Xemit

Three sounds my ears-to-brain connection cannot easily distinguish from the other: the roaring sound of a jet flying high overhead, the sound of hard plastic wheels of a baby carrier my neighbour pushes down the street, the sound of the heat pump through the house walls.

Soon, I shall be back on course, having achieved an important goal, and can return my character Lee to his Martian settlements.

What is the difference between meditation and prayer?

My GP M.D. gave me a book titled The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg.

As I flip through it, I ask if the difference between meditation and prayer is like the difference between Ubuntu Linux and Microsoft Windows operating systems.

Since everything around me is the illusion I want it to be, then I get to choose to say what differentiates meditation from prayer, taking into consideration all the billions of folks like me in order to keep my illusion in relative peace with itself, more and more free of unnecessary conflict as the measured changes between sets of states of energy we call days pass by.

Understanding that the semipermeable membranes we call cultures filter how the changes pass from one set of billion to another.

In this meditative moment, I let contradictory thought patterns pass through each other with ease, able to watch them reverberate out of phase with each other secure in my beliefs that who I am is who I am and who you are is who you are, no need to feed natural levels of insecurity, happy to build up our healthy level of support for our comfort zones.

I used to fear not having the right answer for questions, quite possibly due to my school-age training when being a people pleaser meant wanting to provide the learned responses to questions taught to us by our authoritative, grownup teachers, and get immediate approval from them for my support of the teachers’ participation in the education system upon which they depended for their livelihood, mental health and social acceptance.

The path toward my eventual demise takes many detours.

Luckily, despite some of my unhealthy habits, I am, at 51+ years of age, healthier than I should be.

According to new guidelines, there seems to be no more reason for me to take the blood pressure and cholesterol lowering medication that had been prescribed for my former unhealthy habits.

If I paid for three months’ worth of the medicine and have used a month of it, should I go ahead and finish what I have, throw it away or give it to someone who might could use it (I love the colloquialism of that last phrase)?

Regardless, it is, as the whisper said, time for me to step up to the plate and be a man.

Tonight, I take an important step in that direction, having postponed this step because of a habit in my childhood of being ornery to keep a small distance between myself and my father’s stern shadow hanging over me, matching passive-aggressive response to passive-aggressive paternal discipline system.

What happens next is a series of decisions that divert/reduce childish/immature behaviour and encourage childlike wonder/amazement in accomplishing mature tasks.

All while focused on a major event 13286 days from now.

How will I include my sardonic/sarcastic/wry humour in this new direction I’m taking?  Perhaps by saying it’s time I pass the zeitgeist humour making to others so I can spend more time on timeless issues in which humour is incorporated at a less obvious level, in the whole shape of society rather just in sarcastic throwaway headline news.

I don’t have a ready answer and I’m learning it’s okay to say I don’t really know what’s going to happen next.

I am secure in knowing uncertainty is a key component of my future.

Is that the difference between meditation and prayer?

Is meditation simply accepting the here-and-now as it is and prayer a request for a certain change to occur?

No, that’s not it.  In both cases, gratefulness is accepting what is and being thankful for it.  Meditation may be a request for peace in a troubled life.

How about if I just lean my head back and take a quick nap?

Withdrawal symptoms

Lee looked at the Moon.

Full.

Its face lit from ear to ear.

He sipped unsweetened tea through a straw.

He had acclimated to the planet’s atmosphere.

Listening to conversations at nearby tables in the Mediterranean cafe, he asked himself what drove the animals to sit upright in chairs, stabbing food with forks and lifting it to their mouths, a seemingly inefficient method of fuel consumption.

Which Lee was he?

He knew he was not the first, the original version of himself lost to the ravages of natural body aging processes, close approximations stored in ISSA Net database structures for replication and ability to stay in play during the ongoing chess match of life in the inner solar system.

He observed the dense mats of water vapour greying the sky, low clouds passing right to left or southwest to northeast in his view.

The weather forecast predicted heavy bands of rain, the unstable air mass collision between two temperature zones.

Lee took stock of his external covering.

Were the layers of clothing sufficient to keep him cool during the warm weather today and the cool rainy weather later in the evening?

How much protection did he need?

Would he avail himself of the dominant species’ infrastructure or forego ready-made transportation networks and walk to his next destination?

The “muscles” of his legs had accumulated toxic chemicals that prevented him from long distance running across the local terrain.

He missed the gravity of Mars but not the uniforms that allowed him to breathe and survive the temperature swings and solar radiation on the surface of Mars.

Developed to handle many a Martian sol, he still had body connections to Earth’s environment due to his link to the original Lee.

He rubbed his thighs.

A perceptible ache throbbed below the skin.

His body had been running for days.

He needed a break but had to stay on schedule.

Lee wondered if he could find what he was looking for.

The schedule left no room for doubt.

He had to acquire his target, no question about competing against the weather or aberrations in his body’s behaviour.

Lee hadn’t slept well for three straight nights.

He was suffering a type of withdrawal, a homesickness he had not been trained to anticipate and compensate for.

He sorely missed the touch and voice of Bai, he had an almost daily addiction to Guin, and the familiar smells of Martian food were not refreshing his memories in normal patterns as he was used to.

Lee was no trained special agent or spy. He was not a highly-skilled militaritian sent to keep the ISSA Net finely-tuned.

Lee was on Earth to accomplish a mission for the future, his role purely temporal, sent by his original self in the past to return to the home planet and retrieve a milestone buried behind the cornerstone of a prehistoric building almost guaranteed to exist regardless of the wax and wane of civilisation.

The original Lee had not accounted for checkpoints and tracking systems that analysed the movement of the bipedal animals and predicted their behaviour.

Lee did not want his movements to predict his destination in case someone or some algorithm in the ISSA Net perceived Lee’s plans as a threat that needed to be stopped.

To reduce endangering the schedule milestone retrieval, he had randomised his direction, assuming the role of a vagabond, a wanderer, passing near his destination several times without stopping, spending days in one spot doing nothing but sitting and observing, then running for weeks from place to place, expending energy he wanted to conserve, wearing out his body parts without access to replacements until he returned to Mars.

He decided it was time to approach the destination.

He shook his head from side to side to pop a vertebra back in place.

He wanted to send a thought to Guin, feel Bai’s hand running down his spine, but he could not risk the lives of the future Lees because of his personal needs.

Lee breathed.

He smelled the air.

Olive oil. garlic. Perfume. Sodium chloride. Styrofoam. Grilled chicken breast.

He had stored enough fuel in his body to last a few days, compensating for his worn legs, to give him a chance for long distance running again, if not a few sprints, too.

Lee stood up.

Time to go.

Get the milestone on time and he could return to Mars.

If not…?

Lee pushed doubt out of his thoughts.

He always achieved his goals.

Lee never planned to fail.