March
4, 2020: It’s not quite as
difficult as I thought to remember the past and the future at the same time. Most
people will think this is a work of fiction, but I would strongly disagree. I’m
only recording what happened. Of course, I have no real way of making you
believe such a thing. But the story is not over yet. Maybe in time…
Sad
to say, humans for thousands of years have a spent a lot of valuable time
thinking about things they can never understand. Consciousness is one of those
things. I’m not casting blame because I too have thought quite a bit about
consciousness and I’m no closer to understanding it than when I started. But
even though I don’t understand it and can’t explain it, I do know that without
it, the universe would not exist. Or to put it better: it might as well not
exist.
I
make better time than I thought and reach the coast in two and a half days. The
ocean air is invigorating and there’s a strong breeze on the beach. Not many
swimmers or sun worshipers yet; it’s a little too early in the season. I locate
a place called the Seafood Shack and have oysters on the half shell and a
couple of bottles of beer.
The
owner of the Seafood Shack is a guy named Joe. He’s appears laid back, dressed
in green Bermuda shorts and flip flops (by the way I think we’re now in the
early 1960’s). His beard is mostly grey. He sits down at my table.
“How
are the oysters?”
“Great!
I haven’t had any in many years.”
He
was a little taken aback, “Wow, you must have been living in seclusion on a
desert mountain. Oysters are everywhere these days.”
I
answered, “Well, for some reason, I just haven’t been eating oysters. But when
the opportunity came along, I jumped at it.”
“How
about another beer?”
“No,
thanks, two’s my limit.”
“Self-imposed
limit?”
“In
the long run, that’s the only kind that works.”
I
asked, “If you don’t mind talking about it, how did you get into the seafood
restaurant business?”
Joe
replied, “Not at all. A few years ago I got hit with two endings: the end of my
corporate executive career and the end of my marriage. After my ex-wife got
half of everything, I still had enough money left to move down here and do
something I’d been dreaming about for a long time.”
“Was
it a tough transition?”
“At
first, but now I’m happy as a clam, which we don’t sell by the way.”
“Just
oysters?”
“Yea,
that means I’m able to close for a few months a year, when oysters aren’t in
season.”
“What
do you do with your off time?”
“I’m
writing a book about consciousness.”
“How
far along are you?”
“One-hundred
thousand words.”
“That’s
a tough subject. Consciousness, I mean. Many men and women have tackled it over
the years without any real success.”
“I
don’t really plan to explain it. Exploring it is closer to the truth. It’s
probably beyond explanation.”
I
stood up and said, “Well, don’t give up. Who knows, maybe you’ll discover some
part of consciousness that will help someone else discover another part. And so
on.”
I
paid my bill and ambled down to the beach where I sat in the sand and looked
out to where the horizon met the ocean. Might be a good night for observing the
stars.
As
night descended, I fell into a milieu-induced reverie:
We
have inferior minds to God. What’s the highest level of inferiority that allows
communication with God?
For
some, it is more important to defend a decision than it is to search for the
truth.
If
life is a parking lot, what’s more important? Finding a parking space or being
able to leave the parking lot?
We
are not conscious when we are asleep, but we are alive. What value to the world
would we be if we were always asleep?
Without
observation, there is no reality. Reality is a concept about meaning. Meaning
comes out of observation.
There
is nothing perfect in the universe and that is why it is perfect.
The
moon was very bright that night and I enjoyed watching it. Coruscations are less likely when the moon was full. I fell asleep on the beach a little after
midnight. Found a coffee joint on the first avenue that ran parallel to the
beach.
I
was headed back inland.
It
was 1961. JFK was in the first year of his presidency. The economy was doing
well and the space program was in high gear. A lot of cars were on the highway,
but I was walking through fields and on dirt roads.
A
propane gas delivery truck drove past me and turned into the driveway of a
small frame home. Several dogs started barking at once. The driver was hesitant
about getting out of the truck into order to fill the gas tank located behind
the house. Nobody came out of the house to quiet the doors. I decided to lend a
hand. I walked up to the door of the truck.
“Howdy.”
“Those
your dogs?”
“No,
I’m just a stranger passing by.”
The
driver then asked, “Do you have a clue why those dogs stopped barking?”
“I
think those dogs realized you weren’t here to do anything bad.” I hoped the
driver didn’t think I was laughing at his bemusement.
The
driver’s name was Dwayne. This was his first month on the job and he said he mostly
enjoyed it. Biggest problems were dogs, getting stuck in the mud, and having a
hard time locating where customers lived. This was long before GPS and
smartphones. I emphasized with Dwayne. Many people still lived on god-forsaken,
poorly maintained “two-rut” dirt roads.
He
asked me, “You wouldn’t mind hanging around while I fill up the tank? Nobody’s
home and you seem to have a calming effect on the dogs.”
“Glad
to do it.”
Dwayne
went ahead and took care of the tank while I threw sticks for the dogs to run
after. When finished he asked, “Would you like a ride? I don’t know where you
headed but you’re welcome to ride with me.”
“I
wouldn’t mind riding around with you. Seems like you have an interesting job.”
While
driving to the next customer, we talked about his job. As new guy on the block,
he got most of the rural routes. Each stop was a mile or more from the last
one. One time we must have drove at least ten miles to get to the next
customer. Most people lived on dirt roads or if they were near a paved road,
their driveway was dirt and it was usually at least a hundred yards long.
Dwayne said he treated it like a football field where he was running back a
kickoff and the mud puddles were the other team who was trying to tackle him.
He had to either avoid the puddles or run over them. Sometimes, more often than
he wanted to admit, he got “tackled” which means he got his truck stuck in the
mud. The branch manager had joked that he might rent a tow truck and have it
follow Dwayne wherever he went. Dwayne didn’t find that comment amusing.
Dwayne
wasn’t long out of high school and was still living with his parents. He invited me
to have supper at his house. He said his mother loved to cook and there was
always more than enough food. It was 6 pm when we parked on an alternate
driveway behind his house. Dwayne was on call for the week and it was handy to
have a truck in case someone needed propane gas during the night.
Both
parents were home when we walked into the house through the back door. They
seemed to genuinely appreciate me being there especially after Dwayne told them
I had kept the dogs at bay. He was also right about the food. Tender roast
beef, mashed potatoes and asparagus. I complimented Dwayne’s mom on the meal.
The dad pitched in and said, “That’s the way she cooks every night. It’s wonder
I’m not as wide as door.”
His
wife responded, “You’re too busy running around that car lot trying to sell
cars every day to get fat.”
Dwayne
had told me his dad owned his own used car lot and had done so for twenty
years. And for an used car salesman, he had a good reputation in town and the
surrounding communities. Dwayne’s mom was a secretary at a local law firm.
Dwayne had two sisters, both a good bit older than him and both had families.
One lived in town and one lived in the state capital. Dwayne had been a
surprise, coming along when his parents where in their late thirties.
His
dad was talking again, “I’ve been encouraging her to quit her job and open a
small restaurant or a least start a catering business. I’ve saved up a little
money and would be more than happy to help her get it off the ground.”
“But
that’s your retirement. You know you’re not a spring chicken anymore.”
“You
don’t need to be a spring chicken to sell cars. I can do that in my sleep. I’ve
got a good twenty years of car selling still in me.”
Dwayne’s
mom just laughed.
I
thanked them for the fine meal, shook Dwayne’s hand, and said goodbye.
It
was about 8 PM. I decided to take a look at the downtown. It was only about a
mile away. In the center of the downtown area was a small park with trees,
benches, and a variety of flowers. It was well-lighted. All the stores were
closed. I sat on a bench and didn’t think about the days ahead. As far as I
knew, they could turn out to be the days behind. To avoid too much confusion,
it was best to heed the old adage of taking one day at a time.
I
decided to visit the state capital. It had been founded at the beginning of the
19th century. It was situated at the juxtaposition of two rivers.
Growth had been uneven over the years, but a renaissance of sorts had been
going on lately thanks to a renewed interest in the visual and musical arts.
Artists of differing genres had flocked to the city in recent years, swelling
the population and as a by-product, the current crop of citizens had been
motivated to increase their knowledge and appreciation of the arts. Art for the
hoi polloi, not art for arts sake, was the rallying cry.
But
it would be few days before I got there. I was walking again. Now I enjoy
walking through the countryside but that’s not the main reason I primarily walk
to wherever I’m going. Walking as opposed to riding in a car, or a truck, or a
motorcycle, or even a horse, means I have more time to observe what’s going on
and more opportunity to interact with human beings, which is really what this
journey of mine through time is all about.
I’m not on earth to spread light but to find it; whether that be on
earth itself or in the sky above.
Second
day out from visiting with Dwayne’s family, I happened upon what looked like a
man building a house all by himself. Looked like the outside of the house was
getting close to completion. When I walked up to the house the man was hammering
shingles onto the roof. He was making quite a racket. I hollered up to him,
“Hello there, do you have any water down here? I sure could use a drink.”
He
stopped hammering and responded, “Sure thing, there’s a cooler attached to the
back of my truck. Grab a paper cup and help yourself.”
The
water was ice cold and delicious.
