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       One of my favorite holiday weekend approaches. Long range forecast calls for ninety degrees and sunny here in New Jersey. Although I’ve developed this allergy to melanoma, I’ll find a corner of a Jersey shore beach; pretend I’m on the summit of Kilimanjaro, plant a beach umbrella (not flag) near the virginal Atlantic ocean (no oil tar balls yet), open a beach chair, plop, smear exposed body parts with copious lotions and oils, cover toes with a beach towel and press play on walk man, filling auditory senses with sixties folk music. “How many seas must a white dove sail before she sleeps in the sand.” (without oil now added)

            A restless mind keeps me awake at night. Eyes close for a few token hours. Perhaps 100 minutes on the exercise bike-in addition to endorphin release-stimulates cerebral intelligence telomeres to lengthen on the spot. The last few weeks have been moderately tortuous. Issues not of the self but of the earth, force pillow hostility; keep pounding the source of pretend discomfort. Actually it’s the gulf tragedy. “Leave the pillows alone,” I whisper sitting alone in the den, my dock at the bay. And it’s much more. An energy rising. Soulful. On a clear day, I can see forever. That’s bothersome in my solitude and insomnia.

            People have favorite causes, hobbies, NFL teams and places for cheese steak. I like IKE (some might remember this was Eisenhower’s campaign slogan) and environmental causes. Why IKE? I don’t know. Every time I see a picture of the capital rotunda, I think of him. I also don’t like Bad Santa Clauses and Bad Companies. A long time ago I was a pharmacist; means drug companies are close to heart. I have a dream. Drug companies really care. Sequencing of the genome back in 2000 was supposed to lead to an unprecedented amount of new medicines. Not. Old drugs seem to get in trouble. Vioxx in 2004 caused increased rate of heart attacks. Don’t we all love when the company downplays heart issues until evidence undeniable? I’m a warm fuzzy sixties guy wanting to believe in the goodness of American companies. Avandia(a diabetes drug) is in the news. One study said 1 out of 37 people died from a heart attack. Our Senate said the company knew about possible risks for years; failed to sufficiently warn FDA. Pfizer makes Lipitor for cholesterol. It did $11 billion last year (more $ than people going to movies. Not bad). They also made Exubera(10 years of testing)( a new inhaled form of insulin in 2006). Nobody used it so they paid $2.8 billion to rid itself. Does all this cause my pillow pounding? Symptoms and patterns do. By the way I love pharmacies that cell (spelled wrong on purpose) cigarettes.

            Some nights instead of pounding pillows, I listen to the soothing wonderful sounds of Coyote Oldman, ‘Tear of the Moon,’  Native American flute music. There’s also a Native American prophecy I think about. America will come and go. We forget how to live on earth. We’re at crossroads. Hopi spirit is called Konkachila, meaning Grandfather. Spirit is also my grandfather; a little synchronicity. They believe the first World War was when Columbus came. Ninety-five percent of our bodies is water. Back when Columbus arrived, you could drink from any body of water. Now small mouth bass male fish (71 to 100%) in our fresh water have eggs in them. Hopi prophecy: more storms and floods. We are one family. We are the children. I just sighed.

            I spent the day today listening to Israel Kamakawiwo’ole(IZ) singing Hawai-i Aloha, gently being transported to a world of peace and love. Thankful I re-discovered him; a voice of an angel, beautiful and gentle. Culture and diversity is beauty. They say in 2050 there’ll be 9 billion of us here on earth. I say,” if.” I worry and lament.  If becomes “if only.” More pillow pounding notions. Droughts. Floods. Hurricanes. Tsunamis. Earthquakes. Volcanic eruptions. Global warming. Disease. Suffering. Terrorism. Nuclear proliferation. Hopi say earth will be purified. Nostradamus wrote about an asteroid. Chinese I-Ching talks about end of history. Bible talks about apocalypse. The Prophecy of Malachy predicts only one more pope. Cayce talked about another Atlantis. So I pound pillows. So I watch the world let Iran mess around with nukes. So I remember Darfur. So there won’t be any more fish in the ocean in a few decades. Technology to the rescue. Grow everything we need. Imagined myself going to a store of petri dishes and ordering tuna for next spring.

            Sometimes you see things. I’ve been seeing since I started writing novels. And all of a sudden I see Sally, where ever I may find her. Beyond the drizzle of the rain. Now with a need to go out and buy new pillows, I decided to re-invent before milestones play havoc with gravity. One day we’ll live forever, grow extra hearts if needed. Archie Bunker turned fifty; he resigned himself to a chair, the Post, a beer and bowling with the ‘Cannonballers.’ A call came in last week from a Rutgers buddy. Do I want to go whitewater rafting? Of course I didn’t. That’s dangerous stuff. Two seconds later I did. I rapidly thought about Hopi Indians and Hawaii Aloha and BP and drug companies and my feathery new pillows and my grandfather. I said yes. Two dozen times, right up to sitting in the raft before shoving off for four hours of rapids and pure nature, I thought of heading back to the snack bar and waiting. But I belonged and will continue to belong to “now.” Now is wonder and relevant. Next perhaps, Galveston, Texas; the bay and saying “now” again. Or perhaps following in Woody Guthrie’s footsteps and hopping a freight train all the way to Anchorage, Alaska. Hopping off if I see a group of men huddled by a fire. You ask why? Because.

            Have a wonderful Fourth of July. Please check website http://vichywater.net for updates.

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