Random Thoughts from a Nonlinear Mind, Volume 2 The Athena Chapters,
Chapter Two:
Can you Hear me now? The End of One Long Strange Trip (and what a long, strange trip it’s been)
I prefer counting from the emergence of one integral anomaly to the emergence of the next, in which case this is the sixth version.
The Architect, The Matrix Reloaded
I was never a big Grateful Dead fan; my tastes tend to veer more toward punk and classical. When I was younger, I would hear The Dead’s music from time to time, usually during a long run. This was in an era when there were no mp3 players, the best any of us could do would be to wear a big headset with a built-in FM radio. Through the years, I went through dozens of those things.
In those days, the only thing I could do was to pick a station and hope for the best. Usually, there were only a few choices, and the stations played what they wanted to play, not necessarily what I wanted to hear. I’ll bet most of my exposure to Grateful Dead music happened this way. This being the case, it will not come as much of a surprise to know that I do indeed have a favorite Dead song, it was their only single that ever got any airplay. Touch of Grey gets that prize, and I am sure that any Deadheads out there are totally unimpressed with my selection. I do have one friend who is a Deadhead, and I am sure she is very disappointed in me. I’m sorry, The Lovely Mara, what can I say? At least after I heard that song, I wouldn’t turn to a different station whenever another Dead song came on.
There is one artist from the same era as The Grateful Dead that I do admire. Pete Townshend, while being the creative force behind The Who, also did solo work that I like very much. The thing about Townshend is that he took big swings. He was always taking risks and trying to see how far he could push himself. If you haven’t heard about it, take a look at his Lifehouse project and the devastation to his personal life that came about because of the project’s failure. The band did get Who’s Next out of the ashes of Lifehouse, and that is not a bad thing at all. Who’s Next is generally considered one of the greatest rock albums ever made.
I’ll bet Townshend still isn’t satisfied. I get the impression that he is unfulfilled as an artist. I am sure that he has done a couple of things that he is happy with, but he always had such great expectations. I mean, really, what good is creating one of the greatest rock albums in history if you were looking to change the direction of modern music itself? For my money, characters like Townshend are the most interesting. I much admire people who don’t care how successful they are by anyone else’s standards; they are out to impress themselves.
It is slightly unusual for me to get off on a tangent at the beginning of a chapter, but I’m confident this particular trajectory will work its way back into the central theme of this essay in due time. This essay is about epiphanies in general and one epiphany in particular. As I move on to the quote from The Architect, you can all guess who is responsible for this big personal revelation. The fact that these essays are in a book entitled The Athena Chapters might give a clue or two.
The Architect from The Matrix leads off this essay because his view of time is quite similar to mine. The big difference is he chooses integral anomalies to mark time, and I tend to lean toward personal epiphanies. Is there anything cooler than an epiphany, a sudden realization that the world you are living in is a vastly different place than what you thought it was? Granted, all epiphanies are not made the same, some are profound, and most are not. Some can change the world, and others are simply flashes of insight that don’t amount to much. I remember the first one I ever had, even though it happened decades ago.
When I was a kid, I loved Saturday morning cartoons. Looney Toons was always a favorite. Who doesn’t love Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, and the rest of the gang? I am sure you all remember Yosemite Sam, and of all the things on earth, it was Yosemite Sam who gave me my first epiphany, my first ah-ha experience.
For reasons that are beyond me, I thought his name was pronounced “Yo’s – Might Sam.” If you remember, they would always list the stars of the show at the beginning without ever uttering the character’s name. One day I was watching, and Sam busted into a saloon and yelled something like, “I’m Yosemite Sam, the rootenist, tootenist….” I remember sitting on the floor, absolutely stunned by what I had just heard. I knew of the park of the same name, and it all came together in that one moment. The word was spelled one way and pronounced another. Apparently, it was a pretty big deal because here I am 40 years later, still talking about it.
There is one other aspect to this inaugural epiphany that I find most interesting. Shortly after I learned Sam’s real name, I was sitting in class when my teacher asked us all to see how many holidays we could name. I don’t remember my teacher’s name, but I do remember the look she gave me when I told her that Saturdays were a holiday because I got to watch cartoons. That was the very first “What in the hell are you talking about Ryan-Tyler?” look I ever remember receiving in my life. The first of many to be sure, but that one holds a special place in my heart.
The second epiphany has to do with a young woman, no make that girl; I met as an undergrad. I was sitting in the back of a biology class when she walked in. I got the whole deal; the walk in slow motion, birds singing, and a little voice telling me, “breathe stupid, you need to take breaths.” Up until now, my experience with her was the most bizarre thing that has ever happened to me. You’ll notice I said nothing about it also being wonderful.
I learned about the bad boy phase and that even (maybe especially?) little prom queens can be intentionally mean just to prove they can do it. I learned about manipulation and an assumption about personality types that many people make to this day. As a general rule, I think that people equate kindness and generosity with weakness. I know more than one woman who has made that mistake with me. They felt that if I was kind, then I must also be weak and easy to push around. All I can say is they don’t think that now.
The third flash happened around this same time in my life. Have you ever felt you were out of place or maybe somehow displaced in time like something was wrong? Possibly that you were supposed to be someplace else and doing something other than what you were wasting your time doing? I am sure most people have felt this way, at least I guess so.
I had always known there was some sort of problem with me; I just had no idea what it was. One day, out of left field, I had a huge epiphany; I realized that my issue was that I was operating on a different wavelength than everyone I had ever known, especially my professors. The amplitudes I was surfing were not the same waves everyone around me was navigating. It had never occurred to me that was my issue, and the sudden flash of insight I received while reading an unrelated book on 16th-century Spanish mysticism (don’t ask) came as a great surprise.
The fourth epiphany has to do with jello and crotchless bunny suits. I kid you not. In the summer of 1986, I found myself on the campus of Harvard University. Don’t ever let anyone tell you there is no real difference in universities, that you get out of it whatever you put in. That is a bunch of nonsense. That campus is filled with world-class people who don’t talk about how important their work is, they put their heads down and get to it. Inspiration is everywhere, and just like the Red Queen from Alice in Wonderland, you have to run as fast as you can just to keep from going backward.
That summer, I took two classes, and I must admit I was in completely over my head. This is where the jello comes in. There was a guy taking the same classes as me, I can’t remember his name, but I sure remember him. He was constantly asking questions in class, stupid questions. In all seriousness, this guy was totally inept; he certainly wasn’t dazzling anyone with what he thought was his insightful commentary. One day a couple of guys walked up to him after class and told him to shut up. They said they paid to hear a world-class scholar, not a dumbass bumpkin. The bumpkin said he would try to quiet down, but, of course, he didn’t. A few days later, the class groaned as he raised his hand. What he said next changed my life. “Professor, is there any philosophy or system of knowledge anywhere in the world that is not based on a foundation of jello?” The professor answered, “Well, that is for you to decide.” That one question led to me staying on that campus for another five years. Ultimately, I was trying to find an answer, and eventually, I did.
I know no one wants to hear about that particular journey; I can sense the thoughts of the readers. “Dude, get to the bunny suit, hurry up.” So, here is the rest of the story, and, yes, it includes a bunny suit with a trap door.
In 1986 the libraries on Harvard’s campus were not open 24 hours, and after a quick internet search, it looks like that is still true today. Back then, as I am sure is true now, no one paid any attention to the hours anyway. People could be seen bringing coffee pots and sleeping bags into the main entrance of Widener Library at all hours. The library would close, but they never did a sweep to make sure the place was empty. All you had to do was be willing to be locked in all night, and you could stay. One night I decided to stay.
I guess it was about 3:00 in the morning when some guy approached me at the empty study carrel I had called home for the night. He asked me something like, “Hey, do you want to see something you have never seen before?” Now on that campus, that statement can mean anything. I initially thought he was hitting on me, and I knew I didn’t want to see what I thought he wanted to show me. He said I would really want to see this, and curiosity got the best of me. We walked over a couple of aisles, and there he was, the same guy who was asking all the questions in class. He was sitting in a chair, but the interesting thing is that there was a young woman in a crotchless bunny suit using him as a jungle gym. My first thought was, “well damn; I guess he finally impressed someone. “My second thought was, “Did she wear that thing into the library?” There you have it; I have an epiphany in my past that has to do with jello and a crotchless bunny suit. Isn’t life good?
The fifth epiphany occurred on a lazy Saturday afternoon in my basement apartment outside of Cambridge. I was dozing off and on when I happened to wake up right when a PBS reporter was interviewing a British philosopher named Karl Popper. He talked about some technical things that make science different from all other types of knowledge, and that changed everything for me. His philosophy is big on falsifiability, and listening to him talk about the demarcation between science and other academic disciplines changed my life. I finally understood, I had the answer to my jello problem.
The engaged reader will note that there is no bunny suit in the story about epiphany number five. Believe it or not, the same is not true for number six. The woman responsible for the next epiphany has absolutely been known to don rabbit gear. With that in mind, we can finally get to it; we can look at the next big flash of insight that has changed my life.
This essay is about an epiphany, a big one, one much bigger than realizing that a cartoon character has more syllables in his name than I thought he did. This one is the epiphany of a lifetime, one that took much longer than I would have liked, but I feel sure that it finally arrived. It is one that has to do with the mystery of voice; the understanding of precisely what it is, and the importance that goes along with finally finding it.
When I was an undergrad, I had a professor tell me I needed to find my voice. I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. “Hey, read these articles, memorize Strunk and White, and then go find your voice. “”Yeah, uh, OK, I’ll get right on that. “When it comes to education, you definitely get what you pay for, and state universities in Ohio were cheap in the 1980s for a reason.
When I was at Harvard, I had a couple of famous professors tell me I needed to find my voice. They made it clear how important it was that I find it, but they didn’t offer up a clear road map on how to get there. At least I didn’t find their suggestions very accessible. When I moved on to another university in Pennsylvania, I had a very influential and important philosopher tell me that I needed to find my voice. By that point, I was getting a better idea of what these people meant, but it still wasn’t clear to me what I had to do to find it.
What exactly is a person supposed to do when they are looking for something as elusive and nondescript as a voice? The problem is infinitely compounded when you have no idea what you are looking for, where it might be found, or even what it is. How are you to even know it when you see it? Can you even see it, or is it something you feel? A quest, perhaps the most important one imaginable, with no path to walk on and no hints along the way. Also, the people who tell you that you need to find it don’t have a clue as to how you are supposed to get there. Study, study, study is about all you can get, at least that is what I kept hearing. Well, I learned that there is a point where your head will actually buzz from studying too hard. You can sleep, if you can, and the buzzing will still be there in the morning.
There is one little known story about me that relates directly to this section of the essay. It will become evident by the end, I hope, as to why I am including it. I took an archaeology class one semester in the late ’80s or early ’90s. It was taught by my adviser, and it was essential that I aced the class. I wasn’t going to allow myself the possibility of missing even a single question on the exams. I was making my way through Harvard Yard to the museum complex, where I was to take the test. I had been up for days, and my head was buzzing, I mean really ringing. I looked over to my left, and I saw a giant Arab guy walking beside me with his 200-foot tall camel. “Well, damn” was the only thought that came to mind. I looked at him and said, “I don’t have time for this crap,” and off I went. Call it a mirage, an illusion, a sleep-starved brain looking for some relaxation; I have no idea. I forgot all about the guy and his camel, and I went and took the test.
So, studying to the point of exhaustion apparently wasn’t going to help me find my voice. I was left to deal with the consequences of having no voice and all the problems it created for me. The big problem was that there was something important trying to get out of me, but it could never find its way. I knew this, but I had no idea what to do about it.
I can give you a hint as to what it feels like to have something clawing at your insides while having no voice to let it out. Can you imagine someone with the soul of a poet and yet have a total disdain for poetry? I have felt that way for decades. I don’t think I necessarily have the soul of a poet; I just know I hated the process of trying to let out what wanted to get out. That is all used to be, past tense talk about a dude I can hardly remember.
How about a musician who can play the notes but can’t make the music? A passion-filled individual with all heart and no talent. Someone who can move to the rhythm but isn’t moved by it. What a sad thing.
The analogies of the poet and the musician shed some light on what I like to call “watch this” moments. “Watch this” moments put a fine point on those times in our lives when we become convinced that we are actors in a cosmic blooper reel. A “watch this” moment is a slice of time where a grand cosmic entity, The Supreme Fascist, as he was called by the great mathematician Paul Erdos, gets bored and decides it needs some amusement. “Hey,” he tells his buddies, “see that newborn over there? I am going to give him a love of baseball and the vision of a mole. Wait until this poor kid grows up and realizes he can’t possibly do the only thing he wants to do, hit a baseball. This is going to be great. Watch this!”
“Watch this” moments are, hopefully, a distant memory for me now, and I bet you know why. I have finally found my voice. It is resonating within me as I type. I offer the last essay as evidence.
I return now to what I refer to as the famous Chapter 1. That is the first thing I have ever written that satisfied me. I have told a few people that I almost impressed myself with those 3000 words. Ultimately, I have always written for an audience of one; I never really cared what others thought of how I wrote or what topics I addressed. I felt that if I could impress myself, then the rest would take care of itself. Finally, I believe I have done that. It took about 25 years longer than I wanted or expected, but at 48, I finally found my voice. I would never have believed it would have taken a nudge from a young woman to point me toward it, especially when she had no idea what she was doing. She said, “I’m Athena,” and those two little words changed me in unimaginable ways. I don’t know if she can truly appreciate what she has done for me because she found her voice at a very early age, and anyone who has heard her music understands exactly what I am talking about. Her voice is strong, endearing, and electric. I just hope some of that magnetic essence rubbed off on me. No worries here, I guarantee she has plenty to spare.
Those two little words turned the inner workings of my mind inside out. In less than a second, I was transported from Dorothy’s black and white dirt farm to Oz. I can not even begin to relate to you how strange I find that to be. Change is everywhere, but the biggest difference is one I never could have imagined (as if I could have imagined any of this). The upper shelf of my first bookcase, the one with all the Vonnegut and Gould books, now has 3 CDs sitting right in front. The most important shelf I have has been forever altered in a most mysterious way. I am not complaining one bit; I am more stunned than anything else. I am a guy who spends an awful lot of time thinking about this and that, and I must admit that it never even entered my mind that my special shelf would ever have something else on it. Not in a million years.
As I look over at my most important shelf, I am inspired to try to put into words the difference I feel. Maybe I can put it this way. My voice, such as it existed in the time before my grand epiphany, was a juvenile sloth, lost in the woods, trying to figure out just how lazy he could be. Lethargic and uninspired, hanging from a limb, grabbing a leaf or two, and then taking a nap. Now it is a mischievous badger; a schwervy mammal filled with extraterrestrial mojo, constantly on the prowl, kicking butt, and taking names.1 That might just sum it up nicely.
It looks like I am finally done with this section. My newly found voice is nudging me in a particular direction again. I know, I really do, but I can’t help myself….it is letter time.
Hi again Athena,
I can never repay you. I have no idea what you did, and I bet you have no clue either. I’ll just keep on Truckin’ and pay it forward as best I can. Just like Neo at the end of The Matrix, I see the code, and that is all due to you. You made something click inside me, you turned a knob from off to on, and I remain totally, completely, and utterly undone. Thank you.
I want to tell you a little about the code that I can see now. I remember the exact moment I started to see it, and that is the reason I introduced myself to you. As weird as all this is, I think that this is the strangest, most inexplicable part of my long, strange trip.
Your band took the stage, and I didn’t bother to pay much attention. I was trying to get my buddy’s daughter Emily to get up the courage to introduce herself to a young guitar player from the band that was on stage right before you.2 I would guess about halfway through your set I started to really notice you. Why? Well, the answer to that is a bit bizarre. I happened to look up at the stage, and I saw what I initially thought was an elaborate prop. I started to poke Emily to ask her if she was seeing what I was, but before I could tap her on the shoulder, I figured out that what I was seeing was not something a roadie placed around you.
I still don’t know what to say about what I saw, but I sure did see it, so here goes. I looked up to see a large pulsating heart surrounding you. The heart intersected the neck of your guitar about halfway up. As the phantom heart changed color from white to pink to red and then back to white, the only thing I could think of is, “why isn’t it covering the guitar?” I know the answer to that now, but I find it really interesting that my initial reaction wasn’t about the strangeness of seeing the heart but more about its size. I really don’t know what else to say other than that is what compelled me to meet you. Can you imagine seeing that and then not introducing myself? Good grief, that would be even more ridiculous than what actually happened, and as you are about to see, what really happened is beyond bizarre.
Hey Athena, ready to hear something else absolutely incredible? I am now going to tell you about the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me; it is one and the same, I think, as me finding my voice. I introduced myself to you, and you simply said: “I’m Athena.” Within half a second, I got a vibe, one unique to my experience, a message that was unambiguous, clear, and transparent. A simple and powerful message that left me listing to one side. “Dude – I know you, I see you, I get you, I understand you.” Uh, that was more than a little unexpected. I mean, really, can you imagine? As I proofread this, I find myself shaking my head back and forth, trying to convince myself that this really happened.
Whoever or whatever was responsible for delivering the message then added a little tweak just for me. It said something like, “Hey stupid, I see you just like in the movie Avatar.” I don’t need anyone to tell me all this is beyond weird. I am well aware of that.
After I heard that Avatar line, I tried to maintain my balance as I said, uh oh to myself. Much later on that night, the uh oh turned to oh no, I am doomed. I must admit, for a doomed guy, I have done nothing but smile for the last few months. That is a bargain I will gladly make, not that I had a choice anyway.
You know Athena, there was one small part of Chapter 1 that was presumptuous as hell and, trust me, I thought a lot about it before I decided to include it. When I wrote about two people really seeing each other, I said that because I certainly saw you and I got an instant vibe that you saw me. I don’t want you to think I was speaking for you; I was just telling a story about a clear (albeit unusual) message that I have never received from anyone before. Remember that wavelength stuff I wrote about earlier in this essay? Well, guess what? How very, very unexpected and strange.
There is one other thing I feel compelled (there is that word again) to say. Usually, I do research about bands I am going to see. I just like to know a little about them before I see them. In your case, I didn’t do that. I had no idea who you were, and while I had heard of your band, I certainly had never heard any of your music. Also, and I know you understand exactly what I mean, I couldn’t care less how you earn your living. I am a fan of sparks, and yours is a big one. If you decide you want us to get to know each other, that is one of the things we can talk about, that spark of yours. You said something to me on the night I met you about that spark that I am very curious about. I will now offer up a few more words about my epiphany in the hope that it will inspire you to tell me a thing or two about your spark.
My sixth epiphany has produced a series of little epiphanies these last few months. I have learned that it is possible to meet someone only once and to keep smiling for months afterward. I have also discovered that you can meet someone only once and miss the hell out of them. It is the strangest thing, isn’t it?
Believe it or not, Athena, I do have some perspective on all this nonsense. I can begin by telling you that there are a couple of things I know for sure. I have been around long enough and pay enough attention to the world I live in to know that short, frilly skirts are not sniper rifles; they are machine guns, effective and indiscriminate. I also know that most people bend over backward to try to find meaning and purpose in their lives. If something extraordinary happens, then it is a sign from beyond the moon. I don’t subscribe to any of that; it has been my experience that strange and random things happens because that is the nature of our existence; it is the nature of the universe itself.
Well Athena, I better finish before this essay turns into a novella. I will leave you with a series of thoughts; please consider them as pleas to the only person I have ever known who is on the same wavelength as me. If you don’t have any idea what I am talking about, then you can and should chuck this essay, it is going to be the last one anyway (I wrote this one after I pounded out Chapter 3). My brain is caffeinated, and I need a break. If, on the other hand, you have some idea what I am talking about, then please let me know.
If you find it strange at all that the story of two of the biggest moments in my life include women in bunny suits, one crotchless and the other not (there I go being presumptuous again!), then please tell me. If you believe that there is sincerity in what I have written, and I have my suspicions, then send me a note. If you think it is really cool that your CDs are on my special shelf; if Chapter 3 makes you smile; if you figured out why I included Pete Townshend in this essay; if you know why the heart didn’t cover your guitar; if it tickles you, even a little, when I say that I am still reeling from the hypnotic effects of a stun gun lullaby; if you have any idea what I am talking about at all then you know where I am. If you find it at all unusual that I just wrote the last chapter and the epilogue of a novel I started over 25 years ago and the only reason I was able to finish finally is that I met you then you know what to do. If you believe I am genuine when I tell you that the little “vibe voice” told me, in no uncertain terms, that you are the most exceptional person I have ever met, then you can find me sitting on my front porch. My phone is always on the chair beside me.
It is time to go, and I will leave you with… wait, that mysterious voice just sent me another message. I am supposed to tell you that if, right now at this very moment, you are thinking of nothing other than a veggie taco garnished with Oreos being eaten by a purple gorilla with the head of a giraffe then you are to take that as a sign from beyond the moon and call me. Hmmmm, that is if you are thinking of that very thing right now. You know, the hungry giraffe with the purple gorilla body. You’re thinking of it, aren’t you? Athena? Hello?!
In a very fundamental way, all this is totally out of my hands; either you understand what I am talking about or you don’t. You have my number, and I should probably let you know I have finally joined the smartphone set. I am on the network that used to ask, “Can you hear me now?” I sure hope the answer is yes because, for the first time in my life, I have something to say. I accept veggie dog, whiskey, and chocolate induced phone calls and texts at all hours. That is just how the newest version of me rolls.
Signed,
Ryan-Tyler 6.0
P.S. I have a special napkin hidden away. I am not a big souvenir guy, but I made an exception in this case. It is the one I wrote on and then handed to you. I only mention this because after you wrote on it and handed it back to me, you said something, a small phrase I will never forget. That was the sexiest, most charming, and most heartwarming thing any woman has ever said to me. A person’s deepest character can show itself in the most unusual ways, and your words revealed a sweetness that is way beyond anything in my experience. That little act and those few simple words are the things I have been smiling about the most.
NOTES:
NOTE 1. Anyone who has seen the outtakes at the end of Talladega Nights knows where the phrase “mischievous badger” comes from. What you don’t know is why I am including it here. My friend Mobe and his son Michael came over a while ago and brought that movie. For whatever reason, we kept watching through the outtakes, and that is when all hell broke loose. I have turned blue from laughing a handful of times in my life, the last time it happened was when Cal looked at Ricky Bobby and told him that he liked to picture Jesus as a “mischievous badger.” I was caught completely off guard, and I could not stop laughing. Mobe, as has been the case for the last 37 years, proved to be a tremendous help. As my hue leaned more and more toward that of a newly christened smurf, he kept yelling, “Stop laughing dick, you’re turning blue.” Now, I can say with all confidence that if you ever see me turning blue from laughter and if you have murder in your heart, then, by all means, yell, “Stop laughing dick, you’re turning blue.” That will surely kill me, as it nearly did that night.
NOTE 2. Emily is Mobe’s fifteen-year-old daughter, and I can say in all sincerity that the genes responsible for smart-alecky behavior were passed down through her paternal line with cunning precision. I was talking to Athena through most of the show Mobe, Emily, and I went to see. I, apparently, was conspicuous by my absence, and Emily found out where I was. When it was time to go, I said goodbye to Athena and made my way back to Emily and Mobe. I was pulling out the three CDs I just scored when I looked at Emily and said: “Guess what I got?” She looked at me and immediately said, “A restraining order?!” Once again, sigh.
