Of Mosquitos and Meditation

This morning I awoke in Houston. I know! What are the odds, right? But rather than worry about it, I quickly abandoned myself to the whims of the Universe. After all, some of the best minds in the world tell us that it's the troubles we imagine that are worse than the troubles we actually encounter. 

I believe it was Marcus Aurelius who gave us that little gem, and for once I'm sure it wasn't Shakespeare, who by the way gets far too much credit for quotable lines.

At any rate, I grabbed my hat and tilted it just a shade over the left eye, which makes all the difference. Upholstered and sunglassed, I set out for a meditative walk. 

The first order of business was to find a spot that offered some seclusion, which is necessary when you practice qigong or any other form of ancient Chinese slow movement exercise. Practicing in the open usually results in the local constabulary dropping by to ask "What's all this?" I've even known young children to cry and run to their mothers when they see me practicing Brush the Wild Mare's Mane.

The live oak grove behind the community pool looked ideal for qigong and so I took up my position and began my exercise with Wuji Swimming Dragon. As I swept my arm back, I observed a gulf coast mosquito squatting on my hand and pulling the beak back into attack position. I didn't hesitate. It was with me, the work of an instant to squash the insect. Not soon enough, however. She got me on the thumb. And it didn't end there, by the time I realized I'd been bitten, her unseen accomplice, got me on the back of the neck.

Before I continue, it might be enlightening to provide you with some background information that I did not have available to me when I planned this morning's outing. In recent weeks, the Houston news media have been full of headlines such as the following sample: 

Mosquitoes Attack Houston

Mosquito Invasion Continues

Houston Plagued with Mosquitos

From the official mosquito-tracking website I learned that "Houston mosquitoes are considered to be some of the worst in the world."

You think you have mosquitos? What you have are some of those inferior knock-off brands of insects.

The style of qigong that I teach is called "Fierce Qigong and the tag-line is "Life comes fast and hard. Be ready for anything."  But I was not ready for Houston mosquitos. Before I could muster a defense, my hat had been lifted from my head, sunglasses pulled from my face, and a swarm was trying to remove my Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt.

I'm not sure that I cried out in alarm as I ran down the path and back into the house but if I did, what of it? You too would C O in A if you were plagued with these mosquitos; a plague not unlike those that were visited upon Pharaoh Ramses. Trust me.

When I was safely inside the house, my son-in-law asked where I had been. I breathlessly gave him the gist and went on to say, "Let me warn you…" when he interrupted to ask:

"Didn't you get eaten by mosquitoes?"

Now that the danger is past and happy endings have been distributed all around, I realize that I learned a couple things from the ordeal. First and foremost, Houston should have signs similar to those ancient maps where they have pictures of sea monsters at the edge of the world. The signs should say, "Here Be Mosquitoes."

The second thing I learned is that there seems to be a lack of consensus about the spelling of the plural of mosquito. But hey, when you're being attacked by a swarm of blood-sucking fiends, correct grammar is the least of your worries.

Waterfalls and Waking Up

"The Chattooga River rushes out of North Carolina and churns into South Carolina in a wild frenzy. It hurls itself furiously against house-sized boulders and free-falls down precipitous gorges, crashing thunderously into deep basins where it becomes calm for a while, gathering energy to spill over the next ledge and then renew the chaotic tumult."

I spoke those words to Ms. Wonder as we neared the spill basin of Looking Glass Falls. We were on our first waterfall hike in years and it felt good to be out of the chill of Mom Nature's quiet period.

"I could say the same about you," said the Wonder.

"Countless waterways drain from these lofty hills accounting for more waterfalls per square mile than any other area east of the Mississippi and one of them, Whitewater Falls, on the border with North Carolina, is a contender for the title of Tallest Waterfall in the East.”

"I know all this, of course," said Wonder. "After all, I've read all your travel articles."

Tens of thousands of visitors come to the Southern Appalachians each year to search for these waterfalls—a ritual repeated globally, wherever hills and streams are found. There are multiple reasons for this universal pilgrimage but I like to think that the underlying reason for most of us is that it just feels good to stand near the plunge basin of a large fall due to negatively-charged ions being 50% higher there and those neg-ions are proven to be mood enhancers.

Wonder nodded in agreement. "It's true, there's something magical about being near a waterfall. The sound of the water, the mist, the energy that surrounds you. It's like nature's own therapy session."


We continued our hike, taking in the stunning scenery and the sound of rushing water. We reached the top of the fall and took in the view. "It's hard to explain why we chase waterfalls," I said. "But I think, at the end of the day, it's about the thrill of the chase and the feeling of being alive. And that's worth it all."

As we stood there, taking in the beauty of the Chattooga, I couldn't help but feel a sense of euphoria. It was as if the neg-ions were working their magic and I felt a new man, reborn by the power of the waterfall. And I knew, I'll be chasing waterfalls forever.

"It's transformative, Poopsie. I feel like a new man."

"And what about the feeling that you're extra baggage and that life has no point?"

Gone like the wind," I said, and I twirled around like a ballerina, almost losing my balance and feeling the goose for it.

"Sorry 'bout that I said. Don't want to startle you. But I do have a new spring in my step and a song in my heart."

"Then let's keep chasing happy memories from now 'till the church bell chimes," she said and I remember thinking that I liked the way she put it.

"So let it be written; so let it be done," I said. 

"Engage!" she said.

Hotel California of Blogs

As a member of the elite chosen group who's been awarded a mood disorder, I have enough trouble navigating life on days that are generally smooth. When the going gets tough, I usually end up in a heap on the floor.

                     

You're probably wondering how you can qualify for a touch of madness too and I wish I could help but, unfortunately, the prerequisites are not published anywhere that I know about. The whole thing is probably handled by one of those secret societies we hear so much about these days.

Even without a mood disorder, you may find yourself teetering on the edge. Simply put, life comes hard and fast, and if you're not ready for it, your mood can go from sitting on top of the world to the bargain basement with no stops in between.

But fear not, my friends! I've found a way to navigate the absurdities of life and I'm here to share my secrets with you. You see, I've discovered that the key to surviving the constant barrage of life's demands is to find a bit of humor in it all. Like a beacon in the darkness, a good laugh can guide us through the darkest days.

That's why I write this blog, to share the moments of levity that I find in my daily life. From the ridiculous conversations I overhear on the bus, to the hilariously bad customer service I receive, I share it here on these pages. My hope is that by sharing my laughter, I can help you find a little bit of joy in your own life.

I don't want to give you the wrong idea; finding something to laugh about when you're up to your neck in the soup isn't always easy. But with a little experience, it gets easier, and when you can smile about it, you're in a better position to cope.

And so I write about my real life but try to emphasize the lighter side. My hope is that you will find something in what I write to make you smile too.

So come along for the ride, and let's explore the world of stupid humans together. Who knows, you might just find that the images and scenes I share will hold meaning for you too, and together we'll create a world that's more Zen than the usual reality.

Let me caution you that once you become accustomed to my world, there will be no going back. It's like the Hotel California of blogs, you can check out but you can never leave.

Zen As All Get Out!

The morning meditation in Brunswick Forest was interrupted by a landscape crew performing clean-up. I eyed this rabble with disapproval, resenting the universal calm that enveloped the horde at a time when, thanks to that little almond-eyed Princess Amy deep inside my brain, I felt like one of those heroes in a Greek tragedy pursued by the Furies.

After giving thought to the idea of bunging a few bricks into the midst of leaf blowers and lawnmowers, I instead gave up the qigong ghost and headed to the local caffeine den.

Ankling toward the bar, I noticed the headlines on the Wilmington Star News lamenting the latest abomination of the North Carolina legislature and I felt Princess Amy hotting up in the darkest recesses of my mind. She was getting rowdy. I hurried toward the bar hoping that a steaming cup of Jah's Mercy would restore my sangfroid. It was not to be.

"Where have you been?" said Amy Normal (no relation to Princess Amy) the part-time barista and Backup Mistress of the Castle Street Arts District Night, for it was she taking up space behind the Order Here sign. "I haven't seen you in days."

"Oh?" I said. The comeback, I am fully aware, was lacking the usual Genome flair but don't forget those Furies who, even now, were creeping ever closer like a gang of Aunts.

"It's no good saying, 'Oh' with that tone of voice as though you don't give a damn," she said. "Consider the planets, the solar system, the universal plan for spiritual enlightenment." She embellished the last remark by lifting a hand upward, as though we could see planets and whatnot from inside the coffee shop.

"Enlightenment?" I repeated, still feeling the Furies breathing down my neck. "Amy, I have just now left Brunswick Forest where I was performing my morning Qigong, but the landscape crew decided to show up and ruin my serenity with their leaf blowers and hedge trimmers."

"Oh, you and your Qigong," she said, rolling her eyes. "Why don't you just stick to yoga like normal people?"

"Yoga is for basic people," I retorted, trying to regain my composure. "Qigong is a spiritual practice that connects the body, mind, and breath. It's like yoga, but with more Kung Fu."

"Whatever you say, sensei," she said with a smirk. "But honestly, I think you're just using it as an excuse to avoid reality."

I couldn't deny that there was some truth to her words. I'd been feeling a bit down lately, and Qigong had become my escape vehicle. Actually, my entire life has recently become a daydream of sorts, the better to ward off the coming Artificial Intelligence insurgence. But with the Furies still hot on my heels, I decided to take her advice and face reality head-on, if only for a day.

"You may be right, Amy," I said, surrendering to the inevitable. "I will deal with the Furies, and the North Carolina legislature, and Princess Amy. I swear it. But first, I need a steaming cup of brew-ha-ha to help me through the day."

"That's more like it," she said, smiling as she prepared my order. "And who knows, maybe you'll find some peace and tranquility in the chaos of reality."

With my steaming cup of globally grown but locally roasted in hand, I left the coffee shop feeling more like a hero and less like a victim of Greek tragedy. As I walked through the streets of Brunswick, I couldn't help but think that sometimes, reality can be just as Zen as Qigong.

Urban Kayaking

Those who know me best are fully aware of the Genome's background. In that remote and isolated land that biographers will undoubtedly call my childhood, I was immersed in a world where unchanging sameness was the ideal. And yet, I  stood apart from the local fauna in that I talked and behaved as if I'd had thousands of strange and rare experiences. All from reading books, of course. I traveled through space and time simply by turning the page.

I still do it today.

That childhood of mine fathered a man who is not afraid of poverty of any kind; not financial, not thought, not curiosity. What does frighten me is boredom.

This morning as I completed the usual chores and drove the usual Ocean Highway to get to my usual Globally Grown, Carolina Roasted, I began to feel a little agitated. The day was bright and clear and no appointments were scheduled but that sameness that can sometimes feel comforting didn't feel that way this morning. It felt a little too near boredom.

And so I decided to turn the page. Instead of taking the usual drive-through, I decided to park and ankle into the cafe under my own power. Who could have imagined the excitement waiting inside?

'Good morning,' she said as I neared the stand-here spot. 'The usual?'

'Yes, please,' I said, and then as I pulled at my clinging shirt, 'It's getting hot out there.'

'You want this chilled?' she said.

I waved a hand back and forth to dismiss the suggestion of iced coffee and then, thinking about keeping the pages turning, I said, 'The recent renovations make the cafe look bigger and more inviting. I think I'll sit for a while and write.'

'You're a writer? What do you write fiction or non?'

'Well,' I said and then inserted a theatrical pause to better give the question some thought and determine which direction I wanted the conversation to take. 

'I write travel articles,' I said, 'but only to make my life seem relevant....' I paused again to add just a touch of tension and I raised an eyebrow, which is a French technique intended to spike the other's attention. 

She raised a brace of eyebrows, making me aware that she too was attuned to the French conversational nuances. And she added a slight nod as if to say, I get it. I believe the raising and nodding were done in concert with a moue. Is the word, moue; where one pouts slightly to indicate a thoughtful comparison of possible alternatives?

Then, feeling that I had found an empathetic audience, I delivered the punchline, 'but I blog for fun.'

'Oh,' she said.

I'd hoped for a bit more interest but realized that my intro was to blame--too weak. So I added more explanation.

'I try to find humor in everyday affairs,' I said, 'and then exaggerate the humor to make a more interesting story. Sometimes I throw in a dragon or a few elves if the subject can handle it. I think of it as fictionalizing my life. Makes me feel like the main character in my own novel and helps me to cope with a mood disorder.'

Her face lit up. I mean, it didn't light up like the dawn of a new day; but her eyes twinkled and she smiled as if she'd just had a juicy idea.

'If you're looking for humor in everyday events, have I got something for you,' she said.  Then looking at the male half of the coffee sketch she said, 'Tell Genome about your traffic accident.' And then for clarification, she said, 'He tangled with a kayak in a traffic accident yesterday.'

I stared at her with no little amazement. Had I understood her correctly? Surely not. I searched the database for an automobile with a name that rhymes with kayak. It was a bust. Cadillac came to mind but not close enough. I turned to speak to the star witness.

'Did she say kayak? I said.

'That's right,' he said.

She wasn't by any chance thinking of kayak car rentals or kayak hotel accomodations?

'Nope, it was a kayak alright,' he said. 'Crushed the side of my car and broke all the windows. I have a photo on my phone.'

And he did have a photo on his phone; lots of them; and when he spoke of crushed and broken, he was spot on.

'Holy hell!' That's what I said even though I realize the term makes no sense; still, I'm certain that I've heard others use the expression in similar circumstances and so I keep it in my list of spur-of-the-moment exclamations.

'I'll bet you're going tell me it was one of those whitewater paddlers,' I said. 'I've done my share of kayaking. In fact, I once wrote an article for Carolina Roads Magazine on kayaking the Intracoastal Waterway. And I can assure you, those white-water kayaking addicts will take every unnecessary risk that happens to wander by. And they do it just for the fun of it!'

'No white water,' he said. 'In fact, there was no water anywhere near the accident.'

'Hell's bells!' I said and I'm aware that I did it again; using a term that makes no logical sense but, in my defense, I simply use the language, I don't put this stuff in the writers' guide. 

'Isn't it enough that we must deal with all the cabbage-heads who run red traffic lights on Ocean Highway without having to watch for kayaks on the road too?' I said and I remember shaking my head as if to imply, What is this world coming to?'

'Was he fully insured? Did you get all his info?' I asked.

'He just paddled away,' he said. 'The investigating officer reported it as hit and paddle.' But he had a twinkle in his eye when he said it.

'Wait a minute,' I said, recognizing the twinkle for what it was. 'That's a good line. Wish I'd thought of it. But I'm beginning to feel that I'm missing out on the pertinent details. Before we get too far along with this story, begin with the beginning and spare no detail, no matter how small. I'll bet you hold me spellbound.'

'Actually, the kayak was in the bed of a pickup truck,' he said, 'and the guy was backing out of a parking space.'

'You mean to tell me that he was using that kayak like the rostrum or if you prefer, battering ram, on an ancient Roman war galley? That's surely illegal even in Brunswick County where almost anything goes.'

He shrugged.

'But now I understand how the accident happened. I hope the repairs work out to your satisfaction. But why it's called a truck bed is still a mystery to me. I mean what do beds have to do with trucks anyway?'

And so you see how this page-turning technique can pay off big time, under the right conditions. It's often the only tool you need to avoid boredom. 

Speaking of the right conditions, don't ignore the fact that the above took place near the steaming needful, the frothed best of the roaster's art, the brimming cup of Jah's Mercy. It often happens that way. I believe it has something to do with the Universe looking out for our best interests.