Chapter 12
Sitting alone on a beach, matching the rhythm of his breath to the waves, used to be one way back to tranquility, but Jon found himself distracted by the couples walking, and the others on the beach. A dog running with his companion, and he was tempted to stare at her, the companion. He loved everything about a woman running for the joy of exercise. He himself couldn’t stand running, but he could watch a woman running indefinitely, and from angles. But he looked away, and without effort, though there was evidence of a frown had anyone been observant enough to notice. New stars were populating the sky. Designated constellations were being rewritten, dying or reborn, depending on the perspective you hold. A couple of people passing paused to see if he was okay, to which he politely responded, “Just processing,” which was better than outright lying with the gentle rebuff: ‘fine.’ He was not fine. He couldn’t fake a ‘fine’ if his life depended on it. The waves sparked florescent algae as they rolled and folded in on themselves, painting the beach in pastel greens that faded in intensity as it settled or eased back into the ocean. He wondered if the individual cells lit because they were dying on the beach or because of the force of impact. He sipped from his flask, wishing for something harder than water.
Loxy pulled up alongside of him. She hugged her legs and rested her chin on her knees, watching the lights play out on the shore and on the horizon’s skyline. She, too, matched her breathing to the ocean’s rhythm. She also grounded herself, attaching her energy to the core of the planet, and if anyone was watching with the right eyes, they would have seen her aura flare and blossom, another star going live in the Multiverse. She had a single flower in her hair, a gift from Alish.
Jon offered her the flask.
“Oh,” Loxy said, accepting it. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure you noticed my arrival.”
“I always see you, everywhere I go, in everything I do,” Jon said.
“You, Sir, have my full attention,” Loxy said. She sipped. “That’s always brilliant. Care to share?”
Jon took care to put his breathing back in sync. It was so easy to get off track with what he was following. He accepted the flask back, tightened the lid, and dropped it into his pocket. It disappeared. Loxy rested her head on her knees again, but was watching Jon as he stared into space.
“I am in a really dark place,” Jon said. “Timothy’s head,” Loxy said.
“Uh?” Jon asked, drawn back to Bliss. “Oh, no. That is actually surprising, predictably, kind of fun. I am enjoying sorting that, even if I do feign exhaustion.”
“Good for you,” Loxy said. “Because, I am struggling to deal with him in my preferred operational manner.”
“Oh? Is there something I can do to help?” Jon said. “At the moment I am here for you,” Loxy said.
“I would rather focus on something non-me, and being of service to you is my ideal,” Jon said.
“You’re already helping me,” Loxy assured him. “Tell me about this darkness you’ve touched upon.”
Jon drew his knees up to match Loxy, locked his elbows on his knees, and then planted his chin on his fist. He became aware of the fact he was holding his breath. He nearly stood up to walk away, but Loxy touched his arm.
“Lay down,” Loxy instructed.
“You’re always helping me. Don’t I need to figure this out on my own?” Jon said.
“Oh, fuck that belief,” Loxy said. “It’s archaic and unnecessary. We’re not in a vacuum, Jon. We are interdependent. We’re weights dangling from a mobile, all connected to source, and in my world, my branch, when you rise, I rise. That’s it. Now, lay down, please.”
Jon laid down, crossing his arms over his chest. Loxy separated his hands and laid his arms out on the ground beside him, palms up. She uncrossed his legs, too. His shoes were already off, his socks inside them. Loxy moved closer to him.
“Eyes open, pick a star, any star, and focus on it,” Loxy said.
Jon chuckled. “You’re going to hypnotize me into a better mood?”
“Nope,” Loxy said. “You don’t get out through suppression or ignoring. You get out by going through. You go up by going in.”
“I know,” Jon said.
“I know you know. You read a book, incorporated an idea into your being, and you speak it like a mantra and you give it to folks like a gift, but you rarely employ it on a personal, practical level. You have, which is why it holds such high validity in your present frame of reference, but you’re still learning,” Loxy said. “It’s okay if you want to go at it alone, but the thing is, you have taken it alone most of your life, and now you have any number of friends who would gladly process this with you without taking it away from you, or adding to your weight…”
“I am afraid,” Jon said.
“Oh, yay you,” Loxy said, putting her left hand on his chest, over his heart. “Tell me.”
“I am afraid of what you will think of me. Why am I always learning the same lesson, over and over?” Jon asked.
“What makes you think you learned it the first time?” Loxy asked, going for gentle humor.
Jon pouted, nearly turned his eyes away, but she rocked his chest, and whispered, “Shhh,
shhh, Jon, stay with me. How many injuries did it take to make you who you are? Oh, reframe. How many victories did it take to make you who you are? If we look at just the biological part, the brain develops in layers, like an onion, and if any ingredient is left out, like nurture, then you have clean onion sheet without any ridges or ripples or connections to the consecutive layers, and if you peeled it, it would just unravel. How many things in the universe do you know that just unravels clean? Heck, you can’t even take clothes hangers out of the closet without entanglement. And no matter how secure you make cords, power cords, earphones, any cords, throw a bunch of them in a drawer together and they all come out at once. The good news is, your brain is plastic. If in the normal development of your brain requires two to three years of solid, consistent nurturing, then you will need two to three years of solid, consistent, nurturing to wire that part of your brain. That, Sir, is where I come in. I got you. There is nothing you can say or do that would cause me to go away, and you are going to come to a point in our relationship where you are going to test that, and knowing my strengths, like ability to endure and resilience and your super ability to isolate, it’s probably going to be huge debacle. But no matter how it goes, unlike all the other people in your life who said they were through and left, I will weather that storm and you and I will be bigger and better because of it.”
“Oh, that really scares me,” Jon said. “That’s scarier than the flying monkeys!”
“Yeah, well, that’s one of the difficulties of learning lessons out of order,” Loxy said. “The other difficulty is assuming you got it in one life time. The things we repeat are core. Yeah, you learned to drive, but every day of driving is a new day in lessons, not just in driving but in love. Someone cuts you off, that wasn’t disrespect, it was lesson in avoiding obstacles and extending love, extending right of way even if it wasn’t right. When both people have power and the ability crash up the world, quibbling over moral jurisdiction is rarely fruitful. Take a moment and entrain your breath to the waters. Then push a grounding root.”
Jon did as he was instructed. He felt as if there were a million eyes on him, but he tuned them out and focused on his breath. Every star was an eye. “An I,” an inner voice added.
“Okay, focus on your star of choice,” Loxy said. His eyes bounced from point to pint, but finally settled. After a moment of little movement, Loxy closed her eyes, seeking an internal star, and asked: “What do you see?”
‘Starlight’ was going to be his response but he found himself back in the dark place. “I think I have discovered a past life. It’s not making much sense. I can clearly see me, but it’s not me.”
Loxy sorted the words, but also followed it with her intuition. She closed her eyes. “Present life,” Loxy said.
“A past present life?” Jon asked. “Tell me something else,” Loxy said. “I’m married there,” Jon whispered. “Yeah, I see that, too,” Loxy said.
“That doesn’t bother you?” Jon asked.
“It’s you but not you, no, it doesn’t bother me,” Loxy said. “Tell me something good.”
“I am the father of a toddler,” Jon said. He was so focused on the star that he didn’t see Loxy was smiling, mirroring the smile that Jon was trying to suppress. Neither noticed the tears that they each shed. “I love him so much! This is unbearable.”
“Shh, shh,” Loxy said, rocking him with the hand over his heart. “This moment is an exercise in trust. Trust you got this, and the Universe has you. I am with you.”
“He is so smart. He made his first allusion the other day. They were making banana nut bread and spilt the chocolate chips and he said, ‘we spilt choc-o-late just like George,’ referring to ‘Curious George goes to the chocolate factory.’ And he corrected mom when she called a hexagon an octagon. She was like, ‘who told you that?!’ And he said, ‘Dad said.’ And then she called me out, and I explained. But she still doesn’t get it. He is so tuned into us, and she reminded me she doesn’t love me, that she never loved me, and she said this in front of him. I am jumping through all kinds of obstacles to keep him in my life, no sex for three years, supporting her when she instructs him and he rebels, so that he understands that there is no triangulation going to happen, that we will be consistent in parenting. Even though there’s not. She yells and powers through him, where I instruct. And she hates that I get better results and I feel so alone…”
A scene flashed before them. ‘Mom’ took one of his fries and he slapped her hand and Jon gently corrected, “Sir, do not hit my wife, ever. We share our food.” It was spoken with a kindness, but with authority, and his son’s mouth puckered and his eyes filled with water. Then his mom said, “He never reacts like that when I yell at him.”
“I didn’t yell at him. Thunder doesn’t make flowers, only rain.” She went back to texting her friends. Jon and son continued eating, discussing the squirrels scampering about the yard.
“My only concern is his wellbeing,” Jon said. “And I knew it wasn’t working before we had him, and we had even separated.”
“That was when you surrendered it to God,” Loxy said.
“Yeah,” Jon said. “I have messed so many relationships up, I decided I should bring in a higher power and so I asked for guidance, to do something different, to do something I have never done, at least in that life. I made that prayer, surrender all impulses to flee or stay, and determined to wait for some sign. I God to take it. The moment I let go, I get this phone call from her informing me she was pregnant. I was like, ‘OMG, is there anyone else up there I can speak with?!’ Then I took in a deep breath and accepted this was meant to be. And I will tell you this, and I am pretty sure I have said this somewhere before, I don’t know, but I still mean it to my core: if you gave me a time machine and the freedom to change my life line, I would endure everything all again a million times over just to see that child! He is the most precious gift I have ever seen, and the kindest, most genuine loving, curious spirit I have ever encountered.”
Something warm splashed against Jon’s face and he opened his eyes. Loxy smiled down at him.
“Why are you crying?” Jon asked. He, too, was crying.
“Because, that’s love, Jon,” Loxy said. “You dug your heels in and instead of trying to make the world perfect, or running away when you could not get produce your ideal, you held your ground. You embraced the very thing you are most afraid of, being alone while with someone. You are suffering there, you want more, and that, too, is very reasonable, but you also are being a mature adult, and making sacrifices for other people’s benefits. It is in the holding and experiencing where transformation occurs, not in the running or fighting. You’re not blaming, either. You’re not disparaging her, or exaggerating the situation to make you look better or to appear as a victim. If anything, I think you’re under reporting your thoughts and feelings as you try to understand them and the situation and how you contributed to it. You realize she has the right to pursue what makes her happy, without shame or fault. She is failing and succeeding, too. No matter how much she hates you and feels stuck, she is struggling, with her own past and family of origin issues. There is balance here. She is learning from you. Your son is learning from both of you.”
Jon seemed more at ease. “Will I see him again?”
“You’re there now! There is no separation,” Loxy said. “But will ‘I’ see him, in person?” Jon asked.
“The Universe is a big, crazy space,” Loxy said. “I wouldn’t worry about that one.”
“Will they be alright when I die there?” Jon asked.
“You’re not going to die there. Not yet. You have more surprises waiting for you there before you jump to the next station,” Loxy said.
Loxy rested her head on his stomach, as if it were a pillow, and stared up into the stars. She took Jon’s hands and traced the lines unconsciously, pushing points where the stars on the other side of his hand would intersect, drawing the light through. She played connect the dots, a heart formed.
“Do you want children?” Jon asked.
Loxy smiled and kissed his hands. “You’re asking the night if it wants stars?”
“No, I am asking…”
“Jon, this here is you and me time. Out there, somewhere, we are parents, and maybe, one day, in our future, our children will visit us here, our retirement home, but for now, just listen to the stars for laughter,” Loxy said.
“I hear crying,” Jon said.
“Yeah, babies cry, but that’s just them saying hello, and it is so getting better,” Loxy said. “Tell me, how is your internship going?”
निनमित
Jon closed his eyes and he was there, in his intern office. He was playing with the ‘Magna-tiles,’ which was probably the most interesting toy he had seen in ages. The glow table allowed light to shine through the translucent shapes, and their internal magnets allowed them to maintain their forms, or pull apart easily enough to make new shapes, and he was so engaged that he didn’t realize his first client had entered his office.
“Are you the therapist, or a client?”
Jon looked up and blinked, sorting his impressions of the woman who had entered his office, and bit his lower lip. His first impression was, ‘wow.’ Her fluffy, wildly curled, blond hair fell just shy of her shoulders, which were bare. The dangling sleeves seemed to be holding her red romper up, barely, that and the twins. He was almost tempted to do magic and make it fall. He didn’t think it would take much effort. If she sneezed, it might shake her free. He suppressed an urge to sneeze and his eyes watered. She hid her eyes behind ‘Elton John’ shades. Opened toed shoes, tied to her feet and legs by thin, red, leather straps. Her skin was pale.
Almost whiter than the walls. He forced himself to breathe. “Um, depends,” Jon said.
“On?”
“Your level of sophistication,” Jon said. “What?” she asked.
“Well, if you’re smarter than me, then I am the client,” Jon said. “For real?” she asked.
“Yes. Otherwise, the answer is dependent on whether I accept you as a client,” Jon said. “Whether you accept me? I am in charge here. It’s whether I accept you,” she corrected. “Welcome to the world of magic,” Jon said. “Unfortunately, the way it works here is that you couldn’t be here unless you agreed to be here.”
“I don’t want to be here,” she said.
“Oh? Oh! That’s awesome,” Jon said. “Good for you. The egress is right over there. Have a nice day.”
“Really?!” she said.
“I am confused,” Jon said. “You’re confused?” she said.
“You just said you don’t want to be here,” Jon said. “I don’t want to be here,” she said.
Jon put down the squares he was holding, walked over to the egress, opened the door, and stared out down the length of the infinity hall and back to her. “The door is working. You should end up where you need to be.”
“You’re fucking kidding me?” she said.
Jon was really confused. “No, I am pretty confident, you go through this door, you end up where you’re supposed to be.”
“That’s not what I meant!” she snapped.
“Oh? Forgive me for being obtuse,” Jon said. “Could you clarify?”
“You’re kicking me out?” she said, incredulously.
“You said you don’t want to be here,” Jon reminded her, equally frustrated.
“They sent me here. If I don’t comply, they’re just going to send me back here,” she said. “That does seem like a problem,” Jon agreed.
“You suck at this therapy thing,” she said.
Jon pushed air under his lips and inflated them away from his teeth. “What is your evidence for that?”
“You haven’t introduced yourself, or asked me to lie down on the couch,” she said. “Oh, I am not that kind of a therapist. Wait, wait, wait, oh, yeah, technically, I am that kind of therapist, but we haven’t been properly introduced yet,” Jon said. “OMG, are you a moron? I just said that,” she said.
“I have an idea. Let’s start over,” Jon said, closing the door and running back to where he was. He sat down and picked the squares back up. For a moment he wondered if it the red and blue squares he was holding was indicative of anything beyond the fact he was holding red and blue squares. He looked at her through the squares, then through the overlapping squares. He saw nothing relevant and lowered his hands. “Go back to the door, pretend to come in and say, hi, my name is…”
She stared at him. He stared back. He put the blue the square over his left eye. Still nothing.
“This is crazy,” she said.
“Oh, come on, this is a fun game, just say hi, my name is…” Jon said. “Hi, my name is,” she said.
Jon waved the squares as if encouraging her to say her name, amused by her passive aggressive humor, which, he, too, often engaged in.
“You don’t know who I am?” she asked. “Should I know who you are?” Jon asked.
“You don’t have a list of clients that you’re seeing?”
“Oh, I don’t do lists,” Jon said, very serious. “And I don’t keep time or have appointments. People just show up when they need to show up.”
“That’s crazy!” she said.
“It can be pretty insane,” Jon agreed. “But it works for me.”
“How do you keep from having conflicts?” she asked.
Jon seemed confused. If you were watching, it was almost as if he was about to short circuit in the process of understanding the question. “How does anyone keep from having conflicts?”
“They keep a schedule!” she snapped.
“I find scheduling events increases the likelihood of conflicts,” Jon said. “No schedule, no conflicts. We just embrace life as it is.”
“Well that’s just crazy,” she said.
“And yet, you’re in my office,” Jon said, pointing a corner of the blue square at her. “I want someone else,” she said.
“Fair enough,” Jon said, pointing to the egress.
She headed for the door, touched the door knob, paused, and turned back to Jon. He bit his lip as if caught admiring her form. He wasn’t much of a butt guy, more a leg guy, but he could clearly discern the contours of her butt moving under the romper and hhis had felt compelled to pursue it, admiring the back of her thighs. He doubted it was lost on her. She sighed. “I am just going to end up back here in this office, aren’t I?”
“Honestly?” Jon asked.
“What do you think?!” she asked.
“I’ll make a deal with you. I will endeavor to answer honestly, if you will agree to the same,” Jon said.
She seemed to hesitate. “Fine,” she said.
“You’ll probably end up back here because whatever it was that brought you here probably thinks you have something to learn by being here, even if it’s nothing more than increasing your tolerance to suffering people who are less intelligent than you,” Jon said.
She grimaced. “I am sorry I suggested you were a moron.”
“Oh, no worries. Compared to most people, I am a raving lunatic,” Jon said. “I mean, you’d be surprised how many brilliant people there are in the Universe. Would you like to play this with me?”
“You’re serious?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah. This is even better than Lite Bright. I still like Lite Bright, but I love these shapes, and the colors, and look, they have magnets on the inside,” Jon said, demonstrating. “I think all future currency will be these funny little shapes, and it makes me think of Star Trek.”
“Really, seriously, is there anyone else in this place I can speak to?” she asked.
“Do you remember watching Charlie in the Chocolate Factory? Not the remake, but the original, Gene Wilder version,” Jon asked, with clarity.
“Yes,” she said.
“So, you and the universe has a need that has to be met; who do you want to go to, a maniac, wild genius that always produces fruit, candy fruit, or the boring, old, traditional, monotone, answer set that is generally helpful, but not necessarily the perfect fit for your life?” Jon asked.
“This is crazy!” she said.
“You have a strong attachment to that word,” Jon said.
“Look, all I want is the most expedient, direct answer to my problems that meets the criteria to keep me from coming back here,” she said.
“Oh, good for you. I have demanded the same thing from life, and the answer I got was, lightening never takes a straight path,” Jon said. “We’re all out of burning bushes and I don’t use a crystal ball, but if you want to play, we might make something interesting.”
“I don’t want to play!” she said.
Jon put the pieces down, stood long enough to walk to his chair, and sat down. He invited her to sit on the couch across from him. She sat and crossed her legs. She rocked her legs, which was distracting. He traced the calf muscle as the outline came and went, like waves on a beach as she rocked. He needed to distract himself.
“Are you okay if I drink coffee?” Jon asked. “Fine, whatever,” she said.
“Would you like some coffee?” Jon asked. “No, I don’t want any coffee,” she said. “Some water, perhaps?” Jon asked.
“I don’t want anything!” she snapped. “Oh,” Jon said, clearly sad.
“What?” she demanded.
“That’s going to make therapy incredibly difficult,” Jon said. “What?!”
“If you don’t want anything, this process isn’t likely to work,” Jon said. “I am telling you I don’t want anything to drink!” she snapped.
“Oh. Thank you for the clarification,” Jon said. “Whew. I was really worried there.”
“Worried about what?!”
“That this session might be incredibly long,” Jon said.
Jon picked up his coffee cup that was suddenly full with hot coffee. The aroma visibly rose from his cup and he inhaled it, and then breathed it back into the room, thinking ‘peace, peace, peace.’ He tried smiling at her.
“What?” she asked. “I am Jon,” he said.
“Just Jon?” she asked.
“Would you like a title?” Jon asked. “Actually,” she said.
“Like, I am the very model of modern major general kind of title?” Jon asked. “Are you making fun of me?”
“A little. Sorry. I am human,” Jon said. “That’s a title?” she asked.
“Do you have preference?” Jon asked. “Doctor? Counselor?” she asked.
“Oh, no, you won’t find any of those types here,” Jon said. “At least, not in the strictest, medical nomenclature kind of way.”
“What are you?” she asked.
“Human. But you can call me Jon,” he said. “What should I call you?”
“A taxi,” she mumbled.
“Ataxia? I like that,” Jon said. “Just call me Rachel,” she said. “Rachel Ataxia?”
“No, just Rachel,” she said. “Just Rachel, then,” Jon said.
“I swear, you’re being deliberately adversarial,” Rachel said.
“You’re right,” Jon said, genuinely apologetic. “I am sorry. Perhaps you would like to share what brought you here today.”
“I don’t know,” Rachel said.
Jon blinked. “Maybe it would help if I knew who ‘they’ were,” he offered. “They who?” Rachel asked.
“You said ‘they’ sent you here. Who would that be?” Jon asked. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Rachel said.
Jon nodded, sipped his coffee.
“What? Does it matter?” Rachel asked. Jon kind of shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Rachel asked.
“Not really,” Jon said. “It’s just, you seem like you urgently want this part of your life to be done, and yet, I have not yet found a way in.”
“You want to go in?” Rachel asked.
“And deep,” Jon said.
“Are we talking about therapy?” Rachel demanded. “What do you think we’re talking about?” Jon asked. “Nothing,” Rachel snapped. “Never mind.”
“How about if you lead,” Jon asked.
“Oh, so now we’re dancing?” Rachel asked. “If you prefer,” Jon said.
“Do you have children?” Rachel asked.
Jon’s best poker face came online, and he answered with: “It sounds like you would like to know if I can relate to you…”
“No, I just want you to answer the fucking question; do you have kids. Really simple.
Yes or no,” Rachel said.
Jon stared into his coffee cup for a long moment. “Here’s what I don’t like about this game,” he began. She was about to speak over him, but he held up a hand to silence her and she actually responded with silence, shocked silence, but silence. “No matter how I answer that question, we will be engaged in competition in which no one wins. If I say no, you will say, ‘then you can’t help me because I don’t understand.’ Never mind the argument that maybe I don’t have kids because I do understand how serious an endeavor raising a human being is and I have chosen, wisely or not, to avoid creating people in an environment not conducive to their wellbeing. Just saying that automatically shoves you further into a defensive position where now I have just called you a moron for bringing kids into the world when you don’t have fucking a clue what you’re doing. If I say I have kids, it becomes a race to see who can best the other. Yes, I have one child. ‘Oh, really? I have three, how can you understand what I go through.’ Yes, I have five kids? ‘Yeah, I suppose your kids are all perfect; how can you understand me when I have one with ADHD, one with autism, and one that’s got Down syndrome? How do you think you’re going to help me, a single mom, when I can’t work cause I am to busying trying to keep this one from plugging coat hangers into the sockets, while this was is jumping on the couch, and the other is going off with strangers, and I am exhausted cause I have no family or help, and no baby sitter will take them on, and I am around children all day, without adult interaction.’ Then there is whole level of therapy thing where it’s not about me, it’s about you, and so it is not helpful for you to know about my life. Even if I did share, it would never be equal, because this relationship, in general, is not about equality. In fact, it can generally be harmful for a client to know that their counselor is as screwed up as the rest of the world. Here’s what you need to take from this rant. I am a good counselor. What does that mean? I get it right most of the time. Like, better than 80 percent of the time. That’s way better statistics than say, flipping a coin, even better than the effectiveness of a placebo, and even way better than a psychic! Yep, psychics don’t always get it right either. Will I mess up? Maybe. What human doesn’t mess up? And if we do, well, we talk about it, and if the mess up is a blunder that is a direct result of my actions or words, then I will own it.”
Jon found himself outside of the therapy room, sitting in a chair, and across from him was Summer. She was pushing a button on a remote control which had paused the scene. She rewound it to right before the rant. She spun the camera view around so they could see his face on the screen, which might also have been a one way mirror seeing into the therapy room.
“What went through your mind right here?” Summer asked. “Oh, I don’t know,” Jon said.
“It’s important,” Summer said. “She asked if you had kids and you had this look.”
“It’s a look that says I hate that question,” Jon said. “That’s what I thought. Plus or minus some profanity.”
“Why didn’t you just say it out loud?” Summer asked. Jon shrugged. “I didn’t think that would be helpful.”
“But the rant is?”
“No,” Jon said, sullenly. “I am so not good at this…”
“Oh, stop that