Thursday, June 11, 2009

The Power of Peeing in a Ziploc Container

I'm in my Holiday Inn hotel room in Forrest City, Arkansas. Yes, I'm sitting in my clean boxer briefs, and I would take them off to air out from all the sweating, but I'm too afraid that the previous guest of Room 134 had the same idea. I've seen those special reports on Dateline. Off I was to a late start from Atlanta this morning, due to the cleaning lady's tardiness. Well, really, the true culprit was my inability to properly pack a car. Spacial relations is not my strong suit when trunks and backseats are involved. Frustrated by my inability to find a home for everything, I tossed all sorts of valuables. Shirts, jeans, laundry baskets, trash cans, and Phoebe's old lady steps. Once I found a home for the extra large Fresh Step cat litter jug, I slammed the trunk shut, without regard to what was surely crushed. To thwart another breakdown, and after starting the car, I immediately popped in Eckhart Tolle's The Power of Now Audio Book CD. I was hoping to stay in the moment and not write a negative script about the future, as I drove away from 928 Sycamore for the last time.

I crossed the Alabama line before I knew it. Eckhart was telling me that thoughts are our worst enemy when it comes to living in the present. He's right, but between Phoebe's screams and Shug's incessant panting, I found myself thinking up all sorts of distractions. None were in the future, so at least I was not failing completely. Is it really so horrible that I focused on the one time that I forgot to send Ms. Betty a thank you note?

Birmingham was beautiful. All the rain, and the trees and shrubs were Irish green. I stopped for the first time at the Corner Pantry, and I turned to Shug. She looked at me with that "please don't leave me I'm a former pound puppy who was two days away from being gassed to death after being in the pound for three months" stare. But I have to get some water, I pleaded. You know I drink two gallons a day, and I'm parched. She seemed to relent, but then the monster truck next to me blew it's horn, and Phoebe leapt from my lap into the litter box, which had been used, and she proceeded to lay down in it. Shug's whining started, and she put her paw on my shoulder. Damnit, Eckhart! I thought. What am I supposed to do in this moment? Two minutes, I said to Shug. She yawned, her normal surrender sign. And, yes, I was terribly impatient, actually muttering "hurry up" loud enough for Raj Patel to hear. He completely ignored me, refusing to let me ruin his happy state. I hurried out of the store, and I saw Shug smiling at me through the car window, reminding me of how lovely it is to forget the past. I was in line for at least 10 minutes, but she acted as if 10 minutes was what we'd agreed upon. And Phoebe, well, she was happy as a pig in mud in her dirty litter box.

Passing all the Bingo parlors in Jasper, Alabama, I found myself being present with all the stories that I was creating about who was probably inside the establishments. Tammy was playing her 25 cards while her six children, all by different men, hung out at the snack bar eating nachos and tater tots. Lucille was in the check cashing line, showing her driver's license to the clerk, validating that the social security check was hers and not one she stole from a random mailbox. I was creating character number five when Phoebe jumped from the litter box in the floorboard of the backseat into my lap. I veered off the road, and as the tires hit the uneven pavement, the frightening sound jarred me back to full attention. Thanks Phoebe for your help in bringing me back I said, immediately retracting my thanks once I smelled her.

On 78 West, and Shug startsed dancing. She needed to pee, and so did I, but there weren't any gas stations or fast food restaurants on any of the exits. I finally pull off a random exit and made a right toward Natural Bridge. I turned onto the first road I came to, and I quickly put on Shug's leash and lead her out of the car. She didn't even make it to the grassy area before she released the horse-like stream. Okay, now what about me, I thought. I'd crossed my legs, as I looked around. We were parked across the road from a mechanic's shop for 18-wheelers. And I wasn't far enough off the highway to keep the people passing by from seeing me. Get in the car I said to Shug. She hopped in, and I realized that I was not going to be able to hold it another minute. I noticed the Ziploc container with the one remaining gluten-free muffin that Monica made me for my trip. I had eaten the other three for breakfast. With lightning speed, I unzipped my pants and aimed into the Ziploc container. The strong flow, and I splashed the steering wheel and my shorts, but I didn't care. All my attention was on how great I felt. Ah, this was what Eckhart meant when he talked about sheer joy. Savoring the sensation, I took a few minutes. Then the thought of what to do with the mixture of urine and blueberry muffin popped into my head. I quickly peeled off the label with Monica's name, and I opened the car door and sat the container on the road. I'm ashamed that I littered, but I can somewhat justify it. You know how southerners love Tupperware, and someone will surely want it. Yes, I know the container wasn't Tupperware, but times are hard.

For the remaining few hours of the drive, I practiced what Eckhart teaches. It's extremely hard to just be and not think. Whenever I hit a pothole in Alabama and Mississippi, and I hit a lot of them, I thought about Atlanta Mayor Shirley Franklin. Passing through Memphis I thought about Elvis and Walking in Memphis, the Marc Cohn song. In Arkansas, all the flat farmland, and I remembered my days visiting friends in Cordele, Georgia, and I thought of the time I stepped in cow manure while running barefoot through the intown streets of Camilla, Georgia. My mind has a script for everything, and it's a story set in either the past or the future.

Though, I'm using this move out West as practice for living in the present and relinquishing my thoughts in favor of just being, I seem to be failing Mr. Tolle's notions in the The Power of Now. Yet, all was not lost today. That incredible feeling from The Power of Peeing in a Ziploc Container is one that I want to repeat.

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