Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween, Internet Cats!  :D

No matter what you feel about Halloween, it has always been one of my favorite holidays.  It is perhaps the egalitarian nature of Trick-or-Treating: if you show up in a costume, you are given candy.  Simple.

For the past three years, I have celebrated Samhain (pronounced: /ˈsaʊ.wɛn/, /ˈsaʊ.wɪn/, or if you don't know IPA, "sow"-"when"), which occurs on the same day, for those who didn't know.  Unlike Halloween celebrations, which for adults can include anything from Trick-or-Treating with their children, drinking, eating, and wearing costumes, Samhain is the celebration of the end of the year.  Pagans get MONTHS to prepare for the new year (October 31 - December 20/21 or January 1... depending on how you choose to celebrate), unlike those who only celebrate the new year on December 31 to January 1, then try to start their new year's resolutions the next day.  No wonder there is so little success for so many!

A lot of adults see Halloween as a kids' and partiers' holiday, which in a lot of regards is absolutely true, and reject it outright on those grounds.  No matter what your religious preference, beginning to prepare for the new year on October 31 gives you plenty of time to put deep thought into your New Year's plans, and formulate them fully.  So, this year, like the last two, I will be celebrating Samhain with my family: saying thank you for all of our gifts during the year and asking for things we would like to occur in the New Year.

No matter how you celebrate this year, I wish you well, and hope you have a wonderful October 31!

Happy Halloween!  :D

For those who would like to learn more about Halloween, here are some cool videos I found about Halloween on History.com: Halloween Videos!!!

Hearing Voices, Seeing Things, but Not Crazy

If only...

Being crazy absolves you of responsibility.  Being crazy allows you to follow the men in the white coats and take pills to make it all go away.  Being crazy means it's not my job.

But it is my job, and if I turned it off, in one way or another, I'd probably get very sick or very dead, very quickly.

Let me go back to the beginning, so you can understand... well, maybe.

I was always the kid with the big imagination.  Playing imaginary games, writing stories, and having my head off in the clouds was 80% or more of my childhood.  I was told that what I did wasn't real.  I was perfectly okay with believing that too.  Some of my imaginary world was really, really scary.  I didn't want it to be real.

My first instance of it being real was when my dad chased the monster under my bed out the front door as a gag to get me to go to sleep.  What he didn't understand until I told him, years later, was that I could see the monster.  It was there.  It was shocked that he could be hit by a broom in his metaphysical form, and that I could see him.  So, he allowed himself to be chased by my father out the front door, and my parents finally got a good night's sleep.

They thought the trick they learned in a parenting magazine had worked so well!

They didn't realize what they had actually done.

Like most children, my clear sight blurred, then vanished for the most part, unless I was really tired, for most of my teen years.  I was already dealing with so much adjustment then, I am really thankful for this.  I do not believe I could have dealt with other dimensions, along with this one, while figuring out what the heck my body was doing, trying to grow up.

But the nightmares continued.  Strange nightmares where I would do things that I had not yet done in this life.  I also did not look like me.  I had wings.  Also, if I was killed in the dreams, I could not wake up.  I would feel the death, then float over the scene, watching whatever was occurring that night.  Only my alarm clock could wake me up, most mornings.

My sight came back in college.  I lived in a dorm my senior year that had a ghost.  Why did I know it had a ghost?  I saw it.  It's head was hanging in the stairwell, upside down, hanging from a stretchy cord.  I didn't know what the stretchy cord was, and like I had always been told, hoped to highest hopes that it was my imagination.

I asked my boyfriend at the time to talk to the janitor.  He did.  The janitor had been working at the dorms for years, and said yes, someone did commit suicide in that dorm, by that stairwell.  It was a pre-med student, and he hanged himself with a tourniquet, right before finals.  The janitor had had to clean up the mess, so he wasn't likely to ever forget the event.

My boyfriend was thrilled.  I was right!  The dorm was haunted!  He thought this was awesome.  I was not so thrilled.  I was right.  What else that I had been seeing, was real?

And it got worse before it got better...

You know those times in your life that you just don't have anything left to lose?  I found one of those times.  I had been told I could not practice at work.  For many reasons, I could not fight this decision: the job was my livelihood at the time.  I also could not practice at home: I didn't have a piano, and I lived in an apartment.  Practicing on my keyboard, regularly, at the hours I was home, would not have gone over well.  So, I begged my parents to let me come home for a while to figure things out.  I offered to pay rent, once I found a job near their house.  I had started having panic attacks, and I needed out of my current situation.

They said I wasn't welcome.

Suddenly, nothing I had seen in any dimension could come close to that decision.  I, their daughter, wasn't welcome.  At the dinner when I asked, I took it quietly.  There was nothing else I could do.

Inside, it was the last straw.  Everything my parents had ever told me about family suddenly became, into great terrifying reality, a lie.  The reality they had insisted that I believe in, crashed to pieces.  They were liars.

The walls opened, and the nightmares came back.  They had been gone for a while, especially when I wasn't sleeping alone, but now they were back, with a vengeance.

Shortly after this, I stopped sleeping much.  I was hanging out with a few people who believed in all the things I saw.  They couldn't see it, but they could sense it.  The less I slept, the more I saw.  Samhain was particularly intense.  If you have never celebrated Samhain, it is when the veil between the dimension of the living and the dead is thinnest.  I was paralyzed for most of the evening by a visitor from my nightmares, who in the morning, I killed.

The scary part: it was all instinctive.  I had been trained, at some unknown time, to kill beings like him.  I knew exactly what to do, the sky was full of flames, I felt him "die", and he was gone.

Shortly after this, I had a falling out with those who believed, but met the daughter of "dragon man."  Meeting "dragon man" has made a huge difference, but that's a story for him to share in the telling, and not for this post.

Since then, I have worked feverishly on understanding exactly what I was seeing.  Now, unlike when I wasn't sleeping, I can filter my sight depending on what and how broadly I wish to see.  Seeing too broadly, all the time, is exhausting, so I only do so when I feel something big passing by, or I am looking for something and a narrower view hasn't led to any results.

I have delved into my history, which has explained a lot about why I knew "dragon man," and why I can see in the first place.  I have met a lot of people who also believed and could sense the things I see, who further helped me understand that I'm not crazy, I just have a different perspective compared to most people.

The tricky part: because I can see, I'm like a beacon.  Any spirit who is lonely sees me as the coolest thing in the world.  I can see them!  I can interact with them (on a limited basis)!  I can hear them!  They aren't alone anymore!

Dawn's dad, for example, is yelling at me right now, because I'm not wearing my glasses.  (He was an optometrist. I never met him while he was alive, but oh my, he is persistent!)

I can also serve as a channel or gate between dimensions.  I've had help from various sources, making this passage more resilient, because when a large being decides to talk to me, by sitting in the channel, so I can hear them really well... OUCH!  It burns like crazy.  It's not their fault.  Their energy signature is so much higher than a human's body, which is the level of energy I keep at most times to stay healthy, that it literally burns my insides.  While it was really cool to get the message. and the help I have received from this particular large being has been extremely useful, I repeat: OUCH!

In conclusion, if you experience any of this, and don't have a psychotic break (which trust me, can happen... it's a lot to absorb), you're probably not crazy.  You probably just see more than most, and that's okay.  Contact the nearest metaphysical shop in your area, and you can meet people until you find someone who talks about what you see.  They will be able to help you reaffirm what you are seeing, and understand exactly what it is.

Because, if you're not crazy, you've just received a big job!

Congratulations...

I think...

A Serial Novel - Chapter 7: Caroline

I looked at myself in the mirror.  I smiled at myself.  It looked fake.  I smiled bigger.  Okay, now that was terrifying.  I smiled with my lips closed.  Now, I looked like I didn't have teeth.

Great!

I decided immediately: dating was hard.

I had already tried on 4 different dresses, and none of them looked right.  I had worn them all before, but today, none of them looked right.  I ended up with the blue dress I was wearing the day Clem asked to sit next to me while I read.  I must have been looking good for him to make the effort on that day.

I tried smiling again.  No good, still looked fake.

Why was I trying to date anyway?  It was just too dangerous.  I am not your typical girl, after all.  How would I keep Clem from finding out about what I really was?  How would I not...?

Knock, knock, knock!

I threw my hair up in a ponytail, and ran down stairs to answer the door.  I looked through the peephole.  It was George, Clem's friend from Chicago.  He had been very nice to me at the Flower Shop.  No reason not to answer the door.

I opened the door.  "Hi, George," I said.  "How are you?"

George smiled.  "I am well, Caroline.  I was wondering if you would like to come back to Chicago with Clem and I.  We're leaving in 30 minutes.  I think the boss would really like you.  Plus, you already know about the flower thing, so Clem wouldn't have to teach you.  So, whatdaya say?"

I thought about it.  Clem had told me nothing about going back to Chicago at 5.  Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to meet me at Marcie's at 6-ish.  "Um... George," I began, "Clem didn't tell me we were going to Chicago this morning at the coffee house.  When did this new arrangement come up?"

"Oh, at around 9:30," George answered honestly.  "I did not go to the coffee house today."

"I see," I answered, thinking about exactly what George had in mind if I said no.  "Why don't you come in?  I baked some cookies yesterday, and I bet you would love to have some before we all go to Chicago."  I opened the door wide.

"Oh, that sounds great!" George answered excitedly.  "I love cookies.  What kind did you make?"

"Chocolate chip," I answered, leading George to the kitchen.  "They were my uncle's favorite."

George stopped, and looked at his watch.  "It's 4:45, Caroline.  I think we have to go now.  I don't want the boss to be angry."  He grabbed my arm with his hand.

I took a deep breath.  "What happens if Clem or I say no?" I asked, quietly.

"Well," George continued honestly.  "Then I bring your bodies back to Chicago."

"That's what I thought," I responded, twisting in George's grip, and quickly breaking his arm.  George cried out in shock, but was quickly quiet, because I had a piano wire around his throat.  I looked at my watch.  George began twitching.  I grabbed his head in both hands, and twisted with exactly x pounds of pressure.

Snap!

George was dead.  I heard footsteps coming up the sidewalk to my front door.  Why had George touched me with his hands!?  I hid the piano wire, curled into a ball near the body, and began to cry.

It was Mr. Golden and Clem.  I continued crying, because it wasn't just Mr. Golden.  I really didn't want Clem's first impression of me to be...

Clem walked over to the body.  He checked for a pulse, and immediately noticed George's neck was broken.  Clem looked at Mr. Golden with a quizzical look, then he looked at me.

Mr. Golden smiled at Clem, and Clem said, with an air of surprise, "I'll go get my stuff," and walked back out to the car.

As soon as Clem was gone, I immediately stopped crying.  "So, how'd I do?" I asked Mr. Golden, not moving from my position on the floor.

Mr. Golden inspected the kill.  He smiled at me.  "Very clean," he said.  "Clem will have to remove the slight impressions on the wall from where you braced yourself for the use of the piano wire, but other than that, it is very clean.  Nice work, Waters."

I smiled back at him.  Mr. Golden was the only one who understood about the hands.  This was the first time it had been useful.  Perhaps with Clem in town, more trained killers would come to my doorstep.  That would be fun!  "Thank you, sir," I said.  "Does Clem know?"

Clem was in the doorway.  Shit!  He had a big black duffle bag, and was wearing latex gloves.  Maybe he and Mr. Golden had talked...

Mr. Golden smiled at me.  "Clem is very used to this sort of thing," he said, helping me stand.  "He used to perform this service all the time for George.  He is very good at it.  I am sorry we were late.  Clem was very nervous about your abilities, so I had him drink some tea before we arrived."

Clem immediately went to work, wrapping George in a bag, and carrying the body into the bathroom.  He closed the door behind him.

"I don't know how long he takes to clean," Mr. Golden said, thoughtfully.  "Perhaps we should call Marcie and cancel?  Then, we can go talk at my apartment.  I am certain there is much Clem would like explained after this being your first date."

Clem poked his head out of the bathroom.  He had a mask on, which he pushed up onto his forehead to talk.  "I won't be long," he said, "but I would like an explanation rather than more coffee, if that is okay with you, Caroline."

I nodded.  Clem looked at Mr. Golden, "Then, please, sir, call Marcie and give her our regrets."  He pulled the mask back down over his nose and mouth, and closed the door to the bathroom.

I handed Mr. Golden my cell phone, which he immediately dialed Marcie.  He told her he had fallen at work, and Clem and I were going to keep him company tonight and make sure he was all right.  I could hear the worry in Marcie's voice over the phone, as Mr. Golden reassured her he was fine.  I felt bad that he had to lie, but we really couldn't tell her what was actually going on.

Clem came out of the bathroom 20 minutes later.  He had his duffle bag, but no remnant of George, whatsoever.  "It's done," he said.  "May he rest in peace."

"Clem," Mr. Golden said, obviously impressed, "that was fast!  How...?"

"Various chemical compounds of my own design," Clem responded, taking off his gloves, and placing them in one of his jacket pockets.  "We can talk more about this over dinner.  Caroline, are you hurt in any way?"

This was a surprise for me.  I looked at Clem quizzically.  He was worried about me.  It was strange, but sweet, I suppose.  I assumed Mr. Golden had told him to get rid of the body as soon as they arrived, but I was not used to any man caring about how I was in earnest.

"I'm just fine," I replied.  "Do you need to clean the scuff marks off the walls, like Mr. Golden said?"

Clem looked embarrassed.  "Yes," he said sheepishly.  "I'll get right on that."  He removed a little spray bottle from his duffle bag, and quickly made my walls look like I had never used them to strangle a very tall man.  "All better," he said with a smile.  "Anything else, Mr. Golden?" he asked.

Mr. Golden opened the door to the bathroom, and realized that whatever chemicals Clem had used were now odorless.  I peeked in over his shoulder.  My bathroom had never been THAT clean, but I suppose that may be a benefit of having Clem around.  "It looks perfect, Clem," Mr. Golden said.  "Very nice job.  May we use your car to get back to my apartment?"

"Of course," Clem said.  "Caroline, do you need to change before we go?  Did you get any genetic material on your dress?"

I double blinked.  This had been Clem's job in Chicago.  He was completely unfazed by my being a killer.  This was... this was... AWESOME!

"I don't think so," I responded, trying to contain my excitement, "but this is only my second kill, so you may as well check before we go..."

Clem looked at me in the eyes, making sure I was okay with that proposition.  He put on a fresh pair of latex gloves, took out a funny pair of glasses, and began going over my dress and skin.  He only touched my dress, so it was okay.  Him being so very businesslike about it helped too.  My response to hands wasn't triggered, which was great, because I really liked Clem.  I didn't want to kill him.

When he was finished, he took off the funny glasses, and the latex gloves.  "You did a very nice job," he said.  "I only found a few hairs, which I can dissolve when I get rid of the gloves at home.  Clean kills like this are unusual for someone with such little experience."

"She's a natural!" Mr. Golden beamed.  "Let's go have dinner.  We can talk more freely in my apartment."

Clem put the funny glasses back in the duffle bag, and zipped the used gloves and hairs into a special baggie, which also went into the duffle bag.  He stood, duffle bag in hand, and offered me the other.  I looked at his hand like it was a piranha.

"I wouldn't do that," Mr. Golden said, taking Clem's empty hand.  "Let's go to my apartment.  Everything will be explained there."

Clem shrugged, and opened my front door for Mr. Golden and myself.  We all walked out to Clem's car, and Clem cleaned any evidence that George had come to my house as we left.  He opened the door to the back seat for Mr. Golden and I, closed the door after we entered, walked around the car, got into the driver's seat, closing the door behind him, and asked, "Where to?"

"My apartment is on 1st and Main," Mr. Golden said.  "Parking is around the back."

Clem nodded and began to drive.  I looked seriously at Mr. Golden.  "Is this what you meant by him being a good man?  That he can clean up after me?"

Mr. Golden laughed.  "That is part of it," he responded after he stopped laughing.  "The rest I suppose we will figure out at dinner."

Clem pulled into a parking place behind Mr. Golden's building.  Like everything in Nowhere, Mr. Golden's apartment complex was very small.  It was one building holding only 6 units.  Mr. Golden lived in the second floor unit on the corner of the building on First and Main.  I got out of the car, and ran up the steps, like I did most days, up to Mr. Golden's front door.  I looked at the peep hole, allowing it to perform its retinal scan to let me in, and the door unlocked, closing behind me.  I could hear Mr. Golden programming the scanner to accept Clem's scan out in the hall.  I walked into the sitting room, and sat in my favorite chair.  It was shaped like a C, and I could curl up into a ball in it, and feel like it was hugging me.  This was home.

Mr. Golden and Clem walked in the door a few minutes later.  Clem looked at me in my favorite chair, and then looked back at Mr. Golden.  Mr. Golden walked into the kitchen to make more tea.  Clem followed him, and asked loudly enough that I could hear him perfectly, "So she's your protege?  When did you plan on telling me that?"

"I thought this would be a lovely way for you to find out, Clem.  Plus, you have aced my assessment of you.  Who did you train with in Chicago?"

"Sensei Okamori."

"Excellent, he's one of ours," Mr. Golden said.  "That would be how your 'going straight' was possible.  I am certain Gen wanted you to join us, and put in for your transfer because you now had adequate experience."

"One of ours?" Clem asked, sounding perturbed.  "I, in earnest, wished to go straight.  I did not want to be pulled back into a life of crime in a little town like Nowhere.  After what happened in Chicago, I am quite finished."

"You performed admirably today.  Do you have any intention of exposing Caroline?" Mr. Golden asked with menace in his voice.

"No!" Clem exclaimed shocked at the suggestion.  "I would have had to kill George myself, had Caroline not finished him before I got there.  I just don't want to do this anymore."

"Tea?" Mr. Golden asked.

Clem took a deep breath loud enough for me to hear.

"Let's go sit in the sitting room with Caroline.  We will all be more comfortable in there, and we can have a nice talk so everything is explained," Mr. Golden said, leading Clem back into the sitting room.

Clem sat in the chair across from me.  He looked stiff, on edge, and uncomfortable.  I felt really bad.  He never looked like this in the coffee shop.

"Clem," I began.  "I'm really sorry I'm not normal."  I looked down into my lap.

I heard Clem sigh.  "Caroline, I'm just glad you're alive," he said quietly.  "I did not realize Mr. Golden was training you.  It makes it easier for you to understand my past this way."

"He didn't, at first," I began.  "My uncle... it was an accident."

"She will need your help to clean up that mess," Mr. Golden chipped in, sitting in the rocking chair across from the two of us.  "Right now, he's buried under the daisies."

"Was he the one who hurt you?" Clem asked.

"Yes," I said quietly, still not able to look him in the eyes.  "That's why I can't stand being touched by hands.  He used his hands to hurt me, so when anyone touches me with their hands... well..."

"She becomes the most efficient killing machine I have ever witnessed," Mr. Golden said.  "I started training her after the incident with her uncle.  I saw she was being abused, which is why I hired her at the flower shop.  I wanted to monitor the situation, and if necessary, step in myself.  I always told Caroline if she ever needed help, for any reason, to call me, and I would help without judgment.  Well, the call came, and when I arrived, Caroline's uncle was very dead.  I am not a cleaner, but an assassin, like Caroline, so your expertise will be most useful, if you choose to join us."

"I can help with that, once it's dark.  After that, I should probably move on.  I really don't want to be involved in crime anymore.  I like being alive," Clem said quietly.

"Well, it's not dark yet, and I know you are all hungry," Mr. Golden said, sounding extremely cheery.  "Caroline, shall we take the boy to New York for dinner?  Or Paris?  Or perhaps sushi, in Tokyo?  It's your second kill, and you did such a very nice job... Let's celebrate!"

"New York would be great!  We can show Clem the base there, and eat pizza!" I exclaimed.  "If Clem likes pizza..." I finished more unsure.

Clem shook his head for a minute.  "I like pizza, but how in the hell are we getting to New York before dark?"

"Like this," Mr. Golden said, accessing the panel for the time and place shifter on the wall.  He input the code for noon, today, New York City, Times Square, and pressed go.  The room shifted, and we were all sitting on the sidewalk, in the middle of Times Square, at noon.

A screenshot of a Caroline custom miniature from HeroForge.com

Black As My Soul, Part III (Is Darkness Evil?)

As a kid, I was afraid of the dark.  I couldn't see well, and with my vivid imagination, all sorts of things would play in the shadows.  When you don't know what is moving by your bed as a kid who is prone to nightmares, something moving freaks you out, completely, especially when you have your own room.

However, when you turn on the light or put on night vision goggles, you find that what was moving was just your curtains, or your cat playing in the dark, and not necessarily anything to be alarmed about.

Categorizing darkness as evil would be extremely funny to most Buddhist monks.  This is because, according to Buddhist philosophy, neither exists.  Duality is an illusion.  There are not light and dark, black and white, good and evil.  Those are our perceptions running rampant, and causing us to move further away from remembering our true nature and the interconnectedness of all things.

I first heard about this philosophy in seventh grade.  I loved the idea that the Buddha saw suffering outside his palace, and decided to go do something about it.  I thought that was absolutely fantastic.    However, as a 13 year old, I only saw things as black and white, and very distinctly so.  It wasn't that I thought my language arts teacher was lying: I just didn't get it.

At 29, I get it.  I also get to see the problems duality causes, every day, on none other than... Facebook!

Yes. Facebook!  Facebook is absolutely fantastic at showing how duality makes us suffer.  We have groups and classifications for all sorts of people.  We want everyone to fit in a box, and show how different we are from everyone else.  Then, when we are proven different, we disassociate ourselves from people who disagree, or we argue with them.

Does this prove that our point is better or different?  The simple point of the matter is: both sides are arguing.

Why doesn't arguing work, in the most common form present on Facebook?  Because both sides are angry.  Anger clouds the mind, and causes our perceptions to become even more disillusioned, thus not allowing the argument to create any less suffering, for either party, but to potentially maintain existing, or cause more, suffering.  It also widens the gap between each party, because neither is listening to the other, and is simply getting louder (or in this case, using CAPS LOCK), to prove their point.

How can we change this?

Help eradicate ignorance.

How can we do that?

Education.

But you already know that, right?  I mean, that's why you have student loans!

An important question: how much did you actually learn acquiring those student loans?  Are you a master of your profession, by virtue of your education?  Can you say that your degree added equal value to your life of the debt you incurred?

If so, congratulations!  I am happy that your education has decreased your suffering!  Please share this knowledge so other people can know of an institution that does what it promises: it provides a useful education.

If not, why not work on your own self-education?  It's great fun!  I'm not kidding, and if it's not in the classroom, you can learn in whatever style you like best, at your own pace, in your own way.  It doesn't have to be in a book either, although I find books to be an excellent place to start.  You can learn by talking to people, doing things, or simply living... if you are aware of your life.

So, the important question is... Are you aware of what is going on in your life?  As the Buddha would say: Are you awake?  Can you see things as they are, without your perceptions clouding your view or shading your interpretation into something else entirely?  Is a cup simply a cup, or does it have a qualifier?  Is a man a man, or do you automatically classify him as good/bad, Black/White/Latino/Mixed race/Asian/etc., rich/poor, intelligent/stupid, ... ?

Or do you need glasses to see clearly?  Do you know if you need glasses?

I need glasses!  :)  That's about how far I have gotten.  Some days, I still forget to put them on.  Other days, I remember to wear them, but they fog up occasionally, or they end up up on my head, and I forget where I put them.

But there are moments, when the glasses fade away, and being happens.  It's delicious, and wonderful, and ecstatic.  There is no longer an "I," or an "am," just being.  I can play piano better, write more easily, drive effortlessly, and perform physical feats with half the effort they usually require.  I can also listen, and hear, and have a giant advantage of not being offended by whom I am speaking with (even if we are covering a delicate topic).  It allows me to respond, not react, to any situation in life, in a way that I can nod the next day, and agree that I did the best I could with the information I had, at the time.  With that mode of existence, there is happiness.

Can you experience this sort of just being?  Of course, you can!  I'm no different from you, and that's really the point.  If just being was what everyone did, we would live in a much happier world, function at a much higher level, and see clearly what was happening in our lives.

A worry people have is that if they tread this path, they will lose who they are.  This is an oversimplification of what occurs: you will lose that which is too heavy to carry anymore.  I still have my past and my experiences.  I just no longer carry them with me.  They were heavy, and they hurt me.  Why would I carry with me things that hurt?

In conclusion, the only darkness you know, you carry with you, or place before you, or choose to cloud your vision.  There is no darkness, or light.  There just is.

With anything related to Zen, this is my path.  I am not Enlightened.  I am not a Zen Teacher.  I have no idea what I'm doing.  However, if any of this resonates with you, find your nearest Zen Center, and go to a sit.  It's how I found out I needed glasses.  :)

A Serial Novel - Chapter 6: Clem

I had read the morning news.  I had reorganized my desk 3 times.  I had checked my e-mail 14 times.  I had even drank the horrible bank coffee, against my best judgment.  Disgusting.

It was 9:30.  I had been at work for 30 minutes.

This was going to be a very long day.

I looked over at Clive.  He was daydreaming again.  Not doing anything in particular either, but he seemed to be enjoying himself.

I wasn't.

How had Caroline known, so quickly, that I was in love before?  Mr. Golden believed she was naive, and since he was the Mr. Golden, I could not see him being wrong about, well, anyone.

But, maybe... somehow... Caroline had slipped under his radar.  Maybe she was indeed that special.  Or he thought that because he was covering something up.  That was probably more likely.  He was the Mr. Golden, after all.  What was I, Clem, a mere mortal, compared to him?

I looked at my watch again: 9:34.  Damn it.

What could I do for 7.5 hours, when absolutely nothing was going on?

I had lunch at noon, of course, and that was always pleasant.  What about the rest of the time?

What was I going to...

"Good morning, Clem," a very low voice said happily.  It popped me out of my thoughts immediately.  George!  What was George doing in Nowhere?  I mean, what the hell was George doing in Nowhere?

I took a breath, then answered.  "Good morning, George.  Welcome to Nowhere Community Bank.  How may I assist you?"

George laughed.  Apparently, my "bank speak" was far too much for him to take, considering he knew exactly who I had been.  You see, George and I had been partners.  George made the mess, and I cleaned it up.  Simple.

Except for when it wasn't.  Except for when George pissed off the wrong guy, and since George had nobody and nothing he was attached to, the bastards came after me.  Since torturing me was as effective as punching cinder block with your bare hands, and hoping it will answer your questions, they killed her.  And they were right, that was torture, but I still didn't talk.  There was no reason to.  I was too busy making all of them dead.

Of the two of us, George was the blunt instrument.  I was precision.  George didn't think in his line of work.  He just acted.  He was extremely useful in this way.  He was 6'5", 280 pounds, and he could lift a car, on a good day.  (Lifting up your mark's car is a very good way to scare them, by the way.  Especially, while they are inside.)

Why George was here... it didn't make sense...

"We want you back, Clem," George said, smiling.  "I miss you.  I have gone through 4 cleaners since you left.  Incompetents... as you would always say.  I still don't know what that means.  Your funny way of talking and how good you were at cleaning up my messes... it hasn't been the same without you.  Plus, the boss wants you back."

"Can we please talk about this outside?" I asked.  "I have lunch at noon.  Can we talk then?"

"Sorry," George said.  "The boss said that he wanted me to be driving back by noon.  With you.  You understand.  We probably have a job tonight, and he wants us back before dark.  You know how he is..."

"No," I said, glaring at George.

George laughed.  "You must be joking, Clem!  I know the boss went soft after Sarah died.  Let you have this vacation in Nowhere.  Why in the hell you would come to this stupid little town...?  Anyway, you've had 6 months.  You should be over her by now, tough guy.  You certainly aren't crying at your desk, being useless..."

"The boss didn't 'let' me have anything, George," I growled.  "I made an ultimatum, and he took it.  End of story.  There was no expiration date on my quitting.  You.  Shouldn't.  Be.  Here."

"Well, the boss felt..."

"I don't give a shit about what the boss said, or felt, or anything.  I am done.  I've gone straight.  I don't do that anymore, George.  You will have to find someone else."

George looked at me for a minute.  I could tell he was hoping I would change my mind, just quit my job, and jump in his car with him to go back to Chicago.  George was simple, but he had always enjoyed my company, even when I was an ass.  The boss knew George wouldn't want to kill me, but he would, if he had to.  Sending George meant, whatever it was, was a big deal to the boss.  I just didn't care anymore.  I had gone straight.  I had a date tonight.  This could not have happened at a worse...

"Well, who are you, big guy?" Clive asked, walking out of his office.

"I'm George," George said.

I took in a sharp breath.  This could not end well.

"Hello, George.  My, you have a really strong handshake!  Are you a friend of Clem's?"

George thought for a while.  Clive looked at me, confused why it was taking so long.  I looked back at him and shrugged.

"I don't know," George finally answered.  "Clem and I used to work together.  I would like to be Clem's friend, but I don't think Clem has any friends."

"You used to work with Clem...?" Clive asked, starting to get the fact that this was not a good thing.

"Yes, I used to work with Clem.  Clem was really good at his job, and I would like him to come back to Chicago with me."

"Well, George," Clive began, "when did you want Clem to go back to Chicago with you?"

"Tonight," George answered, with a smile.  "We can listen to whichever radio station you want to in the car, Clem."

I did not want to have to kill George.  Even if George didn't understand it, we had been friends.  This was the price for going straight, I suppose...

"Clem can't go to Chicago tonight," Clive said.  "He has a date."

I froze.  If Clive had wanted to make things worse, he had just succeeded more than his wildest dreams.

George smiled.  "Then, she can come to Chicago with us.  Who is she?"

"Caroline Waters.  She works at The Golden Florist.  She's a real catch.  If Clem canceled on her, who knows when he would meet a girl like that again?"

I will not kill my boss.  I will not kill my boss.  I will not kill...

"Swell," George said.  "Well, I'll see you later, Clem.  Hopefully, before 5 p.m. tonight.  I'll be waiting for you."

George waved, and left the bank.  I knew exactly what that meant.

I looked at Clive.  I took a very deep breath.  "Clive, I am taking the rest of the day off," I informed him.

"What?" Clive exclaimed.  "Clem, it's 10 a.m.!  You can't just leave me to take care of the bank by myself!  Especially with creepy men from your former line of work coming here..."

I grabbed Clive by the collar and lifted him off the ground.  Clive's eyes bulged, and he looked absolutely terrified.  I thought better of it, and set him down gently.  I took another breath.  "Do you like Caroline?" I asked, in a low whisper.

"Yes," Clive said, "but you're terrifying me, Clem!  What the hell is going on?"

I smirked.  He was getting the picture.  "Do you like Caroline... alive?" I asked.

"What!?"  Clive shrieked.  "What the hell do you mean?"

"You just killed her," I said, glaring at Clive.  "You told a paid killer who he needs to torture and kill to get me to go back to Chicago.  I have to go fix it.  Now.  I hope you're happy."

Clive turned sheet white.  "Clem," he began, then stopped, then started again.  "I'm really sorry.  If you can come back by Friday, I'd appreciate it."

I scowled at Clive.

"Or why don't you just take the time you need...?" Clive squeaked.

I smiled.  "I'll let you know if I can return to work.  Thank you for understanding," I growled, and strode out of the bank.

I had gone straight, but I hadn't gone stupid.  I still had all of my supplies in the basement.  I walked home in as nonchalant fashion as I could muster, until I reached the front door of my house.  Then, I ran down into the basement, and took inventory of my supplies.  It was all here.  Caroline was currently safe at The Golden Florist with Mr. Golden.  Her being at work was the best place for her.  I needed to calm down, clear my head, stop seeing images across my vision of Sarah's body, and eat lunch.

Yes, I can eat lunch with death surrounding me.  How else would I have eaten three squares a day, in my old line of work?

I put all of my supplies that I could possibly need in a black duffle bag, and put it next to me at my kitchen table.  Then, I began putting together a sandwich, and tea.

Sarah...

I plunged the kitchen knife into the cutting board.

No, stop.  She's dead.  You love her.  You will always love her.  But... she's dead.  Thinking about her, now, will make you, and potentially Caroline as well, very dead.  You don't know what the fuck is on the other side.  You may or may not see her again.  Not worth dying now.

I couldn't eat yet.  I hadn't done this since Sarah died.  That was the problem.  I needed to talk to...

My phone began to ring.  It was Mr. Golden.  I answered immediately.  "Hello," I answered.

"Clem," Mr. Golden said, recognizing my voice.  "I would like to have tea with you at my shop after work today.  Would you be available?"

"Yes," I responded.  "I had intended to go on a date with Caroline at 6, but..."

"George is here, buying flowers from Caroline.  I don't think it will be a problem, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.  I will see you at 4:30, then?"

"Yes, I will be there."

"And Clem?"

"Yes?"

"Please bring one of your sandwiches with you.  That was just delicious yesterday."

"Will do," I said.  "Thank you, Mr. Golden."

"No problem, young man.  I hope you have a nice day off."

Shit.  If Mr. Golden had seen me go home from work, George had too.  This was not good.

I began preparing my home for war.  Everything I didn't want destroyed got stored in the basement or storage shed.  I put the panel I had made to conceal the door to my office into effect.  Then, I got to work on my tools.  Everything had to be cleaned, checked, and organized before something like this.  I did not want to go into battle, reach for a knife, and it not be there.

As I finished, I looked up at the clock.  2:30.  How in the hell did time go so fast when I had so much more to do?  I ran back into the kitchen, and ate my sandwich quickly.  It was delicious, I am sure, on an ordinary day, but for me, at that moment, it tasted like saw dust.  I drank a large glass of water, then another one.  I took a breath.

Sarah...

Damn it.

I took a deep breath.

Sarah... Sarah... Sarah...

I took another deep breath.

Sarah... Sarah... Sarah... Sarah... Sarah...

It was time for a shower.

I walked calmly into my bathroom, and undressed.  I looked in my medicine cabinet.  I had drugs to make this stop, but none of them would work today.  I could not be foggy and kill George.  I closed the medicine cabinet and looked at myself in the mirror.

I had aged.  Lines had appeared on my face where they were not there before.  I had a few gray hairs sprinkled randomly through my jet black hair.  I was only 32, but the man staring back at me could have been much, much older.

I sighed, and stepped into the shower.  I turned on the water, ice cold.  I needed to clear my head.  I walked into the shower, and sat on the floor, letting the cold water fall on my head.  I pulled my knees to my chest, and waiting for my breathing to return to its measured pace.  I was trained for just about anything.  I just needed to remember which part of that training I needed today.

I remembered...

Sensei always said, "One must be the mountain, not the wind.  You are constant, you are eternal, you allow the wind to move around you, and strike when it is most advantageous.  The winds of change do not affect you because you know what you are: nothing."

My breathing became measured.  The water did not feel so cold.  I tipped my head back and let the water flow down my face.  I felt like myself again.

I stood, and washed myself thoroughly.  I was my actions.  I was responsive.  I was ready.  I stepped out of the shower, and looked into the mirror again.  I smiled, slicked my hair back, so it would be out of the way, and smiled at myself again.

I was ready.

I dressed in my suit for exactly this purpose.  It looked like a suit I would wear to the bank, but it wasn't.  Unlike typical men's attire, this suit was made to move effortlessly with anything I threw at it.  The vest had a Kevlar lining.  On the inner side, there were numerous hooks and loops to attach whatever arsenal I saw as necessary.

I was ready.

I looked at the time.  4:00.  Time to go meet Mr. Golden.

I strode outside to the garage behind my house, opened the door, walked inside and took the cover off of my car.  It was an old, perfectly maintained Lincoln Town Car, in black, of course.  I threw my duffle on the passenger's seat, and drove over to The Golden Florist.

I walked inside.  4:15.  I was early.  Mr. Golden was working on closing up shop.  "Clem," he said, smiling.  "Please take a seat in my office."

Then I noticed it: Caroline was not here.

"Where is Caroline?" I asked, suddenly worried.

"She went home early today.  She wanted to get ready for her big date with you.  She will be just fine.  Please, have a seat inside my office.  I will be with you presently."

I did as I was told, and tried to sit in Mr. Golden's office.  This was Mr. Golden, after all.  He must know something about Caroline I don't.  I couldn't sit though, I was too nervous about what a killer like George would do to Caroline.  I paced.

"Clem," Mr. Golden said in the doorway.  "I meant everything I said over the phone.  I'd like to have tea with you.  Did you bring a sandwich for me?"

I looked at the ceiling and sighed.  "I apologize, Mr. Golden.  I completely forgot," I said.

Mr. Golden flipped around the open sign on his front door, and walked into the office with me, closing the door.  "I meant, did you bring the necessary items to clean up after a murder?" he asked.

I blinked twice.  "Yes, of course," I responded.  "They are in the passenger seat of my car, just outside."

"Excellent," Mr. Golden, responded with a smile.  "Let us have tea.  I can tell from your state of mind that instead of killing George, who is indeed your friend, it would be best to clean up the mess.  You require a refresher course before you are a killer again, after your episode with Sarah, I believe it was?"

I winced.

"Yes, that was the proper name.  George mentioned her to Caroline while they were shopping earlier.  He bought a massive bouquet, with surprisingly impressive taste for his thinking style.  Did you teach him the language of flowers?"

"Yes," I said quietly.  "It was necessary to send messages in Chicago."

"Quite.  The bouquet was half apology, half death.  I assume he means to put it on Caroline's dead body.  Unfortunately, George may be quite disappointed, if that is what he intends to do..."

"Why?" I asked.  "George is a formidable opponent.  Furthermore, he's huge.  How could Caroline be a match for..."

Mr. Golden smiled, and handed me a cup of tea.  "Finish your tea, young man," he ordered calmly.

I sipped my tea.  It was extremely good.  "Green tea?" I asked, surprised by his choice.

Mr. Golden sat at his desk, across from me, took a long sniff of his tea, before drinking a small sip.  "It is from China.  One of my wife's favorite varieties.  I have not had it in a long time.  I figured you would understand the significance of my sharing it with you."

I smiled at him.  "I am honored, sir," I responded, taking another sip of tea.

"I understand you are extremely skilled at your job.  George spoke very highly of you.  For a man of his skills, and typical vocabulary, it sounded like he took the time to memorize larger words to describe you, because he was so very impressed.  I am sorry that he chose to come to Nowhere.  I am certain you feel the same."

"Yes, I do," I responded, and continued, "but Mr. Golden, why are we not going to Caroline's aid immediately?"

Mr. Golden smiled, and refilled my cup.  "Finish your tea, young man," he said.

Black As My Soul, Part II (or I'll Take It... If It Comes In Black)

For any people reading this post thinking, um... this might be about fashion, and I should run away.  It is, but you shouldn't run away!  I promise.  It's not as scary as you think.  Here's why: clothes are tools.

Yes, clothes are tools.

Let me explain.

When I was in 7th grade, my wardrobe consisted of XXL sweatshirts from Eddie Bauer that completely obscured my form and jeans that kind of sort of fit.  That was what I wore, every day.  It did absolutely nothing for my self-esteem (which was already at an all time low), and absolutely nothing for my time in 7th grade.

Fast forward 4 years to the summer between 10th and 11th grade, and I was happily at Interlochen Fine Arts Camp, with... drum roll please!  ... FRIENDS!  I had made friends.  Wonderful sweet friends who liked me for me.  It was the best summer of my childhood.  One of the most memorable experiences was when I borrowed clothes from my cabin mates for a dance.  My mother had insisted I only needed to pack uniforms, so I had nothing of my own to wear.  I gave back to my cabin mates by helping them with their hair, and returning the items, freshly washed.  However, for the first time in my life, I recognized that feeling pretty as a girl was in and of itself a super power.  It didn't matter how other people reacted to what you wore, although favorably was nice; that wasn't what mattered.  If you had the confidence that you looked good, you could do anything!  It was a revelation for me.

For the next several years, I consistently read fashion magazines (along with the classic novel in my bag... just depended on my mood).  It wasn't for the gossip or the celebrities.  It was for the clothes.  All the textures of the fabrics.  All the different looks and how you could change or modify your form with the design of the clothing.  All of it was immediate love.

During one of my summers during college, I worked at the mall in a post-pregnancy - middle aged to older women's clothing store.  I was able to use my knowledge to transform anyone's appearance into something the wearer found favorable.  Not all women want to look pretty, but they do have distinct preferences that makes them feel like them.  It is easy to pick up on these and match or amplify them, if you understand the language of clothing.  For me, it wasn't only easy: it was fun and gratifying.

Like it or not, people are EXTREMELY visual.  If you wear something visually appealing: they will notice you.  If you would rather go unnoticed or blend in, this is equally possible with the right wardrobe.  To know how to dress one's self, in our bloodless culture (barring you are part of the military, police, or doing illegal activities, then it's not necessarily so bloodless), clothing can be used to help one advance in any field one chooses, in any way that is most advantageous to them.  It can help announce our identity, our purpose, our profession, our work ethic, our attitude, or any other variety of things you can think of.  You must choose wisely, but it is all possible.

Part of choosing your wardrobe is understanding color theory (which I will cover in another post, if anyone is interested).  I look best in jewel tones and/or pastels, and pure whites and blacks, according to my skin tone, hair color, and eye color.  It makes me look healthier when I wear these tones, which psychologically makes me look more appealing.  I wore these shades from the middle of high school (when I first learned about color theory) until a few months ago, when they no longer fit my lifestyle.

Those of you will laugh that I have now moved to a gray-scale palette for my wardrobe when I do two things: I associate wildly and happily with pagans (some of the most colorfully dressed people I know), and my loud personality (especially when I am around people I like).  I have shifted my focus from colors that make me look appealing, to colors that help me focus (black, being my favorite).  I have all the bright colors within my personality.  I do not require them outwardly as well.  Others find bright colors exciting; at this time, I find them distracting.  So, I have changed my wardrobe.

I have also greatly reduced the number of items in my wardrobe.  I found I was only wearing a "uniform" from my old wardrobe of jewel toned items, anyway.  Why not spend the time I was using to choose clothing in the morning to do something creative?  Like blogging, perhaps?  ;)  Or practicing?  Or writing the many novels in my head?  Now, if fashion is your passion, there is nothing wrong with taking an hour or two to handcraft your daily look before going out into the world.  I love fashion, (otherwise, this post would not be happening), but it's not my priority right now.

In making the remainder of this post useful for those who have gotten this far, how does one begin to craft one's wardrobe?  Good question.  Here are a few questions to ponder:

Question One:  What is the aim of your appearance?

A few things to think about to get you started:  

• Do you want to look like the gender(s) which you are attracted to should rip off your outfit?  
• Are you going to an interview and/or wish to look professional? (This varies wildly based on your profession, but it is a good starting point to know if this is one of your goals.) 
• Are you going to be doing heavy labor of some kind?  
• Are you working in a hazardous situation that requires special clothing (the medical profession, a construction site, a machining shop, etc.)?  
• Are you going to be working with children (especially important if it is other people's children)? 
• What do you consider your attractive qualities?  Do you wish to down play or emphasize them?
• Do you wish to look older, younger or exactly your age?  
• Is your fashion sense a statement, an aside, or completely in the background?
• How much do you want to be noticed?
• What do you want people to notice about you based on how you dress?
• How do you feel about the word "provocative" as a descriptor for someone's fashion sense?

Question Two:  How much time are you willing to spend on your appearance?

Parents with babies out there and people with any sort of chronic illness: yes, I know, the answer is ZERO!  However, looking good and choosing a wardrobe that takes zero time to put together each morning is possible.  It will probably also positively affect your mood, even if you hate clothes.  Feeling good about how you look really does make a giant difference.

If the answer is upwards from zero, you have more flexibility, and it is more beneficial to own a larger wardrobe.

Question Three:  How often do you (and are you willing to) do laundry?

If you are going for a zero effort wardrobe, this question is essential.  Once a week means you need clothing to last a week, so 7-9 items of whatever you wear each day.  If you switch between work clothing and leisure clothing, that means more clothes (about double, depending on your lifestyle).  Once every two weeks: double that.  Twice a week, and you can get by on much less, but you should buy clothes that are highly resilient to extra washing, and wash them as gently as possible.

Question Four:  Are you willing to pay for dry cleaning?

My answer: I'm not.  If I buy a piece of clothing in my wardrobe that says "Dry Clean Only," I will wear it once, say I will dry clean it when I have time, and never wear it again.  That is hugely wasteful, on so many levels.  So, I don't buy clothing that needs to be dry cleaned anymore.

Now, I know people who are so into not doing laundry that they send out all of their items to be washed, pressed, and/or dry cleaned, weekly.  If that is you, awesome.  Buy the beautiful Dry Clean Only items.  I will enjoy looking at them on you, and not doing dry cleaning myself.

Question Five: What is your relationship with ironing?

My answer: I don't.  I buy clothing that comes out of the dryer wrinkle free, or really close.  If you like ironing, again, you have more options.

Question Six: Do you have any allergies or skin sensitivities?

A great wardrobe should feel as comfortable as wearing your own skin.  Nothing should pinch, be too tight, too loose, too short, too long, itch, bunch, rub, drag, or constrict.  If you are allergic to any type of material, avoid it like the plague.  If you aren't the size of a mannequin (which trust me, even some mannequins require pins to look good in the ready-made clothing), find a great tailor, make your own clothes, or use a site, like eShakti.com, that makes clothing to your measurements.  No one should be trying to fit into a particular size.  The clothing should fit you.  If it doesn't, it's not your problem.  It's the wrong clothing for your wardrobe.  Like Beastie Dragon always says: "There is the right tool for every job.  Don't use my nice chisels to open paint cans."  You and your wardrobe deserve as much care and attention as a paint can.  **steps off soapbox**

This should be enough to get you started.  Remember, fashion is for everyone.  A lack of fashion sense is still fashion, and even if you choose not to participate, people can still see you and are assessing what you are wearing.  It's not what we try to do: judge people by their appearance.  It's not what we teach our children, or that we aim to judge people at all.  (What are we... gods?)  However, if it is how most people are, visual, that is, why not use it to your advantage and have a little fun?

If you are interested in future posts to explain how to work these questions to your best advantage or are very interested in the post on color theory, please comment below.

A Serial Novel - Chapter 5: Marcie

"Hello, I'm Marcie.  I'm not sure I've seen you around town before...?  Yes, it's 6 a.m. and I just opened my shop.  I can tell you're not a morning person... Would you like a cup of coffee?  It's a $1.20.  $3 for a unlimited cup.  If you're going to be here a while, the $3 option is far more economical.  It's good coffee, made fresh by me this morning.  If you don't like it, well, I own the only restaurant in town, so you'd have to go home and make some yourself."

Ding, ding, ding!

"Two more customers?  Well, I guess it's going to be a busy morning.  Here's your coffee.  I hope you like it.  It'll be a $1.20."

"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Dorian!  Mrs. Dorian, isn't that a lovely flower in your hair!  I bet it's from The Golden Florist.  Mr. Golden really does have the best blooms.  What'll it be this morning?"

"A black coffee for me, and a cappuccino for the Mrs.," Mr. Dorian barked.

"I'll have it up in a jiffy!"

Ding, ding, ding!

"Mr. Finch," I purred, handing Mr. and Mrs. Dorian their drinks, "you never come in this early.  What brings you to the coffee shop?"

"I'm here to see Clem get turned down," Mr. Finch said, hitting the bar.  "I'd like a Chocolate Covered Cherry Frappuccino."

"Clem get turned down?" I asked, wondering how Mr. Finch knew Clem was probably asking out Caroline again today.  "I spoke with Mr. Golden yesterday, and I really don't think Clem is going to..."

Ding, ding, ding!  Ding, ding, ding!  Ding, ding, ding!

"Marcie!"  "Marcie!"  "Marcie!"  "Marcie!"

I got my step stool, climbed up onto the bar, and whistled as loudly as I could.  The entire town had crammed itself into my coffee shop, excepting Mr. Golden, who apparently was busy opening his own business.  "If everyone could please form an orderly line out the front door, I will serve each of you as quickly as I can.  If you are just here to ogle what happens with Clem and Caroline, I ask that you leave, or neither of them will be able to have a coffee before they go to work without being very late."

Slowly, half of the potential customers shuffled out of the shop, and retreated just far enough to peer in the windows.  I'm a gossip, but this really shows how little happens in this town.  Nothing happens in Nowhere.  Clem was in for an unpleasant surprise, because he usually liked his espressos in a very particular way: alone.

I saw Clem walking up the street.  Caroline hadn't arrived yet for her cappuccino.  He took one look at the crowd, chuckled, and walked inside unfazed.  "Good morning, Marcie," he said.  "I'd like the usual, please."

"Clem," I asked in a stage whisper, "are you going to ask out Caroline today?"

Clem looked at his watch.  "Probably not," he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear.  "She's not here."

There was an audible sigh all around.  The fun they had hoped to watch was not happening.  As quickly as they had arrived, everyone walked off to whatever they were usually doing on a Wednesday morning.

Clive Finch stood up with his Chocolate Covered Cherry Frappuccino, now to go, and barked at Clem, "Don't be late this morning," and walked out.

Clem chuckled again.  He looked at me, straight in the eyes.  His ice blue eyes, sparkling with his amusement of the whole situation.  "Marcie," he asked, "are the people of this town really that bored?"

I thought for a moment, and responded, "Yes, Clem, they truly are."

Clem laughed.  "This never would have happened in Chicago," he said.  "A guy asking a girl out was so normal, that was boring.  Plus, she already said no, Marcie.  It would be in bad taste for me to ask her again."

"Then, why are you here, Clem?" I asked, putting his espressos in front of him.

He shot one back, then smiled.  "Because I'm here every morning, Marcie."

It was true.  Clem did come see me every morning for his 3 espressos.  That had nothing to do with a girl.

Clem shot back the other two espressos, and turned to leave.

"Going so soon?" I asked, surprised he wasn't taking his time like usual and reading something on his phone.

"Yes," Clem said, looking at his watch, "Tell Caroline hello, if she stops by."  He stood up to leave.

Just then, Caroline walked into the shop.  She looked particularly beautiful.  I think she was even wearing a new dress.  She stopped right in front of Clem, and said, "Hello, Clem.  Thank you for letting me finish my book yesterday.  That was very nice."  Then, before he could respond, she walked past him, gave me the exact change for a cappuccino, and sat in her usual spot by the window.

Clem froze.  He looked at his watch three times, but still didn't move.  I started chuckling.  The most put together man in town had no idea what to do with Caroline.  I found it: adorable.  I finished making the cappuccino for Caroline, and whispered, "Clem!"

Clem looked up at me.

"Take this to Caroline," I said, trying to be helpful.

Clem thought for a moment, and then took the cappuccino from me.  He set it down in front of Caroline, and then turned to go.

"Wait," Caroline said, putting a hand on his jacket sleeve.  "You only want to talk to me on Tuesdays?"

Clem turned to look at Caroline.  She looked up at him, taking the first sip of her cappuccino.  "Not necessarily,"  Clem said, quietly.  "I have heard so much gossip yesterday and today, I don't want to assume anything.  I'm more than happy to leave you to your book, if that's what you want."

Caroline smiled up at him with a big grin.  "What book?" she asked.

Clem looked at Caroline carefully.  She had not brought a book today.  She had been wanting to talk, perhaps to him.  He contemplated something for a moment, then asked, "May I sit?" pointing to the chair on the other side of the table.

"Sure," Caroline said, taking another sip from her cappuccino.

Clem sat down across from Caroline.  His phone was in his pocket.  He had nothing to drink.  He just sat, looking like he owned the place, gazing at Caroline.  Finally, he smiled, and asked, "Would you like to go out sometime?"

Caroline double blinked, then smiled.  "Yes," she said, "but I don't know where we'd go.  Nowhere really doesn't have anywhere to go out."

"I thought we'd come here, for dinner," Clem said.

Caroline thought for a moment, then began, "Mr. Golden, my boss, says you're a good man.  He told me he had lunch with you yesterday.  Mr. Golden doesn't say anyone is a good man.  What makes you special?"

Clem looked down for a moment.  A sad smile crossed his face, then he answered, "I don't take anything for granted."

Caroline stopped smiling.  She looked Clem straight in the eyes.  "I'm sorry," she said, looking away.  "You must have loved her very much."

"I did," Clem said quietly, looking down into his lap.

"Where is she now?" Caroline asked.

"She's dead," Clem answered, coldly.

Caroline thought for a moment, was about to say something, then thought a bit longer.  Finally, she began, "Clem, I will never be her.  I already know that from the little living I have done.  I'm too eccentric to replace anyone else, in any position, romantic or otherwise.  So, if you want to go out with me, you will have to be ready for something new.  Are you ready for something new?"

Clem looked up with a big smile.  "Very ready," he said.

"Great!" Caroline exclaimed, also smiling widely.  "So, I'll see you here tonight, then?  6-ish?"

Clem smiled back.  "Okay," he said.

"Yay!" I exclaimed, then immediately covered my mouth.  Both Caroline and Clem laughed.

"Are you willing to be open that late tonight, Marcie?" Clem asked, looking at me.

"Yes, of course," I answered, giddy with excitement.

"Great," Clem said, resuming his stony demeanor.  "I will see both of you at 6."  He turned and walked out the door towards the bank.

Caroline hopped up from her chair and jumped up and down.  "I have a date!" she exclaimed.  "Marcie, what do you wear on a date?" she asked me.

"Um..." I said.  "I think Clem will probably wear a suit, because I have not seen him wear anything else, so a dress would be appropriate."

"I have a few of those!" Caroline exclaimed, clapping her hands.  "I need to get to work now!  Thanks, Marcie!"

Caroline rushed out the front door of the shop towards The Golden Florist.

I smiled.  Young love was so cute.

"Do you need anything else?  Just the two cups of coffee, then?  That will be $2.40.  Thank you.  Have a nice day!"

A screenshot of a Marcie custom miniature from HeroForge.com

Black As My Soul, Part I

It is black... as my SOUL!!!

Yeah, I probably have to say that in person for it to have the full effect.  The first time someone who has judged me as mild-mannered, sweet, and quiet hears me say this... well, the look on their face is always quite amusing.

Why do I say this?

Well, for one, to me, it's funny.  I do not believe I have a soul, or at least, not the kind one thinks about as a Catholic.  I have a metaphysical essence, but it's not chained to a God or religion or philosophy in anyway.  All of that is more complicated, and not really covered by Zen.

Why?

Because everyone experiences that stuff differently, so that they can understand what they need to know.  An astrophysicist or a chemist would explain how the universe works extremely differently from a pianist or a writer or a painter or a teacher.  All of them could be right.  However, they will explain it very differently, and if nuance is taken too literally, all these explanations will be seen as, not different accounts of the same thing, but as completely different things.

But I digress, to say black as my soul, is to ask whomever I say this to, to think.  I was a piano teacher for several years, I have manners, and I generally practice ethics in everything I do.  People see me as warm and kind.  They do not associate me with black.

But why couldn't my soul be black?  Why is black considered bad?

Two things come to mind...

A very common symbol that represents the universe is the yin-yang.  I loved them when I was a teenager, and I still do today.  I think it's a great reminder of not seeing things as black and white, but trying to see them as a whole, as they are.  In this view, my soul cannot be entirely black, or if it is, it is surrounded by lighter things.  If we did not have that balance, we would not exist.

Plus, who can sleep well in a bright room?  I'm sure there are a few of you out there, but personally, I like darkness for sleeping time.

Second, what "color" is the absence of light?  Our brains analyze it so we see it as black.  It's not necessarily actually black, but that is how we interpret it, with the abilities we have.  And to be completely technical, black isn't a color.  It's the absence of color.

So if my soul is black...

Yeah, you got it!  It's the absence of a soul, or at the very least, our concept of a soul.

Why is this important in Zen?

All forms of Buddhism are to help reduce suffering in our lives, possibly with the goal of enlightenment.  Attachment is at the root of most suffering.  To be attached to a concept of a soul is to suffer, on multiple levels.  If one loses their attachment, they also lose their suffering.  It doesn't mean to negate the existence of something that is real.  It means that we go through our perceptions and root out what is false, harmful, causes suffering, or holds us back.

All that happens in our mind becomes our reality.  If you choose to attach to the concept of a soul, you will function as if you have one, even if you don't.  That "soul" that you have created will work in the way in which you believe it does, and affect you accordingly.

Cool, huh?

Equally cool: you can positively affect your whole life with this power.  However, if you do not understand the "programming" or perceptions that you have accepted, you are being affected positively or negatively by that power, and can feel helpless.  Once you begin to understand and root through your perceptions, you can begin to positively change your life, because you understand how your mind works.  Then, you can make decisions to attach to new perceptions, or not, depending on your wants and desires.

And remember, don't feel bad if you decide you wish to keep some or all of your attachments.  Kuan Yin (or Kannon, or Quan yin, or Avalokitesvara, depending on the tradition), a Bodhisattva, who hears the cries of the world and is known for their* great compassion, vowed not to reach nirvana until all sentient beings attained enlightenment.  That, while being completely awesome, is an attachment.  It's always a choice, and if you understand that, it will be a choice you agree with.

And if you don't, down the road or a second later, you can always change it.

So, is my soul black?  Yes, because instead of having a soul, I have a void, which is black, because it is the absence of matter.

What color is your soul?

*I used "their" here, because depending on the tradition, Kuan Yin (insert all other possible names here)'s gender varies.