I Put My Time In A Coconut......Mmmmm, coconut...
Upon returning from kayaking, I ate the last of my rice dinner, which was delicious, but lacking in proper fat and calories, and settled in to watch a movie before bed. The moment I sat down, I knew it couldn't last because I had a sudden urge to go buy a coconut. I grumbled for a minute or two, detailing, in my head, the distance from my chair where my ass to the store that I would need to walk to in order to procure said coconut.
Having a clear breakdown of the general plan worked out in my mind, I steeled my resolve, donned my jacket, scaled the side of my father's boat to retrieve my sandals from the back storage compartment of my kayak, and I was on my way down the docks, up the ramp, across the highway, and down a little main road that smelled of sea rot, Sitka Spruce, and cigarettes with a hint of rain on a warm and damp summer-breeze. It wasn't yet dark, though the sun had set, and everything still radiated the heat of a hot, sunny day and I was glad that I had opted against changing out of my shorts and into proper pants. My coat was a little too insulated for the mission so I took it off and hung the collar on my right shoulder as I continued walking at Olympic pace; I wanted to make it before 11pm when I was sure the store would be closed.
I walk with my head up as I was taught as a child which naturally makes me more observant of my environment as I make my way hither and yon. All along the way, I pass half-shadowed figures wearing dark clothes, heads usually down, mostly males because most women tend to drive if they go out at night around here, and they tend to appear as though deep in thought when really they are just oblivious to present place and time, but there's not much difference between those two states and there seems little point in making the distinction when it comes to a perfect stranger just passing through so I'll move on.
I tend to think of each person as an exclusive world in and of themselves all contained within this one universe where we bounce around and off of one another like big, smelly, opinionated, water-filled atomic particles and we can talk which is almost always unfortunate in movie theaters or in college dorm rooms after the first pint of McNaughton's. My grandfather has always been fond of stating that we have two ears and only one mouth and so we should listen twice as much as we speak, but I guess that math only works if we're not also talking out of our asses, but I digress. Anyway, we're all exclusive bubbles of perception containing every vibrant color of infinite experience and we find ourselves adrift amongst all these other people-bubbles that I will now, for no clear reason, name pubbles, and we interact with one another because we can and because we have this strange compulsion to do so at odd intervals and in public restrooms.
Sometimes, I get so inspired by the infinitely complex and miraculously mathematically precise nature of our individual existences within this infinitely larger, infinitely more miraculously mathematically precise existence as a whole that I begin to romanticize about the interactions between two strangers that meet at random simply because the timing of their lives was such that the space between their two mutually exclusive destinations collided at a single point and it was there that, out of an infinite number of possible outcomes, they chose to speak. I think about what kinds of inspiring communications must come from such a cosmically unlikely meeting and how it should be deepening the roots of their individual awareness of their own realities. I think of stars colliding and the intense, searing release of all that energy that appears as a brilliant flash in the darkness that gives it form as much by showing what it is as by showing what it is not. I think of the impossibility of two sides of an infinite universe curling around to meet. I muse on the poetry of that moment and then some dude in a black leather jacket looks up as he is about to pass me and says, "Hey, man, nice hair."
What, that was it? A chance meeting with a stranger you may never see again and your improvement on silence is to comment on his plumage? Well, I guess not every meeting can be like a collision of souls. Sometimes, maybe it's more like bird skat dropped on the hot rock of a single moment; just a smelly mix of nothing useful that's hard to wash off. I wonder if other birds of the same species ever compliment one another on their feathers?
"Hey, Robin, I dig your plucks, man! You really look feathery."
"Hey, thanks, man. Yeah, I'm going for the not preened look this year. I want my appearance to say, 'Sure, I'll fertilize your eggs, but then I'm going fishing and this doesn't mean we're flying South together.' I'm just not a nester, you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I hear you, Robin. There are so many eggs out there and I've only got one cloaca if you know what I mean." *wink* *wink*
Yeah, okay, that was a good chuckle, but now back to my story where nothing conclusive ever happens because it's just one moment bleeding into the next like blood running through the body of my existence; there's no real separation in the stream of moments so it appears as one never-ending moment that can only be broken up in memory as specific circumstances, interactions, and sensations measured by a timeline and occurring over the back-drop of shared space. Okay, so the guy used our moment of shared existence to tell me that he liked my hair, but that doesn't mean I have to spend my energy on equally trivial thoughts. I'm an individual occurrence of life given infinite potential for experience and self-expression and, at that moment, I was determined to experience my very own store-bought coconut.
Alas, it was not to be as I arrived at the store to find it closed. A rather rotund and jolly man was hobbling out to someone's car window to say something about "Oh, all night long, baby." and I had naught to do save wander home whilst contemplating how the great lack of flavor of not eating a coconut was inversely proportionate to the great flavor of actually eating a coconut and that if every action has an equal yet opposite reaction then I could only conclude that somebody else did make it to the store on time and did get to enjoy a delicious coconut...that bastard. Then I thought, if my lack of coconut really was just an equal yet opposite reaction to someone else's action of purchasing a coconut then what would happen if that person were to split his/her coconut with me? I guess it would probably mean that, somewhere, some asshole wasn't sharing his/her coconut with someone that deserved it. Of course, they already hadn't shared it with me so I guess that makes my "Other" the asshole in this cosmic equation of existential duality.
SIGH
Oh well, it's not their fault. I'm sure they would have shared with me if they'd just seen my hair first. You can sympathize with good hair even if it IS attached to a pretentious prick. It's like the lovable puppy leashed to the man wearing short shorts and handing out flyers; you'll take his hot pink invitation and listen to him tell you about how "amazing" this thing that he's a part of really is, but only because you really wanted to pet the puppy. Hmmm, maybe that's why he mentioned my hair in passing. He just wanted to pet the puppy and not take one of my flyers professing the such-ness of is-ness. I guess that's what we're all like from time to time; we just want to pet puppies and keep moving.
Okay, abruptly, I say good night.
Having a clear breakdown of the general plan worked out in my mind, I steeled my resolve, donned my jacket, scaled the side of my father's boat to retrieve my sandals from the back storage compartment of my kayak, and I was on my way down the docks, up the ramp, across the highway, and down a little main road that smelled of sea rot, Sitka Spruce, and cigarettes with a hint of rain on a warm and damp summer-breeze. It wasn't yet dark, though the sun had set, and everything still radiated the heat of a hot, sunny day and I was glad that I had opted against changing out of my shorts and into proper pants. My coat was a little too insulated for the mission so I took it off and hung the collar on my right shoulder as I continued walking at Olympic pace; I wanted to make it before 11pm when I was sure the store would be closed.
I walk with my head up as I was taught as a child which naturally makes me more observant of my environment as I make my way hither and yon. All along the way, I pass half-shadowed figures wearing dark clothes, heads usually down, mostly males because most women tend to drive if they go out at night around here, and they tend to appear as though deep in thought when really they are just oblivious to present place and time, but there's not much difference between those two states and there seems little point in making the distinction when it comes to a perfect stranger just passing through so I'll move on.
I tend to think of each person as an exclusive world in and of themselves all contained within this one universe where we bounce around and off of one another like big, smelly, opinionated, water-filled atomic particles and we can talk which is almost always unfortunate in movie theaters or in college dorm rooms after the first pint of McNaughton's. My grandfather has always been fond of stating that we have two ears and only one mouth and so we should listen twice as much as we speak, but I guess that math only works if we're not also talking out of our asses, but I digress. Anyway, we're all exclusive bubbles of perception containing every vibrant color of infinite experience and we find ourselves adrift amongst all these other people-bubbles that I will now, for no clear reason, name pubbles, and we interact with one another because we can and because we have this strange compulsion to do so at odd intervals and in public restrooms.
Sometimes, I get so inspired by the infinitely complex and miraculously mathematically precise nature of our individual existences within this infinitely larger, infinitely more miraculously mathematically precise existence as a whole that I begin to romanticize about the interactions between two strangers that meet at random simply because the timing of their lives was such that the space between their two mutually exclusive destinations collided at a single point and it was there that, out of an infinite number of possible outcomes, they chose to speak. I think about what kinds of inspiring communications must come from such a cosmically unlikely meeting and how it should be deepening the roots of their individual awareness of their own realities. I think of stars colliding and the intense, searing release of all that energy that appears as a brilliant flash in the darkness that gives it form as much by showing what it is as by showing what it is not. I think of the impossibility of two sides of an infinite universe curling around to meet. I muse on the poetry of that moment and then some dude in a black leather jacket looks up as he is about to pass me and says, "Hey, man, nice hair."
What, that was it? A chance meeting with a stranger you may never see again and your improvement on silence is to comment on his plumage? Well, I guess not every meeting can be like a collision of souls. Sometimes, maybe it's more like bird skat dropped on the hot rock of a single moment; just a smelly mix of nothing useful that's hard to wash off. I wonder if other birds of the same species ever compliment one another on their feathers?
"Hey, Robin, I dig your plucks, man! You really look feathery."
"Hey, thanks, man. Yeah, I'm going for the not preened look this year. I want my appearance to say, 'Sure, I'll fertilize your eggs, but then I'm going fishing and this doesn't mean we're flying South together.' I'm just not a nester, you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I hear you, Robin. There are so many eggs out there and I've only got one cloaca if you know what I mean." *wink* *wink*
Yeah, okay, that was a good chuckle, but now back to my story where nothing conclusive ever happens because it's just one moment bleeding into the next like blood running through the body of my existence; there's no real separation in the stream of moments so it appears as one never-ending moment that can only be broken up in memory as specific circumstances, interactions, and sensations measured by a timeline and occurring over the back-drop of shared space. Okay, so the guy used our moment of shared existence to tell me that he liked my hair, but that doesn't mean I have to spend my energy on equally trivial thoughts. I'm an individual occurrence of life given infinite potential for experience and self-expression and, at that moment, I was determined to experience my very own store-bought coconut.
Alas, it was not to be as I arrived at the store to find it closed. A rather rotund and jolly man was hobbling out to someone's car window to say something about "Oh, all night long, baby." and I had naught to do save wander home whilst contemplating how the great lack of flavor of not eating a coconut was inversely proportionate to the great flavor of actually eating a coconut and that if every action has an equal yet opposite reaction then I could only conclude that somebody else did make it to the store on time and did get to enjoy a delicious coconut...that bastard. Then I thought, if my lack of coconut really was just an equal yet opposite reaction to someone else's action of purchasing a coconut then what would happen if that person were to split his/her coconut with me? I guess it would probably mean that, somewhere, some asshole wasn't sharing his/her coconut with someone that deserved it. Of course, they already hadn't shared it with me so I guess that makes my "Other" the asshole in this cosmic equation of existential duality.
SIGH
Oh well, it's not their fault. I'm sure they would have shared with me if they'd just seen my hair first. You can sympathize with good hair even if it IS attached to a pretentious prick. It's like the lovable puppy leashed to the man wearing short shorts and handing out flyers; you'll take his hot pink invitation and listen to him tell you about how "amazing" this thing that he's a part of really is, but only because you really wanted to pet the puppy. Hmmm, maybe that's why he mentioned my hair in passing. He just wanted to pet the puppy and not take one of my flyers professing the such-ness of is-ness. I guess that's what we're all like from time to time; we just want to pet puppies and keep moving.
Okay, abruptly, I say good night.