Category: Freedom

Our Right to Question

Hello Dear Readers,

There’s a lot going on in the world right now and of, course, we know the issue that’s getting the most coverage–whether deserved or not. With that in mind, I’d like to ask you the following question: Are you more afraid of Covid-19 (the virus that apparently presents as 99% mild symptoms for the majority of persons) or of the fascist government that seems to be taking over much of the world? If you choose to respond, please respond with A for the first part or B for the second.

In case you aren’t aware of the definition of fascism, here it is, supplied by Merriam-Webster Dictionary: 1: A political philosophy, movement, or regime (such as that of the Fascisti) that exalts nation and often race above the individual and that stands for centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of oppostition. 2. A tendency toward or actual exercise or dictatorial control.

In case you believe that this article is exaggerating what’s occurring, you might ask yourself if you’re still as free as you might choose to be. Can you go into a store without wearing a mask (to spend your hardearned dollars), while respecting the rights of those who prefer to cover their face? Have you personally, or someone close, felt the economic fallout due to measures that were forced upon us? Is your local government listening to your concerns about freedom? Have you or any of your friends asked one another this question: So, would you take the vacinne if “they” make it mandatory? Unless we’re ready to give up more of our rights, now would be a good time to question what’s happening…right under our noses.

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

Copyright © – 2020–R. Arthur Russell

P.S. If you’d like to view my latest book (This Taste of Flesh and Bones–released September 8, 2020) please press here. Thanks for reading!

Stand Up, Be Counted

Most of us believe that if we saw someone being beaten, it would be unconscionable to stand back and do nothing to stop it. Depending on the circumstance, our actions might range from calling for help to stepping in and throwing a few punches or doing our best to otherwise subdue the attacker. In doing so, we would have to set aside our own fearful concerns for our self and engage; to do everything within our power to prevent the injustice from continuing. Noble spirits have done this in the past and often paid a very dear price for doing so. Still, that price is less steep than what we pay for doing nothing–for with that we live in shame for the rest of our days.

Is what we’re currently experiencing as the collective human race any less of a beating than the one referred to above? Are not the majority of human beings paying a very dear price, indeed, for standing back–arms folded–and watching, hoping, wishing, and praying that our living conditions will improve of their own accord; without our having to lift a hand against the faceless bureaucracies that are imposing their agenda, not protecting our rights? Are imposed curfews in other countries important to us, or of no concern as long as they aren’t implented here, wherever we live and move and have our being? Are lost jobs of any concern, or not as long as we still have employment? Do we care enough to take a look at information that is opposite that which is being espoused by mainstream media, and question whether most of the enforced rules and regulations are even remotely sensible?

We are mistaken if we believe we are powerless to prevent this situation from happening; for we do have some power–UNITED; not picked off like individual ducks at a shooting range. Votes, purchasing power, peaceful rallys, and honest sharing about what is occuring may be some of the ways we can help. Every silent voice states “Let the beating continue!” If we choose to look away and pretend the whole ugly beating isn’t occuring, maybe we can still get a deal on plexiglass. Someone will be glad that we’ve made the purchase; no doubt the same someone selling masks, test kits, sanitizer, and one-way arrow stickers.

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

Copyright © – 2020–R. Arthur Russell

P.S. If you’d like to view my latest book (This Taste of Flesh and Bones–released September 8, 2020) please press here. Thanks for reading!

What Type of World?

Human beings learn by contrast and opposites. We know hot by learning cold; right by learning left; up by learning down. This applies to everything we learn. The story of Covid-19 has provided a ton of lessons; not the least of which is how not to be. It’s given us a long look at the ugly side of human nature; as proven by fear mongering and corruption by big business and government; and the weak side, too, as evidenced by the majority of persons who hope that someone else will speak up and defend our precious freedoms while we sit comfortably on couches, staring at the news, the latest count, and praying that someone somewhere deems it safe for us to take off the masks that hide our humanity. Brave heart? Not even close. According to stereotype, spiritual beings are supposed to calm, meek, and mild–what utter nonsense! Bring on the spiritual fire.

So, the title of this article: What type of world? Through Covid-19, we’ve learned–via the contrast mentioned above–a few lessons about a side of human beings that we might prefer to leave in the dark. We’ve seen that we are willing to play the role of good little followers even when every neuron of our intellect was firing repeated warnings about what was being spread via the media. We’ve sacrificed our innermost feelings about important issues–such as ensuring health care for persons with real health issues; deprived ourselves of visits with family and friends who were feeling lonely and isolated; and forfeited healthful activitities in an effort to help. For what? The story, itself, is not even in question; for deep down we realize it is a disgusting farce that has been played on the masses. Everyone knows this. Symptoms, in 99% of the cases, are very mild and reported as such! Our intuition has been screaming the truth at us since the first months of subjugation–the six-foot rule, social bubbles, plexiglass walls, the masks, and threats of manditory vaccination. But we–the Beings who comprise the world–don’t want to ruffle any feathers. No, that wouldn’t be polite; and if we disagreed–or worse yet, walked the wrong way up a one-way aisle–it might draw attention. Instead, a part of us that we don’t like to face, watches gleefully from the sidelines as our brothers and sisters fight for the rights that used to be ours.

As much as it might seem so, the point of this article is not to be negative. The point is to raise questions about what type of world we are creating. Is it free? Is it respectful of persons’ rights? (including the right to wear or not wear masks). Does it help the downtrodden, the lonely, and the weak? Is it a world in which we teach our children–by example–that we have strong immune systems and also recognize their need to play with their friends in person; not virtually, through the screen of a computer. Is it a world in which we’re free to say “no” to the overuse of alcholol sanitizer, which has been proven to decrease immunity? Or is the world we’re trying to save one in which we behave like good little sheep, praying that the wolf won’t come and eat us. You know, the type of world in which couples say, “Now, Dear, when it comes to the vacinne, please don’t be the first to take it. Let health professionals test it on a few thousand others, to see if they go blind or grow a third eye.” We might ask ourselves if the second type of world–one devoid of love, touch, comraderie, and honest caring–would really be worth saving. If that’s the case, I vote “No”–as long as I still have a right to vote.

Is there something positive that can be reaped from all of this? Yes. When we recognize our weaknesses, we can begin to transcend them. With that intention, I offer a few inspirational lines from The Power of Awareness by Neville Goddard, a modern-day mystic who lectured and wrote books in the 60’s and 70’s: “You give beauty for ashes when you concentrate your attention on things as you would like them to be rather than on things as they are. You give joy for mourning when you maintain a joyous attitude regardless of unfavourable circumstances. You give praise for the spirit of heaviness when you maintain a confident attitude instead of succumbing to despondency.” Perhaps the key to coping with the current world situation is to notice what is happening and unite with one another in honest positive action. Hiding our shame beneath masks isn’t working.

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

Copyright © – 2020–R. Arthur Russell

P.S. If you’d like to view my latest book (This Taste of Flesh and Bones–released September 8, 2020) please press here. Thanks for reading!

Remember When?

Remember When

This blog has taken a few twists and turns during the last four years. For almost two years, I published articles regarding the workings of the Law of Attraction. I hoped to inspire people to reach for their dreams; to share knowledge that could help them achieve their goals. I then gave the blog a rest, until Covid became the shameful and overwhelming story of the world. In response, I published an article on March 18th entitled We The Courageous (press here) in an attempt to offer support and help people dig down deep and face their fears about what was being reported.

Since that time, I’ve used various techniques–including articles regarding our true nature, the satirical antics of Dr. Phuphuey, and even a link to a recent peaceful protest in Trafalgar Square–that I hoped would help bring a degree of sanity to what appears to be collective insanity. Think of it: Did you ever believe that we would see a time when masks, physical distancing, and talk of social bubbles would be imposed upon the human race? And oddest of all, it doesn’t seem to make one whit of difference that the Corona Worldometer (as of today) continues to report that 99% of the cases present with mild symptoms. Nor does it make any difference when we hear of opposing opinions from respected doctors and experts in the field of immunology being silenced. Are we searching for a guarantee against death of the body? If so, we had better keep on looking.

The following is only my opinion, but it relates an example of one of the real victims of the human response to the story of “Covid.” The woman, “Dolores,” is eighty-four and lives in the retirement section of a nursing home. My friend, who provides footcare for the elderly, had visited this previously vibrant woman just prior to the implementation of restrictions in Canada in early March of this year. My friend, who recently treated Dolores for the first time in five months, told me that she noticed a significant decline; Dolores was both cognitively and physically slower. Yes, I admit, there is no proof that we can attribute all, or even part, of Dolore’s decline to being isolated from her family members. Dolores told my friend that there had been lots of phone calls; but, of course, visitations and shows of affections such as hugs and kisses from family members, had been deemed meaningless and prohibited by those who would save us. We, of course, are concerned with saving ourselves; that’s why we stand six-feet apart and don the pitiful masks that hide our humanity…even when our hearts are screaming that something smells about this whole thing.

The good news is that any further decline in Dolores, and the thousands of isolated persons like her, will not be covered by any media coverage; therefore, we won’t have to witness it. Nor will we know the accounts of thousands, if not millions, who have lost previously flourishing businesses. These silent but atrocious occurrences don’t make headlines; and they never will. It is up to us–the relatives and caring friends–to stand up for the current inhumanity that is sweeping the world. If we don’t, only egos will survive; and they aren’t worth saving. Remember when?

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

Copyright © – 2020–R. Arthur Russell

Dr. Phuphuey Makes a Diagnosis

doctors-office-1944117_640

Note: The names of the persons directly involved in the following account have been changed to protect their right to privacy, as guaranteed (okay, maybe not “guaranteed,” but “implied”) under the Medical Privacy Act of 1923, as first instituted squid pro quo somewhere in Liechtenstein; amended in 1927, somewhere in the Nether Parts; and later modified (see attached pamplet explaining “said” modifications) somewhere over the rainbow.

***

“Follow me, ” said Nurse Whatsthebigfuss. “The doctor will see you now.” She walked down the hall and opened a door to an examination room. Three words came out of her: “Sit. There. Now,” and she was gone.

Mr. Ihavenothingbettertodo did as he was told and sat up on the white examination table, sidesaddle. A moment later, Dr. Phuphuey made his grand entrance. As usual he was smoking one of his Export A cigarettes. “Before we begin,” he said, “please remove that mask.”

“But,” said Mr. Ihavenothingbettertodo, “I’m not wearing one.”

“Hmmm,” said Dr. Phuphuey, “how unfortunate. So…that’s your face?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Ihavenothingbettertodo, “I blame it on my mother’s side of the family.”

“She was ugly?” asked Dr. Phuphuey.

Mr. Ihavenothingbettertodo lowered his eyes and nodded. “Fell from the Ugly Tree,” he said, “and hit every branch on the way down.”

“No kidding,” said Dr. Phuphuey as he opened the chart. “So…what can I do for you today?”

“I’m here for my yearly physical. Gotta keep an eye on things, ‘specially given what’s going around these days.”

“What’s going around?”

“You know.”

Dr. Phuphuey took a deep drag from his cigarette and a saggy length of ash fell on his lab coat. “No, can’t say I do.”

“Virus?”

“Come again?”

“VIRUS. It’s in all the media. I’m here to get swabbed–to get checked to see if I have it.”

“Ohhhh,” I see,” said Dr. Phuphuey. “Well, just for the record, I don’t swab. That’s a little high tech for me. I do things the old school way.” He approached the examination table and stood in front of Mr. Ihavenothingbettertodo. “Stick out your tongue,” he said.

Mr. Ihavenothingbettertodo made a pitiful attempt to do so.

“Farther,” said the doctor. “C’mon, put your back into it.”

With that, Mr. Ihavenothingbettertodo, leaned forward and extended his tongue as far as he could.

“And…hold,” said Dr. Phuphuey. With that, he fumbled into the pocket of his labcoat and pulled out a tape ruler and measured, mumbling ‘from lips to tip’  as he did so. “Ah, ha, ” he said, “Two and seven-eighths. No metric for this doc.”

“Is that good?”

Dr. Phuphuey was charting. “Average,” he said. “Now, stick out your tongue again and say do re mi fa so and hold on laaaaa. Then swish your tongue back and forth like a basketball player going for the dunk.”

Mr. Ihavenothingbettertodo opened his mouth and began to follow the instructions, but Dr. Phuphuey backed away suddenly. “Egad,” he exclaimed, “you’ve got mutton breath!”

“Mutton breath?” said Mr. Ihavenothingbettertodo.

“Yes.”

“What’s that?”

“Bacterial, a strain of sheepicus toocloseicum. Highly contagious. Comes from following the herd too much. Don’t worry, it’s not deadly–but it’ll ruin your life if you let it.”

“Will it go away?”

“Yes, as long as you stay away from sheep.”

“Do I need a prescription?”

“You mean drugs? Heavens, no–don’t believe in them. I recommend cutting any connection with the herd. Live it up. Do something for yourself. Put your noggin to good use and think for yourself.”

“Certainly. Will do.”

“Oh, and one more thing. For the next seven days, whenever your bladder’s full…”

“Yes…?”

“Go pee on your T.V. Unplug it first, and then soak it with urine. Pee like a sprinter arching for the tape. Drench it. Don’t leave a square inch of it dry.”

“Why?”

“Just ‘cause. Trust me, it’ll feel good.”

Mr. Ihavenothingbettertodo hopped down from the table and headed for the door. “Do I need a follow-up appointment?” he asked.

“Heck, no,” said Dr. Phuphuey, after lighting another cigarette. “Just go live.”

***

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

Copyright © – 2020–R. Arthur Russell

Dr. Phuphuey’s Reverie

Dr. Phuphuey's Reverie

Note: The names of the persons directly involved in the following account have been changed to protect their right to privacy, as guaranteed (okay, maybe not “guaranteed,” but “implied”) under the Medical Privacy Act of 1923, as first instituted quid pro quo somewhere in Liechtenstein; amended in 1927, somewhere in the Nether Parts; and later modified (see attached pamplet explaining “said” modifications) somewhere over the rainbow.

***

“Ahhh, finished for the day,” thought Nurse Whatsthebigfuss as she watched the last patient leave. It had been a hectic day at the office; made all the more challenging by the recent protocols. She had a question to ask Dr. Phuphuey; but as she neared his office, she heard the familiar sound of his snoring. It built like a locomotive straining hard to climb a peak, and then–summit reached–clattered down the rails, coasted to a stop, and then began it’s accent again. Poor man; he worked so hard. She peeked into his office and saw that he was slumped back in his chair, long legs extended straight, with a Darkness is Sexy sleep mask covering his eyes. In his arms, he was loosely clutching his Teddy Bear, Snafu. She blew him a kiss, turned off the lights, and gently closed the door.

Unbeknownst to Nurse Whatsthebigfuss, Dr. Phuphuey’s eyelids soon began to flutter, indicating rapid eye movement. He was dreaming–not the waking dream that the majority of persons erroneously mistake for Reality; but dreamstate dreams. Behind his eyelids, Dr. Phuphuey was positively thrilled. He’d been granted a question and answer period with God, the Highest of the High.

“You’re looking good,” said God, in a voiceless voice that was both comforting and familiar.

“Thanks,” said Dr. Phuphuey, with a nonchalant toss of his hand in the air. “I do try. Mind if I smoke?”

“I’m neither for nor against,” said God. “Now, let’s get on with the questions. I have a golf game coming up. Aiming for a Whole in One. Get it? Hehe.”

“Can’t say that I dooo, said Dr. Phuphuey, “but…no matter.” He tapped a cigarette out of the package, lit it, then drew deeply. “Ahh,” he said, “now…I’ve been wondering why you’ve struck us with this virus thing. It’s got a lot of people quite bothered. Lives are in shambles.”

“I didn’t,” said God.

“But it’s here,” said Dr. Phuphuey, “and I dare say that’s it’s causing a lot of trouble.”

“Not my doing,” said God. ”

“So it just happened? By chance?”

“Of course, not,” said God. “There is no chance. Haven’t you noticed that there’s a certain regularity to the Universe? An ebb and a flow? The whole play of life is governed by spiritual laws.”

Dr. Phuphuey tapped some ash into his cupped hand. “You mean like the seasons–stuff like that? Fall following summer; spring following winter? A corn seed turns into a corn plant.”

“Yes, that stuff,” said God. “I set your original dream environment in motion, and then you–good human beings that you are (being made from Me)–get to live your apparently personal dream within my dream. Simple, really; only the bulk of you don’t realize that through your thoughts imbued with feelings, you either bless or curse yourselves. If you think positively, I weave you a wonderful life through the power of Maya, meaning illusion. If you focus upon fear, however, you collectively create a living hell. The media and whatever other supposed big shots have got you wound up like a top. The situation won’t stop spinning until you remove your focus from it.”

“I knew that!” exclaimed Dr. Phuphuey.

“Are you certain of that?” said God. There was a subtle tone of doubt from the Omniscient Voice.

“Well,” said Dr. Phuphuey, “let’s just say that I was this (pinching thumb to index finger) close.”

“It’s okay,” said God. “Liars don’t go to hell. There is no hell, except on Earth when the human race attempts to run the show through your collective egoes. That’s the true devil, you know. There is no opposite to Me, as many proclaim; for I Am Life itself–the Alpha and the Omega. Your lives would improve dramatically if you learned how to truly live in the trancendent beauty of the moment; instead of the torture of your minds.”

“Would you mind writing that down?” asked Dr. Phuphuey. “I’d like to remember that–perhaps share it with some of my colleagues and patients.”

“Consider it done,” said God. “When you awaken, it’ll be in your email folder under ‘The Way Life Works.’ Anything else you’d like to ask?”

Dr. Phuphuey ground his cigarette out with his heel. “Well, I wondering when this current situation is going to get better.”

“It can happen very soon,” replied God, “but there’s one thing that has to occur before the situation will improve.”

“What?” said Dr. Phuphuey. “I’d like to help.”

“Humankind–collectively–has got to stop relying on human knowledge (with its solution of masks and sanitizer) and turn toward Me, the One who heals your cuts and beats your hearts. None of you do that–nor can you. I do.”

An abrupt snort escaped Dr. Phuphuey’s mouth, and he wakened to find himself lying back in his chair in his darkened office. His Teddy, Snafu, was lying across his abdomen. “Well, Snaffy,” he said, “time to get some grub?” With a little help from Dr. Phuphuey, Snafu turned to face him and gave him a high five. Before leaving, however, an intuitive feeling caused Dr. Phuphuey to turn on his computer. In his email, he found a message with a subject heading entitled “The Way Life Works.” The return address was marked “Everywhere.”

***

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

Copyright © – 2020–R. Arthur Russell

Dr. Phuphuey: The Matrix

Dr. Phuphuey (The Matrix)

Note: The names of the persons directly involved in the following account have been changed to protect their right to privacy, as guaranteed (okay, maybe not “guaranteed,” but “implied”) under the Medical Privacy Act of 1923, as first instituted quid pro quo somewhere in Liechtenstein; amended in 1927, somewhere in the Nether Parts; and later modified (see attached pamplet explaining “said” modifications) somewhere over the rainbow.

***

Another work day at the office was over. Patients had been assessed; charts updated; phone calls made; follow-up appointments scheduled. The door to Dr. Phuphuey”s office was slightly ajar; for that reason, Nurse Whatsthebigfuss felt comfortable with rapping softly a couple of times and entering. Dr. Phuphuey was seated in his chair, which was turned toward the wall. When she entered, he slowly turned the chair to face her. His face looked long and drawn.

“Have you been crying?” she asked.

“Nopppe,” he said, with a weak shake of his head, “big boys don’t cry.”

Nurse Whatsthebigfuss gently closed the door. “Sure looks like you have. Red eyes; bags beneathe them.” She plunked herself down in the chair across from him. “Fess up,” she said, crossing her legs. “I’m not leaving until you do.”

“All right, you got me. It’s true. You know me; I try to make light of things–to help keep my cheese from sliding off it’s cracker.” His mouth froze momentarily in an expression of utter anguish. “But this afternoon, after the last patient, the weight of all this came crashing down on me.”

“The world right now?”

“Yes, that…but much more.” Dr. Phuphuey sighed heavily and leaned forward on the desk. “When I took the hyppocratic oath, I swore that ‘I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being.’ I feel that the system won’t let me do that anymore! It’s all masks and one-way arrows and distancing–there’s nothing human about it. Most patients don’t have a clue about their beingness. It’s as though they think they’re a car, and that I’m a mechanic. And worse–I see the absolute fear in their eyes–for they believe that when the car dies, or runs off a cliff, that they die! Kaput. Modern culture teaches us that all we are is a bunch of nuts and bolts. What’s worse, I’m part of the problem.”

Nurse Whatsthebigfuss rose and walked around the desk and gave Dr. Phuphuey a hug. “No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re one of the good ones.”

Tears rolled down Dr. Phuphuey’s cheeks, and she snapped a couple of tissues from a box and handed them to him. “Damn,” he said. “Double damn.”

“We’ll have no f#$%@ swearing in this office,” she said.

A weak smile brightened Dr. Phuphuey’s face. “I think we both know it’s too late for that.” He reached into his lab coat and retrieved his pack of smokes. “Cigarette?” he asked.

“No,” she said politely, “but I know you’ve got some licorice in your desk. Red, please.”

“The majority of my patients are unaware of their true nature. They know the known; but they have little clue about the Knower. They don’t know that this–right here, right now–is a dream.”

“A dream?” said Nurse Whatsthebigfuss, with a puzzled look on her face.

Dr. Phuphuey looked surprised. “I thought you knew,” he said.

“Share,” said Nurse Whatsthebigfuss.

“So,” he said, “our true nature is Awareness. That’s our foundation–not the body and mind. Awareness doesn’t arise from body-mind functions, as materialists assume; it is prior to both. They’ve got it backwards–the body and mind arise in Consciousness, in and through Consciousness Itself. All that’s real of all of this,” he said, patting the arms of his chair, “is the knowing of it through our perceptions. It’s called the waking state, but most people assume it to be reality.”

“Another licorice, please,” said Nurse Whatsthebigfuss. “I think I’m getting it.”

“The catch,” said Dr. Phuphuey, “is that you can’t understand it with the mind. That will only drive you ’round in circles. Awareness is prior to the mind. You have to get still to feel it.”

“Meaning?”

“Meditate.”

“You ever watch The Matrix?”

“Yes,” she said. “Great science fiction movie.”

“It would be more appropriate to call it a documentary,” said Dr. Phuphuey. “It’s really about idealism. You ever wonder why Keanu Reeves’ character had such a strange name? Neo…an anagram for the One. We all descend from One. We are That. It’s why there are questions in the movie such as ‘What is real?‘ What we see, hear, taste, touch, and small are electrical signals interpretted by the brain. Modern society has got it so backward–they believe that the person, which is a product of consciousness, is the cause; but it’s an effect of mind. That’s why this fufu about the masks…they’re protecting an illusion. Mind is the creator of everything.”

“Wowsers,” said Nurse Whatsthebigfuss. “Heavvvy. I begged you to take up golf, like the rest of the doctors.”

“I’d be bored silly,” said Dr. Phuphuey.

During the next few minutes, they spoke about the nature of life. Dr. Phuphuey shared how the books by spiritual masters had led him to recognition of his true Self–Spirit. He directed her to take a look at a presentation if she wanted to learn more.

“Before I go, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” she asked.

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” he said. “Shoot.”

“Is ‘Phuphuey your real name?”

“Uh-huh,” he said, “sure is. “My mother’s clan were Phus–upper region of Quong. My father’s bunch hailed from north of Norland–the Phuey’s. Marriage and hyphenation made the whole thing happen.”

“I always wondered,” she said, “…and now I know.”

“What about your name?” he asked as she rose from her chair. “How did it come about?”

“Oh, that? Some writer guy made it up. Thought it might be funny. He should try being stuck with it!” And with that, she gave Dr. Phuphuey a hug and headed to the door. “We’ll show up again tomorrow and give it our best shot,” she said. “That’s all any of us can do.”

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

Copyright © – 2020–R. Arthur Russell

Dr. Phuphuey’s Wisdom Lesson

Dr. Phuphuey's Wise Counsel

Note: The names of the persons directly involved in the following account have been changed to protect their right to privacy, as guaranteed (okay, maybe not “guaranteed,” but “implied”) under the Medical Privacy Act of 1923, as first instituted quid pro quo somewhere in Liechtenstein; amended in 1927, somewhere in the Nether Parts; and later modified (see attached pamplet explaining “said” modifications) somewhere over the rainbow.

***

Nurse Whatsthebigfuss knocked gently on Dr. Phuphuey’s door and poked her head inside. Dr. Phuphuey was doubled forward in his chair, head toward his feet. She heard him gleefully say, “and this little piggy cried wee wee all the way home.”

“Ahem,” she said, “sorry to interrupt you, Dr. Phuphuey.”

Dr. Phuphuey straightened and spun around in his chair. He was holding nail clippers. “It’s all good,” he said, as he flopped his right leg onto the desk, “I was just giving these little pigglies a little tune up.” With that, he then wiggled his toes as though saying “What can I do you for?”

“A raise would be nice,” said Nurse Whatsthebigfuss.

“No can dooo,” replied his wiggly toes. “Perhaps when the world is back to normal. Now, seriously.”

“I Just wanted to give you a little headsup about your next patient. It’s Mrs. Verydistraught–she’s quite upset. She’s a retired nurse. I think she’s going to require a longer visit.”

“Well, I trust your judgement,” Nurse Whatsthebigfuss. “Send her in.”

Two minutes later, Mrs. Verydistraught was seated in the chair across from Dr. Phuphuey. What he could see of her face looked flushed; her hair a mess. “Please take your mask off,” said Dr. Phuphuey.”

“But won’t you get in trouble with the medical board?” she said, as she raised a hand to do so. “I’ve heard of doctors who disagree with what’s going on being threatened with losing their licence.”

“Fufuey, the rules,” exclaimed Dr. Phuphuey. “It might matter if I was a real doctor, but I’m not. I’m just a figment of some writer’s imagination, so I can say what I want. So, my office, my rules.”

Mrs. Verydistraught set the mask in her lap and nervously brushed her hair with her hand. “I’ve been so upset lately,” she said. “I feel like I’m at the end of my rope.”

“Cigarette?” asked Dr. Phuphuey, extending the pack.

“No, but, thank you.”

Dr. Phuphuey lit his cigarette, drew deeply, and then opened the drawer to his right. Licorice?”

“No, thank you, though.”

A moment later: “Jelly beans?”

“Uh uh, but thanks.”

From the left drawer: “Jub jubs?”

A scowl–barely contained–was hinting to boil over on Mrs. Verydistraught’s face. “No…thank you.”

“Lollipop? Gummy Bears? Chocolate bar?”

“Can I just tell you my f#$%ing story!” she exclaimed.

“Ohh, sorry,” said Dr. Phuphuey, flinching, “just trying to sweeten up your life a little. What’s up?”

Mrs. Verydistraught settled in her chair, then began.”It’s this!” she said stabbing the mask into the air. “I can’t stand the damn thing, and I don’t want to wear the damn thing, and there’s no science to support that the damn thing is needed or helping anyone.”

Cigarette clenched firmly between his lips, Dr. Phuphuey sprang to his feet and applauded. Loud. “Hear, hear!” he exclaimed. “You’ve got my vote!”

Mrs. Verydistraught smiled, perhaps for the first time in weeks. “I’m not trying to be difficult, or uncaring.”

“I know,” said Dr. Phuphuey. “I’ve always known you to be a caring soul. You’d probably just like to have some rights–not to tell anyone else to do; but to have some say over your own body.”

“Yesss,” said Mrs. Verydistraught. “But I also care about others. Nurses I know who still work in the field tell me they’re being forced to tag any death as ‘virus,’‘ even when test results come back negative. This whole story smells.”

Dr. Phuphuey nodded. “I’m hearing the same reports from my colleagues.” He leaned forward. “May I call you Agnes?”

“Well, you can…but it’s not my name. It’s Yolanda.”

“Hmm,” said Dr. Phuphuey, “a bit of a goof. Close, though. May I share a wisdom story that might help?”

“Please do,” said Yolanda.

“Years ago, there was an ancient Chinese carpenter–14th century, I believe. Ohhh, how he loved to hammer, all day, every day. One day, he was swinging that big hammer of his and he whacked his thumb really bad. It swelled up to the size of watermellon.”

“What happened?” asked Yolanda.

“Well, the neighbouring people all came and said, ‘this is bad, this is bad.’ But he wisely said, ‘we will see, we will see.’ While his thumb was healing during the next two weeks, he made use of the opportunity to take up dancing, just for something to do. It turned out that he was a natural–pirouettes, the splits, that kind of stuff. He became so good that news spread of his dancing abilities.”

“Wonderful,” said Yolanda.

“Uh, huh,” said Dr. Phuphuey. “Well, one day, the king’s men visited and said the king was looking for a dancing carpenter who could build him a Grand Pagada. Of course, our man was a perfect fit for the job. The neighbors came again and this time said, ‘this is good, this is good.” The carpenter said, ‘we will see, we will see.”

“Amazing,” said Yolanda. “Was it a big pagoda?”

“Yes,” said Dr. Phuphuey, “a big pagoda.”

“How big was it?”

“Really really big,” said Dr. Phuphuey with a roll of his eyes. “Anyhooo, one day he was working on the roof of the pagoda and fell onto some rocks. He broke both of his legs. When he was back home, the neighbors came to visit and said, ‘this is bad, this is bad.’ He, although in great agony, said, ‘we will see, we will see.'”

“And…” said Yolanda, leaning forward, “what happened?”

“As I recall, his legs healed quite nicely, and he became a stock trader–made a ton of yen! Of course, the neighbours all came by and said, ‘this is good, this is good.'”

“And the point is…?” asked Yolanda.

Dr. Phuphuey ground out his cigarette. “The point,” he said, “is that even though we pretend to know where life is heading, we don’t really know. The best thing we can do is stay positive. Who can say what is good or what is bad, because nothing lasts? If you can have the wisdom of our friend the carpenter slash dancer slash stock trader, we can all ride this virus story out to the end. Then another story will takes its place.”

“I see,” said Yolanda with a nod.

“Jub jub?” Dr. Phuphuey said, reaching into the drawer. “Nah,” said Yolanda, “but a chocolate bar might be nice.”

***

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

Copyright © – 2020–R. Arthur Russell

 

Herbie Visits a Boxstore

A Visit to a Boxstore

The morning was bright and shining–a new and glorious day had dawned. Despite what was apparently going on in the world, I was grateful–so very grateful. Life was good. I enjoyed my first cup of coffee (a tri-blend of Guatamalean Dark Roast, Ethiopian Light Roast,  and North-American Discards); but soon it was time to get on with my day. I had a few errands to run, which included making some purchases. I would have preferred to buy from my local store, but the owner had been forced to close his doors. “Well, you coming?” I asked my good friend Herbie. “Youuu, bettt!” he replied enthusiastically. Both of us headed to the garage, and I backed my car out and headed to the local boxstore.

After selecting a parking space, I turned to Herbie. “Well, coming in?”

“Youuu betttt,” he replied. I unbuckled his seatbelt, and helped him out of the car. We had been friends for so long; we didn’t like to go anywhere without each other.

As I neared the entrance to the boxstore, I dutifully applied a mask to my face–not that I believed that doing so was wise or necessary; but I knew it was the current world story. Choice to wear or not to wear, would have been nice; but such choice had been stripped away. When we stepped through the sliding glass doors, we were immediately approached by one of the masked greeters. “Hello, Sir,” she said.

“Good morningggg,” Herbie gleefully replied. His eyes had opened wide, and he was staring brightly at the greeter.

The greeter rolled her eyes, and turned to me. “I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to put a mask on your dummie.”

“Pardon?” I said, in disbelief. Herbie had slowly recoiled and turned his head to face me; albeit with the help of my hand.

The greeter, whose stance had widened, folded her arms across her chest. “Sir, I must insist. You’ll have to put a mask on your friend.”

“But he’s made of wood,” I said, tapping his head. He doesn’t breathe.” Herbie’s head shuddered; and his eyebrows rose to his hairline. “I don’t b r e a t h e?” he whispered.

“Uh, uh,” I said. “Shhh.”

“Sorry, sir; but it’s Policy. By-law: dash, blank, #7789243601, subsection ‘Virus, As It Pertains to Ventriloquists’ Dummies.'”

Quick thinking saved us. “Herbie has an M.E.–Medical Exemption,” I blurted. I felt a shiver pulse through Herbie as he turned to look me directly in the eys. “I have a medical exemption?” he said, his eyes beseeching me to tell it to him straight.

“Well, okay,” said the greeter. “This time. But use some santizer”

“Sure,” I said, “and with that, Herbie (with a little help from me) lifted the bottle and squirted a stream into his mouth. When he was done choking, he said, “Be darned the data that says sanitizer suppreses our immune systems! Onward, Stewie, we have a store to conquer!”

Up one aisle and down the other Herbie and I strolled. “Ahh, shopping,” he said. “Nothing like it.” He reminded me that we were out of toilet paper, and I thanked him. We were enjoying ourselves immensely until this:

“How did he get in here without a mask?” demanded a robust older man wearing a menacing black mask. He was pointing at Herbie.

“Medical Exemption,” Herbie replied feebly, with a pat of his chest. “I’ve got wooden lungs.” He looked directly at the man and coughed, as though to sell the story.”

“Well… okay,” the man said hesitantly. “Just being careful.”

“Totally understandable,” I said. “Thanks for caring enough to protect all of us. We can beat this thing.”

“I agree,” I said, as the man turned to leave. It was not a virus  that gave rise to mild to moderate symptoms in 99% of the population that frightened me.

Herbie and I continued to shop. We selected our items, and Herbie handed the checkout lady behind plexi-glass the money. One thing was certain: Intelligence and truth had to rise, if all of us were ever going to reclaim our lives. Opposing views were deliberately being suppressed. Scientists and doctors with legitimate expertise in the field of immunology had to be given opportunity to be heard.

“Can I drive home?” asked Herbie, when we got back to the car.

“Maybe next time,” I said, as I stuffed the mask in the side pocket of my door. Herbie seemed happy and hopeful.

***

This tongue-in-cheek article is not intended to offend or ridicule anyone. All of us–the human race–are meant to work together for the common good. Perhaps while this is being accomplished, we could honor one anothers’ rights to freedom of choice. If not about the current situation, this freedom with regard to the next issue might seem important enough to share your voice. God bless.

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

Copyright © – 2020–R. Arthur Russell