The tawny owl was trying to extract the simplest point from a complex polyhedron in a pair of twin spiral galaxies that shook him like the A train going downtown in his nether regions. I was surprised to learn that neither one of his favorite galaxies, NGC3314a and NGC3314b, was integrally involved. Theoretically, I knew this was all for my benefit. His lovely wife, Thee Mrs. was providing the perfect accompaniment in the voice of Al Green reverberating, Love and Happiness.
You be good to me,
I’ll be good to you.
I was sort of getting used to all of the blood, the sweat, and the dreck, as well as the getting right down to the real nitty gritty after my first week of boot camp, but my jiggly ass was dragging down here in the dirt, and my neck was aching from all the looking up.
Every time I looked up anew, which is where it was happening all of the time in all of that endless space, unlike down so low like here, the tawny owl was twisting the night away. It was hot and sticky stuff. Then he would rub it all over and shake it some more. But, oh man, could that brave and majestic bird fly wild.
He said, “All you got to do is find the beat before you can go with it.”
I said, “That’s easy for you to say.”
“Well, yeah, like…duh.”
I said, “I can’t see too good how it looks up there from way down here.”
“You might try to close your eyes.”
I said, “When my eyes stay closed for too long, I start to spin. Then I don’t feel right. Then the wrong gunk comes up in the wrong way. You know what I mean. And where it’s at. Then when I open my eyes I can’t tell where I am. Or not.”
He said,”One step into one space at one time.”
“But you,” I whined, “started to fly and regurgitate right from the get go.”
“Don’t ever think you’re going to become anything like me.”
I said, “Oh, I don’t. Or I mean I won’t. I know I could hardly presume. But, aren’t I supposed to be trying anyway?”
He said, “How many times do I got to tell you there’s no crying in flying?”
I said, “I hear you, bro’.”
“And don’t you be callin’ me no bro’.”
“I didn’t mean to. It just slipped.”
“You need to get yourself a real backbone that works. You about as scared shitless as a rabbit running from a lame fox.””
“Remarks like that won’t help to make me feel better about myself.”
“That’s not the idea around here.”
“I’m sorry. I thought it was.”
“You’re sorry all right.”
“Isn’t that at least a part of it?”
The lovely wife of the tawny owl, Thee Mrs. had by this time transmogrified spiritually into the voice of Etta James, and she was singing I’d Rather Go Blind. When she reached the pivotal line, she ended abruptly. I could not be sure but I think I smelled lovely smoke in the air.
I’d rather go blind, boy.
Then see you walk away from me now.
Just as abruptly, the tawny owl declared, “I’ma be going now.”
I said, “Oh man this must be some viscous shit I stepped into this time.”
The fog that had been lying low all day over Monterey Bay had lifted, and I can testify that my eyes were opened as wide as they go, or get, but I admit I was still having a hard time with some of the spatial concepts of the heady vision thingy that the tawny was so high on, as well as with the vast astronomical spiral thingy that he pointed out was so explosive all over, and with the nitty gritty gut wrenching thingy that the he was laying down like a winning poker hand on a table filled with high stakes nuts and chips. And this was only my first week.
How far out there, I was starting to think, do I have to get before I can tune in to some of those zips, and occlusions, and doo-dahs, and swirls, without the spinning that grabs my gut and does the hully-gully?
It doesn’t help to remain blind forever, though, not without putting up a valiant struggle, right? I think I know about struggle from my profound experience grappling with it. That what makes us what we are, right? It better be right because otherwise it’s too late now. Especially for humans surrounded by so much dirt to dig. I don’t mean to be complaining, though, not viscerally like I could be, and would be, under different circumstances. I had willingly signed on to become a twisted double agent in the war between murderous cats and their human enablers and I was not going to become no fucking pussy and punk out now. Not now or whenever. Not tomorrow, either. Or whatever. Although I wish I could have more confidence about the forever thingy.