She didn't say anything in response but she gave me one of her patented looks, the look that says she thinks I may have been out in the sun without a hat. Silly of her I should think since the day was still in its youth.
"No matter," I said. "You get the idea; space and time exist in distinct elements; let's call them moments, and one can slip into the spaces between moments and end up in a different dimension."
Still, no verbal response from her but she did furrow her brow and narrow one eye.
"Happens all the time," I said having deduced that she was not inclined to accept my personal thoughts on the subject.
"I learned this from Wen the Dojo Master at the Zen Center of Houston," I said in explanation. "I never actually traveled anywhere in time but I learned from the master," I said to assure her that I wasn't in a meltdown.
"I know what you're thinking," I said. "You're thinking that I'm stuck in that On the Road thing I recently wrote about. You think I'm riding with no hands on the wheel and that I'm destined for the ditch. Maybe not that exactly but I'll bet it's something similar."
Again, no words from her mouth but her eyes were opened wide and she seemed a little panicky. I thought it best to hit pause and reassure her once more that I'd not recently encountered space aliens.
"Take a deep breath," I recommended. "Take three. Now think on the quantum level. I mean, think about those YouTube vids you watch with Joe Scott or Sabine Hossenfelder and you'll be in the right mental space.
That's right, it's a quantum thing. You'll see the connection when we get to the punchline so let's stop dawdling and get right down to it. Here it is then:
You know that little pine forest where I walk each morning. Those pines surround a small lake with a boardwalk that leads to a pavilion in the center of it all. It's a favorite spot of mine and each morning when I visit the pines, no matter what else may be happening in my life, I feel a sense of comfort and safety.
Well, I should rephrase that. It actually doesn't happen that way every morning. In fact, it doesn't happen that way in most mornings. What usually happens is that I go there hoping to feel a sense of comfort and safety but then Princess Amy gets worked up over something. This particular morning was more than a little blustery and Amy is always excited about a windy day, especially when I'm out in it.
I was walking through the pines as is my usual way right after morning salutations, a ritual in which qigong and taiji play no small part, but generally no kung fu. But later in the morning that discipline too would pop up, not unlike the way the demon king pops up from a trap door in a Thai water opera.
But that story is better left for a later post. It can only distract us from the larger event, which my biographers will call if I have anything to say about it, heinous multi-dimensional tomfoolery.
As I was saying before the attention deficit kicked in, walking through the pines my eye was arrested by something blown about by the wind at the edge of the forest. It turned out to be a plastic bag.
The bag was tied in a loose knot and couldn't be mistaken for anything other than what it was. You've guessed it already no doubt; a bag of doggie poo. I was ticked-off, to say the least. Why is it that we humans can't be trusted to do the right thing?
Now if you're expecting me to say something about disposing properly of our pets' waste, you'd be in the neighborhood of being correct. But what I'm really going to say is: You're out in nature, Princess! Don't put the doggie poo in plastic bags. Just let Fluffy and Milo poop in the woods!
I told myself that I'd pick up the bag of poo on my return trip but my conscience didn't approve of leaving it there. What if I decided to take a different path when I returned? What if I wandered into one of the interstitial spaces, is that the word I want? What if I was diverted into a different dimension altogether?"
I paused here to check in with Ms. Wonder. I thought it best to ascertain her temperature before continuing. She seem transfixed by the story and I was very pleased with myself, as I'm sure you expected. I continued the story.
"I assured myself that I wouldn't let that happen and, as it turned out, I didn't need to concern myself because the Universe was in a manipulative bitchy mood this morning and had other plans unknown to me.
I continued walking the path between the lake and the forest. The pines were beginning to thin and the wind was even gustier. Things that usually don't fly were taking wing if I can use that expression, and flying about like autumn leaves, or perhaps flying about like grocery bags would be more apt because I saw two of them whisking along above the lake. It was beginning to look like a big day for flying plastic. Turns out I didn't know the half of it.
Eventually, I came to the street on the north side of the forest, and what to my wondering eye should appear but a remarkable sight. Coming toward me down the middle of the street, propelled by a stiff wind, was a large piece of heavy plastic that had once been a banner of some kind. The wind had formed a big, loose ball of the thing and it was rolling toward me, tumble-weed style, at rapid speed. I felt that I'd been catapulted into the Twilight Zone.
My first thought was, Most Gracious One! Can't you trust me to remember the plastic bag of poo without sending a reminder like this? The next thought was, what to do? I couldn't allow the thing to make its way into Brunswick Forest Boulevard and cause a traffic accident, or work its way into the forest beyond and muck about with Nature's residents. Obviously, there was only one right action.
I opened my arms wide, took a deep breath, and leaned forward into the midst of the thing as it caught up with me. When I say that I leaned into it, what I mean is that this refrigerator-sized ball wrapped itself around me. It covered my face so that I saw naught but red and white plastic. It enveloped my arms and legs so that I felt as though I was embraced by an octopus. Not that I know much about being in an octopus embrace.
I struggled to get free and for the first few minutes, the banner got the better of me. Eventually, I was able to free an arm and a leg and through sheer stubbornness and refusal to submit to this force of nature, I beat the thing into something the size of a large beach ball. I could barely get my arms around it.
Once or twice on my return walk, the wind caught the banner in my arms and turned it into a sort of sail that pushed and pulled me around the lake. I was beginning to realize that this day was going to be a one-damned-thing-after-another kind of day. Eventually, I arrived at the location of the original poo sac. I wrapped it in the banner and deposited both into a proper receptacle.
Later in the week, the receptacle's contents would be taken to a landfill and one day, centuries from now, archeologists would find the mummified dog poo and would conclude that dogs were worshiped in the 21 st Century. Considering some of the heinous ranygazoo we humans have caused this century, I'd say, on the whole, not a bad legacy to leave behind."
"So there you have it," I said. "You're observations will be greatly appreciated."
"You do know how to live," she said in a low voice, and turning around, she left the presence and made her way upstairs. I've examined her final thought on the subject since our interview and unfortunately can make nothing of it. If you have any thoughts please leave them in the comments below.