Jesse the Bear

Life is a struggle. Life comes hard and fast and often takes us by surprise. I think of daily life as Jesse the Bear.

Jesse is a fictional bear that attacked one of the characters in a TV show from the 90's called Northern Exposure. The bear had assumed mythical status in the mind of Holling, the character who survived the attack. Holling lived with the memory of that attack in his mind every day and to him, the bear Jesse was waiting for him--everywhere.

My own personal Jesse was born on the grounds of our elementary school when the class bully would wait for me every morning before class.

He would sneak up behind me, throw me to the ground, and then sit on me. Then he'd shove a handful of pine needles in my face and demand that I eat them to be allowed to get up.

Many of my classmates would be nearby witnessing my humiliation and embarrassment. But no matter how my attacker taunted me and even punched me, I refused to open my mouth. I may have been physically and emotionally bruised but I maintained at least a little dignity by not giving in to his demands. It was the only means of resistance available to me.

The experience instilled in me an attitude of defiance and a fierce determination to resist and often fight to defend what seemed fair and right. It gave me a motto for living life on life's terms:

I will not eat pine needles!

Later when alcoholism and addiction beat me down, it was that willingness to fight back that led to my recovery. I would undoubtedly be dead now without the support of Alcoholics Anonymous. But I was still humiliated and angry due to the loss of almost everything important to me.

I was filled with anger and it would have brought me right back into the limitations of addiction if I had not had an outlet for my anger. I found that outlet when I discovered that many of my problems were due to a mental health disorder. 

Princess Amy is the personification of my diagnosis: Bipolar Disorder II, mixed state, rapid cycling. She has given me someone to fight against. She has become my personal Jesse the Bear.

No matter what Life throws at me, I intend to refuse to eat pine needles and fight back in any I can. In fact, when the whistle blows and it's my time to clock out and sleep with the stars, I fully expect to go out like Butch and Sundance. If not a hail of actual bullets, then:

a hail of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 

freeze-frame, 

roll the credits.

Stormy Weather

The morning began as one that could go either way. After the first cup of Jah's mercy, I might feel like singing zip-a-dee-do-dah or I might feel like singing Stormy Weather. I was considering how I should begin the day when Ms. Wonder came into the kitchen looking for her cup.

"I suppose you're going to Southport today," she said.

"Not Southport," I said, "Brunswick Forest."

"Not Southport?" she said. "I thought you'd be chasing the film crew making that new movie. What's its name? The Problem in Providence?"

"The name is The Problem With Providence not to be confused with A Problem With Providence, which is another movie in production right now, but not in Southport. And if you want my opinion, many people are going to confuse the two movies from now until the final Big Bang, which is expected to occur, in case you haven't heard, sometime in 2025."

"Why did you change your mind, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I decided that today would be better spent chasing the Creature of the Blank Lagoon."

"Oh my God!" she said. "I thought you'd given up that looney idea of finding a lake monster. Have you forgotten the time wasted last year looking for, what did you call it, Jordie?"

"First of all," I said. "It's not a monster, it's a creature. Surely you remember Lupe's argument that it's probably a mother taking care of a brood of youngsters. And secondly, it's technically a cryptid, and cryptids are found all over the world."

"They aren't found all over the world," she said. "They're reported by people who get their kicks by making silly claims."

"Cryptids are everywhere in the space-time continuum, Poopsie. You have your Yeti in the Himalayas; Sasquatch in the Pacific rain forests; Chupacabra; Nessie; the Kraken; and what about Unicorns; Pegasus; the Minotaur?"

"You're confusing the subject again," she said. "You're mixing legend, myth, and who knows what else."

"Even here in the Carolinas we have Normie in Lake Norman," I said.

"Again," she said, "more claims that have been exaggerated. In the case of Normie, the stories are used to market the Normie Lake Tours."

"Cryptids are nothing more than creatures that naturalists consider impossible or extremely unlikely," I said. "I personally have no trouble allowing for the possibility that such creatures exist because I consider human beings to be impossible and extremely unlikely to exist."

I expected the last remark to give me the edge in the debate because I thought the crack about humans to be an excellent talking point and impossible to disprove. Is disprove the word? I expected her to be nonplussed and she didn't immediately speak but to my surprise, she gave me one of those disapproving looks.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence and I felt compelled to continue speaking. When I have the floor, I tend to keep talking. It's usually a tactic that I later regret but somehow I can't seem to stop myself.

"Ms. Wonder," I said, "my thoughts about humans aside, I have another reason to think there may be truth in many of the stories. I found evidence of one in Lake Jordan. 

You remember that surely. I never actually saw it steadily or whole, however, I uncovered plenty of evidence to satisfy me that the creature I call Jordie is real."

"Not actual evidence," she said.

"A very reliable source claimed to have seen them on several occasions," I said. "That's right; my source saw two of them; probably a breeding pair. 

I realize that the nay-sayers found fault with all my evidence. They went so far as to suggest that the footprints I photographed in the mud flats were simply dog prints that had been enlarged by rain. Dog prints! 

They claimed the wallows I found in the tall grass were formed by the wind. Even my photograph of her feeding in the morning fog was presumed to be a maintenance station for a gas pipeline.

A gas pipeline, Wonder! Have you ever heard anything so absurd? Well, I'm going to change all that. Remember the wallows we found on the banks of River Brunswick last summer?"

"Those were swirls caused by eddies in the tidal flow," she said.

"Swirls, my beret, Wonder! Those are bedding areas. The creatures come out at night to feed along the banks of the river. Everyone knows that! I've found more of them in the lagoons of Brunswick and there are no tidal eddies in the lagoons."

She sighed deeply and the look that crossed her face now was one of defeat. Somehow it made me feel bad winning an argument in this way. I felt that the Genome logic had overwhelmed her. I didn't like it.

"I've heard enough and I need to get back to work," she said, "but tell me honestly, you don't really believe these creatures exist, right?"

And so with that question, I realized that this was one of those situations that require looking deep into the soul and coming up with the right answer. 

The universe is a mysterious master, and it's impossible to completely understand it. I looked deep and found the answer. It was my turn to sigh deeply.

"Remember that conversation we had when you asked if I was ever happy? Well, having something fun to write about each day helps to lift my mood up above the clouds to the heavenly heights where mockingbirds sing."

I paused and savored for one more moment that feeling of having faced one's detractors and come out on top.

"So what if I look for cryptids in lagoons, and mythological creatures in the sewers of my mind, or film crews on the Carolina coast? It may not always elevate me above the happy threshold but it gets me closer than I'd be otherwise."

"Ah," she said. "Thank you for your candor and with that understanding, as far as I'm concerned, you can look for lagoon creatures until your eyes bubble."

"Thank you, Poopsie," I said.

"Not at all," she said.

"Fierce Qigong, Poopsie," I said.

"Fierce Qigong," she said.

I'll Be Here When the Morning Comes

Life comes hard and fast and I don't know about you, but it sometimes takes me completely by surprise. I still remember exactly where I was and what I was doing back in the day, when Steven Hawking, The Most Brilliant Physicist in the World, admitted that black holes don't exist. You could have knocked me down with a feather. I mean just what the hell are we to do now? It's another blatant example of one damned thing after another.

Sifu Abbie Hoffman

The cat Abbie Hoffman is just as concerned as I am about the chaos and absurdities of life. He's with me now on the desktop, sitting on my keyboard, and editing the work as I write. Even at this early hour, before dawn, we're fully dressed, he in his formal attire of white tie and tails, and I in my cargo pajamas. 

We make a good team and it makes me feel better to know that I'm not the only one who feels that the present circs are too tight for comfort. 

We were awakened this morning, like everyone else in the Renaissance District of the SoDu, at 10 minutes past 5:00 by the ubiquitous tornado warning. Like everyone else we rose, gathered up Ms. Wonder and the rest of the furry tribe, and bunged them all into the bathtub for safety. However why the bathtub seemed safe is something that escapes me. I try to remember the bilge we were taught in school about bathtubs and the only thing I remember is that Archimedes made that discovery, whatever it was, while playing with baking soda in the bath. 

We were told he shouted, "Eureka!" and danced around a good bit, flooding the floor and no doubt sending water out into the hallway. And we were supposed to believe that the excitement was caused because he'd discovered the principle of displacement. That's right, displacement. I know! Bathtubs were invented in ancient Egypt several BC's before Archie and we're supposed to believe that no one noticed displacement in all that time? Get real.

But let's get back to the present. What the national weather service picked up on radar was not a tornado but a wind vortex created by the Witch of Woodcroft to suck the sick spiritual energies from the environment and transform them into something good for society. No wonder the NWS is confused. The Witch of W. means well--she does, I don't deny it. But, well, her work sometimes results in unintended results.

Abbie Hoffman and I are working hard to put everything back in balance. As I sat back to admire my work, I noticed that he was staring out the window. Dawn is peeking timidly over the edge of the world in the far distance. No doubt she's unsure of what to expect from the weather, it being one of the dark and loud species of weather this morning. 

Apparently, Dawn puts little credence in the promise that "Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning." If she intends to continue in the role of Dawn, she's going to need some bucking up. We can't have the Sun without an appearance from Dawn to introduce him.

Abbie makes a little noise deep in his throat and I wonder if he shares some of my resentment toward the Sun for being absent when he's needed most. A fair-weather friend, the Sun, in my opinion. I'm happy to have that howler of a storm out of the way but I'm not sure that I'm ready to welcome the sun with open arms just yet. I forgive, really I do, but I don't do it quickly. 

Dawn and the other half of the sketch, the Sun, need to get their act together in my opinion. Abbie and I share that opinion.

The light suddenly became brighter in my office and Abbie jumped from the desktop to the chair near the window. He huddled down, making himself as small as possible in the way that cats do, and he peeked over the window sill. 

Sunlight was slowly working its way across the fields and woodlands from the east. The sun was smiling in that smug, self-satisfied way it has at the beginning of the day. It eased itself up the drive and began climbing the wall. Inch by inch, the light moved closer to my office window. At last it peered inside, still smiling, and softly entered the room.

It was exactly the Bruce Lee moment that Abbie was waiting for.

Abbie Hoffman, having recently been certified as a master of Taiji ch'uan, executed a beautiful single whip, if it was a single whip, and the Sun lay cowering on the floor while dawn fell backward onto the grass in front of the garage. 

Abbie looked down on her with lazy eyelids as though it were normal to see the dawn spread-eagled on the lawn. He turned an inquiring gaze toward me and I returned a look to say that I understood completely. 

It couldn't be helped. It was a thing that needed doing and he, with his impeccable credentials, was the man to do it.

While I was congratulating him on a job well done, I became aware that his attention was arrested, if that's the word, by a shimming light that illumined the center of the room. Abbie Hoffman was staring into that light with wild surmise--much like the one worn by stout Cortez and his men when they first glanced at the Pacific.

"Well," I said to the specter, "we know you're here. You might as well show yourself."

And with those words, a large face materialized in the center of the room. The features shimmered and glittered in the morning light. When he recognized who I was, he smiled sending little sparkles flashing around the room like tiny fireworks."

"I apologize for the intrusion," said the Sun.

"No need," I said, "it's not your fault nor ours. I credit all this ranygazoo to the Witch of Woodcroft."

Abbie concurred, or he mumbled something that seemed to indicate agreement with my assessment. He rarely disagrees with me. We march in lockstep most days.

"She's off the wagon again!" said the Sun. "I thought 30 days in rehab..."

"I think it will require something stronger than a 12-step program," I said. "But Abbie Hoffman and I have an idea and now that you're here, we no longer need to let 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would'."

"Who's Abbie Hoffman?" he said.

"The cat in the adage," I said nodding toward Abbie.

"Oh," said the Sun, but not with any real conviction. "Well, I suppose I should get back into the heavens. Lots of people expecting it."

"I suppose so," I said, "although I don't know why. So many millennia without missing a day. I'd think that the odds are in favor of taking a day off."

    

Get Real

Note to Self:

If you're like most people and aren't we all like most people when you get right down to it, then you haven't been experiencing much. 

Does it sound nonsensical? Well, think of it like this: Georgia O'Keeffe, when questioned about her detailed flower paintings, said that no one really sees a flower because to really see a flower takes time. 

Photography: Cathryn Jirlds Copyright 2008 - 2024

No doubt it does take time and not a little. But I'd like to add something, with apologies to Ms. O'Keeffe. To see a flower takes time and it requires paying attention to what you're looking at. 

Here's a little secret. If you're not paying attention to what's happening around you, then you aren't paying attention to your life. One day you'll find yourself wondering where all the time went. 

I see people who think they're taking the dog for a walk, but they're so involved in their phones that they are unaware of the dog's wants and needs. I see people with their young children in restaurants and other public places. The children are trying to get the parent's attention but the parents are lost in the virtual world of their digital device. The children's voices are in the background somewhere. 

Those children will grow up very quickly and one day the parents will remember little of their own children's childhoods.

If you want to really experience your life, you've got to spend some time paying attention. Stop living with that facade you show to everyone else and get to know who you really are. 

Simply stated, get real!

If you really want a life that you can appreciate, then you have to be present in that life and take some action to keep yourself on a path of total awareness.

Studies show that most people, the same people I was referring to in that first sentence, spend half their time caught up in the movies that play in their minds. It's as though they walk through a dark theater, unable to see the things and the people around them, and conscious only of the bright, attention-grabbing movie projected on the screen in their minds. 

How's that working out for you?

There is a zen saying that goes, "When chopping wood, just chop wood; when carrying water, just carry water." It's a good principle to live by. Pay attention to what you're actually doing and you will find that you not only do it better, you enjoy doing it more.

Lake Creature Probably

"Whenever I find myself slogging through a damp, drizzly winter of the soul," I said to Lupe in answer to her question at our morning rendevous in Cafe Luna.

"And especially," I continued, "whenever my hypo-manic episodes require a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to the seashore as soon as I can."

"Okay," she said," I get that, and I can understand that the top of your head sometimes comes unscrewed and you have to pop off to keep from exploding, but what's that have to do with lake creatures, or monsters, or whatever you call them?"

"Not popping off," I said, "getting seaside is recommended by 9 out of 10 Harley Street physicians. Of course, there are times when even the drive to Ocean Isle is too much for the depressed soul and I must satisfy what I'm convinced is the Genome ancestral water-lust with a smaller body of the stuff. Like the lagoons in Brunswick Forest."

"Could we continue this conversation another time? I just want to enjoy my cappuccino."

Before I could respond, she took advantage of still occupying the floor to get another shot in.

"And before we change the subject," she said, "let me remind you that every time you get manic about lake creatures, you get shot down by people who debunk all your so-called evidence. It's so painful to watch you crash and burn, Uncle Geno."

Some of you are probably thinking, Genome, was it wise to ignore Lupe's concern? If you are one of them, it's fine by me. Disagree until your eyes bubble is my opinion. I chose to continue laying out the facts.

"The Brunswick River is an offshoot of the Cape Fear River and it runs along the west bank of Eagle Island. It joins with the Cape Fear again at the southern tip of the island and then empties into the Intracoastal Waterway. In short, it's open to the entire Atlantic."

"But the Brunswick Forest lagoons are not connected to the river," she said. "Those bodies of water are land-locked."

"Lupe," I said, "those lagoons are just a hop and a skip from the riverwalk park in Navassa. If alligators can get from the river to those lagoons, and believe me alligators often do, then a larger creature has no trouble doing the same."

"I realize," I said, "that our lagoons are not the kinds of place you expect to find a legendary creature but neither is Lake Okanagan in central Canada. And yet, that same lake has been the site of several monster sightings for more than a century."

"Over-active imaginations," said the pint-sized naysayer.

""

"The reported evidence was so strong by 1926 that the
Canadian government announced that a new ferry would be
built for lake crossings equipped with special “monster
repelling devices."

I was so confident that my talking point was irrefutable that I raised my right eyebrow to challenge her for a rebuttal. This is a favorite tactic, I'm told, of Catherine II, popularly known as The Greatest. Lupe didn't accept the challenge.

"Yep, that’s right," I said. "Monster repelling devices".

"In July 1947, another mass sighting took place from boats that

 sat right down on the surface of the water, instead of the cars 

driving along the nearby highway. A Canadian postage stamp

was issued in 1990 with an artist's depiction of Ogopogo, the 

name given to the creature."

"The Canadian government has a healthy sense of humor," is

all she said. 

"Well, I'm not relying on eye-witness evidence this time," I 

said. You remember how I've been pining away for my old

familiar  surroundings of mathematics and computer 

algorithms?"

You're going to create a computer model?" she said.

 

"Better," I said. "You're familiar, I'm sure, with the 

mathematical functions based on quantum fluctuations that 

are used to generate probability density matrices for all sorts of 

things."

"Yeah, so?"

"Meteorologists use them," I said, "to predict the weather and 

military strategists use them to predict the threat level caused 

by regime change in North Korea. I once built one for the EPA 

that was used to determine the downstream risk to public 

health from groundwater contamination."

"I'm going to order another cappuccino," she said. "Trying to understand where you're going with this, I've let my coffee get cold."

"Lupe," I said, "I have to say that I'm extremely disappointed in you. I thought I'd get a better reception from you of all people. And not just because you're my god-neice but because you're usually interested in quantum physics."

"Ok," she said. "I'll play along. What's quantum about it?"

I've built an algorithm based on quantum fluctuations to generate a probability distribution, or the probability density, to help determine which lagoons have the highest likelihood for cryptid residence."

"That sounds like a mishmash of metaphors," she said.

"Is metaphors the right word," I said.

"Does it matter?" she said. "What do you plan to do with the results of this distribution function?"

"Well, I admit, you have me there. I thought about publishing it on my website but then I remembered that you suggested the creature may be a mother with a few youngsters to care for and we don't want to make her life any harder. When I have some results to share, I thought you and I could discuss it."

"Yes, please share it with me before you go public. I fear that if you already feel like knocking hats off the heads of strangers, then the response you get from publishing the results of your algorithm may just wormhole you into another dimension."

"Not the results of the algorithm," I said, "the results of the distribution function."

"Yeah, right," she said.