Call Beth in San Francisco see if she needs a guy meet with the board and offer them part-time Doug's got an opening on the mountain go to the college and make nice with the brainiac pitch the parenting book find the name of that one guy from the coffee shop last summer who said he did workshops for Monsanto send an email to Trent's hedge fund operator keep building the website find the email of the author who bought the Nicoise salad send the left over writing from the youth book to Martin in London meet with the pastor from West Virginia push for a meeting with the Blackberry guy demand Frank and Andy invite you to Phoenix get Girl and Bear to the historical society.
Don't forget to work the present means: men's retreat in Minneapolis, Church of God in Orlando, Lutheran family workers in Kansas City, Presbyterian teenagers in Dallas, a Valentine's fundraiser....
Then last night Joseph sits at the counter and says, "All our bases are belong to us."
"What? What did you say?"
"All our bases are belong to us."
I looked at him. "What does that mean?"
"There's this Japanese action movie dubbed in English. At one point this one guys says to the other guy, 'All our bases are belong to us.' It's like some messed up translation." Joseph heads back downstairs to his computer programming. I wash the dishes but I can't stop repeating out loud, "All our bases are belong to us." It just makes me so damn happy and centered and releases the knot in my chest: "All our bases are belong to us."
Again, last night I can't sleep. Working the tumblers. Working the tumblers. I repeat the mantra about our bases and who they belong to until I fall asleep.
This morning an artist friend sent me an email with subject: Gentlemen Storyteller. His name was Jay. It was a 17 minute clip from ninety-nine percent dot com. I watched as the elderly gentlemen explained how he'd been hired by NASA to tell their story for their 50th anniversary. He spent a year listening and reading and talking to people. Now he had a story to tell. He began to tell the story. Ten seconds into his story I felt the tumblers fall: Cherry. Cherry. Cherry. "This is it!" I yelled. "What?" My wife called downstairs from the kitchen. "What did you say?"
I called upstairs. "It's clicked. I found the combination!" I ran upstairs my chest exploding like fireworks. "What is it?" Jill asked. "I figured it out." My heart opening, opening, opening into a beautiful unknown. I look at Jill and smile, "All our bases are belong to us. All our bases are belong to us."
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