Perceptions of Concurrence

Life is not linear. We are born from the spirit realm and return when life has gone full circle. The only passing of linearity in our lives is the tangent lines that touch at individual points of our circular lives... A first tooth... A first kiss... A first kill while hunting... All tangent points in our lives. One memorable tangent point in a young man’s existence is the notable passage to manhood from adolescence.

Being Native and Christian, I, Rob Ambrose, have a duality to my nature and received the rights under both banners. First was the Confirmation in the Anglican Church and First Communion. Next was the rights of passage for a Native male. I was undergoing a vision quest. During my hungrily, thirstily, and sleeplessly induced vision, I became timeless and seen my past, present, and future concurrently.

Mathematically, what was happening is impossible as a functional line in geometry is planar and extends from a point to positive and negative infinity. When three lines intersect at a point, concurrence occurs. The past, the present, and future are all one when in spirit form. When the three phases of life are concurrent, you are not mortal. You have entered the spiritual realm and The Great Maker will fill you with needed knowledge.

To make matters more complicated, one cannot find a straight line in your life, even though we measure time progressively. Seconds become minutes, minutes become hours, hours become days, days become weeks, weeks become months, months become years. Years are numbered progressively, yet every year is a repetition as seconds again progress. Day becomes night becomes day.

I just come back to base camp after four days. It was early night, and the Elders were waiting around a fire. The Elders asked me to have a seat near the fire and brought me bannock, beans and cheese on a plate with a bottle of water. I quickly consumed the food and rested. They asked for a recounting of my vision. I told them the following in a daze of exhaustion:

“I saw a man wandering between two villages. The man was prominent within the community of authors. He carried books with him and told me he helped publish writers. He had a Misi-Kinepikw hiding in his shadow, unseen, and unheard to him. It followed the man everywhere he went as he went from village to village.”

“The man seemed to interact with my family members and collectively they shook a fist at me like they were angry. They turned their backs on me and ignored me after telling me I was wasting my time. At one point they inverted a cross hung on the wall and laughed, telling me again that I was wasting my time.”

“There were two buildings in the dream. One an apartment building in Winnipeg that Death haunts and the other an office building in Toronto where dreams go to die. The first building seems more relevant to me as I get the impression I’ll live there in the future. In the apartment I saw a trophy case with many awards placed in it. I also heard a baby crying in the apartment. I noticed a beautiful woman smile when I turned to get a glimpse of the child.”

“I think Death is a sign of you dying in the building. Perhaps you will live there for many years with your family. Perhaps you take your own life. I’d say some in your family have driven you crazy for your beliefs. I’d avoid those you saw in the vision, they only wish you harm.” said one Elder as he sat chewing on a piece of bannock.

“You must defeat the Misi-Kinepikw and not fear the man. If he truly doesn’t see the serpent, he isn’t part of the problem. The Misi-Kinepikw just knew that you may approach the man to help you. He may be the trigger for your family to turn their backs on you.” said another Elder as he slowly stirred the coals of the fire with a partially charred stick.

“Your family scorned you because they feel you are wasting your time being Christian and writing. They turned on you and poisoned your life with the Misi-Kinepikw. If you avoid the ones who scorned you, you will avoid a lot of the struggles they can put before you. They may want control of your powerful destiny.” said a female Elder outlined by the flames of a rekindled fire.

“Yes... Those who have poisoned you bit deep like the Misi-Kinepikw decided. You should avoid talking about writing in front of them if you can’t avoid them.” said the first Elder who was deeply contemplating.

“You must overcome fear of failure to find the path of success. If you fear yourself, you will gain fear of others.” declared the female Elder as she took a sip of water and secretly thought I wouldn’t fail.

“Written works will heavily centre in your life, making you a prominent person in society, so the great evil has claimed a piece of your life through the selfish people around you. The serpent has stung but not completely rid you of your existence or we would not have seen your future at all.” said the Elder Shaman.

“The woman could be a lover. Maybe it was your mother, young and beautiful when she had you... I believe it means you will find a young lover who reminds you of your mother.” said the female Elder, wondering if romance was in the air.

“Perhaps the inverted cross means you are in Hell, or they want to send you to Hell. You come across as a decent person. You havn’t been involved in crime. They might blame you for other people’s actions. The Misi-Kinepikw has them fooled. You bear the sins of others.” said the Elder Shaman who happened to be Christian as well.

After they gave advice on what my vision meant, we all went to bed and slept till morning. I returned to Winnipeg with the new name Kitchi, meaning Brave. To unbend my mind, I started writing to understand perceived reality… To fact check life. I write a lot. I keep a journal that I write in daily. My brothers and sisters snicker every time they see me with it. The journal helps keep me on track so I do it, anyway.

My unbelieving family continually condemns me as a waste of time. A written off failure of the highest order who only thinks of Himself. Here I thought Christians put God above themselves and always tried to keep Him in mind… The whole copilot thing… Jesus is my salvation. Because of my newfound faith, I am told I am crazy. Which is what? A mindset? A tortured reality? I sum it up as an existence without substantiation.

They pushed so far that I lost my job, lost my girlfriend and all of my friends. The Elders warned me to stay away from those who didn’t want my success, but they are hard to avoid when you live with them. I eventually had enough abuse, and I had to be hospitalized. I underwent in-depth psychological testing. Turns out I was schizophrenic and placed on medicine. One thing they taught me in the hospital was how journaling can be used for mental health.

After stabilization, they released me to wander the public, a free person in a free country, with what the new voice journal dubbed undeserved free money. In this case, Employment Insurance was earned as I worked almost forty hours a week previous to my hospitalization. When this temporary supplement ended, I proudly went back to work at a new job. I also put my name in at an apartment building near the job site.

My life is still straight and true as the arrow used to pierce the apple on William Tell’s son’s head. For the same reasons, I refused to let my Misi-Kinepikw above me and dared not bare my head to my brother ever again. As with the intended purpose of the second arrow, I refused to break and give in, even if I failed. In flight, the arrow flexes and bends or it would snap with the pressures of stress caused by the dynamics of flight. I guess I’m used to flexing by now; I barely skipped a beat before moving on to rekindle my life. I hoped to be deserving, as deserving as those with apparent disabilities.

The physically disabled who seem to stand out in our society as disadvantaged are already fully recognized. Mental illness, the unseen, unheard cry for relief, not believed as a real illness must become the past belief of our society. We must become able-bodied like our kindred, confined to wheelchairs and crutches no more. So I wrote a novel with the intentions of getting a real bonafide traditional publishing contract one day to gain a voice for the unseen sufferers.

Ironically, my life coincided with guarding books and patrons at the Millennium Library in downtown. It was as if things were rolling into high gear. It was reassuring now that I had started a book. I took it as a sign I was on the right path. This posting would not be permanent but I would continue as a security guard for some time. As a bonus, I got the apartment of my dreams. Yeah, the one from my vision.

I still remember the first day here. I opened up the door and pure sunlight had flooded the place from the non-curtained window, revealing rich laminate flooring in all the rooms except the bathroom where they laid patterned linoleum. There was a pass-through from the kitchen to the dinning room above the counter and kitchen sink. It would make serving food and collecting dishes convenient. They had painted all the walls standard white, and the suite had a storage closet, too. Finally, part of my vision had come true.

Later, guarding the gang infested apartment building I had transferred to, I had another breakdown and went on long-term disability. I came to believe that the Misi-Kinepikw closely tied my faith and conviction of writing to my breakdowns and what would give me the perseverance to continue with my dream would be its defeat. I wrote often now that I was able and started a website to promote myself.

While writing often consumed my free time, I also scoured the Internet for publishers. I saw a picture of an office building one day and remembered the second building. Now full of bright, intelligent faces from the website that proclaimed them the premium force behind modern publishing. Certainly a tangent point that would make me noteworthy, maybe break me out of the circular depression I felt I was in.

One of them, Ron Patois, a literary agent with international connections, could make someone like me an overnight sensation. I already had a crude, sketchy, well-intentioned book that was rushed off via a web form’s synopsis. Too late, I remembered the Misi-Kinepikw. Although I had not really stirred the wrath of Ron Patois, I had awoken the Misi-Kinepikw and it bit. It drove me crazy and as a result my doctor re-hospitalized me. I guess I finally had met the powerful man from my vision and he was indeed a publishing agent, but uninterested.

I realized only I could change my predicament. Long ago dumping my full plate into the alley’s dumpster when recommitted, I grew weary and worn down, for a while forgetting the book of my dreams, and concentrated on poetry to heal. I rekindled a collection of poems, called A Collection of Poems for the Inspiration of Modern Man.

While writing poetry, I attended my father’s appointment for an MRI. When loading up my grandchild-less father after the appointment, I looked up and noticed Ron Patois. He was jogging away, so I smiled and wondered if I could still sway his opinion when I realized to enter short story contests could gain momentum.

Seven contests later and not even a long-lister in them led me to conclude that maybe the dissenters in my family were correct in assuming I was wasting my time. I clung to faith like Jesus at the Last Supper when Judas’ betrayal caught up to him and the Centurions hauled him away for crucifixion.

Perhaps it was time to turn my back on the dissenters; To become Son of Man. I hadn’t lived at home for years. I had been crucified upside down like the Rock for the last time. Struggling mentally for years now, I came out of my shell through a mental health worker.

I spontaneously made random friends on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Soon I found the indie publishing movement on Twitter through #writerslift and commercialized my website site. I pulled together some cheaply crafted eBook versions of my poetry collections and put them for sale online. Sales were slow but started rolling momentum as weeks became months.

I now have several eBooks with a small profit. Have yet to meet the woman and am in my mid-forties. Maybe I already met her and lost the opportunity when I let her slip away, but still I waited for my future wife. I must be in the right building. I feel like I belong, satisfied with where I am, and it’s affordable on long-term disability. Still struggling mentally, I gained momentum after cutting family loose.

I was awake one sleepless night and saw a documentary on PBS entitled Poetry in Motion 2.0. The documentary featured different poets from the 70s and 80s who preformed their work for the camera. One such poet was the notable Amiri Baraka who caught me off guard with a piece that was recited with a saxophone playing. Death stalks the stairs of a certain building was all I heard as the saxophone created a cacophony to keep the listener jumping. Death? Why here? Was I about to die as lonely as the wind?

I had a roof over my head, plenty to eat and a new mental health worker who seemed quite interested in me continuing my writing endeavours. I tried to think of places to meet women... The coffee shops... The local bars... The park right across the street. Then I realized that none of these conventional ways were acceptable because of COVID-19. I did what the unconventional do. I Called on the power of the Internet.

At first I thought Internet dating was a joke as I only met women who wanted gifts of cellphones, prepaid cards, and access to my bank account. I wouldn’t give in and try them out, they only amounted to gold diggers. Women who looked for affluent men with big padded bank accounts. Then a hit to left field turns into a fumbled play and an eventual home run as I finally cash in on a writing contest.

When I intended to spend the fifty dollars earned on a King Can of Budweiser, I got dressed up and headed to the local vendor, not knowing the bar had recently reopened to a diminished capacity. I was standing there when a former friend, from another tangent point, came along and we reacquainted. He mentioned we should go to the bar. I decided it would be worth it to have a beer in the bar and followed him.

I walked in behind him and was surprised by who I recognized... An old friend was playing pool all alone. She was looking fine, dressed to the nines, wearing tight jeans and a halter top. Her tanned, toned body was definitely muscular and very appealing as she leaned over the pool table to make a shot. She pulled her brunette hair back into a ponytail and I envisioned her leaving with me.

I blushed as memories came flooding in. I was already in love with her. When I saw her eyes, I instantly felt an undeniable attraction. An old country song came on... Tight-Fitting Jeans... I knew it was time to make my move. I walked over and asked her if she was playing alone.

“What are you waiting for? Get a cue and join me. Hurry!” she ordered.

“Okay, if you say so.” I replied meekly as I went and grabbed a cue from the bar.

When I returned to the table, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I came for a beer with my old friend.”

“Is that all?” she asked as she took a shot at the balls already in play.

“Yeah, I finally won a writing contest.”

“Really?” she said as she pointed to the corner pocket and sunk the four-ball.

“Yeah.” I sheepishly replied, hoping to hide the nervousness I felt at meeting her.

We played two more games of pool and finally sat down at a table to talk. We had a couple of drinks and I told her of my hard won victory. When we talked of ourselves, we stared deeply into each other’s eyes and I could sense the kindling of a flame. The rest is history. The girl of my dreams led to family, complete with three children, fame, fortune, and knighthood. The greatest tangent point I had ever encountered pulled me out of circular dullsville. I had taken a chance, hit on my dream girl, and left the local watering hole with whom would become my wife.