Talking to Alzheimers – 2

I’m a Personal Fitness Trainer for my day job. I had this conversation with an elderly client a few years ago whose story is changed just enough to hide her identity.

CLIENT: “Will, I can only get five sessions now. My husband is in memory care and the bills are killing me.”

ME: “Yikes! I’m sorry. No worries. I’m glad to help. My mom is in memory care right now. How are you holding up?”

CLIENT: “Oh, he’s fine. He thinks I’m his mother …  AND …  he now has a girlfriend.”

ME: “Ow. How does THAT feel?”

CLIENT: “I’m okay. He’s a story teller, and I get to watch her hang on his every word.”


CLIENT: It’s good to see him in love.”

ME: (TRYING NOT TO TEAR UP): “Excuse me, but I have exactly three words for you


… BEST …


… WIFE …



Talking to Alzheimers

Went to see mom today. Asked her a familiar question:

ME: “Mom, you are wiser than I. What do you think is the meaning of life?”


MOM: “I don’t know. The MEANING of life?”

ME: “Yeah.”

MOM: “Breathing in and out.”

ME: “Breathing in and out?”

MOM: “Yeah, until you die.”

ME: “Okay. So, if breathing in and out is the meaning of life, what’s the meaning of death?”


MOM: “Not breathing in and out.”


Jeannette Harper: ZEN MASTER

PERSONAL NOTE: If she paralleled her death statement with her life statement it would read, “Not breathing in and out until you live.”

I got nothing on this chick folks. Really.


As you may know, I have an opinion about certainty …

1. I can be certain and wrong.

2. I can be certain and right.


So, since I want to feel “right” and be certain because it feels empowering, why should I deny myself smugness anytime I want it? It’s JUST a feeling. And it’s one I can create any “now” I want.

I just realized (again) that I can choose a feeling of certainty as a light for life in any present moment of existence. Why “need to be right” to feel certain when I can just be smugly arrogant ALL THE NOWS?

Answer? I don’t. So, I’m not.

From Johnson’s “Dinosaur” Dictionary:

Certainty: Exemption from doubt. (Locke) Exemption from failure. That which is real. (Shakespeare); Regularity.

Now, if YOU like this idea, feel free to use it to make the present moment your little whipping boy – even when you are being done in!




Phil Fable – Sol

Another Self-Contained Fable of Phil and Cassandra:

Phil dropped to the floor exhausted. As he lay there he looked up at the white ceiling and wondered why the fuck he kept at it.

This world was about to die in a massive solar flare and he knew it. He also knew he couldn’t stop it.

So he sat up finally. Walked over to the window and faced the sun.

“Bring it Sol,” he stated.

Sol brought it.

Phil’s body vanished in the raging light of oblivion.


Cassandra’s Own Kind of Crazy

Another Self-Contained Fable of Phil and Cassandra:

So, you know something about infinity mathematics right?

Yeah. A little. And I MEAN a little.

So what is the smallest level of infinity?

Aleph 0. The integers.

Good. What’s the highest degree of infinity?

It’s unknown.

Well you already know there are higher levels of infinity. For example, the infinity of the irrational numbers DWARFS the infinity we call Aleph 0 right?

Yeah, that’s confusing as hell, but yeah I hear that’s true and that irrationals dwarf the integers in size …?

Well, for a master or Omega infinity to exist, I say it must be paradoxical in order to have all other infinities be a subset of IT.

I’ll just say ‘sure’ crazy lady …

… Sure …


Ah, the largest star ever existing goes supernova. This is a great gift for my birthday Phil. Getting me across time and space to behold the greatest supernova ever  it is quite a gift. Thank you.

Anyway, the largest infinity is that of soul potentials my friend. And every point of that infinity is the center of all it’s other potentials. God is a collective not a person.

Sure. Nice tautology Cassy.

Do me a favor. Face the infinite number of soul potentials in my coffee cup.


HOLY FUCK! Yikes! What was that?

Just a tautology baby.


More of Phil’s Madness

Another Self-Contained Fable of Phil and Cassandra:

“So, you think that the secret to free will is madness?”

“Yup,” answered Phil.

The waiter set down the plate in front of Phil.

“What about logic?” asked the waiter.

“When you allow the division of zero, logic is merely a subset of crazy which does not allow the division of zero. Only those already  capable of being logical can get anything out of logic.”

Phil paused for effect and continued.

“The question is HOW does an insane man or child or a dying dementia patient attain a fullness of free will, if not, but for anything else save madness?”

“That’s insane,” said the waiter.

“Yup. Answered Phil. “You see, free will is not only a logically impossible choice to believe in, but it is ALSO a logically impossible choice to be able to create one’s own self-creating crazy.”


Phil took a beat and continued.

“You see … the freedom a being has is not in what kind of logic it want’s to follow, but what kind of BATSHIT one wants to manifest. Our freedom is the right to choose our own crazy in real time.”

“So what kind of crazy are you right now?” asked the waiter.

“Right now, I choose to believe that every point in a plane is its center. Every point in space is the center. Every self is a nothing. Not just NOTHING but “A” nothing. So, I am the center and so are you, and we can choose to create a cornucopia of realities to enjoy. And for me, the point is to LOVE THEM ALL IN REAL TIME. Especially, those that rend us helpless and broken beyond repair — those that make enlightenment unattainable in a specific lifetime. For those lives? Those are the TRUTH. Those are the bonus lives. Those are the lives that make freedom possible and to be most cherished. Only the greatest of madnesses can conquer them.”

The waiter face showed sign of deep concern for Phil’s sanity. And then he realized, Phil wasn’t sane by his own admission and went back to work.

Phil ate his meal. He paused and just felt the insanity that was the foundation of his sane selves across the multiverses. He felt it rage. He felt it calm.

Then he tapped a message into his A-11 and promptly teleported across the multiverse.

Cassandra Horribly Abused – Again

Another Self-Contained Fable of Phil and Cassandra:

“Lipstick lesbians are your thing huh?,”asked Cassandra of the Monsignor.

“You chose this life of yours, and God is using my sin to punish yours,” said the Monsignor as he prepared for the daily crime.

“Yeah, well your God is toast when I get ahold of him.”

“Such sacrilege will be punished by me – TODAY,” said the Monsignor.

Cassandra looked at the calendar posted on the wall.  The Monsignor gave it to her so she could at least know the time. She marked the calendar each day with a crayon and the day count had reached thirty one.

One month.

One. Awful. Month. Of. Daily. Rape.

Light from her barred window let her know when it was day or night. The food wasn’t bad for a rapist, he did give her whatever music and books she wanted IF they passed his tests for holiness, and if she was good, she would get cable someday.

He promised and boasted on how she could trust his word.

Needless to say, the reading and media list sucked. The rapist was a drug addled rocker as a young man before he was converted by a devotee of Opus Dei, so he had a soft spot for musical freedom and let her listen to whatever she wanted.

Not much consolation for daily rape of a woman who found sex with men disgusting.

Still, Cassandra was impressed with his detail management. He had really planned everything out. Every means of escape or attack had been anticipated by him and handled either ahead of time or in real time. No sharp objects. No stones or metal to grind the metal chain against. Charcoal and paper were the only things allowed for her art projects. No pencils.

Every night before the rape, he would turn on the radio in the chamber next to her cell. For some reason, he always raped her to the same radio station. And whatever was playing he would define his rape of her in the spirit of that broadcast. If it was news, he would be matter of fact. If it was music, he would adapt stylistically to the music.

Cassy held her chain in her hand and looking at it spoke to him.

“You aren’t special you know. And neither am I. I cannot avoid the results of rape or torture even if I leave this chamber.”

“You won’t leave,” he said. “Not alive anyway.”

“That’s supposed to scare me and it does. But you need to understand something. I’ve survived a lot worse than you. As far as torture goes, you’re a pansy. See, you don’t know me. You don’t know my story. And to be truthful, I don’t know all MY stories either. But I learn and create more and more of them everyday.”

The monsignor stayed silent and started undressing in the chamber next to her cell.

“The problem with you is that you really don’t understand what heaven is.”

“Really?” he said.

“Really. If you give me a smoke, I’ll tell you about it before you rape me and then you can believe you are surprising me with this new idea you have called torture because, let’s face it, you’re getting bored with plain old rape about now.”

He looked at her for a long time. He slowly got up and pulled out a pack of Winstons from his jacket. Cassandra looked with disgust at his tighty whities hanging limp off his sagging frame. He lit it. Blew a puff into the air and placed it to his extension pole and reached it through the cell to Cassy.

Cassy picked it up and then took a long draw. It had been weeks since she had a cig. Then she blew in a way so confident that he was struck by the fact that she wasn’t broken yet.

“So, show me heaven,” he said.

“Sure,”Smiled Cassy. “You see, MY heaven is actually a continuum of free beings and not the grovel-fest of your New Testament. It is a supportive dimension of beings that create themselves and are co-created of themselves. Each is their OWN god. Each is independently self-supporting paradox. Each maintains their self support by helping the others be independent and self-supporting. So, in a sense, it’s a realm where everyone is 100% self sufficient and 100% dependent at the same time. They are, in fact, hackers of the multiverses. Any can leave of course, but they lose the protection of the collective and have to face this dark universe alone. BUT …”

She took another long draw and talked through smoke.

“Their collective is NOT their secret sauce! It’s not what makes their heaven heaven.”

“So, what’s their secret sauce that makes it heaven,” he laughed. “I suppose you are going to try to obtain favors from me with this information.”

“Oh … THAT … no, no. No favors. It is YOU who are favoring me Monsignor. You see, the secret sauce of heaven is the ability to face even worse realities than this as enlightenment itself. The ability to face ANY situation with courage, and ESPECIALLY … ”

He tipped her cigarette at him with her fist.

“ESPECIALLY our inability to do just that and fail miserably in the attempt. THAT is the best part – the failure of that declaration. That instant when the spirit falls to the domination of another who is intent on destruction and control. You see, THAT is the truth Monsignor. THAT is what your God does in his hell. But your God misses ONE thing. That I exist in other realms, and other Universes and I even occur several times in THIS universe.  I choose in these realms through my imagination to be very aware of what is going on here RIGHT … NOW. And I am actively supporting this version of me as my ability to handle your abuses declines. MY grace is sufficient unto me EVEN AS my ego and free will is destroyed. My other selves will remember. Will confront it. Will transcend it. And WILL send that grace to me.”

“That’s sacrilege!” he yelled. He felt himself growing harder. Cassy could see he was getting hornier by the second at her sacrilege.

“Oh, it gets better oh Horny Holy Man,” she smirked. “Then there is the unlistable free beings: the Buddhas, the Bodhisattvas, the Atmans, the Spirit Guides, the Quiet Ones and so many other types of liberated beings that it is impossible to number or list them. THEY WILL HELP ME AS I FALL. THEY WILL HOLD ME AS I BREAK. THEY WILL SUPPORT ME LIKE A FLOOR HOLDS A BROKEN GLASS. And there is my ONE. ONE especially who loves me in a way you never could. He loves me as a woman, and yet he knows he can never have me … AND  … yet he loves me even MORE because I am his mentor. HE WILL HELP ME.”

“I don’t see anyone here…” quipped the Monsignor.

The Monsignor turned on the radio to begin the nightly rape. The DJ was introducing a song.

“I don’t know why, but a man named Phil just gave me one thousand dollars to our station’s charity to play this song. So, stranger, thanks for helping “Kelly’s Kids” here at WRT in Dallas. Cassy, this is for you …”

The song “Show Me Heaven” began to play.

Cassy started crying. That was her and Helen’s love song.

“Phil …” she cried. “MY PHIL! I knew you would find a way to soothe me  …”

There you go
Flashing fever
From your eyes …

…You’ve such
Amazing grace…

Cassandra jumped up dancing with arms flailing, joy exploding…


Cassandra felt the love of uncountable beings sending grace, and she drank it in through every pore and every cell.

Her eyes cut through the Monsignor. Fear crossed his face as he beheld the force of her power. The grace of the liberated beings cutting through his ego delusion.

Then she tongue sliced him.

“You haven’t even created yourself yet. Your ego is merely a PRODUCT. You are JUST the little bitch of your petty, little GOD and his petty, little Mono-verse!” she declared standing tall with an outstretched finger.

“Oh, show me heaven
Cover me
Leave me breathless
Oh, show me heaven, babe”

Cassandra’s face lit up with liberation as tears sprung forth as a spring. She spun in a circle – her arms outstretched to the universes.

Then she stopped and looked at the floor as it caught and held her splashing tears.

“My heaven is RIGHT HERE mother fucker in every reality. And my angels are with ME and they kick your angel’s asses! And my angelic self is with ME! How many times have I suffered worse in other realms? How many hells? How many prisons? How many down goings? YOU PETTY FOOL! You don’t know the plural mees!”

She laughed and roared so freely and with so much force that the Monsignor just sat down in shock.

“Look at you. You’re pathetic,” she said. “I am going to live this life a thousand more times just for practice! What a challenge indeed! And each time before I fall to your domination, I will laugh at you. I am willing this life a thousand lives myself. Right now!”

“I WILL THIS A THOUSAND TIMES,” she screamed. The building shook from her rage..

The Narcissistic Monsignor’s face tightened in anger by the shame put on him by Cassandra. He pulled the chain to bring her to the wall. Then he began to try and rape her. But his manhood was limp. Nothing was there. Cassandra, bound now to the wall by the retracted chain laughed again.

And then she spoke.



“Is that all you got? Soon this will be over. It will be an ‘it was’ for me to transcend with my creating will.”

He tried to work his penus into firmness.

Cassandra sighed sardonically. Then she quoted whimsically in a peace-living voice as he continued to try and get it up.

“All ‘It was’ is a fragment, a riddle, a fearful chance–until the creating Will saith thereto: ‘But thus would I have it.’–

“Until the creating Will saith thereto: ‘But thus do I will it! Thus shall I will it!’

“Thus spake Zarathustra,” she said. Then to drive the point home she goaded him.

“Friedrich …


“…Nietzsche. And what was that quote? Oh yeah … ”

“God is DEAD motherfucker.”

Enraged, he threw her to the ground choking her. Cassy started blacking out. But her face, angelic, still drew hope from the beings she could feel.

Suddenly, the door to the chamber burst open and Phil entered with a baseball bat …

“Get off her asshole,” said Phil.

The naked monsignor got off Cassy. Cassy choked and coughed herself back into a corner.

“I had to use the Watch to find you Cassy, I’m going to have to get the hell out of here the predators are already on my scent because of this jerk made me use inter dimensional tech. Fuck Cassy, I liked this planet!”

Cassy held up her hand to indicate it was going to take a few …

Phil tied up the rapist. Cassy got on the phone and called police.

“Get out of here,” she said. “I’m good.”