Feng Shui 6
Nine feet tall in a blue kilt...
Bon jour, bon jour! So here we are with Bill happily asleep with Betty, as he begins into yet another dream… Hmm… Where does this thing go?! Let’s find out…
In this dream he heard a voice… The voice was coming from behind the refrigerator of his childhood-home. He wasn’t sure what it was back there.
Was it maybe not the family dog?
Whatever it was, it was telling him to pick up the damn phone. The phone? “YES! The phone..!”
Oh! The one inside the freezer, attached to the bottom of the ice-maker there! Oh! He suddenly realized it was ringing. Yes. Sure!
As he opened the freezer and picked it up, he realized whose voice it was, it was Grampa Pearl!
“OOOOH! It’s YOU! Hey Grampa!” He said, half-expecting the family-dog to show-up.
“Hell YES it’s me! Jesus Bill! Pick up the damn phone!”
Bill held up the receiver and said “I did!.. It’s just cold!” after which Pearl began on a tirade: “Sell ‘em the Lugers! They were shit. Foreign goddam clockwork break-down garbage! Sell ‘em the damn Lugers!”
“But they’re so pretty!” Bill heard himself saying on the freezer-phone to the family dog, but just then Grampa rounded the corner from the rumpus-room.
He stood before Bill in all his magnificence. In the dream he was, like, nine-feet tall. Which all made some kind of sense just then.
He was wearing a blue clergy-kilt, sporting a gray-formal jacket, and carrying a walking-stick, which made him look pretty regal, and very badass. He had that look on his face like he thought Bill needed to “get WITH it man!” He looked like those angry-looking-pictures of Thomas Jefferson. But in a kilt. To be sure… Suddenly Bill could hear him repeat, rather loudly: “Sell ’em! Sell ‘em the goddam Lugers, Billy!”
In the dream, Bill just nodded. He was vaguely aware that it was nice to see Pearl. But it didn’t register that Pearl was there in front of him and also on the phone. It was a sweet, happy-moment, and Pearl brought out a jar of habanero jam. Bill loved that stuff!
Now he was in a storm, near a big house that he did not know. He was writing her name on his chest with a sharp blade; ‘Betty.’ There was rain and lightening going as he cranked it along; digging it in deep, but it wasn’t hurting. He was surprised to find he could carve it pretty-well, and that it wasn’t a problem. Still, he couldn’t seem to get it to bleed, try as he might. Oh well.
He looked into the mirror. The Hab jam was missing… Huh? Oh!.. He was vaguely aware that a howling-wind had blown him into, like, a gym locker-room where he’d suddenly appeared in front of a locker-room-type mirror. The lights were dim in there, though he was able to read her name clear on his chest: ‘Betty.’ But it just looked like dark-blue-ink, which made some sort of sense in the dream. The family dog was in there too, but was more like a horse-sized animal. But it WAS him! Yep… And Oh! He was getting into the jam! That was where it went! That was gonna burn his tongue! And maybe it wouldn’t be good for his renals! Bill was alarmed, and thought to go try to lunge him.
“Come on Clyde…” He said as he grabbed the halter…
That five-thirty alarm hit.
His torso was levering-up with the first beep. He tossed off his blanket.
The physical tossing of the blanket seemed born of heat; an indicator to cool-it. Slow down. WOW! He’d remembered to slow-down!.. Cool! Well, that time at least!..
But still, as he thought on it, he allowed that he didn’t need to leave-out moving with purpose, and alacrity. Yeah!
There was still a bit of a haze in his head, but the thrill of it being his BIG second day hit him in a way that felt good.
He thought to go get his coffee.
But first he got his carry-bag from the top-shelf of the closet, and checked to see if it would pass as a gym-bag. It was fine.
He sat at the desk, and reviewed it again: Tuesday morning. The beautiful second-day of his new life.
It still felt good, though a bit less ‘fizzy’ than Monday, which could-might be a good thing anyway. After all, he was more interested in realities, and meeting them, than in chasing the fizz of imagination. Wasn’t he? Anyway…
He got the coffee made, and drank some of it down as he went to the desk and consulted his notebook.
Damn! He’d done a great job yesterday. Right on!
He admitted to himself that there had been the indecisive moments, and bobbling of direction, but he was going to absolve himself right then, and continue forward. Free to act.
OK, gym. He’d get there at 10 a.m., it’d be a little less busy then; or he seemed to remember that ten was a good, less-busy-time; this memory coming from his gym-going days of yore. Mmm-Hmm.
So, that left him a few hours to develop some more strategic-perspectives.
BUT! Being out the door by nine-thirty was essential.
He decided to read his books for an hour, and then to write down something that made some practical-sense, that he could carry as a bit of primary-conviction, or as some form of beginning-wisdom for his Feng Shui tool-kit.
As the coffee began to light him up, he remembered the dream about Pearl.
‘Sell ‘em the damn Lugers!’ Huh.
Bill had never planned to sell the collection. Hell, ANY of it.
But suddenly he wondered why he was so bent on saving it all..?
There were some intense feelings of pride and ownership, and some great memories of Grampa and all that, but really it was just inertia anymore.
Pearl had lived his life the way he wanted to, and Bill was recognizing that he needed to do the same.
A certain tension moved over him as he thought about it.
The Lugers. Pearl had loved the Lugers, only because he could get them cheap, and they always sold. But as a shooter, he thought they were sub-par to the 1911 Colt all-day-long.
Bill recognized that “clockwork garbage” stuff of the dream; Pearl would get worked-up, and go with that rant anytime Bill would admire one of the sleek pistols.
Pearl had dealt in Lugers all the way, and had become an expert on them; their history, the different models etc. At some point in the sixties he had more Lugers at his shop than anywhere else in the U.S. There had been several articles on him in gun magazines through the years.
And he’d hung onto some nice collector-models that he would sell to other collectors now and then.
He’d had nearly seventy of them when he died. All super-nice, many in their boxes, or presentation-cases from the turn of the last century, and all numbers-matching, of course.
All told they were probably worth at least a couple-hundred grand.
But what a strange new idea: ‘Sell the Lugers.’ Huh.
But why? He didn’t need the money.
Nonetheless, the idea that he might be able to let-go without too-much-pain into that kind of dough, gave him a buoyant feeling. Like insurance against disaster.
But not to get lost in that! There was a LOT of work to do yet.
He sipped his coffee as he worked his way along in the Feng Shui book.
‘Commanding position!’ This was an idea that looked to be coming up a few times.
It had to do with placement in certain rooms of bed, desk, chairs and the like.
And here, the Kuber Yantra. How ‘bout that?.. This was an actual-thing that you were to ‘set-about’ in your space to draw things into your life. Wow, that was a little-steep for him to believe, but the idea was nice.
The five principles- wood, fire, water, earth, metal. These started to get far-out in their reckoning, but Bill figured it was part of the flex that would contribute to his presentation.
He found a few Chinese words- Aye, Leelya, Maylee. He said them a few times. He liked them, as they were real words for real things: Love, strength, and beauty.
He thought to go to the bank and reconsider the new doorway, in light of commanding position.
As he considered, he didn’t hate what he was reading, but more trying to deal-with-it meaningfully; like deciding to keep it simple, AND admitting the bullshit, even while trying to bring the spirit of what he thought was good about it to the game in the big picture. Yeah. There it was.
He’d have to treat it like art, and performance-art at its best; sort of like a ‘Happening’ that doesn’t stop ‘Happening…’
From that point of view he thought about Satchmo.
If it was going to be an artful-process, how could he bang on his fellow artists?
Satchmo’s work was just another iteration of perspective.
The man had commanded a door in a perfectly-sound piece of granite!
Was THAT not a feat-and-a-half?! A damn magic trick?! Was it art? Artful?
A tingle of recognition at his own sensitivity and aesthetic was rising.
‘Bill you can do this!’ He thought. He’d just make it all beautiful, sweet, and real, and leave out the bullshit.
“I’m not a cheater.” He said it out loud. He’d done things in the past that weren’t perfectly-straight, and he’d hated the dirty-cheap feeling of it. He couldn’t stomach it.
“How am I gonna reconcile that?”
It came to him clearly- Trust yourself.
Besides, in the big picture he was only two steps up Everest; plenty of time to correct and revision the task at hand.
“Yes, I will trust myself.”
It was nearly eight, he got up to make Betty’s coffee.
Then he thought to fix a bowl of strawberries with a little vanilla yogurt, and some avocado toast that she could take with her out the door. He munched a few of the berries as he cut them. Probably he should have a little something before the gym.
She usually ran a little late.
“Babe?” He called, but she was right there. He looked at her… Man, she was a looker. He thought to keep the pony-boy from getting too worked-up.
“There you are!” He said as he laid the coffee and bowl onto the table.
“Just a little something. And I have some Avocado toast cookin’ for the road.”
“I think I’ll have it here if that’s OK?”
“Of course!”
Oh, woooow, THIS was new… “have it here?” Wow.
He pulled the toast up and slid the avocado on in a pretty-swirl.
He set it down next to her along with the pepper mill.
She looked up at him “It’s beautiful, Bill, thank you.”
He began to clean up the knife and the avocado peel, but his heart was in his throat. It was that kind of feeling like when you feed the cat, and finally it lets you pet it, and you’re trying to stay calm but you are bursting with excitement. It was welling. What could he do?! Then he knew.
“Oh! I forgot.” He walked around behind her, and very softly began to tickle-scratch her back. She almost melted.
Why didn’t he always remember to do this? He wondered.
She was enjoying it very much, he could tell by the way she was moving. God he loved this.
She started to sort of moan, which was good, but signaled to him that he needed to stop.
Gaining a better philosophical-form required him putting down the dog when it got too fun. As much as he was a sucker for desire, he saw that he had scant-little-room for it on his path just then.
It was 8:15, and he decided that it would be good to get out the door an hour early. He could stop and read at the park before the gym.
He laid into a heavier scratch and quick rub to let her know that the ride was slowing down.
“Baby, I gotta hit it. I love you tons. How about some roasted Brussels Sprouts tonight? I’ll make some biscuits too. You know, it’ll be good, we’ll think of something fun…”
It hit him- ‘TOO MUCH, BILL!’
“Anyway, see you here.”
She smiled “MMM-hmm.”
He nodded at her with a little eyebrow, turned and went to get his bag, and head out.
“Bill, let’s talk tonight.” This she said sort of seriously.
He looked at her eyes, it was hard to read. Huh.
He smiled and nodded.
She smiled back.
“Aye, Leeliya, Mylee.”
He left her with that and headed out.
It was good that he was gone early, because he was a little unraveled at it all. He remembered the hand on the leg the night before, but this ‘talk’ seemed ominous.
What to do? ‘Be brave!’ It came quick just then… Yes, he could ‘be brave.’ Yeah, OK.
But then he thought about how damn-excited he’d gotten with Betty; when that “MMM-hmm” seemed a little-bit friendly.
He stopped the car at the park not far from the gym and sat there, sort of buzzed.
His second day was working out. Maybe better than yesterday. Maybe. No, yes, for sure… Brave.
He got out the book to look at the rest of the day.
He wrote ‘Brave’ at the top of the page, when suddenly he remembered seeing Pearl in the dream.
“That kilt! Oh! HELL YES!!” He said in a silly-guffaw…
And BANG! Just like that, he knew that he was going to go get a kilt..!
Aaaaannd That!.. Is a wrap for the week! Go Bill GO! I’m rooting for him, man! You? See you next week! Have it lovely.