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I don’t know about the spiritual significance of wild animal sightings, but I do appreciate the nod tonight from a grey fox who strolled casually along the front of my yard as my son and I were admiring his handiwork setting up shop in the garage. A moment of awe. Reverey. A moment between me and my son.
As I learn to let go of the outcome I am accepting the moment as it is. At work a few hours ago a young lady got ecstatically enthusiastic about a word I flung at her. Rabble-rouser. She approached and engaged in excited conversation about the word. She had me spell it. She practiced it a few times. “I’m gonna hug you,” she said before moving in. It was a lovely moment in front of the drink wall at the grocery store. “Walk with me, I need more assistance.” We had a moment. I had to get back to my post. Another hug and I pointed her back towards the coffee and pet food aisle.
As she left the store she stopped by again at the front of the store and gave me another hug. Three. I was touched. The universe was giving me a high five, a don’t worry about women, be still and enjoy. It was delightful. Nothing in it but an appreciation for humor, human connection, and a spark of something else.
In my role as a cashier at an organic grocery store I am audience to the best and brightest affluent Austin has to offer. The beautiful, the entitled, and the sweet combination of hippies and millionaires. I enjoy the flow. I’ve been enjoying the attention as well. As my life energy comes back online, I’m noticing more flirty conversations, mostly with women also sporting enormous diamond rings. There’s no there there, we are just flirting, enjoying each other’s banter, and a namasté moment. I see you, you see me, we see the joy and light in each other.
A few nights ago I had a blind date in a dive bar. It was odd. She was lovely until she wanted to smoke a cigarette on the patio. “Okay.” Not my joy. We came back in after a few minutes. The music was awful country schlock. “I’ll have another drink,” she said.
Leaving an hour later, I was not happy with myself as I navigated my 5-mile trip home with great caution. Dumb. I’m still not much of a drinker. Oh, and she’s not divorced yet, so that’s a “no.”
I am hungry, I can feel that. It may be my hunger that’s sending out chemical vibes. Maybe today’s encounter was responding to my mojo. I’m enjoying the attention. Maybe not the pay or the hours on my feet. The women, on the other hand, can be delightful in their variety and colors.
As I lean away from my own sexual pursuit, I am noticing how my energy is different, freed up, open, and available. Not necessarily a beacon broadcasting a sublingual proposition, just a being that accepts my joy and energy as a single man. Yes, I’d love a partner. She’s got to come looking for me this time. I am seeing how the universe responds to my change in momentum. I am focused on up and out. Creating at the top of my game. Imagining ascent and leisure again.
Today, the chupacabra redecorated the garage. He’s making a workspace. He’s industrious. “I know,” he said. “Don’t get too comfortable.” We smiled. That was about the time the fox strolled by.
“Those are the kind of things I look for with my night scope,” he said.
If I learn to let go more, trust in god, the spirit of the universe, or my own intuition and drive, I can unlock even more joy. More fox sightings and hugs from bouncy-haired women. I am not letting go of my desire. I’m leaning into the longing, the writing, the absence. I am living the best moments of my life so far. I am healthy. Untethered. My son and daughter are in good places and within reach, when they want to be. Again, that’s okay. As it should be.
Henry Miller once wrote a letter to Lawrence Durrell saying, “Jump off, you are a protected individual. The universe is going to catch you when you soar.”
I am not soaring. I am still polishing the resume and the cover letters, looking for a sustainable wage. That task I cannot outsource to god. Putting in job applications every day is part of my routine. I am adding sending out packages to literary agents looking for memoirs. It is the season of memoirs. Artistic, poetic, raw first-person narratives written both for the story but also for the language and craft of storytelling. The word matters. My human syntax is unique and unrepeatable. AI has no clue. The grammar checking part of my AI spell checker makes a lot of suggestions that I deny. I thought maybe it would lighten up on the serial comma enforcement, or the “and” before the last element of a list. Not necessary. I try to write as I speak, with a drawl to the human side.
This then is not AI-generated prose. I am an AI enthusiast and an AI antagonist. The creative human mind is so much more nuanced and interconnected than any database yet compiled by exploding AI. Faster and bigger is not going to bring “intelligence” to the robots. There is no soul in the machine. Exploring and mapping my own mind, my own memories and recollections, is teaching me a lot about what is available in our own brains if we learn to listen. If we find the patience to not search online for the answers, but simply ask our own beautiful minds and hold an open space for the answer to be returned. Our minds are bigger, faster, and more magical than any algorithm or mathematical magic tricks.
My words are not based on “next right word.” Wrong. I go for the next surprising word. The next warped scene. I am attempting to capture some of the random beauty of my own mind, my own respinning of past events, loves, losses. Today goes down as a victory. Not a lot happened. I spent a little time with my son. Got a hug and a wonderful moment of mutual appreciation: just for being alive. She was not wanting anything from me. She was engaging. I was not hunting her, I was surprised and delighted by our interaction.
Not looking for what’s next is part of the mystery of letting go. Like the back swing in golf, or the service motion in tennis, it’s not the muscle that does the work, it’s the flow, the pattern, the form, the muscle memory learning to relax instead of tense, release instead of grip. Reducing my energetic output to accomplish only what supports my goals. Everything else is wasted.
There is no hurry, but there is also no time to waste. Higher-level presence and love are a result of this mindful approach. Let go and let god. But, also do your work, put in the applications, and the publishing proposals. Orchestrate just the instruments needed for the opus.
Be open.
