Alone, Do Not Disturb

 Part 19 of 30

There's Death In Them Thar Drawers

Who's the real men among us? Is it the foolish man always looking for a “night on the town” and experiences of the flesh up the yin-yang to the point of settling for sloppy seconds, thirds, fourths, perhaps twelfths (!) -- anything over 10 indicates a disturbance -- or the wise man going demurely to his room alone, declaring proudly that he’d rather not be disturbed?

I know the one I resonate with, Mr. Clean Living, Honest Abe, Ole Fraidy Cat, Everyone’s Friend, Nobody’s Sucka, Proudly Abstinent, Johnny Nothingseed, Chas Tity, For whom even cable TV’s a country mile too racy. Who needs something not quite as strong as the mint on the pillow. Who orders white milk and says “Make mine a double.” Who long ago forgot the only dirty joke he ever knew. Who wouldn’t know a boy from a girl without the dress or pants. Who climbs the walls just to keep in practice. Who double-locks doors against the temptations of others, not himself. Who orders vanilla pizza. And who when he craves a tight one means a chastity device.

If you want to be like me -- and there’s no one happier -- you start with the very common sense affirmation: “There’s death in them thar drawers!” Everything follows from that. Then you develop (cold turkey, so develop isn’t the right word) the ability for zero physical contact with any partner. And if you can manage that, it’s downhill from there. You’re a happy social outcast, no one wants to talk to you, etc. But there’s lot worse things. Take it from there and every temptation will be your sweetest enemy.

But of course you've got the power, you’re a sitting duck. 1) The power to resist, obviously; and, 2) the power to substitute joy for sorrow, turning your sorrow into joy, just like the Boy with the Midas Touch did with everything he touched, turning it into gold, giving him a whole new way of doing good, making gold and giving it to charity. For you now, when it’s the foolish "pride" of other guys to spring for a night on the town, then waste their night and their substance, you’re well refreshed, giving a pillow "the what-for," let’s say, while keeping your mind as pure as mother's milk.

Play your cards right and they’ll all be saying: “There’s death in them thar drawers, but that guy’s the first guy I’ve seen in like-forever whose drawers are a wonderful life all their own, no death, not a trace of death to his name, not even the barest whiff of sulfur. In fact, he walks by and smells like a garden from mythology, where everyone holds their heads high and greets one another with a smile and a hardy "How-de-do!"

Those Deadly Newspapers

Part 5 of 31

They Found Another Body

There’s always degrees of happiness and sadness in comparing your own life to that of someone else. It's not usually a good idea if you can help it. And usually we can't.

It used to be that neighborhoods had a lot of consistency, stability. The same neighbors there for decades; they just evolved in place from spores. Of course the kids always moved eventually, even if it was just to the attic. This is probably still true in little places where there's no market for houses and no one remembers why anyone ever moved there. In the Big City, though, people are coming and going at all hours, a different pickup truck every morning. Where the previous residents go, it's not always good to know.

The guy in the illustration is reading the newspaper just like I read it. Except I shake it a couple times to straighten it out before saying, "Hmm, another tragedy. They Just Found Another Body Somewhere." Lying in the woods, crushed by a train, hanging in a dump site, or tied in the ditch. But nothing is as common as finding someone in the river. It's weird how I did a lot of fishing in years gone by and never saw one body. I remember going fishing with my dad and there was zero trauma. Now you show up and the first thing you see, There's somebody! Even the fish are huddled on the beach waiting for the cops.

It spurs some thoughtfulness for the guy when another guy bites the dust from mistreatment by his shrew of a wife, henpecking him to such a horrible degree that in the end, that's the end. Then dot dot dot. A different day, it might've been different. They might've found him by the chimney flue of the outhouse at the state park, a terrible place to find someone when he's got to go. He should’ve taken her to court and divorced her when he had the chance, and I'm no fan of divorce. But it’s better than messing with state property, ruining our outhouses.

“Imagine that…” Indeed, imagine that. We can hear his tone of voice. We also see the signs of reflection on the henpecking wife's part, ‘Am I really that bad?” Yes, Missy, you shouldn’t have done it. Greg was working as hard as he could to provide this love nest for you, and this was the thanks he got... Normal talking and conversation along with being constructively critical, to a certain extent, as long as you have affirming solutions, is one thing. But if it's nothing more than nag, nag, nag, dragging him down, pointless criticism, never grateful, carping, sniping, never happy, always riding him, detracting, cutting, nitpicking, bristling, the voice of constant ire, nasty asides, throwing things, muttering under your breath, and of course complaining, that's what everyone hates, and one other thing we hate, having a brother having to live through it...

OK, the marriage was never that great. And now, after her unfortunate demise, the guest room's open for renters. You can read about it in the paper. But remember, the newspaper you read could be the newspaper that sinks you. And imagine the headline the next day. Avoid the news, you're always happier living in ignorance.

Warning: Cheer Up!

Part 29 of 30 -- Psycho Squad

Everywhere I go as a mental health guy — head of the local Psycho Squad — I share the same positive message of moral uplift, good cheer and behavior. Because for the most part I have the world’s greatest attitude, only so often what I get in return are folks looking back at me tough as nails, like they’d jump me in a second with a ready shiv. Yes, there’s a few cheerful ones. I try not to take all the credit, but I figure they’re also inherently mean but briefly piggybacking on my good cheer.

It’s amazing how many folks I run into in the course of a day. I take the dog out and there’s strangers everywhere, walking up or down the street. Serious question: Whatever happened to people walking on the sidewalk? Why are they always literally walking in the street? I have some theories on that, but when you’re in my business, you have theories on everything. Like my theory on squinting: I sometimes squint my eyes and seem to detect that people with psychotic tendencies often live in houses that appear to be melting. (A true result of squinting, and if verified it'd be a great tool for diagnoses.)

Really, it seems like I see more with my eyes squinting than wide open! I don’t know if there’s any relation to how you fix your eyes (open, closed, squinting) and the accuracy of discerning life's secrets. It’s an interesting theory. Maybe one of these years I’ll make a New Year’s resolution to squint my eyes more than ever and see what kind of year I have! It’d be interesting to squint your eyes in rush hour, because I believe I’d see a lot more accidents than otherwise. I seriously don't have the time for accidents and the nasty aftermath, but it'd be a great way to meet new people in distress.

I don’t know what you do for a living, but unless you’re with the police or bill collectors you don’t see as many sad (and mean) people as I do. To normal people, there’s nothing more fascinating than the Psycho Squad. I get a million questions from normal people, all asked with a big wide-eyed look of true interest on their sweet faces. The first thing normal kids want from me is to blow the siren. Which I can’t legally do, but if they promise real good not to report me I’ll blow it for a few seconds. Then there’s kids and adults who aren’t normal. Sensing me in the neighborhood, even without the siren, they duck down quickly inside their melting houses, trying to stay hidden from the light of day, and doing ... who knows what? There's so much squalor of their very dim, sun-deprived houses or apartments, it could be anything. It's bad for property values for sure, too much melting.

If you get a bunch of folks together — say someone's reported them for abnormal tendencies — and I show up, with a blank sheet of paper to take down their info, you have never seen a bunch of sadder pusses than the look on these folks! Grimaces! Frowning like concentrated evil, furrowed eyebrows, bald heads flushed pink with social disgust, really the whole gamut. What can I do but run ‘em in, and let the system sort ‘em out? Yes, I get it. They hate me. But I’m pursuing their ultimate happiness, and if they can prove they’re not a danger to themselves or others, and that can sometimes be a struggle, they can go back home. Folks, the answer’s easy: Put a nice smile on your face when I’m around or face the music.

They could duck down and hide when I go by, but somehow I’d still be drawn to them and they to me, and I’m not sure anyone will ever get away.

Pink Professor Couple Journeys Home

Of course I'm delirious with my good fortune to this point, having received back the missing piece of my soul, 7% of its total, lost in San Francisco in 1975. Then my delirium continued with my ecstatic reunion with The Pink Professor. To think we're back together again! ... My mind is totally blown! Then, as well, I've had the coolest, richest friend at my side, the billionaire! None of this could've happened without him, the financing alone would've staggered me. Cool dude! I'm about ready to explode if anything else cool happens; don't try me!

Everyone's looking at us -- me and Pink -- and wondering what's next? And how does the billionaire fit in this picture? Since, naturally, everyone thought that he and I would end up together; we've been joined at the hip all month, so that would've been a pretty good guess. Yeah, yeah, he's still in the picture -- I'll put all rumors to rest. He's still in the picture as a dear, dear friend. Who did for me so many things that blew my mind. The whole month's been a mind-blower!

I don't know what else I can say, though, without making everyone entirely jealous. Because I know, one guy's good news is a source of pain for everyone else. People would rather see you dead than think they themselves somehow missed out. How can this guy be so happy, while I sit here in my same old boring life, missing out on everything? I'm not going to ask for a show of hands, OK? Just know, I know that's how the world goes 'round. I've felt the daggers shooting my way since way back, like when the billionaire gave me the $2.1 billion. The cattiness I got, I shouldn't say anymore.

Let's face it, though, not everyone's going to live their lives in such a way as to please you. Still, I know, at some point I have to let this story subside into obscurity, because from your point of view, it's nothing but rubbing your face in it, if someone else is too fortunate. I get that, I took Psych 101. It's why you never hear much about the lives of billionaires. You may see in the paper that a billionaire donated money to a political candidate, but that's it. Where they live, what they do there, etc., the papers don't print that. They don't dare, or we'd cancel our subscription. The lives of quiet desperation we typically live, we don't want their good fortune to be an added burden.

With me, then -- in this story -- it was only adding insult to injury that barely anything went wrong. And that's what people want when they get their grubby paws on a story. A falling out, a sad ending, and for me, the hero, to slink away licking his wounds, to the general merriment of all, taking on myself the derision of my peers, one who aspired to heights above his abilities only to crash to earth according to the spirit of divine justice or karma. Since that didn't happen, What a trite story! I'm chuckling a little. A story like this can go that way, and for most of you that would've been satisfying. But what about me? Oh, I know, I committed the unforgivable sin of being so wealthy my success was guaranteed.

With that out of the way, allow me to continue---

We were so happy in San Francisco. The Pink Professor said goodbye to his underlings/students under the bridge. The billionaire spent close to $4 million tricking out The Pink Professor symbol on the blimp, adding my symbol to it, to portray my soul-completeness and the fact that we were wonderfully reunited, something to celebrate.

We headed for home, one of the world's first journeys of this sort where there was a crew of galley slaves and not a single man was lost. I was virtually certain a few of them at least would've gone AWOL in San Francisco, only to be found in a bathhouse. Am I right? I know if I were a galley slave reenactor and got a free ride to Frisco, I'd probably bale. The hell with diddling nothing but oars, am I right?

A little more happiness to lay on you: (If you're the extremely jealous type, don't read any further.) It's not in the picture, but the billionaire spent an additional $30 million, maybe $40 million, to rent 40 additional blimps (without galley slaves, which was cost-prohibitive) to accompany us as far as the Wyoming area. Also, he notified every biker bar between the coast and home to come out and wave at us. They know The Pink Professor; he's the sun, I'm the moon. And they definitely love him! So they're all out along our journey, throwing pretty petals high in the sky, a lovely sight.

I became so ecstatically happy, I had to go to my quarters, lie there and think, think, think about The Pink Professor, and thank my lucky stars, of which I saw quite a few.

Being Filthy Rich Is A Pleasure

I'll admit it, I freaked out yesterday, foolishly taking on myself the whole burden of disposing of the books from the book sale. I'm just used to my old life, where either I do it or it doesn't get done. But the problems I normally handle are small and a lot easier.

The billionaire came over and saw me sitting there, gnawing my fingernails to the quick, with a miserable look on my face, and asked what was going on. I explained my many predicaments, expecting some sympathy. But all he did was laugh his head off, having forgotten, he said, that I was such a newbie. At first it hurt to hear that, then I realized, I desperately need a second opinion.

He cleared it up in a second, "You don't need to worry about any of that! That's why we hire people, to do the actual work. Being filthy rich is supposed to be a pleasure. You don't see me weighed down like you are. We'll get some people in there for you right now. They'll hire other people, then step back and it'll manage itself." Just like that? Could it really be so simple? "Of course," he said, "that's what money's for."

And true to his word, he made one phone call and within the hour I had an actual company, staff, employees, and probably a loading dock somewhere, and I don't have a worry in the world. Basically it's a plug-in system. If I wanted to go and see what's going on, I could, but there's no particular reason why I should. Just let it go till everyone develops a routine. They'll not only take care of my current problems, they'll invest, diversify, and in no time, probably by this time tomorrow, I will have bought out an industry and be making a profit. I can't wait to see semis go by with my name on the side!

I should back up a bit. Remember the worm bedding plant in Alabama, with their strict rules, hesitating to receive my 300,000 books? The billionaire made a couple phone calls and I already own the company! Then there was all the business about interstate commerce, regulations on loads over 50 tons, etc.; the guys working for me have already worked it out, including procuring the train cars for transport and all the logistics. It's really easy when someone else does it!

They've also put together a panel of university professors -- just moonlighting -- to go through the books before they're gone, to pick out what they know I'll like. Someone scanned my existing library, authors and titles, and the professors, with computers and their own expertise, will make fast work of holding back what I would have wanted. Amazing.

That I want to see. If it's anything like I imagine, it'll be a smooth operation. But it's true: Why should I waste my time on it? Although, maybe I could get a few pointers, like if I want to thin out my library at home. I'm not hiring guys for everything ... there's still some things I want to do for myself. In addition to eating, sleeping, and brushing my teeth.

OK, lesson learned: "Being filthy rich is supposed to be a pleasure." I will live large. I'm going out for ice cream right now, and that's final.

Vigor Vivus -- Up From the Bed I Arose

I'm a big believer in Vigor Vivus. That's well known from my many writings on the subject. But even I forget, occasionally. Then something happens -- it's hard to explain the workings of the mind -- and I suddenly remember. And when I do, the effect is amazing, like Popeye with spinach; there's an instantaneous change. Like all at once a sudden shifting of everything. Think of a Rubik's Cube, twisted and hopeless, but in an instant solving itself. That's amazing, and a great time saver.

Recently, I've been even more hopeless than that, although to be honest I have been keeping up with my morning spiritual ablutions and, to the extent I've been able, my reading. Such things are food to body and soul. But as everyone knows, the daily grind tends to wear us down, and that fairly quickly. I have a list of things that need to be done, I set myself toward accomplishing it, and forget there's a whole other aspect of life, my personal self-interest, well-being.

So it's just like someone sets a ton of bricks on my back. Let's say the bricks are first on one shoulder, so I'm weighed down on that side. Then another ton of bricks are put on the other shoulder, balanced, of course, but still very uncomfortable. That's only two tons. Then another ton on my neck, with additional tons speedily piling up on every other part of me. So I'm completely weighed down, seemingly nothing left free. But think about it, there's plenty of room inside. So more tons of bricks everywhere, and by now it's apparently quite hopeless.

This state of being, so put upon, so weighed down, so lethargic in every way is just the opposite of the spirit of Vigor Vivus. We call this state Rigor Mortis, like with death. Finding myself in Rigor Mortis like that, I'm good for nothing. Yes, I'm going through the motions, but without the joy of it, immensely, tediously, hideously, frighteningly joyless. You ask me something, I appear to give you a decent enough answer. But listen more closely: There's a subtle droopy tone, betraying the answer of Rigor Mortis. My smile's even semi-crooked, my eyes are lifeless, glazed over, my puffy eyelids almost blotting out the light. You might see a blackhead. There's nothing left. If only I could drag myself to bed! Perchance to sleep, perchance to await the guys from the crematorium.

Here, then, is how it might happen, changing everything. I might see something simple, like two pictures showing a great contrast, a person like me, down in the mouth, weighed down. But the other picture shows someone with the opposite spirit, getting on famously with life, full of joy, happiness, and, yes, vigor. It quickly registers. Like the Bat Signal in the sky, they've got my number. And I suddenly have -- right in the center of my forehead somewhere -- the flash of two bold capital Vs, standing for ... Vigor Vivus!

Then, just as fast as the tons of bricks were dropped and received, my mental gears are grinding full blast. I refuse to accept the current state of affairs. I turn away Rigor Mortis cold turkey, just like that. There's no patch for my arm, no gum to chew for six months, no E-vapor Vigor Vivus to puff at till I'm cured or hooked in some other way. I remember -- and I wish I never forgot, although real life can obviously be a grind. And when I remember, please, "Would everyone here kindly step to the rear!" Because I'm going to be stomping, and singing something like Brünnhilde's battle cry, "Ho-jo-to-ho"! It's Vigor Vivus to the rescue!

Friends, I'm the world's biggest big mouth evangelist when it comes to Vigor Vivus. I know you're out there, you... And the same thing besets you. I'm not so special, I'm not unique. You've got it too, Rigor Mortis, a real farking drag, a major drain. Just like me, then, you too can have something better, a sense of life in all its rich glory, Vigor Vivus! Your attitude shifts. You see the victory of a renewed attitude, a shift in your spirit. And you're up -- you, yourself, you -- stomping it out! Vigor Vivus is now in your spirit!

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV, Ho-jo-to-ho!

The Forlorn Duck

If I may be so bold, Hello! -- Please don't hit me, I didn't mean anything by it. Please excuse the mood; it's getting kind of severe, this skittishness. . . . The thing is, I've been doing some fairly intense work on my identity, looking for certain aspects of my personality to put forward. I feel like I've sunk a lot in recent weeks -- I don't know why -- A lot of my former confidence and even joy have gone missing.

My self image right now's at its lowest. And the more I do -- the old stuff I used to do for maximum happiness -- doesn't have the same kick as before. I go to bed sad. I wake up in the night sad. And of course I greet the brand new day, pulling open the curtains to see the new day's sun, in a totally sad way. I've become what I never dreamed I'd be, The Forlorn Duck. That's what I'm calling myself, "FD" for short.

So if you've never liked me before -- it wouldn't be so hard to believe -- please like me now. This Forlorn Duck stuff is worse than you'd think. It's so bad, it's like the experts say, It's hard to get out of it. So part of me says, "Just give up and give in. Be the Forlorn Duck." Part of me counsels resistance, "Put up a good effort of resistance." Then the old me, the confident me, checks in before quickly checking out again, with this, "Stand your ground as the strong confident person you used to be. Gotta run!" My old me apparently doesn't know much about counseling. He needs to hang around a while and do some validating.

I go places, and I see other Forlorn Ducks, by the way not to be confused with Hangdogs or Sourpusses, although I don't want to get sidetracked on technicalities. I see all of them, but it's the Forlorn Ducks I'm interested in now. The biggest problem with Forlorn Ducks is our vulnerability to every little thing. If you know anything about "The Ladder of Easily Helpable Self Images", a chart which I'll scan and post if I can find it, then you know Forlorn Ducks tend to flock in the "Healthy below average" range.

Looking at it that way, it's not as discouraging as it could be. I really think I might be able to overcome enough of it to work my way into "Healthy average." Again, if you like me, then maybe give me even a little encouragement, and I just might make it. And here's something. Even if you don't like me, and don't give me encouragement, I might be able to convince myself that you would have if you knew me better. That theoretical statement could be enough to raise me a few rungs. (I don't know where the Ladder chart is right now; I'd love to double check it.)

I suppose while I'm in this FD funk I should learn as much about it as I can. I'm big into the science of self images and all. I believe this is true, that FD-types, while not desiring contact with other FDs, must have something like a DNA override, an internal attractor/reacher-outer, for mutual protection. And that's why I'm suddenly surrounded by FDs. I need to get out of this quickly, lest the override sticks in place. There's another reason for you to like me. I need your heartfelt consideration, but as I've seen in anguished Facebook pleas for liking, I know that only 2% of the non-FD population will respond. Thinking of that -- 2% is basically low -- it's hard to be encouraged. Yet I am still heartened that it's not less than zero, for where there's 2%, there's hope.

This is horrible! I just need to get a grip! I am more, much more than a Forlorn Duck! What's this? I feel something ... Muscles are returning to my arms? My shoulders and jaws are suddenly squaring up? My solar plexus is starting to flicker, then shine? My feet are widening? I'm standing solid? Yes -- what is this? -- I'm standing solid! One foot up, one down, one up, one down! I'm stomping! I'm stomping again, me! Stomping again! Stomping victoriously! Now I'm turning, twisting, moving in a circular motion, like a human tornado, a powerful whirling humanado, picking up steam and ... emitting a lot of wind. With confidence again! I'm moving with confidence! More, more, more! Pointing my index finger, like John Travolta in the '70s, with all negativity falling away like dominoes, all of it collapsing in a gigantic heap!

The Forlorn Duck has passed away! With this simple exercise, writing up an inventory, that's all it took. I'm already up a rung on the Ladder, all the way to "Healthy average"! With super strength, alive and kicking ... meaning, now I am able once again to help others ... with a renewed push toward healthy self images for all demanded of me! ... We're on the verge, my friends, of a new Drive for Pride!*

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*Drive for Pride was a major self-help series of this blog in 2009-2010, for those with a failing memory.

Celebrating My 85-Year Lifespan

I'm really glad I'm going to live another 24 years, having recently discovered that I won't die till I'm 85. It's better than I expected, frankly, since I've been somewhat lethargic, tired, and feeling dragged down. But this news has really perked me up, big time!

Of course my resolution is really to live it up and make the most of my remaining time. Especially now that I know it's so much; I've been worried for nothing, but that's all over. I've changed my attitudes completely. No more wishing it was yesterday or tomorrow or next week and unnecessarily worrying over the challenges of the day. What are they gonna do, kill me? Not if I'm guaranteed another 24 years! I actually should've lived smarter all along, since wishing your life away only spoils the now.

So from now on, I won't even celebrate holidays till they're here. Christmas tree up on Christmas. Like that. Even boring things I will enjoy -- although I won't allow them to go any longer than I can absolutely stomach. I will enjoy everything. If people are singing to me "Happy Birthday," I will look from person to person, making meaningful, soulful eye contact. And so on. I will not make a bucket list, because it wastes too much time. My bucket list will be everything cool I can get to, not rushing one thing for another.

I will only do good in life, because I don't want to be known for bad, and because if I did bad I would waste precious time regretting it. But as for the credit of doing good, I will allow some quiet savoring, but not too much. If people want to pat me on the back for something good, I will allow it until it seems like overkill. And I will be the judge on what constitutes overkill, and the judge's decision will be final. There's really no reason to dwell on the past to the point of overkill.

I guess you could say I'm going to live the next 24 years like a Zen Buddhist. Which I understand to be like this: Appreciating everything to such a mind-boggling appreciative extent that some would say goes from the sublime to the ridiculous. Picking up a handful of sand and arranging each tiny rock, or something ... I can do some of that. The key thing is to enjoy it, then not grasp as if to cling to it.

I think this really applies to flowers. All my previous 61 years, I've taken a glance at flowers and said, "Next!" But now will be different. In my remaining 24 years, each flower will be precious to me, like children of God. And grandchildren. Everything will be precious. I will even encourage people to catch and release fish. Or to not even catch them at all, just release them.

OK, I think you get the point. This is a "No Overkill Zone." I've no time to waste. I'm off to buy the prize turkey in the butcher's window. Then after a delicious meal I'll spend a little time seeking out newborn kittens.

I Saw a Milk Truck Today

The truck I saw was a lot newer than that, probably brand new. It was shiny and nice, the way milk trucks have to be kept. To see a dirty milk truck, that's barely imaginable.

But just to see a milk truck at all! You know how rare it is to see one. I probably see eight to ten in a year, and of course the high school's just over the way. Whether high school kids even drink milk these days, I don't know. Probably some do ... some don't ... like everything else.

I certainly don't see them pass the road right here in front of the house. That was the first one in a long time.

I probably should explain one other fact: I was right there at the road. It wasn't that I was inside and saw it through the window. The timing was such that it was freaky. I went to the road to get the newspaper just as the truck came by. Entirely different.

You can probably see where I'm going with this, the unusual nature of the truck coming by along with the fact that I was right at the road, less than 10 feet from the truck itself. I couldn't have planned it had I tried. I had no idea it was coming. Had I known, my morning would have been totally different. I would have been periodically checking the clock, etc., then hoping he wasn't early or late.

But as it was, I simply went to the road, entirely unexpecting of anything, and it came by.

The reason I like milk trucks no doubt has to do with the wholesome goodness of milk. It's one of my favorite drinks. I hate to pull rank on anyone, and my purpose in this is not to impress anyone -- far from it, why would I care? -- but I loved milk before it was cool. They started advertising it on TV 20 years ago, or something, and everyone jumped on the bandwagon. I was already there!

So couple the fact that I love milk with the fact that I love interesting trucks, especially when they're antiseptic and beautifully colored, and you'll see why this truck passing by was something of such interest. It would appeal to young and old, mostly children but many older folks, like myself.

And when you're not expecting it! But good grief, there it is, big as life, I couldn't have conjured up a better one if I tried -- isn't life great? It's just the sheer grace of the moment that gets me. Bowls me over. I'm so delighted by life today -- milk truck or no -- that were it to fall on top of me and crush me, I'd look for the blessing in it. You ever get that kind of day?

Have A Transcendent Merry Christmas

It's that time again, time for us to share our best wishes for Christmas to each one. As the song says, "It's the most wonderful day of the year."

That's something to think about, "The most wonderful day of the year." The buildup to it takes over a month, then you get to "the most wonderful day of the year," and it's suddenly over. As far as days go, just speaking for myself, I'm so hepped up by it that I could crash at any time. Because it seems like there's a thin line between enjoying "the most wonderful day of the year" and being completely depressed.

Ah, but we'll leave the pathological aspects of the holiday aside for the day. Like guns, there's no good time to talk about such things. Not with every merchant in the world just scraping by and depending on us to keep our spending up. I've done my part, both to support online merchants as well as the occasional brick and mortar guy. As the mouse in the psychological experiment knows, we must must must keep plodding along. Don't want the local scientist to be down in the mouth ... not at Christmas.

This year I'm liking the Christmas message you see above, which I didn't write but have adopted as my own. "We hope this season will transcend all of its predecessors in Real Happiness!" Undoubtedly, some blockhead came up with that. Because more normally, we hear "Have the Merriest of Christmases," or "the Best Christmas Ever." That's all our blockhead said, only in a more convoluted way.

On the plus side of it, I like the word "transcend" and "transcendent," which you hardly ever hear, even in church. In this case, though, the transcending, you could argue, isn't transcending in any kind of mystical way, but is only transcending previous Christmases. Still, it's fairly cool, if you can somehow top all the previous ones.

That's my hope for you, that when it comes to your Christmas, assuming there's a way truly to qualify all this year's predecessors and how transcendent they've been in relation to one another, that this one will transcend all of them in Real Happiness!

Whittier The Snowman

Finally, a Christmas character I can actually like, who brings the true joy of the season to all. No troubles, no conflict, he's simply happy. Whittier the Snowman.

I have to tell you, I'm really sick of conflict in Christmas shows. I was watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer the other day, and this is what I'm talking about. Rudolph is bullied by everyone from his father to the younger reindeer to Santa Claus himself! Bullied because of his red nose. I'm sick of it. I can understand the younger reindeer; they're idiots. But his dad? And Santa Claus? How terrible. Santa's supposed to be a good guy, not a bully. So Rudolph, along with his similarly rejected dentist friend, have to leave the compound and run away on their own.

The conflict doesn't stop there, of course. There's the Bumble (the Abominable), the Island of Misfit Toys, and Burl Ives shivering and about to catch his death. There's so much trouble, I'm more depressed after watching it than I was before. You only have to hope Christmas will be foggy every year, just so Santa won't be stupid enough to reject Rudolph again.

One of these shows is on TV right now as I write this, Santa Claus is Comin' to Town. I'm not watching it because I hate it passionately. I think that's the one where the town outlaws Christmas, or outlaws toys, or some such nonsense. Like the Republicans, they're violently opposed to common sense. So everyone's miserable, until something happens -- what I can't remember -- but it has a happy ending. I hate conflict. All I want, all I seriously desire at Christmas, is more or less a slice of life in some little Alpine village where everyone is absolutely happy, giving gifts, with no need to exchange because something's the wrong size. No one tries to outlaw anything everyone likes. It's the ending of Scrooge without the rest.

Frosty the Snowman was on a few days ago. I'm not crazy about this show either. A little because it's obvious they're just giving a stupid story to flesh out the song. But mostly because there's conflict in it. There's an evil magician (or whatever), then there's the kids' sadness with Frosty melting. But they deal with it creatively, in that "Christmas snow" can never remain melted. It comes back on Christmas Day, and as for Frosty, since just living on Christmas Day isn't much of a happy ending, he goes with Santa to live at the North Pole. Where, no doubt, Santa will bully him till he moves to Antarctica.

By the way, in Rudolph Santa also belittles the elves' song about filling Santa's shelves. He complains to Mama that he can't stand hearing that song, and that he wishes they'd all become dentists and run away so they'd finally leave him alone. And Mama's not exactly a benign character, since she's explicitly trying to fatten Santa up. In fact, he goes from thin to pants-poppingly fat in a quick cut from one scene to another. That's one dangerous wife!

Must we suffer everlasting conflict ... at Christmas time? It's even in the original Christmas Story itself, we have to suffer Herod trying to kill Jesus. It's a relief that Jesus grows up very fast and conquers the Roman Empire as His first official act. A hero I can admire.

Which brings us to another hero I can admire -- making two, Jesus and Whittier the Snowman.  But Whittier's story is even better than Jesus', because it has absolutely no conflict. Because your mind should be free and clear at the holidays, not having to put up with pain and anxiety.

Whittier's story goes like this. He's created one day by some happy children. He comes to life, and lives to a ripe old age and never dies. His age just gets riper all the time, but with no apparent aging. The people in his town share in his magnificent powers, living forever, or until Christmas is put away. Everyone is very very happy. Then spring comes and he melts -- happily, with no one mourning. All conflict is vanquished till after the holiday, at which point everyone's life gets back on track. See that? A happy story without conflict -- and I just read it again -- absolutely no contradictions to resolve.

America: Golden Age To The Rescue

One of my favorite patriotic songs is the old chestnut, virtually a standard by now, "America The Beautiful." I love it so much I'm actually standing as I write this.

It's the one that tells of "spacious skies," "amber waves of grain," "purple mountain majesties," and "the fruited plain." It gives me a real urge to go outside more, and I would if it weren't for mosquitoes.

You might remember all the verses, including this great one:

O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears.

America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea.

Over the years, I've been repulsed as I've heard critics tear into that verse. "Oh!" said they, wringing their hands as they hyperventilated in an overly literal and earnest stew, "That can't be right! That's blind idealism! Because we all know that our cities are not undimmed by human tears!" They would make the case that the cities were a cesspool of suffering, with nothing to recommend them. Then they'd spell it out: Crime, murder, strangulation, pickpockets, muggings, and sweatshops. With lots of human tears.

So, assuming there was some truth to that, the song told of something that was false. And so it went. Until now ... when, with the coming of THE GOLDEN AGE we can at long last now gladly announce, The song is true! There are no more human tears! It is the Golden Age!

Something happened, something apparently happened at a very deep level, to suddenly change the heart of man from evil to good. It's been prophesied, that's for sure, so there must have always been the potentiality for perfection in us. I believe there was! But the fact that it happened just like that, and mankind as a whole turned on a dime, in an instant, is the amazing part. And yet we know it's true.

Criminals gave up crime. Murderers gave up murder. The rich were happy to share with the poor. The poor took the rich under their wing and taught them at long last how life works. In this vast switch, of course the Republican party had to go under. So one day the earth cracked open and sucked only them down, bringing stability and happiness even to the political process. All countries willingly gave up their weapons. Even now, they're still working out the logistics for distributing all the plowshares. It's a great problem to have. Everyone's smiling!

I've been very happy with the switch. No more do I have to see "Ghost Hunter" shows on TV. With the removal of evil from the world, all bullshit became extinct. And besides that blessing, it's great to know that everyone in the world has all he or she needs for the best life possible. There's always someone to share, as the bounty overflows.

Tears are no more, pain, suffering, it's all in the past! Creative minds are busy editing old movies and books to take out all conflict, since we're already starting to forget what it was like. Everyone in the movies and books will be happy the whole time. No one will be portrayed doing anything to another character that is negative even in the slightest. Finally, I can go back to the movies, since I hate anything but perfect happiness. I still remember conflict. It always gave me a headache.

Rejoice, America, that your song is finally true. "Thine alabaster cities gleam." There's no more shadow, it's all bleached white, great and beautiful!

Everyday's A Joy

I like this "Drive for Pride." It's getting somewhere. I'm laying the groundwork, I believe, for my own ongoing happiness and that of others.

Thank you for your comments. I actually did get a note, a comment, from someone the other day. I think it's the first one since I came off my long hiatus (from March through July).

The comment was on my "Achievement is Achievable" post, and came from Karim:

Very thoughtfull post on achivement. It should be very much helpfull

Thanks,
Karim - Creating Power

Who knows why he wrote that? I don't even want to characterize it, because this is an actual guy, not someone I just made up.

When I make up someone, a fictional character, I can question their motives all I want, then turn and kick them to the curb. But I'm not going to do that with an actual guy, who appeared, anyway, nice enough to comment on one of my "Drive for Pride" posts. All the best to Karim! But I digress...

If I could make one person happy, maybe I could be instrumental in bringing a lot of happiness to a lot of people. Self-esteem, pride, these are labels we apply to aspects of happiness. Because if you feel good about yourself, you're miles ahead.

I'm like most people. I've been up, I've been down. But these days, with the joy of sharing my tips for the best life, I'm seeing everyday as a joy. The key thing is I'm dwelling on more than just myself. If I were to dwell just on myself, that's navel-gazing, and I'm good at it. Everything is accentuated then. Whatever discouragement you have, whatever pain.

But if you focus beyond yourself, you can then look back on yourself and see good things going on. In here and out there. That's what's happening! It's a joy!

I recommend it. The "Drive for Pride" rolls on!

Please Have Self-Esteem! Try!

I'm back with my happiness/pride/self-esteem schtick. Ya ha [twirling index finger]. Be happy already....good grief....

What do I have to do, wear a party hat and toot a toy horn? To not have pride, self-esteem, and happiness at this point is just obstinance.

Either get it or I'll turn you over the pros. And you know what they'll do for you, poke and prod and shoot you up with psychotropics.

You signed up for boot camp. Here comes a boot, up against your backside. Hut two, hut two, hut two ... drop and give me a smile.

Don't bring me down. (Rarely does anything bring me down.) But the lack of responsiveness and your very willful attitude are coming close.

Think it over. The graveyards are littered with hotshots like you, who thought they could do it on your own, who then botched the job badly.

I don't know why I try. OK, I care, that's why. But I'm coming THIS CLOSE to throwing my hands up and saying "To Heck With It." Happiness?

You've got me tongue-tied. All I can do is make babbling noises. There's no percentage in trying to help those who won't be helped.

Still, a part of me, a very small part, remains optimistic that you'll eventually get it. The tip of my little finger. On the LEFT hand.

What a discouraging day ... this is where the best of my efforts feel like they're in vain. Like I'm being drained of my natural optimism.

But, OK ... you feel sufficiently chastened? We will advance on, and this time I HOPE we will make progress. Do you resolve to have pride?

Good, then the "Drive for Pride" will continue, but you came close to ending it all. Now I will see that you have self-esteem and happiness.

See Your True Happiness

Is anyone really into this, the "Drive for Pride" campaign I've got going?

Maybe my own pride is waning a bit -- or it could be just my attention span. Getting pumped up about pride and self-esteem is not my normal way. It comes and goes. Whether I have pride or self-esteem on a daily basis is never something I've cared about.

I've looked at the self-help section in bookstores. And it makes me yawn, a little anyway, seeing all the competing books on every kind of therapy, affliction, and gimmick to make you happy, bright, and chipper. You want to just grab people by and say, "Be happy!" But of course we don't always realize our true happiness is right there within all the time, so we have to pay someone to tell us.

Just like this blog. Even though no one has to pay for it. But in a way it's an insult to people's intelligence to be on a "Drive for Pride," and for me to be yakking about self-esteem. Still, no one's paying anything for it, so no one's out anything. Just the time we waste worrying about such things.

Still, here I am. I started the "Drive for Pride," and I guess I'm willing to see it through, another day anyway. Who knows? By tomorrow I might be into it again. I do like the idea of helping people to see their true happiness. Just don't take forever, OK? See your true happiness and we can move along.

On the other hand, I haven't really got anything else in mind to be writing about. And I like to get something up everyday, even if it's just another "Drive for Pride" posting. Because, look, it's an endless subject. There's always someone whose life's in the pits. If it's not you it'll be some other guy. So ... all the best to you, be inspired, all that.

You may wonder, Does this guy (me) have true happiness? I'm like you. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't. So I know how it goes.

Let's just get it. You be happy. I'll be happy. We'll all be happy. Then everyone will know the "Drive for Pride" campaign has been a complete success.

Thoughts And Words (Tweets)

Put it into words, what you're feeling ... or maybe not.

Words are very selective. Like a Pachinko ball falling, every peg it has to hit slows it down & you've thought a dozen thoughts in between.

But thinking is more than the quantity of thoughts. It's a cloud of NOT-thinking too.

I have them lined up and ready to dispense. That's one thing. Then there's a whole gumball globe that seems empty but it's really full.

Go up the slot, carefully set the ordered ones off to the side, swim up among the unordered ones, look around, then just quit looking.

I'd love to quit looking. They say purification of motives is the way it is. I have a feeling there's no "way it is," not so predictable.

There's real world happiness right here in the real world. Quit striving, quit begging, quit being a nuisance to yourself. Like I am to me!

I need one more pithy thing to say but I can't think of one now. So ... I leave this non-process time of meditation with a process thought.

Making Living Creatures Happy (Tweets)

If I were to make the slightest sign to my dog that I was willing to take her to the park, she wouldn't rest until we got there.

All I have to do, really, is look at her in a particularly interested way ... just that little sign would be a sign to her something was up.

In a few minutes it's going to happen. I'm going to do my part toward granting joy to the universe by blessing one little dog. It's cosmic!

Someday I'm thinking when she's on her deathbed, I'll say "Park" and she'll rouse bravely one last time, then finally fall back exhausted.

But that's sad to think about. It's never too early, though, in my opinion, to think of the blessings you can bring to other living things.

OK ... I'm just about ready to make my move. She's crashed out on the floor to my left. Sleeping, not soundly, but a superficial nap.

Do you wanna go to the park? Yea! Yea! Underbrush is very excited! Jumping, anxious, ready to go! Let's go! C'mon! Let's do it! Yes!

Tips For A Great Hiatus

I remember one of the guidance counselors we had in high school who tried his best to steer kids right but was basically a failure. I don't remember him doing me a bit of good. He wasn't any good at guiding or counseling. He got a good paycheck from the school district, but I'm still waiting for his advice to kick in: Go home and think over your future. OK, I've been home thinking now for close to 40 years! What's next?

It turns out, now that I see it in black and white there, that I used up my future thinking about it. And now I'm a lonely old man, left to look at my depressing visage in the shards of a broken mirror. I could've been a teenage idol. I had good hair, teeth, and skin. Let's say I were to bound up on a stage. I could've waved with all the enthusiasm of a natural born star. But he said performers often face years of struggle and only a meager few make it to the big time. So that was discouraging.

But, hey, I'm not that unhappy with the way things turned out. I'm still here. I still have some hair, some of these teeth are still halfway decent, and this is definitely skin. It's skin toned anyway, appropriate for the race I happen to be. And I'm very proud of my race, since it's what I was born and I had absolutely nothing to do with it. That's the best kind of pride. All in all, I think I did all right. I've had a roof over my head all these years and a bathroom.

And now that I'm on hiatus, I have all the free time in the world. I can get up and do what I want. If I feel like working I do. And if not, hey. The fact is I was overworking there for a while, with all the responsibilities of this blog, plus the newsletter, plus some of the getting together with real life visits. It was like I had a mini empire going there, reminding me that when "friends" and "followers" start clamoring to have their needs fulfilled, there's no end to it. And some of the needs were great. Most of the folks you meet on the internet are voracious. Nothing is good enough but more, more more.

But were I to be a guidance counselor for some of these sad souls, I might recommend, take a hiatus of your own. Just pull back from whatever you're doing and don't do it. Claim your space, stake your claim, and insist on it. Some days you'll feel like giving up and going back to your labors, but resist.

Then when you've got your hiatus cinched up good and tight, continue to be firm: I will not work. I will take time off. Soon you'll find that whoever it was who was making demands on you, they're nowhere to be found anymore. It's just you, stripped to nothing. At that point you'll feel a mixture of sadness and of joy. But the joy will be in the background, very miniscule.

The sadness will come to the fore. You will struggle with it, a titanic struggle. You will think you've hit an iceberg, that you're about to split open, and that you're about to flip up on one end, and go down with just a few bubbles to show for it. Don't worry about it, it's really not that bad. At least you'll realize it wasn't so bad after the joy starts breaking through. Then there's a good balance of joy and sadness, and finally the joy kicks in in full.

At this point I have so much joy that ... [I can't describe it.]

The thing is you will have joy if you stake out a hiatus and follow through on it. Find your own personal space, retreat there, and look to see what all lies out in front of you for the years ahead.

My Very Own Hiatus

I'm feeling righteously selfish this morning. I guess I rolled out of bed thinking about me, me, me, so that's the way it'll have to be!

I'm my favorite subject in the whole world, and I don't normally play favorites. But ... hey! [multiple self-referential gestures meant to highlight my best features, which are all of them, and to suggest in an exasperated tone that the quality you see is the quality you get. And it's true, just like the TV manufacturer who may or may not still exist, the quality goes in before the name goes on!]

I like the way I look. I like the way I think. I talk in a natural enough way. When my jib was cut it was sliced to perfection. There's nothing wrong in this being, whether from the point on the top of my head to the flatness of my feet. In between there is enough masterful architecture to keep any opposite body well pleased and satisfied for as long as it physically takes.

I could see myself like on one of those shows where the human body is in is normal physical form, then it rotates in a scientific way with all sorts of clicking and whirring noises and is seen in all the various ways, muscular, skeletal, light forms; with labels in very small type and straight lines leading to the various parts. Then in for a close up of my head, the eyes, the straps of the muscles, the ligaments, everything revolving, then back to skin.

Of course in those scientific presentations of the self, they're usually in the nude. Which is a great way to be. If you walk around in the nude a lot, you're ready for anything. It's no problem at all to go to the bathroom. Everything's loose and available. It's very refreshing and only a problem when the UPS guy comes or they're collecting for charity.

To see the human form in a book, like this one book I saw and almost bought, terrific paintings (Ken Wilbur wrote the intro), it makes you appreciate that you really are more than just a walking bag of bones. Your mom and dad thought they were just making the back seat go up and down when no one was looking, but they came out with the light of eternity in a precious little package. Speaking of myself there.

I wander around the half acre and remember this is the place where I was deemed most precious. And that's before I even got to thinking about it myself. They were all my Number One Fans. Many black and white and color snapshots exist of me as a little tyke, wandering the half acre, standing by the pump, standing where Grandpa's garage is now, out by the flower trellis, over by the dogs, sitting or laying on one of Grandpa's boats flipped over, with cousins, with dogs, geese, goats. I'm the one constant. Paired with every creature that ever entered the yard. Paired with every object we ever owned. But I'm the only constant, except for the house in the background. All the dogs have died. The geese too. The goats. The boats are gone. The flowers go away every fall. But I live on. How great I must be!

I went to the pump to get some drinking water, earlier on. And I'm struttin' like a mildly irritated rooster. The morning sun when it's in my face doesn't show my age. I'm timeless, eternal, and very very persistent. No one can touch me. I'm riding high. I have a chariot that goes straight to heaven. And I'm on hiatus, beautiful, wonderful hiatus. No one can take this away from me.

I saw the devil today. He was passing by.

And this is my hiatus, my very own hiatus -- no one else's.

A Beautiful Hiatus Sunrise

I had to go out today and fling another mouse to the road. I'm usually thinking, Brr, the morning's cold even when it's a nice day. Get it over with. But today I had my jacket on and was carrying him by the tail, and got out there, and suddenly I felt a special peace with the world. It was a beautiful thing. So I quickly tossed the mouse and decided to stay out and enjoy it.

There's a place midway between the house and one of the corner posts (the half acre is T shaped, so it'd be the center of the T if you moved the up and down piece of the T to the left a little bit). If you got that, I would've been midway between the house and junction in the T, which, by the way, is not strictly proportional to the actual half acre. (I should have been a surveyor. I'm describing what we call the half acre, the non-yard portion of the property. There is the yard with the house, so if you included that it'd be more like an upside down L).

I was at this place midway there -- you have it in mind -- looking east, and I beheld the most beautiful sunrise. It gave me a very simple feeling, hard to describe. If you ever see the simple styles of clothing, the colors, the hair, and the stances of the people in old photos from 1972, it was that feeling. The feeling that you get when you see a Peter Max sunrise, if he ever painted one. You know that the totality of the piece is right before you, speaking of something metaphysical yet simple enough to grasp quickly and thoroughly with your instincts. I wish I had a camera, because I could've gotten some good shots. The shining, the glinting, the sun was smiling on me.

That's a great feeling, to know the sun is smiling on you. I don't get that very often, but when I do it's intense. I wonder how the sun even notices me. I believe it has some kind of GPS thing it looks at and can focus in on you like that. Ha ha. I'm definitely taking it as heaven's blessing on my present course, the hiatus I'm taking. Sometimes I second guess myself, but today was not one of those times. Today started off with an unpleasant task, to dispose of another foul rodent. But thanks to that mouse's timing, to die precisely this morning when I needed it most, it led me to behold this heavenly vista in such a way that I was affirmed. I felt alive, happy, and free.

I stood there for a while soaking it in. Then I was thinking, I could run and get the camera. I could look at the picture all day and think back, Too bad it's over with. But at least there's a picture of it. But as it turned out, it turned out not to be. No picture. Just my memory. A big old memory stew up there, all mixed in with every other memory, some good, some bad.