Enlightening Nonsense

It was Tuesday morning and my second-to-last client had just told me that he was taking a break from training. Just like in relationships, “taking a break” isn’t generally like a vacation where you come back refreshed with a little tan and ready to go. I am so tired of fighting the Universe that when he informed me about our “break,” I didn’t even fight him for break-up sex. I just said the proverbial, “Have a nice life,” and decided I would live my miserable one alone.

The problem was that I was already living hand to mouth. I had been hoping a doctor from a charitable organization like Smile Train would come and remove my hand from my mouth, as the skin of my hand was starting to get pruney and this would also allow more room for me to put my foot in it. I had just borrowed 600 clams from my friend Lion to pay for January’s rent. It wasn’t until I got to my realty agent that I was informed that they would not accept seafood for money and so I still had an issue, although my stomach would be satiated as long as I could swallow down that pussy-tasting mollusk.

The way things stood at the moment meant that I would in no way be able to make next month’s rent, short of an apocalyptic terrorist bombing on our soil that would result in an Executive Order by the President declaring that rent is indefinitely suspended. And as much as I prayed for this to happen, I really doubted our government was going to pull off another doozy like they did 9/11, at least within the month, despite the daily headlines from www.prisonplanet.com such as, “WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!” I resigned myself to plan for Obama’s latest Executive Order, which officially changing Washington’s Birthday to National Kentucky Fried Chicken Day. I’m vegan but am planning to eat some of their Home-Style Biscuits, as I wouldn’t want anyone accusing me of being a racist.

I went for my usual walk and chores date with Abandon feeling a little numb but relieved that the Universe would finally leave me the fuck alone. When I had that thought, I suddenly heard a huge belly laugh in my head. I wasn’t sure if it was the Universe laughing at me or the voice that always said, “Kill your mother! Kill your mother!” which pleasantly stopped when I finally wacked the old broad. I negotiated with the mysterious laugher that I would kill my father if he or she would just stop but it didn’t. In truth, I was just looking for an excuse to off my old man.

On the block to the Post Office, a woman in the parking lot with three dogs dropped the leash of one of them and it came barreling over to Abandon, barking viciously. It was a small dog that I somewhat wanted to punt to see how much hang time I could get, so I didn’t wasn’t really worried. Even Abandon started to bear her teeth as she winked at me and said, “This little white poof will look like a bloody tampon by the time I’m through with her.” I threw up in my mouth and swallowed it, as I am not a big fan of bloody tampon jokes.

I worked to keep Abandon from Kotexing the little fluffer and it took what seemed like an eternity in Hell with Gene Simmons licking chocolate sauce off of my nipples for the woman to come and get her dog. She struggled to grab the leash for awhile and I watched in amusement, the same way you slow down to watch a car wreck on the side of the highway in order to give a feeding to our inner Ganges Khan, not caring in the least about the 7-hour delay we are causing from our rubbernecking.

I started to tell her that I was a dog trainer. Then I thought I remembered that we had had this conversation a long time ago and, shall we say, she was not amenable to the idea of utilizing my services. I asked, “Have we talked before?” Rather than answering me with even a monosyllabic response, she just gathered her dog and started to walk away.

It remembered that she was the woman I had talked to, probably over a year ago. She always had a sourpuss on her face. Not the kind that says, “Man, it feels like I am always playing catch-up with my life!” which you could kind of sympathize with, but the kind that says, “I’ll get you and your little dog Toto, too!” which makes you want to shove her broomstick up her ass. I went in pursuit.

“Ma’am, I could help you feel more in control of your dogs.” She stopped but not to listen, but only to let my dog and me pass. So I passed, but then stopped about ten feet ahead, somewhat curious how she would react. She had started to walk with her pack again but seeing me motionless, she stopped abruptly. I approached her and suddenly an old-timer stepped in my way and said, “Are you with her?”

I said, “Dude, I wouldn’t fuck that hag with your dick.” He went to the Wicked Witch of the West Side and I continued on. The Prophylactic went into the post office and as she passed me I said, “There’s no shame in needing help. I’ll help you for no money!” but she was high-tailing it like Oprah heading for the refrigerator during a 30-second break from The L Word.

I went into the Post Office, as this was my first stop on my walk and chores date with Abandon. There was a long line, as usual. I saw The Prophylactic by the mail slot and approached him. “Excuse me. I was curious why you took an interest in what just happened outside.”

He turned to me and said, “I thought you were harassing that woman and so I stepped in to protect her”and dismissed me with his look. At this, the whole line turned to look at me and I felt like I had just walked into a party and the record slid a scratch, the music stopped and everyone was staring at me because I forgot to reroll the elephant trunk after relieving myself outside.

With the encouragement of our government that will lock up “enemy combatants” indefinitely with no trial, we now live in a guilty before proven innocent society. If you heard a mother holding her daughter’s hand and screaming at a man, “You molested my child!” there is probably no one within earshot who wouldn’t think the guy was guilty. I would have too, that is, until I was accused of totally unfounded sexual harassment by the lawyer of an unscrupulous owner of a yoga studio who I had gone to Small Claims Court to get the $100 she had stiffed me on [see “Swami X Goes To Court,” http://rebelyogi.com/swami-x-goes-to-court]. In my defense, I never learned in yoga teacher training that resting your nutsack on a student’s forehead during corpse pose is considered inappropriate.

“Do you know what happened right before you showed up?” I asked, loud enough so the nosey people on line could hear. “She was unable to control her dog and her dog attacked mine.” He walked away from me not seeming to care and I didn’t feel like surveying the line to see which of the civilian jurors I had convinced of my innocence and which thought I should fry in the chair and be served on National Kentucky Fried Chicken Day.

I was once on the subway at night and there were only a few people in the car with me. A homeless-looking man was sitting to the left of the homeless-looking woman. He started to elbow her in the face repeatedly and I ran over and said, “What the hell are you doing? Stop that!” and he stopped. She was bleeding from the lip, not too bad but I hadn’t seen an old lady bleed like that since I bitch-slapped my grandmother for slipping me the tongue during her “Welcome to my home” kiss.

When I looked at the man sitting right across from the homeless duo, he looked at me and smiled. I felt like elbowing him in the face. I said in disgust, “It’s not funny. You could have done the same thing that I did.” It illustrated to me the pussy society that we live in where people would rather either ignore or be amused by pain, suffering and violence rather than get their hands dirty and maybe even hurt, in an effort to offer their help. It is also why our country has turned into a nanny State, where everyone cries to their lawyer or their government to wipe their snotty nose when they are wronged, rather than taking out the old Louisville Slugger and taking action.

As Judge Andrew Napolitano, one of the few judges left who values the Constitution more than he does raping and pillaging “We The People” in order to get more green time on the golf course or add yet another extension to his summer home in Barbados, has explained, “Airline travel is safer today because pilots have guns, cockpit doors are like bank vaults, and the passengers have become courageous. All this was done by individuals in the private sector, not by the government. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, if the feds had not stripped us of our natural rights to keep ourselves safe—by keeping and bearing arms—9/11 would never have happened.”

So I actually appreciated the fact that the old-timer stepped up to the role of The Prophylactic, rather than waiting for Superman to put on his tights and get out of the phone booth after first calling the Dirty Whores Sex Line; I even felt this way in the Post Office. But what hurt was not really that he had seen a 6’1”, long-haired, gruffy bearded, scar-headed man and had judged him a threat but that his mind was closed after the fact to even hearing the possibility that maybe I wasn’t a threat and maybe not only did the situation warrant a confrontation but that maybe the woman was the bitch.

If a black man came into a jewelry store and I stepped in front of him and said, “What are you doing here, boy?” I would be called a racist. If there was a car accident between a man and a woman and I immediately went over the man and said, “What did she do to cause this?” I would be considered a sexist. If I saw two men holding hands on the sidewalk and pointed and laughed I would be considered, well, in this country I guess I’d be considered a “good Christian.”

But if someone judges a person by his long hair and gruffy beard, while there is no crime on the books for this, it is still a crime of judgment. And if you don’t give this man his day in court after you handcuff him and drag him away, then you’re a Fascist just like our Kenyan President.

Rolling on my blades, stopped at an intersection, the smell of skunk was wafting in the air. I didn’t know until I was in Amsterdam that there is a type of marijuana that is called “skunk” and smells like this. The black female cop there says to me smiling, “Is that you?” I said it wasn’t and added, “I don’t do drugs.” She laughed and said, “Yeah, right.” I was like, “Listen, you’re a black woman. Does that mean you have a fat ass and like chicken?” Looking at her fat ass and greasy fingers, I realized I had just buried my argument in a stereotype garden where flowers had already started to bloom and so I just rolled on, the only peace of mind leaving with me being the image of her in a blissful stupor on National Kentucky Fried Chicken Day after she just single-mouthedly polished off a large bucket as well as a jug of Colonel Sanders semen.

When I went to Utah to finish up my Master Herbalist degree, at one of the first bus stops some kid asked me if I wanted to buy any herb. Thinking he could spot a soon-to-be Master Herbalist, I inquired what was on the menu. Apparently only cannabis was in stock. It seems even in the capital of the Jesus freakin’ Mormons, one with long hair is still considered outcast. This is probably because all those who follow Jesus don’t look at the man—who happened to be depicted with long hair and a beard—but the cross behind him. They look down at Satanists and yet they are the most death-oriented cult around. As Osho has said, they should change the name to “Crossianity.”

My brother always jokes with me, “Don’t you ever think of getting a high-and-tight haircut and putting on a suit just to see how it would look?” I tell him that I have thought about fucking his wife as well but would never pursue that, if for no other reason than I would feel guilty that while she was giving him none, I was degrading her like the whore she is.

But sometimes I do think about making myself appear more like the robots I see all around me, not so much to “fit in” but to disappear. In Feudal Japan, a ninja would wear an all-black full body jumpsuit and head covering to help him blend into the shadows and due his clandestine work. A modern ninja wears a business suit. Maybe it’s time I conform in order to be left alone.

I miss the racism of the 60s. At least it was honest. If you were a dumb redneck with a pea for a brain, you wore your hatred on your sleeve, metaphorically speaking, as you probably didn’t own a shirt with sleeves but instead wore the same dirty wife-beater tank top each day. Now we pretend we are so “tolerant” and accepting. “Oh, isn’t it so great that we have a black President?” when our hatred and separatism has only been hidden beneath the wife-beater. And, no, it is not great we have a black President who is a Socialist and dishonors the Constitution.

I’m not sure how I’m going to pay my rent. And, of course bills, like a case of violent diarrhea, don’t stop irritating my sorry ass. Con Edison…cell phone…6-month cleaning reminder from my dentist. I can’t afford these and so now my teeth are going to rot, my brain tumor will diminish and I will have to read at night by candlelight.

It is mid-January and my “winter boots” are a pair of mesh canvas running shoes. I can’t remember the last time I ate an exotic food like goji berries or bought a nut fancier than the cheapest sunflower seeds. I used to love raw almond butter, now all I buy is some fired to a crisp, aflatoxin-rejected peanut butter. I used to eat predominantly raw. Now I’m eating baked potatoes or anything else that provides more bulk at the cheapest rate. I used to only eat organic fruits and vegetables. I hadn’t eaten a green vegetable for so long that when they finally put a “No Returns” pack together of starting-to-go-bad cucumbers at my health food store, when I bit into one it felt like Nirvana to my body, and by this I don’t mean how it felt when I used to go backstage after a Nirvana concert and get sodomized by Curt Cobain. Now my dog is the one who pulls on the leash and says, “No, bad human!” when I start to pick up food off the sidewalk.

I woke up the other day and there was a wet spot in the sheet that wasn’t the result of dreaming of a ménage with the Olsen Twins but which came from Abandon’s ear that has been giving her issue for at least a year. I drained her ear with Q-tips but would really like to take her to a vet but can’t afford to right now. Maybe I should cut down her cell phone usage.

I actually thought about cutting my electricity. I could wear a huge amount of clothes and wrap myself in blankets. Any electronics I needed to recharge I could do in the laundry room. I could use my computer at the Apple Store. I probably would shower even less frequently than I do now due to the cold. Maybe I’d shower at one of the gyms where I train people. There goes my excuse for bad hygiene!

Of course there are people much worse off than me and not a day goes by that I don’t express my gratitude for having a place to sleep, food in the fridge and a warm shower. Well, that’s not entirely true, being that I don’t shower every day. And I am ever grateful for this interesting life and the gift I was given of words to express myself.

I’m not complaining, because that would imply that I think I am somehow “deserving” of a more prosperous life at the moment. I don’t. Besides the lessons that the Universe is providing for me with her “You landed on Park Place—and it has a hotel on it!” antics, I am a bit spoiled and don’t really feel like putting in the “years in the mailroom” work to be able to be miserable for 30 years in a life-draining job but at least be able to pay my bills.

What I am complaining about is our dishonestly judgmental society. I’ve seen it in the New-Age and raw food cults as they preach of “We are all One and I love everyone!” and yet in practice they see some as more deserving of the “One” than others. I’m mad that this man didn’t just say to me—with no attitude—“I wasn’t sure if that woman needed help and so I wanted to make sure she was okay,” while still treating me as a human worthy of joining the “Company of One.” Instead he made a judgmental assessment, wouldn’t give me the courtesy of listening to my side of the story and dismissed me like a broken condom that can’t even be used to make balloon animals for the kids. Whether I should have kept my mouth shut or not, this woman had no control of her dogs—and sadly I think she might have even been a dog-walker—her dog charged mine, I offered to help her feel more in control and she gave me a fuckin’ attitude.

I felt already knocked down from the Universe cutting my balls off and taking away any sense of manhood for even being able to take care of myself and Abandon. I get some sourpussed bitch looking at me as if I’m the bitch. And then I get some old geezer stepping in as her Prophylactic.

In hindsight, I would have punted her fuckin’ dog, slapped her across her sourpuss face and told the geriatric to mind his own fuckin’ business or be ready for me to knock him down and have his osteoporotic hips broken. At least then I would have justified the judgment that has already been laid upon me. Not to mention it would have been a pretty good time. Ah, there’s always tomorrow!

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REFLECTION:

Think about the groups you are involved with, whether they are charitable or cults like the raw food movement. How do you feel about people who don’t agree with your view or the mission of your group? Do you offer the same loving-kindness to these detractors as you do the privileged who are the recipients of your time and money? “How can you call them privileged—they are suffering and hungry!” Yes, we would all like to be able to live without having our heads cut open so that some mad scientists can learn that poisoning a person with drugs will kill them or go to bed not being hungry. But how many people go to bed each night hungry for love? Are any of these people less deserving of love? You and your pseudo-Christian sensibilities would probably say, “Yes. A murderer doesn’t deserve my love.” But you are wrong, pseudo-Christian. The murderer needs your love the most and a big lesson that Jesus taught through the way he lived was that no one was unworthy of his love.

MEDITATION:

Imagine yourself in a confrontation with someone who disagrees with your ideals, whether it be about what kinds of food humans are designed to eat, about whether animals should have the right to live out their lives devoid of human torture or whether our country should be policing the world like South Park’s “Team America.” Forget the issue, as it is irrelevant. Yes, in this moment it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is two people coming together in union, if not in love than at least in respect. Can you see all that went into this other person formulating her opinion? If not, maybe you should dig a little deeper. Can you feel love for this person? Don’t disguise “pity” as love because it is not. Maybe you should start contributing your love and not just your money to the needy. And maybe you will come to see that the “needy” doesn’t always have torn clothes or growling bellies.