Tuesday, 8 February 2011
My Mother isn’t a Cushion (and the Beagle Oracle)
‘This quantum flirting,’ she said.
‘It’s not happening. I just don’t meet the right people.’
‘Noooo. You do. You’re just not listening.’
And I explained that it really is a huge mistake to dismiss people and things because they appear mundane or stupid. That you don’t necessarily get the answers or the illuminations from the great gurus or masters (and I’m deeply suspicious of anyone who calls themself a guru) – that sometimes the universe winks at you through the most bizarre channels. It’s all a bit Forrest Gump, I suppose.
‘Look. Take Random Twitter Guy for example,’ I said. ‘He’s coming along nicely.’
When Jane was here at New Year, we were sitting in my study and I was explaining how messages can come from curious and interesting places. At that precise moment, an email pinged in to say I had a new follower on Twitter. Nothing odd about that – but the timing was, well, interesting.
‘See...’ I said. ‘This guy here. I don’t know him from Adam but he could be a conduit. He might have some important stuff to say. Hey, I’m not sure I need another one: maybe he’s your oracle.’
‘Hmm.’ She frowned so deeply I could have fallen down the crevice between her eyebrows. ‘I’m not buying it.’
‘Fair enough. But I’ll follow him back and let’s see.’ I clicked the mouse.
Frankly I was only playing but, hey, get this. RTG does say some pretty cool things sometimes. Very gnomic, but I like a bit of gnomic. A bit depressed, but I can relate. Basically kind though, and I lap up kind. Nice RTG. Jane wasn’t buying it though.
‘I still prefer the Beagle Oracle.’
No, I know he’s not a Beagle but everyone assumes he is and I think you’ll agree that 'Beagle Oracle' (while a bit of a spluttering globule of a phrase) is less of a mouthful than ‘JackRussellterriercrossedwithaSpringerSpanielandCavalierKingCharles Oracle.’
Jane laughed. She loves Beagle Oracle (BO). I send her emails with his picture and a pithy BO saying every so often when she's low.
‘Yeah, but now he’s become so bad, is he really still an oracle?’
‘Sure he is. Go on, try me. I’ll give you the hidden message in anything he does.’
‘Okay. Running off chasing blackbirds he won’t ever catch.’
‘Sometimes you have to follow the impossible dream.’
‘Oh very good. Hmm. Rolling in fox crap?’
‘Sometimes it’s wise to hide your true colours. While truth and honesty are beautiful; disguise and deception may sometimes be necessary and even wise.’
‘Ho ho. Very Machiavelli.’
The BO had, very stupidly, broken into a friend’s handbag and snaffled a heavy duty pill (don’t worry, we checked online and it seemed he’d be okay – just a bit spacey and maybe he’d get the squits – sound familiar?).
‘Shit (ho ho), I dunno. Um, chill out, let go, get high?’
‘You’re struggling. What about wrecking the cushion you needlepointed for your mother?’ In an ‘I got you on this one, honey’ voice.
‘Easy. Let go of attachment to things. Yes, even things you worked hard for; that caused you huge struggle and effort. Love isn’t a cushion. Memory isn’t a cushion. My mother isn’t a cushion.’
Helpless laughter followed.
‘So. You gonna give the flirting another go?’ I asked.
‘Maybe. But you haven’t told me about Zumba yet.’
‘Oh, okay. But not now. And that’s not flirting; you do realise?’
‘Oh no. Zumba is more a case of throwing you up against the nearest wall and shagging you senseless.’
‘In that case,’ said Jane. ‘Sod the bloody flirting lark. I’ll move straight to Zumba.’