Hologram Thoughts

The alarm went off and I heard the ringing of the Tibetan singing bowl like always, as if it was miles away on a snow covered cliff somewhere. That is a pretty thought and I have it almost every morning when the alarm chimes, snowy mountain cliffs and a little puff of smoke from the fire in the cabin. By the time my phone had chimed a few times I rolled over, grabbed the phone, clicked the button and laid it back down on the bedside table. After a few more minutes of groggy thoughts I sat up on the edge of the bed and looked around.

My wife and three year-old were snuggled up to each other, with the three year-old dominating the middle of the bed as usual. My wife was on the extreme other side of the king-sized bed, beyond my arm length, I am positive the three year-old does that part on purpose.

I got up and headed to the bathroom to shave my head, gliding the blade over my scalp and face I silently recited the Om Mani Padme Hum, if I don’t my mind will wander and I will end up thinking about work or anything else but being there and shaving my head. I have had too many conversations completely in my head for my own good. Once my head is smooth and shiny I lit a stick of incense and turn on the shower.

After I am clean and good-smelly, I dress in the closet and then quietly leave with out waking the wife or the three year-old, just a kiss on my wife’s cheek and then I am gone.

In the garage I’m accosted by my cat, Guru. He is lonely and hungry and wanting a conversation before I leave again. He gets some petting, a scratch between his ears and a bowl of fresh water and food. I leave him to his food and I head out. He teaches me something new every day.

The day is dark gray and rainy. Water flows quickly down the sides of the street and my wipers struggle to keep the windshield clean, and then, through the rain a truck is in front of me, I see the driver and he sees me; too late.

I realize I am not in the car now, but rather standing beside my car, I can see someone is still inside; someone is in the driver’s seat. He looks like me, but somehow different, somehow less than me. The smell of hot metal and plastic is everywhere. Gas and oil mixes on the street causing a rainbow of colors on the water as the rain quickly washed it all to the grass covered ditch.

The driver of the truck is moving his head now and I tell him everything will be OK, just to relax, I can hear the sirens already, we will be fine. My hands are shaking violently and there is sweat on my forehead.

Then, all too fast the fire engine is here and men pour out of the red beast. They race to the truck, and then to what is left of the car. For a moment one of the men looks at me, and then past me, he looks in to the woods and then someone yells for him to help them. He looks back to me, but can not find me. I am no longer there.

I walk out of the bathroom.

My wife looks up, startled that I am standing there beside the bed again, smiles at me.

“I thought you were gone,” she says half asleep still.

My hands are calm, my brow is dry.

“I am.”

What will it take to make me listen?
What will it take to make me see with out distortion?
What will it take to make me understand,
to make me care,
to make me forgive,
to let me feel love.

What will it take to make me notice,
to make me pay attention,
to calm me down,
to smile again,
to smell the rain and not fear the floods.

What will it take to wake me up?
What will it take to change my ways,
to hear the cries,
to pick them up and set them right,
to hold you through the night?

What will it take to make it right?
What will it take to make me cry?
to make me hate,
to make me beg,
to let you go,
What will it take?

This spring we have been given more rain in my city than anyone would have expected. Everything is lush and green. Lawns are thick and strong, flowers are blooming everywhere you look, trees seem to radiate variations of green, and every creek is flowing; good times right?

By this time of the year we are usually watering our lawns and gardens almost daily to keep them growing, to keep the sun from burning them and shriveling the life out of them. Some years we already have cracks and fissures running in our lawns, the earth dry enough to cause little rips and tears in the the ground.

But this year, with the rains, we should all be so happy, ecstatic that the earth has gifted us so plentifully with water than everything is growing. But we aren’t. We are dealing with swollen and overflowing creeks and rivers. Flooding in the streets, our homes and yards. Streets that have been swept away by the rushing waters.

If the rains had not come we would have suffered just as much, but in different ways. Nothing makes us happy. Yesterday at work I heard a coworker say that she wished the rains would go away for a few months and I thought how dangerous that was. Words have power, her intention has energy and strength; yet she has no idea what she is asking for.

She would not be any happier if the temperature was 95 degrees and sweltering. The rains might be an inconvenience in her mind, but they are what they are. A part of life.

I don’t mind the rain; it smells wonderful, everything is green and lush. Soon enough they will be gone and all of those people upset at the heavy rains will long for them as the sun pushes us over the 100 degree mark in the middle of the coming summer.

Just be mindful, realize how magical life is and smile. There is nothing you can do about it anyway.