Bean Snorting

Sometimes things just don't work out the way we expect and when that happens we're thrown into the lurch, in much the same way riding the bicycle without hands for the first time brings us face to face with denizens of the roadside ditch.

Reminds me of the time I rode my bike down the ridge road without braking and wound up in the blackberry patch, but that's a story for another time. Today, I'd like to explore the way Life tempts us, with perfectly reasonable thinking, into doing something that causes the mood to collapse into a heap on the floor.

And please don't try to convince me that these trials are intended to enrich our lives by broadening the soul and imroving the action of the skin. I'm not buy it.

Here's an example from my childhood: the best friend of my formative years, when we were about eight years old, was no doubt enjoying a mindful morning in the kitchen when he noticed some uncooked beans lying on the counter. The beans were probably escapees from his mother's dinner plans.

It seems that one bean in particular appealed to him. If you've ever taken the beginners class in mindful meditation, then you understand the appeal. Think of the raison experiment. If you haven't had the pleasure of mindful instruction, then nevermind. 

This particular bean, as I mentioned, interested him strangely. As he noticed the smoothness of the surface, the quiet luster of the shell, and all the other physical characteristics--I'm guessing, of course--I haven't had the pleasue of being introduced to beans on an intimate level. No matter what appealed to my friend, this bean tempted him in strange ways.

Taking a line from the Buddha himself, he began to wonder how else he might experience the true nature of the bean. And so, as is often the case with these metaphorical searches for the holy grail, he decided to find out by following his own path.

First he picked up the bean between thumb and forefinger, is it forefinger? The correct names of the metatarsils elude me right now. At any rate, he rolled the bean in his fingers to appreciate its small size and light weight. Then he squeezed it to feel it's hardness. He pressed his tongue to the bean to accertain its taste.

Having exhausted almost everything he could think of to fully experience the bean, he did what any one of us might do in the circumstances. He inserted the bean into his nose.

What he found was that it wasn't an unpleasant experience at all. It made him feel the way Christopher Columbus must have felt when he finally reached land after sailing across the Atlantic, which is to say thankful that his hairbrained scheme had turned out OK after all.

What happened next is where the concept of a practical joking Universe comes into play. What may have prompted the action is open for debate but I think I know. You see, I'm familiar with the logic that concludes that if one alcoholic drink makes us feel better, then two will make us feel twice as good, and so on. Whether it was that logic or one similar, we may never know, but the next step for him was to push a second bean up the nostril.

You see where this is leading? When he remarked to his mother that he was breathing through one nostril only, she suddenly took on the role of the mother hen, clucking loudly, dancing from one foot to the other, and waving her wings about in a frantic display.

Before my little friend knew what was happening, he was in the emergency room of the local hospital with men in white coats pushing stainless steel tools up his nostrils. This was far from what he had expected, if he had expected anything at all, and it left him feeling that he could never trust the Universe to guide him again.

I know the feeling. Been there many times. You've probably been there too even if you don't want to admit it. It's not unusual for me to get angry when I find the Universe is toying with my emotions. And I can't afford to be angry. When I lose my temper, Princess Amy goes berserk. Have you seen the Will Smith movie, Wild Wild West? Amy is like that crazed villain at the controls of the gigantic mechanical spider and I'm the mechanical spider.

It's hard to get away from Amy's control. She points out every negative thing in life with a mind to ruin my serenity. I have to ignore the people and events around me. I can't watch critically acclaimed movies--too much bad behavior. Forget the news, in all its manifestations. And politics? Politics is the worst.

Being the target of a practical joke of universal scale is a recurring scenario for me. I try to change my life and I know that the only way to do that is by changing my attitude. Easier said than done. I heard recently that we can change everything about our life, the people, the playground, the playthings, but we can't change the most important thing--Fate.

I suppose that's true but I'm not one to accept things that I think are wrong and I think that human civilization has taken a wrong turn. Instead of a better world, we're creating a worse. I know it's not what anyone wants to hear and it's not something that I want to experience. And so I've decided that the only option I have is to live in a fantasy world of my own choosing. Will that work? Probably not but what have I got to lose? Despite my best thinking and best plans, I'll eventually end up in the emergency room with beans up my nose anyway.

Joy To All

There's a song that they sing when they take to the highway

A song that they sing when they take to the sea

-- James Taylor, Sweet Baby James

"Perfect timing," I said to the barista at the drive-through window of Port City Java. What I meant to imply with that short perfectly worded statement was that mine was the only car waiting for a cup of the hot and steaming.

"If you were here a few minutes ago, the line was backed up to the street," she said and I began to think that this might be my day after all. No waiting for coffee and that wonderful story that Mumps told me this morning had warmed the cockles of my heart--is it cockles? I was thinking, my oh my, what a wonderful day!

That was my first mistake. Not fierce qigong thinking at all. You see, it's that kind of magical thinking that sets us up for the big bang that the Universe always has in store for us. We lower our guard. We become complacent. We think we're on top of the world with a rainbow round our shoulders and then when we're not looking, the Universe jumps out from the alleyway, rips off the ginger whiskers, and in the blink of an eye all flesh is as grass, as the man said. 

I assume it was a man who said it since it comes from that part of the bible we borrowed from the Hebrews.

But let's not get into Isaiah 40:6 right now. It's not germane to our story and not nearly as exciting either. At least I think so and I hope you do too. So let's get back to it.

The coffee from this premier coffee brewer would have been worth the wait in a long line of cars, of course. Jah's Mercy I call it. And, as I noted, I didn't have to wait. Or did I? 

It just occurred to me that if I'd arrived earlier and waited in line to order, I'd still have gotten my coffee at a time before I actually got it. You get the idea. If I'd waited in line, I would have had my cup of steaming around Isaiah 40:7 but instead, I arrived after all the other customers were gone and my coffee was ready at Isaiah 40:10.

It's conundrums like this that make me question if we can ever really know anything for sure. We run around thinking that we know so very much and we're absolutely sure of what we know, aren't we? But studies have shown that what we think we know is really an illusion, and very often a delusion.

It's an alternate dimension that we live in for most of our waking hours. Understandable of course. You see, we've been taught by well-meaning parents, school teachers, our peers, social media, et. al., that what everyone else accepts as real, is in fact reality, and so we should accept it too. However, what someone else thinks is that particular someone's reality (maybe) but it certainly isn't yours or mine.

Reality can often be an uncompromising and sometimes harsh truth. Reality isn't for the faint of heart, which may be why human beings developed the idea of an eternal reward waiting for us after we escape this uncompromising, harsh reality.

[There's] a song that they sing of their home in the sky

--J. Taylor

Still, it felt nice to know that I'd missed the long lines. And it actually was my day because it contained more good than bad--at that very moment. Just to be in this very moment is cause for joy when you examine it closely. 

What else are we sure of other than our life on this planet. It's life uncompromising or it's nothing. And no matter what your age, you're fortunate to be here today. I've known the very young to go to sleep with the stars.

Does this thought make you uncomfortable? It should. But it should make you only uncomfortable enough to examine the mystery and majesty of being alive in this marvelous world.

[There's] A song that they sing of their home in the sky

Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep

But singing works just fine for me.

-- J.T.

And I'm happy with my lot--my share of the uncompromising--because I'm happy to be here and I've got Jah's mercy steaming in a paper cup. I'd like to have a little more sunshine and warmer temps--it is December after all. But I've got the words of Merle Haggard to shed a little light and keep me a little warmer...

I got plans of bein' in a warmer town come summertime...

If we make it through December, we'll be fine.

--Merle Haggard, Make it Through December

Zombie Apocalypse

Here I am in my favorite walking spot. I like it here because it's at the edge of a pine forest and, if you're one of my loyal readers, you know that the Genome has pine tar in his veins, a little something left over from the early days of childhood when my Grandfather lived in the middle of a small forest of pine trees, and that forest became my special getaway place. I learned to meditate there at the age of 7. Of course, I didn't realize it was meditation until I became 37, but that's another story.

The particular forest I visit these days has really beautiful pine cones. I know! Beautiful pine cones, who'd of thought it?

I know that many people think of pine cones as a nuisance or even a pest, but I like them because of their playful, funny, sometimes hilarious antics in the trees in my backyard. I like to think of them as furry, little monkeys.

No, just a sec, I think I've gone into the ditch again with that one. No, it's not pine cones that I like so much, it's squirrels. I was thinking of squirrels. But no matter because here I am walking in one of my favorite spots and it's in a pine forest and it has beautiful pine cones. But you knew that already.

Now that's out of the way, and I apologize for that little bit of ADS, let's get right down to it. Apocalypse, that's the topic. Oh sure, I know it's not a fun topic and you visit this blog because the Genome can always be counted on to provide the uplifting and inspiring. But, apocalypse? What can be uplifting about it? Just stick with me. It takes a little explanation.

I don't know about you but for me, the United States has become a looney bin. Looney to the eyebrows. If I need to explain why I think that, then this post is not for you, my friend. Consider, if you will, the conspiracy theories. What about QAnon and John Kennedy Jr. isn't really dead but hiding somewhere and will be Donnie Trump's vice presidential candidate in 2024. How about, Bill Gates is inserting little monitoring devices in the COVID vaccinations.

Those are just a couple of examples of the lunacy that's rampant in our citizens today. And those people vote for our leaders, and those leaders fan the flames of the resident lunacy to win elections. 

That, my friend, spells apocalypse. I know! You're asking yourself what's become of the non-political Genome. I'm not sure that I have an answer but I promise, for your sake, to look into it further and get back to you.

I admit that there are many days when the bleak prospect of the future is too much to bear and I collapse into a heap on the floor. I've tried everything to get above the clouds brought on by this unfortunate attitude, but it's a bust. But now, my friend, I've finally decided to face it head-on. That's why I'm writing this particular post--to slog through the swamp and get to solid ground on the other side.

My only hope is that there is a little truth hidden in the idiocy of conspiracy. In fact, I'm counting on it. You're familiar with the old saw about smoke and fire--where there's a little of one, there must also be a little of the other. Well, that's the tree root that I'm grasping to keep from falling over the cliff.

It's like this. Follow me closely here. If there is any danger at all in the COVID vaccines, then I'm hoping that it's the zombie apocalypse. You remember the Z-apoc of course. It was THE most popular bit of lunacy for decades. Now, consider this; if the vaccine carries a virus that causes us to come back from the grave hungry for living brains, then it will be a better future than we'll get from the "JFK Jr didn't die" voting public; same for the "We didn't land on the moon" crowd; or the "Black lives don't matter enough to admit that black lives are important" dingos.

I'd rather face the zombie apocalypse than another 4 years of Don Trumper. There, I've said it. If you don't agree with that position, then bye-bye. For those of you who stay with me, I hope I've gotten it out of my system and can return to posts of Lupe, Princess Amy, Napoleon, Catherine the Great, and the rest of the crew.

And so, be safe, be well, keep smiling, and I'll see you soon. Thanks for taking the time to visit with me.

Yellow Brick Road

You mean a great deal to me because you've given me reason to get out of bed in the morning. So I'd like you to come along with me as I search for something that has eluded me all my life. I hope that whatever I learn on the journey will be helpful to you too. Come on, let's step out on that yellow brick road together...

If you follow this blog you know that I have a spoiled brat for a limbic system. I've written about it a lot and still I get questions about it, especially when I refer to mine as Princess Amy.

What's a limbic system? It's that little area deep inside our brains that we inherited from the ancient ancestors that tell us to run when we face the unknown. Run from the saber-toothed tiger, sure, but run from a rustle in the grass too, just in case. Better to be safe than eaten, right?

The limbic system is also responsible for telling us to fear the stranger coming toward us--the guy who doesn't dress like us, or has a different hairstyle, or votes for the other party. It's easy to think that it will be far safer to hit him in the head with a brick than offer to share our fire.

That's the background and I hope I don't have to repeat that mine is more than a little precocious--she's off her rocker. She's much like the red queen in Alice, you remember Alice--the little nit that fell down a rabbit hole. But I've gotten off track. Back to the real subject...

There we were, Ms. Wonder and I, vacationing in Sedona, Arizona, with a precocious Princess Amy gumming up the works. Uh oh, not again--I feel some disturbance in the Force. People are asking what Ms. Wonder, why Ms. Wonder? Alright, I'm taking a deep breath, and I'll tell you why...

First of all, it's difficult enough to know where to begin a story. I mean, repeat all the background and the loyal followers will get bored and start looking for the remote with a mind to changing channels. But leave out the background and the newcomers are lost and begin feeling like they've walked into the twilight zone. See what I mean?

But because I love everyone who takes the time to read these missives of mine I want to please everyone--those who hang onto my every word and those who just stumbled into the room by mistake.

So who and why Ms. Wonder--it's like this. Wonder is the woman who shares my life and who rescues me from one ranygazoo after another. She does so in mysterious ways that leave one and all, including the innocent bystanders, scratching the head. You might say she moves in mysterious ways her wonders to perform.

Now, back at the ranch, Ms. Wonder suggested I might visit the native shaman and, as always, I followed her suggestion. As soon as I entered the kiva, she smoked me. I mean the shaman lit a sage stick and waved the smoke over me with an eagle's feather. She also rattled me. She had a turtle shell with seeds inside and she waved it around with flailing arms and dancing feet.

She told me that I was living in a black and white world, like Dorothy before she opened the gate and stepped out onto the yellow brick road. She said that I was standing at the gate with my hand on the latch but something keeps me from opening it. She said that if I only opened the gate and stepped out, the road would lead me to the Emerald City where I would find the answers to all my questions and change my life for the better. 

I've been working on that--working on opening the gate I mean. I've been working on it for years. You see, the thing is, I'm not exactly sure what it means to open the gate. I've tried this and that. I've asked the gurus for help. Even Ms. Wonder hasn't been able to help beyond telling me that only I can find the answer.

I may be looking at the problem the wrong way. You know before you can solve a problem, you have to understand exactly what the problem is. One thing I've learned is that I have to open that gate every day. That's what I do each morning when I go for my constitutional. 

I go for a walk as soon as I have my feline chores completed. I don't mean that I perform feline chores. What I mean is that I perform chores for our cats, Sagi and Uma. Out in the open, with Nature surrounding me, and a Carolina blue dome overhead stretching from horizon to horizon, I walk in beauty, like the Navaho--beauty above me, beauty below me, beauty surrounds me.

And yet, even though I open the gate every day and step out onto that road, I never seem to get where I'm going. I seem to be missing something. And so that brings us to the point. I'm going to make one last effort to open the gate and walk the yellow brick road to Emerald City. And I want you to come along with me. I need your support to keep me motivated. Just by showing up here occasionally and reading my blog post, you will have opened the gate and started the walk with me.

Please join me. Let's open that gate together...

Best Day To Be Alive

Those who know me best are not surprised to learn that I went for my morning constitutional through Waterford Estates. I like the canals and palm trees. I also like to see the dogs being walked in the morning sunlight. Those dogs look happy. They know that this morning, right now, is the best time to be alive. These are the good old days they think in their doggy way of thinking.

The people walking them sometimes enjoy the walk too, if they aren't engaged with their phones. They smile. They revel in the warmth of the sun on their skin. They love the aroma of pine in the air and they smile at the ducks navigating the water lilies and other nymphoids. 

I should probably stop here to explain to the uninitiated that nymphoids are a class of aquatic plants with submerged roots and floating leaves with small flowers that bloom above the surface of the water. Don't confuse them with nymphs, which are minor female nature deities in Greek mythology. Those little Greek goddesses are simply personifications of nature. Delightful to be sure but meeting one doesn't alter your life the way meeting the Morrigan might.

Well, now that I think about it, I suppose nymphoids like water lilies, can be considered nymphs because, for me at least, they do personify nature. Nymphs they are then. But not nymphos, please! Nymphos are merely and purely mythical. My word-correction software may think nymphos to be real things but no right-thinking person should.

Excuse me. I've jumped the rails again, haven't I? This little missive isn't about water plants. It is about dogs and the way they and all of Nature's children, except humans, realize that today is the best day ever to be alive.

To get back to it then, I was strolling the paths that line the banks of the canals when I spied an older gentleman walking the path on the opposite side. He looked to be ninety, if a day, and he was tall, thin, and withered. I imagined him to have been quite a striking-looking man in his day. 

There go I, was the thought that entered my head because I'm tall, thin, and go for morning walks to enjoy the benefit of sunshine and fresh air. But more than that, the thoughts in my head were actually about getting old and that I would gradually decline from my current tallish, thinnish, and moderately withered state until, placed side by side, you wouldn't be able to tell me from the gentleman walking toward me.

I don't have to tell you that these thoughts took some of the warmth from the sunshine and some of the freshness from the air. I didn't like it. My thoughts were in a darker place and forgotten were the happy, smiling dogs.

I don't know how much time passed, probably very little, when I looked up from the path to see that the old man had turned the corner and was coming my way. I prepared myself to give him an uplifting greeting. He probably needed it I reasoned. Perhaps I could make his day.

As we neared each other on the path, I put a smile on my face and opened my mouth to speak. Before I could decide on the most cheerful greeting, he spoke.

'Morning,' he said and he stopped in a socially distanced way.

'Good morning,' I said, 'how are you?'

'Never better,' he said. 'And you?'

'I'm good,' I said, 'thank you.'

'Let me ask you something,' he said, and without waiting for a reply he said, 'How old are you?'

I admit that I didn't expect this question at all and it brought me up short a bit. So I simply told him my age.

'I'll bet you have some aches and pains and think that you're getting old,' he said.

'You're right,' I said.

'Well, let me tell you something,' he said. 'I'm 89 and when I look at you I think if only I could be that young again. That's right,' he continued, 'you're a young man. I know you don't think of yourself that way, but it's true. You have a lot of life ahead of you and you can do anything you want with it. My advice is just to enjoy it--every day--enjoy it while you can. Today is a good day to be alive.'

At this point, I realized that the conversation had arrived at that spot where both parties know that all that needs to be said had been said. So I thanked him, wished him a good day, and we both moved on in our separate ways.

As I walked along the path, I reveled in the warmth of the sun on my skin. I enjoyed the aroma of pine in the air. I smiled at the dogs, I smiled at the ducks, and I smiled at the nymphs. I smiled because I realized that I'm living the best of days. Today is indeed the best day to be alive.