All About Nothing

After a bit of morning inspiration from the Muse, I walked onto the screened porch where I found Ms Wonder deep in meditation with the octopus, Olivia. Not a real octopus, you understand, merely an understudy.

"This morning I plan to blog about nothing," I said.

"That's it," she said. "Not good morning, Miss Wonderful? Just walk out and begin talking about nothing?"

I held up a hand to indicate that what I was about to say was off topic and not to become the topic. "Not Miss Wonderful," I said. "That would be the love interest of a boy in middle school. Ms Wonder is the correct sobriquet and it's an honorific for one who works in mysterious ways her wonders to perform. 

She clicked her tongue, got off her meditation cushion, and gave me a couple of whacks on the back. "Feel better now?" she said. "Think you can talk like a 21st century Carolinian?"

"Did you say, Canadian?" 

"Carolinian," is what I said.

"Then I'll try," I said. "I don't think I could manage Canadian this early in the day. It's the dipthongs."

"Oh, God, help me," she said and it did leave me wondering why but you're surely aware that this woman, no matter how strong a leading lady she may be, loves to practice subterfuge and misdirection and it's my job to ignore it. Still, I wonder why she said, 'Oh, God, help me'. 

"At any rate," I said, "the Muse reminded me about de nihilo nihilum, blah, blah, blah..."

Now she held up a hand. "Please," she said. "It's way too early in the morning for this conversation. Table it for the afternoon. Maybe I'll be ready to listen after a walk around the lake."

Well, I don't have to explain to you how that made me feel. A blow too low was my opinion. Too early for conversation! What would you have done in my position? Not that you ever are, of course.

I chose to end the conversation and you would have done the same, I'm sure if you were in the same situation. After all, we aren't orangutans or howler monkeys. No offense, if you're partial to our primate cousins. I merely use them as examples of what we're not.

I took a seat on the sofa and made preparations for the arrival of a cat. In seconds, there was a cat. But not from nothing. There was an unseen, unknown cat and then there was a known cat. Do you see where I'm going with this?

"What did you say about a cat?" she said and I was as surprised as you are. I remember wondering if I'd spoken out loud.

"Not a cat," I said. "I'm thinking about the big bang. First, there was no universe and then there was. Do you see what I mean?"

"Oh, I love that show," she said. "Have you seen the one where they go to the Star Trek convention?"

"No, no, no! Not the Big Bang Theory! It's the beginning of everything that I'm thinking about!"

"Oh, I get it,' she said. "You're talking about something coming from nothing."

"Yes!" I said. "Thank you. I'm talking about the Catholic concept of creatio ex nihilo or..."

"No, you're not," she said, "and stop talking in italics. You're planning, unless I miss my guess, to begin some deep drivel about how the universe could not come from nothing. Because only nothing comes from nothing. 

You probably want to make the argument that the very idea of something from nothing requires some all-powerful outside force with conscious intent. 

You probably want to say something like, the latest scientific thinking about the big bang is built on the foundations of the same original miracle upon which the Catholic concept of creation is built. Am I right?"

"Well, yes, since you put it like that," I said.

"Let there be!" she said with a grand flourish. "BIG Bang!"

I stared at the woman and I was speechless. Once again, when I thought I had a new perspective to share, she demonstrated that she knows everything. I suppose it shouldn't surprise me.

No, I shouldn't be surprised because I've learned that she knows all about any subject you throw her way. Still, I thought it might be fun to test her once again.

"Poopsie," I said, "you remember that thing I quoted when this conversation began?"

"You mean, from nothing, nothing can come?" That quote? Persius," she said. "Probably Etruscan."

"Like the Gherardinis," I said.

"Don't flatter yourself," she said. "It's not like they were your grandparents, or anything." Then seeing, no doubt, the shadow that moved across my face, she added, "But there is hope for you yet."

"Of course," I said. But I didn't say it with any real chirpiness. 

"See?" she said, and I had no idea then, and I still have no idea what she meant by it.

"By the way," I said, "I get that Persius guy confused with Perseus, the one that whacked off the Medusa's head.

"I know, you do," she said and then in her characteristic way she changed the subject like changing the sheets. "Let's go to Lake Gaston. The Virginia side this time," she said.

"Of course, the Virginia side," I said. "I care only for your happiness, Wonder."

"Sure you do," she said, and I was happy that we could finally agree on something.

Thinking About You

I thought about you on my walk this morning.

I always think of you when I'm there. We never got the chance to walk there together But I think of you when I'm there anyway.

I wrote your name in the sand and I drew a big, balloon heart above your name. I answered a phone call only to pull myself out of the deep grief I felt because you couldn't be there with me. I later regretted taking the call because it kept me from connecting with you. 

But then I realized that you weren't there to connect with me anyway. It was only your name written in the sand.

Tomorrow your name will be gone, blown away by the wind, but I will return and I'll think of you and I will, once again, write your name in the sand and draw a big, balloon heart above your name. I will continue this little ritual always.

Because I love you and I miss you. Always.

Not So Evil Plans

Recently, I found myself at a crossroads with an important decision to make. I'd avoided it as long as the Universe would allow, or so it seemed. Have you had the same experience? Have you ever had to make up your mind?

As I say, I could put it off no longer and a choice was required. The thing would have lasting effects on the rest of my life.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not talking about that Robert Johnson or Bob Dylan kind of crossroad. I don't plan to make a pact with Satan or Beelzebub, Mephistopheles, Iblis, The Tempter, The Adversary, Ash-Shaytan, or Old Scratch. 

I understand why you might be questioning the Genome sanity if any, especially if you read that piece I posted recently about my Evil Plan for World Domination. That little missive could confuse anyone, really. Let me take a moment to explain the Evil Plan and then we'll get back to the decision that could shake the earth's foundations. 

First of all, the Plan isn't really evil. At least I don't think so. You may think differently, of course, and if you do think differently, please leave your thoughts in the comments below.

 My plan is intended to become my personal path for escaping fear, depression, and anxiety for good. I did it once. At least I thought it was for good but here I am again up to my neck in the soup.

Oh yes, for a number of years I was sitting on top of the world with a rainbow around my shoulders being serenaded by bluebirds. But that was then. I'm not there now. The bluebird has left the stage, the rainbow has evaporated, I slid down the lines of longitude and I've been wandering along a muddy, logging road for the last few years. 

You probably know about all that, if you've been here with me,  and I want you to know that I'm eternally grateful for your support. 

My personal adversary is a trinity made up of Pandemic, Politics, and Princess Amy. I can't do anything about any of those, can I? I'm powerless to stop them just as I was powerless over alcohol and drugs. But there is a solution. I know there is because many other people, people like me, have found it, and I will find mine too.

The idea of an Evil Plan didn't originate with me. The credit and the attribution go to Hugh McCloud, the author of a book titled, Evil Plans: Having Fun on the Road to World Domination. It's an excellent book and I recommend it highly to anyone who feels stuck in a rut and would like some help getting underway again. You can learn more by visiting his website at GapingVoid.com but please don't go there now. Read the rest of this post first.

So the decision that I'm facing, is the one that will either get me back on top or leave me in a heap on the floor until the End of Days.

As I say, I've felt lost and out of place for the last few years and I'd like to change that. I realize that action is demanded--proper steps through the proper channels is the way P.G. Wodehouse phrased it--and for the record, I've taken steps, plenty of them, really I have. The problem is that I always remain in the same place; no progress and no changes.

In my baseline recovery program, I'm told that repeating the same actions while expecting a different result, is a type of insanity. Makes sense to me. Reminds me of the results of a study that found that most people, when faced with setbacks, do more of the same thing hoping for a breakthrough, or else they accept defeat and settle for what they already have.

I don't accept defeat (I usually phrase this as I don't eat pine needles, but that's a subject for another post.)

Did you notice that I skittered off the road and am back in the ditch again? Me too. Let me get to the point and wrap this up. And thanks again for being with me. Your attention makes all the difference.

The punchline is that I'm making a new plan and to get it started, I'm following that old admonition that the Round Table Knights were given when they began their quest for the holy grail, If you find a path in the enchanted forest, ignore it! You must make your own path.

When I put all this mish-mash through the colander, what comes out is that I must take action and I must take action that I've never taken previously. I'm not sure what the right action will be and so I plan to follow the advice of my old school pal, McGoo. Do something even if it's wrong. Maybe that's where the evil part comes in.

Stick with me. I'm having a little trouble getting started but I promise to stop repeating myself and start getting results. You'll read it first right here.

Just Saying...

My homie, Mumps, and I were having our usual Friday morning conversation in which we try to solve one of the world's great mysteries in classical physics. This morning, the topic was why Martha Stewart advised her followers to stop micro-waving the kitchen sponge. Why not, I wondered, and so I went to my most trusted authority in macro-physics.

We gave the subject a thorough examination, as is our way when intent on solving world problems. When I say examination, I mean to say a logical one, of course.  Much like the ancient Greek method of talking it out until we've considered every angle. We didn't actually experiment or Google anything. Our results were inconclusive but we did come to an agreement that we'd use biodegradable paper towels instead of sponges in the future.

I feel compelled to add that we don't use real sponges like the ones brought up from the bottom in Tarpon Springs, Florida. Certainly not! That would be like dropping lobsters into a pot of boiling water! We are civilized men, not something from the Middle Ages.

But back to our story for the wrap-up or moral, if you prefer. Most problems can be resolved, no matter how Gordion they may be, when two strong-willed and confident personalities begin picking at the threads and unraveling the thing. At least I like to think so.

During our investigation, unlikely as it may sound, I happened to mention that I'm certified as a Pet Preventive Health Coach. Yes, there is such a thing but if you're having trouble suspending disbelief, you're not alone. Mumps had the same difficulty and it seems to be an evenly distributed difficulty outside my Secret Circle of Initiates. 

Yes, I am a pet preventive health coach and have been and still am a lot of other things. How do I find the time you wonder. So do I wonder but still, there it is. 

I recently attended a business conference in Chapel Hill that was staged by the North Carolina Small Business Association. It's a common occurrence that you're seated at a table with other small business owners who have nothing in common with each other. At some point, early in the meeting, the hostess suggests that everyone take a moment to introduce themselves to the rest of their table.

It often goes something like this:

"Hello, Genome. Happy Cats Wellness? What's that?"

"I'm a preventive health coach for pets."

"A what? For pets? Ha, ha! Do you encourage them to eat well and get plenty of exercise?"

"I advise the pet owner."

"Do you suggest daily affirmations? Haha, ha!"

"I teach them about the necessary resources..."

"Resources? Do they get a library card? A gym membership? Ha, ha, ha!"

At this point in the conversation, I fall back on a proven strategy to smooth the conversation and make the whole thing a little less stressful for me. Is the correct word strategy or stratagem? A plan or scheme used to outwit an opponent or achieve an end? Probably. At any rate, here's the one I use:

"And what do you do," I say. 

I've said it before and I'll keep on saying it,  most problems can be resolved, no matter how Gordion they may be, when two strong-willed and confident personalities begin picking at the threads and unraveling the thing. It's also a good idea to show interest in the person you're speaking with to hopefully make a friend of an enemy. It's a tactic recommended highly by Sun Tzu.

The Blustery Day

"Space and time are inextricably linked or is it irrevocably linked?" I said to the Wonder when she entered the breakfast nook this morning.

She didn't say anything in response but she gave me one of her patented looks, the look that says she thinks I may have been out in the sun without a hat. Silly of her I should think since the day was still in its youth.

"No matter," I said. "You get the idea; space and time exist in distinct elements; let's call them moments, and one can slip into the spaces between moments and end up in a different dimension."

Still, no verbal response from her but she did furrow her brow and narrow one eye. 

"Happens all the time," I said having deduced that she was not inclined to accept my personal thoughts on the subject.

"I learned this from Wen the Dojo Master at the Zen Center of Houston," I said in explanation. "I never actually traveled anywhere in time but I learned from the master," I said to assure her that I wasn't in a meltdown.

"I know what you're thinking," I said. "You're thinking that I'm stuck in that On the Road thing I recently wrote about. You think I'm riding with no hands on the wheel and that I'm destined for the ditch. Maybe not that exactly but I'll bet it's something similar."

Again, no words from her mouth but her eyes were opened wide and she seemed a little panicky. I thought it best to hit pause and reassure her once more that I'd not recently experienced an abduction by space aliens.

"Take a deep breath," I recommended. "Take three. Now think on the quantum level. I mean, think about those YouTube vids you watch with Joe Scott or Sabine Hossenfelder and you'll be in the right mental space.

That's right, it's a quantum thing. You'll see the connection when we get to the punchline so let's stop dawdling and get right down to it. Here it is then:

You know that little pine forest where I walk each morning. Those pines surround a small lake with a boardwalk that leads to a pavilion in the center of it all. It's a favorite spot of mine and each morning when I visit the pines, no matter what else may be happening in my life, I feel a sense of comfort and safety.

Well, I should rephrase that. It actually doesn't happen that way every morning. In fact, it doesn't happen that way in most mornings. What usually happens is that I go there hoping to feel a sense of comfort and safety but then Princess Amy gets worked up over something. This particular morning was more than a little blustery and Amy is always excited about a windy day, especially when I'm out in it.

I was walking through the pines as is my usual way right after morning salutations, a ritual in which qigong and taiji play no small part, but generally no kung fu. But later in the morning that discipline too would pop up, not unlike the way the demon king pops up from a trap door in a Thai water opera. 

But that story is better left for a later post. It can only distract us from the larger event, which my biographers will call if I have anything to say about it, heinous multi-dimensional tomfoolery.

As I was saying before the attention deficit kicked in, walking through the pines my eye was arrested by something blown about by the wind at the edge of the forest. It turned out to be a plastic bag. 

The bag was tied in a loose knot and couldn't be mistaken for anything other than what it was. You've guessed it already no doubt; a bag of doggie poo. I was ticked off, to say the least. Why is it that we humans can't be trusted to do the right thing? 

Now if you're expecting me to say something about disposing properly of our pets' waste, you'd be in the neighborhood of being correct. But what I'm really going to say is: You're out in nature, Princess! Don't put the doggie poo in plastic bags. Just let Fluffy and Milo poop in the woods! 

I told myself that I'd pick up the bag of poo on my return trip but my conscience didn't approve of leaving it there. What if I decided to take a different path when I returned? What if I wandered into one of the interstitial spaces, is that the word I want? What if I was diverted into a different dimension altogether?"

I paused here to check in with Ms. Wonder. I thought it best to ascertain her temperature before continuing. She seemed transfixed by the story and I was very pleased with myself, as I'm sure you expected, so I continued the story.

"I assured myself that I wouldn't forget the bag and, as it turned out, I didn't need to concern myself because the Universe was in a manipulative bitchy mood this morning and had other plans unknown to me.

I continued walking the path between the lake and the forest. The pines were beginning to thin and the wind was even gustier. Things that usually don't fly were taking wing if I can use that expression, and flying about like autumn leaves, or perhaps flying about like grocery bags would be more apt because I saw two of them whisking along above the lake. It was beginning to look like a big day for flying plastic. Turns out I didn't know the half of it.

Eventually, I came to the street on the north side of the forest, and what to my wondering eye should appear but a remarkable sight. Coming toward me down the middle of the street, propelled by a stiff wind, was a large piece of heavy plastic that had once been a banner of some kind. The wind had formed a big, loose ball of the thing and it was rolling toward me, tumble-weed style, at rapid speed. I felt that I'd been catapulted into the Twilight Zone.

My first thought was, Most Gracious One! Can't you trust me to remember the plastic bag of poo without sending a reminder like this? The next thought was, what to do? I couldn't allow the thing to make its way into Brunswick Forest Boulevard and cause a traffic accident, or work its way into the forest beyond and muck about with Nature's residents. Obviously, there was only one right action.

I opened my arms wide, took a deep breath, and leaned forward into the midst of the thing as it caught up with me. When I say that I leaned into it, what I mean is that this refrigerator-sized ball wrapped itself around me. It covered my face so that I saw naught but red and white plastic. It enveloped my arms and legs so that I felt as though I was embraced by an octopus. Not that I know much about being in an octopus embrace.

I struggled to get free and for the first few minutes, the banner was winning on points. Eventually, I was able to free an arm and a leg and I beat the thing into something the size of a large beach ball.

Once or twice on my return walk, the wind caught the banner in my arms and turned it into a sort of sail that pushed and pulled me around the lake. I was beginning to realize that this day was going to be a one-damned thing after. Eventually, I arrived at the location of the original poo sac. I wrapped it in the banner and deposited both into a proper receptacle. 

"So there you have it," I said. "You're observations will be greatly appreciated."

"You do know how to live," she said in a low voice, and turning around, she left the presence and made her way upstairs. I've examined her final words on the subject and unfortunately can make nothing of it. If you have any thoughts please leave them in the comments below.