Running On Empty

As I drove into the Soda Pop District this morning, the murals on the sides of buildings gave me no joy. At such an early hour, the traffic was light, and the streets were quiet, but all was confusion in my head. I felt like something the cat dragged in after a night of unusual circumstances. 

Now that you have all the data describing the starting point, you can predict the rest.

I'd come to Egret Café expecting to find my 13-year-old godniece Lupe there. She'd mentioned it in a text message I received this morning while preparing Uma's medications. I refer, of course, to Uma, Queen of Cats and Empress of Chatsford.

Lupe also mentioned something about AC/DC tour dates, but I labeled that as an aside and gave the subject a miss. 

Her first text was terse and demanding. Come immediately, is what it said. I refer, of course, to Lupe's text, not Uma's. Uma doesn't have a phone anymore. I had to confiscate it after that mysterious box of cat toys turned up at our door last summer.

I was at a loss to understand the exact meaning of her words. Come where? I wondered, and why? I had no immediate comeback, and I pondered the words, trying to find the most appropriate reply.

What do you mean, come immediately? I typed.

What do you mean, what do I mean? came her response. I'm here at Egret Café waiting for you, you big jamoke. Get here in the next 15 minutes or eat my dust.

I suddenly remembered that I'd requested this audience the previous evening, and I knew that if I didn't show up right away, the Egret Café sidewalk would be noticeably free of Lupes.

Still, even with good intentions and all that, I had to cross the river to get to the cafe. I don't mean that I had to row or catch a ferry. There is a bridge, but still, a few minutes were required to relocate. And so a few minutes later, I was turning onto Castle Street, and as I mentioned, the murals gave me no joy. 

I entered the cafe and saw them immediately. Lupe was dressed in a denim waist jacket if that's the term. She wore a short flannel skirt, black combat boots, and one of those leather caps that actors used to wear in movies of the late 60s.

I only mention her attire because, since moving to the Castle Street Arts district, her taste in outer upholstery has changed from Gothic to Hipster. It's something you may have noticed yourself.  

"Good morning," I said to the pair, for there were two of them. I don't mean two Lupes. I wasn't manic after all. What I mean is that she was co-locating with a friend. I knew it was a friend because they were dressed alike. Jumping to conclusions, do you think? Possibly.

"Good morning," said the friend, who resembled that young actress who starred in the movie from the early 80s. The one that became the seminal film of the decade. You know the one I mean. 

"Wow," said the godniece, who had remained silent until now--silent but with wide-eyed surprise on her face. "Why the frown? You look like something the cat dragged in..."

"After a wild night out with the neighborhood raccoons?" I said.

"I was going to say, 'Even though the market for same was sluggish to non-existent'."

"What can I get you?" said a voice off-camera.

"Double cap," said Lupe. "Same," said Claudia. I did mention that her name was Claudia, didn't I? "I'll have an Americano," I said.

"Now tell me," said Lupe, "what's wrong with you?"

"For one thing," I said, "my thumb hurts like unrequited love because I stuck a hypodermic syringe underneath it while trying to load it with Uma's lactulose this morning."

"Oh, ungh!" said Claudia. "A hypodermic?"

"Not the pointy end," I said. "The other end." But she seemed to not get the gist. Her face radiated confusion. Rather than explain, I decided to change the subject because I didn't want this blog post to run overtime.

And as for you," I said to Lupe, "I need some bright, warm, welcoming this morning, and so far your greeting hasn't met the necessary requirements."

"You know," she said, "there was a time when you behaved toward me like a godfather, but you went astray somewhere, and now I have to take care of myself. How could you forget that we were meeting here this morning?"

"Lupe, I need your advice," I said, hoping to cut through all the distractions and get right to the nub. 

"I know," she said. "So whassup?" 

"It's like this," I said. "I've had several events of synchronicity lately. More than the recommended dose for the average adult. Events that involve things like Nickel Creek and Talking Heads."

"That is alarming," she said.

"You ain't heard nothin'," I said. "Most recently, I was reviewing some old blog posts, and I came across the one titled, Saying Goodbye to Mom."

"That must have been difficult for you," she said.

"Don't interrupt, please," I said, "I'll get off topic and never be able to find my way back."

"Two double cappuccinos and an americano," said the barista.

"Did I ask for an extra shot?" I said.

"No," she said, "but I'll take care of it right away."

I looked at the two hipsters seated with me at this table located near the window, but not too near the door. I mention it here only because it's all I was aware of as I searched the recent activities to find my place in the narrative, if it was a narrative.

The girls looked back at me as though they were waiting for me to finish something.

"What?" I said.

"Saying goodbye to Mom," said Lupe.

"Oh, right," I said. "You see, I remembered that the piece needed a bit of revision, and since I had a few minutes, I decided to give it a go."

"Okay," she said and then looked at Claudia. Did I mention her name is Claudia? The above-mentioned looked back at her, and then they both looked at me. 

"Go on," she said. Apparently, they were in agreement that my story was okay so far.

"Well," I said. "The changes were already mad,e and I don't remember making them. The phrases in the revisions were so creative that I'm sure I'd remember if they were mine."

"The mind pulls some pretty quirky pranks sometimes," she said.

"You think that's all it is?" I said. "I just don't remember writing those words?"

"I'd say something along those lines, more or less, makes up the probability distribution of the quantum wave function."

"I'm not so sure," I said.

"Well, at least consider it," she said, "and you might try sticking your finger in an electrical outlet on the chance that EST will reset your brain and clear up the mystery."

Once again, this teenage Jeeves had shown light on the dark corners of my mind. Our little encounter left me feeling better. The pain in the thumb was completely forgotten. Of course, my finger still smarted from the electrical shock.

Unleashing Inner Fierceness

About this same time of year but back a few years ago, I was in Savannah, Georgia, to immerse myself in lifestyle changes that I hoped would fully and finally liberate me from the emotional and physical pain that has plagued me for most of my life. I called this new way of living, fierce qigong.

I chose Savannah because it is one of my favorite cities, esteemed for many reasons but close to the top of the list is its colonial history--some of the cobblestones in River Street are actually ballast stones from sailing ships that once docked here.

I like it too for the European look and feel with its network of welcoming plazas and historic fountains, and the fact that it's the most walkable city I've found in America--it's a pleasure to park your car and forget it until you say goodbye.

The first morning in Savannah, I was in the park overlooking the Savannah River, between Bay Street and River Street. It was early--before dawn--and the only people moving about were the city sanitation workers and the homeless.

On a park bench near where I was performing morning salutations, one of the latter was just waking, stirred to life no doubt by the noise of the garbage trucks.

As I moved through Wuji Swimming Dragon and Waves on the Water, I realized that he was watching me and by the time I was ready to begin Separating Earth and Sky, he was walking my way.

"Morning," I said.

He returned the greeting and then said, "What is that you're doing? Are you a martial artist?"

"It's called qigong," I said, "and it's an ancient Chinese healing exercise."

"What's that?" he said.

I explained that qigong is many things and that its benefits include improving physical health and mental clarity.

"I need that," he said.

"It's easy," I said, "just do what I do."

I began my routine again and he followed along, surprising me by staying with me for all eight of the wudaos. When we finished I asked, "What do you think?"

"I think those ancient Chinese knew something," he said.

I understood exactly what he meant. Qigong has become the cornerstone of what I now call Fierce Living, a set of principles that I use to manage the physical pain of arthritis and the emotional pain of bipolar disorder.

Only since that day have I been able to truly say that I've found the solution to life's challenges and that I'm free from the limitations of yesterday. Life has truly become a qigong odyssey.

I haven't been back to Savannah since but when I do return I would love to find that the homeless of Savannah are practicing qigong on the river.

Life comes hard and fast--be ready for it--Fierce Qigong!

Angels Tip-Toe

The affair was one of those family gatherings that one wishes he could avoid but realizes that all things considered, better as Shakespeare said, 'Do it now and be done with it.'

I was late for the thing and rushed into the crowded room having completely forgotten that Elvis himself advised us against it. But there I was and the damage was done.

I'm a veteran of many of these cross-purposed family dust-ups and it was immediately plain to me that a crusty, cross-purposed dust-up is exactly what I'd interrupted.

Of course, the rumble was a private matter and my interest would inevitably be seen by some as an unwelcome intrusion, but the Genome warrior spirit had gotten the scent of battle up his nose and the old limbic system seemed to say, 'sic 'em, boy!'

I maneuvered around the crowd, hoping to avoid detection, and I eased up beside Lupe and leaned in for a low-key update on the goings-on. 

'Aunt Cynthia seems upset,' I said.

'Runs in the family,' said the Lupe. 

I found her remark to be a bit frosty and was disappointed because this little god-niece of mine is famous for her Zen-like self-control. And besides, I was only trying to assure her that I was on her side, as always.

'What's the trouble,' I said, 'with the aunt I mean.'

'She was just explaining to me,' she said, 'in as many ways as possible, that I'm completely off my head.'

Now there's a term that's bandied about in this family when referring to one another and I've never quite gotten my head around it. Oh, I know what it means well enough. But I don't understand how it was put together in the first place.

'Out of your mind or lost your head would seem a more suitable expression," I said, "but off your head? Strange.'

She gave me one of her looks, and before I could match it with the several of her looks that I keep in my mental databanks, she began drifting away from me. I mean she moved through the crowd in the general direction of the doorway. 

For the first time since entering the room, I realized that this little mosquito was heated up and that if I were to be of any assistance at all, I should not take this particular dust-up lightly. I followed her through the crowd.

Love is a delicate thing, of course, and requires nurturing and reassurance. My next remark, although intended to ease tension and bring a smile to her face, was probably not ideal.

'Should I agree with the aunt, then? Are you off your head?'

She didn't take it the way it was intended and gave me another look that made me feel like the cat that brings a gift of mouse to the party only to learn that the market for dead mice is weak to non-existent. 

'I was about to apply the remark to you,' she said and I had to admit that it was a juicy comeback. She amazes me with that quick wit of hers. But although it had been more than a decade since this sister-like god-niece had scratched my face, I felt she might be considering it now.

I'm not actually certain of the facts, but I am certain that she immediately became agitated, shifting from one foot to the other, like a zoo lion waiting for dinner. It isn't often that her angry passions get the better of her but it was obvious that her limbic system was having the same conversation with her that I'd experienced when I entered the room.

Square-jawed from the beginning, her countenance became firmly set and squarer, and into her eyes crept the light of battle. Runs in the family. Then she shuddered from stem to stern and moved off into the crowd but in the direction of Aunt Cynthia.

Well, there it is. Where others merely slap the forehead and pull the face, she takes action. Catherine of Russia was the same. I wasn't actually there for the finale--called away on urgent business; Ms. Wonder had called to request a cup of the steaming from Port City Java. My guess is that whatever happened after I left, didn't go well at all. I'll update you in a future post.

Here Comes the Rain Again

Some days it's just one damned thing after another. You know what I mean. Why get out of bed is the question I ask myself. Of course, I don't need to tell you that. You've been here before.

 

What was it the Buddha said? Nothing lasts forever? No, that wasn't his. Sounds more like Shakespeare, who as we know, went around stealing the Buddha's quotes and then taking credit for them. No, the Buddha said something about the impertinent. Is that what it was? Impermanence I think is what it was, meaning that nothing lasts forever. That's the baby.

Don't get me wrong; the day started off in stylish attire even though the storm was headed our way, coming up the coast from Florida. The sun was bright, the heavens were Carolina blue, and birds were auditioning for America's Got Talent. I had a lot on my to-do list but I was still bucked because the day seemed so happy to see me out and about. 

Crossing the bridge on my way home from the Hyundai's visit to the spa, I was singing along with the Beatles to She Loves You. When George and John sang the title words, I was thinking that ‘she’ could be a reference to my car, Wynd Horse, and she loved me for getting her spiffed up. 

Then when Paul and I answered with, ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah!’ I realized that the bump, bump, bump of the tires on the bridge gridwork was keeping time with Ringo’s drumming. Did I say I was bucked? I immediately put the windows down and turned the volume up to 11.

Seldom does a day come along when all things come together so perfectly. When it happens, it’s a welcome reminder that God’s on his throne and all’s right with the world. This day was turning out to be one of those days. Yeah, yeah, yeah!

I decided to call my old pal, Mumps, and share the bright morning. He was creating one of his signature wood craft pieces when I called but he jumped right into the conversation and we spoke of Cuban cigars, the transmigration of souls, and the theory that the Universe is conscious. You know, the usual stuff.

I was fully immersed in this stimulating conversation in the way of the worshipers I remember from my infrequent childhood visits to the local church. I wasn't walking the pews or prophesying but neither was I paying attention to the events taking place around me.

It was only when Mumps asked, 'Is it raining' that I realized, to my wild-eyed surprise that it was indeed raining. I remember thinking that it was an odd coincidence; the kind that makes you wonder if the Zen Buddhists might be mistaken in their belief that it's all random events.

However, rain or not, I would not be brought down. Not this day. This day I would keep the chin up and the upper lip stiff. The rain was just another reminder that the Universe has a perverse sense of humor.

Before heading home I decided to enjoy a late breakfast at New Day restaurant. I had the usual egg whites and spinach on a croissant. I ordered two coffees to go because I never forget Ms. Wonder. 

With a coffee in each hand, I tucked the bumpershoot--you remember the rain--underneath my arm and exited for the Hyundai and home. 

The sky looked a bit threatening but I was parked a short distance away. Then the first drop fell. It was one of those fat, splattering raindrops. My hands were full and the umbrella was tucked away but I figured I could walk between these infrequent sploshes.

Then it began to rain for real. Still, I wasn't concerned because I was halfway to the car. Then the sky opened up and the deluge dropped. I was soaked to the gills in seconds. I stood outside my car, trying to find my keys to open the door as bystanders stared and pointed at me with concerned looks on their faces.

It was nothing new of course. I'd been here several times before. It's even been much worse. At least the children aren't crying and hiding behind their mother's skirts.

The rain was cold and my clothes were leaking but as I drove away I remembered an old gag of Master Wen's back at the Zen Center of Houston, "There's more good than bad in any moment."

I still haven't decided if he's actually correct in that assessment but it warmed me up a bit to think of it.

Ride a Wild Wind

We had borscht for dinner last night. Ms Wonder said it was beet and sweet potato soup but I've lived in the vicinity of this old Russian soul long enough to recognize her MO. It may have had lentils and chickpeas mixed in with the cabbage and other members of the veggie kingdom but that was all subterfuge and misdirection. It was borscht alright. 

I don't blame the borscht for my sleepless night. I was already feeling the familiar sense of impending doom way before dinner. It was a feeling much like that felt by victims of lightning strikes just before the psychedelic brain waves. I haven't made a study of lightning strick victims but I've heard that such a feeling is common and I have no doubt that it's true.

"Something wrong?" asked the Wonder when I entered the boudoir amidst a tidal wave of cats.

"You need to ask, do you?"

"Qigong exam?" she said.

"No, not that," I said, "it's something that Amy Normal was talking about yesterday in Native Grounds. Vampire cats."

"Is that the band that covered that old Bob Dylan song? What is it, rainy day something?"

"No, not a musical group; actual furry cats but living an alternative lifestyle of vampires. Vampire cats! And what she said about them gave me quite a start."

"I wouldn't worry about it," she said. "Amy has a rich, varied, and vivid imagination."

"When you say Amy, are referring to Amy Normal, Native Grounds barista and Emergency Backup Mistress of the Greater South Durham Night, or do you mean the little princess that lives in my head?"

"I'm certain of it," she said, leaving me to guess the answer to my question. "Still, even though we know it's only an Amy thing, it couldn't have been pleasant for you to hear it. Poor baby."

I didn't like that last part--the bit about the baby but I let it go because this Wonder is a master of diversion and subterfuge.

"Oh, I took it in stride," I said, which wasn't exactly the case but one doesn't like to look weak when discussing life's slings and arrows with these Helen of Troy types.

"Wore the coat loosely?" she said.

"Like Peter Rabbit," I said.

"You made your escape?"

"A strategic retreat," I said, "following the example set by Napoleon."

"Ah," she said, "perfect analogy. You refer to Napoleon leaving Moscow."

"How do you mean?" I said, not getting the drift.

"Well," she said. "he had to steal a sleigh, commandeer a team of horses, and then hightail it through the snow-covered countryside in the dark of night with the Russian cavalry on his trail. He couldn't have enjoyed that either, now could he?"

"No, I suppose not," I said wondering where she was going with the Russian motif.

Ms Wonder often speaks the soothing word in season and by the time she finished the history lesson, I was feeling much better.  

Leaving the stable in the company of Wind Spirit and Quinn, I was singing along with the Andrews Sisters to their signature song, 'Hold Tight.' Princess Amy doesn't have a chance of keeping the mood in the lower registers when singing a song, which is amazingly subtitled, 'Want Some Seafood, Momma?' 

Little wonder that all things seemed to be coming up roses.

As I listened to the tunes, I felt an intense pang of joy but with a little investigation, I determined that it was only hypomania and no need to redecorate the house or change the wardrobe. 

By the time I entered Native Grounds, the bluebird was perched on my shoulder singing, if I remember correctly, an old Italian folk song.

 It's at times like these that I pity the people who don't want to ride a wild wind or to dance with the devil on a Saturday night. All they want is a careful garden that blossoms and withers according to season. But I'm not included in their number. 

No, the Genome is bent in a different direction. I like the storms that sweep away the everyday and get something new started. Makes me feel in touch with something greater than myself. Sooner or later, no matter how chaotic the present moment, Reason will return to her throne and all will be right with the world again.

Sometimes the best thing one can do is hold tight and wait for the gale to peter out. 

Now I know what you're thinking. What's all this got to do with vampire cats? Nothing. But what's it matter? The point is that we can never know where life is headed, and we aren't in control of outcomes. Instead of fretting about it; better to let be what will be. Que sera sera and all that.