Author: Into The Mystic, Ash

[Mahjong & Whiskey]

On the other side of town a heated game of Mahjong was underway. Four at the table. Always four. Marble tiles engraved beautifully with Chinese characters and designs. The men were eight rounds in and emotions were high as all eight of the men’s hands were washing the tiles to prepare for the next round. Moving the tiles face down on the Mahjong table was a ritual…like smoking a cigarette or playing the lotto…a ritual for relief.

It was the backroom of Lucky Palace. It was always the same place. Same time. Same familiar faces. Same stakes. No Pay? No Play. A gambler’s paradise.

It was Tommy’s turn to deal, and keeping with tradition he pressed his hands together bowing to the table before swiftly breaking down the first wall of tiles.

All was the same as it should be. There was comfort in consistency.

All except one man. One new face.

Usually a new face at the table didn’t upset the balance.

But for whatever reason and way the stars aligned that particular evening, this new face was off-putting at the very least.

It was more than his face that off-set the balance on this particular night.

It was his energy.

Shifty.

Aggressive.

Cocky.

There were certain unspoken agreed upon codes of conduct.

A sort of ‘Gentleman’s Agreement’.

It was unclear of whether the young man was unaware of them or just quarrelsome.

Either way, you could cut the tension with a knife that evening, it was that thick.

At first it was just the young man’s energy.

The way he shifted in his seat.

The way he kept saying: “So it’s like that!” anytime a tile was pulled from the center discard pile.

Smoking was allowed, but the young man was taking it too far.

Light.

Three Puffs.

Stand up, walk behind his chair, lean it, blow his smoke in the center of the table, sit back down, put the partly-smoked cigarette out. All just to start this rote behavior again with a fresh stick of tobacco.

And not just any brand either: Reds; Marlboro Reds!

And when he wasn’t doing that he was playing with his lighter. Flicking the fucking thing. Playing with the fire with a maniacal gleam in his eyes.

Of the three other men at the table, Tommy was the most zen out of everyone. It was as if the young man wasn’t even there.

For the other two men at the table, peace wasn’t coming so easily to them.

Yee, a middle aged business man who was usually king of calm, started nervously moving his left leg up and down and tapping one of his tiles on the table like an over caffeinated school boy. Hank, the fourth and most methodical player appeared to be taking it the hardest. Agitations were brewing.

Hank didn’t know how Tommy was able to keep so calm. The young man was pushing Hank’s nerves to their callus cold limitations.

Tolerance was almost extinguished.

Playing with fire was the last straw.

Hank was officially triggered.

Desperate to remain calm, Hank flagged down the waiter for another whiskey.

For all the obvious reasons this was the worst possible choice.

Because, while usually capping himself at four, Hank was well past his magic number and it was beginning to show. Finishing the short glass as fast as he received it, Hank slammed it on the table. The composed drinker morphed into the damaged alcoholic he normally did his best to hide and he would take no prisoners that night.

Shite was about to get real.

[Hank the Houseless Man]

He spent his life ‘coloring within the lines’, doing what he was told was ‘correct’ even when certain ‘right’ things didn’t sit well with him. Justifying his anger and hatred toward others who lived in what he was told was ‘sin’…ignoring any pain or unfortunate circumstance that may have led these ‘sinners’ astray.

A blanket of generalized hatred.

Sitting alone, facing his trusting dog still barking up the willow tree, thinking constantly about his rear-end slipping through the hole he was sitting on, surrounded by empty beach chairs…Noah started to really question his existence:

Why the fuck am I here?

His thoughts honed in on the illogic of it all:
IF I say the word ‘fuck’ I’m going to hell and living in sin!
Is that even realistic?
I know ‘fuck’ is an aggressive sounding word…but hell?
Honestly?

It seemed to Noah like the more he learned about what was expected of him by his religion and culture and the more he saw what was going on in the world around him, the more confused he became about it all. The expectations and realities seemed so far off from each other that none of it was making any sense!

His thought continued:
Since hindsight is 20/20…then right now, looking back, I think it would make more sense if people who took from the poor and gave to the rich were reminded of fire and brimstone…compared to the people who were saying the ‘F’ word…I just don’t see how a word is more ‘hell bound’ than kicking people while they are down.

Noah Paused.

Then again…when I stood out front of the abortion clinics holding signs about these women being killers…saying I was kicking these ladies while they were down is an understatement…I mean, at least when the rich were raping and pillaging the poor they didn’t hold signs up calling them killers; bound for the fires of hell. Or maybe raping and pillaging is enough damage done and doesn’t require a sign.

He was headed down a very negative train of thought. Noah had to be very careful because this was exactly why he was here in the first place.

I don’t want to be like this
Something has to change!

He looked around.
It was about 3 o’clock in the afternoon. Noah had sat, by himself, for a few hours at that point; beginning to feel a bit discouraged.

Should I pack this all up and try again tomorrow?
Should I have made a sign?
The only people around here are homeless alcoholics…
I should have picked a better park.

He decided to give it another few minutes. Pulling out his watch, staring at it as the second hand went around in circles, before he knew it, the clock struck half-past-three and that was it. Noah stood up and started gathering up the pamphlets. The pebbles used to hold down the pamphlets on each beach chair were placed in a circle around the trunk of the willow tree…he figured he could use them again in the morning if he couldn’t find a better spot to hold the next meeting at.

“Hey you. Buddy?”
Noah heard the man but didn’t reply.

“Hey. Pal.” The man persisted. “What time you got there?”

For an instant, excitement! Was this what Noah was waiting for? He turned around with a smile ready to start his rehearsed explanation on Forgiveness Meetings. Noah heart sank…a tinge of fear set it. It was one of those homeless people, reeking of whiskey. Which made Noah think:

A bit pricey for someone without a home.

Then he reasoned with himself that if one did not have a home, it would in turn leave them with more cash to buy a good bottle of Jameson. Noah started to get a bit angry and strangely jealous about that; trying his best to shake off the judgmental thoughts, but they just kept pouring into his cerebral cortex. Looking at the old wind-up watch on his bony wrist, it read 3:33pm. Exactly 3:33pm. To the minute; most likely even the second at the rate Noah’s day was going. Coincidence? Who knew…all he could think about were the myriad of smells off the man simply asking for the time.

Who are you to judge this man Noah?
Get out of your head!

“It’s 3:33pm. Exactly,” Noah said with a fake smile.

“You don’t say? I woulda guessed it was later by the looks of that sky, but clearly I’ve been wrong before!”

The disheveled man laughed at his own joke; you could tell he was used to it. Noah wasn’t sure if it was rude to laugh or not laugh so he half smiled and awkwardly passed the man a pamphlet. The homeless man didn’t ask for a pamphlet, but Noah didn’t know how to respond…so by giving it to the man he hoped it would change the subject or at best scare the man away for the moment till Noah could gather his things and skedaddle. No dice.

“What’s this? Some religious nuts-o-futz-o stuff?” The man scrunched up his face as though offered chicken feet for the first time.

That wasn’t a reaction Noah was prepared for but it was honest, that was for sure.

“Not really. It actually has nothing to do with religion…can you read?”

“Just because I smell of Jack and piss doesn’t make me illiterate pal.”

“Sorry if I offended you. I tend to be a bit insensitive…I was trying this social experiment I have been reading about in this book. The first step is all about participating in a Forgiveness Meeting…so I figured I would start one myself. I was expecting more people to show up.”

“How many people came?” The man said.

“Well…just me so far…and now you.” Noah replied.

Walking over to the chairs on the far side of the willow tree, Noah started folding them up one by one…he wasn’t in a hurry, so when the man sat on his broken faded beach chair and picked up the book…Noah decided to take his time and give him a chance to rest. Plus, he was half curious if the man realized it was broken and if the man’s butt would fall straight through it. Leaving two chairs and his dog tied to the tree, Noah decided to take a risk and start walking a few of the beach chairs back to his Jesus wagon…if the guy took the book or his dog the lesson would be learned for next time. Noah had a funny feeling that this particular smelly homeless man was not what he seemed. Like he had met a spiritual guide or prophet and was being tested somehow.

It took a while to walk back to the car with four chairs clanging against each of his knees hanging from his forearms. By the time Noah walked back he could see from a distance that the dog leash was no longer around the tree!

How could I have been so stupid?
What would possess me to trust a man who
Doesn’t even have a stable place to live!!!

Walking faster, then practically runny, Noah was blinded by fear and anger and sadness.
Then he stopped.

He knew he was wrong. Wrong to the point of embarrassment. Looking on the other side of the tree, there was PW…he was jumping on the homeless guy’s face licking his nose. The two of them looked like they had been friends for a lifetime. PW hated most people. Of all the people to decide to finally like, he chose the smelliest, dirtiest man in the city! There was a lesson in all this. There had to be. But all Noah could think about was the smell of piss and whiskey rubbing off on his small dog’s coat. Going back and forth between guilt for having such judgmental thoughts…and wishing the guy would just leave already so he didn’t have to feel so uncomfortable: Noah justified all this with the fact that he didn’t even have a dollar to give the man if he wanted to. None of it made any sense…even he knew that on some basic level. He knew deep down that there was more to this man than the way he smelled and the way he looked. Noah could see the faded twinkle of wisdom that wasn’t quite beaten out of him yet.
Always coming prepared: Noah had an extra Bible in the wagon…and also an extra travel blanket. Guilt eating away at his insides, Noah wanted to give this man something so that he didn’t feel like a jerk when he left the man alone to face the night. Was that self-righteous? What would Jesus have done? He couldn’t very well just invite some strange smelly homeless guy into his home just because he was nice to his dog. Noah was feeling a little guilty about having his initial judgy-mac-judgerson episode.

So Noah did what he usually did whenever he got awkward or uncomfortable; he started to preach:

“When was the last time you went to the house of God in search of forgiveness for your sins?”

“I thought you said this wasn’t religious? Was that just a trick? I thought this whole circle thing was for Forgiveness…now you are telling me I gotta go to church and all that shit? Look Pal, going to church is all fine and dandy when you have something to give those folks…but when you look like me? Well, let’s just say I have seen more back doors of churches than I have front doors. So what’s really going on here?”
The man continued to pet the Prince; not moving an inch.

“I apologize.” A few minutes of reflective silence. Then Noah continued, “I’m just going to be brutally honest. You make me uncomfortable. I am not used to being around homeless people unless I am dishing out food at the pantry behind the church. What I am doing here, this isn’t religious. But I am. The reason I am doing this Forgiveness Meeting thing is because I feel lost, unhappy and stuck. Have you ever felt that way? I mean, I even had a meeting at church and I didn’t even show up today. I came here instead.”
Noah took a seat against the willow’s trunk completely deflated.

“Something has to change in my life sir, or I am going to keep drowning in my own guilt and regrets. I literally have gotten to the point where I pretty much hate everyone and any time someone lies or cheats or steals I have this intense urge to shake them and scream at them for bringing our world down to the pits of hell with their actions. There is something severely wrong with that. And the kicker is, most of my family and a good portion of the congregation I belong to are pretty much all the same way. I’m beginning to feel sick about the whole thing. I’m not even sure why I am alive anymore. What’s the point?”

Noah couldn’t believe he said all that! It was as if he was just finishing clawing at his own skin and scrapping it all off so this stranger could see the ugliness of his insides. Noah got even more uncomfortable. Standing up, he went over to grab the book and the pamphlets from the man’s hands.
“Forget it. It’s stupid. Just forget all of it.”

The man blocked him without any sign of aggression.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa there buddy. Stop right there. Take a seat.”
The man motioned for Noah to sit next to him. Hesitating, Noah sat on the edge of the red flower-print beach chair; trying not to be his usual rude self.

“Look, Pal, not one of us is perfect. As far as I can tell, we are all just a bunch of selfish assholes running around screaming ‘look at me! Give me what I want and look at me!’ when what we really should all be doing is slowing down and humbling ourselves cause we are not the only ones on this big ball of rocks. I’m not trying to be funny or anything, but look at me! [chuckling]…I am a mess of a human being. You would never think for one second that I used to have more than one house, a beautiful wife and a great career. We are all roaming this planet in search of reason or purpose or a personality ha-ha. Personally…I could use a bit of forgiveness myself. I haven’t even been able to look at myself in a mirror, any mirror, for years now. I have nightmares about meeting anyone from my past life; laughing at the pathetic ol’ man I have become…tellin’ me how great life got once I left. Now, if I can’t even look at myself in a godforsaken mirror, what makes you think I would step foot in a building where judgment and fear fester?”

Getting defensive Noah blurted out:
“We’re not all that bad! We help people!”

With an eyebrow raised the man took a deep breath…mustering up as much empathy as he could, he went on:
“Really? By the looks of it, you couldn’t wait to get rid of me. What kind of ‘help’ is that? I could see it in your face, you thought I took-off with your dog just a few minutes ago. You automatically assumed that since I smelled of whiskey and piss that I could and would steal from you. Like it’s a reflex for people in my circumstances”

“I never said that.” Noah replied.

“You’re telling me that if I sat next to you in your beloved church you wouldn’t slide down to the other end of the bench or crinkle your nose and make a comment to anyone who would listen? Doubtful Pal.”

Defensively shriveling under the truth Noah stood up and took a seat next to his smelly new friend. The truth began to flow from his 24 year old lips: “You are probably right. Your smell is driving me up the wall and I have wanted you to leave since the moment you arrived. I am sorry for being so rude and transparent.”

“Was that so hard to admit? Pal look, I forgave you the moment I saw your expression. I’d hate my smell too if I wasn’t used to it already. In fact, I partially smell like this on purpose. It keeps folks from getting to close…like a sorta safety bubble. Works pretty good don’t it?”

A light chuckle broke the mood and they both relaxed.

“If you don’t mind me being honest and working through my judgments…I don’t mind if you decide to join in on this Forgiveness Meeting with me tomorrow. I promise, no force-fed religion. By the way, what’s your name sir?”

“There is that ‘Sir’ again, huh? Well, uh…you can call me Hank.”

“My name is Noah and I would be honored if you would show up. I will be here from eleven to three.”

The man named Hank thought about it. “I guess I could clear my schedule.”

As Noah would very soon learn:

Hank was a stickler about his schedule
And boy did he have one.

[A Meeting for One]

Destination reached. The random beach chairs were unfolded in a circle around the ancient-looking willow tree next to the pond positioned in the center of the park. Noah found a few pebbles the size of abnormally large lighters that he found useful in pinning the Forgiveness Meeting Pamphlets to each seat.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the coincidence:

I had 13 dollars.

I used ten of that and got 13 random beach chairs…

And the rest was given to Yang to make pamphlets.

Which he made 13 of.

Noah had no idea he would get 13 chairs or that Yang would make exactly 13 pamphlets. And he most certainly did not know exactly 13 large pebbles would be right where he needed them on the windiest day of the spring season. 13… Why 13? Yet he was no believer in coincidence…there was no such thing in his vocabulary. He was filled with a sense of Hope. A calm peace rushed through him instantaneously.

Lord.
Give me strength.
Be my personal armor against sin and impure thoughts.

He felt good. Really good. He knew he was doing the right thing. Attempting to actually do the first step in ‘a book’ by attending Forgiveness Meetings required a physical commitment.
It also required the ability to face one’s fears, head on.

This was scary; and again Noah was rendered immobile for several minutes. Opening ‘a book’ and curling up with his mighty little dog under the willow tree, all he could bring himself to do was read and reread the first section.

That was it. A strong feeling of flight duking it out with his urge to fight through his fear took place internally.

Then. Almost in an instant. Something clicked in his brain and he understood!

This book is about action, about change…It is not just for observation like most other books shelved all over the world!

It was indeed this thought, this singular thought, that appeared to be paralyzing him.
Noah was told over and over and over again that life was what it was and he needed to live it the way he was told to or he would shame his family and end up in a place called hell. Shame? Hell? Deep down, none of this made any sense at all to Noah. The world he grew up in wasn’t even close to being perfect…heck! Half the time it wasn’t even tolerable!

So. There he was, back against the trunk of that ol’ willow tree; daydreaming’ about the way the world could be if everyone just made little adjustments. ‘Little’ adjustments he knew first hand were excruciatingly hard to make. Time began to pass quite slowly.

Noah stood up, dusted himself off and decided to start. Choosing the faded blue beach chair closest to the pond. It had one of its flat rubber bars that was supposed to give ‘seat support’ missing. Noah had to readjust his rear-end repeatedly so as not to slip through onto the soggy wet grass. Noah thought through the whole scenario:

If someone falls through this chair,
I’d never hear the end of it and not one person
Would stay for another meeting again.

So Noah took that chair and suffered the consequences. He sat at that meeting for a while. By himself. On a broken, faded beach chair. In a circle with 12 other beach chairs around a tree…An excited dog tied to the willow tree, barking loudly at the birds up above…Getting up to fix the circle here and there when the wind ripped through, knocking down a few of the chairs once-in-a-while; Noah thought to himself: I forgive myself for not attending church today. And then he thought:

Now’s as good a time to start the meeting as any.
I am deciding to start with myself.
I have some forgiveness
I need to give and to receive…
I don’t need other people to start the dialogue in my mind.
As long as I’m not talking out loud to myself no one will
Think I’m crazy… Hopefully 😉

Whether or not that was sound logic, it was good enough for Noah.
He began by coming up a list of the top five things he wanted to address at this first Forgiveness Meeting:

One. I would like to forgive myself for worrying so much about what other people think of me.
Two. Maybe forgive myself for living my life for other people…mainly Mother.
Noah took a deep breath and continued his meeting within his own head:
Three. Forgive my parents; they know not what they’ve done.
Four. Forgive myself for being so blinded by my ignorance and fears.
And…
Five. Forgive myself…forgive myself for not having it all figured out by now.

This horrible feeling came over him. He was a failure.

[Facing the Fear]

Just for the record:

Noah had marched in front of abortion clinics, preached the word of the Lord on street corners, handed out pocket-sized Bibles to the homeless and prayed with the young women and men of the night as they walked their tracks. He’d done all this and much more since he was a small boy…A current veteran witness at age 24. But all that seemed easy now compared to what he was gearing up to do by himself in the park that afternoon.

Starting his very first Forgiveness Meeting. All by his lonesome. Noah knew people were going to think he was a lunatic. But there was no turning back at this point. Noah’s mind started to race.
What if someone I know sees me?

He couldn’t think about that now, it was too late. A warm beautiful Saturday afternoon; the park’s parking area was absolutely packed! Noah was about to exit the lot in search of street parking—then, as if by fate, a young couple pulled out of the best spot in the whole place.

Another divine sign?

Perfect parking job. Engine off. The Prince crawled out from under the driver’s seat, hopping up on Noah’s lap and jumping excitedly into his face; licking his nose, waiting impatiently for his adventure. Doors open. Noah began to drag out all the random beach chairs from his beat-up ‘Jesus wagon’, leaning them haphazardly against the front hood on the sidewalk. Looking around he noticed all eyes were on him, actually they were all glued to the Bible verses that enveloped his station wagon. From the well-known. ”Jesus Loves You”….all the way to the powerful versus from Revelations discussing end of times.

Noah never felt this before:

Embarrassment.

Wishing he found street-side parking, he quickly grabbed as much as he could carry and started off toward the pond near the center of the park. Prince William pulling with all his strength in any direction his little legs could muster; beach chairs clanging and smashing into his knees and thighs… It was the longest few meters of Noah’s life, and he definitely wasn’t turning back now.

[Printing Shop Proportions]

First stop on Noah and the Prince of Pups list of places to be that day was the local printers.

Happy resolve oozed from every pore. The door chimed for the store’s first visitors of the day.

“Hello Yang.  I need a few copies of something.”

The town’s Master printer accepted the book from Noah’s hands, glancing nonchalantly at the pages marked.  Still silent. Noah spoke again,

“I can only afford three dollars’ worth.”

“Noah. Why I not put on church account?”  Noah fell quiet. Yang pushed further, “I just put on that for you.”

Happy resolve soon turned into an uncomfortable nervousness.

“Actually, this is a personal project Yang. I have to pay cash.  I just CAN NOT afford more than three-bucks on this.  I need the rest to buy some chairs.”

Squinting his eye in professed disbelief Yang was not convinced.

“Still.  Sound like church project.  Church account okay.”

Yang was insisting at this point and Noah could see confusion in his deep dark enlivened eyes. Noah could not and would not justify using the church account, so he put the three-dollars in cash on the counter in front of Yang, looking him dead straight in the eyes for the first time in 24 years.

“I’ll be back in an hour or so.  See how many you can make for me and DON’T USE THE CHURCH’S ACCOUNT! PLEASE!  God Bless Yang.  Thank you.”

An hour came and went like nothing.  Garage Sale after Yard Sale, Noah managed to find what he was after: Thirteen random beach chairs. His ten dollars; gone.  Barely able to fit in the Christ-mobile, Noah and the hound headed back to Yang’s.  It was 10 o’clock and his day felt half gone … time was flying by and his first Forgiveness Meeting had not even started yet.

Yang was outside having a cigarette with his Smittie’s doughnut holes and black coffee; one brown sugar cube

It seemed like everyone had a ritual just to breathe easier these days.

Without a word, Yang handed Noah the bag—two dozen holes and one strawberry sprinkle doughnut were left untouched. Noah knew which one was for him. Yang knew Noah, perhaps even better than Noah knew himself: Strawberry with sprinkles had been his favorite since he was a small boy.  And Smittie’s made the best hands down—Crispy on the

outside with a soft warm center. Still silent, Yang handed Noah a fresh coffee. Knowing it took about 8 minutes to walk to Smittie’s from Yang’s, Noah figured Yang was either done with the pamphlets or never started them at all. Suppressing anxiety, embracing the kind gesture, Noah pulled out his vape pen and took a couple drags to show he was relaxed and confident…even though he was far from either of those feelings as one could get.

Watching Yang’s lips, fingers, eyes, chest, all move with the rhythm of Noah’s long lost favorite habit. He caught himself and physically shook the thought from his mind. Yang was no blind man.

“You want?” Yang gestured toward his bag of tobacco.

 “Nope. I’ve got a year under my belt.” Noah replied

“You still smoking Noah,” Yang laughed.

“Yeah, one thousandth of the chemicals! Vaping’s healthier Yang.”

Biting into his strawberry sprinkle heaven Noah’s mouth was as full as it could get, “I’ve been breathing better since I swapped…”

Swig of coffee to knock back the half chewed bite, “I don’t wake up hacking and coughing anymore.  Wanna try it out?”

Yang smirked and shook his head as if to say ‘no thanks’. 

Cigarette crackling with a deep pull from his lips…“Okay” spoken on the exhale. Ashtray put to good use. Two holes pushed into his hole; careful not to lose a flake of sugary goodness.  He then gestured for Noah to go ahead inside as he pulled a dog treat from his pocket.  Dropping his body down like a frog onto the balls of his feet while dusting a bit of sugar on his pants from his one free hand, Yang strategically placed the treat in the center of that palm.  Extending his arm just enough to entice the Prince. Willie took the beef jerky square ever so slow and gentle with his sharp yet selective canines. A pat on the head, Yang immediately sprang back up, grabbed his human treats of coffee and doughnut holes, spun around and followed Noah back inside his shop.

Pamphlets already done, Noah could see them lying on the counter in a perfect stack.  Yang handed Noah his copy of ‘a book’ back.

“I make thirteen tri-fold.  You don’t mind; I took first quote and put on front so look nice.  I use more expensive paper.  You good customer with church always.  I make nothing on this one.”

Walking around to the other side where his cash register had sat for years, Yang pulled out his own copy of ‘a book’.

“Noah you have big balls.  I no expect.  Need more, I make.  No problem book brother.” A wink and a nod to finish his thought.

Dread crept into Noah’s already over-active anxiety-ridden mind. He couldn’t hide any of this from Yang.  Going there with Mother every Friday to make copies of coloring sheets for children’s mass; Yang had known Noah since he was a small boy.

What was worse?

Yang knew Mother…too well.

“Uhh…Yang?  Can you keep this our little secret?  Mother would not approve of my quoting any book that wasn’t the Good One…I honestly don’t think the folks at church would understand either.  I’m not ready to hear how disappointed God would be in me…you know Mother better than most; she wouldn’t get it.”

“Yah, yah, yah.  Lips sealed.  She’d flip!” Yang replied.

Opening his copy of ‘a book’, Yang cleared his throat to quote the quoted Dalai Lama:

“According to Buddhism, reflecting on the reality of suffering never induces either   pessimism or despair.  It leads to the discovery of the root causes of our plight: Desire, hatred and ignorance, and to a way of freeing ourselves from them.  By ‘ignorance’ we mean not understanding the true nature of people and things.  It gives rise to the other two poisons.  When ignorance dissolves, desire and hatred have no foundation and the source of our suffering has dried up as a result, we experience a happiness that is spontaneously altruistic and that is no longer at the mercy of negative emotions.”

Closing the book and gently placing it back under his register…Yang smiled knowingly.

It was like he understood that ‘something’ Noah was searching for so desperately; he understood Noah’s fear of what those currently closest to him would think.  Not only because he knew those people, but because Yang had experienced something similar at one point in his own life not so very long ago.

Noah was clearly scared.

“Do you want to be happy Noah?” Yang said.

He nodded his pitiful head ‘yes’.

“Allow it.  You are good man.  Now go.  I miss my show.”

Yang gave his diplomatic nod goodbye…with a smile you could feel even if he didn’t let it show in the form of raised lips and pearly-white chompers.

Noah set off for the park.

Scared to death.

But resolute.

[Epiphany]

Spending quite a while checking pockets and cushions for any change he could scrounge up…Noah took a step back and asked God for guidance. He needed to step away from the situation. Shower on. Scalding hot water began running through the rickety pipes.  Pain and pleasure balanced. Hands pressed up against the tiled wall. Water pouring down his forehead, nose, lips, chin…mind blank.

                                    “Tithe!”

The guidance he was looking for. He felt strong and justified; he was on a holy mission!

Hot turned to cold. Shower off. Towel dry. Putting on his Sunday best, he then took to raiding his weekly tithe jar.  Counting it down to the cent and dumping every penny into his coat pocket; Noah was now ready to go. Keys, leash, bag…the pair headed out the front door; heads held high in excitement.

*Purpose!*

[The First Step]

Mouth wide open, screams replaced by gasps for fresh air. It was a beautiful crisp morning; birds chirping poetically out his window. Grasping for moments trying to remember his dream. Trying to make sense of it. Looking around Noah stopped…Gazing at his own tired reflection through the half-opened bathroom door in the mirror above his rusted sink.

Geeze I look beaten.

He looked old, even to himself. Misery written all over his face.

Do I honestly think no one else can see this?

 Sitting up in bed he fixed his pillow and stretched to reach ‘a book’ that the kind older Gentleman gave him just two mornings ago.

His third morning-already halfway through-Noah was engrossed in every beautifully ideal thought the author expressed.  His own notes written in the margins, and questions written on different colored post-its, some marked ‘Pages of Significance’. It was 8 o’clock in the morning and after that crazy dream he needed guidance. Ritualistic Bibliomancy; some people at his church called it ‘Bible-dipping’…but this wasn’t The Bible.  Have a question?  Close your eyes, point, open your eyes, read = Solution! After a dream like that Noah was willing to try anything. Closing his eyes, focusing on his desire for some sense of direction, praying for insight: He placed ‘a book’ flat on his left hand… Right hand gently resting on the cover. Randomly opening ‘a book’…Pointing on a page…He slowly opened his eyes to read:

“Meditation Park”

Looking at his hound dog even more confused, he thought out-loud:

“How’s this meant to be helpful?”

Just to be sure, he started reading the section…As expected, nothing stood out as useful. A pointless exercise.  Sure, (Noah internally argued with himself) a local Meditation Park would be nice and relaxing on a morning such as this, but I need a MIRACLE not another dream.

Noah needed the sort of miracle brought about by making a real life-changing decision. But what could he change? Tense anxiety. A heavy deep sigh as he swiped the book off his lap onto the floor; startling his dog into a riled up bark monster. Ears flying in the air like a super-hero-hound, Prince William jumped off the bed, landed, and tripped over the book, knocking it open. Noah flung half his body over the side of his bed hoping his dog wasn’t hurt…PW was fine…sitting next to the book looking up at his frazzled owner, then looking at the open pages:

“The First Personal Step:

Forgiveness Meetings”

A smile crept over Noah’s lips.

“You are an instrument of the Lord Willie, Good Dog!”

Twenty minutes after receiving his divine “instruction” Noah shuffled to his kitchen and poured a steaming cup of his favorite organic blend into his pug of a mug…The pugs face was overly happy, wide-eyed and ready for the day; Noah wasn’t there yet. Nostrils resting over the ledge of his coffee cup, he took several deep meditative breaths; waking up slowly was a nice indulgence. 24 years old.  Looking like an 80 year old.  Noah had the world resting firmly on his shoulders, whether he liked it or not…and this was not gravity’s fault. Glancing over at his calendar, there were two very distinct choices for his day:

One: Stick with his weekly Saturday church appointments

[Easy, comfortable and familiar…yet killing his soul at a pretty steady pace]

Two: Try out the First Personal Step in ‘a book’

[WAY out of his comfort zone, unfamiliar, and downright scary…but he wasn’t sure it could be much worse than his first option]

He took a long drag from his vaporizing pen, then, surprising even himself, he chose what was behind door number two. After having portions of that same creepy nightmare three nights in a row, Noah knew something had to change, and it had to change today! Taking his first sip of coffee goodness, it dawned on him that this was perhaps the rarest of occasions when church was not only NOT going to help, it was making the perceived problems larger than need be. He was beginning to equate church with judgment and hypocrisy and Noah wanted no part in either. He couldn’t change them his way and they couldn’t help him theirs…

The decision was made.

The first of many that day.

[Breathe…]

He was five years old again… Both parents towering over him in church…They were telling him he would lead the future generations closer to heaven on earth.

His little heart started pounding with fear…

“I cannot lead!”

“I am far from being   good enough!”

“I cannot even control my own feelings half the time.”

“Can’t you hear me?!”

“I’m only five!”

[Noah was quite a self-aware young man in this dream]

“How can I lead anyone anywhere if I don’t know where I’m going?”

“This is insane!”

Fear building inside.

His parents moved in closer, gliding toward their frightened child…pushing an entire future on him without even consulting him first!  He wasn’t even close to being able to do what they asked of him. Didn’t they care? Why were they not listening or understanding?

If he was any other age, would they have bothered to listen to him then? Would his future age earn him the respect he was unable to get while still five? Age should NOT matter!

Noah found himself running, constantly looking over his shoulder.

His parents were gliding faster!

He ran straight off a cliff…

Falling…

Stomach dropping…

His tiny heart quieted…

Moment of Peace.

“This must be what birds feel like.”

Falling to his death…The fear morphed into a level of acceptance.

As his poor little child-sized heart stopped…He awoke.

Forgiveness Meetings: Part One 1.00

[Introduction]

It was a reflective ride. Noah had come a long way since he first found the book; from owning his own car and working for the Church, to pushing his muscles to their string-bean limits on a motor-less bike and printing things for a living…lots of uncomfortable changes.

Feeling the wind on his face as he peddled idly through the town back to his place was the only thing forcing him to relax despite himself. As he entered the apartment he could feel the warmth and love; Noah was finally home and this was his family.

Hank was sitting at the kitchen table as Ashes stood facing the kitchen counter making herself a cup of instant coffee. It was a surreal moment for Noah: The author of the book that changed his life was in his home, drinking his instant, chatting with his houseless friend Hank.

“Hey Pal! Took you long enough. You will be happy to know Ashes knows her way around your kitchen already and made us dinner. Hope you like vegan.” Hank spoke as if addressing someone known to him since birth.

Noah wanted this moment to last forever, so, in his true-to-random form, Noah took a mental picture for years to come.

“You alright with aborigine?” Ashes stirred a bit of cinnamon and vanilla into Noah’s pug mug then took a seat to the left of Hank.

“Honestly? I have no clue what that even is.” Noah had no problem admitting ignorance; he believed it saved everyone time and energy.

“Eggplant.” Hank smiled as he took a sip of his Jasmine Tea.

Noah remembered Hank spouting off at the Free-Market about drinking coffee with them that evening in celebration and Noah was not going to let it go for nothin’: “Thought you were gonna have coffee with us Hank.”

“Yeah…after dinner.”

The response was surprising to Noah. Hank was never one to compromise…not even for a woman.

“I’ve heard about this.” Putting his body in motion, taking off Prince William’s leash, Noah moseyed over to the kitchen table to join his company, “This is what it must be like when hell freezes over.”

The three laughed and Ashes slid her fresh cuppa in front of Noah as a gesture of kindness and affinity for her new kindred spirit.

“So, Noah…I am curious.  How did you come to find a copy of me book?” Ashes stood up and turned on the hot-water kettle as she pulled out another mug, it was the one Mother bought him when she visited Greece.  Noah contemplated her choice of words and coffee receptacle. 

“I’m not sure you would approve of who I was when I happened upon your written words.” Noah looked down at his coffee, then at the floor.

“Well, I am not sure you would approve of who I was when I wrote the feckin thing.” Ashes smiled.

Noah thought her Irish accent was entrancing, the ‘bad words’ making her even more so.

Noah shook his head, “Doubtful.”

“True story,” Ashes raised her left hand and put her right on top of her coffee cup “Hypocrite to the maximum level.” Finished pouring a new cup, she sat back down between her new friends. “I am a firm believer that we preach what we need to learn the most [pause] and then hopefully we learn the lesson before it’s too late.”

Hank was staying out of this one.  Refusing to give his young pal any hint or direction for what he should say or do.

“Fuck it. Fine. If you really want to know…” There was an internal struggle about where Noah felt he should begin…Noah knew where he should start, but he was scared Ashes would hate him or at least never look at him the same.

“You tell me yours; I’ll tell you mine.” Ashes winked.

Picking up the perfectly rolled doobie from the center of the table, Noah lit it up and exhaled to light the embers without just setting fire to the paper. Every movement was a sign of growth and an ever evolving young man.

“Alright, here goes nothin’.  It was a dark and dreary night and as usual, I was overdressed for the occasion…”

Dear Reader,

       Before we dive into who Noah was and the roads he would take to get to where he ends up (which is where you find him with Hank and Ashes) you need to be made aware of a few things.

       First of all: The moments leading up to Noah acquiring the book that would rock his proverbial world were probably some of his ugliest ones. Reaching his personal bottom is not pretty to watch…apologies. However, without understanding his personal deconstruction, you will never fully be in a position to appreciate the beautiful being that is Noah.

       Like so many of us today, Noah finds himself lost and drowning in the societal web constructed for us all which we are told is for our own ‘good’. When he finally stops accepting his daily dose of social medicine and starts to pick up and examine the broken pieces of his socially acceptable life…well, I will let you decide if change was for the best.

       So without further delay and as your self-appointed story guide, I have decided to soften the blow by recalling such a story from a [mostly] unbiased outsider’s point of view. If you must still hate him…love him with that same blind passion. Balance has a way of keeping things in perspective, even if the two sides are sometimes found in the extremes.

Kindest of Regards,

Your Devoted Pendulum Writer

Into The Mystic,

Ash

[The Church Meeting]

“Well, I think it’s a good idea. Yes; a thousand is a lot of money for the parish to part with but we would all benefit.  Plus, how exciting to have such a prominent political figure in our church!”  Sue puffed out her chest as she stood unnecessarily.

Had the world gone absolutely batty?

A thousand bucks for a seminar on how to pay a tax on breathing?

The more Noah thought about it, the worse it got for him in his own mind.

Frustration.

Anger.

Festering at first…

Then rolling into a boil

Are these people all for real?

His face; a placid façade. Not confident he wouldn’t explode, Noah excused himself; unassumingly.

It was a late night meeting and the bathroom down the hallway was next to never used at that hour. The motion-sensor lights turned on after a short flicker. Noah checked under each stall for feet to put his hyper-active mind at ease.  He knew no one was there.

Palms-Firmly pressed on the edge of the sink.

Elbows-Locked in tension.

Legs-Dense as marble.

Smooshed Father’s old Sunday penny loafers, his feet were sweaty and sore after a full day of walking all over the church compound—back n’ forth. Noah looked right at his reflection but all he could see was pure hatred…he just got like that sometimes…not being able to predict what he’d do or say: removing himself from certain situations [such as this] seemed best. The stupidity of people drove him fucking mad! He hated every single one of them:

They all just sit there in their fancy suits and dresses. Smug, self-righteous.  Not one of them could last one meeting without looking at their latest electronic devices if they tried…let alone manage to actually give a shit about any one of the many sinners and perceived saints they all gathered to discuss at this Wednesday night meeting; or any of our meetings for that matter!

Noah took a deep breath and continued his inner monologue with equal passion.

Why would these people even consider inviting a politician and a tax man to speak at     our church, LET ALONE PAY THEM TO DO SO?!

This tax is a sin all on its own!          

Helpful?

            Sincere?

                        Ha! Laughable!

Noah knew he should say something. He also knew it wouldn’t make a difference. When Father was alive and worked at the local worship center there was structure! 

There was at least a clear sense of what was right and wrong. That was all gone to the bin and taken straight to the dumpster for disposal.

Compromising beliefs to suit the whims of a sickly society? Where is this world headed! How would Jesus react if he found out his “devoted followers” were in the proverbial bed sheets with the local parasitic tax collectors and corrupt inbred purchased politicians?  Jesus was angered when he saw business and politics being conducted in the sacred house of worship of his day…

Noah was expected to not only tolerate it, but support it all without question. Satin was present at this Wednesday night meeting and Noah would take no more part in it. He stared into his own soul…

Seething…

Unable… to communicate.

Noah knew full well that each personal agenda they held close to their chests wouldn’t allow the ears and the brain to hear his reasoning’s, even if he channeled the lord himself in the dead language of their professed Savior Jesus Christ.

Nostrils flaring. Lips pursed. Jaw clenched.

Then, came the out-loud self-talk….slow and quiet:

“I’m so sick of them!  All of them.  Our congregation is hurting already as it is and these idiots want to squeeze the last ounce of blood out of every one of us! For what?  A bull shit appearance by our latest political slob? … To talk about what?  Taxing the poor?  Taxing the sick?  Taxing us all to breathe fucking air?  I’d be surprised if the Bush’s or the Koch brothers or any of the large Monsanto-type corporations actually pay a dime or if we are all expected to cover their pollution too!  Since when do these assholes have a monopoly on oxygen?  Father warned about this.  I didn’t want to believe it. What a fucking nightmare!”

It was definitely strange-but Noah justified it while comparing his vice to those of others.  If the occasional bad word and socially empathetic open eye made him strange…Noah didn’t mind.

“The money gathered to help the homeless?  What a fucking joke!”

His voice began to raise:

“Not one person, including Mr. G.Q. politician in there, actually gives a shit about the homeless.  Common sense dictates that not one single penny of that stupid tax will ever land in the hand of the Homeless Alcoholic Drug-Addicted Schizoid American—as I know these hypocrites ALL call them outside of church.”

Noah was so angry that it rendered him immobile.  He wanted to run, scream and throw something even!  But all he could do was stand there, in that stupid over-teched bathroom.  The motion-sensor lights switched off and left the hall in complete darkness. Taking a deep drawn-out breath, Noah ran his fingers and hands over his face and through his hair…trying to physically shake the hate out of his mind

            The lights switched back on.

                        Unnoticed.

                                    Enough was enough.

He walked back down the long hall, opened the door and stared at all the self-absorbed sheeple. Everyone gradually looked up at Noah.

“You okay there buddy?  You look ill!”

Dale, the insurance salesman smiled his greasy smile as he did his best impersonation of a sincere human being. Noah wanted to walk over and throw-up his left-over Chinese dinner on Dale’s slick-rick hair.

“Heah.  I’m not feelin’ so good.  I’m gonna go home early.  Sorry everyone.”

Packing up his bag and heading out the door he half-heartedly said his farewells:

“Goodnight everyone.  God Bless.”

Over the years Noah got real good at masking his thoughts and feelings.

Business as usual he thought.

He walked over to his beat-up Jesus-freak wagon, pulled out his “God Loves Me’ key chain…then proceeded with his daily ritual of jimmying his car key in the passenger-side door.  He wasn’t sure why he even locked it…maybe it was Mother’s voice playing like a broken record in his brain ‘Safety First Noah!’  It was a piece of crap, but Noah couldn’t afford to get any major work done on Mother’s hand-me-down station wagon.  Heck, he could barely afford his rent these days after the church cut his hours down to three days a week.  They told him the church was low on funds and would be using more volunteers to cover his other hours…and the hours of most of the full-time staff.  Zero-hour contracts were a nightmare of slave-labor proportions, and Noah knew he was being lied to.

1. Add-ons to the church offices cost a pretty penny.
2. He saw the church tithe books only three weeks before.
3. He also knew there were a few people giving themselves raises…

But what could Noah do about it? So, as usual, he smiled, said ‘Thank You’ and went home to scream in his pillow. Back to the night of the meeting:

Noah drove through the town on his way back to his apartment.  He was still frustrated…and now it was building to resentment.

Teeth.  Fists.  Lips.  All tightly clenched.

Thoughts of driving into a building crossed his mind.  But he quickly reminded himself that his life was God’s to take, not his own. Plus, he was too scared to follow through.

Pills?

Not a guarantee that some asshole with a hero complex wouldn’t find him and call an ambulance or pump his stomach right there on the spot.

Hanging or wrist slitting?

Too painful and messy…also, not a guaranteed sure thing.

Gun?

Not even an option.  Knowing Noah’s luck he’d miss…and besides, who would look after his dog and all his potted plants?

By the time Noah had finished talking himself off the ledge he never would have jumped off of…he realized he was already home. What a horrible day. He honestly wasn’t sure if he could take much more of this. He walked his dog to the end of the block and back in a daze.  Went inside, loosened the noose he had professionally knotted strategically around his neck, took off his socially acceptable uniform of a suit and climbed into bed.

Why couldn’t life make more sense? With this, Noah finally slept.