Bippity Bippity Boppity Boo an unfortunate name for one of the most powerful motivators in the universe: sex.
Today there is a lot going on in my human experience of the universe. I had a job interview. I played cardio tennis workout at noon. And now, I’m writing or napping, sometimes I’m not sure which is which. Doing something I love.
At this very second, Sid has found my belly while I’m writing. Blessed, as TiJean Duloz would tell his younger brother, Jack Kerouac. I am typing. She is purring. Healing on both my physical, emotional, and spiritual level. Today, right now, is our first writing together. Purrs all around.
I wanted to tell you about a moment, or discovery, at cardio tennis today, involving someone I’ll call Kim Possible. Married, three kids 8 – 13 range. Amazingly happy and smiley tennis player. She’s got some magic in her, or is it the halo of BBBB? There’s sexual chemistry, but of course, with a 40-ish or 50-ish woman, of course, there is.
On the way home from tennis, I started trying to explore what about Mrs. Possible got my motor purring. She is compact and strong. Reminding me of someone in high school named Suzie. She’s got a killer smile, and she gives it to everyone effortlessly. She’s got a great forehand cross. Also nice. She’s nice. And, it helped that I’m an unthreatening.
I recall asking a different younger woman to play tennis. “I’m not after you,” I said. “I never thought you were.” Ouch! I mean, I could be… This earlier, younger woman, does not have kids and is closer to my kids’ ages. The was not a sexual target, I wanted to tell her. Of course, I’m not, was her casual response. Damn. Alright, so perhaps that’s how it is between Possible and me.
Between Possible And Me
She’s become a slogan. So, at least I did that to honor her youth, fitness, and general boyancy. She is still not a target. Um… That’s my position.
Proximity to Women
As a young boy, I loved hanging with the girls. My sister and her hippie girlfriends doted on me. Bikinis. Endless Summer. Boats and the Beatles. Incense and Peppermints. I am happy in the company of women. I’m learning more about my affinity for hippie chicks and damaged or unavailable women. Possible is unavailable.
Most men, once boys, do not get to spend much time around women until we marry them. Then it’s too late to correct course without major drama, heartache, and turbulence. I got a chance in my earliest biographic memory, from my bedroom in the lake house. In the summer I was flooded with emotions, energy, and a lot of blip. No bop.
I am fascinated by women. I am single at the moment, by choice. My interest in women, for now, is purely logical and scientific. From one or two Kim Possibles, maybe I can piece together a formula for my next long-term relationship. It’s a thought.
So, the real Kim is a woman, a mom, and a wife. I would *never* intrude. I suffered under the infidelity of previous relationships; I’d never do that to another human being. I can’t. My spiritual network would not allow it. For most humans, it’s just a feeling that keeps us from doing stupid shit. Or morals, but morals are made to be hijacked by emotions, lust, drugs, or any combination of them.
Kim was a blip today. A signal from my future best/friend/lover that says, don’t fret. There is no hurry. We have plenty of time.
On good days I believe this. I am in no hurry. My time has been gifted back to me from a shitty job and a lovely former girlfriend. Untethered is a word I like to use. I look forward to this [gestures at the room, the computer, the two sleeping cats on my thighs]. Writing. Here. As you read.
We are in the same mote. You are reading in your time and space, I am writing in my time and space, and somehow, by the magic of poetry, prose, a vivid imagination and occasional plant magic, we can become aware of one another.
Stop. Take a few deep breaths with me.
INNNNNNN. Hold. Two Three. And OUUUUUUUUUT.
In this mote, we are aligned in both space and time. There is no scientific reason or understanding of what I’m telling you. Time travel has been misunderstood since the beginning. For me, on this side of the knowledge I am trying to give you, I see everything. I don’t have a good handle on what I’m seeing most of the time, but I’ve only been an angel for 32 hours and 17 minutes and counting.
I am here.
You are here.
Reading.
Typing.
Love is all there is.
Through space and time, love seeks a connection.
“Get it? Got it? Good.”
Now let’s get on with it, this business of love. Learning about love in the time of space travel. Time travel. And whatever this is, this momenting thing we’re sharing now. When you’re reading my words, we are together. As WW would says, “I am large.”
He’s here, you know. Sitting with us, right now. Walt. He says hello. He says welcome.
“I contain multitudes.”
Einstein, Picasso, Jimi, Jobs. All are here. Paying attention within their limited angelic capacity. But, heaven is not a place or a moment to be feared. Your “john” or “jason” or “james” goes away, that’s true. It’s the hardest part to understand, and I’m going to save that for later in the book. This, then, is a manual. A set of ideas and architectures that I have constructed out of papier-mache, poetry, and essential oils of various desert plants.
I’m almost done with this transmission. These broadcasts really take it out of me. I start feeling transparent, like I am now.
Heaven and God are not to be feared. I am here to give you some ideas and pictures of a safe and happy future. You are already accepted.
She’s an archetype. Kim is. More importantly, she demonstrates a perfect Bippity Bippity Boppity signal. The universe, perhaps even Mrs. Right For Me, sent me a blip. A minor ping from the love and sex network. Potential. Possible. A bop is the momentary belief that it is possible, whatever you’re dreaming of.
“I am vast.”
I am dreaming too.
Kim Possible.
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