THE FROG HANDLED MUG: Chapter Thirteen

A year passes and the world around me changes, not so much physically, but in response to how I have changed. That shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. The world always seems to reflect one’s state of mind if the mind is open enough to notice. To a happy person the world is good. You know the routine. But this is different. Little things that used to send me to the edge, like little old ladies counting pennies from their change purse, don’t even appear. It’s not that they no longer bother me. They simply are no longer there. Before my dream era I was a chronic toe stubber. Once a week I’d cream one of my toes. I used to blame it on the stupid chair or table or stool or whatever it was that got my attention. And that was it. My attention! Once I started paying attention to what I do, I no longer needed to employ the outside world to get my attention for me. I practiced paying attention to what I do and in doing that I learned what I believe. Practicing the little things made the big things less big.

James dropped out of UConn and spent eight weeks in rehab. It worked for a while. The success rate for rehab programs is in the crapper, but it was good to connect with James while it was James I was connecting with. Rose and Charlie are close to breaking up, as they each address the problem from different angles, and neither of them is able to accept the other’s take on how to save James. They are now at the point where they are forced to think about themselves. Being thirty thousand in the hole doesn’t help much. Funny how that works. James and I have talked on a semi regular basis and he is beginning to understand some of the concepts I couldn’t verbalize when this process began. I never offer. James asks.

Sarah and I are tight. Our connection is one of mutual respect and acceptance. Combine that with a deep love and you get a great relationship. I’m beginning to understand my new definition of love…knowing and appreciation. I’ll get to that later. But I love her in the old way as well, and that is why I asked her to marry me. The new definition I apply to everyone. It is the old one that made it easy for me to ask for Sarah’s hand. It never crossed her mind to ask Alexander if he approved. He did, but it would not have mattered. In the one year that has passed, Alex has finished two years of coursework at Columbia. As for my dreams…well that’s another story.

Most of my dreams are lucid and I have my frog handled mug to thank for it. Actually, I have myself to thank for it. I bought the mug and, as I said before, use it as a trigger. The next step will be to awaken in my dream without the trigger, but I’m not ready for that yet. Too many old unbroken habits and a massive lack of trust. I lapse into old thinking that it is a force outside me that has wrought these changes, making me nothing more than a marionette dancing on a master’s string. That’s my old concept of God, and it has very deep roots. Thinking big seems…sacrilegious. It’s not that I don’t believe in God. I do. But, running hand in hand with my own expansion of self is the expansion of my God concept. I figure if I can conceive of a bigger me, a more complex system of reality, then certainly God is bigger also. To be honest, God is probably beyond conception, but as I expand so does God. By the way, I loathe using a pronoun for God, as you may have noticed. It is somehow limiting. And yet, God is all words. So here’s the deal, as my story unfolds I will use both the male and female pronouns when referring to IT…and sometimes the impersonal.

The world is moving close to spring here on the east coast. The days get longer and the air warmer and, as ever, things continue to change. There is no end point as far as I can tell, no point that I need to reach that signals my completion as a human. That was a big ‘catch’ for me. Change and movement and experience are what my life is about now. The realization of it is freeing. I should do this or I should not do that just seems like so much baggage. That is not to say that I never fall back into old patterns. I do. But, I am aware of it when I do and can make a different choice in the next moment. Ever notice how much our language reflects our conception of time…like the word next. Actually, if Alexander’s premise is correct, there is no next, for every next and every before exists now. I haven’t figured out how knowing that helps me now, so I’ll continue to play by the rules of this reality which appears to include sequential time.

It’s Rose calling. It’s never good when she calls. The new phones all have web cams or whatever they are called. I’ll put it in techno-challenged language…Rose and I can see each other.

Rose is crying, but they are happy tears. “Augusto,” she said. “I’ve had an epiphany. It was so real.”

She wipes her eyes and blows her nose. I remind myself to listen and to affirm whatever emotional state she is experiencing. That is much easier to do when she is happy. No advice unless advice is asked for.

“That’s wonderful, Rose. It’s so good to see you happy for a change.” I waited.

“It was in a dream,” she said. “I felt completely accepting of James’ choice to experience life in the way he has chosen. I saw that opposing it actually made it worse. I don’t understand it, but I know that it is real. I understand now that there is nothing for me to save him from.”

Rose let go of all the energy she has stored over the past years and a flood of salty tears course down her cheeks. I wonder if and how her strong religious beliefs played into this, but I didn’t ask. I waited.

“I saw myself as Jesus,” She said. “And it was Jesus as me just looking at James with such love and acceptance and understanding. No judgment at all. I saw through all my beliefs about right and wrong. It was all love, but not as much a love of affection, but something different. Something larger, deeper. James was Jesus experiencing himself as James. It was as if everything is connected, woven into an intricate fabric and it is only our judgment that disallows the fabric from mending itself. Oh, Augusto, it was so wonderful.”

I wait. It is no surprise to me that any epiphany Rose has would have included Jesus. He is her trigger, as my frog handled mug is mine. My joy for her expresses itself in a flood of my own tears.

“Don’t cry, Augusto. This is a good thing. I went into his room this morning and just sat, watching him sleep and breathe and be. He is beautiful and brave. I so appreciate what he has chosen to explore. It can’t be easy for him. I had so hoped he could find Jesus and all along he had.”

I recall Jung’s quote, “We forget to make real the profound meaning in ourselves…” I realize then that there is no right or wrong way of doing that, other than not struggling against what is. I keep my thoughts to myself. They are mine and only valid for me. Who am I to judge another’s choice? What a difference a year makes.

“What do you think this all means, Augusto?” Rose asks.

“I know what it means to me, Rose. Only you can discern what it means to you.”

“Then tell me what it means to you. I value your perception of things even though you have chosen to keep God at arm’s length. No matter.”

A year ago I would have defended myself, but I have learned that the act of defending is actually a form of non-acceptance of self. Think about it. If I am good with myself then what is there to defend? I don’t need to convince my accuser that his perception is wrong. It’s not…for him. Rose’s perception is as valid for her as mine is for me. I pause for a moment before answering her. I need to couch my answer in a way that it reflects me. I don’t want to pontificate on what it should mean to Rose.

“Augusto?”

“Sorry, Rose. I was thinking. What your epiphany means to me is a validation of where I have moved to over the past many months.”

“How so?” Rose asked. “You don’t believe in Jesus.”

“I believe in what he represents to me, and in many ways it is similar to what he represents to you. Love, acceptance, making real in my life what he made real in his. He is an example…a big one, but an example nevertheless.” I can feel Rose wanting to interrupt. “But hear me out, Rose. I no more view my understanding of Jesus as truth as I view ‘thou shalt not kill’ as truth. They are my truths and that is all. So in my perception of you and your epiphany the validation lies in the fact that no matter what our individual truths, those truths will prevail for each of us. Trust will win out.”

“But…”

“No buts,” I said. “I’m not arguing my position. I’m as comfortable in my understanding as you are in yours. The paradox is that we are both right, and yet… we are both wrong at the same time. I am happy with you in your joy. It matters not how you achieved it. You did.”

“What do you think will happen now?” Rose asked.

“I don’t know, Rose. What I do know is that I cannot change another individual. It will be up to James. He will make his next choice for his own benefit, not your or mine. Your new found acceptance of him may be an influence for change. It may not. What I am beginning to understand is that in opposing his choices we have made him dig in his heels. By judging his choices we are saying that we know better than he how he should direct his life. Jesus has shown you this. It matters not whether he is the son of God or not, although to you it does. You trust that, and that is what is important.”

Rose turns her head away from the phone. “I heard James rustling about upstairs. I want to go and give him a big hug. It will be the first one in a long time that I give freely and without reservation. Thanks for listening, Augusto. You’re a good brother. Give Sarah a big hug for me.”

I call Sarah, thinking how grateful I am for these new video phones. She’s walking in the woods with her Old English Bulldog, Maggie. I love the beast, but if you could measure a dog’s IQ, Maggie would be a forty where 100 is normal. She makes me crazy. Sarah told me the story of a friend of her’s dog sitting for a week while she vacationed in North Carolina. I think the guys name is Tom, not that it matters. Anyway, he told her that he would have Maggie fully trained by the time she returned. Maggie was about a year old at the time. Sarah laughed at his promise. She knew her dog. The first thing Tom said when she returned was that he had never met such a stupid dog. His training didn’t take. Sarah likes retelling that story.

“Hi handsome,” she said, and then scanned the woods around her. The trees have yet to bud, but the time is close. Maggie is ten yards in front of Sarah and is completely present in the moment. That’s a great thing about animals. They know how to be present. In our hubris we never seem to get that lesson from them. I think that’s changing, though.

“Turn the camera back to you,” I said. “I miss your pretty face. Thank you. I was thinking about taking a little get-a-way. Spring break is coming up and the Caribbean sounds inviting.”

“I’d have to get a sitter for Maggie,” she said. “Alexander is staying in New York with a friend. Says he can’t leave a project he’s working on. Won’t tell me what it is.”

“Ask Tom,” I said, chuckling.

Sarah laughed. I love hearing her laugh. I love hearing anybody laugh. “I would,” she said. “Except he has early stage Alzheimer’s. His friend, Bill…I don’t think you met him…has moved in with him. They make a cute couple. Both are as gay as can be and very much devoted to each other. Bill is the cuter of the two and Tom is tougher. They look like a couple of elves together. I love hanging out with them. They’re like the Odd Couple only smaller. Tom looks like Oscar, just like you look like Ben.”

“Better Ben, than Oscar,” I said. Sarah sees my big toothy smile and laughs. “So is it a go for the Caribbean?”

“It’s a go,” she said. “But do me a favor, Augusto. Buy a new bathing suit. That Speedo of yours is just too much for my eyes to bear. You look better bare ass than you do in that red Speedo. Promise?”

I thought I looked pretty good in that Speedo, but since it really wasn’t important to me I promised. Maybe a California surfer suit like in the sixties will suit me better. Sarah said that would be just fine with her, anything would be better than the Speedo. She refers to it as a meat hanger. Sarah could be crass at times, and it wasn’t dependent on the situation. She could be at a State dinner or a biker bar. It didn’t matter to her. I have to let go of my tendency to think people judge me for her form of speech. Screw ‘em. Sarah is great fun and has taught me a lot about what I believe, not in words, but by triggering me.

I end the call and remember I promised to call Alexander this morning. Something about the project he is working on. I auto-dialed his number.

“Thanks for calling, Augusto,” he said.

I like that he dropped the Dr. DeRosa bit. It seems ridiculous under the circumstances. “Good morning, Alex. What’s going on? What’s this project you’re working on?”

“It has nothing to do with any of my course work. It wouldn’t be approved,” he said. “It has to do with expectations influencing outcomes. I remember you said something about that and I’d like you to tell me again. It’s not clear.”

“It’s pretty simple, really,” I said. “There are two forms of expectations. One involves the expectation of an outcome and the other is involved with the process of getting to the outcome. Both involve trust, absolute trust that you will create what it is you want. Are you with me so far?” I could see Alex taking notes.

“I’m with you,” he said.

“The trust involves the outcome that you will create what it is you want. It is the process of getting to the outcome that trip us up. We have expectations regarding what the process should look like. If the process goes against our expectations it destroys the trust that we will create the outcome we want. Let me give you an example.

“A few weeks ago I decided to get your mother a frog handled mug just like mine. I had no doubt that I would find one. I went to the store where I bought mine without any expectation that there would be another one just like mine. There were two when I bought mine a year ago. There weren’t any left. A couple years ago I would have given up my search then and there. Finding that same mug would have been like finding a finding a flea on an Angora cat. Not finding the last one in the same store would have destroyed trust in the outcome.

“But, a week ago, by not having any expectations regarding the process of finding the same mug, not finding it at the same store I bought it from didn’t destroy my trust in eventually finding it. So I left the ceramic store and went to Central Park where all the arts and crafts carts are. Five minutes later I had the mug. Not having expectation regarding process also involves time. I didn’t put a time frame on finding it. Had I done that, and the process not meeting my time limit I again would have lost trust in finding it. Time, therefore is involved in the process. In a nutshell the concept goes, expect the outcome with complete trust, but do not hold expectations regarding how and when it will appear. Make sense?”

“Makes sense,” Alex said. “It was the time thing that confused me. How long do I wait?”

“As long as it takes.”

“Sounds like you need a lot of patience if it doesn’t show up for a long time.”

“Time is the Catch 22. Do you know what that means?”

“Yeah, Mom had me read the book when I was little.”

“Expectations regarding time, which involves the process, destroys trust in the outcome, which in turn can further delay the outcome.”

“So how do you get around that?” Alex asked.

“By knowing that you already have what it is you want. Remember, all time is simultaneous. The reality is that you already have it. The present alters the past and the future, just as the future alters the present and past, just as the past alters the present and future. There is only now. Allowance, not patience is the ticket. Capiche?

“Capiche. Thanks, Augusto. I have to go. Mom is calling.”

“Hey Alex. Tell your mom you like my Speedo so much you want one for yourself. Trust me. Just do it. OK?”

“I hate your Speedo, but I’ll tell her. It’s an inside joke I guess.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “She’ll fill you in on what it’s about. Talk to you later.”

I end the call and have a chuckle imagining their conversation. Life’s good when you no longer feel you’re a victim of anything. It’s also a challenge knowing I’m responsible for it all. It gets you and God off my hook. It gets the law of cause and effect off my hook. Not really, as I am the cause of all of my effects. The trick for me has been getting myself off my own hook. What I mean by that is not judging myself when I screw up…especially when there are no screw-ups. There are things I create that I do not like, but there is beauty in knowing that it is I who can change it as long as I do not struggle against what I don’t like. I’m getting well practiced at lessening the importance of what I don’t like. That’s important…just joking.