Do The Bright Thing

Crystal Cove was drowsing in the warmth of a summer afternoon. Heat mist danced across the lawns. The lulling drone of insect wings filled the air. The gracious hour had arrived when all of Nature found a quiet spot in the shade and began daydreaming of something refreshingly cool in an ice-filled tumbler.

Several residents were scattered underneath the sheltering branches of a giant magnolia. My god-niece, Lupe, was among them and she was just the god-niece I was hoping to find.

"This seat taken?" I asked.

"Nope," she said.

A small procession made its way out of the Inn and across the sun-bathed lawn to a spot underneath the big tree. It was led by an aunt carrying a tray of small sandwiches. Following her was another aunt with a small folding table. The third and final aunt carried a tray with a pitcher and several tumblers.

From somewhere far away thunder rolled softly along the horizon. A dark cloud lingered there but it seemed too far away to cause concern.

"What a day," I said. "Seems like a weekend to me."

"Not me," she said.

"Funny how days come with their own unique atmosphere," I said.

"Except for Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday," she said. "They all feel the same."

I don't know if you've noticed it, but the attitude of this young geezer seemed to lack the usual sparkle. Lackluster is the way I'd describe it. It troubled me a little. I don't like to see this mood in anyone else but me.

Aunt Cynthia was pouring iced tea into the tumblers and passing them around.

"I hope this rain shower doesn't last too long," said the aunt. 

"Oh," I said, "it is raining, isn't it. But it feels like one of those little showers that only last for a minute or two."

Aunt Cynthia nodded and walked to the next table. One or two of the inmates left their seats and walked toward the Inn at a fast clip.

"I've never much liked the way Sunday feels," Lupe said.

"What a coincidence," I said, "neither have I."

"I'd gladly trade all my Sundays, for fewer but better Mondays," she said.

"Hmmm, that's an interesting idea," I said. "I wonder if there's a blog post in that."

"I got a blog post for you," said Lupe. "I rescued a turtle this morning. At least I think I can count it as a rescue."

At that moment the sun seemed to have fallen asleep at the wheel. The sky darkened and Nature seemed to have let her majesty go to her head. Thunder growled overhead, a jagged lightning bolt flashed somewhere near old man Johnson's store, and large raindrops beat down on the magnolia.

The tea-taking crowd left their chairs and raced en masse across the lawn and into the Inn. With only one brief turn of the head to see what all the excitement was about, Lupe and I returned to our conversation. We're on friendly terms with summer afternoon thunderstorms and get bent out of shape with a slight drizzle.

"Good for you," I said, and I was genuinely bucked because this young imp and I have made a thing of helping turtles cross the roads for the last three years. "But what do you mean when you say if you can count it a rescue?"

"Well, it's like this," she said. "I was walking along Waterford Lake and noticed something moving underneath the pines at the edge of the clearing. It was a big turtle with her leg tangled in a vine. I broke the vine and pulled it away from her."

"And then she went on her way," I said. "That's a turtle rescue for sure."

"Well, she didn't go on her way immediately. She retreated into her shell but when I came back 20 minutes later she was gone. But the issue is that she'd only just snagged the vine with her hind leg and would surely have gotten herself free sooner or later without my help."

Her last remark was made without any chirpiness and I realized why her mood lacked the requisite luster.

The storm was at its height now. Thunder boomed. Lightning flashed. Rivulets of rain streamed down the trunk of the magnolia and several of the raindrops made their way through the mass of leaves above our heads and plopped on the ground, on our table, and on our heads.

"Ah, I see," I said. "I understand the question now. Was it truly a rescue or simply an act of kindness?"

"Yeah," she said. And she said it with resignation.

"If you want my opinion," I said.

"Yes, please," she said.

"Rescue," I said with a defining nod of the coconut.

"Really?" she said with a slight improvement in the aperture of her eye.

"Of course," I said. "If you hadn't freed her and allowed her to reach the safety of the lake, she would have experienced much more frustration and anxiety in her failed attempts to move forward. I'm certain that your act of kindness prevented a good deal of stress and saved her many years of therapy."

"Rescue!" she said with a bright smile and offered a high five. I accepted it with a happy heart. It always feels good to do the right thing and lift someone up above the clouds.

The storm was fading now. The thunder was now moving off toward Main Street. Carolina blue was spreading across the sky behind us and there was a hint that the sun was waking and preparing to take its rightful place.

Smoke Testing

Every time I drive by the corner of Grandiflora and Waterford, I see a sign that announces: 

Sewer Smoke Testing

Tuesday, August 17

Today is August 28, and I'm seriously worried about those workers who've been testing the sewer smoke for the last 11 days. After all, smoking sewers must be a bigger health risk than smoking tobacco. Don't you think? 

Surely someone has reported this to the city by now. We need to get those people out of the sewers. They're probably lying around, in some chemical-induced stupor like the people in opium dens we used to hear so much about. 

Is sewer smoke testing ever sanitary?

My first thought when learning about this sewer smoking was that another silly study or test was underway that would tell us what we already knew. Or if not something we already knew for certain, then something we strongly suspected.

I remember working as a laboratory assistant for a certain chemistry professor at my alma mater when he was studying the effects on laboratory rats of drinking whiskey. The study required a case of Jack Daniels, Black Label, Tennessee sipping whisky, and several crates of white rats. 

You're probably thinking that I don't need to tell you the results of the study. You're probably thinking that the rats became intoxicated and then adopted silly if not downright irresponsible behavior. That happened, of course, but it was a secondary result.

The seminal finding was that the consumption of Jack Black resulted in silly, irresponsible behavior in student laboratory assistants. But even if that specific result wasn't on your immediate radar, you must still agree that we didn't need a study to know it would happen. But that's not the thing that interests me today.

After a bit of reflection on these unnecessary studies and their findings, I found myself plunged into deep thought. As you well know, too often when a man of my mental powers is deep in thought, nothing comes of it. The machinery whirs for a while and that's the end of it. But on this occasion, voila! I know; it's something the French say. I don't know why they say it but it sounds good so I say it too. Voila!

You see, it occurred to me that I might be onto something that would make Ms. Wonder happy and also be a bit of goose for yours truly. Not actually goose, of course; a figure of speech. I'm actually a big supporter of geese rights.

In this case, the goose is money. You see, surprising as it may be to you, I'm aware that some of these controlled studies result in a flight to Oslo and the awarding of Nobel Prizes. And those prizes come with a substantial bit of goose.

I decided to look into the matter a little further. First, I reviewed some recent studies to get an idea of the current trends.  Here are a few actual research projects that I found: 

• The American Heart Association study found that recovery from heart attack is is improved if patients stop smoking cigarretes.  

• A recent study reported in the Journal of Health Psychology shows that being homeless is bad for physical and mental health. 

Now, if, like me, you see an opportunity in all this to do a little Google research, write a paper, and then board a plane to Oslo, let me suggest a few ideas that I'm kicking around. Run these up your flagpole to see if any of them inspire you:

• Does drinking alcohol cause people to feel more relaxed at parties?
• Does advancing age increase the probablity of accidental injury?  

Those are just a few ideas that've come to me since sewer smoke testing. I hope these thoughts are not a direct result of smoking the sewers. I'd love to hear your ideas. Perhaps we can share that Nobel Prize. 

So It Goes

Well, here we are again. You're probably tired of hearing it--Ms. Wonder's undoubtedly fed up. I know this because her reaction, when the subject comes up, is something like Shakespeare described as the poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, glancing from heaven to Earth, from Earth to heaven. Not a direct quote but you get the idea.

I apologize if you're bored with the subject, but it's not like I enjoy it either. It reminds me of the time Niles asked Frazier what he thought of the tassels on Nile's new loafers. Frazier said he never cared much for tassels and Nile's said:

"Never have I and yet there they are."

But enough of the preamble. Here's the thing that's bugging me. I've described Amy as the red queen in Alice but it occurs to me that sometimes she takes a line through Captain Bligh of the Bounty. After her practical jokes leave me in a heap on the floor, she has her minions put me in a small rowboat with nothing but a loaf of bread and a bottle of water and then set me adrift off some remote island.

Not literally, of course. But the result is the same; I feel helpless and hopeless.

That's where I am today--adrift and alone. At least alone emotionally. I mean to say that Uma Maya, the feline Empress of Chatsford, and Sagi M'Tesi, the caramel-colored tabby, are here with me to comfort and console. And Ms. Wonder is with me, despite her frenzied eye-rolling.

I want to make it clear that I don't blame Princess Amy. Not her fault. She was born before she got her fair share of self-control. She simply cannot resist pushing red buttons. It's just unfortunate that her curiosity often leads to the Universe getting her knickers in a wad. Unfortunate, yes, and yet, to paraphrase Niles, there they are... wadded knickers.

In another Frasier episode, he told one of his callers (paraphrasing): You're mourning a loss, but it isn't for what you think. What you really mourn is the loss of the life you thought you'd have. 

Bruce Springsteen's song, Glory Days, puts it into context for me and makes me realize that when I'm mourning the life I thought I'd have, instead of creating a new life that works, what I'm actually doing is trying to relive the glory days. 

In other words, I'm trying to recapture a little of that past glory but it never works out. Instead, I'm left with the realization that time slips away quickly and leaves me with nothing. That's why the only solution is to follow Frasier's advice and create a new life with new memories, memories that are closer to home and much more real than the glory days.

And so, that's what I'm doing--starting life over. Not for the first time, mind you. I've done it before, several times, which is why you and a few others are tired of hearing it. But I'm not giving up.

Billy Joel says in his song, And So It Goes, In every heart, there is a room, a sanctuary safe and strong, to heal the wounds from [our past life] until a new one comes along. And so this time, in my quest for a new life, I'm taking refuge, not in the glory days, but in the strong, safe sanctuary in my heart.

Don't fret for me. I'll not abandon my loyal readers. I'll be here and I'll do my best to keep it upbeat. Be safe and well, my friends. And don't forget to leave comments. They help more than you can imagine.

The Russian Doll

For some time now, I've felt as though I'm caught in a time loop, like that Netflix series, Russian Doll, in which the heroine repeatedly dies and then wakes the next morning to relive the previous day. Unfortunately for me, the series ended before the writers explained how she escaped.

Frustrating isn't a strong enough word to describe my circumstances. Maddening comes close. Even writing has become a struggle and writing this blog is the one thing that I could always count on to make me feel better.

I've tried many different ways to change my situation, but no matter how hard I try, blah, blah, blah. Know what I mean? Futile. A bust. Pffththth! Like the man said in his best-selling book, one familiar to us all, 

"...for what I would, that I do not; but what I hate, that I do."

I know! My life story, for the nonce. But hey! Those who know me best, know that I refuse to eat pine needles. Not familiar with the term? It's an Inner Circle thing. If you're new here, you might want to search the blog posts for that phrase, "eat pine needles."

Now, I'm all too familiar with what Rumi says in his poem, The Guest House. It's something along the lines of, 

"Being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness, 

comes as an unexpected visitor.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond."

I try to follow this advice but it never seems to end well. Like the star of that TV program mentioned above, I die each night and wake up to the same day all over again. Well, my friend, let me be clear about where this guide from beyond has led me. It's like this:

I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore! I'll still welcome them at the door and invite them to make themselves at home but damn if I'm going to join them for tea.

Now, I don't have grandiose plans and I'm not overly confident. I have no idea about where all this is going to lead and I don't make any promises or make any predictions. But I'm going to practice Fierce Qigong like the dickens because something's got to give.

Many thanks to everyone who's stuck by me this far, especially you. To quote Ms. Wonder, "I've said it before and it's still true...I don't know what I'd do without you."

Like A Rock

My brain is trying to gaslight me. I think Princess Amy wants me dead and is trying to distract me with a hullabaloo of insanity, the easier to make me step in front of the number 14 bus.

Not going to happen, Universe, or whatever your real name is. I developed Fierce Qigong and I know how to use it. When I was six and the schoolyard bully would humiliate me by trying to force me to eat pine straw in front of our schoolmates, I stubbornly refused.  I will not eat pine needles, I told myself. (We called them needles instead of straw.) 

My Rock

I didn't eat pine needles then and I have no plans to begin now.

Much later in high school, I was introduced to the poem that Dylan Thomas wrote for his dying father, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night: 

"Do not go gentle into that good night; 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light." 

Although Dylan was specifically writing about death, I've embraced the message of the poem and applied it to those thousands of little deaths that confront me.

Fierce Qigong is the bundle of practices and principles that grew out of the stubborn refusal to eat pine needles, and my tendency to rage, rage against my feeling of powerlessness in the face of life's inevitable difficulties.

Now, if you're a member of the community here on The Circular Journey, you should brace yourself because I'm going to reference sacred scripture in the next few paragraphs. I know! Who'd a thought it? Don't reach for the remote just yet, the payoff is colossal. You're going to love it.

In his 18th Psalm, the psalmist tells us:

"...my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge."

And now, thanks to a spiritual awakening on my morning walk, I have a new ally. I finally have what Alcoholics Anonymous calls a higher power and what many of you call God. Yes! I have my Rock! And here comes the punchline, just like David, if that's his real name, I too take refuge in my Rock, my higher power. Selah.

I've known this particular rock since I first moved to the coast over a year ago. Every morning I come to Brunswick Forest for a walk in the pines and every morning this rock meets me here, to remind me, despite what the Buddha claimed, that there are constants in this funny old world, a few things that can be relied upon to remain true.

It's a theme that pops up throughout the first half of the bible. In Deuteronomy 32:4 we read, "He is the Rock, his works are perfect and all his ways are just."  Again in 1 Samuel 2:2 we're told, "There is no Rock like our God."

Perhaps because of this scriptural influence, or perhaps simply due to an intuitive awareness of the spirit of Rock, it seems universally recognized by humans that rocks are one of the few strong, enduring elements of our world. I assume it goes far back into prehistory when rock was a necessary material for tools and weapons. People depended on rock for their very lives.

And now you see why my Rock has become my higher power. I need that solid, constant, power to keep me grounded and supported. I'm happy about this new revelation. I think it's the perfect partnership because "his works are perfect and all his ways are just."

Do I plan to start a new religion? No. One religion is as bad as another. No reason to think that I can do better. I'll simply think of my practice as the Way of the Rock. It'll be my shamanic practice. Ha! I'm a shaman now! I'll incorporate the Way of the Rock into Fierce Qigong!

If you'd like to join me in the Way of the Rock, then follow the updates that appear here on The Circular Journey. Until then, here are a few ideas that I think are suitable for a beginning. From Bob Seger's song, Like A Rock:

"Like a rock, I was strong as I could be, nothin' ever got to me...chargin' from the gate, carryin' the weight...hard against the wind, I see myself again. Like a Rock."

Those words describe beautifully the stubborn resolve that has always characterized Fierce Qigong and now provide a springboard for the Way of the Rock. Ain't Life marvelous?

I want to express my appreciation to Paul Simon for his song and the title of this blog post. If you know the song, sing it! If you don't know the words, find the song and play it! That song is another rock of mine. I have lots of rocks. Drop in sometime and let my show you my rock collection.