I hate taking life seriously, because there’s time enough for seriousness. What is death if not serious, and that seems to last forever. – Jamaica Kincaid
If life had taught him anything, it was that life is not a good listener. You couldn’t teach life a damn thing. Life is a one way street.
Now know nobody has ever come back from the dead, because the news would’ve leaked, there’d be exclusives, fame, fortune, reality television show?
Dead guy like that could get elected President these days. No. Too surreal.
Life has its own gravity. Like water flows, life goes. First the fountain’s burst, rush away, periods of calm, choppy water sometimes, then the long slow rush to the sea. Rubicon was a river before it was an four-wheel-drive vehicle.
And if somebody tells you he was a dog in his past life, everybody looks at that guy like he’s crazy. So, he had stayed quiet. Lived his life like a leaf.
Because he had no idea what to do. He had an idea of what he thought he should do, but he was invariably wrong. Only variable would be how long it took him – or somebody else – to decide this was another dead end.
Life is a dead end. But he was still in the flow, a blessedly slow, calm period.
And so, you know the rest. Probably you heard it before.
Seems there was a vessel laden to the rails with treasure and booty on its way back to port. Love booty.
Still far to sea, a pirate ship approached, skull and crossbones striking fear wherever.
“Captain, captain, what shall we do?” asked the first mate.
“We fight,” said the captain, “First mate, go down to my cabin, open up my sea chest, and bring me back my red shirt.”
The first mate returned with the red shirt and the brightly-clad captain led the fight to repel the raiders.
Couple days later. Still far from home, the ship was again approached, simultaneously by two pirate schooners. Ships happen.
“Captain, captain, what shall we do?”
“We fight. First mate, bring me my red shirt!”
Led by their fearless captain in his red red shirt, the crew fought bravely. Taking too many casualties, they managed to defeat both parties of pirates.
That night, the survivors celebrated to excess. The first mate asked the captain what was so special about his bright red shirt.
“Simple, the captain exclaimed. “If I am wounded, the blood does not show, and my crew continues to fight without fear.”
Just as the ship seemed about to limp into port, maybe rich, maybe famous -suddenly! – the lookout in the crow’s nest cried out. An armada of the enemy blocked the way home. Must have been a dozen fighting frigates, heavily armed.
The first mate looked expectantly at his heroic leader. “Captain, we are out-manned, outgunned, outflanked. What shall we do?”
Face pale with fear, the captain managed to croak out, “First mate…. bring me my brown pants!”
Hey, that’s life. But next time I think I’ll be a pirate….
Long John Dogg.