Day 418: The Paradox And The Colouring Book. Part 1.

Dying is a strange feeling.

A magical blend of the mind folding in on itself and the euphoria that sometimes occurs when pulling a very long hair from a very dry butthole, without of course breaking it.

That’s what I felt anyway, when I died.

Welcome to Heaven Bobby, can I get you a drink?

She asks me.

Ah, yes please, I’ll have an Iced Tea.” I say robotically dazed.

I apologize, we don’t permit Iced Tea due to the caffine and sugar content, is there something else I can bring you?”

Like a waiter who asks for my drink order before I have a chance to open the menu, I’m annoyed.

A juice, orange juice?” I say.

She shakes her head, “Oranges are really high in vitamin C, did you know that?

We believe here that a half portion of orange juice mixed with alkaline water is optimal, therefore available.”

Ok, I’ll have one of those, with a straw please.”

“A straw?” she asks.

Her tone of professional conformation seeming to scold me rhetorically.

Bamboo” I say, attempting to George W. Bush my way out of acknowledging a bad decision.

Bobby, we believe in sustainability here in heaven, with that aim we…”

Just the juice, I interrupt her.

Half water half juice no straw that’s fine” I say faster than I wanted to but, fuck.

Ok” she beams, “be right back.

She hovers away leaving me to metabolize the universe in fantastic color.

Primary expressions that seem to magnify when I close my eyes.

Hidden colors that roll into the mutated invisible ether, as if the entire visual universe were actually Keyser Söze.

A lie.

Or at the very least, an infinite drawer of grey platitudes and sepia apologies.

Like a fish plucked from the bowels of a cold and barren sea, then walked through Manhattan in a fish bowl.

Where the fuck am I?

“Jesus“, I say.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” A soft voice from behind me asks.

I turn instinctually into a man with a large, well maintained mustache and warm glowing smile.

“I’m Jesus, or Yawha or if you’re into Coen Brother references, The Jesus”

A warm wave of calming emotion washes over me and I feel instantly more relaxed, as if I finally understood the complex theme of Dark.

“What’s the deal with the orange juice girl?” I ask him

Who? Donna?” He asks looking over his shoulder suspiciously.

“Donna’s a bit of a freak” he whispers.

She insists she works here, it’s her sense of purpose and usefulness that makes her happy, she’s free to express that here.

He looks at me patiently, I can feel that he already has an answer to the question I’m going to ask.

“What if Donnas idea of happyness conflicts with mine here?” I oblige him.

“Bobby” he says exhaling.

“What is your expectation of heaven?”

I don’t have an expectation” I say.

I knew as soon as I said it, I was lying.

Not having an expectation of heaven is like not having an expectation of a Wes Anderson movie.

“A peaceful place I guess, a place where everyone is compassionate.”

A place where want or need don’t exist.

A place where taxes, politics and Instagram are arcane abstract concepts, not mainstream institutions.”

I roll my lips into each other, a clear sign I have finished describing what I think heaven is, to heavens poster boy.

Heaven is less of a place and more of a state of mind” he says.

The idea that a place external from you could interpret what you need or want before you need it or want it, then provide it for you, coincides more with the age of surveillance capitalism and Amazon Prime, than a honest shake at utopia, no?”

Let’s take Donna for example“, he explains.

“She welcomed you here, then asked if you wanted a drink?”

I’ll reiterate, Donna officially, absolutely does not work here.”

The drink options she made available to you are her way of

appreciating and praising you, her way of showing you love.

Her intention is to make you healthier and happier, in achieving that objective Donna will experience a feeling of nurturing and compassion, which for her feels good.

Right now she’s probably testing a complicated formula for orange scented Dasani water, all because of you”. He says.

“Ok, I understand that but I, I…” .

Was I just talking to talk? I asked myself in the microsecond between syllables.

Was I really going to make Donna’s Juice my Alamo?

I’m not comfortable with rules, or guidelines.” I say, deciding to go another way.

“When I hear restrictions I immediately think limitations.”

Does a seed feel limited by the soil in which it grows?” He asks.

“Listen The Jesus, I’ve had my fair share of conversations hijacked by gardening metaphors”. I say, annoyed.

Heaven is not a state of mind” I protest.

“The mind is a tangible mass, that depending on when I died might not even exsist anymore.

Yet, I still feel as if I have feelings and attachments.

And Donna is reinforcing these abject behaviors by introducing what I believe to be limitations in a landscape where there are, according to legend, none?

Or are there?” I ask.

The best way I can explain heaven is, your mind generates mood and your mood determines your perspective.

That begins the cycle.

Reality is perspective, so if your mood is affected by the introduction of limitations, perhaps the key to alleviating the feeling of being limited is not in removing what you precieve to be limitations but in understanding that limitations are a personal construction, in short”, he says,

“You are your own limitations”.

Are you saying, there is no spoon?” I ask, hoping for a Matrix reference.

Yes” he says with a breath, “and no“.

To be, or not to be? Is a fraction of the question.

Being, is a detail that distracts from the unification of this reality, which is the reality of Nirvana, and the myopic reality of all primitive beings.

Primitive Beings who unfortunately, are governed by self interest and fear”

Heaven is being able to coexist in harmony with other beings.

As well as with your constructions, and limitations.

whatever it is you want from utopia, and how you decide to contribute, and receive it will impact the fabric of collective consciousness.

At that moment The Jesus morphed into a beautiful brown Buddha.

He looked familiar, like like, Morpheus!

I need to go for a walk Morpheus, to process everything.

And to basically to verify I’m not on mushrooms” I say.

No problem, enjoy the walk, get acquainted. Just don’t go to the elephant graveyard, everything else the light touches, is cool just not that shadowey area over there.

He says pointing toward the pillars of creation.

Are you kidding?”

No” he said, not kidding.

As I walked away I could see Donna return with two copper cups, she quickly shuffled toward Morpheus, giving him my juice.

See you later“, she yelled waving to me.

I’ll make you a spirulina tofu salad when you get back!

I nodded, “I don’t know when I’ll be back!”

“Try to be back before ten” she yelled.

I held my breath, that was the feeling of anger.

The tart eruption of “fuck you Donna” brewing in my chest.

Blah blah blah, don’t do that don’t do this I’m a hero from your favourite movie!

We’ll see about that!” I said to myself in casual conversation.

I was going to the Elephant

Graveyard.

Wherever I am, I’m not happy,

I have to get the fuck outta here.

Day 412: The Ice Cream Prologue.

I realized today that all my problems are bullshit.

Every single problem, projection of conflict or illusionary precursor to frustration, is bullshit.

It all happened during my daily walk in the forest, a rather tropical experience that, without fail, calms me down immensely.

In a place where I should be calm and relaxed, I realized that my mind was once again hard at work constructing something, anything to bemoan.

I was actively preventing myself from accepting a very rare treasure, the feeling of being content.

Simultaneously solving problems by creating them.

Analogy time.

A chocolate sundae is simply Ice cream with delicious things on it, topped liquid chocolate.

A pretty simple gathering of ingredients that can be found even here in India.

A chocolate sundae is a thing that ancient people could not fathom, and until relatively recently, a un employed gypsy like me would never have access to.

Ever.

Against the impossible odds that I would even have access to ice cream, I will, without fail, critically pacify all that is amazing about ice cream, focusing instead on how I’m lactose intolerant and ice cream turns my asshole into a french horn.

Ninety percent analogy, ten percent real talk.

I will question the economic origin of ice cream, does it come from some evil corporation like Nestle, or two hippies from Vermont?

Who, yes sold it to Unilever, but let’s stay focused.

Then there’s the guilt of eating it, feeling like I broke something or disrespected myself, after I lick the bowl clean like a petulant Cambodian sewer dog.

This Ice Cream analogy is of course a metaphor, but I’ve literally eaten ice cream then took my garbage out.

At midnight.

Just so I could feel fresh in the morning, like the crime of eating two pints of Cherry Garcia was never committed.

That’s happened.

More than once.

All this to say, I have a problem accepting things as they are.

No.

It’s difficult for me to accept a situation, then move on.

I’m actually very happy, and content here in India.

Furthermore I’ve had many beautiful experiences during my time in Africa.

Yes, there were challenges, but I antisipted them, not specifically, but knew what my absolute tolerances were, I trusted I could handle whatever obstacle(s) Africa could and would create for me.

Including, as irony would have it, the obstacle of myself.

I also knew intuitively that after arriving in Morocco I would be in need of a healing experience, that’s why I chose to come to India.

Where once I felt suffocated by arrogance, ignorance and hypocrisy, I now feel like it’s all cosmic hands on deck to unfuck me.

India is doing what India does, and is healing me like I needed her to.

Sometimes I feel like the king of the hippies, y’know.

The shit I say.

Yes of course, there are frustrations, but they are so ridiculously irrelevant that mentioning them is a waste of our time.

Perhaps being around so many that do suffer from not having basic necessities has made me more aware of my blessings.

I don’t know?

But I am content.

When I can accept that Ice Cream is good.

And it’s ok to eat it.

It’s ok Bobby, eat that cheese cake too.

I’ve taken a long time off from writing here because I really couldn’t wrap my head around how this one thing, the lockdown, was pissing in all my corn flakes.

Q: All my Corn Flakes are soaked in old piss, why?

A: Because I don’t like to be told no.

That’s basically it.

When I hear no, my instincts fixate on a work around.

Great for a game of Catan.

Not so great for real borders and border closures.

Oh my God, I just realized I hustle real countries, like I hustle in Catan.

Because of this insight I decided to write a short story about how I would survive the contemporary imaginings of heaven.

Stay tuned for that.

In other more syncretistic news, today is my 108th day of lockdown.

For those who don’t know, 108 is a very auspicious number in Buddhism and Hinduism.

Today is also the lunar eclipse.

So, I think I’ll go for ice cream.

Maybe you should too!