skirmishes

  Sun 1.17.21

         The small battles in life, the skirmishes are what hones one’s fitness for the big ones.  Life on planet earth for its many species is about competition and battle for resources.  We like to pretend it’s all Kumbaya but evidence belies it.  My first skirmish of the year unfolds on Beauty Day 2021.  Unsettling times indeed for human beings. 

      I take my one day a month appointment at the salon (to maintain my flamboyant hair) seriously.  On Beauty Day I focus on my true beauty: my inner strength, my resilience, my vulnerability.  The red hair is the honor I bestow Self, and the salon becomes a ritualistic temple in which I review the issues I bring to the situation ahead of me in the coming month, the weaknesses I will have to be alert to, looking at the importance they play in my circumstances and what is behind them.  I assess the task ahead of me and look for ways to perform it with grace and wisdom. 

      I should tell you something about my hair.  It took me a long time to develop this shade, years of experimenting.  I use only a certain premium product which is not carried by a lot of salons.  What's more, it is very hard to find a good professional who knows how to mix and apply it.  My present stylist is very good, a prima donna.  Of the few times to date that I have availed myself of his services, he's been bristly.  An example: when I paid him the money I owed him at my first appointment, I also gave him an extra $20 and asked for change (for his tip).  He became huffy like I was importuning him.  He was being put upon by these two tasks.  One has to watch not to get caught in ego dynamics with him.

      Today, he sees that I have had my hair cut by someone else.  Not happy.  Asks if I requested a haircut with my appointment.  Then he makes snide remarks about my looks.  At the wash basin, he purposely gets water in my ears.  "Oh dear, I thought it was going to come out green!" he jests as he removes the towel from my hair.  We are now in the grips of the full ego.  What am I to do about this?  I become still, embraced by a slowing of movement and energy.  What is going to happen in this situation?  Is there a possibility of danger?  Am I going to reach over and slug him?  Will he ruin my hair?

      I have no idea what changes the situation, I suspect that he's read my energy and decided not to push it; maybe he's noted the hair at the back of my neck rising.  For whatever reason, by the time we arrive at the cash register my hair lustrous and smooth as satin, he is somewhat conciliatory.  I have won a small fight here.  I will have my hair cut by whomever I choose and he will have to accept that.  This is no small matter.  I am the boss now.  I give Sammy his tip, "See you next month," I call out. 

 The favorite essay this past month has been Nagual