Does It Really Matter?

The morning after broke fair and bright and the day was served up with all the trimmings: the sun, the sky, the birdsong. But that was on the outside. It was different in the heart. A stalled low-level depression accompanied by grey skies about sums it up. Nature may have smiled but there was no smile in the Genome. It makes little difference when facing a trial by fire that you've got a nice day for it. 

Consider Napoleon happily overseeing the installation of French administrators in the Cairo offices of the Egyptian antiquities department. He must have felt very satisfied with the way things had worked out. The weather only added to his buoyant mood; the sky was Mediterranean blue and the clouds were puffy and white—just the kind of day one hopes for when visiting Cairo—and then Nelson sailed the British fleet into the harbor and set fire to all the French ships. Think about that next time you feel the Universe has let you down.

 The bamboo grove in the Courtyard at Straw Valley

I pondered the mystery of Napoleon's narrow escape as I pushed along toward the courtyard at Straw Valley. Did he have a train hidden away in the desert somewhere? Some of the best generals do hide trains in strategic places. I believe it was a favorite tactic of Garibaldi. I'm not sure about that. I can ask the Muse when I see her.

The weather continued fine and a nuthatch sang in the shrubbery near the side gate as I approached the bamboo grove. No reason not to sing, of course, I just mention it in passing.

It was Lupe who suggested a morning out with friends at Straw Valley and I thought it a particularly good suggestion. Just goes to show how the Fate sisters love their practical jokes.

Entering the east gate, I heard voices and realized that, though the hour was early, I was not the first to arrive. A long table was placed not too near the door, but near enough for a quick escape if a q. e. was called for. Seated there were the Muse and the Saint, both enjoying an espresso. I knew it was espresso by the look on their faces. Nothing else comes close.

Sophie was seated between the two mentioned enjoying a cup of tea. I don’t know how that’s possible, first thing in the morning, but I swear it’s true. The table was quite long, large enough to seat about 10 people, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it.

Muse and Saint were in animated conversation while Sophie, seated between the two, seemed only interested in her tea.

"Sorry, no room," the Saint remarked when he saw me approaching.

"Very funny," I said and took a chair near them but across the table.

"I was just saying to the Saint," said the Muse, "that a margherita pizza would be the perfect thing for lunch, don't you agree? 

"I do like margherita pizza," I said, "but today I'm planning to have butternut-squash ravioli."

"Oh," said the Muse, "if it's squash ravioli you want, the very best, hand-made, squash ravioli is made in Fidenza."

"Fidenza? Is that near Milan?"

"No, not Milan--Fidenza."

"Don't let the people in Bologna hear you say that," said the Saint. 

"People in Bologna have the tortellini," said the Muse. "Just saying...."

"I'll get a coffee," I said as I rose and began ankling toward the barista station.

"Don't order anything with milk in it," said the Muse, "it's too early in the day for that and I should have to leave if you do."

Sophie's eyes opened wide at hearing this and I was expecting her to ask about the correct time of day to have milk in coffee but it didn’t happen. Sophie doesn’t drink coffee. I know! I can only wonder if she was never exposed to George and Nespresso. That could explain it I suppose. After a brief pause, she finally spoke, but not about coffee.

"Why is a raven like a writing desk," she asked directing her gaze toward me.

"Oh good, a riddle," I said. "I enjoy riddles. Let me think. Ravens and writing desks."

"Not plural," said Sophie. "Just raven and desk."

"Right," I said. "I think I've heard this one before."

"So you think you can solve it?" Sophie asked.

"I do," I said.

"Good," she said, "because Alice was able to solve it and I do so want to know the answer."

"Of course, I remember now," I said, "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. I knew I'd heard the riddle before."

"You only thought you had heard it," said the Saint.

"I was pretty certain," I said.

"Maybe," said the Muse.

"Alright," I said. I don't know why I said it. I just did.

The conversation dropped and we sat silent for a moment while I tried to remember everything I knew about ravens and writing desks; not much as it turned out.

"Have you solved the riddle yet?" Sophie asked.

"Nope," I said shaking my head. "I give up."

"Too bad," said Sophie.

"Get some coffee," said the Saint.

"I'm still deciding," I said. I didn't want to get a coffee with milk because I didn't want to take a chance of the Muse leaving and I had a question or two about Fidenza.

"Tell us a story," said Sophie.

"I think I'll get coffee now," I said.

"I'll have another double espresso, thank you," said the Muse.

"Really?" I said. "I've never known you to have more than one at a sitting."

"It isn't for me," she said. "It's for the mouse in the flower pot outside."

I raised an eyebrow and gave her a look. You know the look I mean. You would have given the same look had you been there. She raised an eyebrow and returned the look. It was an opposite but equal look. I glanced at the Saint and at Sophie and they too were giving me looks with eyebrows raised. I don't know when I've experienced a day with so many eyebrows. Mine was far outnumbered.

I walked to the Order Here spot and was greeted by Amy Normal, Backup Mistress of the South Durham Night, and rogue barista. 

“What are you looking at?” she said.

“You've done something with your hair,” I said.

“I decided to ornament the topknot. Spice things up you know?"

"Very nice," I said, "but the cats will surely miss them."

"They were the only feathers I had," she said. "Wanna make a smartass comment about them?'

"No, no," I said. "Very becoming."

“You know, Genome,” she said, “we had high hopes for you when you were young. You seemed so bright and full of fun. But now…just look at you. What happened?”

I pondered the question for what seemed a long time but was probably only a moment. At that same moment, Princess Amy awoke and directed my attention to the door. As I could think of nothing in common for ravens and writing desks, I decided I would deliver that double espresso the the mouse in the flower pot myself.

As I passed their table on my way to the door, I overheard the Saint say, "Spread the love, Brother." The Muse was shaking her head. "Total eclipse of the heart." I heard her say. Just to set the record straight, it wasn't a mouse in the flower pot out in the courtyard; it was Miles. And I thought he was in Paris!

Sweet Dreams and Tomato Sauce

I finished reviewing the blog post I'd written to promote my summer driving tour and was very pleased with the progress. You know the tour I'm talking about. It's the summer road trip I'm calling the Colonial Coast tour. 

As I was saying, I finished my writing for the evening and went straight to the bedroom hoping to find that Ms. Wonder had not yet finished her reading and turned off the light because I wanted to wish her a good night before going to sleep myself.

I was pleased to see that her face was still in the Charleston magazine and the light still on but, to my disappointment, she placed the periodical on the night table and switched off the light just as I entered the doorway. 

Well, you know the result of abruptly walking from the light into the dark. I bumped into a cat, who voiced his displeasure at my clumsiness, which caused a second cat to become convinced that discretion is to be valued above valor. 

He lept from the dresser causing that thing the Brits call a torch to fall on the floor and begin brightly shining into the gloom.

Just another of the many examples of one damned thing after another.

"Imported from Italy," said Ms. Wonder from somewhere in the darkness.

"What?" I said.

"The dresser," she said. "Imported from Italy. Now turn the light on before you break it."

Well, I don't need to tell you that I didn't like the way things were lining up. I'm an innocent man, I thought. I only came in to wish her good night, I thought. And yet here we were nit-picking again. 

But taking three breaths and counting backward from 10, I moved beyond the fray and took the proper steps.

"Sogni stellari, cara mia," I said

"Sogni d'oro," she corrected and that started it all again. I could have let it go but I have this deep need to be understood. I'm not looking for agreement, only understanding. It's a character fault probably, but there it is.

"I mean more than sweet dreams, my love; I mean to wish you stellar dreams, star dreams," I said.

"Don't start," she said

"But it's an important distinction," I said.

"Sure," she said, although not with any real fealing. "Like the eye of the needle thing," she said

"You refer to the 'eye of the needle' as compared to the 'eye of a needle,' I said. "A fitting comparison I suppose." 

I didn't mean that of course. They weren't comparable at all. A camel can't fit through the eye of a needle. Impossible! A lean camel, however, can fit through the gate in the western wall of Jerusalem that was referred to as the 'eye of the needle'. 

"Please," she said, pulling a pillow over her head. "I need to get to sleep."

"I understand fully," I said. "Early to bed and all that." And I meant it but I'd spent some time thinking about the significance of the two blessings and wanted to make sure my intentions of wishing her stellar dreams were understood.

"It's just that sweet dreams are all well and good, as far as they go, but they are limited to the dreams that comfort you like being cuddled in a mother's arms while receiving a kiss on the forehead. But is that all we want from a night's sleep?

"Exactly what I want," she said.

"But sogni stellari, oh my!" I said. "Sogni stellari is so much more. Star dreams are the visionary dreams, the larger-than-life dreams, the dreams that motivate us to our higher calling. We wake, not just to another day but to an open vista calling us to soar higher than ever before. Don't you want to soar when you wake?"

"No, I just want to go to sleep."

"Oh," I said, "well, goodnight then."

"Umph," she said, and then if I have learned anything about her at all, she was no longer with us but drifting somewhere out in slumberland.

Oh, it's nice enough if that's what she wants but as for me, give me sogni stellari y salsa di pomodoro! And I wish you no less, my friend. See you tomorrow and we shall soar!

A Beautiful Day

The morning awoke to bright happy skies over Brunswick Forest and cheery sunshine spread across its stately trees and open meadows, its rolling parks, and its flowering gardens. The lagoons reflected the Carolina blue of the sky. Resident ducks happily paddled around their soon-to-be nurseries and resident dogs happily pulled their human pets through the environs with jaunty steps and pleasant dispositions.

I've always felt that morning is the canvas on which nature paints its masterpiece and this particular morning did not disappoint. It's important on a day like this to pay close attention to what's happening outside one's head. Only in that way can the day remain fresh and bright.

My stroll around Brunswick Forest can be relied upon to get the day off to a good start and then a cup of steaming Jah's mercy from the local beanery helps to give momentum to the joyful beginnings.

Now, I'm not absolutely certain of the original source, but I think the odds are in favor of it being one of Shakespeare's gags, that just as one is thinking It's a wonderful world, the Fate sisters are waiting around the corner with a bit of lead pipe.

It's widely known among friends, that where others fall victim to subterfuge and misdirection, I take immediate action! Catherine I of Russia did the same I'm told. And so it was with me the work of an instant to get myself to Native Grounds for a steaming cup of fresh brewed. 

I hoped to find my god-niece Lupe and her roommate Claudia among those present and enjoying the globally grown but locally roasted. They were there. It was beginning to look like a beautiful day for the duration.

For those of you who visit The Circular Journey daily, you will understand just how juicy the day had become when I tell you that when finding the two members of the inner circle waiting for me, Princess Amy began singing the Louis Armstrong version of What A Wonderful World.

I consider Lupe, a young geezer of fifteen years, to be my most trusted confidant and advisor. You may think her a bit young to fill such an important role but I've learned that by the age of eleven or twelve women have acquired a poise and understanding of the absurdities of life that men can only hope to achieve somewhere in their mid-seventies.

And this Lupe is one of the masters. I doubt she's ever encountered a charging rhinoceros, and probably will never have the pleasure, but if she did, I have no doubt the animal, under her steadfast gaze, would stop in mid-stride, roll over, and begin purring with its legs in the air.

"Hello, Genome," said Claudia, "join us."

"Wow," said Lupe, "you look like something the dog dragged in and intended to bury later on when it had the time."

"And a bright good morning to the both of you," I said. "And Lupe I'm going to take your remark as one of those friendly little jabs that we sometimes cough up to those we love the most."

"Okay," she said.

"I'll order coffee now," I said, "and give you two time to prepare yourselves to counsel and advise. I'm tied in a Gordian knot and need a little unraveling. It seems that every day I know less and less about more and more."

"What's the knot?" asked Claudia.

"It's about a decision I have to make," I said, "and there are very good consequences and potentially uncomfortable consequences no matter which option I choose."

"Oh, good," said Claudia.

"Good?" I said. "Would you call it good?"

"Oh look," Lupe said, "Don't overthink it." To paraphrase Shakespeare, If you're going to do a thing, you might as well do it now and get it over with."

"But it seems the most prudent thing to do would be to make a list of the pros and cons and see how the thing adds up," I said.

"Nope," she said.

"Nope?" I said.

"When young people face life-changing choices, they do it with their entire future ahead of them. Their decision can be made without anxiety and trepidation. 

But when someone old, like you," and at this juncture in the monologue she gave me a sidelong glance as if to see how I was taking it. She continued, "When someone old is faced with an uncomfortable choice, the mixture of future and past only makes knowing what to do all that more difficult."

 

"So you're saying I should stop analyzing and just get on with it," I said.

"Yeah," she said, "and if it doesn't work out, you can feel confident in changing your mind and trying something else. Simple"

"Simple for you maybe," I said. "I understand your point, and I suppose I approve in principle, the broad, general idea."

"Well, there you go then," said Claudia.

"But when it comes to actually doing the thing," I said, "the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak."

"I understand," said Lupe.

"Yeah," said Claudia, "the same thing bothered Hamlet. But don't worry about it," she said. "Life is too short."

"Yeah," said Lupe. "So get going is my advice. I think Aunt Maggie said it best when she said, Once more unto the breach, or fill up the wall with our spent coffee grounds. Yoicks! Tally-ho! Hark for'ard!"

Over my head. Every bit of it. She had a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye when she said it so I assume there's hidden meaning. If it has any meaning for you, leave a comment below.

The only bit I got was the bit about get going and when this young savant says get going, you get going.

Still, I wasn't in a cheery mood as I made my way out into the great wide open. It was only with some small satisfaction that I realized the street was fairly empty. Only one long, dark sedan cruised slowly up Castle Street with the volume turned up to about an 8 on the Richter Scale.

Feed The Monkey

You know how you sometimes feel that it's time to do something different? You are drawn to do something out of the ordinary. You think you're routine needs a little spice? 

This morning was that morning for me. I decided it was time to visit Drift Caffeine Emporium on Ocean Isle Beach. The morning was bright and fair. The Intracoastal Waterway was bright and blue as I crossed the bridge to the island. I could hear the surf stirring the sandy beach as I made my way to the cafe.

Imagine my surprise when I entered and found Lupe, accompanied by Claudia, talking to a seated group in a circle. My first thought was seance, you know how the mind does turn to these ideas, but when I saw no table, I realized that a seance isn't possible without the ethereal knocking trick.

Lupe was talking to a young woman at the moment I entered and I noticed a bit of a start on her part when she first saw me. I refer to Lupe and not the young woman. It was only a quick glance but it had the look one gives when you realize the cat is drinking from your glass of soda.

"You must be firm, Stevie." she was saying as I waited on my Americano. "You can't waiver. If you show any weakness, he will exploit it."

"I don't think he would ever do that," said Stevie. "He's not that kind of guy and even if he did, I believe it would happen only because he cares so much for me."

"No," Stevie. "He has an untreated addiction and is unable to control himself. He will do anything necessary to feed the monkey."

"But it's so hard to say no to him," Steve said.

"That's why you must ignore his calls, his texts, and reach out to others in the group," said Lupe. "And keep coming to these meetings. We can only recover from our addiction when we rely on others. No one can do it alone."

Stevie seemed to see the truth in her statements. She nodded, sighed deeply, and remained silent. 

"Ok," said Lupe, "let's take five."

With those words, she rose and walked my way.

"What are you doing here?" she said to me.

"I would ask the same of you," I said. "I've been coming to this coffee house for years and I've never seen you here before."

She didn't reply but nodded and took on the look of an American who is about to try speaking Cantonese.

"What I'm really interested in," I said, "is how you came to be counceling people with substance addictions."

"Not substance addictions," she said. "Love."

"Love?" I said. "Did you say love?"

"Yes, I did. Love. Lust. Twitter-pated. It's all the same disease."

"You think love is a disease? An addiction? Lupe! This is just not right. There ought to be a law."

"There isn't," said Claudia who had finally joined us at the order-here counter. "We checked."

"Lupe, this must stop immediately," I said.

"Genome," she said, "as though addressing a student in her class, "each of us must be the change we want to see in the world and this," she said with a flourish of the heand, "is it for me."

"This can't possibly work out well," I said.

"Never undestimate the power of the individual to bring change to the world," she said. "Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has."

It's a Native Thing

"Nice coffee mug," said Claudia. "You must be a huge fan of Christmas."

I looked at it. The mug I mean. The background color is a striking red and it has large white snowflakes adorning the sides. I suppose I can understand why people think it signals the holiday. Be my guest.

"I drink from it throughout the winter season, I said, and I'm still under the care of Feldspar, my winter guide. Not that he has anything to do with my choice of drink joy, but still, there it is.

"Feldspar? Is that your spirit guide," she asked.

"He's a rock troll," I said, "and I suppose you could say that he's my spirit guide, and possibly get away with that in some circles, but he prefers to be called a sponsor."

"Sponsor?" she said.

And so here it was again. Every time I try to give someone insight into the life of yours truly, I run into the mountainlike obstacle, that the Genome life is somewhat alien. Maybe I'm a pod-person, I don't know. It just seems like a lot of trouble, a waste of breath, before I get to the point I want to make.

But this Claudia is a good egg and I want to be courteous and understanding. Her best friend, who happens to be another good egg and my god-neice, is also with us in Native Grounds this morning and I certainly don't want to embarrass her. I also don't want to cross her because she's my greatest ally when it comes to Genome's foreign policy.

"I've walked the Chatsford Forest for the past three summers," I explained. "I have a routine. As soon as I enter the edge of the forest, I turn to face the east and sing a song of gratitude to the dawn. Makes me happy and makes for a good day to die."

"A good what?" she said.

"Oh, sorry," I said and I was thinking that at this rate we'll never get to the end of the blog post.

"No need to freak," I said. "It's not what you think; it's an Indian thing. You might think of it as Native American or indigenous. But this is all diverting and we don't have time to go into it right now. My coffee's getting cold."

"Oh, of course," she said. "I remember hearing that phrase once before. A good day to die. Meaning that I've lived without accumulating regret and all amends have been made. Got it."

"Well, once I've completed my Fierce Qigong salutations, I'm immersed in exoteric nature and I'm in the Daoist zone. I'm ready to set out on the path that hugs Gazebo Lagoon and takes me to my rock on the banks of Fountain Lagoon."

"Right," she said. "I understood less than half of what you just said but I'm getting a whispy gist of it I think."

A quick glance at Lupe told me that she was enjoying this repartee immensely. Her eyes were wide as saucers and there was a distinct glow of glee on her map. I'm sure she was hoping for a total bust-up, ending with a wet smack and a complete miss. But I continued.

"I met Mockingbird a few summers ago when I found her high atop the welcome sign near the community center. She was singing to raise the sun but still finding the time to catch reckless mosquitos that drifted up from the marsh below."

"The way you say Mockingbird makes me think she was a guide too," said Claudia.

"That's right," I said. "After hearing her story about being responsible for starting each day by waking the sun with her song--I'm talking about Mockingbird--I felt called to ask her to sponsor me; or to be my guide if that's the way you're bent. She graciously accepted my request to become her disciple, but she suggested that I might want to take additional precautions by introducing myself to Rock and asking for his support as well."

"I must admit to being quite skeptical of becoming dependent on a rock until she reminded me of a scripture I'd learned as a child at a time when children still learned such things. The verse she quoted went something like this, 

"The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and..., my strength, in whom I will trust."

"There it is. There was no decision to make. It was laid out for me in. no uncertain terms."

"And so I followed the path that led to the banks of Fountain Lagoon and there he was, my Rock. And just as Mockingbird suggested, he is always there for me, always. Each day, I greet him with a handshake (or the equivalent; more like a pat, actually). I express my gratitude that he's there for me and then I'm ready for anything that life may offer up."

"But what about, Feldspar?" she asked.

"Oh, right. Sorry," I said. "Didn't mean to leave Feldspar dangling like that. Rock introduced us. Actually, Feldspar showed up one day and introduced himself but he said that Rock had recommended he do so. We've been pals ever since."

"You have an interesting life, Genome," she said.

"Interesting, yes," I said, "but a bit of a jumble from time to time."

I glanced at Lupe--you didn't forget that Lupe was among those present? I looked at her and found her holding her head in her hands and shaking it back and forth. I asked if she felt light-headed and offered to get her a cookie but she waved the suggestion away.

And so, dear reader, there you have it. The subject of this post emerges from the words in exactly the same way that consciousness emerges from the collapse of the quantum wave function, i.e.

And there it is. The subject of this post emerges from the lines of this post in exactly the same way that consciousness emerges from the collapse of the wave function according to the math function that serves as the foundation of quantum mechanics.