Feasts (Two Different Ones)

Last night Amanda and I went to the Phantom Feast which is held in Bad Manor, on the property of the Renaissance Festival. About a month ago, we went to the Feast of Fantasy, in the same building, on the same property. The two shows are very different, and both incredibly entertaining.

The Feast of Fantasy is a performance filled with belly dancers, fire eaters, sword swallowers, and the like. It is a six-course dinner with banquet-style service for which I would provide zero Michelin stars. It’s not about the food, it’s about the exhibition.  It’s fun, it’s funny, and it takes up three hours of an otherwise boring Sunday afternoon. This is the second year we attended, and we will certainly go back again. At the end of the show, they hand out $5 discount cards for the Phantom’s Feast which we wanted to attend last year, but we could not.

This year we did. The show starts around 6pm as we are all guided inside of a cozy room where the roughly 100 of us sit down in our assigned seats (our backs were to the decorated stage seen below)  at which our salads and desserts are already set. The salad is decent, and so as to not risk anything happening to my dessert like say maybe a ghost steals it, I devour it. The show begins with Jimmy (also the host of Feast of Fantasy) reading a Shakespeare verse, then telling some stories of the alleged haunting of Bad Manor and the property. Of course, at the proper times, some of the audience is startled by banging on the walls. Could it be malevolence? Perhaps.

Jimmy told his well-informed stories of the history of the grounds, and apprises us that the property sits atop a large quantity of silica sand which, of course, is small crystals. Crystals hold energy, it’s literally what they do, and it’s said that good and bad spirits alike haunt people at night. And in the day. They don't sleep or care about light. It's all at night for the living humans, and night makes things scarier for us. Living humans seem weak.

I offered to show Jimmy on the doll where the bad man.... Nevermind. Amanda was selected to participate. When Jimmy touched a part of the doll, Amanda reacted with the same limb. It was pretty cool.

Now, I know, it’s a show. But I kept an open mind. Last year I remember thinking randomly that I had not been to a funeral for a loved one since childhood. This year we have been to four funerals and we lost our dog. It’s been a tough year for loss, but I am equipped to deal with these stresses in an adult fashion, and I don’t think I’m at any risk of relapsing over anything that happens to me or others; I have a solid foundation and a great group of men in recovery that keep me grounded.

But..

I love things that make me think. Wonder, maybe, is a more appropriate term. I believe in God in that he speaks through me or others and that it is part of my program of A.A. That doesn’t mean I believe in a God, your God, or heaven or hell. It just means that I use the term God a lot when I say my little prayers, and when I really need the universe to look after somebody. Some of us in the program call it Good Orderly Direction. G.O.D. I like that.

I say that to say this. Whether or not there are any of those things listed above is irrelevant to me. I try almost every day to not be a piece of shit, and I hope that I get a little farther away from the person I was before I went to prison over five years ago. But after losing so many loved entities this year, I keep looking up at the starts and sincerely hoping that there is something more after this. And I find comfort in thinking that Willie is somewhere in the spirit world chasing a tennis ball that never stops. And that my Aunt Jerry is up there living without pain.

Somewhere, between the last moments of life, and the first moments of death, must be a quiet place where nothing hurts, everything shines, and everybody you love is at their peak. And whether that’s just synapses firing off randomly due to a spreading lack of oxygen, or a preview of the pearly gates, that could be the happiest moment of our lives. And maybe if there is somewhere for our spirit to wander around after our body is burned or buried—or I suppose in some cases eaten by wolves or maybe even cannibals—we can have a positive impact on lives from another angle.

All of the things that gave us the chills last night were coordinated, staged, rehearsed, etc. But they all were done really well. And they all made me wonder: where do we go from here?

If it’s all for naught, I suppose we could just focus on being loving and tolerant of each other while we have this 80 years or so. And if there is actually a hell, I will regret not being more of an asshole if I have to go down there for all of my past mistakes.

Either way, no more fucking funerals, 2019.

Our hostess with the mostess, Jimmy.

Zoom in. What do you see/.

Five Days Later

I guess it’s kind of tough to stop thinking about Willie. Strange noises around the house keep reminding me of his little distinctions. Amanda was brushing Emme’s hair last night in such a precise tempo that it exactly matched the speed at which he meandered down the vinyl hallway, tapping all along with his grotesque nails. I still have his collar, and when I picked it up from the floor yesterday because Roofus had chewed it in half, I sniffed it and his distinct bouquet made me well up ever so slightly.

His loss hit me harder than I thought it would, and I thought it would hit me hard. He was such an integral part of life, and for so long he was my wingdog. He had seen my worst and best, and he kept me company when I was alone. It’s been five days since I said goodbye, and I still feel grief. It is subsiding, and I know it will pass, but it might take a little time to adjust.

 

The day before I took him in for his final nap, I visited the McLeod County jail, where I had the opportunity to bring the message of A.A. to people in an all too familiar situation. There were three of us who showed up to share our experience, but sadly, only one inmate signed up for the meeting. I guess it isn’t sad, I was just hoping for a bigger turnout. It only takes two people to have an official meeting, so I suppose we had twice the requirement, which is twice what we have on occasion in my meeting in town. And we spent the hour talking, listening, and sharing our understanding of each other, and discovering the bond we all have, and imparting hope on somebody who may not know freedom for a long time.

I shared that I felt free for the first time in years while incarcerated. I told of how I started going to meetings because of the air conditioning, and I kept hearing things that made sense, and people kept telling stories that I lived, and nobody was shocked by the things I said. People understood me, and wanted to help me. And somehow, I helped them.

It was the first time I walked in and out of a jail without handcuffs. Nobody frisked me, and nobody checked my pockets before I went in or after I left. Nobody did a cavity search even though I offered money for one, and I didn’t have to go through a metal detector. It seems that they have some sort of trust for people in the program.

 

That’s about all I have for this one. I’ll be fine. I’ve been sad before, I’ll be sad again. I know that the only inevitability in life is death, and even though sometimes we know it’s coming, it’s still a shock to the system.

Go Twins.