Headvoice

Reborn Fish, Hold the Chips

Awaking in a very early morning dream-state, and then having trudged to the kitchen for a can of seltzer so cold it felt like an anesthetic going down the throat, I slipped back into bed and pulled the covers tightly around me at 3:45 this morning.

Typically, at this point, my annoying habit of recalling the past day's events would begin―unfolding like a long ribbon in my mind's eye. More often then not lately, this would grow to include whatever hob-goblins of the subconscious dared to peak out from their hiding places. Sometimes these are irrational, most often not. But at this time of day... when dreaming is mixed in with the conscious mind, the playground of anxieties and fears gets played out with only some of the stage fully lit.

However, last night the pattern didn't play out again as expected. A few minutes after getting back into bed, and listening to the icy can of seltzer spit and hiss as it started to warm up, I was suddenly overcome by a sense of well-being, of endless love and comfort.

Did all this just mean I had forgotten to take a pee?

No, it was real. And it was powerful.

And what was my first reaction to this profound wave of bliss? I immediately attributed it to the fish we had for dinner. Insert small laugh here. The logic now so questionably employed is that fish is 'brain food', and thus the neurons firing so symphonically at this early hour were just enjoying a newfound set of proper nutrients. It also felt suspiciously like being born again, whatever that means.

My mother chimed in a few moments ago on a squawking cell phone connection, when a simple hint at a genuflection opens seemingly surefire and immediate opportunities for her to show me the light.

Spirituality has always seemed to me cheapened by our endless quest to explain and quantify. Anecdotal evidence includes previous girlfriends that gave green rocks for growing your heart chakra power. Absurd. Television evangelists judging and weeping as they diddle away their own morals. Sad. The long and dysfunctional history of pedophilia in the Catholic Church. Horrifying.

This subject has always been one of challenge for me, and I suspect for most of us. Embarrassing moments began during my first and last day at Sunday School, which included me questioning the validity of Buddhism as opposed to Christianity to a confused teacher. My grandmother was told later that it might be better if I attended the service with her from then on...

If it works for you, that is just fine. Don't sell it to me. I have my own internal language of salvation that is recently translated anew.

Leave me to my fish, no chips, just cole slaw thanks. So far, mine appears to be a low-carb bliss.