Loud Lincoln #5

I held the can of numbered sticks in my hand as the cricket chirped

“Not only think, but wish and know the answer, even if you can’t articulate it yet.

Close your eyes with the knowing, and shake three sticks out. You’ll here the plink of the stick on the metal”

I thought, I hoped, I dreamed and I thought I knew the answer.

Shake-plink one

Shake-plink two

Shake-plink three

I opened my eyes and stared into the large copper dented bowl. Three ink red sticks, each with a Chinese character, created a simple lattice. The cricket was still there, which was a good thing, I hoped.

The incense burned my eyes, and everything in the small room smell of some sent of it. Bright red designs with gold hung from long curtains covering the room. It was dark, lit only by a few candles and the old woman was squinting to read the characters on the sticks. She wrote them down with a calligraphers paint brush, and took out a small battered book and wrote something else-this time with a Bick pen, certainly out of place in this small room in China Town. The notebook flipped, again with her arthritic fingers, she wrote down more words as my anticipation grew. Finally I had the last of my fortune, written on an old piece of paper and sealed in a puritanically white business envelope.

I gave her $25 dollars, and slowly navigated my way back to campus. I had certainly choose the right college, Loma had an ocean view. When I had finally got home it was sunset, and the waves hit the waters lulling back and forth. Finally I got up the courage and I opened it.

Out fell the cricket, and he hopped away chirping.

“nothing lasts, nothing is finished, and nothing is perfect."

What a bum fortune

I watched the sun set, and the waves ravage the cliffs far away.