On the first leg Van Stein and I get upgraded to first-class bulkhead, a good omen. Add this: A large, frisky golden retriever coming aboard suggests that Carl Barks is with us in spirit. And then along the runway a grey heron appears.
James Swan on travel/spirituality: Notice unusual animal behavior and any special rapport you may have with them. Native Americans regard the heron as a symbol of patience and good luck.
In Denver we disembark at the furthest of the A Gates and must dash to the far-off B Gates requiring an underground train ride and speedy hoofing to our Omaha gate just in time to board. (Message from the universe: Get some exercise.)
The second leg is just over an hour, baggage comes fast, renting a Hyundai is a breeze and, at lightning speed, we find ourselves in Omaha’s funky Old Town Market district before 5 o’clock.
The Farnham is brand new and higher tech than any hotel I’ve ever stayed. You make an appointment with the elevator and it whisks you directly to only your floor, no button to press, good security, the future of hotel and apartment elevators.
Near six, we’re ready for a walkabout on cobblestone brick roads among quaint restaurants, bars and imaginative shops.
We had already rolled the 14K golden die to choose a venue for dinner, Monarch Prime & Bar: aged ribeye, truffle mashed potatoes, creamed spinach and a bottle of Paul Hobbs pinot noir, climaxed by a 20-year-old Graham’s port.
We might have finished there, but when we stumble upon a bar called Havana Garage we have little choice but to indulge so we scoot around the corner to a smoke-shop for a pair of Macanudo Robustos and, appropriately armed, nail a table opposite the bar, at which Van Stein orders 1884 whiskey for cigar-dipping and two stouts for chasing.
“It’s not about where or not we should or shouldn’t be it’s more about whether we could or couldn’t,” Van Stein rants about our first day’s introduction to flipism. “Should or shouldn’t implies that someone else has power over you but could or couldn’t means you’re at choice. So we didn’t have to flip for this. We can choose to flip or not flip, it doesn’t matter. This whole thing about coin-tossing, if you get too serious about it and you take every coin toss too seriously you stand a chance of becoming neurotic and psychotic. When someone has a heart attack and their heartbeat is erratic it’s called ventricular fibrillation so I think we should design the de-flipulator.”
“Have you been eating too much bull tonight?” I ask
Van Stein nods. “I ate my fair share of bull tonight.”
“Do you reckon it’s had an effect on your thinking?”
Van Stein shakes his head. “The de-flipulator gives someone a shock when they’ve bought into coin tossing in a way that keeps them from being sane and they lose control. It brings them back into being consciously aware…”
“And render them un-flippable?”
“Yes, it’s my choice. The coin is just a tool, just for fun. It’s people who believe in it who end up doing erratic things. The de-flipulator stops them from going overboard.”
“Are you suggesting we have become neurotic or psychotic?”
“Not yet.”
“Maybe by the end of the week?”
“May be. Stand by with that de-flipulator. We need to say, we can flip for this, not we should flip for this. We always have the choice to say yes or no. We’re playing the game but we don’t relinquish control.”
Amused by our animated banter, a perky gal named Amber and her Yorkshire Terrier, Tito…
…engage us in joyous conversation during which we confide our coin-tossing mission and since Amber is enthusiastic and somewhat blown away by our sense of whimsy based on calculated serendipity I decide she must be a muse and ask her what message she has for us.
Amber takes a long moment to consider her message before delivery: Leave a legacy of kindness.
The male bartender offers his own contribution to our philosophical madness: “What do you call someone who wants to be picked up for a place to sleep overnight?”
He provides the answer himself: “A hobosexual.”
Outside we encounter a street musician—seemingly homeless, maybe a hobosexual—playing a clarinet.
And since kindness is now on our minds we stop to listen and provide encouragement along with a few bucks.
His name, he says, is Jeffrey Sutre and when I ask for the message he is meant to deliver us Jeff turns very solemn and says, “The message from the universe is this: Every single person on planet earth has one critical and final objective of their life beside the normal stuff they do and that is to spiritually grow and evolve and to become a finer better more enhanced human being and the end result is synchronicity with the universe and perfect harmony within themselves to live in peace and together because what’s happening is there is a universal vibration that is processed through the consciousness of individuals through wisdom guided by universal unconditional love and the result of that is that peace and harmony can reign supreme across all the spectrum of humanity regardless of race, creed or background because religion’s not needed, God never created religion, God never worships God’s self, it’s not necessary.”
Amen, brother!
What is very necessary past midnight it that Van Stein and I find some shuteye and, trudging away, the notes of Jeffrey’s clarinet to the tune of Born Free follow us into the Nebraska night.