the power.

the power that moves the hand to write.

i'm almost finished a memoire, the real story of my life, the whole package, all the incidents and adventures never told. what bothers me is that it's really not very long. how can that be, i ask myself (?) the real book, the complete story, the whole truth of my entire life, and it's hardly more than a friggin pamphlet! that is deeply troubling to me. i've always felt that my life is very important. i've always felt it is epic. frankly, i've always felt as though i was the centre of the universe. and yet, there it is: a pamphlet.

of course i'm exaggerating. but, were you ever so good at a sport that you were the go-to guy? were you ever that guy, (speaking as a guy,) who everyone passed the ball to until gradually, by virtue of injury and age, you ended up doing all the passing? have you ever had a girlfriend who hung on your every word and laughed at all your bad jokes? have you been that guy, (speaking as a guy,) so attractive until gradually you became someone she backed away from slowly in hopes that you would think it a naturally evolving nothingness?

i knew a guy once who was convinced that he was the reincarnation of jesus. he felt his life was that important. he did look a little like jesus, although i doubt that the son of god had a tattoo of a python on his neck, but maybe. i knew a guy once who was sure he could fly, but eventually discovered he was spectacularly mistaken. it can hurt when you find out how deluded you have been.

interestingly, many ancient sages have said that, if you sit alone long enough, you realize you are in fact the centre of the universe. you realize you are that important. only at that time, they said, you realize everyone else happens to be the centre of the universe as well. my life is epic, although apparently it has little to do with the incidents described on a page and everything to do with the power that moves the hand to write.

"what lies behind you and what lies in front of you pales in comparison to what lies inside you." ralph waldo emerson. (1802-1883)

Missy.

My dog, Missy, was a particularly large shaggy dog, for an Indian mutt. Many of the locals were scared of her simply because of her size, although she was really very gentle, except for when she'd bite people.

Missy was actually just a weee bit racist, didn't like Indians. That did present a problem since we were, of course, in India. The problem was that she had been abused as a puppy. Her original owners were my landlords, not the most sensitive or loving people I'd ever met. One day, when they were hitting Missy, I just grabbed the rope and announced that henceforth she was my dog. She would go everywhere with me. Sometimes I'd even carry her onto the roof of a bus and we'd sit up there together all the way through the mountains.

Missy had been spayed but, unfortunately, she could still go into heat. The vet botched the operation. It may not have been his fault, exactly, since the power went out right in the middle of the operation and I had to hold a flashlight while he continued. Ever afterward, about three times a year, Missy would create quite a ruckus in the neighborhood. The local dogs would go berserk with desire. She was safe in my courtyard, although we could hear the fighting going on continuously right outside. I could see paws reaching in under the door as if trying in desperation to grab her. When I took Missy for walks at that time, she was quite happy for me to put her on a leash, and I carried a big stick to wave off the other dogs. We would often jump in a scooter-rickshaw and speed to a different valley, to get away from the pack, until another pack would begin to form.

Missy was completely uninterested in having intimate relations with any of the dogs in the area... except for one. I came to know eventually that Missy was terribly in love with one and only one of those cadaverous-looking, carnivorous canine creatures. She had a fancy for the smallest, scrawniest of the lot. She liked the one that was kind of a mix between a chihuahua and a gerbil. For some reason Missy always played only with that dog, liked to hang out with that one and, when in heat, she would cry for only him.

Well, I loved Missy and Missy loved that little fellow. So I arranged for the two of them to spend some quality time together even while Missy was in her hotness. The three of us would jump in a scooter-rickshaw. Missy would keep her partner under some control by virtue of her more commanding size until we reached the next valley. It was not always a very comfortable drive for me, but once we got out of the vehicle they were free to work out the logistics themselves. They'd find themselves a small hill, Missy would back up to it while her partner went up onto it, and that was how they consumated their love. I admired the way Missy protected her undersized friend. She would not put up with him being bullied by the others.

One problem I had with her was the way she liked to sneak around the back of stalls in the market and steal a mouth-full of sweets. My biggest problem with her, however, was her nasty habit of taking the odd nip out of any old random Indian person who happened to be walking by. It wouldn't happen all the time, just some times. But, one time it was perfect. She bit our landlord's son, badly, the kid who had been most fond of hitting Missy when she was a puppy. He made a big point of instructing me to watch her for rabies during the next ten days.

About four or five days later, as I passed his door, I called out to him in Hindi. All I said was "the dog." He looked over at me as I made a motion to indicate the dog was frothing at the mouth. His eyes went wide, all color drained from his face as I continued on my way laughing happily.        

free-falling.

"my wife was afraid of the dark. then she saw me naked, and now she's afraid of the light." rodney dangerfield.

imagine getting to the place in your life when teeth just fall out, for no reason. that's where i'm at. one of my few remaining chiclets just fell right out into my hand. and it wasn't the first time. yes, it's happened before. that's ok. there was no pain at all. but, if you think about it, why was there no pain? why the heck was there no pain? the tooth was glued back in, no problem.

so that's where i'm at in my life. teeth just fall out into my hand and there's no pain at all. they're simply glued back into place, i put on a nice shirt and i look like a normal human. of course, most everyone can imagine getting to that place in ones life. those that can't imagine it are almost certainly not reading this blog. they're too busy being wonderful. but, they will get there, or here, all in good time. and when they do, they will sit down and ask themselves, as i have, one very important question: what must i do to remain happy as i become less and less wonderful?

my favourite scene from 'comedians in cars getting coffee' is when jerry seinfeld was driving ricky gervais around in a small british sports-car at high speed. ricky gervais was terrified, which seinfeld was finding incredibly funny. at one point, seinfeld asks: "do you think we look gay?." gervais responds: "it doesn't matter. it just doesn't matter. it's like when you're jumping tandem out of a plane. you and your instructor are holding onto each other tightly and you're praying that the parachute opens. it just doesn't matter that you look gay."

i've read, heard and/or sat with some of the greatest spiritual masters of our time. but, really, i cannot remember the human condition ever being summed up better than that. ancient sages of the far east devised an intregal system consisting of eight limbs. the buddha talked about four noble truths. patanjali wrote down 196 aphorisms. my uncle morris drank a twelve-pack every night. but, i suspect that what may help is simply understanding that it just doesn't matter.

well, that's something wonderful to chew on anyway.