The Extra

"Are you going to be downtown this morning for the filming of Merv? They're on Castle Street I believe."

Ms. Wonder and I were having coffee on the lanai but I wasn't my usual chatty self. I suppose my feelings were oozing out.

"Not planning on it," I said. "Too muggy. And it's a Christmas movie--hard to get in the spirit when the heat index is 100 degrees."

"Southport should have some cooling offshore breezes," she said. "The Summer I Turned Pretty is there this week."

Now, I don't need to tell you that I usually look forward to the warm-weather filming schedule for popular television shows, like Turned Pretty and I get excited when I know there's a movie being filmed in the area. I enjoy hobnobbing with crew members on location. You know, get a few candid photos, and maybe pick up a bit of celebrity gossip that I can post on social media.

You may think it's nothing to get excited about but for me, it's a reason to get out of bed in the morning. There are other reasons, to be sure, but I'm specifically referencing the 6 AM de-bedding, not the 4 AM or 2 AM. Completely different reasons and generally not all that exciting.

"I won't be going to Southport either," I said. "I don't want to drive Highway 87--too narrow--and Highway 211 is being widened from 2 lanes to 4 all the way to Long Beach."

She gave me a look accessorized by tight lips and lacking not the smallest sign of an eye twinkle. A moment passed between us when I thought it likely that I could be bitch-slapped in about 3 seconds.

"Have you forgotten what I told you at breakfast?" she said.

"Of course, I have," I said. I saw no reason to deny something that could easily be proved in court. I do often forget. Life in the suburbs with its lack of mental stimulation has caused my natural attention deficit to reach a stage where it borders on mad cow disease.

It was difficult to identify the look she gave me now. It was something I might expect to see on the face of Island Irv when trying to persuade him to become an accessory to the fact in some scheme I'm plotting.

I thought I should continue the conversation and hope that she cooled off before hotting up to the point of leaking at the seams.

"The weather is just way too hot and humid along the Carolina coast," I said, "and although our fine old metropolis is buzzing right along with summertime festivals, hoards of vacationing hominids, and the ubiquitous film crews, it's just too much to deal with."

"Look, baby," she said, "I know how much you love hanging with film crews and keeping your social media public updated. But your interest has gone flat lately. The good that you know you should do, you do not. What'sup?"

"You know," I said and it probably sounded like a plea for help. "Schopenhauer says.... At least I think it was Schopenhauer but possibly Shakespeare...that all the suffering in the world can't be mere chance. The Universe must intend it."

"Yeah, I know who spews that asbestos into the air," she said and she patted my arm lightly as she said it, "Princess Amy can't find anything to bitch about so she's practicing chair yoga and can't be bothered with you. Sounds like the perfect time to get yourself knee-deep in life and bump into some opportunity."

"Well, of course, you're right, Poopsie," I said. "You always are. But it's hard to churn up interest and motivation out of, what's the term, thin air?"

"Don't churn up anything," she said. "Just go, make it happen, Data. Engage!"

"I love it when you say that," I said and I meant it with knobs on.

"Look," she said, "I know that you consider yourself something of a local reporter at large, an arts and culture blogger, but I think you're missing a wonderful opportunity."

This piqued my interest no small amount. "You do?" I said. "What opportunity?"

"Think of yourself as an extra," she said. 

"A movie extra?"

"Sure," she said, "don't you see? You're someone important to the production, like an extra. In fact, you're necessary. The shooting would stop if the extras weren't there. Their presence in the film is what gives it believability, makes it real."

"Hmmmm," I said, "and I meant it to say that she'd interested me strangely, like the feeling you get when Superman sneaks into the phone booth and comes out with an attitude that says, I'm gonna get all up in there. She had captured my attention and the old cogs were whirling."

Now when I say the cogs were whirling you must remember that when a man with my attention span is plunged in thought, the machinery just whirrs for a while, and then that's the end of it. Suddenly everything gets quiet with little to show for it.

Wisely recognizing that nothing was to be expected from my musings, she continued.

"Extras don't have speaking parts," she said, "and their acting ability isn't important, but they must perform their roles precisely and on time, just as the stars of the film. Without the extras, there's no movie, no television story."

"That's me," I said. "I'm an extra!" 

"That is definitely you," she said.

"Excuse me, Poopsie, I'm due in Southport. The Christmas episode for Summer I Turned Pretty, Season 3 is planned for the next few days and I don't want to miss the decorating of Main Street."

"My extra!" she said and I could feel the pride in her voice. Made me feel good.

Do The Numbers

From time to time, I like to review The Circular Journey to see how many people it has reached and where in the world people are logging in to get here.

Looking at the numbers makes me feel better. I read somewhere that looking back at past accomplishments can generate a little more self-confidence and make life seem a little more agreeable. Those aren't the actual words I read. Just the way they spoke to me.

I created the blog in 2008 and published the first post on June 30 of that year. The first post got 22 views. I have never promoted the blog in any way other than listing it on a few social media sites as my website.

The Circular Journey began as a journal to help me cope with my mother moving from Tennessee to North Carolina. She had lived in the same house for 70 years and lived in that same small, rural community all her life. Moving away was one of the major events of her life. Mine too.

For the first year, give or take, I wrote my experiences caring for my mom. Not long after I began journaling there, my relationship with Mom changed. We became great pals. I was her chauffeur and her errand boy, and we celebrated Christmas twice per year. Hallmark movies figured into it.

I removed all the blog posts that dealt with those early years and I removed a few that just didn't suit me anymore. The oldest post in the blog now is dated February 22, 2012. It's called Let The Good Times Roll, and yes, it's about Mardi Gras, and it currently has 136 views.

Eventually, The Circular Journey became a journal for coping with mental health syndromes. A number of them. Finding humor in the circus that takes place in my head, and sometimes spills over into real life, helps to cheer me up and gives me hope that Jimmy Buffett is right when he sings, "..if we didn't laugh, we would all go insane."

This blog is an important part of my life and I'm so very grateful to every person who logs in to read it. Please continue to visit and tell your friends about the blog. And if you have a minute to spare, I'd love to read any comment you might share.

Here's the short tally updated December 2, 2025:

434 Total Postings    172,730 Total Views

All Time Top 5 Most Popular Posts:

Top 5 Currently Trending Posts

All Time Top 10 Viewing Countries

Following the United States, which is a given.

Precession and Whatnot

As soon as I woke this morning, I felt numb inside, numb to all emotion. The power principles that usually help to lift the mood were not working. 

I’ve recently questioned the Universe’s sanity over her decision to enroll me in multiple courses of instruction simultaneously. I reasoned it might be helpful to have a heart-to-heart with Princess Amy if a small cluster of gray cells in the brain has anything to pass for a heart.

“Amy," I said, "I feel like a man who has drunk from the cup of life and found a drowned beetle at the bottom.”

"Perhaps life in the 21st century is an acquired taste," she said. "I remember that you hated Brussels sprouts for years but now you fancy them. Give modern life the same chance you gave Brussels sprouts."

"You think there's hope in that approach, do you?"

"You might consider this," she said. "When you examine it narrowly, how little do you really have to dislike about your current situation? You're only unhappy because life isn't like it was in the gay nineties but just think how very few there are of decades like the 1990's. One in a century is my guess."

Our talk didn't help. Some occasions demand nothing less than a time-out. This was one of those occasions. Minutes later, had you been looking for me, I could be found walking through Magnolia Plantation. My plan was to consider all my options, which didn't take long. There were few.

As I strolled casually down the sidewalk with the artist formally known as Prince singing "Get Crazy" in my left ear, a fire truck suddenly popped up like a demon king in a Thai water opera, and tooted a horn that sounded like Rush Limbaugh denouncing liberal democracy. 

It's never difficult to tell the difference between a ray of sunshine and a Genome who's been pushed too far. And in that moment, it has never been more clear.

That doesn't mean that I tornadoed around in public like the Tasmanian Devil. Certainly not. I behaved like the nice boy next door, always my strategy when in public. I mentally gave the driver a piece of my mind and I searched the databanks for choice, juicy words.

If negative emotions ever invoked a dark reality on any piece of fire-fighting equipment, that f-f equipment was one.

The major exception to the rule about Taz's behavior is that I often, regrettably, do behave like Taz when in the company of Ms. Wonder. What a saint she is! I don't know how she puts up with me. Please contribute to her campaign.

But in that startling moment mentioned above, the Limbaugh moment, the idea of being tugged this way and that, reminded me of the Buckminster Fuller concept of precession. 

I know! Look, I've never denied that my mind works in mysterious ways. Mr. Fuller's precession is just another example of that. Some people find my chaotic thinking amusing. It may be helpful to think of it like Brussels sprouts. I'll bet you once didn't like them either.

An example of precession is the combined effect of the sun’s gravitational pull on the Earth and the velocity of the Earth as it circles the sun. The first force is acting to pull the Earth into the sun; the second is working to escape the sun's pull and send the Earth hurtling into the cold depths of space. 

The combined effect of the two forces provides the perfect combination to keep the Earth in orbit at just the right distance from the sun to support life and be hospitable to you and me.

I know! Magic!

I can only hope that a bit of precession will result from my personal tug-of-war and have a magical effect on my life. And on Wonder's life. She deserves it far more than I do. 

Don't misunderstand. I'm not saying the idea of escaping gravity and flying off into space isn't appealing.

Life Is An Illusion

My favorite barista, Laura, was ringing up my order when she directed a curious look toward the neighborhood of my right ear. I immediately assumed there was a noodle hanging there but it turned out to be something far more interesting. Laura explained that a Tootsie Roll had just emerged from my ear.

Those were not her exact words but that's what my subtle ear heard. As soon as she said it, I knew that the Universe was tapping me on the shoulder. It was a reminder that the material world is an illusion. 

Tootsie Rolls don't get from one place to another by ear delivery. TRs are delivered by 18-wheelers, like the one emerging from my ear with Tootsie Roll painted on the side. Or was there a truck on the road behind me, at the level of my ear?

Just before Laura's vision, I was taking a break from the work of planning a new meditation workshop. I spent most of the morning thinking about how our minds tell us things that are not true and how meditation can teach us to harness our minds in more beneficial ways. 

Now, for those of you who think that the purpose of this post is to announce my workshop, you're close. I'm actually announcing a new blog that will focus on meditation. I'll tell you all about it in that blog.

I know it's a nick out of time but that's the way I work.

Ride The Wave

          There is a tide in the affairs of men [and women] that,                      taken at the flood, leads on to victory.

                                      ~~ William Shakespeare, McBeth

One of the secrets known to the masters of Alchemical Shamanism is that the Universal Consciousness works for the good of its children. Simply stated, the Universe is looking out for your best interests.

Don't misunderstand, I'm not pretending to be a master of anything. No, I got my information straight from Ms. Wonder, who, as you know full well, is a master of everything.

She denies it but I can see through her attempts to pass as a normal denizen of the earth. Probably an alien avatar sent to guide humans to higher consciousness and create a better life on the planet for everyone. I mean, those are my thoughts.

I do know a little about life energy, sometimes called vital energy, but only because I follow the path of Fierce Qigong in my quest for Camelot. I do hope you pay attention to the regular postings here on The Circular Journey because if you miss a few episodes you're going to find yourself lost. Just think of missing an episode of Morning Show and you'll get the idea.

                  *** Questions?

                Consult the disclaimer at the end of this post (not now; 

                wait until you get to the bottom.)

So, as I was saying, I know that vital energy, the Qi (energy) in Qigong (energy work), fluctuates. It rises and falls, it grows and subsides, and it's in constant motion between negative and positive, dark and light. Lupe makes use of these Qi fluctuations when performing her duties as Emergency Backup Mistress of the Greater Wilmington Night.

When the energy is directed toward you, it comes at you like the swells of the ocean that build in power and momentum until they break into waves. All you need to do is wait for the right moment and then launch your Qi surfboard onto the crest of the wave. That energy wave will deliver you to your dreams.

That's all there is to it. Simple.

Simple but not easy. How do you know when the right wave comes along? How do you know that the next wave is for you?

There is a method of living that will put you on the right wave without knowing beforehand that it's your dream ride. I call it fierce living or living life on life's terms. 

Waves come and go. Some are meant for you and some aren't. What you do is paddle out into the deep water (or get out into life where opportunity will bump into you). That's where the waves crest and when a promising opportunity comes along, you take it. If it's not for you, it will either never build to anything worthwhile or else, you'll fall off. 

It doesn't sound ideal but it's the best option we have. When the right wave comes along, you'll be there riding it for all you're worth and, if you don't abandon it, you'll be carried almost effortlessly to your goal.

That's the method I'm using in my quest for Camelot.

Disclaimer: (read the following very, very fast)

The information and content provided in this blog post are for entertainment purposes only and are not a substitute for professional medical advice. Always consult a healthcare provider before starting any exercise, or wellness program.

If you feel uncomfortable or unsafe at any time, whether following the suggestions in this blog post, or any other situation you may find yourself in--love relationships can sometimes be the most problematic-- stop the activity immediately and contact your health-care provider.

The Quest For Camelot

In the words of some poet or other, I've forgotten the name just now, all troubles afflicting modern life, no matter how alarming they seem, will subside into a mere trifle under the influence of a steaming cup of the globally grown and locally, what is it? That's right, the locally roasted brew-haha that we affectionately and respectfully dub as Jah's Mercy.

The above is what Mr. Kier, my high-school English teacher, would call a run-on sentence. But aren't some subjects deserving of a lengthy treatment? I think so.

Although coffee is a favorite subject of mine and I am fiercely devoted to the stuff, on this particular morning, I was inclined to question the poet's sentiments. 

I'd wandered around the long-leaf pine savannah of Brunswick Forest, drinking a triple-shot espresso, and expecting the mood to lift like the morning fog. Didn't happen.

Eventually, I came to the spot where my Rock, that most dependable paragon of strength and resilience, stood looking out over the waters of Evangeline Lagoon. 

That very spot, that sun-flooded Eden, is the most congenial spot for happily-ever-aftering--think of Camelot where it never rains 'till after sundown, and by sunup the morning fog has flown. That's the baby!

However, on this particular morning, it just wasn't so. The mood remained bleak and grey. I didn't like it.

What to do? That was the question I asked myself. Surely there was a power principle in my mental toolbox, a metaphorical socket wrench that I could use to tighten up the emotional works.

I looked inside for an answer or a clue to brighten the day. And I was in luck.

Last night on Deb & Samantha, that's the name Wonder and I gave it, but if it's not the name of the podcast, I apologize. Anyway, on that podcast, Samantha said, or maybe it was Deb, that we tell ourselves stories about our lives and those stories become our lives.

Now, I agree fully that we tell ourselves stories about our lives. I do it all the time. And I'm open to the idea that those stories become our reality. Given that, pay close attention because what I'm about to say is the salient point.

Change the stories you tell yourself and you change your life.

I don't know about you but, as for me, I love that idea. This blog has always moved in that general direction and I think that with a bit of tinkering, The Circular Journey can, and will, become the stories that change my life.

And so now I'm off on the quest for Camelot!

But I won't find it without your help. Please stay with me.  

Don't forget to tell your friends about The Circular Journey and leave a comment because I'd love to hear from you. Remember my friends, life comes hard and fast. It pays to be ready for anything. 

Fierce Qigong!

Her Again

I've recently wrestled with questions that have troubled me for most of my life. Then last night, I had a dream in which I was speeding away from an evil organization only to realize that a bionic man was chasing my car, on foot, and he was about to reach my door.

Suddenly, I remembered a lucid dreaming technique taught to me by my first therapist, Susan Sunbeam. I realized that here was an opportunity to get the answers I'd been searching for. I paused the dream, a technique developed by the O'odham people of the desert southwest, and I spoke directly to my pursuer.

"Stop," I said. "I want to speak to someone who can answer life's biggest questions. Send to me the most knowledgeable person in the Universe."

The bionic man slowly faded and in his place there appeared someone instantly familiar to me and yet I was stunned to see her. No, it wasn't Ms. Wonder. It was the one known as Death. You probably remember Her from a recent post entitled It's A Good Day to Die.

"Well", She said, "I certainly don't see this every day." And even though I didn't see Her face clearly, I somehow knew or felt that She smiled. 

I remained quiet for a moment. I was a bit stunned and, not surprisingly, in disbelief. I pinched myself to see if I was dreaming. I was of course.

"I am impressed," She said. "This has never happened before. But I have urgent business so tell me why you summoned me, and make it quick."

I searched for words but it was a bust. Nothing.

She placed a hand on Her hip and cocked Her head as if to say, Don't make me wait.

"I'm so sorry," I said beginning to feel that I'd crossed the line by summoning Her. After all, who was I to make demands of Death.

"I truly don't mean to offend," I said. "Now that you're actually here, I feel that I've taken a great liberty. I want you to know that I'm extremely grateful that you came. In fact, I suppose I'm eternally grateful."

"You made a joke, I think," She said. "A joke, yes? I am hoping to get better at detecting humor."

"You mean that some people make a joke of dying?"

"My most recent encounter was with Sinatra," She said.

"Frank Sinatra? Frank Sinatra joked when he met you?"

"Yes, The Chairman," She said. "When we met, he asked if it meant he wasn't Chairman any longer."

"Did you laugh?"

"No, I don't experience emotions like humans but I find it interesting that some people make the most of any situation, even when they are powerless."

"Well, I'm sure you will come up to speed quickly and, when you think about it, there's no hurry is there? You have plenty of time to work on that."

"Another joke, yes? Two jokes in one meeting. I am rolling I think."

"Yes, you are certainly on a roll."

"But you have a question," She said. "Let us do this so that I may get back to my duties."

"I had three questions but you've answered two of them already."

"It is good to be of service," She said and for the first time, don't ask me why, I sensed that her existence might be a lonely one. But She had mentioned being busy so there was no time to go into it.

"The remaining question is about some memories I had as a child. I remembered a life that was not mine but was not entirely foreign to me. Memories of a previous life."

"Atlantis," She said.

"You know about those memories?"

"I learned something about you when you imagined meeting me on the bridge. I also became interested in who you are when you refused to open Death's Door at the time of the auto accident."

"Oh, my!" I said. "It was you all along!"

"Isn't that why you summoned me?" She said. "And did you not ask your questions of Ekaterina, the one you call Ms. Wonder?"  

These last words were the last little bit that made all the difference. I felt that too much was happening too soon. It was heaped up, pressed down, and running over. How could She possibly know so much about one person's life? I wanted to speak to Her about so many things and yet I knew that our time together must come to an end soon.

"She is a wonder," I said. "She is often the only bright spot in my life."

"You are fortunate to have her care for you," She said. "Love is the most beneficial living condition for humans. Most humans seem to want it and yet have no understanding of how to go about finding it. When it happens, it usually happens by accident."

"Do you know everything," I said.

She didn't answer me but I knew that She was pleased to have recognized another bit of humor.

After sharing and savoring a quiet moment, She said, "Atlantis is a memory of a life lived in what you think of as ancient times. Those memories first belonged to one of your ancestors and have been recorded in genetic material passed down to you over millennia."

I pondered Her words trying to fit them into my emotional experience of those memories.

"And now," She said. "I am satisfied to have been of service and I must bid you farewell until re-seeing you. Do not take your life for granted, Genome. There is nothing in the universe to be desired more."

"I remember reading somewhere that even the angels in heaven are envious of man," I said and I have no idea why those words came out of my mouth.

"May I take one more liberty?" I said. "I feel that your job must be a lonely one. And I have come to see you not as someone to be feared--the classic hooded wraith who carries a scythe. Instead, I've enjoyed talking to you and will miss you when you leave.

In fact, you were so comforting to me in that meeting on the bridge that I no longer fear dying. I feel that a friend waits to meet me when it's my time."

"I am not alone," She said. "I have extended the transitions of my administrative assistant, Susan, and also my adopted daughter, Gloria."

"Wait, could it possibly be? Is Susan by any chance my first mental health therapist?"

"I also have my dog, Pluto, and many honeybees. I have a sweet tooth."

I wanted to spend far more time getting to know Her. But She was determined to get back to her own world and I didn't want to take advantage.

"I'm happy you have them," I said. "No one should be alone."

She nodded.

"Before I take my leave," She said. "You didn't explain why you brought your questions to me instead of Ms. Wonder."

"Oh, that," I said. "Just as you pointed out, Wonder is a very special someone, and she amazes me with her depth of knowledge and her wisdom. But I'm afraid that finely tuned brain of hers has finally come unglued."

"How so," She said.

"Well," I said, in a near whisper as though I didn't want Wonder to hear, "it's like this. We visited Brookgreen Gardens last evening and I complained to her that the wind stopped blowing the Spanish moss around each time I tried to video it..."

"Yes?" She said.

"Well, you may find it hard to believe, but she began huffing and puffing in the direction of the live oaks, much like the big, bad wolf."

"Hmmm, I see," She said. "But good for her. It's quite satisfying when mortals find ways to enjoy their time on earth."

"The most amazing part of the story is that the Spanish moss began moving again and I captured it in the video. Wonder thinks she caused it to happen."

"Interesting," She said. "Gives you something else to think about, doesn't it?"

We shared another quiet moment. I began to wonder if it would turn out to be a big day for quiet moments.

"Au revoir, Genome," She said. "Until we meet again."

"I hope it's not goodbye," I said.

And with that, She faded away and was replaced by the bionic man that had been chasing me when the dream began.

I found myself suddenly very irritated that my pleasant meeting with Death had ended and was immediately followed by dealing with the senselessly aggressive invention of a power-mad tyrant.

Have I mentioned that I have anger issues? 

The vehicle I'd been driving was an armored military personnel carrier. It was heavy and built to withstand a lot of abuse. It was dangerous to pedestrians even when standing still.

With absolutely no aforethought of any kind, I drove that vehicle right into robot-man and enjoyed every knock and bump of him rolling around underneath the wheels as I drove away. 

All in all, I'd say it was a very satisfying dream.

 

Sing In The Sunshine

We'll Sing In The Sunshine

A song written and recorded by Gale Garnett in 1964.

In the song, a woman tells the person who loves her that they will be together for a time but then she will go away. She promises him that he will always treasure their time together.

We first met Uma at a pet adoption fair promoted by Best Friends, the adoption agency. Her name then was Reeces, because her fur was dappled and spotted, and brought to mind the popular candy known as Reeces Pieces.

Only a few months old, it was clearly evident that she wasn't very sociable. In an open crate with three other kittens, perhaps her siblings, she was alone in one corner as far away from the others as possible. 

My heart went out to her when I recognized that solitary nature. You see, I too am a lot like her. I prefer my own company to that of others although I've learned to pretend well enough to fool most people. 

I knew right away that she was going to come live with me and that I was going to give her the best life possible.

About a week later, with all the paperwork and veterinary exams complete, the Best Friends reps brought Uma to our home. 

I'll never forget the sight when her carrier was placed on the floor across the room from Ms. Wonder and me. The rep opened the door of the carrier and Uma came dancing out and crossed the room to introduce herself.

When I say that she danced across the floor, I mean that she seemed to be floating inches above the carpet and moving to music that only she could hear. She never stopped dancing to that music for the next 19 years.

She stole my heart in that moment. Forever more when I spoke of her, I told people that she was my heart.

Not long after coming to live with us, she stopped eating. I was inconsolable. Her veterinarian, Dr. Barbara, told me to leave her in the cat hospital for the rest of the day so that she could work with her.

For the remainder of that day, I thought of nothing else but Uma. I stayed in a bookstore across the street from Durham Cat Hospital, so that I could get to her within minutes.

I'm not a religious person, but when someone you love is in trouble, you do everything you can to help. That includes praying. And I prayed. I didn't know who or what the prayers should be directed to, so I just prayed to the sky. Continuously.

Toward the end of the day, Dr. Barbara called me and told me that Uma was eating and that the exam and lab work were normal. I felt a gratitude so deep that I doubt I've ever felt a deeper. 

When we were back home, I never left her presence for the next few days. But during that time, Uma told me that for the remainder of our time together,

We'll sing in the sunshine

And we'll laugh every day.

We'll sing in the sunshine

But then I'll be on my way.

And she was right. She was the delight of our lives for almost nineteen years. In truth, she wasn't the most loving of our five cats. She wasn't the sweetest. She wasn't the least trouble. But even though she never weighed more than ten pounds, she took up most of the space in our hearts.

During those years, she told us that,

I'll sing to you each morning.

I'll kiss you every night.

But don't cling to me

Because too soon I'll be out of sight.

We said our final goodbyes a few weeks ago, but I can't seem to let her go. And just as she made clear so many years ago when she was only a kitten,

When our time together is ended

And I have gone away

You'll think of me every day, and you'll say,

We sang in the sunshine.

We laughed every day.

We sang in the sunshine

And then you went away.

Thank you, Uma Maya, Queen of Cats and Empress of Chatsford Hall. I hope that when it's my time to go away, you will be the first to greet me on the Rainbow Bridge. Until that time,

I promise to sing in the sunshine

And remember you fondly every day.

We Need a Vacation

"For the last several months I've been chivied by the sewer harpies in the relentless manner of Patrizia's terrier, Snowball," I said to Ms. Wonder. 

"Let me see if I remember that story. You were riding your bike in the manner of look, Mom, no hands. Is that the story?"

"That's right," I said pleased that she remembered. "I was negotiating the sharp curve on the road that ran by Aunt Maggie's house."

"It didn't turn out well, as I remember," she said.

"Is that how you'd describe it?" I said, "The full account includes something about skidding off the road and falling to earth amid the briars and brambles of a passing blackberry patch."

"Yeah, it's quite a funny story when you take the time to tell it in full," she said.

"I didn't enjoy it,"  I said.

"That story," she said, "makes me think of..."

"No," I said holding up a hand in the internationally recognized signal that means, Go no further. "If you're thinking of something to do with Napoleon or Catherine of Russia, or if there's a mention of sea biscuits,  I don't want to hear it."

"But why?" she said.

"No relevance," I said.

"How do you mean, no relevance?" she said. "Napoleon couldn't have been happy with the way things turned out for him."

She gazed at me with a twinkle in her eye indicating that she was having fun ribbing me. I returned her's with a gaze of my own to indicate that the ribbing stopped here.

"Alright," she said. "I'm teasing but it's well-intended. I only want to cheer you up. I know that sewer harpies are no laughing matter. Have you talked to Dr. Beach about it?"

"I haven't as yet," I said, "and she's not a doctor; she's a therapist. I do speak to Feldspar about it, and it sometimes seems to help, but it's a temporary palliative and not real progress."

"Remind me who Feldspar is," she said.

"Not this time," I said. "Feldspar is part of an alternate dimension and I'm not sure you're ready to hear about him."

"Well," she said, "I know that feldspar is made up of a group of alumino-silicate minerals and is the most abundant mineral making up the earth's crust."

"Are you sure about that?" I said.

"Of course," she said, "is that what you're thinking of?"

"You do know everything, don't you?" I said.

"Akashic Records," she said as though it explained everything.

"I'll ask him about that the next time I see him," I said.

"Ask who?"

"Feldspar, my spirit guide. He's a yard gnome. I thought you knew that."

She removed her glasses and rested her head in her hands, her eyes covered. I've read about the move, of course, but this was the first time I'd witnessed it.

"We need a vacation," she said. 

"We're going to Litchfield on the 19th," I said.

"Not soon enough," she said. "We need a vacation now."

Another Day In Paradise

Castle Street basked in the glow of a golden spring morning. The storm that, two hours before, had raged through the parks, along the riverwalk, and into the downtown business district, was only a memory now. In the aftermath, the air was cool and sweet, and the damp earth released a healing fragrance. 

The city, bathed in the clear light of an early summer morning, was an earthly paradise. The skies were blue, the river shone, squirrels raced about the parks with carefree abandon, and as far as the eye could see pedestrians tootled along behind happy, carefree dogs. 

Fortunately for those pedestrians and their dogs, the ideal towards which the Wilmington city planners strive is to provide a public house for each individual archetype in the city. You can’t throw a half-brick in any direction downtown without hitting a pub, a cafe, a bodega, or a kiosk, and many of them are dog-friendly.

Scattered thunderstorms might be raging elsewhere, but inside Native Grounds Cafe, there was the peace that passeth all understanding, that perfect unruffled peace that comes only to those who have done absolutely nothing to deserve it. 

Consoled by the still, dry atmosphere inside the cafe and refreshed by the steaming contents of a china cup that read, I’d rather be surfing, I had achieved a Zen-like repose. 

I took a deep breath and leaned back against the cushions and the mingled voices around me began to quiet the sounds of the retreating storm. The sound of water coursing through downspouts had replaced the drone of soft gentle rain on the roof.

Island Irv, who was telling me all about his recent trip to the Sunshine State, is not the type to routinely leap from chairs, but suddenly and without warning, he managed a maneuver that almost made it look like a leap. 

Let me make it perfectly clear for those of you who may be new to these pages that the mothers of Shady Grove train their sons well. Once we've grasped the fact that all exhibitions of emotion are nothing more than rannygazoo, without substance or staying power, we maintain our poise even in the presence of thunderstorms and earthquakes. 

Although conscious of a certain uneasiness when Irv shot ceilingward, I was determined to remain calm. Intending to stay in full control, I took a deep breath and, unfortunately, I exhaled so sharply that a man at the next table who was eating a carrot-and-walnut muffin stabbed himself in the chin with his fork. 

I didn’t like the look that crossed his face, but then I didn't care much for it even before his chin began bleeding. His hands were clenched in fists of rage, as I believe the old saying goes. 

I doubt that he'd had a Shady Grove upbringing but even if he had, it was obvious that mother was forgotten for the nonce, and even great-aunts, those supreme enforcers of proper behavior, were not remembered. 

I realized that a word in time might provide healing balm and I searched the memory banks for some gag or saw that would soothe the savage beast and prevent a total brannigan. No need for him to punch the weasel, I reasoned.

“How's the weather on your end of the coast?" I said. "Exceptionally clement I hope."

Not one of my better gags but I had precious little time to come up with something. We will never know if the words would have brought calm because the man left the cafe without finishing his cappuccino and was last seen heading up Castle Street toward 8th Avenue.

"What about you?" I said to Irv.

"Oh, me?" he said. "I didn't realize my coffee was so hot. I burned my tongue."

"Is that all?" I said. "I thought you'd forgotten to text your wife or something equally as rotten."

"It hurt," he said.

And I'm sure it did hurt. It just seemed to be so very much animation for so little cause. But that's life on the Carolina coast for you. One never knows when the next storm is going to pop up and come sashaying around to see what it can get into.

All in all, I suppose it's what's to be expected from another day in paradise.

Happy summer, my friends. Thank you for supporting The Circular Journey with your time and attention. Don't forget to leave a comment.

PS -- I borrowed that comment about throwing a half-brick from P.G. Wodehouse, who the author of Proverbs must have had in mind when he wrote "a word fitly spoken and in due season is like apples of gold in settings of silver." 

My Rock and My Strength

"What is that out there?" asked the friendly facilities agent as I was walking past the Brunswick Forest welcome center.

"Where?" I asked because, in the several minutes preceding his question, I'd been up to my chin in the Japanese art of shinrin-yoku, or forest bathing as it's sometimes called by those who are allergic to the Japanese language.

I like to begin my day this way because it reminds me to be still, be quiet, and remember who I am. Sometimes I forget who I am and when I do, I miss the reason I go for a walk in the first place and that's the real zombie apocalypse.

I suppose I should explain that shinrin-yoku isn't about soaking in a bubble bath in the forest until discovering the principle of displacement, as was the case with Archimedes. No, the practice is simply spending time with the trees and actually paying attention to them and to everything in the natural world.

There, I've done it again. Jumped the rails and only three paragraphs into the post. Let's get back on track.

"Where?" I asked.

"Out there near the lagoon," he said pointing out there toward the lagoon.

"Oh," I said in a way to suggest that the answer was a simple one, "that's a big rock that the landscape crew placed near the lagoon as a design element."

"A rock?" he said. "I thought it might be a dog. You seemed to be talking to it."

Now, you might expect me to find the question annoying but much to the contrary, I was actually glad that he brought the subject up. Otherwise, the world would make no sense, there would be no justice, and life would be just a tangled ball of chaos.

The fact of the matter is that more and more lately, I've had a hard time resisting the urge to mess with people, especially when they behave like Neanderthals. And when I say mess with people, I mean mess with their heads. You know what I mean; beat their brains out with a brick.

But I don't do that, of course. I'm working on becoming a bodhisattva. If that's new to you, look it up, please. There's a fine line between too much and just enough explication. I'm sure you agree, especially if you've followed this blog for more than a day or two.

"That's right," I said. "I was talking to it. I was practicing the Japanese art of shinrin-yoku, sometimes called forest meditation."

You noticed right away that I cleverly substituted the word meditation for bathing, and I'm sure you know the reason why--one less thing to explain, right?

"And that means that you talk to rocks?" he said.

"And trees," I said.

"What else do you talk to?" he said.

"Birds, squirrels, people and cats who sleep with the stars, sewer harpies, and sometimes I talk to the cryptid that lives in the lagoon. Oh, and I should add that I begin each day by talking to someone that you might recognize as God."

"Should I ask what a cryptid is?" he asked.

"I'd rather you didn't," I said.

"I'm happy to hear that you talk to God," he said. "Keep doing that. Talk to God a lot."

"Absolutely," I said, "God is of the essence when you expect to encounter sewer harpies because everyone is happier when they have someone to look down on and someone to look up to. Especially if they resent both."

Hearing this, his face took on a rather confused expression; one that I would expect to see on a man who while chasing rainbows suddenly had one turn and bite him in the leg.

I added that bit about God to put him at ease. Randomly accessed people don't particularly enjoy the company of mentally ill people unless those people have a relationship with God. Then all is cool. And I like to put people at ease. It must be the bodhisattva in me.

Cirque des Écureuils

I was back home from my morning outing in Brunswick Forest, and enjoying a cup of the steaming as I sat on the lanai enjoying the squirrel circus in my backyard.

The show has expanded since we last spoke. It now includes about 7 squirrels, 4 doves, 2 crows, an assortment of songbirds, and a mallard duck. I know! Makes me remember Our Gang of yesteryear. Perhaps I'll call it the Squirrel Soliel and charge admission to the kids on the street.

"You seem..." said a voice from backstage.

"Aiiieee!" I said, shooting into the air about four inches and spilling my coffee. With my attention intensely focused on the act currently occupying the big top, I was not prepared for disembodied voices from outside my head.

"Sorry," said Ms. Wonder for it was she who had silently streamed into my presence.

"Is something troubling you," she said. "You seem unusually agitated this morning."

"It's nothing much," I said. "Just one damned thing after another is all."

"But just one thing at the moment?" she said.

"Nothing major," I said, "I'm just wondering about something that happened on my walk this morning."

"Do tell," she said.

"OK," I said. "Underneath one of the pines in the open savannah..."

"Longleaf pines," she said.

"Someone had collected several pine cones and placed them in the grass. Don't ask," I said, "because I have no idea."

She sipped her own cuppa without responding. I felt it was safe to continue, so I did.

"It seemed bad feng shui," I said, "so I picked up a handful and tossed it back onto the pine straw near the base of the tree."

She nodded. I continued.

"I immediately noticed that my forearms were covered in a fine, brown dust, similar in color to the pine cones and so I assumed that the little specs on my arms came from."

"Makes sense," she said.

"But when I got back to my car and began cleaning the dust off my arms, I realized that the stuff was all over my shirt too. It seemed far too much to have come from pine cones."

I waited for her comment but it was another bust. No reply.

"And so I began to wonder if something was blowing around in the air. I remembered a movie about some interstellar dust that fell on a small community in the Everglades--a cloud of dust that was actually spores bringing alien life to Earth."

"And?" she said.

"And I began wondering if I'm pregnant."

"I see," she said, "and so you think you may possibly be the agent responsible for altering life on Earth as we know it forever. And you're going to let one little thing ruin your day?"

"Well, when you put it like that it really doesn't seem like a big deal," I said.

At that moment, she must have gotten a text message from her employer because she quickly left the lanai and she hasn't yet returned. Perhaps I should make an appointment with my primary physician just to be safe.