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It was early evening, and I was walking around Greenwich Village, killing time before going to meet a girl friend.  I then noticed a gumball machine in the middle of the street, and paused to take a look.  Gumballs are those large, round, colored pieces of gum that kids love to test their teeth on, often to a parent's dismay.  But all it takes is a quarter and a turn of the handle, and like some small planet thrown out of its orbit, we watch with delight as the orb descends to earth, crashing against the metal lid at the bottom of the machine.  For a moment we become its savior, as we lift back the lid and let the gumball fall safely into our hand.  But a false Messiah we are indeed.  For rather than return it to its orbit, we promptly devour it, as it collapses beneath the crushing force of our teeth and jaw, becoming a mere shell of its former self in the process.  More often than not, it ends up sprawled on some sidewalk to suffer the ignominious face of being stepped upon by endless anonymous feet.

As I passed by the machine I reached into my pocket and found a quarter, ready, willing, and able to do my bidding.  But, and all of this occurred within a matter of seconds, I felt a part of me hesitate to follow through with my original inclination.  I remember thinking that I could always use the quarter at the Laundromat, so why waste it on a gumball.  I then thought, how stupid of me to hesitate, or worry about spending a quarter.  With a sense of stubborn defiance I put the quarter in, and watched in triumph as the gumball made its way down the chute of the machine, and shortly thereafter into my mouth.

I bit down on the gumball, and though it was a lot harder than gumballs I had encountered in the past, I felt and heard it crack, as it yielded to strength of my teeth and jaw.  I remember feeling a sense of pride that my teeth were still strong and in pretty good shape, although I was not so young anymore.  And this was all true, except for one minor detail; three of my teeth were now sitting in a wad of gum, as opposed to being anchored in my mouth!  I quickly removed the gum, pulled out the part of my mouth that was no longer in my mouth, and stared at the teeth now sitting in the palm of my hand, the same hand which just a few moments before held this now infamous gumball.  Was this some form of poetic justice, the gumball's revenge for how shabbily its species has been treated over the years?  I examined the teeth, which were still securely fastened to a bridge, and looked remarkably well considering their recent misadventure.  So I put the temporarily displaced part of myself in my shirt pocket, and continued on my journey to hook up with my friend.  I called the dentist the next day; made an appointment, and felt confident that the bridge could probably be re-entered to its original location.

I titled this excerpt True Impulses and the Revenge of The Gumballs, and I think it's time to move on to the True Impulses portion.

In any discussion about impulses, someone inevitably asks how do we differentiate between true impulses, which by definition will enrich our lives, and impulses that will bring unpleasant ramifications?  My response to this question is that we know the answer in every instance.  Whether we allow that knowledge to come to the fore of our conscious awareness, or listen to it when it does, is another story.  But I believe the knowledge is always there, as it was plainly there in my gumball experience.  I remember the conscious decision to defy that resistance, to deliberately ignore what in this case was a clear impulse to say no to what been  an initial inclination.

I believe that true impulses are direct communications from the inner self, private messengers that carry the results of incredible probability computations.  The mechanics of those inner mathematics need not concern the conscious mind, nor would the conscious mind be able to contain all the equations in any event.  But the fruits of those calculations fall at the feet of our consciousness daily.  We have only to pick them up and trust them.  And when we do, the more we attract realities of fulfillment and joy, and when we don't, well, I'd know more about that after my visit to the dentist on Monday.

Kids often like to test their strength and do so in different ways.  Crushing gumballs beneath their teeth happens to be one of those ways.  Yet adults like to test their strength, too though the methods usually differ.  Was part of me testing myself, wanting proof that despite the fact I was not so young anymore; I could still crush a gumball like a kid could?  Did I fear that some washed out old gumball, sprawled on some solitary sidewalk, while anonymous and unhurt feet passed me by?  Did part of me already feel that way about my life?

Our lives on earth are miraculous journeys through belief systems.  As I explore my own beliefs through the pages of this diary, if but a little of light is shed on some of your own invisible benefits, then this book will have been well worth writing.  And who knows, it might even save you a trip to the dentist!