An Essay A Day For A Year
By Roe
Day 9, January 9, 2012
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Hello everyone! I am feeling powerful right now, how about you? It feels strange for me to say that since I don’t really feel all that ideal today. I think I over-napped again since I’m struggling to get moving here, but I just love to sleep, so over-napping is one of my addictions that I joyously over enjoy. I also have a dull headache telling me it’s time to go and see the chiropractor again. A few months ago I strongly felt I needed some more beer to drink after I most strongly knew I had enough beer to drink, and to be smart I rode my bicycle 4 miles into town instead of driving. That I thought would save lives and please the Mothers Against Fools Like Me. Then like a happy moron, open beer in hand and singing and crying on my way home (yes I sing and cry when I over beer), I rode my bike off a 10’ drop at the only open drainage culvert probably in northern California, and I landed on my head. I did save lives but I lost a lot of blood and pride, and I’m still paying for it. Nevertheless, I am feeling powerful right now.
Power is an amazing thing for it is powerful even when you don’t think it is. As a matter of fact, power can be limitless especially when you don’t think it is. I imagine one tiny little candle burning somewhere here on Earth, and how it possesses more power than all the darkness in the universe. Even when the candle goes out when you fall on your head in a culvert, the light it produced still travels forever and ever and ever. I imagine that it can be seen by some alien on a bicycle trying not to piss off the mad mothers on his planet, and that he sees his f-ing culvert.
I have an acquaintanceship with a 92 year old guy named Leroy, he was a Japanese POW in mainland Japan for 5 years during WWII. He was captured a day after Pearl Harbor while dredging the harbor on a remote pacific island, and he wasn’t released until a year after the war ended. Not only is he still alive and outmaneuvering everyone just for laughs, he is virtually the last POW survivor alive from anywhere. Leroy still weighs about 130 lbs, just as he did during his 5 years of internment, although he will correct me by saying that that is +/- a pound or two from his daily dysentery attacks. Leroy tells me stories of “power” for hours, and the saddest ones are how virtually all the normally powerful alpha-jock soldiers gave up in tears and were beaten to death or beheaded. Power is an amazing thing. Leroy can still speak fluent Japanese, shine worn out boots, carve intricate hardwood belt buckles, and draw portraits for the families of the very scared and lonely Japanese soldiers. He can also brew the most amazing brain bending moonshine rice wine, and he toasts me, “sake-sake” when he comes by to “pickle his dysentery”, another word for manipulate me into doing something that I’m reluctant to do. “All skills to survive”, Leroy says as he walks off victorious, and I just sit there smiling sake style. It won’t occur to me what I just agreed to do until tomorrow. Leroy is powerful.
I once hobo-ed for a week to learn about “real freedom”. I took my white middle class California boy fool-hearted self “south” like some inspired Hemingway or Steinbeck or Thoreau, and it almost got me killed. I immediately “shared” anything I had on me of value to my fellow “travelers”, and lucky for me, in return I was taught how to avoid the “bulls”, or railroad security guards, especially the one famous for cracking your skull with his stick and dragging you off railroad property to bleed to death.
At night as we shared the feast from the “Dunkin Donuts” trash can, and everyone told stories. As I listened I realized that I was in a philosophy and psychology think tank, and I listened to stories from stock brokers and war veterans, and circus performers, and some really powerful self proclaimed drunks and losers. I then made an ass of myself when I smirked at the 50 year old ex- circus performer guy when he said, “we all got skills sir, just like you do!”, and then he told us that he can still outrun any train before it hits the first switch coming out of the yard. “Retard!”, he yelled out, when he saw me smirking. He then stood up, threw his jelly donut into the air, did a standing back flip, and then caught his donut, and walked off ranting.
From that moment forward, and for the next week, my nickname “until further notice”, became “retard”. I felt like a scared little boy without a skill or story worth telling in the world, especially when they started passing around something infinitely more disgusting then “sake-sake”. I tried to decline their kind invitation, but I guess I gave in to peer pressure. I still remember their faces in hysteria as the back flip guy came back, grabbed me, and handed me his flask, announcing that for insulting his dignity he was going to teach me to do a back flip with my stale jelly donut in mid air. “Now that is forgiveness and generosity good will to all retards!” Said the gal (yes gal) that said she left her ivy league education long behind. I still believe, with a sound heart and mind, before and after sake-sake or the gone-off vinegar in a hobo flask, that these were the most powerful people I have ever encountered in my life. I’m very lucky indeed that I was a high school gymnast or there would be a little cross marked “retard” on it with a stale jelly donut on top there in the bushes where the concept of “power” first literally struck me.
Every spirit in this world is born and dies with beautiful and equal power. If spirits were dollars we all have 100 cents, and even and especially the sprits with no seeming sense, have 100 cents. The reason why the universe is infinitely wise is because we are all wisely the universe. The idea that the universe somehow messed up on me or short changed me, retard or not, is unfathomable. Who else could do a full round-off, back hand spring, and back flip “over the track spur”, with a belly boiling in rank vinegar and stale jelly donuts? (yes, I did that). Who else woke up all alone in the bushes still alive, all by myself, in the middle of f-ing nowhere, covered in my own barf? Yes I did that too. Who else walked about 30 miles into the next siding to find my companions, saying “assholes” as I entered to learn more power? And no, I did not do that, I finally decided to go back home and never forget the humility of the “power” that I lived.
I love traveling the world and WOWING. I see the most gruesomely beautiful African bug and I go WOW!. “Why and how did you end up looking and acting like that you weird bug!” And that is before it (I called it “whack”), the most un aerodynamic beetle in history takes off like a Harrier jet and flies headlong into the side of a passing taxi. “WHACK!” Then whack rolled over, sat there a minute, and took off and did it again, this time into the trunk of a coconut tree. WHACK! Now that is power! I just wish that could have been me when I was hiding from the bulls, or many times when I wanted to impress someone.
All of us have skills, gifts, beauties, traits, blessings, and perfectly designed miracles to contribute to our universe. We are already perfect or we would be different. It has taken me a long time to figure out that I don’t know most things, and that is power. It has taken me a long time to feel so powerful in just ranting about how beautiful we all are, even all alone and covered in stale jelly vinegar donut vomit, or whacked into the side of an unsuspecting tree and still flying strong.
And the most amazing power of all my beautiful fellow POW’s and hobos and whacked out citizens of Earth is when we can still say:
See you tomorrow.
yourpersonalmuse@gmx.com
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