One Sweet Day

This morning I woke to feel that I was sitting in a blue bird's nest--sweet song, clear skies, and all the fixings. I was without question in mid-season form.

"Wonder," I said to the honest woman, "I feel in mid-season form."

I never expect Ms. Wonder to take anything I say big and she did not surprise me this morning. She didn't stop plucking her brows when she expressed her opinion but the opinion she expressed was that it was good. These descendants of Russian nobility do not let excitement move them from their center, remaining balanced at all times.

The morning had taken on 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 were "layer'ed o'er with the pale cast of thought." as Lupe sometimes puts 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. She is a very stubborn little organ and most insistent on getting her way.

Who was that Roman guy who wrote about the  Great Web? How did it go? "If ought befall you," I think it began and then went on to say, "Know that it is all part of the Great Web."

That's how I see my depression. It's all part of the Great Web, although, in this case, it's a web of Serotonin Re-uptake Inhibitors and whatnot. Marcus Aurelius, that's the perp! I knew I'd think of his name. 

Now, where was I? Ah, right, I was about to say that Princess Amy is not the boss of me! I have the magic sword of fierce intent. And it was fierce intent that pulled me from 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 the intention that the open road, Jordan Lake, 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," and that was followed immediately by The Loving Spoonful singing, "It's a Beautiful Morning." 

Alla ka zam! 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. If not actually proof of a Universe that works to my good, then a reasonable enough facsimile.

I may never be completely depression-free and I may have to feel those blue emotions to some extent, but still, I don't have to let them steal my song. I can ride above the clouds of depression on the back of the spirit horse of fierce intent. And so I say, "Not today, Amy! I eat no pine needles today!"

Big Night for Surprises

At 2:00 AM this morning, I was awakened by the sound of someone in the hallway outside our hotel room in an altercation with a grandfather clock. 

Those who know me best describe me as a mild mannered meditation instructor. One who responds mindfully rather than reacting emotionally. This weekend, however, there was another spirit in residence in the Genome frame. I am, for the time being, a recovering herniated-disker, rocket-fueled with vicodin and methocarbomol.

It occurred to me, in my chemically induced hyper-mania, that there is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood leads on to fortune or, if not fortune, then possibly sleep. I decided that I should get out of bed, get into some gentlemanly upholstery, and see if I could help settle the dispute.

When I found the combatants, the clock was clearly ahead on points and would possible be named victorious by default. The perp, if you don't mind my calling him that, was leaning toward the door to his room, with his forehead on the door as though to keep his balance, while trying to scan his smart phone.

With each downward scan of his phone, his head moved away from the door a few inches and then returned with a thud, causing him to voice his objections with loud ejaculations of words he heard on Jersey Shore, probably. We Genomes are quick on the uptake and it was for me the work of a moment to assess the situation.

"Good morning," I said.

At the sound of my voice, he stopped scanning and stood back from the door staring at it as though expecting it to speak again. It didn't.

"Excuse me," I said and this time he turned toward me. The look he wore indicated that he was still not sure if it was the Genome that spoke or the door. When he finally responded to my greeting, he proved himself to be decidedly not in the market for Genomes. He disapproved of my presence.

I quickly calmed him with a few well chosen words and if I exaggerated a bit, what of it? My back was hurting and I needed sleep to knit up the raveled whatnot--you may possibly remember that it was 2:00 in the morning. Now, if my words led him to believe that I was there to assist him, what of it? 

"Keep your guard up," I said, demonstrating with my own hands, "and lead with the left striking just above the belt." He seemed to intuit just where a door would wear a belt. He whirled around and gave the door a passable left jab. It was an amazing thing to see. "Fierce gigong!" I cried, urging him on.

Just as the action was getting good, the door suddenly opened and a goggly-eyed young woman appeared and added a few choice words to our conversation. It was immediately clear that this room was the wrong room and it's rightful occupant was surprised to find a stranger banging on his door. 

So too was the banger surprised. I myself was surprised making three of in all. It was a big night for surprises. 

Surprises don't last, however, and in only a few short minutes, no more than 20 or 30, we got the whole thing disentangled, found our respective rooms and, presumably, were able to knit up those ravelled sleeves in a few winks. Napoleon would have been proud of the way I handled it. Don't you think so?