warm and moist and my stroll around the gardens had left me glistening but now I was seated in the cooling shade of the forest canopy and refreshing the tissues with the contents of an icy cup. 

Despite my poor choice in upholstery for the morning walk--I should have chosen more lightweight cotton and something with shorter sleeves--I nonetheless had achieved a Nirvana-like repose.

Thunderstorms might be troubling the coast elsewhere, but here in Airlie Gardens, just east of Wilmington, I enjoyed a peaceful calm that comes only to those who have done absolutely nothing to deserve it.

The air was redolent with birdsong, and ocean breezes rustled the leaves of camellia and azalea. I was restoring the soul while  Ms. Wonder wandered the garden's interior, camera in hand, producing something she called a pictorial essay, whatever that is.

A young man who'd parked his noisy pickup in a space near the picnic area gave me a look as he passed by on his way, unless I missed my guess, to join his waiting family. It was one of those looks that if translated into the common tongue would have included phrases like 'silly old coot.'

I recognized it as a look of envy, although, what actually sparked the green-eyed monster in this young geezer, I cannot say. But I didn't blame him for it. On a morning this warm and humid, a table in the shade with cooling sea breezes and icy refreshments is highly desired, if not downright coveted.

After all, who could be offended or cast blame on others when surrounded by the garden paradise known as Airlie Gardens, especially in the middle of the celebration known as the North Carolina Azalea Festival? The answer, of course, is no one.

And we will do well to remember that we don't know everything. Best to assume that anyone entering the grounds of one of the few Edens left on earth, is committed to spreading goodness and light. Otherwise, such a person is risking being expelled the way our ancestors were expelled from the original Eden.

Smith and Rock

Only minutes before the whole thing began I was seated at a table near the cafe door and wearing a mood that would stop traffic had there been any. It wasn't my usual morning brood. No, this was deeper angst brought on by Ms. Wonder's insistence that I make those phone calls today.

Nothing is more unpleasant than interviewing health-care providers and making appointments by phone. Yes, I know that it sounds perfectly simple to you but you haven't tried it, have you?

I'd finished two double espressos and still, the outlook was dark. Even wearing my new beret hadn't helped as much as I'd hoped. Don't get me wrong, the latest choice in head joy did make me feel slightly better than otherwise but the mood remained in the cellar. I'd become convinced that the Universe was taking advantage of me and not in a good way.

Into my awareness, there slowly crept sounds of commotion coming from the alley behind Port City Cafe. I could hear a dog barking and crows raising a ruckus. I decided to check it out and walked around the building to the delivery dock.

As soon as I rounded the corner, a cargo van came screeching into the alley. The turn was so sharp that the van tilted up on two wheels and plowed through a row of garbage cans before coming to a stop.

You surely recognize the MO. It was Princess Amy who loves to arrive in a whirlwind of drama. Amy wasn't literally driving a van. An almond-shaped cluster of brain cells can't get a driver's license in the Carolinas. You know that.

"Well, you certainly don't see that every day," I said to her as she crawled out of the wreckage. I had to say something complimentary after she'd gone to so much trouble to impress me.

"Thanks," she said. "Kind of you to say so. I feel much better now," she said as she brushed her blouse and jeans. 

"I'm sure you do," I said.

"Now," she said with a deep breath, "what's all this nonsense about you not having a purpose?"

I admit the question took me by surprise. I recoiled slightly and searched the data banks for the appropriate response.

"Well...," I said.

"Save it," she said. "And now you listen to me. You are the chosen dark minion just like I told you in the dream."

"I am?"

"Just not of revolution and wholesale social change," she said.

"Uh...," I said.

"It's more like redirection and subterfuge," she said. "And so from now on, you must listen to me and do exactly as I say and everything will go fine."

Well, I knew this was nonsense and pure piffle, I mean I may be the lead squirrel in the race to the nut tree but I'm not stupid.

"But what about?" I said.

"You let me handle that," she said.

"What if?" I said.

"I'll take care of it," she said.

I stared at her in silence much like Chris Rock stared at Will Smith at the Academy Awards.

Amy climbed back into the driver's seat in the van, started the engine, and as she drove away she said, "Next time you see me I'll be driving a semi. Have a good morning. " And with that, she was gone.

"What about the sewer harpies?" I yelled but she was too far away to hear me.

The Russian Doll

For some time now, I've felt as though I'm caught in a time loop, like that Netflix series, Russian Doll, in which the heroine repeatedly dies and then wakes the next morning to relive the previous day. Unfortunately for me, the series ended before the writers explained how she escaped.

Frustrating isn't a strong enough word to describe my circumstances. Maddening comes close. Even writing has become a struggle and writing this blog is the one thing that I could always count on to make me feel better.

I've tried many different ways to change my situation, but no matter how hard I try, blah, blah, blah. Know what I mean? Futile. A bust. Pffththth! Like the man said in his best-selling book, one familiar to us all, 

"...for what I would, that I do not; but what I hate, that I do."

I know! My life story, for the nonce. But hey! Those who know me best, know that I refuse to eat pine needles. Not familiar with the term? It's an Inner Circle thing. If you're new here, you might want to search the blog posts for that phrase, "eat pine needles."

Now, I'm all too familiar with what Rumi says in his poem, The Guest House. It's something along the lines of, 

"Being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness, 

comes as an unexpected visitor.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond."

I try to follow this advice but it never seems to end well. Like the star of that TV program mentioned above, I die each night and wake up to the same day all over again. Well, my friend, let me be clear about where this guide from beyond has led me. It's like this:

I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore! I'll still welcome them at the door and invite them to make themselves at home but damn if I'm going to join them for tea.

Now, I don't have grandiose plans and I'm not overly confident. I have no idea about where all this is going to lead and I don't make any promises or make any predictions. But I'm going to practice Fierce Qigong like the dickens because something's got to give.

Many thanks to everyone who's stuck by me this far, especially you. To quote Ms. Wonder, "I've said it before and it's still true...I don't know what I'd do without you."

What's It All Mean?

Every day has the potential to be better than the day before. But it doesn't happen auto-magically.  No, not as if we have inalienable rights or whatnot. We must insist on getting our fair share and, if I've learned anything at all, it's that we must activate the stubborn gene. I hope you remember how to do that. The way it's worded in the book is that we must insist on living happy, joyous, and free.

We don't want to dwell on every little bump in the road, of course, but I think it best to advise you that today there will be turbulence. Those of you who are regulars here on The Circular Journey will know what to do. If you're a newcomer, please make sure your shoulder harness is securely fastened, keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times, and if you have a history of motion sickness, get the Dramamine now. The faithful who trust in magic and sorcery will wear the copper bracelet. 

And now for the disclaimer--all information shared on this blog is expected to be held in strict confidence. Sharing it with anyone outside the Inner Circle is forbidden and if confronted on any detail, we will resort to stout denial. There, that should be good enough to be getting on with.

Soon after beginning today's post, I was in the middle of a sentence, looking for the next right word to follow the one I'd just committed to the screen. I don't need to remind you, I'm sure, that the Genome is rigorously honest in describing the fragments of reality that exist in the dimensions that he frequents. Each word in a sentence is given careful consideration to ensure that it's the best choice for clarity, simplicity, and precision.

The word I'd chosen for that particular sentence was, seque. I'll say it again to make sure there's no misunderstanding. Seque was the word; meaning a smooth transition from one topic to the next. As soon as I typed the word it was underlined in red with the warning, "Unknown word." I was surprised not a little. After all, it's not an unusual or rare word.

After completing the sentence, I read it aloud to evaluate the cadence because rhythm is of vital importance. Without the appropriate rhythm, a sentence is dead. Having approved the sound of it, I thought it best to follow up on that redlined warning. I'm not above misusing a word now and again. I certainly don't make a habit of it. 

And so, having decided that a little research was in order, I did what any right-thinking writer would do; I Googled it. I owed it to my public to make sure the word was the mot juste, as Bertie Wooster would say.

Good old Google returned a pageful of hits, as usual, but one URL, in particular, caught my eye. And here's what it said in the preview:

What does seque mean? - Definitions.net

seque. Here are all the possible meanings and translations of the word seque. Did you actually mean segue or sequoia?

Well, I was non-plussed, and I mean like the dickens. I'm sure you understand my concern. Here was a reputable website, at least I assumed it was reputable; I mean it was near the top of the hit list. This dependable website evaluated my choice of words and questioned the appropriate use. It had gone so far as to suggest that another word might be a better choice. But how the hell was I to choose between the two. Seque or sequoia? You tell me. If I'd misunderstood the exact meaning of seque, how the hell was I supposed to evaluate sequoia?

I'm still stumped. This knot is Gordian as all get out. It's a conundrum of Ouroboros proportions. Do you remember Ouroboros; the serpent that eats its own tail? Don't I have enough challenges trying to be a prolific blogger? I mean depression, anxiety, shiny objects, and all that. Now I have to deal with the failure of Google. It just goes to show that I'm on to something when I say that the world just doesn't work anymore. 

And now I'm sure you understand why I began this post as I did. Sometimes the only way to deal with the vicissitudes of life--is it vicissitudes? I don't know. The short of what I'm trying to say is some days you just have to muddle through the best you can and don't fret it. Activate the stubborn gene and keep moving forward. Fierce Qigong! 

P.S. I had to look up vicissitudes; Googled it and learned that it means a change of circumstances or fortune, typically ones that are unwelcome or unpleasant. You can say that again, Google!

Like A Rock

My brain is trying to gaslight me. I think Princess Amy wants me dead and is trying to distract me with a hullabaloo of insanity, the easier to make me step in front of the number 14 bus.

Not going to happen, Universe, or whatever your real name is. I developed Fierce Qigong and I know how to use it. When I was six and the schoolyard bully would humiliate me by trying to force me to eat pine straw in front of our schoolmates, I stubbornly refused.  I will not eat pine needles, I told myself. (We called them needles instead of straw.) 

My Rock

I didn't eat pine needles then and I have no plans to begin now.

Much later in high school, I was introduced to the poem that Dylan Thomas wrote for his dying father, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night: 

"Do not go gentle into that good night; 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light." 

Although Dylan was specifically writing about death, I've embraced the message of the poem and applied it to those thousands of little deaths that confront me.

Fierce Qigong is the bundle of practices and principles that grew out of the stubborn refusal to eat pine needles, and my tendency to rage, rage against my feeling of powerlessness in the face of life's inevitable difficulties.

Now, if you're a member of the community here on The Circular Journey, you should brace yourself because I'm going to reference sacred scripture in the next few paragraphs. I know! Who'd a thought it? Don't reach for the remote just yet, the payoff is colossal. You're going to love it.

In his 18th Psalm, the psalmist tells us:

"...my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge."

And now, thanks to a spiritual awakening on my morning walk, I have a new ally. I finally have what Alcoholics Anonymous calls a higher power and what many of you call God. Yes! I have my Rock! And here comes the punchline, just like David, if that's his real name, I too take refuge in my Rock, my higher power. Selah.

I've known this particular rock since I first moved to the coast over a year ago. Every morning I come to Brunswick Forest for a walk in the pines and every morning this rock meets me here, to remind me, despite what the Buddha claimed, that there are constants in this funny old world, a few things that can be relied upon to remain true.

It's a theme that pops up throughout the first half of the bible. In Deuteronomy 32:4 we read, "He is the Rock, his works are perfect and all his ways are just."  Again in 1 Samuel 2:2 we're told, "There is no Rock like our God."

Perhaps because of this scriptural influence, or perhaps simply due to an intuitive awareness of the spirit of Rock, it seems universally recognized by humans that rocks are one of the few strong, enduring elements of our world. I assume it goes far back into prehistory when rock was a necessary material for tools and weapons. People depended on rock for their very lives.

And now you see why my Rock has become my higher power. I need that solid, constant, power to keep me grounded and supported. I'm happy about this new revelation. I think it's the perfect partnership because "his works are perfect and all his ways are just."

Do I plan to start a new religion? No. One religion is as bad as another. No reason to think that I can do better. I'll simply think of my practice as the Way of the Rock. It'll be my shamanic practice. Ha! I'm a shaman now! I'll incorporate the Way of the Rock into Fierce Qigong!

If you'd like to join me in the Way of the Rock, then follow the updates that appear here on The Circular Journey. Until then, here are a few ideas that I think are suitable for a beginning. From Bob Seger's song, Like A Rock:

"Like a rock, I was strong as I could be, nothin' ever got to me...chargin' from the gate, carryin' the weight...hard against the wind, I see myself again. Like a Rock."

Those words describe beautifully the stubborn resolve that has always characterized Fierce Qigong and now provide a springboard for the Way of the Rock. Ain't Life marvelous?

I want to express my appreciation to Paul Simon for his song and the title of this blog post. If you know the song, sing it! If you don't know the words, find the song and play it! That song is another rock of mine. I have lots of rocks. Drop in sometime and let my show you my rock collection.