My Rock and My Strength

"What is that out there?" asked the friendly facilities agent as I was walking past the Brunswick Forest welcome center.

"Where?" I asked because, in the several minutes preceding his question, I'd been up to my chin in the Japanese art of shinrin-yoku, or forest bathing as it's sometimes called by those who are allergic to the Japanese language.

I like to begin my day this way because it reminds me to be still, be quiet, and remember who I am. Sometimes I forget who I am and when I do, I miss the reason I go for a walk in the first place and that's the real zombie apocalypse.

I suppose I should explain that shinrin-yoku isn't about soaking in a bubble bath in the forest until discovering the principle of displacement, as was the case with Archimedes. No, the practice is simply spending time with the trees and actually paying attention to them and to everything in the natural world.

There, I've done it again. Jumped the rails and only three paragraphs into the post. Let's get back on track.

"Where?" I asked.

"Out there near the lagoon," he said pointing out there toward the lagoon.

"Oh," I said in a way to suggest that the answer was a simple one, "that's a big rock that the landscape crew placed near the lagoon as a design element."

"A rock?" he said. "I thought it might be a dog. You seemed to be talking to it."

Now, you might expect me to find the question annoying but much to the contrary, I was actually glad that he brought the subject up. Otherwise, the world would make no sense, there would be no justice, and life would be just a tangled ball of chaos.

The fact of the matter is that more and more lately, I've had a hard time resisting the urge to mess with people, especially when they behave like Neanderthals. And when I say mess with people, I mean mess with their heads. You know what I mean; beat their brains out with a brick.

But I don't do that, of course. I'm working on becoming a bodhisattva. If that's new to you, look it up, please. There's a fine line between too much and just enough explication. I'm sure you agree, especially if you've followed this blog for more than a day or two.

"That's right," I said. "I was talking to it. I was practicing the Japanese art of shinrin-yoku, sometimes called forest meditation."

You noticed right away that I cleverly substituted the word meditation for bathing, and I'm sure you know the reason why--one less thing to explain, right?

"And that means that you talk to rocks?" he said.

"And trees," I said.

"What else do you talk to?" he said.

"Birds, squirrels, people and cats who sleep with the stars, sewer harpies, and sometimes I talk to the cryptid that lives in the lagoon. Oh, and I should add that I begin each day by talking to someone that you might recognize as God."

"Should I ask what a cryptid is?" he asked.

"I'd rather you didn't," I said.

"I'm happy to hear that you talk to God," he said. "Keep doing that. Talk to God a lot."

"Absolutely," I said, "God is of the essence when you expect to encounter sewer harpies because everyone is happier when they have someone to look down on and someone to look up to. Especially if they resent both."

Hearing this, his face took on a rather confused expression; one that I would expect to see on a man who while chasing rainbows suddenly had one turn and bite him in the leg.

I added that bit about God to put him at ease. Randomly accessed people don't particularly enjoy the company of mentally ill people unless those people have a relationship with God. Then all is cool. And I like to put people at ease. It must be the bodhisattva in me.

Cirque des Écureuils

I was back home from my morning outing in Brunswick Forest, and enjoying a cup of the steaming as I sat on the lanai enjoying the squirrel circus in my backyard.

The show has expanded since we last spoke. It now includes about 7 squirrels, 4 doves, 2 crows, an assortment of songbirds, and a mallard duck. I know! Makes me remember Our Gang of yesteryear. Perhaps I'll call it the Squirrel Soliel and charge admission to the kids on the street.

"You seem..." said a voice from backstage.

"Aiiieee!" I said, shooting into the air about four inches and spilling my coffee. With my attention intensely focused on the act currently occupying the big top, I was not prepared for disembodied voices from outside my head.

"Sorry," said Ms. Wonder for it was she who had silently streamed into my presence.

"Is something troubling you," she said. "You seem unusually agitated this morning."

"It's nothing much," I said. "Just one damned thing after another is all."

"But just one thing at the moment?" she said.

"Nothing major," I said, "I'm just wondering about something that happened on my walk this morning."

"Do tell," she said.

"OK," I said. "Underneath one of the pines in the open savannah..."

"Longleaf pines," she said.

"Someone had collected several pine cones and placed them in the grass. Don't ask," I said, "because I have no idea."

She sipped her own cuppa without responding. I felt it was safe to continue, so I did.

"It seemed bad feng shui," I said, "so I picked up a handful and tossed it back onto the pine straw near the base of the tree."

She nodded. I continued.

"I immediately noticed that my forearms were covered in a fine, brown dust, similar in color to the pine cones and so I assumed that the little specs on my arms came from."

"Makes sense," she said.

"But when I got back to my car and began cleaning the dust off my arms, I realized that the stuff was all over my shirt too. It seemed far too much to have come from pine cones."

I waited for her comment but it was another bust. No reply.

"And so I began to wonder if something was blowing around in the air. I remembered a movie about some interstellar dust that fell on a small community in the Everglades--a cloud of dust that was actually spores bringing alien life to Earth."

"And?" she said.

"And I began wondering if I'm pregnant."

"I see," she said, "and so you think you may possibly be the agent responsible for altering life on Earth as we know it forever. And you're going to let one little thing ruin your day?"

"Well, when you put it like that it really doesn't seem like a big deal," I said.

At that moment, she must have gotten a text message from her employer because she quickly left the lanai and she hasn't yet returned. Perhaps I should make an appointment with my primary physician just to be safe.

Hot Fun in the Summertime

"Hallelujah!" I said when the barista asked about my mood this morning.

"Wow," she said, "what's going on in your world?" 

"There's just no other word to describe the feeling I have when I realize that the official beginning of summer is upon us," I said.

"But summer doesn't begin until June 21st," she said, and I realized I was in conversation with a traditionalist. What to do about it was the question I asked myself. I decided to use tact, diplomacy, and the velvet glove to avoid any cross-threading.

After all, I choose to celebrate the beginning of summer, not argue the case in the court of public opinion.

"Right you are," I said. "What I should have said is that the official beginning of summer is imminent."

"Yeah," she said in a lackluster, indifferent sort of way. "I'm not a big fan of summer. Too hot. I prefer spring and fall."

"Hmmm," I said, wondering if I'd chosen the wrong cafe for my morning in-caffeination. I couldn't help but feel that I lost some of the wind in my sails that blew me into the cafe in the first place. But fortunately, at that moment I had an idea for another ploy to save the day.

"I'll bet you feel better about it soon," I said. "One of these mornings, you're going to rise up singing. You'll spread your wings and you'll take to the sky."  ~~ Ira & George Gershwin

"Not likely," she said.

"But summer's here," I said, "and the time is right for dancing in the street." ~~ Marvin Gaye / Martha and the Vandellas

"Why are you so big on summer?" she said. "I know you don't dance in the street."

"No, I don't dance in the street," I said, "but I do dance in my mind and besides, in the summertime, when the weather is high, you can stretch right up and touch the sky." ~~ Mungo Jerry

"Here's your capp," she said, "Nice words," she added, "but unreal too, don't you think?"

"Well," I said, "all I know is that here comes the sun and I say it's alright." ~~ The Beatles

I began walking toward the door and looking back at her, I said, "While it's still free, I'm going to soak up the sun before it goes out on me." ~~ Sheryl Crow

Outside in the sunshine, walking toward Wynd Horse and thinking about the music waiting for me on the road to Ocean Isle, I began singing, "I'm walking on sunshine, and oh, don't it feel good." ~~ Katrina and the Waves

Do I love the summer? Let me count the ways!

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Hot Fun in the Summertime ~~ Sly and the Family Stone

Cats Are the Answer

The following post was written deep in the COVID-19 pandemic. When I re-read it now it makes me a bit uncomfortable remembering those days. I've considered removing it but it seems that we, all of us, are quick to forget what those days in the pandemic were like. 

I get it. The memories and not pleasant and the thought of facing more such events is scary. Maybe that's why I leave it here; to keep me--us--from forgetting.

 

Well, here we are again. Another bright, beautiful day in the Bull City. That's not to say that nothing's changed. The virus is here, of course, and it seems that everything has changed. Would you have believed, just a few weeks ago, that life could change so quickly? 

Here in Durham, as in most cities around the country, people my age are asked to stay indoors and not take up valuable public space that could be better used for better purposes. A couple weeks ago, if asked how I'd react to that, I would have replied...

"You'll not see the Genome lying around the house when there's opportunity to be had underneath the wide, wild, wind-blown blue."

My ancestors got the hell out of Tuscany after Florence burned but we haven't forgotten the good life--nope, not a bit. And yet... here I am watching videos of Arnold Schwarzenegger telling everyone to stay inside. And he isn't simply recommending that we stay in for our best health. 

Arnold says that our former life is gone. He says, "That's over. No more. No more restaurants, no more coffee shops. No more. It's over."

Oh, my sainted aunt! 

Maybe for you, Arnold, but not for this son of man. I have the blood of the Florentine Gherardinis running through these veins. I have the genes of the Jarls of Denmark encoded in this DNA. I have the heart of Rhys ap Tewdwr of Wales burning in this breast. I have the spirit of the Rain Crows of North Carolina sustaining me. I'll never give up. 

That attitude helped me defeat drug addiction. That attitude keeps me grounded through the emotional quakes and tsunamis of manic depression. And that attitude will keep me safe and sane through the current trial or tribulation or whatever it is. I get those two confused. 

Yes, I will survive and life will go on and it will go on for you too if you know what's good for you. You have your own set of ancestral gifts. I realize that you may have some anxiety and whatnot. Understandable, of course. Quite natural. But you don't need to let it get the better of you.

I have the solution.

Get yourself a cat. If you already have one, get another. They work their magic best in pairs. If you already have two, get another. I once had six cats and I was immensely better for it. I have three now and they make it enjoyable to remain at home even when I'm home for more than the recommended dose for the average adult. 

Of course, they sleep until 2:00 in the afternoon and I'm forced to find other ways to be entertained, like writing blog posts for example. I haven't posted anything on this blog in months and the cats have just about had it with me. They motivate me! 

Now, I know what you're thinking, and you can't be blamed for that, but consider this...it could be a lot worse.

A Nice Day For It

It was a cool morning in early May. A rain shower had passed through the city in the pre-dawn hours. Mist still hung over the Cape Fear River but the sun was beginning to spread a soft light over downtown.

If you're going to get hit by a bus in Wilmington's Castle Street District, you want to go with WAVE number 11 because, when the impact boosts you above the pedestrian traffic, you can count on having a clear view of Memorial Bridge from almost anywhere along the route.

I wasn't planning on being hit by a bus yesterday morning, I was simply getting to Cafe Luna a little early to marshall my thoughts before Lupe and Claudia arrived. I planned to recruit them into my personal support group to help with building the new life that I've written so much about.

As I approached the rendevous spot, I discovered that a new thrift shop had opened across the street and I stopped in to look for a vintage 1990's Hawai'ian shirt, preferably from Cooke Street in Honolulu.

The search was a bust but I did find a little knick-knack. Not something I generally care for. I avoid tchokies and their ilk like I avoid steamed shrimp. But for some reason this one attracted me strangely. Back out on the street, I stopped to admire the little thing in the morning light.

I fumbled it while taking it out of my pocket, a technique that I've mastered of late, and it tumbled off the curb and onto the street. I maneuvered around the few early morning pedestrians and paused to look down Castle Street to make sure there were no buses headed my way.

When I looked back, I noticed a dark shadow growing out of the storm drain. The mind reeled. I stepped closer to get a better look and the shadow became a feathered arm of sorts that grabbed the what-not and pulled it back into the sewer.

I looked around me to see if anyone else witnessed this glitch in 21st Century reality. No one seemed to be aware. I moved closer to the curb and was about to step into the street when something grabed me by the collar and pulled me back to safety.

At that very moment, the WAVE number 11 whooshed by.

I was in shock. No other explanation comes close to describing my reaction. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before although recent experiences seem to have been leading up to it. I immediately felt that someone or something had pushed the reset button and that I was back to square 1 as far as my new life was concerned. 

"Hey, boss," said a familiar voice that had walked into the act from stage left. She was wearing a 50's beehive hairstyle in a pastel lavender. I was feeling very shaky before she arrived and now seeing her I was positively goose flesh. 

"Lupe," I said, "did you see that?"

"I saw you stumble at the curb," she said. "Lucky for you that all-pro Carolina Panthers tackle came by when he did. You really must be more careful, Genome."

"Lupe, I saw an arm come out of the sewer; an arm covered in feathers."

"I'm cutting school to meet you this morning," she said. "I'm going to need a note."

"Are you listening to me?" I said. I was having some trouble breathing by this time.

"I heard you, Genome. You've got to deal with this manic episode. Try taking three deep breathes."

"All I'm doing is deep breathing. I'm beginning to hyperventilate."

"Well, try doing something else then."

"If you have something to suggest, I'd love to hear it," I said.

"I don't know," she said. "How about sticking your finger into an electrical outlet? I've heard that shrinks have a lot of success with that."

"Lupe!," I said. "Get serious. I'm having a hard time here and I need you to pay attention to me."

"So," she said, "to be perfectly clear, you want me to listen to your story, maybe even record it on my phone, so that I can play it back for the big guys in white coats and become personally responsible for having you committed to the looney bin."

A deep silence filled the next few moments as her words sank in.

"Coffee?" I said.

"Let's," she said.

The sunshine and ocean breeze had finally cleared the clouds out of the sky. The day was becoming warmer and it promised to be one that would allow some recovery from the drama generated by the passing of the WAVE number 11.

Still, had I been struck by the bus, I doubt the view of the bridge would have been worth the trouble and I expect that it would have made little difference to me that it was a fine day for it.