Spiraling Mind

My mindless body
Floats somewhere
In the spiral arms
Of the Milky Way

No mind
No body
No way

The Wind

The wind in my ears is the sound of the beautiful Koran.
The wind in my ears is the sound of the beautiful Dharma.
The wind in my ears is the sound of the beautiful Gospel.

The wind in my face is the beautiful face of God.

A Dream Of Playing Ping-Pong With The Devil

The Snake

When Stephen Darjeeling was a little boy he liked snakes. In the early summer when the heady smells of grass and flowers filled the air he would ride his Western Flyer over to the hollow by the Neosho river, lay it down in the ditch next to the old water well and walk into the woods, turning over the light brown slate rocks that served as the roof of the homes of the ring-necked snake. He had to be quick to catch the small black snake with the bright red ring behind its head. He had to be doubly quick. As soon as he lifted the rock he had to figure out if there was a snake there and was it a friendly snake, like the ring neck. Most of the time the snake, if there was one, was the benign ring-neck, but sometimes he would find himself facing a more menacing creature like a scorpion or maybe even a small copperhead or cottonmouth water moccasin, two snakes who weren’t so friendly and who frequented the woods near the Neosho. They were also poisonous. But Stephen didn’t care about that because he was good at catching snakes. He would grab the little ring-neck behind the head and carry it back to his bike and let it slither into the hole of the handle bar grip which was just big enough to let the snake in. Then he would ride back to town to show his brother or friends and maybe scare a girl or two when the snake poked its head out to look around.

It was a typical snake hunting day but Stephen wasn’t ready for this one. He was playing in the back yard when he noticed something in the tall grass of the field behind. It looked like a snake and it was moving like a snake but it was huge. It was the size of an anaconda or python like the ones he had seen in the Tarzan movies down at the theater on Saturday afternoon. He couldn’t believe it. How could it be that there was a snake that big in his back yard? But Stephen was not afraid. He wasn’t afraid of any snake no matter how big it was or whether or not it was poisonous. He started toward it. It sensed his movement and stopped. He continued walking toward the monstrous snake knowing full well what power it had. The power to crush. The power to swallow. The power to kill. Still he walked forward right up to within a few feet. Suddenly the snake turned and faced him and began to speak to him! “Stephen, you are a young boy now. When you are older we will face each other again and you will understand our meeting here today.” With that, the snake began to move off rapidly and was gone in an instant. Stephen stood there perplexed. He decided not to tell anyone, not even his brother. It was just too crazy a story for anyone to believe. His legs were weak as he walked back to the house, got on his Flyer and took off for the hollow, thinking he might get another glimpse of this strange creature.

The She-Wolf

The dog looked friendly enough. The little girl walked up to it. “Nice doggy,” she said and reached out to pet it. Suddenly the dog snarled and got up, approaching the girl rapidly with ears laid back and snarling teeth. The hair on its back, once soft and colorful, was now standing straight up, dark and ugly. The little girl screamed. Stephen was in the house watching the Saturday afternoon baseball game. It was boring but there was nothing else to do. He was too old to “play outside” with the little kids and too young to drive a car or hang out downtown. His folks were afraid he might get in with the wrong crowd and be a “hoodlum” or “juvenile delinquent”. He heard the girl’s screams and jumped off of the couch and hit the door running. She was backed up against the concrete front porch and the dog was stealthily approaching her with lips pulled back and teeth bared. “That’s no regular dog,” Stephen thought, “not one I’ve seen around here, anyway, and it looks like . . . it is a wolf!” Stephen jumped off of the four foot high porch step and landed between the she-wolf and the girl. Then something curious happened. The she-wolf changed in the twinkling of an eye. She became a friendly and docile dog, sitting back on her haunches and raising one paw like she wanted to shake hands! Not fooled for an instant Darjeeling responded by jumping off the ground and aiming to come down on top of the dog’s head. He reached the top of his jump and came down. Instead of hitting the dog, he hit the ground as she deftly avoided his descent. She became a wolf again. The ground acted like a springboard and Stephen found himself propelled back into the air higher than before. This same sequence repeated itself a second and a third time, each time propelling him higher than before until on the third ascent he became suspended in the air immediately above the she-wolf. She looked directly up at him and began to speak! “Stephen, this is our second meeting. When we meet again you will understand why this has come to pass.” With that the she-wolf turned back into a bedraggled stray and ran off limping toward the highway that cut through town. He made sure the little one was safe. He remembered his encounter with the snake.

The Game

Stephen didn’t quite know where he was. He had parked his 4WD Red Chevy Blazer at the top of the lane and walked toward the dilapidated farmhouse. What was he doing here? Why was he walking instead of driving? His feet felt like they were mired in tar. He thought of the old Brer Rabbit stories of his youth and how if you got stuck in the tar you couldn’t get out. Still he made his way toward the house. The screen door was banging in the breeze and a couple of dust devil’s kicked up between the house and the barn. Stephen stepped up on the wood porch and pulled back the door just enough to peer into the front room. “Anybody home?” He called out. No answer, only the sound of the old windmill squeaking behind the barn. He walked inside and stared until the darkness left and he was able to see. He stepped on further inside as the wind blew the inner wooden door shut behind him, slamming against the jamb and shaking the house. Stephen looked at the ping-pong table in the middle of the room. He was nervous now but not afraid. He had been through too much in his lifetime to let something like this scare him. The table was new. On it were two brand new paddles. The room became lighter and more airy and as Stephen looked around the perimeter of the room he realized that he was not the only person there. She was sitting in a rocking chair in one corner of the room, a hand braided rug under her pointed black granny shoes. She was knitting a shawl, peering over her gold rimmed glasses so she could see as the knitting needles clicked a rapid tattoo. Her gray hair was pulled back into a bun, her kitchen apron a bright print of fruits and vegetables, her dress a red gingham one that probably would reach mid-calf were she to stand up. Clack, clackity clack, clackity clack, clackity clack the darning needles whirred in the air, the shawl growing noticeably longer as she worked them. “Darning needles,” Stephen thought, and he remembered when he was a kid playing with the seed pods from Western Kansas that were called the Devil’s Darning Needles. She looked up. “Care for a game, Mr. Darjeeling?” she asked, nodding toward the pristine game table. The pure, unspoiled state of the table tennis table was even more noticeable to him now. How did she know who he was? He had never seen her before.

“Oh yes, we’ve met before, Mr. Darjeeling, on two separate occasions I believe.” She was walking toward him now undoing her hair and letting the tight bun drop into long silvery tresses as she bounced toward him. He noticed now that she didn’t look so old, with only a couple of crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. She offered him her left hand and he surprised himself as he lightly took hold of the supple fingers and brought them to his lips. He had never done that before! He was much too modest and not dorky enough to kiss a woman’s hand, not in this day and age. “Too medieval.” He thought.

“Were you thinking that I am evil, Mr. Darjeeling? Do you remember me now?” He was captivated by her eyes, pure blue like his own. He could see himself in them. He followed them as she maneuvered between him and the table, dragging her finger across his cheek and then his lips and then his other cheek. He smiled and she chuckled. He was beguiled by her lips that were, well he thought of them as looking British, thin and inviting. He moved towards her but she was at the end of the table now. “You didn’t answer me, Mr. Darjeeling,” she said giving him a coy look and shaking down her silver hair. Darjeeling was hypnotized. He noticed that the shawl she had been knitting was hanging off her bare shoulders and was decorated with the sun, moon and stars. They seemed to move about as he looked at them. Her apron, too, was different. It was now a brilliant yellow with blue stars and her red gingham dress was now solid red and hugged her hips seductively, the hemline just above her knees, the décolletage revealing a younger figure. Stephen came to his senses.

“Oh no, I wasn’t thinking that at all, and I apologize for the fact that you remember my name but I can’t seem to recall yours. What shall I call you? What is your name?” He picked up the paddle and moved opposite her. “And yes, I would care for a game,” He slashed the paddle in the cool air and looked around for the ball to begin play.

“You shall call me Belle, Mr. Darjeeling, and the ball is behind you.” He turned around. The ping-pong ball hovered at eye level, bright blue and slowly turning. He continued to look and saw that it was a miniature Earth with continents and seas and the polar caps. He was amazed as he continued to stare at it. He reached toward it and suddenly there were thousands of brilliantly colored ping-pong balls all around him and he was floating amidst them, some looking like planets, some looking like stars, and some of every wonderful color anyone could imagine. As he watched in awe he saw her floating near him, reaching out for his hand. “Belle!” He cried out and pulled her toward him. She laughed. “Stephen!” He began to remember. He was on his Western Flyer headed for the hollow. He was suspended in mid air above the she-wolf. And now he realized who she was. She smiled. It was the most wonderful, beautiful smile he had ever seen on anyone before.

Her lips touched his ear. “You can have it all, Stephen, you can have it all.”

(Cue up Johnny Cash singing “Hurt” by Nine Inch Nails.)