A Whole Lot of Nothing

Thanks in large part to the revoltingly offensive oral mist Zicam and generic (but oh so rhinally miraculous) Sav-On brand Afrin that I chugalugged and snorted respectively since the end of last week, I spent most of my Sunday morning expelling a technicolor rainbow of mucous too beautiful to be seen by the human eye. And despite sparing you any tangible images, knock wood, I’ve still got my health.

Whilst waiting for my just-back-in-town sister and company to arrive for a homely Sunday brunch, I picked up a deck of Osho Zen Tarot cards (purchased many a year ago in the Holy Land) for some facetiously-credible perceptivity. Running short on time, I opted for the one-card “super quickie,” where you randomly select a card for insight into a situation or to meditate on for the rest of the day.

I shuffled the deck, closed my eyes and split the deck in two, to see that I had picked out the No-Thingness card. Which is basically a black card with (gasp) nothing on it.

Enigmatic indeed.

Accordingly, after a lengthy spiritual meditation spanning some five minutes on the notion that “nothingness to nothingness is the whole journey,” I was so enlightened that my outgoing message will now impart: “Hey, it’s Eti. I can’t answer the phone because I’m too busy meditating on nothing and your call is fucking up my whole journey.”