THAT OL' CERTAINTY

2019 AGELESS AUTHORS CONTEST FINALIST

WHO AM I?

     I swear to God I did not go into that honkey-tonk in Austin looking for that old certainty. Honestly, I just like country music... oh, yeah, and the women. They can even be asymmetrical! And the beer, I like the beer. 'N I just like to dance the 2-Step. That’s all. 
     Just exercising my emotions, okay passions, and my Sentient Soul and I’ll ask a pretty woman to dance. Hold her real close, left hand in her right hand, slightly cupped; my right hand on her lower back - maybe her back belt-loop. Catch a beat or two... and we Texas 2-Step. Slow-Quick-Quick; Slow-Quick-Quick; repeat.

     Some gals don’t like to be held tight and kinda try to wiggle away. Some don’t like to be led and resist for a moment. Then I ask them if they REALLY want to dance. Some want to be independent, but the 2-Step, well when you 2-Step and you twirl, go open-style and cut your way through the traffic, somebody BETTER lead so it will be less loco and more motion in the locomotion.

     So there I was 2-Steppin’ and Swing Dancin’ and the band was stylin’ George Jonesn’, Ray Price n’ and Willie ‘n Merle and George Strait, Clint, Hank Jr. and, Lord knows who else.

     There were layers and layers of lights and boots and hats and glitter and see-through blouses, and sounds. Layers and players. And more than a few nay-sayers. Some drunken pals. Some suffering gals. Winners and losers. Just a Friday night in Austin.

WHY AM I HERE?

     I swear I do not EVER look for Dame Adventure. I do not WANT Dame Adventure. I have a deviated-septum, a Collies fracture and trashed knees - and do not NEED more adventure. I was just there to dance. Hold a woman real close, right hand on her lower back. Slow-Quick-Quick; Slow-Quick-Quick...  Say a word or two. Ask her name. Concentrate on the dance moves. Step back and twirl her, catch her eye and smile, real polite like. Asymmetrical is fine.

     But the thing about Dame Adventure is that she whispers. Honest to God, she whispers. It’s like you hear someone calling your name but it would be absolutely impossible to be boot-scootin’ and hear a whisper when the band is playing Hank Jr.’s “Family Tra-dition!” But, there it was.

     So, I began cutting behind her and side stepping and scanning the tables at the edge of the dance floor and we made a full circle around the room.

     Where in the WORLD did that whisper come from? WHO in the world is whispering my name?

WHAT DO I WANT?

     It was like I was Moses and the red-neck sea parted and there She sat. Right there at the end of the table. I was certain she whispered. She had a coy, knowing look in her eyes.

     Her mother, about my age, sat beside her. Her mother was no rodeo rookie. She had Dolly hair, a flouncy, low-scooped blouse, bare-midriff, skin-tight jeans and a tooled belt which read “BITCH”. She had Botox, lipstick, dentures, and defenses. On the table in front of her was a small clutch. I guessed a 2-Shot Derringer.

     Her was the mother of She. She had whispered to me. This was the third time in my life that I’ve met such a She. I felt whatever in me that was solid turn to liquid and what was liquid turn to air. My heart started racing. Other men started to look, too. My chest trembled. I smelled the competition.

     I stopped. Still. My dance partner didn’t know what was going on but she followed my eyes and saw they were riveted on She - the one for me. I had to have her. I didn’t know what it would take, divorce, money, bass boat; but that didn’t matter. I didn’t care about what I was going to lose.

     She was just the most perfect woman. A wild abundance of sunlight and femaleness glowed around her. Young, fresh, untapped, spontaneous, waiting for a decisive move.

     That old certainty. Yeah, I felt it. Then the Planet Saturn kick Macho Mars out of the way and showered me with historical memory forces. This was my third She! I already knew how this was going to end. I touched my deviated-septum. Why do I always wind up with losers like She, I asked Mars?

“Excuse me, ma’am.” I said to Her mother. “Would you like to dance?”

Her eyes lit up, her Botox levitated, she popped up, slung the tiny derringer clutch over her low-scoop flouncy blouse and held out her hand.

I was just there to dance. Hold a woman real close, right hand on her lower back. Slow-Quick-Quick; Slow-Quick-Quick...  Say a word or two. Ask her name. Mmm, she smells NICE. Concentrate on the dance moves. Step back and twirl her, catch her eye and smile, real polite like. Asymmetrical is fine.

As we say in Texas: “It’s better to aim at a star and hit a stump than aim at a stump and miss.”

© Copyright 2015, Jean W. Yeager

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THE NIGHT DISSOLVES INTO LOVE

WHO AM I?

     Many cultures have their gods and/or goddesses of sexuality, carnality and love. In many, there is a direct connection, worldly lust transforms into spiritual awakening or lower order physical love (eros) becomes spiritual love (agape). All things physical have spiritual counterparts. Spiritual love cannot be on earth without a physical vessel through which to manifest.

     Sexuality, carnality and fertility is as diverse as humankind and all creatures who are sexual. All living things have sexuality of some sort. But, not all have love. Each religion defines love differently.

One man’s love may be another man’s sin.  Birth, death, seasons, growth, all fall under expressions of love. Some Buddhists, for example, include sexual love, fertility and warfare. (Hmmm.) The Canaanites identify: summer, sovereignty and warfare. And, the Celts, of course have gods and goddesses who govern love and death. Men, be careful around the Moroccan deity, Qandisa, a goddess of lust who allegedly seduces men and drives them insane. (Although that does sound like a “reality TV show”.)

WHY AM I HERE?

     Why are we all here?

     The Moon has sailed over the Earth and all peoples since before their deities were recognized. She and her lovers, the Sun and Earth, lifted ordinary behaviors into a higher order Love. The laws of attraction and repulsion are tied with them. Moon and the Earth have sought each other since the beginning.  There is always longing and arousal between them. There is just enough closeness between them and the Sun to cause an imbalance in the relationship so that in the mix with each other, life can arise.

Ah, yes, the Sun too is a player. The Sun is King of the daylight and Moon the Queen of the Night. And the Earth, what of the Earth? Mother Earth, out of whose verdant wetness has brought forth all living creatures. All three tend their offspring.  Variation, rhythms are essential for the Earth’s health.

     The Sun shines and the Moon reflects. On Earth, the Sun’s variety of intensity, length of the days and nights, causes seasons, growth and life. The Sun and Earth and Moon rotate in their barycenter together and so sunlight is only on one side of the earth at a time.  The Moon’s phases have moved animal life and human life forever. The season for lambing and spring calving are required rhythms of sexuality which simply are in-built into each species. This was nothing of man. But men must have felt the magic of it all and it was so much beyond them that they felt the need to place responsibility on powerful, unseen someone and so the deities. To which apparently Sun, Earth and Moon have not objected.

How long has the Moon lain with the Earth, her lover? They too have grown old together, but not tired of one another. Love seems to make all things new.

WHAT DO I WANT?

     I have slept next to my lover for many years now, at times it feels like the first night. Is this the first night? I can’t remember. One smile at bedtime, before the lights go out, erases the images of my day, eases long-time concerns.  I lay back and a world of other scenes arises. Are they memories? Or are they dreams yet to be? I can’t remember, and it really doesn’t make much difference, does it?

     When you go into the Night in the arms of your lover you are in Love – even if your lover is no longer alive and in bed with you. You are IN Love and Love is spiritual and emotional and planetary. Love is everywhere. In our lover’s arms, we dissolve into the Love. When you are in Love, Time is not existent. And, who is our lover, really? The Moon, Sun and Stars of the Night? You? Me? Love is neither greater now than it was then – whenever then was. And, Love is 100% all the time.  All are loved and are all Love and loving. 

     But, this Love? My loving and your loving is of feelings of the heart – each heart. Our feelings, emotions and physical. Like the earth and moon and sun, we rotate in a rhythm around our hearts.

     Is this the first night I’ve touched, or been touched? Nestled or been nestled? Spooned or been spooned? I can’t remember. Joy is an eraser and joy is the candle which flickers and glimmers in our room. The Moon outside has brought the Night and caresses the  Earth, her lover, and us, with her touch. We lie with each other as the candlelight and the moonlight caresses us, and the Night dissolves into Love.

© Copyright 2015, Jean W. Yeager

All Rights Reserved

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LITTLE ACT OF KINDNESS

WHO AM I?

     I am just one of your acquaintances or we met at church or in the neighborhood. I am no one you would think especially outstanding. Don't try to draw attention to myself outwardly. Not too tall. A little overweight, I must admit. Light brown hair. Reading glasses. I shop at the second-hand store. I am clean and neat and well kept. I even iron my t-shirts. I may not be the brightest bulb in the pack, but I try. I work as a part-time secretary, some child-care, did hospice once. I don’t go to school, but I take classes. And, I’m in a book club. 

     I learned early on that people like to be remembered. I love birthdays, anniversaries and special days for my friends and co-workers. I have a little book I note them in. I can’t always go to the $1 store and buy a card, my life is busy, so I have a drawer of cards that I buy when they’re on sale.

WHY AM I HERE?

     So, I start a day or two before your birthday. When I get home, before I feed the cat, I take out your card and make myself a cup of tea and sit down. I’ve picked this card because I think you’ll like it. So, I sit and think about you and what you’re doing. Or maybe I’ve heard something from a friend who had run into you. I sit there and imagine you – what you look like now. I let that image of you grow and grow. I can see your smile and your eyes. And then I get my gel pen, I only use gel pens for cards, and I open the card and consider where is the best place to write the greeting - this is not an automatic deal in any way. This is your SPECIAL day.

WHAT DO I WANT?

      Then, when I’ve got the spot in my mind, I write, “Happy Birthday” in my most perfectly formed script, the hand that when you see it, you know instantly that it is from me. You have to do that in one pass and it has taken hours of practice to get it just right. But, you’re worth it. I want that connection with you.

The same with the envelope – your envelope carries your name in a beautifully penned script that virtually announces that you are someone special and this envelope is from someone special. I only use those “Celebrate” stamps because this IS a celebration – it’s your special day.

     If you were here with me now, I would slip outside and cut flowers to put around your tea cup and give you some cookies (I’m sure I’ve got some cookies) and make a REAL celebration out of it.

© Copyright 2014, Jean W. Yeager

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THE GIFT OF THE MAGI OF CARPET

Long before I ever heard of the Ouberufer Shepherds Plays, I realized there were two general “streams” of people in the world, the Kings and the Shepherds. Each of these two streams view life in their own unique way.  
     Kings are the kind of people who have the lofty mental capacity to look into the starry sky, see the shapes of the constellations, see the movement of the planets and divine or predict when very lofty and highly spiritual events would take place, like the birth in Bethlehem of the King of Kings. No one tells Kings, they knew.
     The Shepherds, on the other hand, are the ones who are busy with day-to-day life, tending their flocks, living rough in the fields, marveling in awe at the starry heavens, sleeping around a campfire, singing, cavorting, having a nip or two, and sleeping only to be told or inspired by an Angel to know that they must to go to Bethlehem and take gifts to the Great Shepherd. Everybody tells the shepherds.
     I am a Shepherd.
     Right out of college in the Vietnam War era, the only job an English major like me could find was something like selling carpet at a company named Carpet Kings in Dallas, TX. It was a “bait and switch” operation run by two guys named Bob and Tony, “sharpies” from New Jersey, and a money guy, their Uncle Bernie, sellin’ to “hicks” (as they thought of us). 
     Like I said, this was the 1970s and Bob and Tony both wore way too much English Leather cologne, way too many gold neck chains, way too colorful polyester shirts, way too tight hip-riding crotch hugging bell-bottom, and had way too heavily greased DA hair styles. They drove big, impressively girl-magnet cars, I’m talking boat-sized cars, like Lincoln Continentals. Not new, but close enough for real comfort and back-seat foreplay.
     They definitely saw themselves as Capitalistic Kings come down south to help us out of our oil money. They hired me, a Shepherd, and stuck me in a showroom at Casa Linda Shopping Center and, after training on how to “bait and switch”, sent me out on sales calls. 
     I took one sample set of cheap, I’m talking really cheap carpet and really cheap vinyl flooring, so cheap nobody would ever buy the stuff (a/k/a “the bait”) and one luxury set. Carpet people will feel the goods. Next time you’re in a showroom, ask he salesperson to show you some samples, and they’ll flip the sample book onto a table and run their a hand over the sample to feel the goods. If you invite ‘em over to your house, they’ll sit in an easy chair, look at your carpet, then slide down to feel your goods. They’re mentally calculating how much per square foot you paid. (We can’t help ourselves.)
     Nobody in their right mind would buy the really cheap stuff I was selling: the carpet was so cheap you could see the jute backing through the “shag-like” yarn.  The vinyl was so thin it was just a little thicker than an opaque, slightly textured Saran Wrap (no offense to the Saran Wrap company, but this stuff was thin.)

CHRISTMAS TIME IS COMING
The State Fair of Texas is held in late October. Companies like Carpet Kings take booths to hawk their products by offering things like drawings for a whole house full of carpet free!  All you gotta do is leave name, address and phone number. That entry form goes to a telemarketing phone room which calls and offers another opportunity to win a free room full of carpet or vinyl if you allow a salesperson to call - no obligation to buy - a “special promotion”.
     It was just before Christmas and I got sent to a “sure sale” in a very poor part of town. When I went in, I met the family: mom and dad and a pregnant teenage daughter and the teenage father, a snarly looking guy who fidgeted, a lot. The daughter was very pregnant, I’m talking uncomfortable, any day now pregnant.
     Mom wanted carpet and vinyl. They had been saving their money and wanted it installed before Christmas so that when the baby was born that the kid could crawl around on something clean. That clearly would be a first.
     If this had been the Oberufer Shepherd’s Play, this would have been the stable. The house was so small that either Mary and Joseph were sleeping on the hide-a-bed or Mom and Dad let the young couple have the bedroom. 
     There were no “goods” on the floor, only “bads”. The kitchen, for example, was a dirt floor. The living room was just old, cheap, splintery plywood that had been painted  brown a long, long time before.
     I drew my little “map” of the rooms. Dad helped me measure with my tape measure. I showed them my “bait and switch” samples of really cheap stuff and Mom got excited. Excited by this? This? This was not “bait and switch”, this was “bait and catch.” The only question from Mom was, “Can it be installed by Christmas?” 
     They had seen the “come on” ads offering the cheap stuff which I was showing. They had calculated the square yards. They had the money in cash.
     I actually tried to talk them out of the cheap stuff. I told them the vinyl could not be laid over a dirt floor. Dad asked that if he and the boy could put down some plywood, would that work?
What did I know about installation? Nothing. I was doubtful. I hemmed, I hawed, in the end, I pointed out every flaw in the carpet and vinyl I could think of, every problem conceivable, and even some inconceivable ones in a very transparent to attempt to save them from their awful fate. 
     And, I didn’t know about the remote possibility of installation before Christmas. We were busy, real busy. But, they were used to companies treating them poorly. They were used to being sent to the end of the line. They were used to only being able to afford the really cheap stuff. So what? By God, it was that mother’s love for that unborn child which outweighed anything I could say or do. Nothing negative was possible. There would be a way.
     Then I started feeling bad because I was judging them, like the mean Innkeeper in the Shepherd’s Play who turned away Mary and Joseph: 

“I keep my house for those 

who have money in purse!  

I keep for tramps, 

a kick, and a curse!” 

     Here I was trying to force my middle-class judgments and values on these good folks. Yeah, the place was like a stall, but it was their stall and it was going to be a stall with wall-to-wall carpet and vinyl in the kitchen and by Christmas! Cheap carpet is better for a kid to crawl on than splintery plywood. Vinyl, even cheap vinyl, was a dream if you lived on a dirt floor. 
    I was the one who had any chance of making that happen.  All I needed to do was go talk with Tony, yeah right. 
The daughter smiled beatifically. The young father-to-be fidgeted. I left them in freedom with samples to look at for the evening. 

IT’S BEGINNING TO SMELL A LOT LIKE ENGLISH LEATHER
Tony’s Lincoln was parked out front with a giggly young woman squirming on the front seat. He was there to get the day’s contracts and deposits.
     “How’d ya do?” he grinned.
So, I told him. I described the house. The family. The mom and dad, the son and daughter. Gave him my little floor map which he closely scrutinized. I gave him the cash which he recalculated. (”Can’t trust an English major!” he winked.)
     “You didn’t make no promises?” he asked.
     “Only to go back and get the samples.” I said.
     “Good boy.” He said.
     All he said was, “Boy oh boy, you say you left the samples?”
     “She’s gonna pick out a color that goes with poverty.”
     “This the address?” he asked. I nodded. “Lemme see what I can do. I’ll pick up the samples.”
     And then he took our other sales forms and left. 
     I didn’t see Tony again for a few days. Things were winding down after Thanksgiving and we knew we were going to be out of work by Christmas. It was okay. 
     The Mother called: “Aren’t you going to come and see how it looks?”
     “Oh, you got it installed?”
     “Oh yes! I thought you knew. Your boss Tony came. He’s nice. Too much cologne, but he’s nice.”
     “The baby?”
     “Very soon.”
     “Oh, Good.” I said, “You happy with the installation?”
     “Yes, very.”
     “Okay, I’ll come take a look.” I said.
     Tony came by that afternoon. I told him the mother called me. He said he recalculated my sales order and I had made a mistake. But he fixed it.
     “What mistake?” I asked.
     “You didn’t order good.”
     “I ordered the goods. I filled out the sales order correctly.” I said.
     “Yeah, well, there’s ordering goods, and then there’s ordering good. You’ll see. Go take a look.” 
     I had no clue what he was talking about. Sometimes Carpet Kings talk in a funny lingo about mark-up, profit margins, goods, thread count, and other stuff.
     Then he laid me off, but not because of the mistake. He handed me an envelope. “Here’s a Christmas bonus. Maybe we’ll see ya sometime.” He took my keys, watched me gather my personal stuff, and then we left.
     I knew it was coming. Sales were slow. I wasn’t earning my draw. There was $50 in the envelope so I was happy.
     I drove over to the family’s house. 
     I knocked on the door and the Mother answered. She opened the door and I was shocked. The floor was covered with some of the finest carpet we sold. And, the kitchen had a real sub-flooring beneath the vinyl. My mouth was agog.
     “Wow.” I said.
     “I think Tony said you ordered the wrong goods.”
     “Yeah, that’s what he said. This looks good!” I said. 
     “Baby’s gonna like it.” Dad said.
     “Yeah. It’s good.” I said.
     Tony never mentioned the Golden Rule, but there it was -- "He who has the gold, makes the rules." Sometimes that's good.

(C)Copyright 2016, Jean W. Yeager / All Rights Reserved
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MEETING IN OUR BROKENNESS

Originally published in July 2014 under a different title. There is a lot of brokenness these days. It is all about Love and Armor. I have posted past posts in separate pages so you can read the summaries and read them again if you wish. Enjoy!
 

 THE THINGS WE DON’T TALK ABOUT WHEN WE DON’T TALK

 WHO AM I?

How quiet it is after the shouting. Why is there no way to take back those words? How bitterness seems to hang in the air like a color or light or a tone of dread from a wind chime that won’t stop. The look in the baby’s eyes. How the cord of wood outside feels like neatly stacked body parts. The small mole which I do not have the time nor the inclination to have looked at. Where the water in the cove goes when the tide goes out – where your love goes when our tide goes out. Why I always have this feeling that this always is my fault. The way you lift your lip in that little snarl which looks like you are smelling something foul. I am probably to blame for the bitter coffee, too? Why the hell the neighbors slam their window? If we only have one car how can I go away? We don’t talk about Tenderness yet.

WHY AM I HERE?

     This is all about Love and Armor and Tenderness. Vulnerability and Brokenness. Maybe we can meet in our Brokenness. Brokenness is a small playground around the corner where we can sit on the low kiddie swings and talk about imperfections and failures and Angels. There are needles strewn about and empty whisky bottles.  It is ugly. The children don’t want to play there. Occasionally there are gun shots when the drug dealers shoot off cheap pistols they are taking in trade for heroin. This is were we must go with our Hearts in re-usable shopping bags. Such is love in our tattooed era. We have skin in this game.

WHAT DO I WANT?

     Guts.

     The guts to do it.

     The 12 nerves of the solar plexus to fire off all together when I whisper “Love Will” and cause a total reversal and spontaneous healing. Virgo of the inner constellation.

     The creation of a new Heart comprised of both. Two beats - systole and diastole. Giving and receiving.

     But I hesitate. It’s a risk. I am unsure.

     Healing is a risk.

     Neither one of us is good at giving or receiving. We need practice. Meet in our brokenness and practice.

     Tenderness.

It’s one of those things we don’t talk about when we don’t talk.

© Copyright 2014, Jean W. Yeager

All Rights Reserved

THE TIDE OF YOUR LIFE AND YOUR DEATH

WHO AM I?

     I am the tide of your life. I am the powerful physical and metaphysical force by which you are carried.

     Ocean Tides are one of the major forces in all the world because water covers 71% of our Earth’s surface. Tidal motion and interaction with heat from the Sun during the day and cool of night create weather. Dance of Sun, Moon and Earth cause seasons and climate and tides.

The tide of your life creates the emotional weather of your soul.  Weather whips the tide up in the outer world and your emotional weather – the storms in your inner life.

     The Moon, you and I are secret lovers. I am totally attracted to her and so is your chronobiology. The Full Moon is the drumbeat for all life on earth. The tides of your life rise and fall with the Moon and so do the life forces of all plants, animals and humans. She pulls at us, flirts with us and we are in a constant state of longing as she passes. And then, she teases us with her long-time affection for and affair with the Sun who ramps the tide up when they sit together. The intensity is, at times, overwhelming.

WHY AM I HERE?

     Your life is all about what flows and swirls around you and within you.

Some tides of your life are exoteric and comprised of the currents in your life. Sometimes these speed up or slow down or run at different rates, this builds large waves in climate, environment, politics, society, safety, health, food, economics and more like travel even birth rates, opening of wine grape blossoms and salmon migration. Each of these exoteric parts of the overall tide of your life are independent currents which may at times run as cross-currents – stopping things – pushing things unexpectedly.

Sometimes you are totally unaware of the currents that seem to change for no reason. These are Rip Tides and if you struggle against them you will lose your strength and energy and may perish because outer tides affects your inner life.

The small boat of your life is comprised of your health, life forces, physical constitution and Chronobiology; your thinking, confusion or lack of knowledge; your feelings like fear, joy, love or anger; and, your intentions – what are you going to try to do about all those exoteric complexities.

The tides of your life are ever changing and you will never catch a break or really be in control.

WHAT DO I WANT?

You modern people have pretend that your creation of “Science” and the evolution of your consciousness somehow makes you “free” from or able to control the tide of your life.

Do you go with or against the flow? Do you even know what flows in your life at all? Have you studied yourself? Your biography?

When I am aroused, the tide of your life lifts you up and buoys you. You ride the crest and think it is you who has done this. But, are you in over your head? When you are in over your head, are you in too deep and swamped by more than you know?

     When the tides of your life crash and fall; I sometimes put you on the rocks and break over and on you. I can be crushing when you try to go against the tide. Sometimes the look on your face is clueless about what happened.

     Life is a struggle for you. But, really, the tide of life is not about you, ultimately. You are one person in the current.

The tide of life is about more, much more. You were created in your mother’s womb, a salty tidal pool protected from larger currents. The Earth’s tidal pools have been the wombs of the first moments of creation of all life on Earth.

The tides have turned.

Why does the Lady of the Lake does not arise? Has the One who calmed the tempest handed it over to you and your Science?

Tidal pools no longer able to bear and sustain life only create the death of the Earth.

© Copyright 2015, Jean W. Yeager

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WHERE TO BUY: TH3 SIMPLE QUESTIONS: Slice Open Everyday Life

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