Weird Jack

Of course, we were all sneaking to mom's for real food, at every chance. Jeff and I grew weary of Jack's overbearing regime. We'd try to calm him down, but he didn't; wouldn't; couldn't slow his frantic pace. His enthusiasm was infectious and exhausting at the same time. He would pace around the house attempting to imitate Robert Plant's powerful voice on Whole Lotta Love; Way down inside.. woman.. you need.. LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE!

I told Jeff it sounded more like a sick duck in heat than Robert Plant.

In a meditation session, Jack told Jeff, "Close your eyes and focus your energy." Jeff squeezed his eyes shut, straining to 'focus his energy'. "You don't have to grimace," Jack said with disgust. Jeff and I laughed until Jack finally joined in.

One day Jack kept nitpicking Jeff on and on about a certain drumbeat until Jeff finally broke, jumping up from behind the drums with a red face and bulging eyes. Glaring at Jack, he screamed, so angry that he spat the words out, "Go suck a goose!" He stormed out, vowing never to return.

So then there were two. Another week went by. Jack learned Jethro Tulls' Bouree on the flute.

"Music is basically just mathematics," he would say, as if it were easy. I learned a few notes, but my snail-like progress wasn't thrilling him. Jack was becoming disillusioned, and wasn't happy with his own progress, which, in retrospect, was remarkable. Living with Jack that month and a half was awe-inspiring. I observed a rare power. As always, he did a lot of talking. I did a lot of listening and nodding. I was content to ride the brainwaves of his genius to the shores of prosperity.

One night while outside, I shined a flashlight up in the air.

"Earth to Mars," I said, in a pseudo-dramatic voice.

"You know," Jack began, "If nothing blocks its path, that light will keep travelling through space at 186,000 miles per second. Some creature from another galaxy could see the light a million years from now. Can you imagine that?"

"Not really," I said, "But I know one thing. You think at 186,000 thoughts per second."

"Good one," Jack chuckled, obviously pleased with my compliment.

The pace he set for himself was alarming. Flute practice began at 5:30 in the morning. I can't tell you what I wanted to do with that flute at 5:30 in the morning. Then the regiment started; vocal practice, then meditation, then instrument practice, then do it all again. It was too much, it couldn't last, nothing can stay..

It all came to an end one night when my friend, Big Dan, dropped by to see if I wanted to go cruisin'. Anxious to take a break from the intensity of ‘the wizard’ I jumped at the chance. Whether it was because he wasn't invited or because I was going to break the rules by deviating from his schedule, Jack gave me an ultimatum.

"If you leave now, it's over," he yelled from the doorway. There was desperation in his voice. It was a pitch higher than I had ever heard it, and he was obviously trying to be threatening.

"No it's not Jack. I just need a break," I hollered over the top of Dan's car. But it was over. The next morning Jack packed his stuff and moved home. In the following peaceful days, before I had to move out, I experienced something Jack had been talking about: Kundalini (or yoganidra). In a semi-meditative state, I heard bells that weren't really there.