Keep the Cosmic Tumblers Moving

     “Luck knows no reason nor ‘what’s right.”
― Palladas of Alexandria

   Recently I heard somebody mention the idea of “cosmic tumblers”, in reference to our fates being determined by powers greater than ourselves.

   The last two days, I’ve had a run of luck such that my cosmic tumblers are stuck on straight zeroes.

   I usually refuse to vent life’s misfortunes in any online arena, as I can’t stand digesting the daily complaints myself via printed word.  The misfortunes of others are only interesting when they enter train-wreck territory, feeding our ugly little desire to rubberneck.  Either air your dirty laundry in spectacularly embarrassing fashion or, conversely, give us an uplifting quote from Ekhart Tolle to put a spring in our step.  Nobody gives a shit that you have the sniffles, or that it’s raining, or that you dropped your smartphone in the toilet.  Life’s too short, busy and complicated to weigh ourselves down with the gripes.

    nobodycares

   I mention this last two day run more as a curious anomaly to life’s usual sense of order: a mix of good luck and bad in equal measure and interspersed enough to not threaten one’s sanity.  The last 2 days, the tumblers got stuck on snake eyes across the board and left me feeling like Michael Douglas at the beginning of the movie “Falling Down”.  Maybe it’s just life in Los Angeles?

fallingdown  A recap of my last 36 hours:

    Freeway construction renders me late for my noon pickup hockey game and

    a forest fire in the Burbank hills leaves me in a two hour traffic jam and late for my afternoon meeting and                                      

    after 3.5 hours spent in the car, I drive to Sherman Oaks to soothe my nerves with a viewing of Lincoln and 

lincoln

   the website had the wrong time and the movie is half over and

    I stop at the grocery store on the way home, pickup a bottle of scotch to take the razor sharp edge off and………..

    the cashier neglects to remove the alarm tag bottle stopper and upon arriving home the bottle is unable to be opened and

     so I fall into a tearful sleep and 

     I wake up this morning and prepare for a flight to Vancouver, hoping the hex will lift upon leaving town and 

     I park at a coffee shop near LAX to grab a coffee, pay for parking and the coffee shop is closed for health inspection and 

     I arrive at check in, the baggage check carousel is malfunctioning, an ear splitting alarm is sounding and the lineup is out the door, full of screaming babies and 

    I arrive at the gate, flight is delayed 2.5 hours and 

    I decide to have an overdue drink at the bar and they’re out of my favourite beer and

   they’re out of my favourite wine and 

    I return to gate to find gate and terminal for flight has changed and 

   I hike to the other terminal and flight is further delayed and

   here I sit at LAX, writing this blog.

twilightzone   Am I irate?  I numbed out momentarily, the preferable coping mechanism to losing one’s shit.

   This hex has somehow provoked me to think of those times when the tumblers lined up all to the good.  Those brief moments in life when synergy crackles and life’s beautiful potential is on display in technicolor.  As I sit here steeping in those wonderful memories,  I’ve finally been able to smile at the recent misfortunes and I’m moved by the ambiguity of it all.

    So I wait here in the shittiest of shit hole airports, next to a girl with severe sinus problems, sitting on this ass numbing vinyl seat, with a cranky gate attendant talking too close to the microphone and this $12 tuna melt throwing roundhouse punches in my intestines….

    And I feel grateful for the storm.

    It’s made me feel calm.

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