Insider Tip

The moon, as I'm sure I don't need to tell you, is traveling around the earth at 2,288 miles an hour, and the Earth is traveling around the sun at a whopping 67,000 miles per hour, and in the process, the light of each day changes from about 9 hours on the winter solstice to around 15 hours in late June.

Up till now, I'd thought of all that as a few interesting facts. Now I see it as a significant contributor to my daily life. Let's slow it down, please! Not only is the available sunshine constantly changing, but the time I have left to enjoy this marvelous universe is evaporating at an alarming rate! It's like sand through the hourglass and so are the days of our lives. I'm not at all sure that I like where this is leading.

What I need, it seems to me is a place, and please let me know in the comments below if you think otherwise, a place where I can serenely contemplate the meaning of life, the universe, and everything.

Well, I've found that place...

On a secluded stretch of sandy shoreline, not far from Sunset Beach but far from the nearest public access point (a two-mile roundtrip), is a haven from the hectic pace of modern life, although the heavenly bodies are still up to a bit of no good.

The spot I'm talking about is a spot where time slows down. Nestled between the sand dunes you will find an unlikely whatnot. It's true; at the most remote end of Bird Island, there is a mailbox with a bench beside it.

The bench is there to allow you to relax and write your innermost thoughts, wishes, prayers, and dreams in one of the journals to be found inside the mailbox. I personally like to write small missives to loved ones who've left this planet to sleep among the stars.

Before I found the mailbox, I would stand on the beach at Ocean Isle and talk into the wind that's always rushing in from the Atlantic. But this spot on Bird Island is even better. When you've finished you simply place the journal back in the mailbox where you found it.

The Kindred Spirit Mailbox receives an untold number of visitors each year. It's featured in several local news stories and it was the subject of a CBS news special. Even one of Nicholas Sparks' novels, Every Breath, centered around Sunset Beach and the mailbox. 

Visitors come here to open their hearts, bare their souls, and take comfort from the serene surroundings provided by the undeveloped beach, the surf, and the calm horizon.

My innermost thought while at the beach was that no matter how old I am, my whole life is always ahead of me. Curious how that happens, don't you think? Do you suppose it's a random coincidence or is there meaning in it? No matter, the point I'm getting at is that it's important to get as much from each day as possible and for me, that means making happy memories.

If you're looking for a reliable way to make those memories, I've found that it helps to do some little something to make someone else's day a little brighter. When I remember to do that, my skies become bluer and my days are brighter--brighter inside that is. I think you'll find nothing more valuable in this life or the next.

But I'm straying from the path, as I often do, so let's get back on it and come to our happy ending. But before we do that, let me interject that coffee and music help to make happy memories even happier. If you're looking for coffee before or after the mailbox, look no further than Beach House Cafe on the mainland side of Sunset Beach. 

If you need music...first of all why have to journeyed into the wild without music? Never be without music, my friend. Remember, music will get you through times of no coffee, but coffee will never get you through times of no music. I suggest you read my post titled, Magic in the Music, but not now--finish this post first.

Insider Tip:

The serene walk from the last public access on Sunset Beach to Bird Island and the Kindred Spirit Mailbox is a two miles roundtrip and will give you time to reconnect with self and spirit. Bicycles are available for rent at Sunset Beach but, believe me, riding a bike in beach sand is everything you imagine it to be.

Learn some of the backstory in this archived article in Our State Magazine, written by Katie Quine.

You can learn some of the secrets of the mailbox in this brief CBS news clip:

Proceed With Caution

Ms. Wonder joined me for breakfast this morning and it bucked me up. I felt that this was the way to start a new year--having breakfast on a weekday morning with my alter ego. I knew she'd have something important to say and I was eager to hear it.

'I have a question for you,' she said.

'Let's hear it,' I said without hesitation because even though I knew the Q would be the gateway to some sage advice. Sage advice is something I don't get enough of.

'Are you happy?', she asked.

I admit the question took me by surprise. I wasn't sure what to make of it, but more to the point, I wasn't sure how to answer it. I mused with the intent of giving it mindful attention.

'Did you hear the question?' she said.

'I heard it,' I said, 'but it's not an easy question to answer. It requires careful thought.'

'It's an easy question.' she said. 'You're either happy or you're not.'

'Well, if it's so easy,' I said, 'what's your answer to the question? Are you happy?'

'No,' she said, 'but we're not talking about me. I asked you first. So what's your answer?'

'No, I'm not,' I said and I said it with some topspin.

'Why not?' she asked.

I didn't answer right away. Not because I was musing but because I wasn't sure how deep I wanted to go over breakfast. I finally decided to take it to the limit. One more time.

'Frankly,' I said, 'I'm pissed! There, I've said it. I don't like saying it and I know you don't like hearing it but nothing else says it quite as well.

'Rem acu tetigisti?' she said, remembering to stress the italics but why are you so highly peeved?'

'Why? You know why. I constantly struggle with Princess Amy mucking about with my emotions. It's maddening. Everyone keeps telling me to get help but the only help I find is the fleeting kind. I don't seem to make any real progress.

I meditate, I exercise, I perform qigong and taiji, I work with therapists, and each of them makes me feel better--temporarily. Then Amy tells her little Feagles to start randomly throwing switches on the neurotransmitters.'

'And what are you going to do about it?' she said.

'Do?' I said with a shrug. 'And very well done with that rem acu thing. How do you come up with these things?'

'It's a knack,' she said, 'but don't change the subject. What are you doing about your problems?'

'I'm working on my Evil Plan,' I said. 'That's what I'm doing.'

'Ah,' she said, 'but is working on the plan actually doing something about the problems?'

You're probably thinking to yourself right about now, that living with someone like this Wonder, who sees through the fog and cuts to the quick, may not be as easy as it first seems. Talk about holding you responsible. Talk about taking you to task when the task must be taken.

'I see now,' I said. 'I see what you're getting at. It's that old thing about taking action rather than thinking about it, isn't it?'

'That's right,' she said. 'And it seems to me that forming a plan may be important in the great scheme of things, but even more important is taking action.'

'But don't I need the plan before I take action?'

'I think not,' she said. 'New plans usually don't actually work very well and must be amended after some action or other has taken place. The planned events and results must be updated with the actuals.'

'And so taking action while I'm formulating a plan should result in a more efficient process--one feeds the other.'

'One informs the other,' she said.

'Yes,' I said, that's what I meant to say. It amazes me the way you can come up with these things on the spur of the moment.'

'And so what are you going to do?'

'I'm going to take action,' I said. 'I can't think of exactly what I'll do, off the top of my head, but I can tell you that I'm taking some sort of action.'

'It's not what you do that's most important.' she said, "Doing something--anything--is more important than what you actually do.'

'Didn't Wen The Eternally Surprised say that?'

'That's what you told me,' she said.

'Then stand back, Poopsie,' I said. 'I'm taking action and it just might get messy. Full speed ahead and damn the torpedos.'

'I'd suggest proceeding with caution,' she said but I was already pumped for action and her words were mere background noise.'

On the Road

"Someday I will find the right words and they will be simple."

"The only truth is music." 

~~ Jack Kerouac

I've never told this story before and after you read it, you'll know why it's remained untold until now. I'm telling it now only because I've just finished reading Jack Kerouac's On The Road, considered by many to be the best of American travel writing, and a book that made Kerouac an icon of the Beat Generation.

In his book, Kerouac writes, "I have lots of things to teach you now... concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don't worry. It's all like a dream."

I finished the book in my bedroom in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night near the window that looks out on a pine tree. Close enough to Kerouac's description to cause me to meditate on the words, "It's all like a dream."

You see, my own life seems very much dream-like. Kerouac described the feeling with these words: "The air was soft, the stars so fine, the promise of every cobbled alley so great, that I thought I was in a dream."

That's much the way I often feel and it makes me wonder if all the things I think I remember could have actually happened. Perhaps they are only a dream. According to Jack, nothing ever happened, so no need to even ask the question according to him.

As I mused on this subject, there on that cold winter moonlit night, I remembered an event from my childhood. That in itself isn't remarkable; I often remember childhood landmarks or dreams.  This one involved my old childhood pal who featured so strongly in the post titled, "Beans Up the Nose." If you haven't read it then you'll want to do just that but only after finishing this one, please.

That pal and I as I'm sure you remember had sworn an oath of loyalty, just as the knights of the Round Table, to a life-long search for the Holy Grail, or specifically, to following our own path and none other, just as the knights in their search for the grail. It was the same for Kerouac in On the Road.

Kerouac is recognized for his style of spontaneous prose, or so I'm told. And this best bud of mine and I were recognized if we were recognized at all, for our spontaneous compulsion to explore strange new worlds and to boldly go where we'd not gone before and to do so by forging new paths. 

Forgive my mixing thematic elements; I've jumped from Camelot to Star Trek. It's another of the traits, or faults, to be compared with Kerouac. I want to stop, really I do, but it's a struggle and I'm sure Jack struggled with too. If you have any suggestions that might help, please leave them in the comments below.

Our spontaneous compulsion mentioned above was the reason for our being out on a quiet winter morning when snow covered the ground gently and was not deep, and the prolonged cold spell had frozen the surface of the lake near Armstrong Bridge. We were suited up in woolen armor and were seeking what opportunities might be in store for a couple of adventurous boys. 

What fun it was to walk out onto the ice, far from shore, and see that familiar lakeside from a different vantage point. At just the right distance from shore, where the ice was just the right thickness, our body weight was just the right amount to cause a curvature in the surface of the ice--much like gravity causing the space-time continuum to bend--yeah like that.

At the point where all those just-rights converged, there was a loud report, and I don't mean a report as in a book review; I mean a big bang like a gunshot. We immediately stopped and stared at each other with a look that was not complete terror but with an expression that shouted a silent, "Mama!"

It's amazing how quickly the emotions change when the saber-toothed doesn't immediately leap out and eat you. In a second after that first report, we were no longer afraid but ecstatic. We were giddy with excitement as we stomped the ice harder and harder to hear the reverb of the crack, bang, boom echoing through the hills.

The loud noises, which is dope to teenaged boys, were quickly accompanied by spider-webs of shallow cracks that radiated from our spot on the ice toward the shoreline. What fun! Stomp! Stomp! Whoa!

Immediately following that last stomp, which my buddy made by leaping as high as his bundled body would allow, and coming down with both feet, there came a great surprise. The saber-toothed unexpectedly appeared and leaped. Metaphorically, of course! Not an actual tiger, you understand, but something just as frightening.

In short, my old pal disappeared beneath the surface, leaving a gaping hole and only his bogan (a type of hat commonly worn back in the day) floating on the surface to mark where he'd been moments before. Seconds later, he appeared flailing around and blaming me for the unfortunate event. 

By the way, if all that was just a dream, then it must have been a lucid one because I remember that bogan floating on the water like it was yesterday. Despite the predicament, I must admit that I didn't half laugh!

Now it was a serious situation, as I'm sure you agree. My friend would not have gotten out of that hole in the ice if he'd been alone. But he wasn't alone was he? I was Gallahad to his Gawain and he soon enough stood shivering on the surface of the ice. Did I mention that his Great Aunt lived about 100 yards from the lake? We ran all the way and he found salvation wrapped in a blanket in front of the fireplace in his aunt's living room. She promised not to tell his mother, which was another bit of cake for everyone concerned.

I wasn't aware at the time, that Kerouac had provided a neat summary for the day when he said, "There's nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about.... Because in the end, you won't remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn." And then he delivered the punchline, "So climb that goddamn mountain!"

With the current subject, we might say, Walk that frozen lake!

Even though I'd not yet read On the Road at the time my friend was drying the tissues in front of the fireplace and his great aunt had agreed not to tell his mom, I still had a vague awareness that I should have followed his lead. That's right! Consider that if I too had walked the lake and fallen below the surface, I would have found salvation in front of that same fire and my mother would never have known of the affair. Just think what a story that would be!

What, you're probably asking, would the end be with none around to pull us both out of the freezing water. I don't know the answer. None of us do really but Jack reminded us that, "It all ends in tears anyway."

When at last I put the book down, after reading the last paragraph on the last page, the first of his words to come floating up from the darkness of my mind were, "My whole wretched life swam before my weary eyes, and I realized no matter what you do it's bound to be a waste of time in the end and you might as well go mad."

I don't know why those words intrigued me so. Not because they're uplifting, right? No, not inspiring but surely something to think about. Something to consider. You see, in my case, I've already gone mad so there's no reason not to climb that goddamn mountain. Follow me closely here because I've jumped the rails again. I'm not talking about frozen lakes but about my Evil Plan to Dominate the World.

And right about now, you're probably saying to yourself that this entire post was merely my way of announcing that I'm back to work on the Evil Plan. And you're right. And why not? What's to lose? I'm going to let you answer that because I have work to do elsewhere and time's a'wasting. So in closing, I'll list a few more of the Kerouac quotes that seemed to speak to me in a personal way. That way you can piece it all together for yourself. Or not.

"There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars." 

"Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road." 

"Happiness consists in realizing it is all a great strange dream."

Bean Snorting

Sometimes things just don't work out the way we expect and when that happens we're thrown into the lurch, in much the same way riding the bicycle without hands for the first time brings us face to face with denizens of the roadside ditch.

Reminds me of the time I rode my bike down the ridge road without braking and wound up in the blackberry patch, but that's a story for another time. Today, I'd like to explore the way Life tempts us, with perfectly reasonable thinking, into doing something that causes the mood to collapse into a heap on the floor.

And please don't try to convince me that these trials are intended to enrich our lives by broadening the soul and imroving the action of the skin. I'm not buy it.

Here's an example from my childhood: the best friend of my formative years, when we were about eight years old, was no doubt enjoying a mindful morning in the kitchen when he noticed some uncooked beans lying on the counter. The beans were probably escapees from his mother's dinner plans.

It seems that one bean in particular appealed to him. If you've ever taken the beginners class in mindful meditation, then you understand the appeal. Think of the raison experiment. If you haven't had the pleasure of mindful instruction, then nevermind. 

This particular bean, as I mentioned, interested him strangely. As he noticed the smoothness of the surface, the quiet luster of the shell, and all the other physical characteristics--I'm guessing, of course--I haven't had the pleasue of being introduced to beans on an intimate level. No matter what appealed to my friend, this bean tempted him in strange ways.

Taking a line from the Buddha himself, he began to wonder how else he might experience the true nature of the bean. And so, as is often the case with these metaphorical searches for the holy grail, he decided to find out by following his own path.

First he picked up the bean between thumb and forefinger, is it forefinger? The correct names of the metatarsils elude me right now. At any rate, he rolled the bean in his fingers to appreciate its small size and light weight. Then he squeezed it to feel it's hardness. He pressed his tongue to the bean to accertain its taste.

Having exhausted almost everything he could think of to fully experience the bean, he did what any one of us might do in the circumstances. He inserted the bean into his nose.

What he found was that it wasn't an unpleasant experience at all. It made him feel the way Christopher Columbus must have felt when he finally reached land after sailing across the Atlantic, which is to say thankful that his hairbrained scheme had turned out OK after all.

What happened next is where the concept of a practical joking Universe comes into play. What may have prompted the action is open for debate but I think I know. You see, I'm familiar with the logic that concludes that if one alcoholic drink makes us feel better, then two will make us feel twice as good, and so on. Whether it was that logic or one similar, we may never know, but the next step for him was to push a second bean up the nostril.

You see where this is leading? When he remarked to his mother that he was breathing through one nostril only, she suddenly took on the role of the mother hen, clucking loudly, dancing from one foot to the other, and waving her wings about in a frantic display.

Before my little friend knew what was happening, he was in the emergency room of the local hospital with men in white coats pushing stainless steel tools up his nostrils. This was far from what he had expected, if he had expected anything at all, and it left him feeling that he could never trust the Universe to guide him again.

I know the feeling. Been there many times. You've probably been there too even if you don't want to admit it. It's not unusual for me to get angry when I find the Universe is toying with my emotions. And I can't afford to be angry. When I lose my temper, Princess Amy goes berserk. Have you seen the Will Smith movie, Wild Wild West? Amy is like that crazed villain at the controls of the gigantic mechanical spider and I'm the mechanical spider.

It's hard to get away from Amy's control. She points out every negative thing in life with a mind to ruin my serenity. I have to ignore the people and events around me. I can't watch critically acclaimed movies--too much bad behavior. Forget the news, in all its manifestations. And politics? Politics is the worst.

Being the target of a practical joke of universal scale is a recurring scenario for me. I try to change my life and I know that the only way to do that is by changing my attitude. Easier said than done. I heard recently that we can change everything about our life, the people, the playground, the playthings, but we can't change the most important thing--Fate.

I suppose that's true but I'm not one to accept things that I think are wrong and I think that human civilization has taken a wrong turn. Instead of a better world, we're creating a worse. I know it's not what anyone wants to hear and it's not something that I want to experience. And so I've decided that the only option I have is to live in a fantasy world of my own choosing. Will that work? Probably not but what have I got to lose? Despite my best thinking and best plans, I'll eventually end up in the emergency room with beans up my nose anyway.

Joy To All

There's a song that they sing when they take to the highway

A song that they sing when they take to the sea

-- James Taylor, Sweet Baby James

"Perfect timing," I said to the barista at the drive-through window of Port City Java. What I meant to imply with that short perfectly worded statement was that mine was the only car waiting for a cup of the hot and steaming.

"If you were here a few minutes ago, the line was backed up to the street," she said and I began to think that this might be my day after all. No waiting for coffee and that wonderful story that Mumps told me this morning had warmed the cockles of my heart--is it cockles? I was thinking, my oh my, what a wonderful day!

That was my first mistake. Not fierce qigong thinking at all. You see, it's that kind of magical thinking that sets us up for the big bang that the Universe always has in store for us. We lower our guard. We become complacent. We think we're on top of the world with a rainbow round our shoulders and then when we're not looking, the Universe jumps out from the alleyway, rips off the ginger whiskers, and in the blink of an eye all flesh is as grass, as the man said. I assume it was a man who said it since it comes that part of the bible we borrowed from the Hebrews.

But let's don't get into Isaiah 40:6 right now. It's not germane to our story and not nearly as exciting either. At least I think so and I hope you do too. So let's get back to it.

The coffee from this premier coffee brewer would have been worth the wait in a long line of cars, of course. Jah's Mercy I call it. And, as I noted, I didn't have to wait. Or did I? 

It just occurred to me that if I'd arrived earlier and waited in line to order, I'd still have gotten my coffee at a time before I actually got it. You get the idea. If I'd waited in line, I would have had my cup of steaming around Isaiah 40:7 but instead, I arrived after all the other customers were gone and my coffee was ready at Isaiah 40:10.

It's conundrums like this that make me question if we can ever really know anything for sure. We run around thinking that we know so very much and we're absolutely sure of what we know, aren't we? But studies have shown that what we think we know is really an illusion, and very often a delusion.

It's an alternate dimension that we live in for most of our waking hours. It's understandable that it should be that way. We've been taught by parents, school teachers, our peers, social media, et. al., that what everyone else accepts as real, is in fact reality. However, what someone else thinks is that someone's reality (maybe) but it certainly isn't yours or mine.

Reality comes in uncompromising and sometimes harsh truth. Reality isn't for the faint of heart, which may be why human beings developed the idea of an eternal reward waiting for us after we escape this uncompromising, harsh reality.

[There's] a song that they sing of their home in the sky

--J. Taylor

Still, it felt nice to know that I'd missed the long lines. And it actually was my day because it contained more good than bad--at that very moment. Just to be in this very moment is cause for joy when you examine it closely. What else are we sure of other than our life on this planet. There is nothing else. It's life--uncompromising or not--or nothing. And no matter what your age, you're fortunate to be here today. I've known the very young to go to sleep with the stars.

Does this thought make you uncomfortable? It should. But it should make you only uncomfortable enough to examine the mystery and majesty of being alive in this marvelous world.

[There's] A song that they sing of their home in the sky

Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep

But singing works just fine for me.

-- J.T.

And I'm happy with my lot--my share of the uncompromising--because I'm happy to be here and I've got Jah's mercy steaming in a paper cup. I'd like to have a little more sunshine and warmer temps--it is December after all. But I've got the words of Merle Haggard to shed a little light and keep me a little warmer...

I got plans of being' in a warmer town come summertime...

If we make it through December, we'll be fine.

--Merle Haggard, Make it Through December