Abracadabra, Alakazam!

This morning I woke with the feeling that I was sitting in a blue bird's nest surrounded by a chorus singing of sunshine, blue skies, ocean breezes, and all the fixings. I can honestly say that I was feeling boompsie-daisy. 

"Wonder," I said on my way to the sal de bains, "I'm feeling boompsie-daisy."

I never expect Ms. Wonder to take anything I say big and she didn't surprise me this morning. These descendants of Russian nobility do not let excitement move them from their center, remaining balanced at all times.

She continued to pluck her brows while she expressed her opinion but, I'm happy to say, that her expressed opinion was good. 

Yes, the morning began with a decidedly pro-Genome bias. And yet, you will hardly credit it, but when I emerged from the shower, Princess Amy cast her veil over my eyes. The bright sparkly thoughts that filled my head only a few minutes prior were now "layer'ed o'er with the pale cast of thought." as I've heard Wonder describe it.

Up one minute, down the next, that's the Genome known by most of the Villagers. It's a chemical thing with a lot of technical jargon and a lot of guff about the amygdala, the little organ in the brain that's the center of the limbic system and the source of emotion. 

The species of amygdala that sits behind the control panel of my emotions is a very stubborn little organ and most insistent on getting her way. She reminds me of a spoiled little princess who relies on temper tantrums to make her the center of attention. I call her, Princess Amy.

Who was that Roman guy who wrote about everything being part of the Great Web? He understood that everything in life was interconnected. Wrote books about it I believe. No matter, it will come to me later.

My point is that I see my depression as being part of that Great Web. In my case, the web is one of Serotonin reuptake inhibitors and whatnot. Marcus Aurelius! Yes, that's the perp I was thinking of! 

I knew his name would come to me. That Great Web in my brain is like a personal Internet of ganglia and synapses. Names can be hard to find unless I have the appropriate keywords in the search string.  

Now, where was I? Ah, right, I was about to say that Princess Amy is not the boss of me! I am the chosen one, the hero of my personal life story. I have that on the authority of Joseph Campbell and he should know. And according to C.S. Lewis, all heroes have magic swords. My own magic sword is my fierce intent. And it was fierce intent that pulled me out of the soup this morning.

Having clad the outer crust in the upholstery of the casually employed, I bunged myself into Wind Horse and gave her rein on the open road. But most importantly, I held fiercely to the intention that the open road and whatnot would return the bluebird to her rightful position.

As soon as I set out, I tuned the radio to "60's Gold" where Louis Armstrong sang "What a Wonderful World," which was followed immediately by The Loving Spoonful singing, "It's a Beautiful Morning." 

Alakazam! (The Arabic magical word, not the Pokemon character.) Alakazam is a sort of versatile magical command, along the lines of abracadabra. Regular fans of The Circular Journey will remember our tuxedoed magical feline who was called Abbie Hoffman. His real name, of course, was Abracadabra. But then you knew that already.

But I've jumped the rails again. Let's get back to the story. Alakazam! The effect was immediate. The sky cleared, the sun shone, and the birds began singing on key. Not in the outside world, which remained rainy and gray, but it was inside where the weather cleared.

I may never be completely depression-free and I may have to feel those blue emotions forever, but I don't have to let them steal my song. With sweet memories of the loves of my life, one of them being Abbie Hoffman, I can rise above the clouds of depression on the back of the spirit horse of fierce intent. 

Sweet memories make sweet dreams. And so I say, Abracadabra, Alakazam! Not today, Amy! I eat no pine needles today!

The Twee System

I began my morning walk, with emotions soaring over the rainbow. The skies were blue, the sunshine warm, and the Mockingbird Five were performing live at the Brunswick Welcome Center. I was feeling fine, better than fine--the word is hiding from me right now; begins with an 'E'. 

Then, little by little, I felt my mood slipping. I began to worry that my daily inventory was going to be disappointing. I felt that I'd stepped out onto what I've heard called, the slippery slope.

I know what you’re thinking. You probably think of me as one of the most delightful people you’ve ever met. You remember me as one who remains quiet and reserved in the company of others, who is always polite, and who pays attention when others speak.  

Genome, you say to yourself, what is happening to you? 

Well, it's no mystery, my friend. It may border on tragic and it may be heartbreaking. But it's no mystery. It began when a well-meaning friend, one who cannot leave well enough alone, suggested that I might benefit from those martial arts exercises you see advertised everywhere. 

My people-pleasing nature caused me to consent and before you could say lower dantien, I was enrolled in classes taught by Asian ambassadors for martial arts in America. My personality began to change. I became like one of those self-absorbed young men you see in TikTok videos. 

After a few weeks, I was no longer quiet and calm. I became hearty and talkative even at the breakfast table, driving Ms. Wonder to distraction, perhaps to tears if I’m completely honest. I often boast to her of having been out with the dog walkers for a bracing walk hours before she awoke. Nothing to it, of course. I probably got up when she was in the bath, if I'm honest. But I feel that I should say something to let her and others too know that I’m working to improve myself. 

If you think that's bad, better sit down. Throughout the day I sashay about town with a brisk, even jaunty, step. I greet everyone with a boisterous Good morning! I shake hands, I slap backs, and I'm generally a nuisance to almost everyone I encounter.

Naturally, this behavior has lost me a great many friends. But far worse has been the effect on my moral fiber. Although I like to think of myself as a mild and inoffensive man, I fear that Nature, the silly ass, has given me a ready wit and a short fuse. Whenever I find myself with a difference of opinion, and I do find myself in such situations more often than is probably healthy, I can’t help but think of a snappy remark or superb comeback. I sometimes decide it's a great pity to let it go to waste.

Brooding intensely over this troubling matter, and relying on my systems analysis skills, I’ve developed a program of spiritual exercises designed to improve the soul so that it keeps pace with the self-assertiveness. I like to think of it as keeping self and spirit aligned.

The key to success for this new system is to a mindfulness technique I mastered long ago coupled with the philosophy known as Twee (look it up). Imagine that you’re performing the kung fu hurricane kick. If you can’t imagine doing it, then imagine me doing it. Works just as well. 

Now as you lift the leg above the waist and swirl around toward the opponent, instead of thinking about driving your foot through his head, you think instead of the dictum that all creatures have co-evolved on the earth and that we are all endowed by our creator with certain inalienable rights and among these are the right to enjoy life, freely as Nature intended, in pursuit of our needs and desires. 

Having completed this exercise, you stand in the horse position, hands crossed at the lower dantien, and say the following words: I offer myself to you totally, good and bad, to do with, to make with what you will. 

Doesn’t matter who you’re offering yourself to; the words simply set the intent to get out of your own way.

Ecstatic! That's the word I was looking for. Sorry for the interruption. The word just popped into my head and I wanted to be sure to get it on record.

Space forbids a complete list of my new spiritual exercises, but I'm preparing a small illustrated booklet, found on the advertising pages. The portrait included here is taken from the booklet and shows me immersed in mindful Twee.

You'll notice immediately a sort of rapt, seraphic expression in my eyes and a soft and spiritual suggestion of humility about the mouth. A big difference in my demeanor and the offensively preoccupied expression you see in most of the public today, don’t you think? 

I hope my experience will benefit you as you travel your own self-improvement path. Remember, my friend, it's a wide, wild, wind-blown world we’re riding through but you don't have to let it blow your skirts up. Fierce Twee!

A Story I Can Believe In

Today was the yearly checkup for Uma Maya, Queen of Cats, Empress of Chadsford, and, as per the rule book, she is perfect. When she lounges peacefully in an upper-story window, gazing out upon the lawns and gardens of Chatsford Hall, there flickers in the air around her a shimmering image of the Hermitage with Uma reclining on a velvet cushion in a gilded Louis XIV chair. The vet crew at Cat Hospital of Durham are in awe of Her Majesty, as are we all.

Given that this feline has her paw on the thermostat of my happiness, you would expect the Genome to be proclaiming his standard, 'It's a beautiful day!' But no, it was not in the works. There was a somber and low-spirited mood in evidence. And I'll tell you why. It wasn't the gray sky and threatening inclemency. No, the reason for the leaden heart is the recent arrival at Native Grounds of one who gets the Lord Sidcup treatment, but one that I shall call Spode.

I don't have to tell you how important to my mental health are these morning assignations at the den of caffeine. But one sowing discord has recently joined our little klatch. You probably know someone whose presence causes you to fiddle with the keys in your pocket, do a little dance from one foot to the other and generally behave like a turkey caught in the rain. Well, in the case of this slab of gorgonzola, that's just the beginning.

This guy dominates the conversation, telling stories that make everyone uncomfortable and then offering an unspoken eye-to-eye challenge in his theatrical pauses daring you to disagree.

I want to ask him to leave, explaining that he is taking up space that's better used for other purposes. But I don't. Instead, I shush the proud spirit of the Genomes, the one I encouraged yesterday to stand up and speak out, declaring to the world that it is worthy and good enough to deal with whatever comes. You're probably thinking, 'So why don't you tell him to buzz off?'

The reason I hold my tongue even though the urge to beat his brains out with a brick descends upon me like Papa Legba riding a Voo-Doo devotee is that I don't know him well enough. You see, there is always a lot more to the story than what we know. I don't want to take away from someone the very thing they need to cope. Perhaps this man needs a group to hang with. Perhaps he's vulnerable and the challenging looks are his way of determining whether or not we will accept him. 

You see, at the foundation level, he is simply telling his story. We all do it. We all have stories. You're reading mine now. Stories aren't the drivel we spout at the coffee shop as we hobnob with friends. Stories are the lives we think we are living. If the story supports us and helps us to get through the day, that's a good thing. 

The reason I didn't speak out is that I don't know the man well enough to know that it's necessary. I could take something away that is propping him up until he can get real help. Still, knowing the right thing to do isn't the same as knowing what I want to do. And as I noted in a past installment, knowing what you want is vital. Now, I love the assembly at Native Grounds but I cannot sit and smile like an idiot while someone is spouting bilge that conflicts with my version of what's right.

I have made a decision and having made that decision, I shall ignore any and all evidence that doesn't fit with my plan. Here is the plan, as I see it. I am booking passage on the first freighter to the interior of the Amazon where I will live with the Tupi Indians as one of their own. That is my first choice. If that requires more time than I have available, then I will find another local caffeinery and begin building a new tribe. That is the plan for now and as always, the plan is flexible and may change.

The Buddha pointed out that all things are impermanent and I certainly don't want to seem in conflict with the man. After all, I have taken the oath to uphold the Sangha, or is it abandon myself to the Sangha, I forget which. I'll check with Ms. Wonder. The point I'm trying to get at is that no matter how I resolve this little crisis, there is one thing you can bet the mortgage on. I will not give up. The Genome does not eat pine needles.

Charlie and The Extra

It's all a multi-layered, convoluted, mash-up if you want me to be rigorously honest about it. And why would you want anything less? Besides, I've made a promise to be completely upfront with my public and what follows is as upfront as the orchestra seats.

If you've been following along this season, you're aware that after the last of my entourage retired and moved to gentler climes, I was lost. I mean, now that it was all over, just who was I? Life is a stage after all and each of us has our role to play. But I'd been a main character in the current production since opening night and suddenly I found myself cast as an Extra. 

I was open to suggestions and Amy took advantage of my weakness to convince me that I was called to collect the soul vessels of the recently departed. I'm sure you're up-to-date and all that.

Fortunately for me, and follow me closely here, Amy doesn't give me clear instructions. She likes to make me work for it. What she actually told me, and you will remember this, is that I should become a reseller of vintage items.

Let's not go into all that now. I've written about it often and you can find all you want to know in the archives.

The purpose of reselling, according to Amy, was to keep the world safe from the dark forces of the Underworld striving to take over the Upperworld. I embraced her suggestions because there’s nothing more bracing than seeing the forces of darkness stubbing their toe.

Eventually, it became clear that Amy's true purpose was to drum up as much mania as possible. She's addicted to the stuff. Oh sure, she claims she can quit anytime she wants but, in truth, it only takes one and she's off on some bender and God only knows when she'll hit bottom.

Yes, it's all heiness, underhanded, skullduggery known as feeding one's monkey. That's what it is.

Turns out that Amy used one of Christopher Moore's books to manipulate me and it was, to be blunt, a dirty job. Fortunately, for me, that same book held the solution.

The Emperor of San Francisco explained that my true purpose was to be out among the people of the city when they were just beginning to stir. My job was to greet the day, setting the stage for the shape of things to come, and do a bit of mood-lifting for the people I met. 

When the opportunity arose, I was to lift the mood of their little dogs too. You might say that I was to become the antidote to the Wicked Witch of the West.

"Sometimes," the Emperor said to me, "a man must muster all of his courage to simply be calm, quiet, and present in the moment. Only then can one be kind to all without judgment."

Life is much better now because somehow, some way I have more space for the love that Ms. Wonder sends my way. If that's all there was to look forward to, it would be more than enough.

Of course, I still see things. You've read about most of them, but one there is that you haven't heard of. Recently, I've seen squirrels peeking over fences as if to spy on me. I know! It's hard to credit but I swear it's true. And I'm not so sure they aren't filming me. I wouldn't swear to it. It's just a feeling I have.

Now, I should probably mention that the squirrels may be monitoring my movements because they've seen me in the company of Charlie. Have you met Charlie? You'll read more about him in future posts but for now, here's the essence.

Charlie is a member of the Doggy Nation, and like his cousins, possesses a hyper-active amygdala and has a less than enlightened opinion of coexistence with any rodent. 

Considering the above, you can easily understand why being seen with him may cast me in a suspicious light among the squirrel community. Still, I completely agree with Charlie that the tree monkeys are just way too goofy for a self-respecting terrier to tolerate.

There you have the gist of the current state of affairs. The multi-layered, convoluted, mash-up that is my new life. I'm still learning the ins and outs, and I'll do my best to keep you informed on developments. 

Until next time; Good morning! Have a wonderful day and most importantly, be happy, be healthy, and be safe!

More Joy in the Morning

His response lacked any real enthusiasm and this got right by me. Why? That's the question I asked myself. Consider the circs I mean. 

Going about his business on what was presumably a typical day for a rock troll--he's a personal injury lawyer in Uberwald--and then Biff! without warning, he finds himself sitting here in my studio. 

You would think, wouldn't you, that he would rally round and support the team in doing something about it?

"Life comes hard and fast," I suggested in an attempt to make him appreciate the importance of our work--Abbie's and mine.

"And sometimes it takes us by surprise," he said.

"You took the words right out of my mouth."

"Sir?" he said and I remembered that English isn't his native tongue and he's not fully equipped with all the gags and wheezes in the language.

"I was just about to say that," I said.

"My concern," he said, "is that fighting the negative forces seems ill-advised. It's well known that struggling against magic, we become more entangled."

"Ah," I said, "having found a talking point. "We do not struggle. We do not fight."

"We?" he said.

"Abbie and I," I said.

Abbie sat up to receive the recognition.

"Yes," he said in a soupy sort of voice, "the cat."

Abbie squeaked and directed one cold eye in his direction. This cat is a weapon when annoyed and channels the ancient Irish hero, Chuhulain, when in fighting mode. When one eye becomes larger than the other and steam escapes from the seams, the wise observer gets into the lead-lined jacket.

"We don't oppose the Witch of Woodcroft," I explained. "She's full of good works. She pulls the elements of decay from our environment and uses them as compost to feed a garden of wholesome and healthy delights. It's all on her website.

"I don't consider it delightful to be pulled away from very important business with the court," he said.

"Yes, I fully understand," I said. "The dross of her distillation, if it is dross, accumulates to critical mass. Then a loud report is heard and something that would rather not, pops in or pops out of one world and into another.  Like you. It's all very disturbing."

"You'd go so far as that would you--disturbing? Well, what can you possibly do about it?"

"That's where our plan comes into play," I said and Abbie Hoffman, who seemed to have calmed somewhat, stopped washing a paw and gave Feldspar another warning look to make it clear that he would harbor no backtalk about cats.

 "We will intercept the dross as it accumulates and replace the negative charge with a positive one--an effect greatly to be preferred because it will be healthful and enjoyable."

"How do you intercept the accumulation of dross?" he said.

"Ah, there you have me. It's something that Abbie Hoffman does but it's a trade secret and known only to him. But intercept it he does and then we use the raw material of it, he and I, to build a humorous story and then have a laugh. You can't be hurt by something that makes you smile."

"That sounds like Fierce Living," he said. "It's the solution you write about for managing runaway emotions. You're writing a book, aren't you? Is it finished?"

"Almost," I said. "Thank you for asking and yes, I am talking about Fierce Living. It works on everything. It's unbounded; it's wild and free; it's as wide as the sky and as deep as the sea. Why don't you join us, Feldspar? It will be like old times. We will make a team of three and nothing can stop us."

"Well," he said, and then looking at Abbie he added, "I don't know."

Abbie sat bolt upright at this, leveled a gaze at the troll and began washing the right paw with the intention, no doubt, of being prepared to deliver another single whip or possibly a repulse-the-monkey or a white-crane-spreads-her-wings. I'm sure you would know better than I.

Then suddenly Abbie Hoffman jumped down from the desk and approached Feldspar. I wondered if he was advancing to attack but then realized he was sniffing the chair. It was at this very moment that I noticed a distinctive odor.

"What is that smell?" I said.

"When the curtain between the worlds was rent," began Feldspar, "I was meeting with a gaggle of goblins and I fear that one of them fell through with me and I inadvertently sat on him."

"A goblin is beneath you?" I said leaning forward to get a better look.

"I'm afraid it's true," he said.

"Shouldn't you let him up?"

"On no account will I be responsible for releasing a goblin into your world. Remember the Middle Ages, sir."

"Right," I said. "So when you pop back home, he will pop back with you, is that it?"

"We can only hope, sir."

"I'm never going to get the smell out of that chair."

"I suggest burning it," he said.