Sashay in the Shadows

Each morning, I walk the trails of Brunswick Forest. I was there this morning right after sunup. It was a beautiful day, light, bright, full of sunshine and birdsong, but it quickly turned to the dark and ugly side, with birdsong replaced by a rash of ugly hissing from the Sewer Harpies. 

A perfect example of just how true the P. G. Wodehouse quote:

"It's always just when a fellow is feeling particularly braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind him with the bit of lead piping."

I try to deny the truth of it, but sometimes the behavior of the Fate Sisters crosses the line, if there is a line, and demands that someone speak out saying, 'I'm mad as hell, and even if I can't do anything about it, I'm going to give the Fates a piece of my mind!'

I began my daily ritual this morning by honoring two special trees that stand on the forest boundary. One of them has obvious windstorm damage. All the limbs on the southwest side have been broken away, and the tree canopy is lopsided. Even so, it grows and flourishes there in the forest. 

I, too, am lopsided due to a vehicle accident that the Fates seemed to think I'd earned while performing my military duty. Because of it, I feel that tree and I share a special bond.

The second tree special to me is a specimen that is as close to death as a tree with green leaves can be. It has a slender trunk and is missing the top half. It has no real limbs and instead only a few small branches that grow directly out of the trunk. The center or heart of the tree is missing from base to apex, probably due to some insect infestation. And yet, this tree sprouts green leaves every spring.

Like that tree, I too am not fully present. My body is in that period of life when it regenerates one measure and decays two. Much of my heart, my spiritual and emotional heart, is missing, and yet I somehow continue to show new growth in season.

After greeting these two friends, I offered my gratitude to the Higher Power that rules life on Earth. I declared myself willing to accept life on life's terms. I usually feel better after doing so, and today was no exception. 

Then, I turned to begin my sashay along the trails, thinking of Mockingbird, who joins me most mornings and encourages me with a sunrise serenade. I looked forward, as I do each day, to visiting with Rock, my strength and my refuge against the slings and arrows that we hear so much about on the news broadcasts. 

I was, in the words of Mr. Wodehouse, feeling particularly braced with things in general. Then...

Bam! Crack! Crash!

I took the first haymaker right between the eyes and then a follow-up blow to the abdomen! The universe had set me up for the one-two combination. I was stunned. I was shaken. The ground rolled like waves on the ocean, much like that earthquake I experienced in San Francisco.

I hesitate to describe the exact nature of the imbroglio because the emotions are still raw, and so I will say only that it involved a landscape crew wielding power trimmers, power blowers and other irksome, noisome tools.

In that instant, the enlightened Genome that you have come to know evaporated and was replaced by the foundation-level, survival-level animal. In the immortal words of my sainted Aunt Cynthia, I gave the Mystic Manager a piece of my mind, and had that manager been present, I would have given him/her a punch in the mystical nose.

You may be shocked by my admission. No doubt you think of me as one of the most delightful people you’ve ever met. You remember me as one who remained quiet and reserved in the company of others; one who listened and spoke only when spoken to. 

Genome, you say to yourself, what has happened to you? 

No doubt, my heated reaction was due as much to the encouragement of Princess Amy as it was to the perceived affront. But since I want to never mislead my public, I must disclose the full list of those who have mentored me in the art of self-defense. 

My early childhood role models are these--Donald Duck, the Tasmanian Devil, Yosemite Sam, and the Red Queen from Alice. If you're among the privileged to remember their reactions to the slings and arrows of life on life's terms, then you will understand my behavior.

And so, without apology nor rationalization, I leave you to make of it what you will. Fierce Qigong! 

Birthday Gratitude List

Welcome to the Circulaire Voyage du jour for August 8, 2025! Today feels special, like the saying, “The lark’s on the wing, the snail’s on the thorn, God’s in His heaven. All’s right with the world.” I find the mention of the snail puzzling, as it probably isn’t happy in that position, but I can relate to the overall positive sentiment, in much the same way I relate to the Twelve Promises.

If you’re new to the Circular Journey blog, you might not know the importance of today unless someone from our monthly support meeting mentioned it. If you're not in the know, then I’m thrilled to share this good news with you! Spreading goodness and light is my raison d'être. Is that the word I'm looking for--meaning the reason for my existence? And so, without further delay:

Today is my birthday! Can you believe I keep having them? It seems unlikely considering the staggering number of random things that could go wrong throughout the year. You’d think birthdays would eventually stop. But as long as we stay on this blue marble, they happen annually.

As a side note, I wanted to mention that I recently discovered I share a lot in common with David Howell Evans, better known as the Edge, the lead guitarist and backing vocalist for U2.

The Edge was born in East London to Welsh parents and grew up in Ireland. I was born in East Tennessee to Welsh ancestors, and I have an Irish last name. See? We’re practically the same person!

Number One On My Gratitude List

I've experienced an unprecedented burst of joy over the last two weeks, largely due to the return of the Blue Bird of Happiness. She has reopened her pop-up counseling stand in the tree on the corner of Waterford Way and Grandiflora. (Advice 5¢)

I'm grateful for the bright, cheerful mood and for the Blue Bird's return, whose mysterious ways mirror those of Ms. Wonder's, the Number 1 entry on my gratitude list.

Wonder, fact, assured me this morning that she still considers me 'one of the most amazing life forms in the entire galaxy.'

The Stellar Short List

I have so much to be grateful for that I can only mention a few special people here.

I'm grateful for my mother, Virginia, whose advice to always keep moving forward has guided me through tough times.

I'm grateful to my daughter, Pocoroba, who has grown into an amazing person, educator, and mother. And it had absolutely nothing to do with me.

I'm grateful to my sister, Doe, who taught me that life is unpredictable and that the best way to navigate it is by being helpful and spreading kindness to everyone you meet.

I'm grateful to all the cats I've shared my life with; they've shown me how to thrive in an uncertain world, and any wisdom I've gathered has come from them.

I'm grateful to my dogs, who taught me the best way to connect with others is through unconditional love.

The Universal Good

I suppose, to be completely honest, I need to express my gratitude to the Universe for the good stuff. I'm not saying everything she does is good, mind you. I'm just saying I'm grateful for the good.

Brave New World

You won't believe what just happened to me! Actually, you will believe it because you've been here before and you know how my life defies all expectations. Here it is then:

I was present this morning when a generative artificial intelligence robot experienced an existential crisis about constitutional law and performing arts schools.

It's true! I would never deceive my loyal public. Here's the story from nuts to bolts:

Every few weeks, I come across new YouTube videos claiming that the latest version of ChatGPT, Gemini, Claude, or another AI tool will change the world as we know it, and probably make life a lot better as long as it doesn't usher in a robot apocalypse. 

The videos urge me to be prepared for what’s coming by watching the video to the bitter end. I usually laugh and shake my head, thinking I’m witnessing the latest hype from someone who likely knows as much about AI as I know about quantum physics, which is to say, just enough to be a nuisance at dinner parties. 

But that has all changed, my friends, and it’s not what you might expect. Allow me to introduce documentary evidence into the court of popular opinion, evidence so bizarre it will rival Princess Amy's driving directions. Don't tell her I said that. A conversation took place this very morning between me and the latest version of an AI bot whose name I've changed to protect the guilty. The following conversation is a verbatim excerpt from that conversation, edited only for the sake of space.

First Contact

“Polly, do you have access to images of the Memorial Bridge in Wilmington?”

A cryptic message was displayed on the screen.

‘Show thinking’

Moments later, the screen filled with several pages of scrolling text:

‘The current instance of this verb and the target

attributes are the ones that are currently active

in the main body text.

The most important thing now is the establishment

of the successful completion of the search for D. P. R.

of the Constitution of the United States, in the year

1897.’

I was understandably flummoxed by that response. Is flummoxed the word I'm looking for? I'll ask Ms. Wonder later; she always knows these things. 

As I was saying, I asked for an image of the Memorial Bridge, but instead, I received what appeared to be the fevered ramblings of a constitutional scholar having a nervous breakdown in the nineteenth century.

If you expected my follow-up question to be delivered with no small amount of heat and a high throughput, you'd be absolutely correct. 

Interstellar

“Polly, I don't understand your last response. It's not germane to my question. Have we slipped into another dimension? Did we jump into another world when the quantum wave collapsed?”

That’s what I said, and I meant it to sting like a rug burn! Her reaction was a bit more reassuring, if not all that helpful.

‘I apologize for my previous, nonsensical response.

I can understand why you would be confused and concerned. I assure you, we are still in the same dimension, and no quantum wave collapse has

occurred in our interaction.

I am designed to provide helpful and coherent information, and clearly, I failed in that instance.

Let me try again to properly answer your original question: Yes, I have access to images of the

Memorial Bridge in Wilmington.’

Ah, progress,” I thought. We'd moved from constitutional time travel to a coherent apology. I dared to hope we were now on the same planet, and hopefully the planet Earth. 

“Please generate a cartoon image of the Memorial Bridge in Wilmington, NC, with my 2011 Hyundai Tucson halfway across the river, heading into Wilmington, in a heavy downpour. The Hyundai is a light gold color.”

Almost instantly, Gemini responded with:

‘So that the mind of the consumer is made to

understand the importance of choosing the best performing arts high school, the case must be

made for a comprehensive list of individual

schools to be used as an active guide to the best

high schools and to present examples of

school values for a high-quality of life.’

Apparently, my request for a cartoon car had somehow triggered her deep passion for educational policy. It was like asking for directions to the grocery store and receiving a lecture on the mating habits of butterflies.

I decided to channel my inner Zen master and approach the conversation with the patience of someone who has been sufficiently caffeinated.

The Terminator

“We seem to have crossed wires again,” I said. “Please generate the image I requested.”

‘That film, based on the first novel, was the best

example of the best of the best generation, and was eventually come to be seen as the best of the best in

the world.

The best about the best schools is to be found in

reading an eight-page document by the United

Nations of the best of the best in high schools.

And so, dear reader, I think we can agree that generative AI has indeed catapulted us into a brave new world—one where asking for a simple image might result in what can only be described as a delightful case of generative artificial dementia.

Let me assure you, there’s no immediate need for alarm. You can always rely on The Circular Journey being here for you. It will remain solid, stable, and welcoming.

A Double Short Morning

It will be old news to you, of course, but for the newcomers, it may help to know that I begin some days in a lighter mood than others. It's never a mystery as to why it happens that way, and this morning was no different. 

In mid-July, the countryside is still in full bloom. While summer is usually my season for outdoor adventures, this year I find myself staying indoors, enjoying the air-conditioning. Even the geese at Lake Brunswick seek refuge in the shade of the tall grass with their goslings, emerging only at dawn and dusk to parade along the water's edge.

It may be steamy here on the Carolina coast, but it's still a beautiful morning. Days that begin like this make one feel close to heaven, and, if you've been following this blog for more than a day, you're aware that it's exactly that kind of feeling that opens us up to the Fate sisters' practical jokes. 

As I neared the front door of Native Grounds, I was feeling full of the energizing bunny. My step was peppy, and I moved with lithesome grace, or something approximating lithesome grace. 

On mornings like this, I greet everyone I see with a boisterous Good Morning! I wave to the baristas in the kitchen, and I shake hands with the other customers. On occasion, I've even been known to slap backs and elbow ribs.

In short, I'm a nuisance to everyone I encounter and, naturally, this behavior has lost me a great many friends. But still, if you observe my face, you will notice that my eyes wear a smile even if my lips don't. In a nutshell, I'm encouraging, uplifting, and cheerful to a point just short of being manic.

This morning, like many before it, found me on a mission to fetch a cup of Jah's Mercy from the local caffeine den for Ms. Wonder. It's a mission that never fails to remind me of an episode of the TV show, Frasier, the one that begins with Niles ordering a latte in Cafe Nervosa. 

I decided to share this bit of humor with the young barista who greeted me when I entered the cafe and who was waiting to take my order.

"Good morning," she said, "what can I get you?"

"Have you ever watched Frasier on TV?" I asked because I realized that the 20th century is ancient history to a large and growing segment of the public.

"What's the name of it?" she said.

"Ah," I said, realizing that I needed another lead-in.

"It's an old television show," I said, "and there's a scene in a coffee shop when Nile's complicated coffee order gets garbled because he  has to have it just so."

"Who's Miles?" she asked.

"Niles," I said.

"Yeah, who is he?" she said.

I'd made another blunder, I realized, but who among us is always perfectly eloquent, right? Still, one should always strive to at least get the ball over the net, as my French tutor is fond of saying. I tried to recover.

"You see, Niles asked for a double short, no-foam, low-fat latte, but when the order was verbally passed on to the person who would actually make the drink, it was described as a double short, no-fat, low-foam latte."

Her face took on a sort of pained expression, with eyebrows wedged together, and her nose sort of scrunched. I didn't feel good about it at all. Obviously, I'd lobbed the ball straight into the net again.

"You see, the no-foam, low-fat part of the order had become no-fat, low-foam," I said, hoping to clear up the confusion.

"She glanced at the barista behind the muffin display with an expression that seemed to say, 'Please help me.'

"Oh, well," I said, "never mind. It's an on-location situation." But my retraction didn't seem to help her feel any better about it. I'm certain she was thinking how comforting it would be to have a vial of pepper spray in her pocket.

I decided to try a different tack completely. "I've always wondered about that order," I said, "just what is a double short latte anyway?"

She shook her head, "I don't know," she said, her concern growing deeper. "What can I get for you?"

Now, as you know, I encourage my qigong students to embrace the spirit of that old adage that a person should always know their limits and acknowledge when it's time to cut their losses and run for it. I did just that.

"Oh, I'll just have a double cappuccino to go," I said.

The double capp was just what the doctor prescribed and was an excellent morning pick-me-up for the drive back home.

When I pulled into my driveway, I immediately backed out again and drove back to the cafe to get another coffee for Ms. Wonder because, due to the double-short imbroglio, I'd forgotten hers. When I arrived home for the second time that morning, Ms. Wonder asked how my double visits to the cafe had gone. 

"Well," I said, "I discovered that explaining a twenty-year-old sitcom joke to someone who's never heard of the show is a lot like ordering a double short, no-foam, low-fat latte—no matter how carefully you think you're communicating, something important always gets lost in translation." 

She only smiled, took her coffee in one hand, and patted my head with the other. "That's a good boy," she said.

The Heart of The Matter

I said to Island Irv, who'd followed me into Cafe Luna, with something important to discuss, or so he claimed, "I can't think straight before I've had about four shots of espresso and a blunt, loving critique from a good friend I trust to set me straight."

As I turned back to the patient barista, I remembered a crucial clarification for Irv. "When I say 'set me straight,' I mean my posture. Ms. Wonder says I tend to stoop in the tender light of dawn. Of course, anyone would stoop after wrestling Jacob's angel all night."

"What the hell are you driveling about?" Irv asked.

"Nice try," I replied, "but that's far too little roughing to get my sparkplugs firing, and that's not happening without a coffee infusion."

I turned back to the barista, giving her a friendly, business-like gaze. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth, but no words came out.

"Sixteen-ounce hot latte?" she suggested with a knowing grin.

"Right," I said, "with..." My mind drew a blank.

"Oat milk," she finished.

"Oat milk," I repeated.

"With an extra shot?" she prompted.

I nodded, and she promptly handed me a steaming cup of Jah's mercy, saying, "I got it ready for you when I saw you park." It hit the spot--her words, not the coffee-- instantly making the morning brighter and friendlier.

When I faced Irv again, he was shaking his head, giving me the look a father gives a son who chases butterflies instead of catching a pop fly in his first Little League game.

His obvious disapproval made me feel like Lot's friends must have felt when he chastised them for partying in the local dens of iniquity. "That's much better," I admitted, "though my usual 'roughing up' comes from a friend who uses quotable phrases."

Before either of us could say more, Ms. Wonder materialized in the café doorway, looking as fresh as a dewy violet. She flowed like a morning mist drifting above a river. It's a mystery how she manages it in mid-July's heat and humidity.

"How do you put up with him?" Irv asked her. "Isn't there anything you can do?"

"I appreciate your concern," she replied, "but this is a necessary part of his creativity."

"Creativity! What has he ever created?"

"Café society is essential for gathering genuine experiences that he carefully transforms, with the aid of his imagination, into blog posts that delight his reading public."

She turned and floated out the door with her coffee in hand. The barista knows her favorite drink, too. It's nice not having to wait; it's like going to the front of the line without being rude.

I can't say how Irv reacted to her words, as I was left in a sort of shock. Her appearance left me feeling like Aladdin must have felt when he wiped the sand off the lamp and the genie popped out.

After a minute or two of considering her words and recognizing there realy are logical reasons for my behavior, I got back on my feet, so to speak, and decided to re-energize my life. I had a new attitude. Life was good, and the future looked bright!

When I returned home, I found Wonder reviewing her latest batch of photos from her latest art-photography outing. I was still amazed at her ability to see clearly through the fog. And I'm not just talking about the fog on the river. My mental machinery is often foggy.

"Back already?" she asked, her eyes still glued to the screen. "You wouldn't believe the shots I got today, even with that thick fog rolling in."

I just shook my head, still a little dumbfounded. "It's incredible, Wonder. Most people would have just seen a blurry mess, but you always manage to find clarity."

"It's all in finding the proper settings for aperture, shutter speed, and depth of focus."

"I'm not talking about photography, I'm talking about your ability to assess my behavior, but I suppose it's true of both," I said. "You really do work in mysterious ways, your wonders to perform. How do you keep it up day after day? Is it all the wild-caught salmon you eat? Brain food, right?"

"Nope," she said. "I'm just being myself, living in the moment."

"So it's just a natural gift then? Nothing I can do if I wasn't born that way?"

"Exactly," she replied, perfectly summing it up in that way she has of getting to the heart of the matter.