Popping Off

You will remember from a previous post that yesterday morning I battled a large banner (a sort of flexible, vinyl sign)  that had escaped its moorings and attacked me in the street near Brunswick Forest Boulevard. Of course, the story doesn't end there. Stories never do.

You will also remember that my morning salutations generally include a little qigong and taiji but never is there any reason for kung fu. However, yesterday morning, after the confrontation with the banner, that ancient martial art from the Wudang mountains of central China, did pop up, not unlike the way the demon king pops up from a trap door in a Thai water opera. And on this occasion, it was in front of the Lowe's Food's dairy case, of all places. I know!

Before coming back home, you see, I stopped at the grocers for milk. I was the only person in front of the dairy counter until Mutt and Jeff showed up. Now, those two characters were of the type that I call coastal yokels. I'm not going to explain that and I doubt you'll be able to find an explanation on Wikipedia. You can fill in the blanks or simply take it at face value. 

Mutt and Jeff ignored me searching for lactose-free milk and walked right up to the glass doors of the display case until their noses were inches from the glass. After about a minute, Mutt held the door open with his shoulder and the two of them moved even closer to the milk cartons. They were involved in a conversation that went something like this--I can't do the dialect, of course:

"Mmbuhmum, babba, gum," said Jeff.

"Ah bema ambit boh," replied Mutt.

Princess Amy and I endured a minute or two of this drivel but she was becoming more anxious with each passing second. She began to hop about from one foot to the other and then began waving her hands about. 

When she began shouting, Off with their heads! I tried calming her but the more I tried, the more belligerent she became. She opened a bottle of something that smelled pretty foul and poured it into my bloodstream. 

Well, what was I to do? I had to act. I thought that if I let her see me take some action, even a smidgen, she might calm down long enough for me to work out the details in a reasonable manner. But the only chance this tactic had of working depended on my making it just a little righteous.

I said in a voice that, looking back on it now, was perhaps a little too loud and was phrased with a goodish bit of topspin, "Don't just stand there with the door open!"

The two gave me a startled look as though seeing me for the first time. They may have thought me the spirit of their deceased grandfather or other because they let the door close without a word.

I now had Amy's attention along with Mutt's and Jeff's, which made the whole thing much too awkward to stop now.

"Have you made your selection?" I demanded and I'll tell you why I chose those words. You see these coastal yokel types expect to hear something along the lines of, You found your milk yet? When they hear something like, Have you made your selection, they think they're in the presence of the elite. And the result of it all is, they don't like it. So I was rubbing it in a little.

Jeff looked at Mutt and they replied in unison, "No."

"Well, step back and let me get my milk, please. Then you can take all the time you want."

Now, I want you to know that I expected some pushback from the two. But having closed the door with no objection, they continued in the same vein and stepped back from the dairy case. This was too easy. 

As I stepped up the door, I had second thoughts about the wisdom of having my back to them but my martial arts training told me that these two were not going to be trouble. Besides, turning my back completely implied that I considered them no more than the idle wind, which I respect not.

I retrieved my milk, closed the door, and gave them a stern look as I walked away. I believe if I had shouted, Drop and give me twenty, they would have complied.

Walking away, my conscience told me that this little episode represented a slip in my bipolar recovery, and I would have to make amends for it. But Princess Amy had stopped jumping around and her temperature was dropping from incandescent to moderate. She obviously approved of my handling of the situation. 

My feelings of the whole shebang were a mixture of mild regret caused by my back-sliding and something close to being pretty damn full of myself. I've still got it! about summed up my guilty indulgence.

Let me be perfectly clear; I'm not recommending that you follow my example. I highly recommend that you follow the middle way as described by the Buddha. But no matter what choice you make, be true to yourself and be kind to others.

Take It Easy

I was a new college student, something I had never imagined I might be, and yet here I was walking across campus to join some new friends for lunch. I was almost drunk with excitement. 

I’d lived my life up to now thinking that I was defective somehow and that I’d never have the opportunities that seemed to come effortlessly to others. I was convinced that I simply didn’t deserve the good things in life. It was just the way things were. Nothing to be done about it.

And yet, in the last few weeks of high school, I was surprised to learn that some of the people I’d known for 12 years actually thought of me as a friend. I still remember the shock—a joyful shock to be sure—when one of them told me that a small group was driving up to state college over the weekend and suggested that I join them. 

I did. 

A few months later, I was enrolled in university and had a part-time job in the local hospital. On this particular beautiful morning, I was walking across the mall thinking about how my life had turned around. I had a bright future as a medical research assistant—my dream job—and I was going to meet my new-found friends in the student union where we would share the excitement of new lives that included a future that would be bright and blissful. How could it not be, right?

The mall was a beautiful park-like setting in the center of campus, with meandering walkways shaded by gigantic oak trees. Walking underneath the oaks, I could hear drops of rain from the recent shower, as they fell from one leaf to the next with a wet plop, plop, plop. 

There was another sound too, slightly different from the sound of splattering raindrops. This sound was not so much plop as plip and it was followed quickly by plip, plip. I recognized the sound as that of acorns falling through the leafy canopy. 

The oaks were full of squirrels gathering acorns and occasionally one of the nuts would fall. I refer to the acorns, not the squirrels. Most of the dropped nuts would hit a tree limb and be deflected through the branches but some of them fell directly to the ground, not striking tree limbs, and those would fall hard and fast, hitting the ground with a solid thump.

I paid little attention to the plops and plips because I was caught up in thoughts of the future—the immediate future in the campus cafe and the glorious future in research labs finding the cure for cancer and any other malady that happened to get in my way. 

Then suddenly, out of the blue--thwack! 

A few days before, in my physics class, we had discussed Noh's scale of hardness, the standard method for determining the hardness of one object relative to another. You may remember that diamond is the hardest natural substance and is rated 10. The softest is talc and it’s rated 1. Most of the hard things we encounter in the world are rated 7. 

I don't know for sure where the outer shell of an acorn would fall on the Noh's scale--I'd guess a 6 maybe. But I can tell you that when an acorn falls from lofty heights and hits you squarely on the topknot, you forget about the future and pay intense attention to the here and now. Thwack! It hurts! The eyes fill with tears.

Now, given how happy I was at the instant just before that acorn arrived—my mood must have registered a 10 surely--you might expect my mood to fall to level 7 or possibly even 6. But you would be wrong. 

Just like that acorn that fell without anything slowing it, my mood fell directly into the basement. In an instant, expectations for that bright future were replaced with storm clouds. I would never be happy--never!

I didn't join my friends in the cafe. I couldn't face them, loser that I felt I was. I went back to my dorm room, a little cell that looked out over a parking lot, and sat there on my bed thinking that I should drop out of school and then what? I didn't really know. None of the ideas that came to mind seemed feasible. I wanted to disappear, to cease to exist.

If you can identify with that kind of drastic mood swing, then you probably already know something about the effects of run-away emotions. You've probably experienced times when your emotions got in the way of your intentions. Like the cat in the adage, letting I dare not wait upon I would.

It's not easy overcoming feelings like those described above but it can be done. There are no secrets and no "hacks." 

Fundamentally, it's all about paying attention to the feelings in my body and then persistently, even fiercely, practicing the principles that work to make us feel better, even when we don't "feel" like working them.

I refer to this persistent, stubborn commitment to my emotional recovery as Fierce Qigong. Overcoming emotional roadblocks requires fierceness because, just like that acorn, life comes hard and fast.

Join me, please. No matter whether you need some help coping with everyday life, or you simply wonder what I'm up to. When you read my blog posts, you're helping me with my recovery. If you have questions about anything I write about, please leave a question or comment. I really enjoy hearing from you.

I'm Out There, Jerry!

I'm writing a book in which I describe precisely how I have managed to recover from the catastrophe of mood disorder without the use of mood-stabilizing drugs. I'm convinced that the techniques I use will work for anyone willing to use them.

I'm one of the almost 70% of people for whom the drugs just don't work. Through my own efforts to regain control of my life, I have learned that we just don't need drugs to live stable, productive lives.

The problem for me is that I don't know how to write a book. I'm not new to writing, however. I've had more than 80 non-fiction articles published in magazines and newspapers, none of them related to mood disorders. I know how to organize and present information--but only in the short format of magazine and newspaper articles. 

I've found that writing a book is very different. The book I'm writing is a short one but it's still much longer than the 2500 words I write for periodicals. I've been working, on and off, on this book for longer than I care to admit--years--and the draft still isn't complete.

I've learned from past experience to do what others do to overcome similar problems. Sticking with the winners I call it. I recently read Austin Kleon's book, Show Your Work. I highly recommend it to any creative type who struggles to get work noticed.

In that wonderful, little book, Mr. Kleon suggests that if we're in the middle of a project, it's helpful to share through social media about our methods or works in progress. He suggests that we share imperfect and unfinished work that we want feedback on.

"The act of sharing is one of generosity," he says, "you're putting something out there because you think it might be helpful or entertaining to someone on the other side of the screen."

He quotes Bobby Solomon, the man behind The Fox is Black, who said, "Put yourself, and your work, out there every day, and you'll start meeting some amazing people."

This idea frightens me a little. Still, Austin Kleon is someone that I consider a winner, so I've decided to follow his advice and start showing what I've got.

All this talk of "being out there" reminds me of a Seinfeld episode in which Kramer decides that jockey shorts are too confining and boxer shorts are too baggy. 

Well, that leaves only one option, of course, and Jerry, shocked at Kramer's decision says, "Oh no! Tell me it isn't so." 

Kramer responds by saying, "Oh, it's so. I'm out there, Jerry, and I'm loving every minute of it!"

So, with this blog post, I'm announcing that I'm out there!

Hard Like Water

I found her at the cafe table where I'd left her only minutes before.

"Lupe," I said. "I'm so glad you haven't left."

And I was too. You see, we'd finished that conversation which is now the gist of the last post and I'd shared my advice about wooden nickles and ankled away. Then I remembered the real reason I'd come looking for her in the first place.

Adorable Vectors by Vecteezy

"Still here," she said, "but If you have a long story, it will have to wait until our next appointment. I'm meeting friends in the Castle Street Arts District."

"You'll have time for me, you young geezer," I said. The remark was made in the warmest, most loving way of course.

"Walk and talk," she said getting up from the cafe table and heading uptown.

"What's happening on Castle Street?" I asked.

"No time for that now," she said. "You'll have to wait for tomorrow's Star News and read about it there."

"Big stuff," I said and was about to muse on it but she came to an abrupt stop, looked me in the eye, and said, "Talk."

"Ah, right," I said. "I need some advice about changes I want to make in my life. I've been struggling..."

"I know," she said.

"I practice all my power principles and yet I seem to make no progress. I'm beginning to feel that I'm stuck in some wormhole or other. Or maybe I've crossed over the horizon boundary of a black hole or whatnot."

"Well, I know how much you like to compare your life to quantum fields," she said, "but you're wasting subspace energy looking there. Your problem is that you've forgotten Fierce Qigong."

"Mankiller!" I said coming to an abrupt stop. You've been around these parts long enough to know that when I use this former shrimp's surname I mean business and I want it to show.

"Never do I forget Fierce Qigong. It's my raison d'ette."

She came to an abrupt stop. It was looking like a big day for abrupt stops. She turned around and took two slow steps toward me. I knew she meant business.

"What is the foundation of Fierce Qigong?" she asked.

It was a rhetorical question, of course, but I had a strange feeling that we were about to get somewhere and I thought it best to play along.

"Fierce Qigong is founded on taiji chuan," I said.

"Chen style," she said.

"To be sure," I said.

"And what is the principal difference between taiji chuan and kung fu?" she said. "Or should I say, wushu?"

"Wushu or even sip pal gi in case any of my Korean masters hear of this conversation." 

"Genome! Put a sock in it! Back to the question; what's the difference between taiji and wushu?"

Well, checkmate, I thought. She'd done it again and with only two questions. Forget Sherlock Holmes, forget Jeeves; when this Lupe Louise Mankiller accepts an assignment her mysterious something works wonders.

"The difference is soft hands," I said. "Hands like water--soft and yielding and yet unstoppable; cutting through stone."

"Taking a relaxed approach," she said. "Never losing inner harmony. Performing the next best thing without striving and without planning the outcome."

"That's what I haven't been doing," I said.

"Rem acu tetigisti," she said.

"Fierce Qigong," I said. And I meant it too.

Running On Empty

As I drove up Castle Street this morning the murals on the sides of buildings gave me no joy. The Arts District was quiet at that early hour but all was confusion in my head. 

Did I mention that I felt like something the cat dragged in after a night of unusual circumstances? Well, now you have all the data describing the starting point so you can predict the rest.

I'd come to Cafe Luna expecting to find my 15-year-old godniece Lupe there. She'd said as much in a series of text messages I received this morning while preparing Uma's medications. I refer, of course, to Uma, Queen of Cats, and Empress of Chatsford. 

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 Cafe Luna 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 Cafe Luna 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 60's.

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 80's. 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 map. "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 into 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 Nickle 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 made 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, make 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 a good deal better than when I entered the cafe. The pain in the thumb was completely forgotten although my finger still smarted from the electrical shock.