I met a man

Who had a plan

To make me very rich,

And I was low

On cash and so

I listened to his pitch.

And for a fee,

He told to me

The secret scam he knew;

And if you send

Ten dollars, friend,

I’ll share it with you too.

There’s dirt in my shoes

I walked a new path today

I’m on foreign soil

The ancient Chinese philosopher, Zhuang Zhou, tells of a dream he had in which he was a butterfly. Upon waking, he was no longer sure if he was Zhuang Zhou, who had dreamt of being a butterfly, or if he was a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuang Zhou.
I’ve heard of a similar story about a guy who suddenly found himself treading water in total darkness, with no idea as to how this situation had come about or where he was, or, for that matter, who he was. All he could do was to continue treading water and wonder. Finally, the sky started to lighten off to what had to be the east, and then the sun came up in all its glory.
At first, all he could see was sea and sky. Then, there it was: a dark form–an island off to the north. As he swam closer, he could see that the tiny island was actually some kind of lava formation formed from an underwater volcano. In fact, it looked just like a man’s convoluted brain jutting up out of the sea. As he neared it, he could see that the entire island was fissured in two, with a sizable gap between.
He reached the shore of the eastern side, only to be greeted by a witch. “What is this place?” he asked, “Where am I?”
“Welcome,” she said, cackling with a hideous laugh, “I have been waiting for you. You are the chosen one.” Then she pointed her long, skinny arm toward a path behind her, and said,”Only he can tell you what you wish to know. He sits up on the bridge strung across the precipice, waiting for you. You must follow this path up to the bridge. Now go!” Not knowing what else to do, he started up the path.
Almost out of earshot, the witch called, “When you come to the dark ravine, you must cross it on faith alone. You can do it, for you are the chosen one!”
Soon he neared the top of the rocky isle, and could even see the man sitting cross-legged out about half-way across the bridge, but sure enough, there was a deep, dark ravine right across the path, with no way around.
He believed in the power of faith, but he certainly was no “chosen one”, so he reluctantly turned around, went back down the path, and explained to the witch that he was the wrong guy and all, and she told him of another way.
“You must swim around to the other side of the island, where you will meet a great and learned man. He will show you another path. But let me warn you, that way is harder still.”
By now, he had nothing to lose, so he dove into the water and swam around to the western shore. Sure enough, an old bearded man in a grey suit stood there with arm outstretched. ” I’m professor Eisensteinium,” he offered, ” and I can help you get up to the bridge…that is why you’re here, I assume.” He almost looked comical with thick glasses and a long, white beard. “You must follow this path up the hill,” he began, “but whenever you see a book lying on the path, you must read it. All of it. Or all will be for not, for the man on the bridge will not talk to you unless you do.”
So the man started up the path and came upon the first book. It was a science book on magnetism, electricity, and such. He read it and moved on. Next came a book on philosophy. Then another, and another. Soon, the books were coming in stacks. Books on Religion, quantum mechanics, Transcendentalism, and metamorphosis. He read and read and read, and in time, he could see the bridge–but he could also see that there were so many stacks of books on the path now, that it would take a life-time to read them.
He went back to the witch. She directed him to her path again, and said, “If you believe you are the chosen one, you will be. You must have faith.” After reading so many books on so many subjects, the witch’s words seemed to have the ring of truth to them. He marched up the path, mustered all the faith he could, and stepped out over the ravine. Instead of tumbling head-long into its depths, his foot came down on something solid. When he looked down, he could see a bridge across the ravine–it had been there the whole time, but he hadn’t seen it before! He strutted across it, thinking, I AM the chosen one, and walked out onto the long bridge with the man sitting on it.
Looking out from there, he could see the sea and sky were mirror images of each other.
When he approached the man sitting there, he could see that the man was asleep. He gently shook him by the shoulder, and said,”Excuse me, sir, I don’t mean to bother you, but I’m really quite lost and”–just then the man looked up, and their gaze met–they were one and the same!
“I was having a dream, ” said the man sitting cross-legged. “I was lost, and seeking a man to help me, I found…myself…who was dreaming…”
.

     Truly, I AM the universe, a dream within a dream within a dream…

It always gets me when I read about how scientists specializing in sleep studies invariably say that one only dreams during REM sleep. When I drove production truck in the mines, I would always doze off on midnight shifts while my truck was being loaded. Under the biggest shovels, it would take three scoops, or about one minute before the shovelrunner would blow his horn, telling me I was loaded; under smaller ones, it could take as long as fifteen. I slowly began to realize that to sleep is to dream–always.

Once I got the technique down on how to remember my dreams upon waking, it was very plain to see that we dream all the time, but have a built in eraser-head when we wake.

I started experimenting with sleep-paralysis which is the perfect state of mind for dream control–the ultimate high. I even told these guys in a dream once that I wasn’t really there, and if they didn’t believe me, just watch–and then I forced myself awake.

What baffles me more than anything is how is it that I can be totally surprised in a dream; Am I not the one making it all up? Also, there have been times when I was just drifting off, thinking about one thing when suddenly I jerk, and realize I was dreaming about falling off a bike. Two dreams at once? Anyway, the world inside our heads is just as rich as the one outside, and since we’re going to spend one-third of our lives there, we should try to learn its language of symbolism and enjoy its mysteries. This is truly a world without consequences.

I don’t know what happened to Memories # 5.

CHRISTMAS, 2015

Boone Lamoine knelt before his father’s icy grave and wept. Huge, shimmering tears, as if in a parting gesture of consolation, warmed his frosted cheeks before falling to be frozen in the snow. He pulled his scarf tightly about him as his long, dark hair whipped violently in the howling wind. The snow swirled madly around him, and for a few minutes all was white; the world had disappeared just as surely as if he had been struck blind. A deeply religious man, the story of Paul on the road to Damascus flitted through his mind.
“Boone!” came a voice barely discernible above the ferocious wind, “C’mon, let’s go!” The last place Cindi, Boone’s wife, wanted to spend Christmas Day was in a fucking cemetery. She was already a little pissed for having to go with him to the church for the Christmas program, and she probably wouldn’t have if little Celeste wasn’t going to sing a solo–Cindi was a hard-core atheist. As a young child, she’d had religion crammed down her throat, both figuratively and physically, one in the pews and the other in the church basement; it had left a bad taste in her mouth. Oddly enough, the thought that her own daughter may be going through the same thing never entered her mind. “Celeste will kill us if we’re late!”

Venus, Goddess of Love,

I know you have two sides:

The righteous one who seeks

And the guilty one who hides.

As Morning Star,

Though you adorn

The Sky

And move the heart,

Your watchful eye upon the morn

Means lovers have to part.

As Evening Star,

When lovers meet,

You kindly look away,

And hide your face

Beyond the hills

With lovers free to play.

Out of gas and feelin’ low, walkin’ down this lonesome road,

Eatin’ dust, and swallowin’ my pride;

I need a lift to get some gas, but all the cars are goin’ past,

So I’m walkin’ down the road and thumbin’ for a ride.

Inspired by a farmer’s dog, I drop my thumb and start to jog,

But which is worse, I really can’t decide;

I couldn’t run for very far, so I sacrificed my candy bar,

And I’m walkin’ down the road and thumbin’ for a ride.

Well, its Sunday morn, and church is out,

And now here comes all thee devout,

But they left the church and forgot what they learned inside;

Their big, warm smiles are real nice, but their hearts must be as cold as ice,

So I’m walkin’ down the road and thumbin’ for a ride.

A car pulls up, it’s Sheriff Grimes,

He says he’s warned me many times,

He’s sorry but the law is cut and dried;

He’s goin’ to have to run me in, but he doesn’t understand my grin,

Now I’m ridin’ down the road, at last I got a ride.

Lake Superior, Gitchigumi in Ojibwe, was once much larger than it is now. Its Northern shores reached all the way up to the Laurentian Divide. The taconite was formed in the sedimentary rock of its lake bed, and where it met the air at the shorelines, it rusted, and became what we call iron ore. After all the iron ore was dug from the ground, we went after the lower-grade-but-plentiful taconite, but there was a problem: the bowl shape of the lake bottom meant that the taconite sloped down to the south under the ever-increasing amount of top soil, which had to be removed. Eventually, mines began shutting down for good because it wasn’t cost-effective to remove so much surface to get to the taconite anymore. What does this have to do with the Air Force?

Well, before the mines finally had to shut down, they had a regular cycle of Boom and Bust; they always had since iron ore was discovered here in the late 1800’s. It was during one of these down periods, before Erie Mining became LTV, that I came upon the idea of joining the military. I talked to a recruiter, and he really “pumped some sunshine up my ass” (as my friend Dac used to say), painting such a rosy picture, that before I knew it, I was signed up for 6 years, and  downing a highball on my way to Lackland Air Force Training Center in Texas for basic training.

In basic training, the whole idea is to break you down totally and utterly, and then mold your quivering mass into the person they want you to be, you know, semper fi and all that. Most of the guys in basic training were 18 or 19, while I was 26 with a family, so I thought it wouldn’t take: oh, but they were thorough. By the time I left for Jody to pick me up at the Minneapolis Airport, I was ready to die for my country, and didn’t want anything to do with alcohol or drugs ever again.

The Air Force was thorough, but they had never ran up against a Jody. She picked me up in a sleek Trans Am she’d borrowed, complete with a case of beer and a bag of weed. By the time we were half-way home, I had rediscovered my hippy roots.

After my schooling in Illinois, my first orders were for me to go to England and become part of the Royal Air Force. I’d like to believe it was because of my proficiency and high scores, but it really was because the Air Force is so inept: they wanted to send a single guy who wanted to go to England, to Florida, and send me, a guy with a family, who wanted to go to Florida, to England.(They didn’t pay to send your family overseas.) So we swapped, and Jody, Aaron and I headed for Florida.

I was originally supposed to have the cushiest job ever in the tropical Florida Keys, but my recruiter didn’t mention that his picturesque scenario all hinged on my being able to get a top-secret security clearance. I had been busted once “importing illegal drugs into the United States” or, as I called it, “forgot I had half a joint in my pocket on a fishing trip to Canada.” So I picked another job, Fuel Specialist, from a video showing a dude in a lab frock pouring chemicals together. Turned out all I did was fuel jets, and mow lawns, and paint trucks–mostly the latter two.

My tropical dreams were dashed when I found out Florida is a huge stinking swamp, where its 100 degrees with 100% humidity almost every day. I have a fear of snakes, and yet managed to find myself living on Rattlesnake Road. There was a playground next door with a huge sign in the middle of it that read: “Danger: poisonous snakes in this area.”

The Air Force had already told me, “If Uncle Sam wanted you to have a family, he would have issued you one!” and he meant it. They gave me $90 a month for rent, (I found a rat and cockroach infested shack for $250) and little more. My recruiter had told me I would be able to live on base for free, but he forgot to mention that there was a two-year waiting list. In no time we were destitute, and starving. One day I got so fed up with it, I went to the supermarket and stuffed the biggest, juiciest-looking steak down my pants and walked out.

I was born an atheist, and Jody was a heathen, but we had become so desperate and hungry one day, that when they turned us down to charge some food at the store, we decided praying couldn’t hurt. We bowed our heads right there in the parking lot and asked God for food. A few minutes later, we watched as a car pulled off the road and into the parking lot. He drove right up to us, rolled down his window, and said, “You folks hungry?” I shit you not. We loaded a cart up to over-flowing, and he paid cash for it. Then he opened his trunk and it was full of fresh produce. A miracle?

Not long after, the mines started up again, and I wrote a long letter to the base commander explaining it all, and to my surprise, I was honorably discharged 5 days later, and headed home, where I resumed my mining career.

I met a wizard one day by a creek;

I sat down and listened when he started to speak.

He spoke of the nature of space and of time,

He said they’re illusions construed in our minds,

He told me we were made from the ashes of stars,

And that some of my grandkids will be living on Mars.

He said that the grass was every color but green,

There’s no future and no past, but only in-between,

In other dimensions, beyond the known three,

Inertial momentum becomes gravity;

He told me of things so amazing and grand,

That most of his words I could not understand.

He saw my confusion, to him I was blind,

He said the solution was to open my mind.

He reached in his pocket, and smiling at me,

He pulled out a locket and inside was a key,

He said, “Take this with you wherever you go,”

“And in turn you will learn everything you must know.”

So I started to search; to look for a door

That the key would unlock, so I could learn more.

I searched every cranny, and all little nooks,

In streets and in alleys and even in books;

I searched a whole lifetime for that hidden door–

I searched every when, where, why, and what for.

Then one day it hit me, I must’ve been blind

Not to see that the key had really opened my mind,

And now I’m a wizard, and I’m telling you

If you sit down and listen, I can make you one too:

Take this old key, try every door you can find,

And one day you’ll see that you have opened your mind.