Nothing Meditation South Beach

 

 

by David Arthur Walters

South Beach is incredibly beautiful today, enough to cry about, and that is just what I silently did a I fled from hurricane Irma in 2017 to a high school shelter in a dangerous Miami neighborhood, expecting there would be nothing to return to, realizing then and there, on the evacuation bus that picked us up after the rich people had flown out in the days prior, how much I loved South Beach even though I was prone to hating it from time to time and desirous of returning to Hawaii, a place I had never hated, to die.

The news was incredible. South Beach would be under at least twelve feet of water. But Irma turned on a dime at the last possible moment and headed to Ft. Myers, where Tanya the Savage had fled, reminding me of the Arab who fled from one oasis to another to escape Death only to find Death waiting for him there.

Tanya, thankfully, survived the terrible blow. I myself was in such shock from the adventure that, after my return to barely damaged South Beach, I collapsed on a sidewalk in front of a building on which an ancient tree had collapsed, and I sobbed out loud, something real men secretly do.

When I recovered, thanks to a woman who consoled me, I exclaimed, “Damn the news!” I resolved to never run from a hurricane again, but to just get on a floor of a building that can withstand the wind, even if I have to witness bodies floating in the water when it blew over.

Sad to say that the sympathetic woman lost her job in the aftermath of Irma. She could not make her rent, was evicted from her apartment, then she moved away. I was thinking of her this morning in the context of the mayor’s big Law and Order Crackdown that practically shut down South Beach during Spring Break. Business had not been so good before that, so restaurant jobs are harder to find. A friend of mine lost his job when the restaurant where he works closed for good; he is on the verge of homelessness. May God help The Help because their employers must be heartless to survive in paradise.

There is no beauty without ugliness. Paradise can be hell despite its beauties. One can always take a walk around and find some comfort in how it looks. I sauntered over to South Pointe Park, one of the most beautiful parks in the world, where I noticed a long line of young people, the majority of them women dressed in white, walking up the big rise overlooking the Atlantic. They were not relating to one another or looking about, and I was reminded of the Living Dead. Indeed, the procession was solemn, as if it were a funeral without a casket. I wondered if someone important had died. The participants stopped on the rise to face the ocean sky. Some appeared to be praying. One woman had her arms upraised with palms toward the Sun, reminding me of how I had done in D.C. when stoned during an anti-war protest near the Washington Monument during the Good Old Days.

A beautiful, mature woman, dressed all in black came riding up the rise on a motorized bicycle large enough to be called a motorcycle. Never mind that , bikes on that elevated sidewalk had been prohibited until everyone disobeyed the rule, so the rule was abrogated rather than enforced to save human beings from serious injuries.

“I am late,” she said to me, thinking I was a member of the group.

“Who died?” I asked, looking at her closely, thinking she looked like a wise witch.

“It is a meditation.”

“Oh, excuse me. I am just standing here. There is plenty of room for meditation since countless angels can stand on the head of a pin.”

She did not have time to get it, and she continued on, trying to converse with the meditators, with some difficulty because they were preoccupied with their meditations and did not want to be bothered with things.

Meditation upon what? The vast ocean and sky, the clouds, as if less were more? I supposed they were seeking Nothing, hopefully, because Nothing Meditation provides relief from every thing, something contemplation fails to achieve. It is by no means easy to literally become No Thing. Why, my friend Billy accomplished Nothing in India during a Sun Worship, and he was, ironically, deported, then jumped out of a high window on his return to New York, leaving a note saying he was going to join Madame Blavatsky.

So there I stood with the meditators. I understand their plight. Even paradise can be hell; there would be no paradise without it. Indeed, South Beach is perfect because it resists perfection defined. So, I was glad they are purging their minds of garbage so they can go back refreshed, and I felt like giving them all a big hug at the same time. I am, however, Almost Dead Already. Nothing is not enough for me. Give me everything or give me death. Being here is wonderful this morning. Believe it or not, South Beach is incredibly beautiful. You do not have to get anything out of it, and Beauty is good for Nothing, if you so please; that is its advantage! Just look and see for your Self.