#just like all the best things it perfectly walks the line between silly and profound

[themynock]

Dak's mind palace is one of my favorite running bits on this show

[diveronarpg]

In fair Verona, our tale begins with CASSIAN BHATT, who is THIRTY years old. He is often called CASSIUS by the CAPULETS and works as their SOLDIER. He uses HE/HIM pronouns.

He never loved his father, not even as a child. Perhaps it was their differences, a long list he’s kept since the moment he could write. Maybe it was the way Cassian had always detested what other little boys his age lived for—playing catch, riding their bikes, skinning their knees with kids in the neighborhood—and instead found comfort in the logic and reason between book pages far more interesting. One would think an avid reader would have adored a son who took to written word just as he, but the division always came down to one thing. Preference. His was non-fiction. REALITY. Looking to the clouds, Cassian never saw some great, profound potential, nor fluffy animals and fun shapes like other children; what he saw was weather patterns. Mother Nature rearing its ugly head on those too stupid to know they’re hurting her. He saw a world wrought with misconception, filled with beasts and famine. Misrepresentation of the plague an entire people had reaped by being WEAK. He had no time for their dreams, for their wild imaginations, or their incessant need to color outside the lines—just like his father. A renowned professor who always asked the two simple questions, what if? and why? He sought out the answers of the universe, pondered the wonders of man’s most celebrated philosophers as he spoke at colleges and universities throughout Cassian’s youth. And while his father loved language, too, written word to eat up with his hands like a barbarian, he also favored the unthinkable: man is good, man is worthy, man is trying. His son knew better. And he preferred a fork and knife when he consumed his DOCTRINES.

It was only fitting his mother was a POLITICIAN, another lover of words, but spoken to the masses with the conviction only a snake could possess, spinning lies into truths with such flawless execution. Part of him was proud, as he aged and watched her take over the whole city, secretly wanting to do exactly the same thing. Afforded the best possible education, Cassian spent his teenage years not with his nose exactly in a book, but at dinner parties where the guests were the best names in Science. The most progressive thinkers on cancer research were regulars of his parent’s Saturday night euchre party and the highest ranking government officials spent two weeks in the summer at their villa in Naples. And that’s not to say he spent these nights hidden in a corner, keeping to himself so as to not disturb theSHARPEST minds in the world—no. Cassian offered the quickest of wit, the most illustrious of answers to their questions, a rigorous debate over gender politics once ensuing one Sunday during brunch. He’d said something scandalous like society is the only reason we conform so strictly to such labels, nearly causing the bulging blood vessel in the poor, old cazzo’s forehead pop. He met the man with bared teeth, smug grin plastered along his reckless features. Without abandon, that’s how he always spoke, but only when it counted. Only when he knew his breath wasn’t going to be WASTED.

He dealt in cruelty the more he aged, grinding it out of the bones he deemed less than, those not worthy of his time then suffering the worst FATE of all: his attention. It was rare that one could easily draw his gaze; Cassian is not readily amused, if ever. He deals in facts, in history and how it so clearly repeats, saving little time and even less energy for brevity, for romance or comedy. But when you dare to look a monster in the eye, when you issue that kind of challenge, when you provoke a man who takes pride in evisceration, one gets exactly what they bargain for: DESTRUCTION. He harnessed this power by way of making the rules bend to his will, not a creator of such a power, but someone strong enough to wield—to tame such a brutal thing. Law school was met with eager ears and a hollow hunger in his chest, a craving for knowledge making a home in his throat, never to leave again. But he put it to use when he ran his mother’s second campaign and managed a full schedule with the ease and grace only a man meant to rule the world could possibly possess. And it was a dangerous thing at that, the poise with which Cassian carried himself, with such avarice for not money butINTELLIGENCE. The smartest man in the room, that was what he truly wished to be, and it wasn’t too hard assert such dominance with the title of dottore of the Law now fashioned securely on his shelf.

It didn’t take long for him to have to put his newfound degree to the test, in fact it came the moment his mother’s name was SLANDERED in the press. Dragged through the mud so clearly by the opposition that he couldn’t not defend her, if for no other reason than not a soul speaks ill of the Bhatt name whilst he still has air in his lungs. His father may have soiled it with his prophesying and idealizing, but Cassian and his mother—though she loved the man for some reason; he can’t imagine why—still had something left of their lives to need Bhatt free and clear of any skeletons in its closet. Suing for libel, he won the case in record time, his words more convincing than that of the piss poor District Attorney who dared to try and poke holes in the confidence of a man with EVERYTHING to lose. So he took the sad sack’s job instead, convincing his boss to offer it up in under ten minutes flat. I just beat him, he’d said with a smug smile. And? he’d asked, brows raised at the sheer audacity of this sore winner. I can do the same for you. And with that, he had him. The position was his and he’d stood in the hallway of the courthouse, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, watching as the fool lost everything. True power doesn’t come from giving orders, nor does it come from brandishing fine weapons or throwing mean fists; it comes from being the best, and Cassian Bhatt is just that. PERFECT in every way imaginable. Just ask him yourself.

LILLIAN WEN: Fiancée. A trophy, something to show off, to place upon his mantle with pride and evidence of his of true ambition. She is that and not much more, but what a pretty face indeed. Glistening like a diamond, he’ll wear her around town if for no other reason than how good she looks with his Versace loafers. Lillian is a prize he thinks he’s won, but he’s yet to cross the finish line. Don’t bite the hand that feeds, and silly boy, does she ever feed yours. Gloat all he wants, parade her around like a doll and forget all she’s giving him, but if Cassian isn’t careful his intricate little plan will foil right before his eyes as she walks out the door. There’s only so far to push someone standing on the edge of integrity. Best he start appreciating the good deed that’s come his way before it blows up in his lap. He can’t survive another tarnish on his good name, not after how hard he’s worked to clear it. Cherish her, Mr. Bhatt, lest you lose the one thing to make you look halfway decent: a good woman to love you.

MONA CHEN & TIBERIUS CAPULET: Extortionist & Captain. She has pictures, hundreds of them, and despite his best efforts to seize them time and time again—even going so far as to hire the best thief money can possibly buy—they remain in her possession. Kept taught between her palms, held tightly against her chest, used to pull the strings of a man not used to answering to God or anyone, let alone a Madame. But she’s smart, he’ll give Mona that, always protecting her Sparrows first even if it means ruining a good man’s reputation in the process. He has no other choice than to obey, no other option than to come to heel and kneel before her and her boss. Though it’s his captain he’s more worried about. Cosimo’s nephew isn’t a man he wants to find the bad side of, but he’s well on his way if he doesn’t do his part. If he doesn’t do exactly as she says, execute every single order perfectly, it’ll be his ass that’ll need saving. Not hers from whatever sort of wrath he thinks he can come up with to outsmart the most clever woman in Verona. Nor Tiberius’ from whatever power play the lawyer thinks the heir won’t see coming. Checkmate, Cassian.

CRISTIAN DE LUCA: Interest. He’s never been one to lust after kingdoms, preferring to stick to the shadows as a powerful entity of demise with the flick of his wrist not a booming voice. Cassian wishes to be flocked to, praised for his deeds not his ability to bring people to their needs but his knack for dissecting the brain, its desires and every machination. He sees something quite similar in Cristian, and it’s so very enticing, so exhilarating to spot a creature just like himself out here in the wild. He wants to know more, see more, hear more from the man who has done nothing but kick up dust in the subtlest of ways since his feet landed on Italian soil. Pulling at the strings of chaos is his specialty, but to watch a man so apt at his favorite wicked game is exciting to say the least. He knows the man’s allegiance, on which side of the bridge his loyalties lie, but when have rules ever stopped Cassian from getting what he wants? And what he wants is a look inside that beautiful Montague mind.

TAMURA CHIKO: War dog. Be careful with that one, they bite. Of this Cassian is positive, what with how many times he’s been on the receiving end of such sharp teeth. But there’s something lurking behind those eyes, he’s sure of it, if only he could just—no. They don’t let him. With an arm outstretched, Chiko keeps him at a distance, and with good reason. He’s every bit as dangerous as he looks, a serpent slithering beneath the shade of the brush, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce; and sink his fangs into their neck he will. Dio does he want to, oh, so very much. There’s something so fascinating about their restraint, their constant will to never break composure. They are a puzzle Cassian is desperate to find all the pieces to, if only to marvel at his handiwork for having put it together. Paying no mind to the wreckage looking at such a visceral image could cause. They are everything his opposite, all violent combat and trigger fingers. He wonders what it would be like to hunt a creature like that. Satisfying, he muses.

Cassian is portrayed by RANVEER SINGH and was written by SIDNEY. He is DECEASED.

[existdissolve]

Serendipity in Openness

For most of my life I’ve been a closed door. If you had met me even six months ago (maybe even sooner!), you wouldn’t have met me: you would have met a shadow, a facade, an image. I didn’t project this to deceive or mislead; it was just in my DNA. Or so I told myself.

You’re an introvert. No one is that interested. Make this short and sweet and GET OUT OF THERE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

This was my modus operandi for interactions with pretty-much-everyone. Not too deep, not too personal, just enough to be pleasant and civil and perhaps even friendly. But that’s where the line is drawn.

Not surprisingly, this kind of approach to relationships and general interactions with the other humans doesn’t lead to a whole lot in the way of fulfilling relationships or meaningful friendships. It’s safe. And boring. Just like I felt myself to be. And so the cycle plays...

But then a funny thing happened. I went to Iceland. While there, I decided to take a 4-day trek in the highlands.

I originally wanted to do the trek completely by myself (please refer to paragraph #1 for a refresher of why). But as I researched it, the time of year I was going turns out to be a pretty good time of year to get yourself dead if you don’t know what you’re doing or where you’re going. So then, I opted for the “guided” version of the trek.

Among others, a major implication of participating in a guided tour is that there are other people who are probably interested in doing the same thing. As it turns out, 15 other people happened to make the same plans that I did. When I found this out, I admit I was a bit hesitant. The thought of hiking, eating, and sleeping with 15 strangers in constant close quarters was not appealing. My mind immediately went to its defaults, trying to come up with strategies to cope for four days of deflection, self-deprecation, and finding ways to be as close to a ghost as possible.

But then something changed.

I’m not entirely sure what inspired the change. Maybe it was the thrill of fulfilling my dream (finally!!!) of going to Iceland, or the excitement of my very first international trip, or quantum something...whatever the reason, a hitherto unknown person inside of me decided to try something radical, something crazy: I would actually try interacting with people!

I know, I know. It’s a very NOVEL idea. But for me, it was scary and intimidating and intriguing and eventually something I committed to do, even though every instinct screamed bloody murder.

I have many blog entries to write about my experiences with the group of people I met and came to befriend. Someday I will get to it. But I don’t exaggerate when I say that the time we shared and the lessons I learned by being open to companionship, to friendship, to the unknown brought about real change within me.

It was such a transformative experience that I brought the experience home with me, and I’m trying very hard every day to put the same principles into practice in all that I do. I’ve found, as the title of this post indicates, that it can lead to serendipity in the big and small moments of life, if only one is only and simply open to it.

A New Pair of Shoes

About a year ago, I desperately needed a new pair of shoes, as the bits of canvas and leather that had valiantly tried to retain their form had recently given up their ghost to the unrelenting ravages of entropy.

Not being one who has ever been accused of having any sense of fashion, I made my semi-annual pilgrimage to the shoe seller to find something of good quality, sensible utility, and (of course) reasonable pricing. I browsed the aisles and aisles of complicated choices, trying to find the one that would check all the boxes.

And then I saw them. This pair of shoes seemed to call out to me. I picked them up, measured their weight, felt the stitchings.

Hmm. This is a NICE pair of shoes. Really nice!

Then I looked at the price.

Oof. Well, I guess not these.

I continued on, searching and searching. Nothing stood out to me, nothing seemed of any particularly good value, and I kept thinking about those damn shoes.

Ok, maybe I’ll just try them on. They’re probably quite uncomfortable.

Wrong. Dead wrong. These shoes were AMAZING. They seemed to cradle my feet perfectly, and the inside lining was soft enough to provide comfort without being stuffy and hot. And when I started actually walking around in them, my fate was sealed.

These are just right. I really like these shoes!

Ah, but the price... They were definitely well above what I wanted to pay for a pair of shoes. I argued with myself for a few minutes, trying to justify and rationalize why I should or shouldn’t buy them.

In this eternal war between head and heart, my heart won one of its rare battles. I bought the shoes. I stopped justifying the purchase to myself. They brought me joy and were something that I liked, even if no one else ever noticed.

That was enough.

On With the Story!

If you’re following along, I have new shoes and a new found commitment to being open to experiences, relationships and whatever else the universe is cooking up. Caught up? Good.

The finale of this story brings me to the present day. In my quest to continue decluttering and de-possessing myself of things, I cleared out two full boxes of clothes. Unlike my books, I had no trouble with this purge; the decisions were easy, not only because none of the clothes I own are of any particular value, but even more because of sheer necessity: fitting all my “daily use” possessions into a small office closet, as opposed to half of an entire walk-in closet :)

I decided to take my newly-boxed clothes to Goodwill. My day at work had been hectic, so I didn’t arrive until nearly closing time. I was afraid that drop-offs had been closed up already, but I rang the bell anyway.

I waited a minute, and then someone emerged from the receiving bay and waved at me.

Ok. Here we go. A chance to be open. To be friendly. To care and see what happens if I do.

The person who greeted me was an incredibly nice guy, probably 15 years younger than me. He smiled, said hello. I returned the smile, and the greeting...and then I just started talking. It wasn’t anything deep and personal; I didn’t say or ask anything profound. I just showed interest, trying to explore the notion of being open to the now.

We didn’t talk for long. A few minutes, maybe. It was enjoyable, just letting the moments happen, not walling off, just seeing what will be. And then something quite strange and remarkable and unexpected happened.

Completely out of the blue, without any contextual provocation, he said something:

Hey...I really dig your shoes.

I looked down at my feet.

Of course. I’m wearing those shoes.

Serendipity

I was surprised. I was shocked, actually. I couldn’t figure out what to say. The old demons in me that tend toward self-deflection and self-deprecation rose up fiercely, sensing danger or risk or whatever in that moment, beseeching me to fly away.

But an even more powerful energy was at work as well. I felt...gratified! Not being someone who gives much thought to fashion or appearance, it hadn’t actually ever occurred to me that receiving such a compliment could be such a validating experience. In that instant, a line was drawn connecting this moment with the silly struggle I had picking out a pair of shoes, and the compliment was a rewarding validation of the personal value I had imbued in my selection.

Ok, look, I understand: this isn’t life-transformative stuff. It’s just a compliment about a pair of shoes. But for me, in that moment, it was revelatory of a deeper principle and truth. If I had gone to defaults, if I had walled off, if I had just kept my head down and completed the logistics of the transaction, I would have missed something. That something wasn’t monumental, but it was life-giving in its own small way. 

I am learning that this openness, this willingness to be present, this active seeking out of opportunities to connect...it carries with it an energy and power that is difficult to pin down or articulate, but is nevertheless impossible to deny. As I (imperfectly) seek to pursue this stance, I am daily finding moments of serendipity and happiness that would have otherwise been out of reach. And the best part is that these moments of surprise emerge organically; I don’t have to work myself to death trying to manufacture them. The energy of openness paves the way, smoothes the path, and swings wide the doors to vistas of possibilities that would otherwise be inaccessible.