The Enlightenment and Collected Works of Handel Potter with CD Included

by Rex Knowles

 

The Meeting

I first met Handel Potter in Greyfriar’s, a neo-Bohemian coffee shop in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Potter relished the prefixed word ‘neo-Bohemian’. 

“We all want to be new, but the best we can be is neo.  It’s all there. So why waste energy struggling to be original, different, and unique, striving to create something new and, then, delude ourselves into thinking what we created is original when it is actually recreated.  Everything is recreation.  Recreation is an efficient and exquisite way to understand God.  Take me for example.  I’m neo-human.”

The year was 2004. As Potter was fond of saying “2004 is divisible by 12.”

I went to Greyfriar’s on occasion to drink coffee, write, and soak in the energy of the neo-Bohemians. That day in May was one such occasion. My first impression of Potter was mixed. He seemed distant and protected, yet exuded an energy that was invitational. Potter taught me later that I should dismiss first impressions as equally as I should dismiss reality.

“First impressions are a way for us to come to closure before we know who a person really is, if, in fact, that’s possible.”

He called first impressions ‘premature factulations.’

I found myself staring at this Greyfriar’s, neo-Bohemian man. He was obviously aware of my gaze for he looked up and motioned for me to sit next to him.

“Do you mind?” I asked, pulling up a chair, placing my decaf on the small square table.

“Yes,” he replied.

‘Yes’ was the first word Potter spoke to me, and it pierced my heart. I had had an illogical desire to get to know this man, had taken the moderate risk of asking if I might join him at his table, and was mono-syllabically rejected.

“Yes. I mind everything. That’s how I perceive the world and all that is – by minding. If I didn’t mind, I would be a numb automaton destined to go through life unconscious of the exquisite interrelationship between humanity and reality. Yes. I do mind. That’s why I would be honored for you to join me this morning.”

“Thank you,” I replied as I sat opposite the man I would get to know more than anyone I had ever met.

“No. Thank you.”

I thought of the old “Thank you” game.  “Thank you.” “No. Thank you.” “No. Thank you.” “No thank you.” The game is one of inflection and probably doesn’t translate well on the page.

As I was thinking this Potter commented, “That’s because language is an imperfect system created by imperfect beings to communicate imperfect ideas about our imperfect existence. Isn’t it wonderful!”

“Did you just read my mind?”

“Yes. But not in the way we think of as mind-reading. It was what I was thinking – the ‘thank you game’ – so it must have been what you were thinking, too.  A serendipitous simultaneity, often misunderstood as mind reading.”

My mind whirled. Who was this man? Is he crazy? Is he a holy man? If he were crazy, he wouldn’t have the mental stamina to stay with the conversation. He would have wandered into his own hallucinogenic, narcissistic reality. If he were a holy man, he wouldn’t be downing double lattes at an alarming rate. Instead, he framed our first exchange in simple profundity without the manic timbre of the mentally unstable or the soft, low pitched, benedictal tones of spiritual leaders.

“I’m both.”

I felt an overwhelming excitement. I wanted to get to know this man, to spend some time with him, to be able to call him friend.

“Me, too.”

He was a bearded man of average build, slightly thin. I guessed his age to be fifty-eight.

“Good guess,” he said on that first meeting. “If you had met me yesterday, you would have guessed wrongly.”

That was his way of saying that today was his birthday. I wished him a happy birthday, to which he added, “as happy as any other day. You know, I’m an official baby boomer. I’ll be 60 in 06.”

I asked him where he worked. “Nowhere now. I like how ‘nowhere now’ is one space away from ‘now here now’. Has a nice Ram Das ring to it, don’t you think?  So, I guess my work is now, here, now. But I don’t get paid for this work.”  He paused. “At least not in currency.  Oh, I might go into the tee-shirt selling business. I have a lot of tee-shirts. Then again, I might not.”

He wore a flannel shirt — “My former co-workers used to call me ‘Flannel Man’” — blue jeans — “You don’t have to send them to the cleaners unless you want that faded crease in the legs that screams you send your jeans to the cleaners,” — and black suede slip-ons — “Bass. I’ll keep wearing these until I find a shoe that’s more comfortable.” 

His hair was grayish-brown with a medium short cut. “My hair has been various lengths throughout my fifty-eight years. The length determined by the lengths to which I’ll go to conform to cultural pressure. Currently, my hair is not too long and not too short. I call it my mediocre cut. This is a universally accepted cut because everyone loves mediocre. Mediocre is easy to understand.”

He wore no jewelry, no accessories. “I don’t have a wife or children, and I’m not gay. I’m also not asexual. I call myself a retro-sexual.”  I asked him what a retro-sexual was.  He replied logically, “You’re looking at it.”

And that was the start of a relationship that led to numerous meetings at Greyfriar’s and, eventually, to this book. This book is about Handel Potter’s journey to enlightenment. Potter started his journey without the help of a teacher/guru/cult leader as you shall read later. I needed Potter to help me with my own journey.

Potter gave me permission to publish an account of his journey under one condition. I had to include an appendix of his “unfinished nexts” at the end of the book. “I want my collected works included in the book so I can get them out of my head. They have nested in my neo-cortex and continually activate my limbic brain with a desire for completion. They seduce me into believing that I am the sum total of what I output.  If you publish my collected works of ‘unfinished nexts’, I can finally consider them finished and get on with the present.”

I agreed to Potter’s one condition and have published his “Collected Works of Unfinished Nexts” in the appendix of the book you are now reading. You will learn what Potter and I mean by “unfinished nexts” very soon.

Potter explained that the book should not be linear, going from past to present. He felt his life was made up of braided strands that could be unbraided, examined, then rewoven into other patterns. “Some people use the word ‘tapestry’ to describe their life. I prefer braids. Tapestries hang on museum walls where you can admire their artistry. With braids, you can go out and play in the yard.” Potter did concede that tapestry is a more flowery and poetic word than braid. “That’s because braid has at its beginning and end an explosive consonant. The journey to enlightenment must contain some explosions.” Potter warned me not to take the braid metaphor too far. “When you start unbraiding life it can get really tangled. Leave that task to a trained hairdresser.”

Some of the strands Potter shared with me were about his name, his grandfather, his education, earthquakes, lunch, toilets, and tee-shirts. I decided to write Potter’s journey in third person for two reasons. The first is my own reason. The second reason is Potter’s.

First (Author’s reason): third person is less tedious to write and less tedious to read. 

Second (Potter’s reason). “In third person, the book will have a more ‘novel’ feel about it and make the readers wonder if I’m real or made up, if the book is fiction or non-fiction, or if, in fact, they might be part of a larger ‘novel’ written by some unknown author. The primary reason for using third person is to get the reader to question their reality by dwelling in the hero’s reality. Third person does that to a reader. First person is too personal and requires empathy. Second person is oppressingly sermonic and requires obedience. Third person is ethereal and requires complete commitment of the reader’s imagination. Write in third person.”

What follows is Potter’s journey to enlightenment in third person. What follows that are Potter’s Collected Works of Unfinished Nexts.

Potter grew up in Lincoln, Nebraska and Danville, Kentucky. He went to college in Middletown, Connecticut. He lived in Los Angeles for fifteen years and New York City for ten years. He currently lives in Chattanooga, Tennessee.

“It’s a good idea to locate the physical body before messing with the spiritual body. I’ve lived on both coasts and points in between. I’ve never been to a foreign country. Unless you count my mind. And for God’s sake use the five ‘W’s of good journalism.  Who, what, when, where, and why.  In fact, start with the five ‘W’s.”

And so I start this journey to Handle Potter’s enlightenment with the five ‘W’s of good journalism.

© 2006, Knowles