a bad day for bananafish

Well, I've been sitting here for three hours and I still haven't found myself. I mean I can't meditate. I've tried, I really have...but I just don't have it in me. This damn bathwater is freezing. I mean all I can think about is the fact that I'm starving to death. Well, this is the last time. I'm not even going to try any more. I'll probably catch another cold now anyway.

You see, I really thought meditation was...well, you know...it's hard to explain what I mean. I've read a lot about it. Kingman says it's the key to the individual self-recognition...within the soul, that is. Hartsley....he's the philosopher from Harvard....he thinks that the key to the individual self-recognition lies within the mind as opposed to the soul.

My mother thinks we're all nuts. Oh, mother is a gem. Right now she's probably listening outside the door to see if I'm still alive. Every once in awhile I splash the water so she can get her work done. Anyway, mother says that people who meditate go to the booby hatch, as she calls it. She says she once knew a man who lived by himself...mother is against men living by themselves, but she threw father out....and this man never talked to anybody. All his life he just wrote notes to himself and then translated them. Well, mother says one day this guy translated one of his notes and it told him that he should kill his neighbor, so he did. Mother's always glad she lived across the street. Well, he was sent to the booby hatch where he died when they took his pen and paper away.

Mother says she worries about something like that happening to me. Well, she won't have to worry any more 'cause I can't do it anyway. I'd better run some more hot water in this tub before I freeze to death. Have you ever really thought about dying? I think about it a lot....I mean not every minute or anything like that but quite a bit.

I definitely believe in reincarnation. I mean all the facts show that it's true...you really....that is if you really want to find out the truth all you have to do is read....what the hell is the name of that....oh yes, My Life as a Hollow Winged Sparrow. It's all there. He says that you can remember your former lives through meditation. That's why I started on this whole meditation kick....I wanted to find out about my former lives.

Well, I really hate to give it up. Hartsley says that determination is the key to the key. Maybe I'll give it up for awhile and then come back to it....you know, think about better ways of concentrating. Maybe the bathtub is all wrong....if there were some way to maintain the water temperature so that loss of heat did not become a factor in disrupting the thought process....got to remember to jot that down in my notebook and talk it over with Dr. Goodman.

"Mother, are you in here again?"

"I'm getting the hairbrush"

"You're lying mother. You thought I was dead, right? Always checking to see if I'm alive. You think I can't hear you at the door with the glass?"

"Son, you worry me. You've been in that tub for over three hours now. Don't you think you're clean yet? I always thought women were bad with bathrooms."

"Mother, you know I was trying to meditate."

"Don't say that son....every time you say that I think of Mr. Robers going to the booby hatch. Thank God we didn't live next door. Son, I think we should have a talk."

"Again?"

"Your father should be here. He should have to put up with this. No. He just walks out and leaves me..."

"You told him to get out and he did."

"He knew I didn't mean it. He knew. That son of a bitch....nothin' against your grand-parents, they're wonderful people...may he drop dead where he stands."

"Suppose he's sitting?"

"I can see it's senseless talking to you while you're like this....isn't that water cold? You're going to catch another cold."

"Good. I like snot."

"If that curtain wasn't there I'd slap you. Did you tell Dr. Goodman about me throwing the cup at you?"

"UN-HUH."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Well, what did he say?"

"He said you were a fat bitch...you know he don't say anything....I told you that...he lets me do all the talking. Brother do I talk."

"You know you pay that dope $30 a week and he don't even talk. I should'a been a head doctor...hell for $30 a week I'd let nuts talk all they want....not that you're nuts, you know I didn't mean it that way, but....well you know that you're just going through a spell of some kind. When I was 22 I went through a spell too. I used to faint whenever mother would fix turnips for supper....something about turnips that just made me faint when I was 22. Now I can eat all the turnips I want and they don't bother me worth a damn, but when I was 22, whammo right on the floor. I never went to a head doctor though."

"You should have."

"Whatta you mean by that?"

"If you'd gone to a head doctor...now you've got me saying it...anyway is you'd gone he would have had you committed to the booby hatch and then I wouldn't have to suffer through this simple life...I could'a been a sparrow or something."

"There you go again with that sparrow talk...I told you to forget about being a sparrow."

"What you got against sparrows?"

"I don't have anything against sparrows....it just ain't right for somebody to keep saying they're gonna be a sparrow."

"I didn't say I was gonna be a sparrow, I did say I could have been one. There's a difference....I'm going to be a bee the next time and just before I kick off that life, I'm going to sting you on the ass. That is if you're still around, which I'm sure you will be. You know what I told Dr. Goodman?"

"What?"

"I told him that you were indestructible. I said they could drop the H-bomb right on your head and after all the dust cleared you'd be standing there smiling....that bitchy smile."

"I do not have a bitchy smile. I want that understood."

"You do."

"I do not."

"You do."

"I DO NOT!...now you've caused me to raise my voice again. You know I can't raise my voice. I bet you want me to get throat cancer."

"Mother, it was only your tonsils. The doctor never even mentioned cancer. You were the one who kept pestering to see your chart and when he showed it to you it said "Tonsils - Removed."

"I told you when they know you have cancer they don't write it down...everything is kept hush-hush."

"All right, you have cancer...let it eat through your throat and you'll die. Then you can be a sparrow."

"There you go with the sparrow talk again."

"Oh, fly away!"

Well, that was mother. I told you she was a card. Oh, before I forget...about this cancer bit. Mother was sick for about a week with this terrible sore throat, so finally she went to the doctor and he told her she'd have to have her tonsils out. Well, right away she started with this cancer bit. Swore she had cancer and the doctor was just being polite. Now she keeps her tonsils by her bed in a jar to watch for the deterioration. Well, I can't stand this cold water any longer, so I guess I'll get out. Besides, I've got to get ready to go to Dr. Goodman's. Oh, I forgot to tell you about that, didn't I?

Dr. Goodman has an office right across the hall from mother's doctor. Well, after I shot the cat on the living room run, mother insisted I go see Dr. Goodman. I guess that needs some explaining...about the cat I mean. Well, mother had this cat. A black thing and I never could stand it. One day I said to myself -- this is your apartment, you pay the rent, you pay the bills, that bitch just lives here. Now, you don't like that cat, so shoot it. The decision was as simple as that. So I shot the cat. I told mother to clean it up but she wouldn't. You should have seen her face when she walked in. I would have shot it in the backyard, but I don't go out on Tuesdays.

So I went to see Dr. Goodman. I liked him from the start. He had read Hartsley and Kingman for one thing...and for another he said he did believe in meditation. He had some weird ideas about it, granted, but at least he believed in it. You know how hard it is to find people that really believe. Then we started talking about me...well, I started talking about me, of course. He asked questions mainly. And of course we couldn't say much about me without bringing in mother. I've been seeing Dr. Goodman for three years now. Well, I've got to get ready to go.

"Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Dr. Goodman."

"How are you this afternoon?"

"In relation to what?"

"Well....you tell me."

"In relation to my mother -- rotten; the weather -- non-relative; this couch -- indecisive; and last, but not least, you -- pleased."

"Well, that certainly was a mouthful."

"I think I'm getting another cold. I've all but given up on meditation."

"Really? Why?"

"Too damn much trouble. No, that not it. I just can't concentrate....I've tried but I just can't do it. Maybe it's the way I go about it but I lose concentration too easily. I'm not withdrawn enough."

"Have you thought at all about what I said?"

"The booby hatch you mean?"

"Well, I didn't exactly call it that."

"I know, that's mother's influence. It shows up all the time. Forgive me."

"That's quite alright."

"Frankly, I detest the idea. I mean most of those people in there will be definitely inferior minded...we'll have nothing in common. It would just be a waste of time."

"You could have private attention. I mean...be separated somwhat."

"Baiting the hook, Doctor?"

"Not in the least, the choice is yours."

"Well, I choose no."

"Very well."

I really hadn't given up. I knew that when I told him that I had. At that point I wanted to find the key more than anything else. So I have decided to do a complete research project on the subject and use that research as a basis for further meditation experimentation. I've got to find a book on the relationship between meditation and reincarnation. Most books on each subject mention the other, but so far no one has written a book on the relationship between the two. Maybe I could do that in my spare time.

Mother must be out shopping. She always goes out shopping on Thursdays because she says the prices are cheaper. She won't explain her statement, but is absolutely sure that it is accurate.

I started thinking about meditation when I was 15 or 16. Besides being bored with high school I was bored with myself. I mean nothing went right that year. Oh, I got straight A grades from the day I entered school. Never once did I get a B. Mother was always proud of that. It was so stupidly easy....to do that is. In my spare time I started reading religious and philosophical books....mainly because they presented somewhat of a problem. At least they caused me to think. Then, quite by accident, I hit upon Kingman's Meditations on Meditating. That was the key point in my life...excuse me...this life...see what I eamn by losing concentration?

Well, I read the book three times and memorized the main passages. I wrote to Mr. Kingman several times, but never received an answer. I was mainly concerned with his definition of self in relation to soul. I think that now I have mastered the book completely. If I could only put the words into practice. His chapter on withdrawal of the outer self is where I'm stuck. He says to start gradually until the key is found and that once the key is found that complete withdrawal at any given time is possible. The outer self is then under the command of the inner self and it is the latter which contains the sould and the reincarnation memory. The first object is quiet...it must be as quiet as possible.

When I'm not in the tub, I stuff my ears with cotton. Next is concentration on an object for a prolonged period of time....at least two hours. He points out that one must be very careful not to bring about self-hypnosis. This will cause the outer self to reactivate itself and eventually dominate to a more extreme condition. After concentration on the object is the waiting period. The period when the sould searches itself and determines the appropriate time to release the key. As you know, this hasn't come as yet. I am sure now that it will. I must remember that concentration is a rejection of communication. That's in Hartsley's book. Actually, he doesn't mean complete rejection of communication. He goes on to say that one can only communicate with one's self....like Mr. Robers I guess. Jesus Christ! Like Mr. Robers.