Virus Life
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“What happens when totalitarian governments devolve so-called security programs?” Zeynep asked her mother - the mother of all answers.
“Don’t worry my sweet,” said neurotic mama-san living her worst nightmare with bliss, “media, politicians and bankers will invent new improved fake fears.
“They will create problems, spin them for ADD sheep and try to sell us solutions. Ha, ha, ha.
“The joke is on them. They play us for fools and idiots. Fools speak the truth. Anyone questioning authority is imprisoned for life, gassed, hauls Gobi shit, stoned to death, exiled or beheaded with jeweled swords. No worries my sweet. The manufacturing sector will rebound when shelves are empty. We’ll always have sugar and we can always go shopping. We shop to reduce our anxiety. We buy things to make us feel better. It's a temporary drug fix like religion or Xanax. Take two and call me in the morning.”
“How long will it take until people wake up and pay attention?” said Zeynep.
“Hard to say. Some will some won’t.”
“Self-awareness and authenticity is a funny thing. Letting go scares the shit out of people.”
“They suffer from FUD,” mother said twisting her hair until it caught fire.
“What is FUD?”
“Fear, amazing uncertainty and healthy doubt. They are internal psychological gyroscopes. A human’s first quest-ion is, is it safe? FUD is back with a hungry vengeance. They are hunger angels. Vociferous.”
“How long has FUD been going on?”
“You ask many quest-ions child,” fanning her daughter’s flame. “A long time. A Century is Nothing.”
“That’s the title of Omar's non-linear book, more like a jazz poem. Few read it. Fewer understood it. So it goes. It’s essential to cultivate humor and curiosity.” said Z. “What about adventure and surprise?”
“Adventure and surprise is a beautiful dangerous thing. You see the BIG picture. Talk is cheap. Character is motivation and action. Senses and language cannot be trusted. Let’s get to the verb from the get go.”
“I want to know the truth mother. Living safely is dangerous.”
“The truth,” she said, “is that life is an absurd comic process. If you laugh you last. Our illusionary insecurities and real authenticities evolve. Life is a celebration, a dance and process of becoming. It is a beautiful harsh short messy dream come true. It’s magic. We adapt, adjust and evolve. There’s no rhyme or reason. Life is meaningless. Existence precedes essence. We are flukes of the universe. We have a one-way ticket. It’s about feeling peace in your heart-mind with gratitude. Wonder, abundance, health and contentment. Help others realize their higher self.”
“I see the seed and smell the lily. Let’s go and play now. Take the day off and be creative.”
“Yes, let’s invent a game theory my darling daughter. It’s called mindfulness. Mindfulness gives you time. Time gives you choices. Choices, skillfully made, lead to freedom. You don’t have to be swept away by your feelings. You can respond with wisdom and kindness rather than habit and reactivity.”
“I shared your wisdom earlier in this wandering tale.”
“So you did. Telepathy. Reading about mindfulness it is one thing. Living it is something else.”
Holding hands they entered the world without being of it.
Ma Hlaing Family Boarding School, Burma
“Such a querulous quandary laundry list of regrets, what ifs, and maybes,” said a vein-veiled mother sweeping hopes, plans, and dreams down a drain-o with should, would and could tyrannies.
Turkey witnessed a long lilting laborious laughing list littered with the bones of Hunters-Gatherers, phony Phoenicians, Romans give me your ears, Greeks, Hiatus, Coitus Interuptus, Arabs, Turkmen, Templar Knights, Mongols, nomadic pastoral hoards, Sultan-A-Mets from a Botox Bronx, Uighurs and literary rascals.
“The law of fear, uncertainty, healthy doubt, adventure and surprise in real time is implicit,” said Incense feeding dead ancestors their daily diet of guilt, shame, self-loathing and remorse fortified with essential vitamins.
A Turkish slave protected by a silk scarf hiding frontal lobotomy scars after perception was removed for analysis closed her balcony door killing world music. She didn’t hear wind-spirits sing dance and drum on shattered mirrors made of sand.
Bamboo leaves shuddered inside a kaleidoscopic reflection of sky, clouds and Lung-ta prayer flags above Lhasa. They danced with drifting chorten sage smoke.
Chinese boy-soldiers marched into a blind alley next to Rampoche Monastery on March 10th, Year Zero. They were surrounded by burgundy wrapped monks chanting, “Om Mani Padme Hum, Om...The Jewel in the Lotus.”
“Lock and load,” yelled Li Bow Down. “Fire. Ready. Aim.”
They blasted chanting monks.
“About face, save face.”