I celebrated my 26th birthday on September 15th, 2016 in a salsa bar in Madrid dancing with a drunk and obliging 21 year-old Wisconsin sorority girl whose consciousness hadn’t quite pierced the veil of self-awareness yet, it was still wading in the waters of the being the Mary Magdelene of the college skin-and-flesh contest among zonked out egomaniacal, horny post-teenagers. Maddy was firmly implanted in her Pretty-Young-thing-who doesn’t-need-wit-with-an-ass-like-that phase and that bright mid-western smile that just super vacuums the weight or meaning straight out of her words and makes it hard for me to concentrate on anything, besides God her eyes are so blue, how do her jeans hug her curves that tight? A loud and seemingly confident, but absent of critical thought, persona seems to fit her well. The drunk dudes hitting on her daily are none the wiser. It was fun to play this chess match of faux-combative flirting technique that seemed right out of the textbook of so many of my drunk pick-up dance routines form college, except, this time I was stone-cold sober.
The main takeaway of my waltz of drunken ego and community theatre with Maddy was: the existence of an immediate power dynamic, the implicit message I get from her is, well, what do you have to offer, I got a bunch of suitors, and I can get sex, I have options, so what do you have? Do you have the masculine cocksuredness of the most muscular football player on the team at Wisconsin, because I that’s what I am evaluating in my slightly too long pauses that are also because I am buzzed and my thoughts are buried in a bowl of pudding that I have to wrestle one out of a bowl each time I want to put a sentence together.
It’s always interesting watching people descend, or switch dimensions into this paralysis of critical thought and into the instinctual humping animal mode. I love watching it, the collective bacchanal being had, but watching it teeter on the edge of civility and non-barbarianism, knowing that if no one was forced to stay upright and be polite or civil, because of norms, we might all get naked and have an orgy and just act like animals for a night, because we’ve all played out what an orgy would look like in real life. I’ve entertained myself for long stretches, created a movie in my mind while I’m in bed, directing the actors, you’re with him and you’re riding our middle-aged professor, and your under Michelle Monaghan.
A week later, in late September of 2016, I am bouncing from $15 Hostel to $13 a night hostel for a few weeks in the course of looking for an apartment. I am enjoying the assortment of characters and foreign women with whom I can re-invent myself with in the common room of each hostel with my puppy/trust frequency (this is what we call it with my energy reader) that seems to resonate from my core. I don’t go on any bar crawls or get drunk, so my target range with women is the slightly mom-ish or more responsible girls, or intellectuals, maybe they are 23 or 24, beginning their job teaching English, as thousands others who have just arrived in Madrid that month.
I am sitting in the Cat Hostel in the Sol Neighborhood of Madrid, in the large common, area, four walls are lined with couches, that are littered with the wayward and hungover travelers on this Saturday afternoon. It was wide and open enough that private and intimate conversations could be had on each wall.
A girl named Nicole sat next to me on this couch. We got to talking about our comings and goings. I am an exceptionally bulletproof weatherer of rejection or critical internal self-talk while solo-traveling and I love this about myself. It makes me wonder if I am always meeting the real Peter while I am traveling and the Peter at home and in NY is the Peter who is a prisoner of habit, politeness and the unfortunate collateral damage of the tyrannical convention of terrified souls that cling to ritual and conformity, like a college administrator clings to the idea that he is not an overpaid, snide, bureaucratic, waste of space.
Nicole is going to Medical School in Heidelberg, she relays to me that this University is considered the best medical school in the world. She also plays the cello and travels Europe playing in concert Halls. Seasoned and culturally adept enough to make me consider why I never cared about anything enough to commit my life climbing a ladder and checking off each rings and getting a PING, like Mario in Mario Kart, when he hits the level-up icon on each rung. Then laugh at myself knowing I’ll be ashes and dust in 70 years, or 20. Nicole’s mom was from Syria and father is German.
She was 22 and had a smile and a lightness that exuded this dexterity with being the one with all the gold stars and A’s and solo’s in her concerts, but it wasn’t snobby, I wasn’t cynically dissecting her “illusions.” I just felt good in her presence, sharing presence and co-creating a reality on that couch. Stepping into a chamber, a frequency that we were both creating, she was closer than anyone has been in a while to a sort of combination of well-placed sting in a sentence and complete immersion in thought while also being anchored in to the other person’s words when they were speaking, (which is a close mirror of me).
There was an effortlessness, an innocence, and a grace, a greatness that didn’t need announced, her aura made itself known. She was aware of her beauty and her grace but she was still sweet and pure. Purity is a rare thing these days. (Psssssshh, hey, I think purity in people is much easier to find pure people OUTSIDE of the United States of America, because it is a police state that entered the 1984 reality about 20 years ago and has only descended deeper into the state of thought control and totalitarianism.)
Nicole mentioned that she had met a few other travelers and they were going out to eat in 2 hours and do you want to meet back here at 7 to come? Sure, I’d like that. At the bar, we ate Tapas and she mimicked the way I put in my iPhone password with cat-like quickness. At that exact moment I sensed she might be interested, as it was a gesture of interest, of teasing. When we were ushering out of the restaurant to head back to the hostel, I said I was taking a cab back to the hostel as I had a stress fracture in my foot and would rather not walk. She took a few seconds, weighed the options. I’ll go with you, she said, with the sweet and genuine smile of the NGO volunteer in the third world country.
Is she just normally sweet and friendly, or does she like me?
While in the cab, I readied to make a move, or a kiss, being a seeming novice, not knowing if there would be any chance to make known my romantic interest once back in the hostel bar. I didn’t get her number, but we are staying the same hostel, ugh fuck it. I shimmied, bent, strained in my mind, like I was trying to get a drink from a dickhead NYC bartender with a fumanchu and a tux-vest while standing next to a girl with fake tits, and the bartender ignored me completely. Through the seven minute cab ride, the whole time, thinking every 5- 8 seconds, should I try to kiss her after she finishes this train of thought? Should I touch her hand first so I don’t startle her just going straight in for the home run? Will I feel like a worthless piece of shit if I pussy out of this ? Will I then have to crucify myself in my mind for this deplorable pissed away opportunity?
So the conversationalist part of my brain went on autopilot while I interrogated and pressured the module of my subconscious that is forever the ambivalent buyer, the indecisive skydiver, wanting to have proof he won’t die before jumping at 20,000 feet, the child who wants to make a joke but wants to know there will be laugh. All of them and more are added daily are buried in a massive pile that now comprise the hesitancy and self-doubt mechanism continent in my brain, more like a county. The residents of the county are prudent and paranoid and never let a dog off the leash, never let Tommy go anywhere without his mommy or a chaperone. Peter, you’re in a cab in Madrid with a beautiful girl, not in the ambivalent land of the people-pleasing, risk-haters who wither away into their old age never knowing that risk can never be fully abolished and must be harnessed.
At the hostel bar, when we return, I eagerly wade through the surface level and chemically enhanced camaraderie of the random assortment of searchers who anxiously swig their 1 euro small plastic cup beers in an effort to clog and confuse their brain’s inhibition mechanisms . I put in my time and want to synchronize my leaving or heading to “bed” with Nicole’s. So I sit on a stool drinking my stupid little cup of water while others give me their disapproving gazes. I’m hating every second of it and I just want to get her alone. Fast forward 3 hours and we exit together. Head to the couches where there is maybe one other person who will be gone soon, it is 3 am, Nicole tells me she has to catch a bus to Granada at 6:30 am. She tells me she is not sleeping tonight, she will sleep on the bus.
Is she staying up because of me? Or because she is killing time and doesn’t want to sleep before the bus?
Holding out for the chance to get lucky with this one night safe-play Pete, the introspective, chillin out non-drinker, Pete who plays it cool despite being a nervous wreck on the inside, who is not a serial killer and I’m never gona see him again , so maybe we have sex and I go on my merry way on the bus. Or maybe, I just have a companion and I’m one of those girls who likes platonic male energy and company. Too bad you can’t actually read my mind, Pete, this is just your educated guesses at what I think.
These scenarios are playing on the wall of my imaginal perception while I am popping in and out of the conversation with her.
“Want to watch an episode of friends?” Nicole says, as she queues up the Netflix, She has barely any accent, so I can’t marinate and savor the melodic and clumpy German accents that I so love. Nicole has that kind of non-accent that the English speaking centric, Germans have that might appear more like a speech impediment that pops up every tenth sentence of their spoken word.
“Here” she offers me a headphone and I shimmy slightly closer as I take it and put it in. I sit there for another hour and with each five minute quadrant that passes, I say about 50% less words than the previous 5 minutes. The mental paralysis has now made it out to my extremities and my physical movements have become retarded. After the panic and paralysis seized complete control over the mind, it’s next logical step was to render these rehearsed-in-my-mind scenarios of making a move, inoperable. With each passing minute, my silence seems to hum and pulse louder, my lack of action became palpable and the elephant in the room. Good job, Peter, you’ve successfully neutered and emasculated yourself. She doesn’t make it known that she is disappointed that I didn’t make a move as the last few specs of sand slip out of the hour glass, before I say Good night, but the energy feels like she is emitting Why didn’t he make a move?
You fucking eunic, might as well have my balls removed, you gonna jerk off for the rest of your life? Pussy, disgrace. Fuck you Peter, you fucked my life up, I’m supposed to experience love and sex, in a human vessel and actualize what the fuck I came here to do but instead I’m still an awkward teenager who can’t make a move. Not kissing her is a microcosm for you missing the boat on any and every good opportunity in your life.
May 2018 :
Jeannie is the human resources Manager of the company called Peter.
“Paranoia and anti-risk county just resurfaced now that we are doing some major layoffs in brain modules lately, yup, we gotta say, hey Stan, I don’t give a shit if you have to feed your kids or not, your DONE, so go tell your sob story to your podcast. Peter’s higher self is on a mission from God, he’s not fucking around, just take your pictures and your squishy balls, ketchup packets and whatever other random shit you have and get out!” Jeannie says.
Stan is walking down the hall with a box of picture frames and trophies and condiments, his loosened tie, beer gut pudge in a slack hang over his belt.
“Stan, hey, wait, come back now, Peter’s higher self wants to have a word, he feels bad for being so hasty.” Jeannie from Human Resources comes racing down the hall, “come to the back conference room.”
“Ok.” Stan follows Jeannie sullenly.
“Come over here by the wall, Peter’s higher self wants to address the 50 of you in the Paranoia and anti-risk department. He wants to smooth things over and talk about severance packages, and thank you for your hard work.” Jeannie ushers him over.
One of the security guards gestures and whispers to Jeannie, “Everyone is present?”
“Yeah, they’re all here.” Jeannie says.
“Ok, we are good to go.” The security guard says into his bluetooth device with a finger on his ear.
The guard and Jeannie exit the room, and the employees of the Paranoia and anti-risk department roar and scream in a desperate panic as four armed soldiers enter the room, and after 20 seconds of machine gun fire, all is quiet.
The CEO, Peter, with his clean shave, gelled and coiffed hair, a waft of cologne announcing his presence when he walks into a room, and a rolex on his wrist, waits outside. Peter’s higher self comes speaks to him ( a disembodied voice) , “come in and see this Peter”. Peter walks into the room, body parts, puddles of blood, brains and organs are strewn about the walls and windows, the aroma of burnt flesh and freshly spent magazines fill the air.
“Why did you do this higher self? I mean wasn’t it enough to fire them and let them go on, isn’t this a little bit sadistic?” Peter says. As he finished the sentence, all the bodies and the blood and organs disappeared instantly.
Higher self: Peter, they were never really there, you created them, like you create everything that you perceive and experience as “separate”, you’re going to create beautiful things from now on. Kill them, don’t kill them, they were never even there, your “mind” as you define it, is la-la land, it is an invention. I”l send you a few more Nicole’s in different forms and different dynamics in the next few years, so you can jump back in, I got you buddy.
May 22, 2018:
Dear Peter of September 2016,
I now know that you had bigger things on your mind and that you define your existence based on higher dimensional truths and that you were created, or YOU created this mind and soul, heart, body, that would be questioning, dissolving, dying , being reborn, diving deeper in to the mystery at almost every moment and you knew it would torture you and cause you to find the deeper trust in your own heart. You designed all this shit before you incarnated here Peter! Did I create every last spec and idiosyncrasy, nuance of this being, this soul who came to earth with a mission??
I know now that having this make-up, after all of these years, that I needed to learn the lesson, of what is NOT for me, which is many, many things, almost everything in this world seems to be NOT for me. And every last awkward encounter where I seemed to be the round peg trying to fit into the square hole was meant to say PETER YOU CAME HERE TO CREATE YOUR OWN SHIT, NOT FOLLOW A SINGLE STEP OF ANYONE ELSE’S PATH. None of that conformity and crowd shit is for you. NORMAL hahaha what the fuck is NORMAL??????
So, I forgive you man, you were still stuck in that silly illusion of thinking that it actually mattered whether you kissed Nicole or not. You thought you could never be in love at any moment, haha, now that concept is laughable, I’m still in love with Nicole, as aI am with all my ex-girlfriends, and everyone really, just up in the higher dimensions. Which I can tune into when I shut my eyes and tune and ask my higher self for assistance and he says ” Dissolve another layer of ego, you are love and always will be, feel that love dammit, I’m jealous you’re the one who got to incarnate on earth this time. Enjoy it! Lot of spirit beings would’ve killed to be in a body on earth, even though it is considered one of the most violent and evil planets/dimensions, but that’s why you volunteered, there is the most capacity for change. “
Present day Peter