Overman No Saying. The bad doctor Over difficult. Pouring rain, blue tarp used for the roof not working up to standards. The standards of the neighborhood, of suburbia generally, of family values, falling short of Sensei’s own skills, condemned by banks large and small, social media generals and foot soldiers, etiquette managers, content team leaders, open floor plan or closed offices, pay disparities, neighborhood watch associations, teachers of the good public schools, diversity officers, and deans, Don DcNought, the Catholic Church of Massachusetts and Rhode Island and Rome; drone operators, Google glass wearers, advertisers, data profiteers and pirates; all of them and more watching his ghetto version. It’s all good, he said. It’s all good. Leak’s not that bad. Could be worse. I have a plan out of this. I have a master plan, specific steps.
Water transcended drip to cascade. That far corner, past the table’s chair and pillow-on-cot. Far left corner if you’re facing the back wall, the way Sensei faces when he stands in the doorway to deliver awesome insights and abbreviated sayings, distilled from deep and purposeful meditation, that left corner, cascade. Replaced the bucket with a large plastic bin; some place clothes in them for basement storage. He dumped out her sweaters in the basement, subterfuge, and took the bin. It’s his bin. Its Hisbin. Dag! I’ll just dump the bin when it’s full. I’ll place the bin on blocks of wood, run a drainage hose from the shed to the garden. I’ll collect water. Rain catcher, like Mendocino cisterns. Rain. I love the rain, he says, I will never not. You can’t keep me from rain. He placed his hand under the cascade, watched water drain over his fingers, his palm. He cupped his hand, allowed some collection, and splashed his face. Idea arrived.
He stood from his cot, exited the shack. Walked in rain under swaying trees. Turned his face to the clouds. Walked over to neighbor’s fence and peed. Water on head. Observe the micro in hell, he said. In pleasant reality, in lovely Purgatory, in ancient dream heaven, he noticed wet leaves in neighbor’s garage light, wet sparkling moisture all over his world, leaves, branches, bark, grass, fence post, vines, sky, rock. He peed and looked through neighbor’s windows. Lights, yes, no movement. Curious, wondering. I am free but not free, he exclaimed to water forces.
He sighed wet. Wish the difficult wasn’t so difficult, he thought. He felt it too, because he desired to step beyond, to get into it already, to repair, heal, move on. I swear I would be happy without all these other voices in my life. Her voice, the kids’, the community’s, the newspaper’s, the school’s, the security apparatus, the institutions of control and behavioral analysis. I’m all about analytics. I’m all about contract work, love this shit. He would be happy if they’d let me. It’s time. Been six months. I’m allowed to move on; don’t understand the delay. I don’t need to dwell, to wallow, and nor does she. Nor do they. Dwelling in the hell muck. Swimming in purgatorial brine. Please! Let me be, let me heal this way, flying forward away from all of you. Oh, man! I just want to burrow underground, run away underneath the earth, sprint underground away from you all, all those eyes, those thoughts, fingers pointing. Disappear underground and none of you can find me. You’ll never know where I went. Some, a very few, will wonder what happened to me; only two will try to find me. But I’ll be gone. Disappeared from this world, the world above. Race! Fly! Sprint! Away from the noise, the hurt, screeching whining dragging me away from my comfort real, the place I know represents my forward momentum, my walk.
Overman stood and murmured,
Need to do some pushups. No saying beforehand, though..
Saying No saying is saying something. Still a prayer. No saying is a saying. Ok, ok, no saying is a saying. Then what? Well, do your actual prayers, the ones that matter to you, mantras, sayings, murmurings, mumblings, prayer beads, touch them, saying the thing that holds focus and clarity. Hit those exercises, now, difficulties. No saying, though. Saying no saying is saying so say the saying thing you want to say. Bringing meaning to your story, to your heart. Let us have our narratives, the ones we create for ourselves. Let us see our beauty and our cosmology.