The Master stays behind;
that is why she is ahead.
She is detached from all things;
that is why she is one with them.
Because she has let go of herself,
she is perfectly fulfilled.
Tao te Ching
Charlie went missing today.
Obviously not TOO missing. There are only so many places he can go. But I walked out to where I thought he was, and he wasn’t there. Poof.
Panic flooded my belly. Just for an instant before my brain overrode it, but it was there. The panic. That clenchy sicky-icky feeling that runs from your solar plexus down to your poop chute. Everything went kind of watery, like I was going to turn into liquid and evaporate into the air, ceasing to exist in a Charlie-less universe.
Everything is so uncertain. So I question everything I think I know or understand about the world. And maybe, in this new world, people can vanish. Or get raptured up like the Christians believed.
(Note, it’s kinda funny how so many of them think that this whole fiasco is the onset of the tribulations and Jesus is going to come driving back in a big bus and pick them up so they can ride in the commute lane back into heaven. But they’re kinda forgetting that the whole rapture thing is supposed to happen BEFORE the tribulations. If this is the pocky-lips, they already missed the bus. They’re going to find themselves on that other bus headed in the opposite direction. Maybe they should have read the book instead of letting other people give them the Cliff’s Notes. How unfortunate! But I don’t want to get spoilerish with the ending, so I’ll stop there.)
Charlie has never been good at communicating stuff like where he’s going, or what he’s looking for, or why he’s walking through the house carrying a guest towel, a teaspoon, and a picklejar. In fact, he gets nonplussed if I ask. We might be in the middle of a movie on TV and he’ll get up and leave. Maybe he’s going to the bathroom. Maybe he’s decided he doesn’t like the movie and he’s going to go do something else. Maybe he’s having an uncontrollable craving for popcorn so he’s going to drive to the store to buy some. He won’t say. He just ups and leaves. He used to get really pissy if I asked him where he was going, like asking is some sort of secret control thing women do to men, and he wasn’t going to fall for THAT shit.
Now, I usually note him rising, shake my head, and keep watching the screen. If he’s just going to the bathroom he might be miffed that I didn’t pause it for him, but too bad, dude. Shoulda said something. But oh, how he hates words. I should mention that he also thinks language is something women made up to control men.
(I’m pretty sure some crusty, mouth-frothy Archie Bunker avatar is holed up in a corner of his brain, whispering warnings to him about how females are trying to take over the world with men’s balls dipped in gold and hanging like wrinkly little pendants from our necks.)
So anyway, when he wasn’t there, I should have figured he’d gone for a walk, or went down to make love to one of his iron mistresses, or he’s in the bathroom. Obvious stuff. But I didn’t. It was like I had forgotten all of that “object permanence” stuff I learned in infancy. Charlie had been there. Now Charlie wasn’t there. So obviously Charlie no longer existed. No more Charlie.
Stomach clench. Tears stinging the backs of my eyeballs, trying to push their way out. It took all of my self control not to start running around the house like a madwoman screaming his name. This pandemic has devolved me into a five-year-old child in need of its favorite charliebear for comfort, and there is no naptime without charliebear.
It took pure willpower to awaken the grownup inside me. I took a breath and just headed back to the craft room where I’ve been holing up with Netflix and my ipad and my laptop. It’s a small room, but small feels somehow better right now, as if I can wrap myself up in cozy, familiar walls and stay warm and safe. No wonder I call my craft room my “womb room.” But I could wait out the great Charlie Disappearance Tragedy of 2020 until it was over, and everything would be fine.
As I walked back to the safety zone I glanced out the front window. Down below I could see the popped-up hood of one of his cars. Aha. It was indeed an Iron Mistress who had pulled his attentions away from sitting stock still and simply being eternally present in case I needed to touch his shoulder and remember I am real.
It’s been only 10 days. At this rate I’ll be in diapers by next Tuesday. Sigh.
At least I’ll survive.
Up the Tao Staircase 