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This week I am reading ‘The Social Conquest of Earth’ by Pulitzer Prize winning author Edward O. Wilson. I am about two-thirds of the way through this fascinating look at “gene-culture coevolution” and I am reading this partially in preparation for his most recent work ‘The Meaning of Existence’. He also wrote the fictional work ‘Anthill’ which is one of the more enjoyable novels I have read in recent years. This post is not reflective of the author or any theory / perspective held by him, but I am (below) going to quote from a segment of his book (‘The Social Conquest of Earth’) where he discusses color perception and color vocabulary. This in turn will set up an intriguing framework utilizing color vocabulary for (instead of color perception) how one perceives and connects with others; (i.e. Human Interaction). This color construct (in a unique and visually accommodating way) will support the flow of my written thought as expressed throughout this site, as well as run parallel to the original interpretive studies as reported in ‘The Social Conquest of Earth’.

“Color does not exist in nature … Visible light consists of continuously varying wavelengths, with no intrinsic color in it. Color vision is imposed on this variation by photosensitive cone cells of the retina and the connecting nerve cells of the brain … Here the wavelength information is recombined to yield signals distributed along two axes. The brain later interprets one axis as green to red and the other as blue to yellow, with yellow defined as a mixture of green and red.” (from pages 205 – 206 in ‘The Social Conquest of Earth’).

Dr. Wilson goes on to describe how color vocabularies can differ between cultures. In one “experiment performed in the 1960’s, Brent Berlin and Paul Kay tested the color concepts in native speakers of twenty languages” (page 208). “In later investigations, Berlin and Kay observed that each society uses from two to eleven basic color terms” (page 209). He goes on to explain that

“the combinations of basic color terms as a rule grow in the following hierarchical fashion:

• Languages with only two basic color terms use them to distinguish black and white.
• Languages with only three terms have words for black, white, and red.
• Languages with only four terms have words for black, white, red, and either green or yellow.
• Languages with only five terms have words for black, white, red, green, and yellow.
• Languages with only six terms have words for black, white, red, green, yellow, and blue.
• Languages with only seven terms have words for black, white, red, green, yellow, blue, and brown.
• No such precedence occurs among the remaining four basic colors, purple, orange, pink, and gray, when these have been added on top of the first seven” (pages 209 – 210).

Dr. Wilson goes on to say that “subsequent new work has confirmed the reality of the eleven basic words for color, such that those of one language can be matched with those of other languages” (page 210).

In recent weeks and days, due to current Life circumstance requiring interaction in varying social situations, I have been pondering how different individuals go about determining and then acting upon their personal preferences for direct human interaction. When I read about how color vocabularies differ by culture (as quoted above) a framework clicked into place. The remainder of this post will describe (also in hierarchical fashion) how I believe individuals evolve or flow both in a general sense of dealing with others and applicable as well to newly formed (or forming) relationships. I will start by assigning a general characteristic to each of the eleven colors:

• Individuals with only black and white interaction skills or behaviors divide the world between ‘us and them’ and interact accordingly.
• Individuals who recognize black, white, and red interaction skills or behaviors still define an ‘us and them’ but add to that an emotional component that may (depending on demeanor and circumstance) translate as passion, anger, or simple friendliness, caring, or respect.
• Individuals who recognize black, white, and red interaction skills or behaviors, and one other (green or yellow) interaction skill or behavior will add reason (green) or compassion (yellow) to their repertoire.
• Individuals who recognize black, white, red, green, and yellow interaction skills or behaviors have gained an understanding of both reason and compassion.
• Individuals who recognize black, white, red, green, yellow, and blue interaction skills or behaviors have extended their reasoned compassion to include a sense of communal responsibility.
• Individuals who recognize black, white, red, green, yellow, blue, and brown interaction skills and behavior now recognize the importance of hard work to support and enhance all interaction skills and behaviors learned to this point and moving forward.
• Individuals who extend themselves beyond this point may think in terms of purple, orange, pink, and/or gray skills or behaviors, adding (respectively but added in no particular order) exoteric goodness, learning and growth, complexity, and depth, thus strengthening all past and future interactions.

Though I use the descriptor ‘individuals’ this same hierarchy could apply to cultural traits, skills, and behaviors; specifically (at the more advanced levels) to a family unit or in a small organizational setting, and more readily (at the basic, beginning levels) to larger culturally definable groups/organizations and/or to determine the inclusion potentiality of new group members. In other words, the larger the culture, the more likely interaction behaviors will remain superficial and not advance beyond some reason, compassion, and necessary or required responsibility. Additionally, a potential new member applying (formally or otherwise) for membership to a group is tested utilizing this flow from the beginning; first by not being accepted as one of ‘us’ until expectations are met by staying a step ahead of the group – (from emotional attachment, to reason, to compassion, to responsibility, to hard work, and ideally to the additional strengths as is necessary and/or helpful). Once this evolution is accomplished, the individual may become a full-fledged member of the group; though in some cultures this may take years, and in others unless you are born into the group you may never be fully accepted.

As the additional strengths of exoteric goodness, learning and growth, complexity, and depth (represented by purple, orange, pink, and gray) are honed and sharpened these competencies will enable not only a connective calibration amongst the flow of the first seven interaction skills, but also a profundity that will create an opportunity for leadership by example or otherwise. The first seven skills (though they will never be mastered) must be understood and practiced as consistent behavior before the last four strengths can gain the potency necessary to ensure a cycle of hierarchical continuity. We can and should spend a Lifetime recognizing us and them, forming emotional attachments, practicing reason, compassion, and communal responsibility by working hard at strengthening our goodness, learning, growing, and adding productive layers of complexity and depth; and then we must begin again.

Some may argue that the first (black and white) skill should not qualify as a skill, but should be regarded as a jumping off point from which we learn the remaining skills. I would argue that there are some who may only (depending upon circumstance) recognize an ‘us’, and I would further argue that this is dangerous and any individual or group that does recognize and acknowledge a ‘them’ is indeed practicing a mental or visual interaction skill. If not extended to a (red) emotional investment, the black and white individual will likely exhibit apathy and lethargy, but it is still a start, with potential for progress.

Without (green) reason and/or (yellow) compassion, the (red) emotional component will be difficult to control, potentially characterized by excessive anger (we’re gonna fight), excessive emotional involvement, and perhaps some narcissistic tendencies reinforced by temper tantrums. Some of these tendencies may also be traits of one (or a group) who is compassionate but lacks the stability of rational thought. And then there will be those who understand the importance of logic and reason, but lack compassion thus becoming emotionally stunted as typified by the ‘Star Trek’ character Dr. Spock.

I believe once an individual (or a group) reaches the stage of reasoned compassion (green and yellow) they likely cannot help but to see ahead to the value of communal responsibility. I also believe that some may not like this view and will turn back to (green) reason alone thus creating a color blindness along the (yellow-blue) compassion-communal responsibility spectrum. I also believe that these individuals (or groups) may still advance beyond this spectrum without noticing (due to the learned color blindness), moving on to hard work and additional strengths as necessary or helpful to advance agendas. This blind spot would explain (in individuals and/or groups) politics (defined as seeking power and control), sociopathy, excessive narcissism, excessive bureaucracy, tyranny, and any number of other traits reflecting a lack of compassion and an ignorance of communal responsibility.

Once an individual (or group) begins a practice of communal responsibility, or even states an intention to do so, the necessity of hard work becomes obvious and (if the stated intentions are sincere) unavoidable. This (in theory) should encourage a work ethic throughout the flow of interaction skills and behaviors, and with each cycle hard work should spark and reinforce the energy output needed for a consistent and continuous strengthening of Human Interaction, both as an individual and as an active member of any group.

And now we are back to the additional strengths of (purple, orange, pink, and gray) exoteric goodness, learning and growth, complexity, and depth, which should again lead us back to the beginning of the hierarchical flow of Human Interaction skills and behaviors. This cycle should be perpetuated by the individual or group, but will also kick-start itself whenever one (individual or group) is introduced to a new social situation, which is a common occurrence for many. If uncommon, one should seek out new Human Interaction (if for no other reason) to practice and strengthen these personal skills and behaviors as they will also benefit one’s personal search for Truth, Wisdom, and Happiness.

Happy Coloring!

Within any organization, (including the organization of 'me' as an individual being), its essence is hard to find but typically hides in, around, between, and behind the varying degrees of its inner peace, exoteric goodness, compassion, communal responsibility, and work ethic; while its humanity is typically understood (though not always openly acknowledged) by the member or members of the organization through its 'in your psyche' everyday actions and behaviors. To be human is lazy. To be essential requires principled perseverance and sweat.

I believe in this context that 'essence' must be defined as that which gently and productively advances organizational learning, growth, and (ultimately) survival; and 'humanity' must be defined as that which does what it sees as necessary (including artful manipulation and brute force) to encourage cooperation that will in turn advance organizational agendas. The essence of any organization (be it one individual being or the entirety of our global community) is played out through its humanity and because this is so, some claim that they (humanity and essence) are one and the same. Others delusionally maintain a strict separation between the two, believing that passive thoughts and supercilious tolerance comprise the whole of organizational essence, thus excusing organizational humanity.

It is difficult to consistently practice essential humanity, because in a sense they (humanity and essence) are opposed. Organizational humanity pulls us toward an easy comfort, while organizational essence drives us toward reasoned confrontation. Organizational humanity seeks power and control, and denies uncertainty, while organizational essence practices compassion and goodness, and embraces uncertainty. Organizational humanity dresses up or conceals the pain of imperfection, while organizational essence strips it bare and pulls it into the light for closer examination. Organizational humanity cowers in the dark and prances in the light, while organizational essence respectfully explores the dark, dances with the shadows in the light, and listens to learn from both Dark and Light. Opposed but not opposites, organizational humanity and organizational essence are inseparably intertwined, but without the gentle, productive, intimate coaxing of organizational essence (as defined above), organizational humanity will dominate; (this is applicable if the organization is one individual, the entirety of our global community, or points in between).

It is interesting that the word 'soul' or the word 'spirit' is seemingly synonymous with 'essence' when applied to an organization consisting of multiple individual beings, but when applied to an individual being these words suddenly become full of religious significance. Even the word 'essence' when applied to an individual can encourage a more spiritual or religious interpretation. Without casting aspersions on anyone's beliefs, I believe a more secular perspective of this concept will more likely guide us to a common ground that will have the potential to satisfy many spiritual or transcendental yearnings. After all, when we speak of the spirit or soul of a community, or of a social organization, or of a corporation, even the most devout religious adherents don't expect to meet up with the single embodiment of (for example) Time Warner Cable in heaven; yet they still embody a spirit. So why can't we simply concern ourselves with personal goodness and compassion and communal responsibility and hard work without the loaded, controversial, often adversarial excess baggage of religious doctrine and belief.

I have previously claimed (here in the post Quantum Happiness and here in the post Free-Floating Happiness) that in this world there is no such thing as an intrinsically, absolute entity. I have also alluded to this above by repeatedly referring to 'me' or any individual being as an organization. I have done so for many reasons previously stated, and also to allow for a practical differentiation between one's essence and one's humanity; ('one' referring to an individual being or any other single organization consisting of any number of individual beings). We need this practicality to clear the fog of fear from which myth forms. This is not to say (again) that there is no practical basis for myth, but once the fear is seen for what it is and acknowledged for what it does perhaps we have simplified the equation to enable a proximate empirical (as opposed to a supernatural) basis for transcendental consideration. Perhaps instead of x + y = some number greater than 100, we can agree that x + y = some number greater than 100 and less than 200; (assume the representative numbers are merely parameters and not a reflection of value). To create and define this common ground, as opposed to the current open-ended hodge-podge of infinite impossibilities, is (I believe) of great value.

(Note - 'Impossibilities' as used above may sound harsh, judgmental, and even adversarial, but there are many who would claim 'if something is conceivable, it is possible' so in a sense I am giving a respectful nod by acknowledging extremes.)

I have made this appeal for a common ground before (most notably here in The Spirit of Happiness and here in Challenging Happiness); but this week I have added organizational responsibility to the calculation by encouraging a practical and productive application of organizational essence. It is within an organization consisting of multiple individual beings where my thoughts this week began. Power, control, bureaucracy, and groupthink are reflective of organizational humanity. "To be human is lazy. To be essential requires principled perseverance and sweat."

I saw a sign in a flea market this week that showed a chicken crossing the road and the caption read, 'I wish I could just cross the road without everyone questioning my motives.' This is so true. Not only do we question motives, but we judge the chicken according to results. Why did he cross there instead of here? Why didn't he cross quicker? Why did he cross lugging all that baggage? Did he seek advice on where to cross? Is he a conformist (crossing where many chickens cross), or is he an adventurer / troublemaker? Where did his crossing get him? If his crossing only got him to the other side, why did he cross at all? It seems that chickens by nature, are very poor decision makers; though some are also very lucky; and others are not so lucky.

It would be controversial to suggest that there is no such thing as a good decision or a bad decision; or that it is all a matter of (good or bad) luck. but in a sense, that is exactly how it is. Most chickens will make a decision based on how they believe it will impact their well-being, but each chicken prioritizes differently. For some the most important factor may be financial well-being, meaning they may aggressively compete for and/or hoard their chicken feed which in turn may lead to excessive stress and a little chicken heart attack (or other stress-related disorder) impacting physical well-being; (...the sky is falling! The sky is falling!). Be it financial, physical, social, mental, societal, familial, ecological, philosophical, political, technological, (I could go on and on...), emotional, or spiritual well-being, focusing on any one over any other(s) will impact all others and may seriously compromise one or more; and who is to say in the course of a chicken's Life what will become important.

Conclusion: Making a decision is a chicken crap shoot - especially so because most chickens don't realize the likelihood that their ultimate destiny, (in fact, the best they can hope for), is to serve as a source of nourishment; or a midnight snack.

A few months back I found a $50 bill nestled in a pile of leaves at the side of a public street. Did I make a good decision to cross the road and come upon that specific pile of compost? Or was it just luck? Was it a good decision to get on my hands and knees and paw through the wet, smelly leaves in the hope of discovering more chicken feed? I'm sure passersby probably did not think so, but then if they knew my reasons, they may have become competition. What if I told you that it was my dog who decided at that moment to lead me across the road? To this day I am still asking, why did my dog cross the road? Was it only because that particular pile looked to be an attractive urination destination and he was intent on the well-being of his bladder? Or did he truly know something I did not? I can tell you that his pee has not paid since.

As I write this, it is 3am Friday morning and I am walking down the street on my way to work. A few minutes ago I caught movement from the corner of my eye and looked to see a fat opossum crossing the road toward me. He hopped up on the sidewalk about 10 feet in front of me and we journeyed companionably together for another 50 yards or so before he stopped, turned and gave me a knowing glance, (or was it a warning glance?), and waddled off into the woods on my right.

As I was writing that last sentence I looked ahead and saw another animal sitting on my side of the road. I drew near and saw that it was a black and white cat. He leisurely stood, stretched, and crossed to the other side of the road utilizing the marked crosswalk there for that purpose.

Three years ago I wrote about a video game in which a frog tries to cross a road, dodging heavy highway traffic. After re-reading that post, and considering the frog, my dog, the chicken, the cat, and the fat opossum, perhaps the message is that our ultimate well-being is not the same, (nor is it dependent upon), our immediate well-being; or put another way, one's humanity will focus on immediate well-being and prioritize accordingly, while one's essence will intuitively encourage consideration for one's transcendental well-being. My humanity is impossible to ignore, and my essence is at times difficult to find and always difficult to understand; but I believe that if I continue to listen closely, I will continue to learn and grow both personally and communally.

And I will continue to look both ways before I cross the road...

...or not.

I have been toting boxes for 8 years. It was then (8 years ago) that I was hit with a disability limiting my capabilities and stamina, thus creating a circumstance of chronic under-employment; (i.e. toting boxes). My experience has shown that if you are not physically fit, it does not matter how mentally fit you are, in the employment arena you will likely be consigned to toting boxes. In actuality, in this time, I have had a variety of jobs (most part-time due to my limitations) including customer service, quality control, human resources, administrative office, and even some supervisory / management, but in every case, I have been (for the most part) toting boxes.

We all spend a portion of our time toting boxes; there is no way around it. Some may say that toting boxes is all we do; I would argue that it doesn't have to be that way in all arenas. Even in those areas where we might feel under-utilized, I believe one can find some redeeming qualities. This is true of every job I have held in the past 8 years - each has offered some value and some challenge and reward, most usually in the human interaction aspects of the job, but also where I have been able to assist in and impact order and efficiency. And it is in the interest of order and efficiency that this week I accepted a new position - (you guessed it) - toting boxes. I will be carrying boxes from a conveyor to a delivery truck, and placing them on the truck in a predetermined order, to ensure efficient delivery. I find the thought of this new circumstance oddly comfortable. I believe this new job (toting boxes) will be satisfying in the aforementioned aspects of productivity, and rewarding in seeing a task efficiently completed; and it will avoid the (bureaucratic, political) frustration of toting boxes for the sake of toting boxes.

I don't believe any of us have ever had a paying job that did not require us to tote some boxes. For me, the difference between pre and post disability I believe is just that - the difference. I was able to make more of a difference / have more of an impact when I had no limitations. And when put in that light, it sort of makes sense; the less I can do, the less impact I will have. But I would argue that this perspective wastes valuable resources, by limiting accommodations. Anyone who is accommodated in any way (including simply being given a job opportunity despite limitations) is more likely subjected to the challenges of bureaucracy and politics, and less likely to overcome this entrenched power hierarchy; partially because the accommodatee has already overcome one challenge (their disability) to be in the job and therefore should be grateful and stay in their place. One accommodation (the simple granting of a job) should be enough - right?

No.

I believe accommodation means to 'create a circumstance encouraging one to strive toward their fullest potential, and allowing one to contribute maximal productivity' starting with choosing the best person for the job, and continuing with growth opportunities and some creative freedom within the job. I believe this definition should apply to everyone equally; not only those with a documented disability. In this sense, under-employment is not exclusive to the disabled, but a realm that encompasses all manner of arbitrary, biased, unprincipled, unreasonable inequities, and the individuals infringed upon.

I am undecided if this insight eases my pain or not. The fact remains that many disabled have tumbled from greater responsibility, challenge, and reward to a state of toting boxes, whereas many others who are under-employed have only known box-toting. But just because my pain may be greater, does not make the ethicality any different between those who have tumbled and those who have not. Unfortunately, in the employment arena, equal opportunity is not yet a reality, for many reasons.

Regardless, we can still choose to seek responsibility, challenge, and reward in other arenas including family, friends, social organizations, advocacy groups, charitable causes, personal learning / growth, and other personal hobbies and leisure activities. For many, this is enough. For some, it is merely consolation. I am finally coming around to finding it enough, by realizing that the only difference between my circumstance and that of the majority of others is the starting point. And I now realize that to feel deserving simply because of previous good or bad fortune, is a reflection of a narcissistic ego.

My circumstance in this moment is exactly what it is, and no amount of angry, bitter whining will change the moment; and I believe there are more productive ways to work toward a satisfying future. By learning from the past (i.e. I must actively accept that it is unlikely for me to find maximum satisfaction as a part-time disabled worker), actively accepting the moment, and finding other avenues for responsibility, challenge, and reward I can move ahead more peacefully, compassionately, and communally.

As always, my humanity will at times interfere, and I know I will occasionally backslide, but it is good to acknowledge the reality of the moment.

Here are a couple of fictional tales to chill your warm bones.

I AM A GHOST

I am a ghost. She reached for me with her long, curled fingernails that in one light were spun of gold, but in another were black and oozing creamy  pus. Her slender, bony fingers were cracked and crooked like sun-baked dirt and led to lineless palms and from there to arms glistening with oily sweat; one of which was milk-white skin stretched taut over protuberant bone, and the other of which was bejeweled with numerous red, throbbing, tumescent growths, radiating the pulpous pungency of rotten fruit. A heavy gray, woolen shawl was thrown carelessly across her shoulders and draped the length of her frame, covering what appeared with movement to be a tattered but not immodest black frock of the same length. Her long yellow and blood-streaked tresses appeared to spontaneously regenerate with each clump of scalp and hair that fell with a thud at her feet. Her feet were bare. I could not see her face for the flap of skin drooping off her high and wide forehead, but I could hear her throaty laugh, so sexy, punctuated by the agonized screams of those tortured souls haphazardly tossed against the jagged rocks at the back of her throat. I call her Lica. She was beautiful. I am a ghost.

But she is not the focus of my story; she is merely a visual aid. I know I see her (and the others) as I do because I see as a ghost; I see the grotesque beauty of truth; I see a projection of my twisted fascination with forbidden reality; I breathe life into previous incarnations of myself, reanimating infantile urges, juvenile fancy, and a refined sense of the macabre; I see past the light and through the shadows, where ultimately darkness and despair take me by both hands and lead me toward the depths of nothingness... I am a ghost.

 

I have met no other ghosts. I do see the wandering, dazed, sentient beings who (I know) sense me as I and my traveling companions pass, but like the Lovely Lica, none appear to see me. Some may reach out, slow down, and gaze curiously in my direction, and nearly all of them get twitchy and more agitated in my presence, but most just quickly pass by. I am lonely because I am alone. All of the passing gentry are moving uphill in the opposite direction, and even those most-tormented somehow know not to go deeper. If there are other ghosts traveling on the decline, we must all be moving at the same pace because I cannot sense them. If I try to quicken my pace, darkness and despair slow me; and if I try to stop, the downward slope steepens, forcing me onward. This is my story and has been for a season or a century, for as you would expect I have no sense of time. I am a ghost.

But Lica... ...she has awakened something within me. She has come closer to me than any and her comeliness has caused me to stir. It is difficult to think with the weight of darkness and despair smothering and tugging as they do; but I want to think. I had said that Lica was merely a visual aid, but perhaps she is more. As I remember, she came at me from below with more purpose. She also stopped suddenly when she sensed me. Most others become anxious and jumpy, and stumble (some falling) on by. Most all appear dazed and afraid even before they sense me. What are they fleeing from? Or to? Lica was different. She stopped, turned and faced me, and reached out. I know she did not see me (or if she did, it was only for a moment) because as I was driven forward she kept facing and reaching toward the place I had been; and if she were able to see me, I believe she would have either turned to her peripheral vision or lifted the pendulous flap of skin from before her eyes. Why did she take note? What did she feel? What was she thinking? I had an impact. I am a ghost.

I spent another season moving slowly down the hill. As you may or may not know I can pretend to walk and thus feel the sensation of gravity and contact with surface textures (in this case, a grassy hill); or I can hover and float, though (at least in this case) I am still required to exert or control effort according to the direction and degree of the slope. As a ghost, this is all I have known; or, all I remember, so I am uncertain if these rules apply to all ghosts. I am uncertain that there even are other ghosts; though I doubt that I warrant such consideration as to be the 'only' ghost. I will ask. I am able to do so because it is at this point in my story, after this insufferable post-Lica season of walking, that I have come to the bottom of this hill and found him. Him is a specter, in both the sense that him is a visible apparition "neither living nor dead" (him's words), and in the sense that him is a source of terror and dread. Him is also a fount of knowledge and wisdom. Him is a gatekeeper. Him is incorporeal and ineffable. Him is the expressor of everything and the decidor of nothing. Him is the depersonification of all my earthly and deathly experience. I, am a ghost.

The hour had come - the hour beyond the season; the hour within the moment; the hour upon which all of time is built. And that hour is what I was given. Him told me that this hour at the center of everything and the beginning of nothing, would be my last hour as a ghost. Him told me that at the end of this hour I would make a choice, and that choice would determine my next incarnation. Him told me that I could ask anything I desired and he would answer. Him told me that him's answers would be true to the intent of my question; which I took to mean that if my intent were true then him's answer would be true, and if my intent were false then him's answer would be a lie. Him told me that this hour would hold me to its breast starting "now." I Am A Ghost.

Some cower in fear before Wisdom. I asked the following questions:

• Am I the only ghost?
• Is it better to have pity for - those who deserve pity, those who pity, myself, or no one?
• Who enlightens the jackal?
• Is it better to see beauty veiled, interpreted, or untrammelled?
• Will darkness and despair accompany me throughout all of my days?
• Does the earthly decor of death accurately reflect the deportment of the recently dead?
• What color is Wisdom?
• Is it better to see shadows in the dark, or is it better to see radiance in the light?
• Who will listen for the ghost drum?
• Is it better to glory in the strenuous ignominy of skeptical dissent, or is it better to be happy in the comfortable folds of labial affection?
• Will I ever see Lica again?
• Is a perpetual state of positive anticipation possible?
• Who slays the dragon?

Him answered all of my questions, but I am not allowed to disclose him's answers because it is not possible for you to know my intent, making him's answers meaningless. When I was told that at the end of this hour I would make a choice that would determine my next incarnation, I at first thought that choice would be between existence and nonexistence. I was mistaken. After absorbing him's answers I have realized that nonexistence does not exist. I am forever. I am a ghost...

...but not for long. I have stretched this last moment in this decisive hour, to its limit. I must choose "now" to either struggle back up the hill as a sentient being and return to an earthly incarnation, or remain at the bottom of the hill as a visible apparition "neither living nor dead" imparting knowledge and wisdom in the form of meaningless answers to other ghosts as they end their journey here. Lica was a ghost before choosing to return; uphill. All of the sentient beings, (formerly ghosts), that I had passed were still lost and afraid; uncertain if they had chosen wisely. I was avoided because they had made their decision, they knew what I was facing, and they did not want to be overwhelmed (again) by my traveling companions whom they could sense, making it that much easier to not see me. They wanted to reach the top without distraction and again join the multitudes that never make this journey. Perhaps Lica, in my presence, was reconsidering; or perhaps she wanted to turn me around. I had to consider all of this and weigh it against the stipulated stillness of this eternal exigency at the bottom of the hill. Uphill or downhill; the hill is just a means, and a mode. I am forever.

I choose to be forever.

I tasted oxygen today. It was equal parts eternity and vanilla, with a delicate aftertaste of dark chocolate and earth.

I. Am. Forever...

MY GREATEST FEAR

My husband had a dinner meeting and I am alone. After a bite of leftover ziti, I sit in the claw foot tub in the second floor bath with a glass of merlot on the floor at my side. I start to drift. Suddenly, I am wrenched from my doze by a rending sound of ferocious intensity. Crunching wood and porcelain  - falling - and all I can think is that the merlot will stain the brand new sofa in the drawing room below. But somehow, in mid-plunge, I catch the stem of the glass and hold it above my head, keeping it level so as not to spill a drop. I am thankful as well to hear the water from the tub and the busted pipes draining between the walls, hopefully into the basement. I prepare myself for the crash, ready to toss the wine to the side away from the davenport, when I feel a springing and a soft landing halfway between the hole in the floor/ceiling above and the first floor below. I carefully peer over the side of the tub, with the wine glass still unperturbed in my left hand, and I see the claw feet and legs of the tub poking through a web of filament so fine it can barely be seen, yet (obviously) strong enough to hold an old-fashioned porcelain claw foot tub and its young and attractive occupant. I know what you're thinking, (no, not that), and yes; this did look much like a spider's web. I confirmed as much when I searched the corners of the room and indeed spied the culprit. You would think that a spider able to construct such a web must be very large, but I was surprised; it was (even accounting for its leg span) not much larger than my Corgi. I was not sure what to do next.

I, at first hoped, that the tub would continue its plummet to take me away from the arachnid eyeing me from above, but then I remembered the wine, and the settee below; and well, being the practical sort, I decided the best thing to do in this moment was to finish my digestif. So I sipped. As I was savoring my fermented aqua vitae and gently bouncing to test the strength of the strands of web, the harvestman began his slow, ominous march forward. So here I sit, naked, jouncing in a claw foot tub, suspended above a new cream-colored chesterfield, uncertain of the intent of a certain predaceous hunter, and frantically trying to relax and enjoy my after-dinner libation. I was in quite a fix; but the wine was quite good - hints of cherry and oak, full-bodied, and dry as is my preference.

While thinking this last thought, there was a sudden rush from above and - Oh My Dear God, Nooo! I spilled some wine! And of course it sploshed directly below onto my now-discount-house couch. "Damn You Sir!" I stood in all my lascivious glory, took another sip of my wine, and threw the glass at the hated brute, willing it to somehow hit him between his eight eyes, shattering and disbursing eight well-placed shards of leaded glass that blind him, allowing my heroic escape. This is unfortunately, not what happened. The stem-end of the glass bounced off his snout and did a perfect forward one-and-a-half somersaults spraying the last bloody red droplets the length of the now-polka-dotted divan. To add insult, the crystal shattered when it hit the edge of the tub. The only thing that could be more perfect is if I suddenly found my creative fiction class at the far end of the drawing room expectantly looking up at me and patiently waiting for my story; and I have nothing prepared.

Oh yes - The sudden rush from above had been the whispering of eight hairy legs coming closer. When I stood Mr. Long-Legs did stop and after the wine glass bounced away (I didn't know this was possible, but) he looked amused. He also still looked serious. I believe he means me bodily harm. I know from morbid curiosity that many (I believe most) spiders will bite their prey, wrap it, wait for it to die, and then commence to feasting. However some spiders who are unable to kill with a venomous bite, wrap their prey in such an exorbitant amount of silk that the prey's 'legs break and eyes buckle inward' thus crushing their prey to death so they may commence to feasting. I feared that me being a human (naked, young, and attractive notwithstanding) that this latter method might be my suitor's plan. I hoped that he would get within arm's reach for a little love nibble because I was mad enough about the couch that I had confidence I could throttle him if I could reach him. But, no. I felt the first strands hit me about shoulder height, and my reaction was so violent that I threw myself out of the partial protection of the tub and found myself trying to roll around this clinging, sticky web to avoid the thready projectiles being flung my way. He changed his strategy and began to wrap my flailing legs as they must have appeared the greatest threat. Suddenly, I took in the reality of this attempted cocooning and realized that my claustrophobia may kill me before 'the legs break and the eyes buckle inward.' I could only hope; but either way I admit to the fleeting thought that to die in silk does have a certain charm.

I stopped moving for a moment to think, allowing 'old-eight-eyes' to patiently spray string, tentatively reach out with one forepaw, rotisserie me one-quarter turn, and again spray string. His patient effort gave me a thought. I would have to act quickly and anticipate correctly to pull it off; my lower legs to mid-thigh were already bound, though not yet unbearably tight or heavy. To lull him with the monotony of his task I waited 3 or 4 more rotations, and then as I was being turned from my right side to my back, I quickly reached out with both hands, tightly grabbed his foreleg, twisted and torqued, and satisfyingly heard it snap. He audibly yowled and as I had hoped lunged for my soft underbelly. Though my two hands did not reach all the way around his throat, I did manage to get a tight grip and avoid his bite. But he was still on top and regaining the advantage. I found a burst of energy. Aided by my kicking mermaid legs that were beginning to break free, I imagined wrestling my Corgi into and out of this very same bath and adroitly flipped my foe into the tub, bringing my full weight down upon him, apparently knocking the breath out of him. As he lay winded, I looked down at the tub floor (the water had of course all drained out now) and saw blood where my knee had come down on an elongated shard from my wine glass. This renewed my fury over the couch, so barely thinking, I quickly grabbed the wide end of that crimson-stained dagger, plunged it deep, and sliced that bastard from stem to stern: and even remembered to reinsert the plug into the drain. He lay still. With my arm to the elbow coated in spider goo and guts I did not wait to jump out of the tub (I knew he was dead), roll a little distance away, and strategically cut a small hole in the web just large enough for me to fit through but far enough away from the tub that the integrity of the web was (hopefully) not compromised. I dropped to the couch, adding my blood to the wine. Oh well...

I closed my eyes for a moment, congratulating myself for quick thinking and agile maneuvering. I was exhausted. I must have dozed, perhaps from shock. When I awoke I heard a terrifying rustling; then I saw it's source. All my congratulations were now seemingly for naught. It turns out that my dead friend in the tub was not a Bastard Sir; she was a Mistress Bitch.

Did you know that some mama spiders can hatch hundreds and even thousands of babies from one sac?