Learn to Duck

From Bob Weir 'Ace'

A series of semi-related events - wait - they’re not semi-related - they are exactly the same, precise data bits of incredible personal importance. The randomness of the universe is making yet another attempt to capture my attention. The two events both deal with perhaps humanity's one and only true question, the one of mortality and the inevitability of its pending arrival. As much as I am fond of my personal record of consecutive days alive, the odds are overwhelmingly against the streak lasting much longer. A day, a week, a year, ten? Let’s do some DNA averaging just for grins (or in some manner paying respect), Mom died when she was 64 of cancer and Dad last year at 85 from a massive stroke. That totals 149 years, or a 74.5 average. My record stands at 66 as of today, so I have already past Mom and chase Dad, with, by this sophomoric calculation, 8.5 years to hit that target. 

Eight years and six months. Roughly three thousand days. 

The street fighter in me reaches into the right boot for the switchblade (taking a knife into a fire-fight) as the Zen monk silently accepts the reality of mankind’s natural cycle of life and death, bows to the passing cat and takes another deep breath and meditative step towards enlightenment. 

Some days I am a street-fighting’ man and others Kwai Chang Caine, a bitter-sweet reality I have accepted as fact, in spite of most normal people seeing this personality paradox as a character flaw. Oh, well. 

The two closely related events mentioned in the opening are:

1) Our government has called for reductions in two areas of great concern for me, and about 50 million others, cuts to Social Security and Medicare. If they get their wicked way and divert my hard earned cash and retirement funding, including health care when I/we need it most, to the richest percentile of their donors, I will be, in a word, tested. (Did you think I was going to use another word?)

2) I am going through another round of testing on my pre-existing condition known as chronic atrial fibrillation, with Bradycardia. Monday’s echo cardiogram with provide diagnosis for the new course of action we take, either more and stronger drugs or additional ablation surgery. 

Add those up and the math looks worse than the longevity calc! 

So it is with those two in mind that my subconscious came up with a dozy of a dream last night. In the attempt, of course, to steer the direction of my path up a sunny, verdant hill instead of down a nasty, twisty, endless black hole. 

The dream, translated and annotated, told me this: 

THE SECRET TO PREPARING FOR DEATH IS TO FULLY LIVE. 

Fully being the key word. Or completamente as my Italian dream prescribed. 

Fully, English, and complete, Itiliano. 

Add those two together and you get a prize.

They are so finely related that the sum of their parts equals one. 

One. Not 8.5, 3K, or 2. 

The sum of everything is one. 

Translation is that you, as I, am the sum of everything. How can it be otherwise? We are all connected. I feel the enormous pain of corruption and the delight of my teammates victories. All my positive energies assist others in unknown cities and jungles I have yet to visit. My every thought adds to the farrago of universal consciousness. I am here to find happiness and discover universal understanding. It is important to me that love, peace and awareness bests the cult of ignorance currently in vogue. I must serve. Not just some, a little or every blue moon, but with ceaseless activity and kindness. Full. Complete. One. 

Screenwriters and songsmiths alike call this ‘throwing the left-hand monkey wrench.’ 

Better learn to duck.