Enough

Fools claim that I am neither even nor odd. In my realm, multiplication is death and division is insanity. Vanity is useless for I define all, and only I will remain when all is gone. I cannot be invented, modified, or denied – attempts to add to or diminish from my presence do not require my presence. I am nothing and that is enough.

That’s just the big Zero talking about being Zero, but how much is enough? One more drink, one more orgasm, one more smile, one more sunset, one more breath, one more cent, one more tumor, one more what!? Too many or too much, countable or uncountable – it all started from nothing.

I had a dream that I was Hitler in his last days. Instead of being in a bunker, I was in a polished forest filled with trees so high that they disappeared into painful brightness. I knew that the countryside was talking about me, plotting and predicting when I would end my life. I was about to oblige them when I looked down into a tin cup filled with coffee grounds. There was enough coffee in there to brew another pot. I decided that I’d finish off the coffee first.

I remained in my water bed and tried to decipher this dream. Part of it has to be this blood and iron battle lust that’s been growing in me as I count down the hours to the surgery. Hitler burst into the dream because he’s a historical figure reported to have had one testicle. He lost the other one from an abdominal injury he sustained during World War I. The surgeon who removed Hitler’s testicle and probably saved his life later cursed himself for letting such a man remain in this world. The surgeon also reported that Hitler’s first question after the surgery was “will I still be able to have children?” As for ending Hitler’s life, I’m not feeling suicidal - I’ve already endured enough cowardice and don’t need to abide by that notion. I’m just tired of waiting. I want to get past this current state. I need an answer even if that means getting peeled apart. Oh yeah - the coffee part of the dream was due to my Mom grinding and brewing coffee in the kitchen downstairs as Hitler contemplated his final days.

The coffee in my dream cup was enough, a disassembled but still accurate hourglass. This will be my last, lengthy post until after the surgery, so I want it to be enough.

The surgeon for this major operation has a great track record. Everything will go well. There will be no cancer spread. That will be enough.

What if the surgeon slips? Well, actually, it will be more of a prolonged spasm. It will happen after the surgical team has finished opening me up from sternum to waist. My internal organs and intestines will have been shifted to all the proper locations. The Doctor’s entire arm will tremble uncontrollably, unreasonably; it won’t stop until he’s sawed through my intestines and severed the nerves along my spinal cord. By then my body will be twitching and sucking in his arm up to its shoulder – whatever sharp instrument is still clutched in his grip will shred my lungs and pierce my heart. That is ridiculous. That is more than enough. If anything, it will probably be an adverse reaction to the anesthesia. Oops, he never woke up. Perhaps I’ll have some unknown allergy to the loads of antibiotics being pumped through my body. It could be any form of nothingness, the big Zero, staking its claim, telling me that I’ve had enough.

I’m scared shitless, but I’m starting to get a handle on this fear angle; it means going through with something even though you’re terrified. That is almost enough, but I think that it’d be too little to deny these fears. I’m going to give into them one more time and relate my wishes given the big Zero.

I don’t want to be embalmed, and I’d like to be buried under a weeping willow, which is my favorite type of tree. I’d like the plaque on that tree to be mostly silver with just my full name, birth date, death date, and nothing else. I expect to be wearing my threadbare, lucky, ARMY shirt (I’m wearing it to the surgery) – if the overall appearance is too disheveled, then I’ll be fine with wearing a snazzy suit coat, but be sure that at least some of the shirt is showing. There is no dress code for anyone who comes to the funeral; come as you are or how you want to be. I want the time to be from 10AM to 4PM so early morning folks and late night people will be forced to mingle. I’d like someone to play the IZ version of Somewhere Over The Rainbow at 1PM. Other than that, I’d like it to be disorganized. If you have something that you want to say, then say it. If you’d like to bring a priest, pastor, rabbi, imam, shaman, or whomever, then please do so – just make sure that no one hogs the air waves and that everyone is allowed to speak. Most of all, I would like you to do something that scares you, preferably before you come.

That’s all, and that will be enough. However, I’d like to say one more thing. I want to talk about our collective ‘fuck you’ to the big Zero. Nothing is loveless and everything requires love. Love is timeless. Love is unpredictable. Love is difficult. It is both divine and humble. You can never have enough love, since its very presence calls for more – please seek it at every point in your life.