Gang, About this bickering . . .
Here's what's strange: all of us want more love, harmony, wisdom, clarity, freedom, breadth, passion and above almost all else, virtue. And yeah, non-attachment to those qualities too. If all of us washed up on a beach and found ourselves as "suddenly in one tribe" as the characters on the TV show, Lost, we'd all be dancing like tulips on a windy day -- think of the astounding luck to be marooned with others being so like-minded as we! Why, it would be a bomblisstic miracle, right? What? You'd rather be slathering Rush Limbaugh's expanse of blubber with coconut oil? Nope. I'd take you guys in less time than it takes for Superman to change clothes. I'm not going to be horrified that I'm stuck on an island with folks who have decades of drilling down into the nuances of conceptuality, who've gotten many a tee shirt, who have seen so much of the world and dined at so many philosophical eateries -- greasy spoons to four star palaces with all the fixin's. Oh, I could retire with you guys to any home for the elderly -- what a fantastic idea, eh? Think of certain folks here throwing their aluminum walkers across the room at certain others! Instant karma as the thrower screams from overextending an arthritic joint. Hee hee. (Rick Archer: hey, hey, that was your FIFTH walker thrown today!) I did a lot of traveling on the Pacific Rim, and I spent months on various business missions where I'd return to my hotel room and just be stunned that I hadn't seen one person that day who didn't have black hair or was as tall as me or who didn't like cold fish hunks on rice with a watery gruel for breakfast. Talk about anomie! I'd be walking down the street in a big city and the sidewalks would be four, five, ten people shoulder to shoulder deep. I'd scan ahead of me, and there'd be this sea of bobbing black haired heads, and every now and then, HEY, there'd be a western head bobbing above the rest of them -- seemingly to be bouncing on the "surface of heads." And I would just be so happy to know the sound of one head floating! Almost like love at first sight. And, once, I met this person who I barely knew back in the States, and I didn't much care for him, but he spoke English and knew what "Snap into a Slim Jim" meant, and that a dog can be a friend not, you know, cuisine. Oh, the sanctuary of our sharing a Coke and Burger. Someone stop me -- this is sounding so racist! But you guys, why, I'd cross any street in China to shake your hands for the first time, and if I knew any of you were breezing through my town, my first thought would be to have lunch with you. That's an irony about Fairfield as an enclave, familiarity breeds contempt, but if I saw Bevan across an airport lounge, despite what I think he's done to "my" world, I think I'd go over and introduce myself. Yeah I would, and we'd be pleasant with one another, and I wouldn't mention his exploits. Hypocrisy? Yes! Better than jawing with a red-neck? That too. Bevan would be bitter herbs to gnaw, but he'd be more nutritional than Billy Joe McAllister. And if he rolled up on our island beach, covered with sand like a great big sugar encrusted doughnut, why, I think any one of us, ANY, would go over and help brush him off, get him to the shade, and then say, "Wow, go figure! Of all the whales that could have beached themselves on this island, we get Bevan! Not Rush! How did God tell them apart enough to get the right one to us!" What a cool mystery for all of us to dwell upon, eh? This is Fairfield Life. Shipwrecked minds washing up on a nice dry beach. Or, maybe this is Casablanca -- a sort of oasis too. After all, it is Rick's Place. Edg
