Sad Songs Say So Much

To combat the familiar feeling that I take up space better used for other purposes, I decided to invite a few friends over to listen to the new Spotify playlist I created for my birthday.

"Good for you," said James. "Music is the medicine that cures whatever ails you."

When we were settled on the lanai, each with a favorite tissue restorer in his hands, I explained that my birthday playlist contained songs guaranteed to cheer me up when I'm blue.

"We'll start," I said, "with Whitney Houston and I Will Always Love You."

"This song became the best-selling single of all time by a female solo artist," I said.

We all sang along with Whitney and when it ended, Jim said, "Did you know that song was written by Dolly Parton? She wrote it for Porter Wagoner when she left his TV show to pursue a solo career."

"It's a great song," said Dennis, "but a little sad, don't you think?"

"Some sad songs make me feel better," I said. "And let's don't jump the rails with side issues. I've got a lot of great music to play.

I pushed play and Billy Vera began singing the heart-breakingly beautiful What Did You Think.

"Oh, my Lord," said Dennis. "That's the most powerful song I've ever heard. Makes a grown man cry."

"Yeah, Genome, I thought these songs were supposed to lift your spirits."

"Well, they do lift mine," I said. "Even though I feel like crying when I hear this song, somehow, some way it makes me happy at the same time. I'm happy knowing that my life includes the kind of love that passeth all understanding, as the Big Book says, and I've recently found my life's purpose. Does that make sense?"

"Not at all," said Jim. "It's either a happy song or it isn't. And it's the Good Book, not the Big Book."

"Okay, okay" I said. "Stop judging and listen to Rita Coolidge singing Bird on a Wire."

"Oh man!," said James, "I love this song. Have you watched The Great?"

"I'm watching it now," said Dennis. "What a series, right? "The way Catherine struggled to give the signal for the coup."

"Right, said Jim. "You could see the heartbreak in her eyes because it would cost her the love of her life."

"Yeah," said James, "Elle Fanning nailed it!"

"No, no!," I said. "This has nothing to do with the television series and it's not about the Simone Istwa arrangement of the song. It's Rita Coolidge."

"It's Istwa," said James. "Istwa, not Itswa."

"I didn't say Itswa."

"Yes, you did," said Jim.

"Do you have a happy, upbeat song in this entire playlist?" said Dennis.

"Didn't say happy," said James. "He said they lift his mood."

"Yeah, well, I expected to have my mood lifted," said Dennis, "but so far..."

"Okay," I said. "I get it. But sometimes in life, we have to accept the loss of something we love for the greater good. Like Catherine the Great."

"You think so?" said Jim and it wasn't really a question.

"Fine," I said. "I give up. I don't care anymore. Do what you want, but I'm going to listen to Billy Joel singing, Keeping the Faith.

"Oh, man, I love Billy Joel," said James.

Instead of replying, I began singing along with Mr. Joel.

"If it seems like I've been lost in 'let's remember..."

Everyone joined me and our voices soared until we got the attention of the family next door.

"Then you should have known me much better..."

I heard voices coming from somewhere off-stage and I assumed the neighbors were joining it.

"Still I would not be here now if I never had the hunger,..."

The others stopped singing when the neighbors came to look over the fence but I continued to sing solo.

"Cause I never felt the desire
'Til their music set me on fire
And then I was saved, oh yeah"

And that," I said opening my eyes, "is the punchline that brings it all home: I’d never felt the desire 'til the music set me on fire, and that made all the difference."

"Genome," said Dennis, "do you have another of those mimosas lying around that someone isn't using?"

"I'll get that while you guys listen to Linda Rondstadt and Long, Long, Time," I said.

"Oh, my god!" said Jim. "You and your uplifting songs. That's got to be the saddest song ever written."

"Especially when Linda sings it," said Mumps. "She puts more sad notes in a song than the writers."

When I returned to the lanai, everyone was sitting quietly wearing deep-thought faces.

"Sssup?" I said and I meant it to imply What the hell?

"The invitation said an afternoon of uplifting music," James said.

Silence filled the early evening air. Darkness had fallen like a soft velvet curtain. The hibiscus blossoms had closed their eyes and their heads drooped in slumber. I wondered if hibiscus flowers dream. 

An owl hooted in the shadows. Small creatures of the night rustled in the undergrowth. Eventually, James said, "Let me tell you a story."

"Oh, good," I said, "I was hoping to hear stories when I planned this hullabaloo."

"Once upon a time, in my younger days," he said. "I had broken up with my girlfriend and was driving home one Sunday night. I knew that Linda was going to be on the Ed Sullivan Show that evening. 

 We had no Spotify or Apple Music back then. So I stopped at Charlie's Tavern in South Daisy, bought a beer, and asked Charlie if he could turn the Sullivan show on. I heard Linda sing Long, Long Time. I loved it but I cried all the way home."

"I understand," I said even though I really didn't. "But why are you telling me this story now?"

"Because we all want to hear our own sad songs but we don't want to hear someone else's."

"Say that again," I said.

"Think about it," he said.

"Anyone interested in one more song?" I said. "The last one is Sad Songs by Elton John." 

"Let's dedicate it to Jody," James said. "I wish he could have been here. He loved Sir Elton and he loved all the sad songs."

"Sad songs say so much," I said.

And so it went. The day had turned out nothing like I expected. In other words, the usual day in paradise. But listening to Elton John and thinking of Jody, I couldn't help but feel that it had turned out exactly as it should.

When Dimensions Collide

Be assured that I'm going to ignore the modern concept of eleven dimensions because it's all theoretical and because it has nothing to do with the Twilight Zone where I sometimes live.

The Twilight Zone was the subject (and the name) of a television series that began in the late 1950's. Rod Serling, the host of the show, described it like this: 

"There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call The Twilight Zone."

I don't always live in the fifth dimension mentioned above. Instead, I seem to slip into it occasionally, remain there for a bit, and then return to the usual four that define what is generally considered to be physical reality.

My mythical therapist (a real therapist who specializes in personal mythology) explained it as follows:

With the analog radios of yesterday, listening to a preferred station required manually tuning to the assigned frequency. Sometimes the station would drift and the broadcast would become mixed with another frequency. It's one way to understand how my tuning sometimes drifts and becomes mixed with another dimension.

Even when no action was taken to correct the situation, the preferred station (or dimension) would eventually drift back in tune all on it's own.

In the past, slipping into the Twilight Zone was a smooth and unremarkable transition. I became aware of the shift only when I began to experience augmented reality, a sort of middle ground between light and shadow. I had no control of the situation and could do nothing more than try to cope with the chaos and hope that my home dimension would drift back into tune.

That all changed last Tuesday morning. I woke to a bizarre reality and could only imagine that while I slept, my normal reality had been struck by a rogue dimension and that I was living in a world stuck between science and superstition. 

Judging from the wicked drama that resulted, the Twilight Zone must have rushed into my regular world like Lady McBeth intent on hearing the latest gossip from the guest room. 

I'm fairly certain that it was Shakespeare who said that just as you're feeling on top of the world with a bluebird on your shoulder, Fate is around the next corner, placing banana skins around the storm drain for the amusement of sewer harpies.

The Bard described it well. The collision of dimensions generated shock waves in my world that made it impossible to function. My vision was blurred and I was unstable trying to walk or even stand. It was very much like the earthquake I experienced in San Francisco while attending the Sybase conference.

After a few hours, things began to stabilize although there were at least two aftershocks over the next couple of days. It seems that my world has settled down for the most part but I fear that some parts of my world are forever changed.

It makes me wonder if my life will ever get back to what I once knew. No, that's not true. The truth is I'm convinced that life will never be the same. I don't like to admit it because I get some unusual looks from people when they hear me say it. But you know that I can't hide anything from you, my loyal public.

If you want the complete truth, I'm reserving the right to contact my agent back in Atlantis much earlier than planned. But I promise to give you advance notice before I go away. 

Until then, remember to sing in the sunshine as often as possible and laugh every day, without fail. It's all part of fierce living and without that, well let's not talk about that right now. Just sing in the sunshine and laugh every day. That's enough.

Beignet and His Magic Sunglasses

The remnant of tropical storm Jazz was full upon us as I drove through Duke Forest on my way to an appointment at the university. The trees tossed their heads and waved their arms in a frantic frenzy, if frenzy is the word, exactly the way Shaka Khan used to do on Top of the Charts.

Leaves swirled across the road in great profusion. Blustery is the way I would describe the morning, yes, blustery is the mot juste. Not a small army of squirrels could have been camouflaged in those leaves. I drove slowly.

As the pre-frontal cortex navigated the storm-strewn road, Princess Amy, that almond-eyed little gargoyle, was seated at a corner table in the darkened recesses of my mind. She was seated, not too  near the band, of course, where she could keep watch for danger. 

She reminded me that Fox lurked out there somewhere waiting to spring one of his practical jokes. I suspected it would come in the form of a broken limb falling across my path but Amy wasn't so sure. Never know what to expect from Fox was her opinion. 

Amy seemed to overlook the bigger issue, which was that something just as wild and far more dangerous than Fox was out here in this forest. That wild and dangerous thing was me of course.

Most days when Amy is worked up I practice my training as a qigong coach to relieve some of the pressure and keep Amy calm. Take a deep breath I tell her. But today I was in full agreement that the weather forecast was gloomy and full of v-shaped depressions. I speak of the emotional weather. Gale force winds with thunderstorms possible are about how it was lining up.

Duke Integrative Medicine Library

Then I arrived at the Center for Integrative Medicine and entered the library, a work of art in wood, steel, glass, and stone. My body sat in a chair near the windows and waited there for a clinical study coordinator to call for me. 

My mind was immersed in a wonderful, magical experience that had calmed my frantic mind as soon as I walked through the door. Muted light from an overcast sky and the soft notes of a Native American flute enveloped me, the sound of the flute barely audible above the soothing sound of falling water coming from somewhere deep inside the building. 

It was a tranquil refuge from the storm.

My coordinator came into the room with a stack of paperwork and even that didn't faze me. I wasn't ready to quote Ben the Cat when he puts on his magic sunglasses--"The sun is shining. The sky is bright. Birds are singing. Everything's alright." No, I wasn't feeling that good but I did have a sense that although Fox still lurked, I was in a safe place for the time being.

Ben the Cat

Elizabeth, the coordinator, talked to me about the clinical study we'd just completed together, and her voice was soft and strangely alluring. I could have listened to her talk all afternoon. Eventually, the paperwork was complete and Elizabeth offered to give me a tour of the building. 

Of course, we actually looked at all the rooms, even the "practice" rooms where I've already meditated, qigong-ed, and yoga-ed. Then we visited one I didn't know about.

The Quite Room is where acupuncture and massage patients wait to be called for their therapy sessions. It's large and open, two-stories tall with a large skylight that allows natural light to flood the floor space. 

A bamboo forest grows on the floor of the room. Not in pots, mind you. Pots I could understand but these plants grow right out of the floor, which is covered in round, dark gray stones. 

One wall of the room is formed by a sheet of water that falls from the craggy heights of the ceiling and creates a curtain separating the Quiet Room from the administration offices on the other side. This is the source of the sound of splashing water I heard from the library.

The Quiet Room

Elizabeth pointed out a toy panda, sitting amidst the bamboo shoots in the far end of the room. She told me, and I would have believed anything she told me, that no one in Integrative Medicine is sure who moves the panda nor exactly when it's moved, but it's in a new location every morning--even on the weekends. 

This news intrigued me strangely. I felt the need to get to the bottom of this. Do you feel it too? I mean this could be one of those overlooked phenomena that hold the key to fitting Newtonian physics with the quantum variety. I'll look into it and report back.

Well, everything is impermanent, the Buddha used to say, which is one of those annoying announcements, of course, and is the reason why all right-thinking people want to avoid his company. And so was my visit to the Integrative Medicine Center impermanent. I had to leave. 

As I drove away, I was conscious that Princess Amy was much calmer than when I arrived. Her hand no longer hovered over the panic button. That's right, Amy, take it easy. I've got this.

Moonbeam Celebrations

Moonlight, calling to all unsleeping to come out and revel in its pearly luster, poured in the screened porch of Chatsford Hall. It had a magical glow. But to the Genome, much as he appreciates the beaming countenance of Sister Moon, it brought no cheer. 

The cypresses cast shadows across the lawns and gardens and white camellias peeked out of the dark shrubbery with their laughing gnome faces. Still, when I mindfully scanned my feelings, all I found were the emotions belonging to something that has been prepared for stuffing by a taxidermist.

Years of living life on life's terms and practicing Fierce Qigong have prepared yours truly for any catastrophe that comes his way. Like the Russian peasant who endures long, cold winters haunted by hungry wolves and empty vodka bottles, the soul has a hard protective coating. Left alone to his own devices, Genome takes on the appearance of Fate's spoiled darling.

But I ask you, with a week of no sleep and an overactive limbic system, can we wonder that moon shadows make no appeal? As I sat watching a scattering of clouds moving up from the south, a voice spoke to me from the north, saying, "Whatcha doin'?"

It was Sarah Lupe Louise sitting atop the table on the outdoor side of the porch screen. My gaze softened at the sight of her and I felt a soothing sense of relief because this young cat considers the Genome a source of perpetual goodness. You might say that she can't get enough of the Genome bouquet. 

Well, I don't have to tell you how effective is the medicine of the kind heart. It's the stuff to give the troops, if you want my opinion, just before they take the field to face the prowling forces of Midian. It makes all the difference.

"Can't sleep," I said.

"Too bad," she said.

"Want to feed me?" she said doing that little figure eight dance of hers.

"Too early," I said but somehow it didn't seem enough in the way of explanation. "It's only 3:00 AM," I added.

"Oh," she said, and calmly accepting my decision, she sat and began inspecting a paw.

Still looking for a solution to remedy the circumstances that I found so unsettling, I said, "I just don't know what to do."

"Nothing for you to do," she said.

"You think not?"

"Not in charge," she said. 

"No," I said, "I guess I'm not in charge, am I?"

"Jungle cat in the sky," she said.

"In charge you mean," I said, and then, still musing, I asked, "So what's it all about? Why do we bother?"

"Well," she said, "I do my stuff because I'm a cat."

"I see," I said, "You do what you do because it's what you were meant to do. Like dancing. You're a good dancer."

"Thank you," she said, "I also kill voles."

"Let's keep this conversation out of the gutter, shall we?" I said.

"You do human things pretty good," she said.

Something in her words, if they were words, seemed to go to the heart of the matter. I ratcheted up the musing to full-scale pre-frontal cortex stuff and I noticed that the inside feelings were a lot more agreeable.

"Hungry?" I asked.

"I could eat," she said and began doing a passable Electric Slide. 

I entered the kitchen and selected a fine quality New Zealand venison and after bunging the medium dose for the average cat into a bowl, I walked into the garden to give her an early morning snack. 

Life comes hard and fast for cats and for people, maybe even a little harder for cats, and it occurs to me that cats, like people, have little real value when they're sleeping among the stars. So why wait? Might as well celebrate today and what better way to do that than by helping someone else celebrate?

Power Principles

"It's like this," I said, explaining to Ms. Wonder why I was having trouble keeping abreast of her photography exhibits.

"It's the sewer harpies that I've mentioned before. They're agents of pure evil and they seem to be getting stronger. I'm thinking that it has something to do with my giving up the reselling business."

Princess Amy

She closed her eyes, lifted her chin a couple of inches, and held up a hand, palm open, facing me as if to ward off any negative influence coming from my direction.

"If you're yammering about soul vessels, Celtic goddesses, and Charlie Asher, just stop now. Your agents of evil are nothing more than Princess Amy, well actually Amy is just another word for your dysfunctional limbic system but I can work with that."

"Is yammering the appropriate word, Poopsie, considering my struggle to keep my head above the clouds?"

 "But," she continued, "and listen carefully because what follows is the most important part. You must get your head around this--there are no sewer harpies."

"Mabd is the worst of them," I said. "I can deal with Macha and Nemain, but Mabd--pure evil."

"Amy is making all this stuff up," she went on as though I'd said nothing. "It's all simply natural, random, happenings that Amy misinterprets as supernatural."

"I've heard all that before," I said. "I've considered it, even believed it. Then again, I'm not sure that I ever really believed it; rather I accepted it as good enough to be getting on with. As I've mentioned several times, it's not so much the events that prove an evil intent as much as the frequency of their popping up. Like the demon king in a Thai water opera."

Once more, the rolling eyes, the lifted chin, a deep breath this time, and then the open palm. Reminds me of Arnold Schwarzenegger and his famous line from the film Terminator 2: Talk to the hand."

"Let's get grounded, shall we?" asked the Wonder. She wasn't suggesting anything, she was getting down to business and I realized that if I knew what was good for me, I'd pay close attention.

"The solutions," she said, "are, first of all, to look for humor in the situations that trouble you. You're on target with The Circular Journey. All that's needed there is a bit more regularity. Blogging every day is my suggestion."

"Wise counsel, Wonder," I said, "I'll post every day."

"You're also doing the right thing by relying on music to cheer you. But most of your listening is done in your car when running errands. Why not listen more at home?"

"Excellent observation," I said and I meant it. This little nugget of wisdom had lit a fire under me. "Continuous music," I said.

"And finally," she said, "socializing. You're falling down on the amount of time you spend with others. You rarely go to meetings and your social gatherings are limited to Native Grounds Cafe with Lupe on weekdays and Island Irv on Sunday mornings."

The meetings she mentioned, if you're new here, are recovery program meetings for those who abused alcohol and other substances like the white powder that we used to sprinkle in our hemp doobies. There are different programs for the two but I combine them into one. More convenient, fewer meetings."

"There are no lunch-hour meetings here in Waterford," I said, "so with the Cape Fear bridge closed, I'll be going to Southport for meetings. And just FYI, there are no recovery programs for coffee consumption so I'll continue to abuse caffeine."

"Oh," she said as if suddenly receiving a jolt of information from the Akashic Record, "exercise is one of the most important practices. You have a good workout program. You're just not consistent. Meditation is part of your morning outing in Brunswick Forest but you're not any more consistent there than you've been in the other routines. Make it a top priority."

"I call those activities my Power Principles," I said. "It's something I picked up from SuperBetter."

"It's not so very important what you call them," she said, "as long as you practice them regularly."

I reeled! Was it possible that after all these years, that wonderful brain of hers had come undone? Not important what I call them?  I watched her lips move as she continued to speak but I heard no sound. 

My mind had jumped the rails and was mired in the drainage ditch of my limbic pathways, not unlike the spoiler I made as a young teen when I, bike riding with my hands on my head, tried to make the turn onto Old Thatcher Road using body English only. Well, I don't need to tell you how that day turned out.

I couldn't wait to take the subject up with Lupe in our next Native Grounds meet-up. Lupe's counsel is the next best thing to Wonder's mysterious ways and it's no secret why. She cubbed under the Wonder after all. Stay tuned to The Circular Journey and I'll update you on developments as they occur.

Something tells me that we're onto something big.