Where The Hell Do All The Black Socks Go?

Over the months and years I began to notice the gradual decline of black socks. I would often notice that my sock drawer was filled with a dozen pair of nice black socks and as the months went by my collection of black socks dwindled. At a certain point during the year I would notice that I would only have one or two pairs of black socks left and then one day I would wonder silently to myself, where the hell do all the black socks go?

This recurring episode happened at least twenty times in my adult life. Ever since I started buying my own socks at the age of thirty-one, I noticed that there would be a gradual decline in the amount of black socks I owned. But I was young and self deprecating so I just assumed that the loss of black socks was my fault. I smoked a good amount of marijuana then, so I thought that I had misplaced my black socks when stoned. I also did my laundry at a laundry mat so it was more than possible that I was accidentally leaving my black socks behind in the dryer.

But as I began making more money, moved into an apartment with its own washer and dryer set and quit smoking marijuana I noticed that there was still this gradual decline in my black sock collection. But still I did not make much of it. I was thirty-four and preoccupied with that one lingering question that plagues most young men- what was I going to be when I grew up? As a result I had little time to worry about disappearing black socks. I would just go to Target, buy a $7.99 four pack of black dress socks and then get on with my life.

As my life became more domesticated and I found myself a married man, I started becoming more perplexed about where the hell all the black socks went. I was not yet at the stage where I was desperately searching for an answer but I was living with this question circulating around in my head. Since I was married and not making much money I was living on a budget. The budget was as tight as my pants had become. There was not enough money left over at the end of the month to go buy more black socks as I had done in the past. Now I had to learn to live with fewer pairs of black socks.

Every time I would sit down and put on my black socks I would wonder about them. Where the hell do you guys go? The mystery became too uncomfortable to carry around in my mind. I had to begin an official investigation. On the day I turned 40 I was getting dressed for my birthday dinner. I went to my sock drawer and noticed that there was only one black sock left. I had known for certain that only a few weeks ago I still had several pairs of black socks left. Now there was just one black sock. What the hell?

Dressed nicely for my birthday dinner I found myself inside of my dryer. A strange place to find oneself at 6:14 pm on their birthday, but I was driven by a irascible desire to solve the mystery. Enough was enough. First I looked inside of the washing machine. Nothing. Then I proceeded to climb into the dryer in search of some kind of explanation for the disappearance of all but one of my black socks. I was determined. As I moved around in the dryer looking for some clue, I accidentally turned the dryer carousel and ended up spinning upside down. I held myself in a manageable position by pressing both hands against the side of the dryer but my head was pressing into the metallic bumps of the carousel. I was in some pain and experienced some acid reflux. I did not know how to get out of this inverted position so I ended up kicking the top of the dryer in an attempt to turn myself right side up. But when I kicked the top of the dryer something broke. For a moment I became afraid that I would fall through some kind of dryer version of the rabbit hole and land in a massive pile of black socks. I envisioned my karma being that of a man forever trapped in a sea of all the worlds lost black socks. I panicked.

Fortunately my wife was able to hear loud thumping sounds coming from the laundry room and was smart enough to check out what was going on. When she found me inverted and stuck in the dryer she immediately began to laugh. What the hell are you doing? she asked me with an amused smile on her face. With her help I managed to stretch one leg over my stomach and head and onto the laundry room floor, turn my body right side up and climb out from the dryer. I did a kind of yoga like stretch that has left me with back pain until this day. I was trying to find out where the hell all my black socks went, I said once I had both feet on the ground, was standing straight and could breathe a sigh of relief.

At my 40th birthday dinner that evening I was wearing my one black sock and a borrowed gray sock from my wife. The sock was so small that I could feel it quietly ripping every time I moved my toes. It was obvious that I was preoccupied with something. People were asking me if anything was wrong. I then asked some of my male friends if they had the same problem with their black socks. I was surprised to find that they all had experienced the phenomena of disappearing black socks. Even the women at the table had noticed the same thing happening in their sock collection. We all tried to figure out where the hell the black socks go. There were so many possible explanations. They get left behind in the dryer, drop on the floor and get lost when we carry our laundry, etc. The only explanation that made any possible sense was that when we wash our clothes the black socks stick to the insides of our clothes and then when we wear those clothes out into the world the black socks fall out all over the place. But still I was not satisfied with this explanation. I mean if they fell out all over the place why would we not see them everywhere?

I became preoccupied with trying to figure out where all the black socks went. I did a lot of research on Google, but found no answers other than some Russian sock collector who offered a mystical explanation for disappearing black socks. I stopped purchasing black socks because I could no longer afford to lose them. My sock drawer became filled with red, brown and blue socks and over the months I noticed that none of them disappeared.

Then just yesterday I was on a walk. I often walk with my head down to avoid eye contact with passers-by. I also like to look at the ground moving under my feet. As I was walking I came upon a single black sock lying on the dirty sidewalk. I did not think much of it until a few minutes later when I happened upon another single black sock lying on the sidewalk. I was perplexed but I wrongly assumed that these black socks belonged to homeless people.

I continued to walk on and began noticing black sock after black sock after black sock lying on the sidewalk. What was going on? I lifted my head up and said out loud, what the hell? Where had all these black socks come from? I had walked this route at least three times a week and never noticed all these blacks socks before. Suddenly there were black socks EVERYWHERE. All over the sidewalks and in the streets. I stopped walking and looked  around. Cars were driving over the black socks and people walked past them as if they were not there. No one except myself seemed to notice all the discarded black socks all over the place. I let out a little giggle because finally I was seeing something that no one else saw. And then like all smart and logical married men on a budget, I proceeded to put aside my pride, bend over and start picking up and putting as many black socks as I could fit into my pockets.

In a Puddle of Mud

‎”The key to the mind is in my hand and I can turn it in any direction” — Maharajji

I have been going through quite a tempestuous time in my life. This morning I awoke early to take the dog for a walk. The negative ions hovering in the morning air rushed into my nose the moment I stepped out the front door. The dog and I walked, both of us unfolding into life like lotus buds that had been wilted all night. There were puddles all over the ground from the week’s rain but my dog and I made our way through them. As I walked I felt my mind go numb, my left leg was sore and my will weak. I walked slowly, almost hobbling, with my dog looking back at me wondering why I would not go faster. As we walked across a grass field I came upon a large puddle that looked more like a bath tub filled with mud. As I got closer to its lip, without hesitation, I let the dog’s leash go and allowed my body to fall forward into the unknown.

When I came through I was resting face first in a puddle of mud. I floated on the surface of the puddle like an infant in amniotic fluid. My ears were beneath the mud so I could only make out the muted sounds of my dog’s concerned bark. I floated there for a moment, feeling still and at ease. I kept my eyes closed and imaged that I was levitating, hovering just above everything that had become my life. When I could no longer hold my breath any longer, I got up onto my knees and wiped the mud from my face. Particles of dirt caused my eyes to tear and as I got up onto my feet, for a moment I had a difficult time finding balance. My dog was smiling, jumping around, hopping up and down as if he was seeing me for the first time. It was not yet nine in the morning and I was already covered in mud. After a search that took a minute or so, I found my dogs leash and the two of us continued on with our walk.

“Chicken!”

I enjoy walking through the suburban streets of my neighborhood in the fall. There is something comfortable yet foreboding about it. Halloween is weeks away and a long winter hangs in the background like a presence that is felt, but yet to be seen. I like to feel the cooling breeze swipe itself against my aging face as I walk. Leaves whisk past, fallen from the branches which once gave them life and I contemplate things like my mortality and the speed at which life seems to pass by. I look into the windows of other people’s homes and meditate upon all the ways that we humans try to create a feeling of security and permanence within the never-ending windmill of time. My walks tend to be more contemplative in the fall, more so than at any other time in the year. I think it has something to do with the end of summer and the beginning of a darker more introverted time of year. Sometimes in my contemplative state I sniff flowers and pay attention to things that I would normally ignore, such as a chicken.

The large chicken was grazing the front lawn of a nicely landscaped home. I looked around to see if anyone was keeping an eye on the chicken but there was no one around except a few elderly people hanging out on their front porch, far down the street. Since I live in an agricultural town, with farms all around- it is not unusual to see various kinds of livestock wandering aimlessly around. However this particular chicken took me by surprise. He (I do not know what the chicken’s sex was but for the sake of this story I will refer to him by the masculine gender) seemed to be larger, less fearful than most other chickens I had seen and he had this bright red mohawk running from the top of his head all the way down to the bottom of his spine. Since I stopped eating meat almost a year ago I felt like it would be possible for the chicken and I to get along. I had never met a chicken before and felt like this introspective fall day would be a perfect time to meet. I bent my legs and clasped my hands on my knees. I called the chicken in the same high-pitched voice that I use to talk with babies, cats and dogs. “Hello there chicken, what is your name?” I kindly inquired. The chicken lifted its regal head, turned its beak towards me and stared directly into my eyes. He had finely sculpted cheekbones, large all knowing eyes and a beak that looked like the helm of a pirate ship. Without wasting a moment’s time, the chicken began to walk right towards me. I did not expect this kind of unflinching courage from a chicken and I felt a bit intimidated by its forthrightness. So I withdrew my invitation to meet and quickly turned around and walked away. I had never touched or been close to a chicken before and the limited space between us created a mystery that I suddenly became too afraid to explore.

The chicken backed off as well and went back to grazing on the front lawn. As I was walking away, I could not help but feel like I missed an opportunity to meet a chicken. I also felt like I was acting like a coward and allowing fear to get in the way. I remembered something I heard from a Buddhist teacher about smiling at fear rather than running from it. So I turned around and walked back over to the chicken who seemed to be preoccupied with pulling green grass out of the ground. I was within five feet of the chicken when I bent my legs, put my hand on my knees, smiled and said in my high-pitched baby voice, “You’re a good chicken. What are you doing out here all by yourself? What is your name? My name is Randall.” I proceeded to call the chicken over to me in the same way that I would call a cat. I was determined to pet a chicken without fear getting in the way. Again the chicken lifted its head, looked at me straight in the eyes and then he opened his mouth allowing a large handful of grass to fall out. Without giving me a second to understand what was taking place, the chicken pointed the helm of its beak straight at me and began to charge. I felt a wave of fear overcome me- to powerful to ignore. My smile went away and immediately my fight or flight instinct over powered me. I ran.

As I was running I realized that that the chicken was chasing me. I could hear a demonic cackling sound coming from its throat. I do not know what the cackle meant but it sounded like very primal fighting words to me. I could hear the chickens winged feet slapping against the sidewalk as it started to catch up with me (I had no idea that chickens could run so fast). I remember thinking to myself “no, no, no, I am not ready to die!” as the chicken got closer and closer to me. My horror and desire to live allowed for me to run at a speed that I no longer knew I was capable of. I ran for two very long blocks at top speed until the chickens horrifying cackling began to gradually fade into the background. I gradually slowed down and turned my head. I noticed that the chicken was walking back the other way. He had given up. I stopped, put my hands on my knees and tried to catch my breath. I felt like I had just escaped what could have been the end of me. Beads of sweat began to drizzle off of my forehead and make a drip like painting on the sidewalk. I looked again at the chicken whose red mohawk was sticking straight up as he walked back towards the lawn. I then looked across the street, where I could hear two elderly people laughing. They were sitting on their front porch and enjoying what had become a show for them in which I was the main actor. The old lady who sounded like she had no teeth yelled out at me, “chicken!” and then made a kind of inhumane cackling sound. All I could do was mumble under my breath “okay, whatever,” shake my head in recognition of being the one who was being laughed at and walk away.

The following afternoon I went for another walk. I was observing the piles of leaves on the ground and listening to the various sounds that the leaves made as they tumbled down the street in the afternoon breeze. I decided to stay away from the street where I was chased by the chicken. I felt slightly embarrassed to show my face on that street. I was also afraid of the chicken. So I walked in the opposite direction. I observed various flowers and contemplated various episodes of my youth that I had not thought about in years. I recalled the time that I was attacked by two white poodles while on my way home from school and how I had run away from them in tears with my ankles bleeding and pant legs all torn up by the poodles teeth. Maybe I ran from the chicken because I was traumatized by this episode in my youth? I then thought about all the ways that our past experiences affect our behavior in the present. And then as I was walking and thinking, I noticed a large piece of paper stapled to a telephone pole. In large, bold, black letters it read: MISSING CHICKEN! Below this was a picture of a large chicken with a red mohawk. It was the same chicken that had chased me the day before. Beneath the picture was written: HIS NAME IS MILO, IF YOU SEE HIM PLEASE CALL 916-748-1175. HE IS A VERY SWEET CHICKEN BUT HE CAN ALSO BE AGRESSIVE AT TIMES. REWARD.

At The End Of A Rainbow

 

Ever wonder if there is really a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?

It had been raining for a week straight. Streets had become shallow rivers and plants were drowning in excess water. A dusty shade of gray had colored in the sky until yesterday, when the clouds decided to break. I was sitting at my desk trying to keep my mind off the dismal weather outside. A pen drawing of a nude woman sat unfinished on my desk for hours because I was having difficulty staying interested in it. I had the radio on and repeatedly looked up from the drawing and stared out the window. I watched the rainfall and my spirit took delight in the birds that I saw sliding across the wet sky. Then it happened. The sun began cracking through the gray colored sky like an eye that was struggling to perceive the divine when off to my right I noticed something that I was not used to seeing through my window. What was taking shape right before my tired eyes- was the birth of the most resplendent rainbow I had ever seen.

The colors of the rainbow began to form gradually and then grew into bright vibrating hues of red, yellow, blue, green and violet. I sat mesmerized at my desk watching this creation of nature unfold in front of me. For a moment I was reminded of the rainbow flag that was used in the German Peasants war in the 16th century as a sign of a new era, of hope and change. So much awe overcame me that I had to go outside and watch the birth of this rainbow without the obstruction of a window. I noticed other residents of my neighborhood coming outside their homes and observing the same thing that was mesmerizing me. Bicyclists, dog walkers and joggers all stopped to watch the uncanny sight. The luminous rainbow covered the entire length of the city in which I live and owned the sky like a majestic doorway into some unknown place.

After ten minutes or so of staring at the rainbow, I slowly lost interest and decided to come back inside and finish the nude drawing. Even though what I should have been doing was spending my day looking for a job, I am a master procrastinator who will find the most obscure ways to distract myself from what really needs to get done. As I worked on the women’s hips the idea that there is a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow, popped into my mind. As a child my mother, my grandmother, a baby sitter and several of my teachers had often told me this but as I grew older other adults told me this idea was just a myth or a superstition. I believed these adults without ever really checking for myself to see if they were right or wrong. Now, however, I was in a different predicament. I was a thirty-eight-year-old man, a victim of the great recession who was out of work and unable to pay next months rent if I did not find some money fast. When the thought occurred to me that I should go check and see if there really was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow– I said to myself “what the hell- I got nothing to lose.”

I am an average, lower middle-class man. I am a dull man with very few friends, who would rather not work be left alone so I can read books. When I found myself putting on warm clothes to go on a long journey in the cold and emptying out my backpack to take with me (just in case I did find gold) the thought did occur to me that maybe I had lost my mind. “Maybe I already lost my sanity months ago and this is the real reason why I am broke and having a hard time finding a job,” I thought to myself. I tried not to listen to this judgmental voice of mine and just focused my attention on what I remember my grandmother saying to me many years ago when she showed me my first rainbow. “The end of the rainbow is further way than you think, but if you keep on walking really far you will be rewarded by finding the most beautiful pot of gold right where all those brilliant colors touch the ground,” she said to me.

It must have been below fifty degrees outside when I began my “end of the rainbow” search. I threw away the naked drawing I had been working on and fed the cat before I left. I had an empty backpack on my back, thick gloves on my hands, a wool hat covering my ears and the anticipation of an excited child inside my rapidly beating heart. As I walked I imagined to myself what my life could really be like if I found a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I would be able to not only pay my rent next month but also never again have to spend sleepless nights terrified by what I was going to do if I ran out of money. I would not have to eat beans out of a can anymore or tell my wife that I cannot afford to meet her for lunch or dinner. No more frozen food. No more ripped socks and old underwear. No more jobs and bosses I cannot stand. No more suffocating anxiety every time I spend more than a dollar. If there is a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow, I told myself, I will be free.

These thoughts caused me to walk faster. I could feel anticipation in my feet. As I walked I noticed more people stopped in the streets, watching the rainbow in a state of awe. I however did not bother to look up. I had both my eyes set on one place, and one place only- where the colors of the rainbow touched the ground. My grandmother was not wrong when she told me that I would have to walk really far. The closer I thought I was getting to the end of the rainbow the further away that it seemed to be. When I finally felt as if I had reached the end- the rainbow moved a little further from me. After an hour or so of walking frantically I was exhausted but determined not to give up. The thought did not occur to me that the end of the rainbow could be an optical illusion, like a pool of water in the middle of a hot desert. Had that thought come into my mind- I may have given up.

One belief that I have never let go of is that all perseverance is rewarded in the end. It must be! With this belief buried deep in my heart I kept on walking towards the end of the rainbow no matter how many times it seemed to shift. I walked off road and went through horse stables, ravines, cornfields and forest areas with thick overgrown shrubbery. I felt like a warrior on a mission that I would never surrender when in reality I was just a man who really needed money.

As I walked out from a claustrophobic cornfield that threatened to burry me alive, I finally came upon the end of the rainbow. There it was before me touching down in the middle of a dirt field in the middle of nowhere. All around was nothing but miles and miles of wide-open farmland. The end of the rainbow was not more than half a mile away from me and without a moments hesitation I began to run across the field with the slow speed and tight muscles of someone who has not exercised in months. I was willing to die for what could be at the end of that rainbow. I felt terribly out of breath as I ran but I forced myself to run faster because I was afraid that the end of the rainbow would get away. But all my determination paid off, because right when I could run no more I stood directly in front of the radiant colors of refracted light. I had made it to the place where “the brilliant colors touch the ground.” But my grandmother failed to tell me about what would happen next.

It was not until I was finally able to catch my breath that I was able to see what was in front of me. A young woman, no older the twenty-five, was rainbow bathing in the nude in the center of the rainbow. It took me a moment to see whether or not what I was seeing was real or just the result of an exhausted mind. Sure enough, when she sat up and looked at me with a bright smile I could see that what I was seeing was not an illusion. She was lying on a red towel that had the word “Hawaii” all over it. She watched me as I watched her until I finally got the courage to say to her, “excuse me. Ah….I do not mean to bother you…. but did you by chance…. find a pot of gold in there?” I knew that what I was saying must have sounded ridiculous, a little insane but she did not laugh or seem in the slightest bit surprised by my question. She just stood up and said to me “why don’t you get undressed and come in here and see.”

I felt my throat tighten up. I was shocked. The young woman was too beautiful, so perfect in every way that I felt like something had to be wrong. Things like this just do not happen to me. I was much older than her and could not understand why she would want to see me naked. I was slightly embarrassed but again I reminded myself that I had nothing to lose. The young lady stood there in all her nudity, patiently waiting for me to make up my confused mind. I was still thinking about the pot of gold. I so badly wanted the money. “Maybe it is hidden someplace in there, maybe she is hiding it,” I thought to myself. So like any desperate person would do- I said what the hell, got undressed and walked into a rainbow. She reached out her hand for me and I walked in just as naked as the day I was born- except for my wedding ring and the backpack in my hand (just in case I was going to find the pot of gold).

I remember reading someplace that the ultraviolet light put off by rainbows was beneficial for skin cells and blood. The light was filled with vitamins D, K, E, C and numerous antioxidants. I was comforted by the thoughts of these health benefits (since I have been struggling with some health challenges) as the young woman held my hand and escorted me towards her red towel. One of the only things she said to me during our time together was “there is no need to talk. Just feel and allow yourself to let go.” When we sat down side by side on the towel I tried not to stare at her naked body. I could not tell what mesmerized me more- being besides an exquisite naked young lady or being inside a rainbow. I also could not tell if it was the warm rays of a rainbow heating up my body or if it was my nervousness that was making me warm. The young woman started to rub my back with the palm of her warm hand and then whispered into my ear “lay back, let go and feel.” It was at this moment that the thought- “maybe she is an angel,” ran through my mind.

I followed her directions since I was in no condition to argue. I was a little concerned about getting an erection but I took my mind of off any sexual thoughts by visualizing a pound of ground beef. She lay down besides me- so close that I could feel her skin breathing. Together we lied there, not saying anything to one another, just feeling the warmth of the rainbow. Slowly I felt my eyes close and my heart slow. For the first time in months I felt my mind become still and my body felt at ease. I was hovering someplace between bliss and relaxation, feeling the individual colors and mist of the rainbow nurturing my skin. I was not cold and there were no thoughts about needing money frantically swimming around in my mind. I could swear the sun was shinning and the sky was a brilliant shade of blue. I did not worry about anything. For the first time in months- I did not think about how I was going to find a job or what I was going to do. Everything seemed to become silent except the exquisite sounds of the vibrating rainbow. The last thing I remember saying was “wow!” before I finally let go, let go, let go, let go.

When I opened my eyes I was lying naked in the middle of dirt field. I did not know if an hour or days had passed. Cold rain was falling on my body and there was no longer any an inch of sun in the sky. I looked around and all I could see was miles and miles of farmland. Besides me was my empty backpack and a few feet from me were all of my clothes neatly folded and placed in a pile The young girl was gone and so was the rainbow. I was shivering from the cold when I got up to put on my wet pants, shirt, sweater, and shoes. I looked around me to see if anyone else had witnessed what had just happened. No one. I put on my wool hat, gloves and backpack and started walking out of the dirt field. I did not feel sad, frustrated or confused. In fact I did not feel any negative emotion at all. I simply felt each step I took and listened to the raindrops as they fell all around me with a deep sense of satisfaction. When I finally made it back to the road I turned around and looked at the field that I had been lying naked in. It was at that point that I thought to myself, “so that is what they mean by a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.” I smiled, took a deep breath and began my long journey home.