Personal Mythology

"Lupe," I said, getting right down to the nub of the thing, "I'm opening the gate and stepping out onto the yellow brick road." I expected the movie references to grab her attention and I was right.

"Oh, good for you", she said. "Remember to get in touch with your personal mythology."

Her remarks captured my attention but the meaning got right by me. If you want to get the kind of results that will bring home the goods, you must take the Buddhist approach in my opinion. No time for mythology, personal or otherwise.

"What are you talking about, you little geezer," I said. "What's mythology got to do with it?"

"Don't you remember when we talked about how everyone is the hero of their own life story? You should pay better attention," she said. "Myths exist because stories are the way humans understand life. You, for instance, in opening the gate and starting your journey are like one of the knights of the Round Table beginning a grail quest. You're looking for your personal holy grail."

"Excuse me," I said, not a little miffed at the suggestion that I was playing make-believe. "I'm not talking about a fairy tale. This is real life that I'm concerned with--my life." 

Without waiting for her response, I said, "I'll be in touch later." With that said, I left her presence and wandered off looking for a more sympathetic ear.

Wandering brought me into Ms. Wonder's office. I don't know what she actually does there but I imagine it to be the place where she researches universal philosophical ideas. She seems to know everything. I suppose you could say that she plans her wonders there.

"Whoa," she said. "You look like you've lost your best friend."

"Who?" I said.

"If you mean which friend you lost, I haven't the slightest. It's just an expression."

"I just left Lupe," I said, ignoring the tangent expression she'd introduced, "and you'll never guess what she said about my yellow brick road journey."

"Let me guess," she said. "She probably brought up the mythology of the individual."

"How did you know that?" I asked. "And it's personal mythology."

"Oh, that's easy," she said. "Lupe relates everything to personal mythology. It's her thing."

"Why didn't I know that?"

"That's easy too--you don't pay attention."

There it was again--another reference to my attention deficit--and I didn't like it. But it's not germane to the subject at hand and with not a little effort I let it go.

"I wonder how she came up with such a loopy idea?", I said.

"Probably because it is in every sense a truly Lupe idea."

"At any other time I'd laugh, but my plan to find meaning in my life is serious business. It is for me. Sometimes. But it seems no one else feels the same."

"Then everything is working out perfectly," she said. "Lupe developed her ideas of personal mythology, or the mythology of the individual, as the result of looking for meaning in her childhood past life memories."

"Lupe has past life memories?"

"Wow, you don't pay attention, do you?"

I bit my tongue if you understand the expression.

"You should ask her about it," she said. "Do it now is my suggestion. I'm sure it'll help with your stroll down the yellow brick road."

I gave her a look and I meant it to sting.

"Trust me," she said.

Back in the presence of the little shrimp, I asked her to tell me about her childhood experiences with reincarnation or whatever.

"You really came to hear about your personal mythology, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, to be honest, I am curious to hear what you have to say, but only if it has a bearing on my quest for Emerald City."

"All you need to know, at least for now," she said, "is that when King Arthur's knights began a grail quest, they were told that after entering the Enchanted Forest, they should avoid the temptation to follow any paths they might find."

"Seems silly to me," I said. "Why not take advantage of someone else's work? Standing on the shoulders of those who came before so to speak."

"Whenever a knight of the Grail tried to follow a path made by someone else," she said, "they became lost. Any path you find is made by and for someone else. Each of us has to find our own way--make our own path. Nobody can give you a mythology. The images that mean something to you, come to you in your dreams or in your actions. But you'll not understand them when they come to you. Only later when you can put them into context will their meaning and importance become clear."

"These are deep waters, Lupe."

I paused, floating in those deep waters, and Lupe remained silent allowing me uninterrupted time to get my bearings.

"So what you're saying is that I have to find my own personal path."

"What I'm saying is that you have to make your path, not find it," she said. 

I didn't like it. "Disappointing," I said.

""True since the beginning of time," she said.

Here Comes The Sun

A fair summer morning on the Carolina coast, as anyone living here will tell you, begins with the sun popping up above the horizon like a rubber duck in a bathtub. Then bright sunshine spreads across the blue skies and white, billowy cotton-ball clouds reach up to heaven. And the soundtrack for the morning get-go is provided by a choral of mockingbirds singing their morning salutations. There's nothing else in life quite as uplifting as that.

That's more or less the gist of what I told Ms. Wonder on my return from this morning's constitutional. 

"But this morning didn't begin like that," she said. "In fact, I expected you to come home drenched from that short rainstorm. Of course, it's sunny now but you're not outside."

She seemed a little disappointed when she said it but I decided to give it a miss and keep things on the bright side.

"That's right," I said, "and all's sunny that ends sunny. That's what I always say."

"I've never heard you say that," she said.

"I'm saying it from now on," I said. "When the mockingbirds are on the job, even the grayest of days accept defeat and the world becomes a brighter, happier place. On days like today, I'm on top of the world..."

"With a rainbow 'round your shoulder," she said.

"Right," I said, "and I'm singing..."

"Zip-a-dee-do-da," she said.

"All day long," I said.

"What's mockingbirds got to do with it?" she said.

I didn't answer right away because I was somewhat non-plussed by her question. Could it be, I wondered, that she didn't know about the reason that Mother Nature invented mockingbirds? I envied her just a little at that moment because she was going to experience one of the greatest pleasures in life--she was going to hear a marvelous story for the first time, and it was coming from me. What's better than that?

"Wonder," I said, " sit back, relax and let me tell you a little story."

"I don't have time right now," she said. "Can we do it later?"

"No, we can't do it later but I'll make it short. It won't have the same level of excitement without the elves and dragons but that can't be helped I suppose."

"I have a conference call at 10:00," she said as if that explained everything.

"Then let's waste no more time," I said.

"When I arrived at Brunswick Forest this morning, the eastern horizon was hidden by gray clouds and I didn't like it one bit. Then, long before I saw him, I heard the most beautiful song, loud, clear, and delightful. Eventually, I saw the mockingbird sitting atop the welcome home sign at the entrance to Magnolia Village. 

Wonder, that little bird was putting on quite a show. He was standing on tip-toe with his beak opened as wide as his eyes. His little body was stretched as far as it could and he was singing in the direction of the very spot in the sky where the sun, if he'd had any pride at all, should have appeared."

"You may be imagining much of that," she said.

"If only you'd seen that look on his face," I said, "and the way he lept into the air several times with the excitement of his effort. Wonder, I've never been so happy as that in my entire life."

"Hmmm," she said.

"Moments later, the clouds cleared from the horizon and there was the old boy himself, the Monarch of the Heavens, beaming down on us with a smile that gave the whole of Brunswick Forest a jolt of renewed energy."

"I'm just happy that you're happy," she said.

"I know," I said, "me too. It reminds me of a story my grandmother used to tell. It's a Muskogee folk tale about the contest between Mockingbird and Rooster. The object was to see which one of them could raise the sun in the morning with their singing."

"You'll have to tell me later," she said. "It's time for my conference call. But I can hardly wait to hear it. I'll bet you hold me spellbound."

"You always say that," I said.

"That's because you always do hold me spellbound," she said.

And so that's how the whole thing went down. I'm sure you're hoping to hear the folktale of the mockingbird and rooster but it will have to wait for another time. I've got to get busy myself. In the meantime, I'm wishing you a marvelous day filled with birdsong and sunshine. A fair summer day isn't complete without them.

Happiest Seaside Town in America

Occasionally my brain feels like it's floating in a jar of dill and vinegar brine, stored in a glass jar, sitting on a shelf in a dark closet, and waiting to be transplanted into the head of the New Genome. Some days begin that way. Not all days, of course. If all days began that way, it would constitute a Code 10 situation. But today is one of those days and trending is not positive.

I realize that steps must be taken and not just any steps but the proper steps through the proper channels. Can't just allow the trend to continue or one day soon I'll find myself on the edge of a cliff, similar to Carlos Castaneda, and I don't have the benefit of a shaman spiritual guide on my side. You remember Carlos and his spirit guide, Don Juan. You should remember. His book is what got us where we are today. Better look it up is my suggestion.

The only spirit guide I have to rely on is Vulpes, the Red Fox, aka Reynard, and he's a practical joker. He'd tell me to jump into the abyss in order to find my wings and, if I did jump, the only wings I'd find would be in a Colonel Sanders box at the bottom of the chasm. 

And so I've decided to take proper steps through the proper channels, as Jeeves put it, and I'm taking Ms. Wonder to Southport. Just in case it isn't obvious, let me explain by saying that Coastal Living Magazine once named Southport as one of the top 10 finalists in their search for America's Happiest Seaside Town. 

Let's take a moment here for station identification and say, in the interest of transparency and full disclosure that the Coastal Living editors were listening to Jimmy Buffet and sipping margaritas while making their decision.

Wonder loves Southport and I reckoned what could be better than a Sunday afternoon in the happiest seaside town in America. And now, this happy little village will be the temporary home of Ms. Wonders's latest photography exhibit, "Ships of the Cape Fear River." That's right. Having completed a successful showing in downtown Wilmington, the exhibit has gone on tour. But if you can't make it to Southport, you can see the entire collection here: Ships of the Cape Fear River

From now until the end of June, Southport will showcase those incredible abstract images of the magnificent ships that leave the Atlantic and enter the Intracoastal Waterway about a stone's throw from the High Street.

Wonder isn't alone in loving happy seaside villages. I'm sure Coastal Living Magazine wouldn't spend time looking for them if they weren't popular with a host of discerning vacationers. Many well-known personalities spend time here when they require freshening. Don't worry, I will not allow myself to fluff up the content by dropping names--not the Genome style; I will only pass along this one little note of general interest by saying that, according to locals, Cher's yacht crew wears the uniform of the Italian navy. Curious, don't you think?

I fully expect that after spending a few hours in the sun, walking the boardwalks through the salt marsh, breathing the air that Cher breathes, I'll be catapulted into a new dimension and the brain will be working with the usual efficacy if that's the word I'm looking for. The ability to perform as desired or expected? I'll ask Wonder, she'll know. She knows everything.

It's my understanding that Napoleon often took a little time for himself to walk on a quiet beach and consider his next move. If it worked for him, I'm sure it will work for me.

Watch for the next post with the word "Southport" in the title. I know how you love to follow my little adventures and I promise to tell you all about our sojourn, leaving nothing out, and including a few photographs to illustrate. Until then, stay safe, and by any and all means stay happy.

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.