Tag: karma

Sundaz Wandering Political Thoughts

Truth:

Worse things than the Epstain — sorry, Epstein — files are taking place. What’s fascinating is how Trump is diligently trying to deflect and distract from it. He’s metaphorically jumping up and down, trying to point to anything else, everything else, as long as it’s not the Epstain — sorry, did it again — Epstein file.

Of course, with almost legendary projection, Trump accused others of breaking the law while he breaks the law with impunity. Did it as a citizen, and has done it as POTUS.

And yet, this time, it doesn’t seem to be working.

But my real point here is, what shall we call this? The Trump-Epstein Scandal?

Trumpepstein?

The Trump Pedophile Scandal?

Or Karma?

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Enough

He ignored the man in the crosswalk, almost hitting the guy, not laughing about it, but feeling smug — hey, what’s the problem? I didn’t hit you, you’re fine, so you had to wait two seconds. Big deal.

Speeding up, he cut across lanes, scaring and angering other drivers, shrugging them off, pulling into the parking lot with a little squeal of tires. A space was there to the left, the car just finishing backing out, so he pulled in, cutting off another who was waiting. “Sorry, you snooze, you lose,” he told the woman giving him the finger, giving her the finger back.

He walked straight across the street, making cars stop — what were they going to do, hit him? As he reached the curb, he heard a ding. It wasn’t his phone, he didn’t know what it was, so he shrugged it off, turning right to go across another street, not looking, expecting the others to stop —

The truck driver couldn’t see him. “The sun flashed in my eyes,” he said. “I didn’t expect anyone to be crossing the road, anyhow, because I had the green light.”

The wayward pedestrian was crushed under a wheel, almost like a fluke accident, he heard the police say as his spirit departed his body. Only then did he realize that the ding had been a warning.

Karma had said, enough.

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Monday’s Theme Music

Watching some people do some shit, reading about people doing shit, I trend toward thinking about karma. The woman who runs the red light, narrowing missing people in the crosswalk, the lying politicians who claim that there’s nothing to be done about so many problems, corporations cheating and lying for another penny of profit, and a motley collection of other idiots doing mean, cruel, or nasty things. You probably have your own list.

I think about their karma. With some of them, I can feel their karmic energy radiating out, repulsing me. For them, today, I began streaming a Ratt tune from 1984. It goes, “Round and Round”. What goes around, comes around, I’ll tell you. Dig.

 

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Karma’s Ripples

He knew exactly what’d taken place.

The firefight wound down. Adrenalin still scorched his nerves, numbed his muscles, and drove instincts and senses. The others were in front of him. “Rat-a-tat-tat,” he said, shooting into his comrades’ backs. Laughter poured out of him as they jerked. “Rat-a-tat-tat.”

That was it. They were dead. He was alive. He’d enjoyed it, to be truthful. Killing felt good. Killing was the best way to set yourself free. He put his rifle in another dead man’s hand. “Bang, bang,” he said to the dead man, what’s his name? Why’d the dead have names? They’d never use them.

One sat up to his left. He didn’t see. Later, he knew, because he was the one, the one who’d killed, the one who was the killer, and the one who came back to kill the killer. Karma’s ripples were bigger than he’d known or suspected.

Sitting up, a temporary life in a dead man, he watched himself laugh as he remembered laughing, and then pointed the assault rifle at himself and emptied the magazine into himself, regretfully smiling as he jerked, gushed blood, and finally sank to the floor. Even so injured, he managed to turn his head and look at him. His lips moved, but he didn’t speak. He remembered, though, that he’d been about to say, “You,” because he knew, he knew.

It was really a mercy. With that done, he left the dead man and the site, returning to the bardo from whence he’d come. At last, he felt peace. At last, all the voices in his head fell quiet. At last, all the dead left him alone.

At last, karma’s ripples died.

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ATM

His turn, at last, just when he was about to explode from impatience. That woman ahead of him had taken, like, six minutes.

As soon as she walked away, he strode up. Spreading his fingers, he put his palm to the ATM’s cold, dark screen. A pulse rose through his fingers. Blue light limned his hand. Sharp tingling nibbled at his skin, and the hair everywhere on his body stood on end.

He tapped his foot, waiting for results. Like thirty seconds later, the ATM began printing sounds. More seconds passed. His hair flattened and then the pulsing faded, the light dimmed and disappeared, and the tingling ended. As he removed his hand, a slip of paper scrolled out. Finally.

Taking the paper with, he perused the print out. “You done?” the next person in line said.

Nodding with a grunt, he walked away, perusing his print out as he did. The bottom line was what he first went to read. It said, “Warning: your karma points have reached the minimum balance. Be careful what you do.”

A car horn blew. Looking up and around, he found the offending driver and gave them the finger. As soon as he realized what he’d done, he grimaced. Crumbling the paper up, he shoved it into his pocket and started walking fast. Of course his karma points were low. How the fuck were you supposed to get points in a world like this?

Getting into his car, he started it with a burst of smoky revs, shoved it into reverse, and punched the gas. His rear tires grabbed traction with a chirp. “Hey,” an old man shouted behind him. “Watch it.” Selecting drive, he scattered pedestrians as the car jumped forward. Cutting off another car, he started speeding down the street.

“Minimum balance,” he said, selecting another radio station and turning up the volume. “Fuck that noise.”

Lighting a cigarette, he went on down the road, speeding past a girl in the crosswalk. Minimum balance, right. How was he ever supposed to get karma points when the world was set against him?

As his father always said, there’s just no sense in trying.

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Karma

Seeing a stream of ants on the picnic table, Brett began crushing them with his thumb, smiling as he did.

The guy he didn’t know — there were a lot of them at this company picnic — came by and stopped, looking down, sunglasses mirroring the scene in shiny black. “What’re you doing?”

Brett thought it was obvious so he nuzzled a cold beer for a contemplative minute. “Killing ants. They’re invading the picnic. I’m saving the picnic.” He chortled. He was like a superhero.

“Don’t you know that every small creature you kill breeds a new cancer cell in you?”

Squelching his alarm, Brett snorted. “Bullshit. You made that up.” He was ready to stand up and punch the guy. How’d he know about his cancer? He’d just been told last Thursday. He hadn’t told anyone else yet.

“No, I recognized it and spoke it for you. Sorry about your cancer but you brought it on yourself.” He walked off.

Brett said, “Wait. That’s not fair. No one ever told me.”

The other turned to Brett but kept walking backward. “The ants didn’t think it was fair, either.” Pivoting, he strode away, leaving Brett to stare at the ants and wonder.

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String Theory

Once again, he found himself trimming the strings that attached him to others.

snip, snip 

he tried cutting off their strings of negativity energy

snip, snip

rigidity, judgement

snip, snip

anger, resentment, hostility

snip, snip

karma

But he’d learned by now that the strings were like hair,

always growing back, and eventually requiring a new trim.

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Spiteful Stuff

Okay, everyone harmonize. This will be a self-pitying blues ballad. Sing along if you want.

Some days I feel like the universe hates me. It’s not really mean, just spiteful. Exhibit number one.

The week before leaving to take care of family business on the East Coast, we were shopping. The wind wrenched the door out of my hand, slamming it into the car beside me.

There weren’t witnesses. I could have driven away.

I could see a small ding on the crease line. The Hyundai Elantra wasn’t a new car but a recent year. From the tags, someone had recently purchased it.

My deductible is a grand. I knew this would be less than a grand. I wrote a note, apologizing and providing my contact information. As it happened, I came out as the other drive was leaving. She hadn’t noticed the ding or my note, so she drove off, saw the note, parked and got out to look. I hurried up to her and talked about it.

Now, back home, I’ve received the bill: seven hundred forty dollars for a parking lot ding. Ouch.

Exhibit number two.

I had four flights scheduled for my trip, covering the travel there and back. There were all with United Airlines. I took two of those four; the rest were canceled or missed because the flight before it was late. I ended up on six flights, total. I was re-booked on four flights that were cancelled.  None of the flights took off on schedule. None arrived to their destination on schedule. One hundred percent failure in both of those areas.

I spent one night in the SFO airport going, and a day there coming back. I was supposed to be in that airport for about two hours, instead of eighteen.

One flight that I took was a re-booked flight to cover one of the cancellations. Going through Chicago, they couldn’t provide me a seat number for the next flight. “See them at the gate when you get there.”

We did that. The first agent told us we didn’t need another boarding pass or seats. We would use the same ones, and the same seats.

He was wrong.

The next agent got us seats but we weren’t together. We couldn’t get seats together. That was another recurring theme in this flying fiasco. Originally booked side-by-side, it took a lot of cajoling, talking and visits to agents at the gates to make it happen, and it failed sixty percent of the time.

So, the universe and I aren’t getting along well right now. I don’t think it’s me, personally, that’s making the universe spiteful. I think it’s weary of the world’s bullshit as much as I am. It’s tired of trying to be reasonable in the face of insanity. I understand, in a way, but I don’t like it.

To the universe, please let me know what I need to make it up to you. I’d really like to return to being on better terms with you.

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