1173
The Blue Nowhere.A reader wrote:
BTW, the Upanishads seem to indicate that dream life *is* at the top of the "brain chain" - consider that Vishnu is portrayed as floating upon the sacred lake, asleep. A lotus grows out of his navel, and a new Brahma emerges from the lotus. Brahma opens his eyes, and a world comes into being - he closes his eyes, and another world goes out of existence. This happens for many thousands of years, then the lotus dies and shrinks into the belly of Vishnu, from whose navel emerges a new lotus...and a new Brahma.
Reminds me of the Psalmist's verse: "Send forth Your Spirit, and they shall be created, and You shall renew the face of the Earth."
Also, in a schema I am developing for human belief systems, one of the modalities (Humanistic) has as its objective that we develop our capabilities so that we can meet, implement, and extend our dreams. In a sense, this is an act of creation - abstract directly, but possibly concretized indirectly as a result of corollary action.
So I await your thoughts... :)
Nothing that profound.
Another reader wrote:
I ABSOLUTELY agree with you when you say the "Blue Nowhere" is far more interesting than the "Grey Nowhere."
We can be free to be whoever we are (or want to be) in the "Blue Nowhere." On line, no one can tell if we're rich or poor, homeless or otherwise, male or female, attractive or homely, tall or short, whatever. Of course, an individual's education - or lack of it - is discernable. Nevertheless, for the most part, the playing field in the "Blue Nowhere" is even and the opportunity to express oneself without regard to "appearances" is a gift that the "Grey Nowhere" could never offer.
I should just retire and let my readers write these things.
But ..... there is another "Nowhere". I've thought about it and decided to call it the "Lavender Nowhere". This is an echo from the distant past when I sent a rather precious short story to the Provincetown Review with "lavender" in the title. I got a scathingly sarcastic rejection letter. Oh well, at least it wasn't the standard printed form saying "thank you for your submission, but no thanks."
The Lavender Nowhere is fantasy life.
I said to another reader in an email that I'd really rather go to sleep for the next two weeks. The reply:
Play the Sleeping Beauty and have the Sleeptalker wake you ? ;-)
Cue up the Lavender Nowhere ...
1174
Sitting on a bench in the mall early on Christmas Eve morning, waiting for McD's to open. Reading a book. Someone walked near, paused. I was expecting a request for a cigarette. With reason, since it came a little later. Angelo. I first asked, "what are you doing up so early?" but then realized he probably hadn't been to sleep at all, no doubt spent the night with the pipe. But he looked fine, despite a too-short haircut.It has been so long since I've spent time with him that I had difficulty in understanding much of what he said, partly because his hesitant manner of speaking was heavier than usual but also just because I'm out of practice. The PL is staying at some kind of crisis center, a place for homeless people with severe mental problems, and they won't let him contact her. He hadn't seen her for about two weeks, he said, and grumbled because the staff at that place is trying to persuade her that dope addicts are not the way to go when picking boyfriends. "They're right," I observed, but I hope not too unkindly.
He went down the list, asking who I'd seen. I told him about the Sleeptalker's upcoming court date and about Tanioka's bizarre begging for a cigarette and then appearing with a full premium-priced pack. "He's always been that way," Angelo said, echoing the Sleeptalker. But, no, I hadn't seen Rocky or Okinawa.
"You going to buy me breakfast?" he asked. "No, why should I?"
Okay, not a very nice attitude on Christmas Eve morning, but that man, much as I like him, has just kicked me too many times and there is always the instant feeling when he appears that I should hide my money.
Love sucks.
The Sleeptalker, meanwhile, appears to have reconciled with one of his patrons since he was in the game for hours on Tuesday morning, but was not playing on campus.
I won't write one of the too-prevalent "lonely old man at Christmas" essays which scatter the Web.
Bah, humbug.
1175
Those who so often erroneously try to tell us what weather we'll be having said the last weekend of 2003 was going to be stormy and very wet. Very. Flood warnings, etc. Evidently the storm system dropped most of its water over the ocean. Fine with me, and I'm sure the fish didn't mind. Now those "forecasters" are telling us we'll have heavy rain from Wednesday through at least Friday. Oh well, The Drudge Report featured an item on Monday saying "snow and hail in Hawaii". I assume the snow was at the volcano summits. We certainly didn't see any in Honolulu.The headlined newspaper reports were enough to ensure the Black Hole being filled to capacity although, of course, in the days just before welfare money arrives, that place doesn't need any help in getting itself filled to the max.
Everything in the mall was closed on Christmas Day so I stayed on the bus in the morning as it rolled through the deserted place. In Waikiki, you'd hardly have known it was Christmas. Business as usual. So I had breakfast at Jack-in-the-Box, then strolled along the beach as the sun was rising, some hardy souls already splashing in the ocean. Well, they didn't have to be too hardy because the temperature suddenly got much warmer than it had been for two weeks, making me think I should switch back to tee-shirt and shorts. Changed my mind the day after Christmas when it got much cooler again.
I went to campus, fed the little furry ones. Lady Grey is missing again, hasn't been seen now for five days. I hope she's not off producing another batch. But perhaps if she is, she's decided to set up the nursery elsewhere. In mid-afternoon I returned to Waikiki, sat in the park at the base of Diamond Head having a second beer and continuing with another of John Sandford's Prey series. Hardly topical for the supposed spirit of the day, but then neither were the news reports I heard later on the radio.
Helen R invited me for a meal/and-or/movie but I declined, taking Peter's position that it is better just to spend that loaded day alone (and be grateful when it's over and done with for another year). But I did join her for a late lunch on Sunday. "Hungarian Oxtail Soup" at Cuisine Tony. Tasty, but not up to my fond memories of that broth in Germany years and years ago. Delightful though, as always, to see Helen even though I had to confess that I've really had a very difficult time with her latest epic of science-fiction, just can't keep track of who is who and what they are doing.
And so we can put away the pretty lights and the tired decorations (those in the mall are really looking very tired after so many years) and soon, I hope, the damned music loops. The mall finally stopped their hideous collection of so-called Christmas music on Sunday but McD's was still drenched in that damned red-nosed reindeer on Monday morning.
the tales