Monday, February 12, 2007

Late on a Monday...

Yet here I sit, one lone blogger in a sea of bloggers, a teeny ass fish in a big ass bowl.

I’d like to think my writing is profound and deep beyond measure but alas, the clap trap that oozes from my keys is mundane. Why else would I have barely 20 hits a day? Shit, the local softball scores or bowling league results get more hits.

I had a couple fascinating conversations with two extraordinary gentlemen whilst I was ensconced at the hospital. Both conversations revolved around spirituality and were really esoteric and tres cool.

The first took place with a phlebotomist, those guys who skulk around drawing blood at the wee hours of the night and morning. The vampire du jour, we’ll call him Daniel, was quiet and unassuming, almost in a Zen like way. So I did what I’m accustomed to doing, I started talking shit and Dan opened right up. I’m nothing if not unabashedly curious as to the inner works of almost every mind I come in contact with. So Dan and I talked philosophy for nearly an hour. His individual belief was a bit amorphous sprinkled with a touch of quiet yet esoteric dissonance. It was Zen mixed with Calvinism, a truly spacey and tripped out set of beliefs. Now I can’t do his fascinating observations justice so I won’t try. But this cat, Daniel, was extremely kind, thoughtful, and intelligent spiced by a pinch of stoic intensity, a true poet with a big needle. We exchanged email addresses but I fear, as with most such encounters, addresses will be lost. But I will never forget that talk, the time when I tripped down the boulevard of spirituality with a dude named Dan, a surreal journey into the inner workings of the soul. Take care man, and never let shit burry you too deep.

The very next morning, maybe a scant eight hours after I spoke with Daniel, a priest came in my room and asked the obligatory questions querying my religious preference and whatnot. So, being still invigorated by Dan’s musings, and admittedly high as a damn kite from 2ml of dilauded given minutes before, I struck up a conversation similar to the earlier chat with Dan. And to my pleasant surprise the Father was of a similar mindset about God and spirituality as was I. So when I said I was nondenominational but believed highly in a Big Kahuna and Christ his ears perked up. We sat and bandied about the meaning of God and spirituality for a half hour. The Father was surprisingly open to my eclectic views of God and he wasn’t offended when I questioned the wisdom of erecting stone edifices in tribute to God instead of cultivating the cathedrals we build in our hearts and minds. The Father was a nice mix of patience, wisdom, and intellect.

I’ll never forget these two conversations.

Let me not forget my favorite nurse, Ricci. She was so seat and funny and did everything the way I liked it. She combined a razor sharp wit with fierce intelligence. And she was always quick with a radiant smile. She’s the best.

Then there was my favorite cat of all time, Al. This dude has been working at my favorite hospital and on the same floor doing the same shift for 20 years. How to describe the indescribable? Al is a kooky mix of Barry White, Bill Withers, Eddie Murphy, Chris Berman, and John Holmes. Al’s dying wish is to become a porn star. Go figure. I loved rapping with this kid all night. Sometimes the nurses would get pissed because Al was idling in my room shooting the shit, talking about sports and life’s quirky turns. Al is and always was a poet, a man with a gift of wit and intelligence. Yet to hear his self-deprecating candor you’d swear he was neurotic, not erotic. But that’s Al, a living breathing contradiction, a question mark wrapped in a riddle. He, more so than any other, made my numerous stays at the hospital bearable.

So, before you go lamenting my plight remember I made some memories that will last a lifetime.