Peace of Chicken


A wiser man may have recorded the date, time of day and, maybe even the color of shirt he was wearing when it happened. A more astute person would have at least documented the event in a timely fashion and, then there is me.

Despite my lackadaisical delivery in the accounting of this event, I am by no means using words which denote spiritual experiences lightly nor am I attributing foundational metaphysical concepts to express merely pleasant and personal events. 

Therefore I would like to announce to the world (about ten years after the event) that during the late summer of 90 or maybe 91; I reached a state of existence, the condition of absolute peace, generally referred to as Nirvana.

During the time this event occurred, I was living a pretty carefree existence. I was renting a beach front apartment and taking up on all the advantages that beach front living afforded. I had managed to save up a little bit of money and had estimated that I could comfortably exist for about four months before enlisting my services to commonplace practice known as work.

It would appear that during this time my only irritation in life came from a group of delinquent pigeons. Twice during this period this unruly flock had trashed my apartment and left their organic business cards all over the place. A truly disgusting sight, it was. Perhaps I kept my windows open more than most but, it was still surprising to me that no one else in the building had a problem with intruding pigeons. Eventually I devised a strategy that provided me some relief. I placed a few decorative windmills (the toy type) adjacent to the window sills.

 Unfortunately for me, one of the naive pigeon babes must have gotten knocked-up at one of those wild pigeon parties at Phillip’s pad. She had decided to lay a couple of eggs in the flower box outside my kitchen window. As much as I detested pigeons, this group in particular, I was bound by social upbringing to respect motherhood.

I allowed her to nest in peace. Eventually she hatched two chicks which I ceremoniously named Romulus and Remus after the historical twins fabled to have found Rome. The mother became used to me scurrying about in such close proximity and,  for awhile life existed in a harmonious symbiotic balance.

One day I discovered that the source of a bout of current insect infestation could be traced to the pigeon nest. A colony of red mites had also taken up residence in the nest. My respect for motherhood did have it limitations.

In less than ten minutes after my discovery, I held in gloved hands two newly evicted chicks. The chicks were now almost grown judging by my unprofessional opinion. They had lost most of their baby down and now resembled small pigeons as opposed to cute chicks that they once were. It was time for them to leave the nest. I was sure with a little coaxing that they would be able to fly.

I guessed I wasn’t a good pigeon flight instructor. Although I flapped my arms and jumped around as best as I could, the young birds merely looked at me with horrified distain. I did convinca a few children who stood nearby to attempt flight, much to my dismay, neither the birds nor the children took actual flight. The nervous mother flew overhead, shocked by the whole ordeal, I would imagine.

Eventually, some animal rights type do-good-ers came to my rescue. They knew of a local loony who nursed abandoned animals back to health and habitat. My one and only burden lifted, I was now totally carefree and without responsibility. That night I decided to visit the local watering hole to celebrate and also to keep an eye out for chicks of a different species. Once inside I staked out a prime location and waited for the games to begin.

I surveyed the area and came upon a sight I was not exactly pleased with. The establishment I was in hosted a restaurant area and a separate bar and dancing area. My eyes came across a fellow engrossed in eating a piece of chicken. Now I was in the dancing area and I considered this individual to be out of place. Why was he in the dancing area, licking his chops on a greasy piece of fried chicken, holding it in his hands no less. I immediately bestowed upon him the mantle of low class and tacky and turned my attention elsewhere.

INCOMING: A group of properly attire young ladies had entered the area and immediately the internal dialogue circuits in my head switched to full blast. Should I make my approach now, is that to forward, I wonder what they are drinking, why didn’t I wear my other shirt, Maybe I should wait until more people show up, does this brand of beer make my breathe smell, I think the one with the curly hair is checking me out, I hate that song that’s playing, this is the last time I am ever going to wear this shirt, OH no she stood up, I think she’s to tall for me, etc. etc. etc. etc., etc.

I momentarily caught glimpse of the chicken eater and guess what? He was still eating the piece of chicken. This guy had a look of pure ecstasy on his face and he is taking his god given time in consuming the bird. It was as if he was savoring every moment he was allowed to spend masticating the bird. I’m thinking, chicken can not possibly be that good. This guy must be stoned on something or the other. I returned my thoughts to thoughts regarding  the girls. I ran another barrage of the neurotic banter generally associated with single people through my head. I honestly tried not to look but, I had to. The guy was still involved with his chicken.

This time my observations took advantage of the fact that the lotus eater was more focused on his meal than his surroundings. I was able to do a detailed inventory of the man without his knowledge. This guy was impeccably dressed down to his socks.  His clothing was of costumed designer quality without boosting any pretense or any particular style. The man had the chiseled features of a model. Obviously the guy had taste but why was he involved in such a tacky display of social etiquette?

As much as I tried I could not get a barometer on his race. He wasn’t quite black, white, mixed or Asian. In fact he seemed beyond race. The guy was soap opera good looking, he definitely had the stuff which would allow him to walk away with the top hottie of the night.  Wait a minute, he wasn’t even checking out the girls. Was he gay? And here I was paying more attention to him than to the girls, was I?

The more focused I became on this guy the less attention I paid to the girls. The less attention being paid to the girls lead to a dramatic decrease in the internal dialogue. As internal dialogue decreased inner peace and confidence increased. I nursed the remainder of the beer while just basking in the lightness of being. All my prescribed compulsions of what I should do in a club left me. I felt so free. I didn’t have to dance, I could if  wanted to but, I didn’t have to. I didn’t have to flirt, I could if I wanted to but, I didn’t have to. Eventually, when I had wanted to, I left the club. I was probably wearing the same look of ecstasy on my face that my chicken eating friend had been blessed with.

It was a truly delightful night for a beach side stroll. The Santa Anna Winds were blowing. The winds afforded the ocean night air a surrealistic warmth. I was just about to make my way into my apartment building when the revelation occurred to me. I really don’t have anything to do tomorrow, or the next or the next day or the next day after that, but play. In fact I had no reason to go to bed.

Around midnight is as good a time any to get in some exercise especially when you got nothing else to do in life but, enjoy it. One of my guilty pleasures had always been swinging in the swings. As an adult I did suffer from a bit of self consciousness regarding this activity. I only allowed myself the pleasure when in the company of a young lady or in the solitude of night. It was definitely night. I made my way over to the swings.

The swings and jungle gym apparatus were located on the beach sands directly in front of my apartment building. As I ventured forth to the swings I took note of what I perceived to be a woman lying peacefully on the sand adjacent to the Jungle gym. Due to the eclectic nature of Venice Beach and the people who are drawn there, I did not find this totally out of place. Nor did I find her style of dress to be totally out of character. She was dressed, or to be more precise, draped in flowing material of a muslin cloth nature. She wore a headdress of like material. She did not acknowledge my presence and I made no attempts to disturb her. I climbed aboard the swing and got busy.

After several minutes of exhilarating swing something wonderful begin to happen. With each pass of the swing a fear or a desire or, a concern left me. Now bear in mind I was living a pretty stress free life, so I wasn’t toting a lot of luggage around from the get-go. Also I do believe the incident at the bar was supernaturally orchestrated as a final preparation in educating me how to live free in the moment.

I continued to swing, one by one a sensation, an impulse, an urge would leave. I was no longer even acknowledging that I (as a physical being) was in the swing.  Somewhere in between a mid swing, I let it go; the actual anxiety of being,  instead I WAS. For a span of time perhaps smaller than a nanosecond I reached the state of Absolute Peace, NIRVANA.

The following events all occurred within that nanosecond. A panoramic view of my universe was made known to me. Upon obtaining absolute peace certain choices were made clear to me. A simple choice of paths to take were offered and a decision was requested. I made my choice.

The swing came to a rest due to lack of momentum on my part. I opened my eyes and looking directly into my face was the face of the most radiant, beautiful and loving person, I have ever seen in my entire life. Much like my friend at bar, this person was beyond race. Love poured out of this person and flowed into me like a beam. It was the women who had been laying in the sand. She now sat upright upon the sand. Instinctively, I now knew she had been there on my behalf. She had been there to protect or guide me through the ordeal. Instinctively I knew she was some type of Motherly Spirit guide. Best of all, I knew that she was smiling so brightly because she was proud of the choice I had made.

I stood up from the swing, weak but exhilarated. I did not want to end it just yet. I advanced in the direction of the woman. We were connected somehow. She knew that I was not finished. Without any indication of alarm, she peacefully laid back down as I advanced directly towards her on my way to the Jungle gym. I climbed atop the Jungle gym and laid there, out stretched looking up at the cosmos. While I was scanning the heavens, in the near distance someone started playing a guitar. The melody was mesmerisingly beautiful. At first I pondered who could this be. I knew, or knew of, most of the musicians who sort of lived out of their vehicles on the parking lot from whence the music arose.  As the music continued, I was convinced that by the flawless quality of the playing that this was not music of totally earthly origins. Someone begin to sing in harmony so pure it could have only been inspired by the direction of the Holy Spirit. The song was performed in a reggae cadence. All I can recall of the lyrics was the verse “Babylon is Falling”. The musician/singer went on for what seemed like ten minutes or more and just as spontaneously as the song had started did it fade back into the background of night. I sat upright on the Jungle gym and looked towards my building. I was done. Almost simultaneously, did my Spirit Mother rise from her sleeping position. With out any efforts and with all the grace of a ballerina she rose to a full standing position. She regally walked out towards the ocean and faded into the pitch black of night, her flowing garb ethereally blowing behind her. She knew I was done. I had made my peace.