I Ching At 44

ppc_4400.jpgSo yesterday I turned 44. I went hunting for various meanings of the number and came up with two: about twelve years ago, Apple renamed the (butt ugly, PC-looking, metal-beige, garbage-y) PowerMac 4400 for Australia because it seemed that 44 was an unlucky number, or had some other kind of negative cultural baggage attached to it. Think Chevy Nova selling in Spain: Chevy No Va (translation, roughly: “It does not go”).

The other employment of “44”—this one metaphysical—is Hexagram 44 of the I Ching:


So, cultural el mundo malo or ominous-yet-spot-on instruction? Me, I’ll always go for the learning.

Some Teas, Brownies & Images

Yesterday as I sat down on Ronald’s sofa with a large (closed) drawing pad beside me, Ronald emerged from his last session, excused himself for a few moments and urged me into his office. I didn’t dare open the pad because I had other things to talk about first. It was a therapy session after all.

Ronald showed up with a small decorative bag in his hands; I didn’t notice until after he’d shut the door and sat down, but it’s all such a wonderful space to be in and that bright, sheeny gold and copper sac with a yarn pull ending with a beautiful tassle was just par for the course: it belonged.

Ronald handed me a foil-wrapped package first: “Birthday Brownies” he said, smiling. Usually I don’t very much like being stuck for words, but there in that place, and he, there in that place, I could do nothing but let the silence of inability echo itself out. Then he handed me that sac. I hesitated to open it because customs differ, but he quickly encouraged me to do so.

Let’s go back a week: I had emailed Ronald asking him where he got his teas from, the ones he has out and available in his waiting room. He emailed me back, but I never got around to going to get them (lazy bastard that I am).

I’d asked Ronald last time to schedule me sometime yesterday, April 3, because I wanted to spend some part of my birthday with him. No more and no less. His company, his sage advice, the organic silences he allows to ripen on the vine; and for that matter his simple kindnesses and general spirit, altogether: a safe haven for The Sea Child, if for just a litle while.

Litte-whiles are important, but the levels of their importance is solely up to you.

Be warned: stay too long an you’ll lose a limb; little-whiles make no promises.