The Breitenbush Chronicles – #3

There is a guy — very tall, thick and big — who showed up yesterday. Here at Breitenbush. I think we first saw him at lunch. He was wearing an incredibly loud bathrobe, a whitish and black geometric-design thing, nearly floor length, made with a very light, thin material. Now, there are always people in bathrobes around here, in the meal lines, sprawled over chairs out on the lawn, walking to and from the hot spring soaking pools. The bathrobes are for the most part white and fluffy, think of the bathrobe you would steal from a good hotel. Some are solid with other colors – pale blue, deep pink, forest green. But this guy’s is a geometric black and white polka dot mathematical woven thing, and because he is tall and thick and the bathrobe travels from the tops of his shoulders down to his calves — well, one might think it’s something on the order of, “Hey, fucking notice me.” Because, for sure, whoop there it is.

He was suddenly standing directly, a very few inches, behind us in the make-your-own-we-don-t-serve-caffeine coffee with our electrically-heated water line a couple of minutes ago, like 5:30am. In the same get up. Now I have some pride in myself as one who generally doesn’t judge others — the old ‘live and let live’ implanted on and in my brain. I do not include in this non-judgement bullies and racists and other people impinging on the human rights and dignity of others. But everyone else — how they look or what foods they like or music they dance to or how they choose to make use of the hours of their day — I do not give a rat’s ass. It all falls under the big umbrella of “Whatever”.

So, regarding the tall man and his possibly never-removed, wispy, geometric-designed, semi-floor-length bathrobe — yeah, whatever dude. To each their own and all. In fact, it was Donovan, a unique and enchanting folk singer from the sixties, who had a song I very much liked called “I Love My Shirt”, the gist of the lyrics that I have a shirt that I really love and it loves me back and wearing it is the best. So, maybe it’s like that. He loves his robe, and that’s all there is and leave it alone Buddy and to each their own and etc. and etc. So that is what I do. I become done with it. A decision made.

Still — I’m a writer and storyteller, plus I’m on this recent jag of reporting in the moment, my experience and observation. And now my mind if tugging at me to take it (my way cool journalism) someplace else. Some place not of this earth. Some place alien. And I cannot help but wonder — Is this tall dude an alien? Sent here among us? At the spiritual retreat place? To observe? To recount? To reconnoiter? Here, at Breitenbush, where a sore thumb, so to speak, isn’t all that unusual? Here at, perhaps, a gathering of sore thumbs?

Hmmm.

“Hey Honey, did you catch that giant guy with the polka dot geometric black and white floor-length bathrobe?”

“Nah, didn’t notice him. Come on, let’s go soak.”

See. It’s working.