First Post: Monday, August 28, 2023

The Malinckrodt-Lannett Observations

An occasional series…

He took his seat in the room. The fluorescent tubes threw their harsh clinical lighting from the popcorn-tiled ceiling so it landed around the assemblage of four long tables joined in a loose oblong arrangement. The light did not bother him; he was not that sensitive about these things, but he had been in this sort of room more than a few times where at least one of the attendees demanded one of the banks of tubes, or even two of them, be switched off. He sat quietly, his eyes furtively surveying the scene. This was not one of these rooms.

The collection of males around him was confident, composed, different from the usual assortment of souls sitting in this sort of room. They were all physically fit, chiseled jawlines, strong physiques, good hair, nice clothes; many of them were tan, and by the looks of all of them, this might seem to be a collection of dudes gathering for a casting-call for a toothpaste commercial or an upscale fashion shoot.

Yeah, he had lost some weight recently, and finally at the age of 56 — he was by far the oldest male in the room — he had finally become more mesomorphic in his stature, no longer grossly endomorphic, plus if you observed his thorax from just the right angle, where the light was hitting at just the proper spot, it appeared he had some sort of definition in the midsection, with cuts & grooves; the old flab had gone bye-bye, and the so-called ab crack was trying to emerge. He had a waist now, and was back down to a single chin after the pads of flab hanging from his mandible disappeared. 

He thought about this, and he was grateful to be in this room. These guys had inspired him to get fit — not overtly, not by any direct conversation or suggestion, but mainly so he could fit in, all that when-in-Rome stuff. Initially, to his mental mind, he had started this journey to a healthier physical body because he did not want any chronic conditions dogging him in his old age; no insulin, finger-pricking, no plummet off metabolical edge into a hypervigilant state of self-monitoring. As well, he had become moderately athletic at this late stage of life: a blessing! He needed to stay in good shape to do all those things he was starting to get competent at. A physical body limited by achy, creaky joints and small, tight musculature would not do anymore. 

But then he entered this room, and maybe a little bit he started to want to compete. To indulge in some preening vanity that, while extant, would never become some kind of defining aspect of his existence. Surely he could concede that part of his humanity.

Occasionally his eyes met some of the eyes of the others in the room, and he would nod politely, and perhaps curl the ends of his lips upward. But no words came out of his mouth. He’d known this ritual ahead of other gatherings in other of these kinds of rooms with harsh fluorescent lighting over long tables loosely arranged in oblong patterns. He’d started many years ago at meetings for groups with names like Empaths Anonymous, Underachievers Anonymous, Pikers Anonymous, Underbeing Anonymous, a few others. While he had never completed the indicated path leading to the ultimate self-improvement these meetings had promised, he had learned quite a bit about a better way to function through this world. He had stopped going to those other meetings because, while he felt he associated with many of those programs, they felt like they did not address the root cause of his spiritual deficits.

Then the appointed leader for this group’s meeting walked into the room. He took his spot standing at the front of the room and began speaking. 

‘Hi. I’m Biff. And I’m a Kept Man. Welcome to tonight’s meeting of Kept-Men Anonymous…’

’Hi, Biff!’

So it went. Just some guys with first names, no last names, and that was part of the allure of being anonymous: that kindergarten-level of trust & fellowship, regressing to a childlike state of first principles & development. No baggage, no old stories, no preconceptions. A first name and some stories.

He thought about this kind of anonymity. He thought back to the ancient Hebrews, and their idea of the deity. Long before many other religious traditions began creating their icons & statuary & paintings of how their deities should appear to their followers’ adoring eyes, the Hebrews knew that the graven image was merely some kind of human conceit; it was a conceit that had the undesired effect of diluting the almighty spiritual power of the deity.

So the Hebrews maybe began this powerful concept of anonymity with regard to spiritual authority. There was a name, but that was it. The entire principle of the Hebrew deity was this: ‘I AM THAT I AM.’ No flowing beard, no skin tone, no white robes — nothing! They deity was a name & a statement. HE WAS BEYOND THE PERCEPTION OF THE FIVE HUMAN SENSES! He was unseen, unheard (save for his one foundational statement), unsmelt, unfelt (from the standpoint of mere touch), untasted. HE WAS A MYSTERY to be divined only by something beyond everyday human cognition. Because once any human ascribed even one small detail about the deity’s appearance or behavior, it was all over; the anonymity went away, and with it went the pure spiritual energy the Hebrew deity possessed. Once some lowly human had some internal notion of the deity as regards to the five senses, then that deity was no longer a deity; he was entirely small, a figment of some human’s limited understanding & idea of the deity. For the Hebrews, in all their wisdom, this would not do: The Deity had to be Anonymous. It was enough that he existed; it was enough that he was. ‘I AM THAT I AM.’

So, then, with the Hebrew Deity requiring anonymity, another old Jewish precept came to his mind: When you engage in charity, philanthropy, giving, etc., you need to do it anonymously. The linkage with the anonymous deity became clear: if the Deity is anonymous, unknown, unseen, unheard, and if the Deity is the provider of all things in the Universe, so, then, when a lowly human gives to the benefit of his fellow man, it also should be anonymously. The Deity requires no praise; nor should the lowly human who gives in that same spirit of the deity. Once the anonymity of a human’s charity disappears, the spiritual nature of the act diminishes; it too easily becomes something for humans to use to be, well, more human & less Godlike. 

And so it was in all these rooms, one of which he found himself sitting, this night’s meeting of Kept-Men Anonymous. Seated around him, within all these flawed & human creatures, a spark of the divine, of the deity, could be detected; in himself, too. To be of service to these fellows, his fellows, no personalities other than a first name (and even some of those first names were made-up!) could be allowed to overpower the principle of the spirit, of the divine. The bondage of self worked both ways; he didn’t like someone, someone didn’t like him back. Yet those were enmities based on things outside the spiritual; no one is born to hate some other human; rather we are here to give, to be of service, without praise or name, but with pure spiritual energy, as much as possible. Like Yahweh, the deity. 

That was the ideal, anyway, and years of conditioning and indoctrination and hard-set acts, roles & functions had to be undone — all of them self-based, well-identified human conceptions. The trick here, in this room and in all those other rooms with meetings like these all over the world, was to regain the anonymity, to strip away the constructs & man-based recognitions & come from the primal divine, no physical body, no mental mind, only the original light & energy & declaration I AM THAT I AM.

He wanted to believe it could be done, and at least he was moving away from an overreliance on the material, on the stuff outside, and starting to at least acknowledge the existence of some of that divine spirit within himself. Every moment was new, and the spirit was a way to meet it without his self, the old self, the cherished long-held manufactured self, getting in the way. 

And so the deity, the universe, would present every moment ahead of him, now and going forward. Each moment was an opportunity to act as a concierge. These fellows seated around him in the loose oblong configuration under the fluorescent tubes, they were here because they wanted help. They needed to suffer less, get out of their mental minds, feel some of the goodness as ordained by the spirit of the deity inside them. 

As a concierge, he had a chance to help, to be of service, to get them to where they needed to be, and he did not need to know who it was he was helping, or to be praised or rewarded for offering that help. If the deity gave anonymously, beyond all human understanding, he, as a concierge for the universe, might be able to conduct his life in that most divine manner, too.

They all prayed as one: 

God, I offer myself to Thee-
To build with me
and to do with me as Thou wilt.
Relieve me of the bondage of self,
that I may better do Thy will.
Take away my difficulties,
that victory over them may bear witness
to those I would help of Thy Power,
Thy Love, and Thy Way of life.
May I do Thy will always!

No thunderbolts, no lightning, no vengeance or retribution. The past was past, a bondage of self. The future was what the universe was going put in front of him, in front of all of them, and if they could be compelled by ungrudging, helpful spirit of a concierge rather than the willful reluctance of the self, the so-called MAIN CHARACTER ENERGY, then more serenity to them.

Next time: Anger, an unaffordable luxury! Oooooh!

BestLine Racing Society Recap: 

Surprise Monday action from Ellis Park & Golden Gate, which joined the usual start-of-the-working-week activity from Keystone / Phila. Park / ParXXX.

At Henderson, Ky., #8 Choctaw Bingo (.229 Win Prob / 3.37-1 Fair Odds / 4.24-1 Premium Odds) had a winning card at $11.92. Then in Race 5 there, by now you are familiar with the drill: half the field was inexperienced, and the best of the inexperienceds, #6 Candi Girl (.438 / 1.28 / 1.74), won anyway at $6.16. In Race 8, #3 Fogo Island (.220 / 3.55 / 4.45) won it for lunGUYland at $24.88.

From Albany, Calif., dangerously close to that RADICAL-LEFT geographical location known as THE PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF BERKELEY, #4 Ballyvaughan Gig (.443 / 1.26 / 1.71) scored one for the money-grubbing longshot players at $25.40; completing your winning $43-even exacta was #2 Sir Greyson (.355 / 1.82 / 2.38) — the premium price on that comboa (comboa!) was $11.55.

Finally, to Bensalem Twp., Penna., and #3 Paradigm Shift (.300 / 2.33 / 3.00), who took the fifth at an unimpeachable $8.40. In Race 7, #6 River Dog (.237 / 3.22 / 4.06) HAD THAT DOG (DAWG?) IN HIM (!) in a $13-even win — grrrrrr!

BestLine Racing Society Nightcap: 

The Mountain here, and again it’s off the turf. We have to be able to accept with serenity this thing we cannot change; however, the mental mind wants no part of such serenity! It needs the answer to this ongoing mystery RIGHT NOW, screw all that ‘all will be revealed’ platitude stuff! Why, Mountain? WHY?

Strongshots

Race 2
#7 Money Taker (.432 / 1.31 / 1.78)

Race 3
#2 Silver Stick Stair (.397 / 1.52 / 2.02)

Longshots

Race 1
#10 Mr Mayhem (.258 / 2.88 / 3.65)
#6 Shannonrun (.214 / 3.67 / 4.61)
#4 William’s Cause (.183 / 4.46 / 6.65)

Race 7
#6 Khopilot (.170 / 4.88 / 6.06)
#1 Daddy Z (.163 / 5.13 / 7.59)
#3 Straus’s Place (.155 / 5.45 / 8.03)