Bad Karma

Forget every nice thing I said about Oklahoma City. This place is a pit. It's sooo depressed. You feel it everywhere. And the only word for gay life here is 'Repressed.' May I never need to come back (though I know I will).

Meanwhile, I want to tell you something I heard yesterday about the Oklahoma City bombing. I was having lunch with a group of real estate brokers when the subject came up. Today is the 10th anniversary of that greusome event, so it made sense to talk about it a bit. Everyone shared their experiences that day, where they were and how they felt the blast. Some insisted there were two blasts, that they felt two distinct shakings. Others were sure that McVeigh didn't act alone. And so on.

In that building were the local HUD and VA offices and everyone at the table went there regularly: most weekly and a couple several times a week. They were into the HUD or VA office for various kinds of business usually relating to the foreclosure program. In comparing notes they all agreed that their system was always to get there just before 9am so that they would avoid the long lines that formed shortly thereafter. One talked about double parking out front and running in to grab whatever list he needed at the moment. Another said she was supposed to be there that morning but got into a fight with her husband, which made her late. 'I thank God for that fight every day,' she said. It is remarkable that that day none of them were in the building   when, at 9:02, the bomb went off.

They were pretty sure that the entire staff at the VA was wiped out and most of HUD, too. One woman sheepishly said, 'I know this is awful, and I don't mean any disrespect, but . . . ' I felt the pace of my heart quicken. Was she actualy going to tell an Oklahoma City bombing joke? ''I don't mean any disrespect, but at least they never have to go back into that building again.'

To my surprise, everyone at the table began to nod in agreement, I mean seriously nod as if in thought. They began to talk about the building and how horrible it was. It sounds like the typical federal government building almost anywhere only exaggerated to a nightmarish level. Stark unadorned walls, green and grey colors, metal desks, harsh lighting everywhere. I remembered my own HUD and VA offices in Atlanta back in the 80s. They were truly horrible places and everyone working there seemed to be operating on about 20% energy. It was a dreamlike place, very Kafka-eske and awful. Here is where the most desperate people in our society end up, I thought. Not in prison, not on the streets; they all end up working for the government and spend the rest of their lives shuffling into this purgatory every morning.

At my table, everyone agreed that the building was remarkably depressing. They hated going there and much preferred the new structure that went up to replace it. Bear in mind, this discussion was going on in what I'd call the most depressing city in America. And here the group was talking about that building as if it was even more depressing in their midst.

'Bad Karma,' said one woman. People turned toward her. 'That's what it was; the building had bad Karma. You could feel it as soon as you walked into the place. You knew something awful was there but couldin't put your finger on it. It was like it was built over an old Indian burial ground . . . like it was haunted or something.' There seemed to be general agreement that this was the case, and the conversation went on to urgings that I make sure I go by the memorial during my visit, and do it at night if possible when the lighting is most dramatic. It's supposed to be breathtaking (I don't know . . . I never went by).

That afternoon I thought about my own close brushes with death. There have only been a few and they have always been of my own making, usually because of some stupidity or poor judgement on my part or from some mistake I'd made. I've never had death simply fly at me out of nowhere; never had a car hurtling out of control toward me, never woken up in a smoke filled room. Yes, I almost drowned once and one time I almost fell out of a car going 70 miles per hour. But these were things I did. It was nothing done to me. I guess I must have better Karma than those poor souls in OkC. From the sound of the place where they had to work, it sounds as if they were working off some bad penance long before the bombing ever occurred.

I don't want to tempt fate, but my teflon soul is something I've thought about quite a bit. Very few really awful things have ever happened to me. Ever. I seem to drift through this chaos in an invisible space bubble that   keeps me safe wherever I am. I walk around in the worst parts of town, I associate with the dregs of society (as well as the princes and kings), and I don't use those stupid paper toilet rings in public restrooms. I just wipe the seat and sit my ass down. When I come out and see all of the germaholics scrubbing up then using a wad of paper towels to open the door (the wad usually ending up on the floor just outside), I smirk -- and thank my mom for letting me put almost anything in my mouth no matter where it had been. She told me that was important in building a strong immune system and I believe her. And oh, yes, I do wash my hands after going to the john, not because I believe the act of touching my weenie leaves me coated with germs, but because doing so gives me 3 or 4 opportunities a day to wash, which is just good practice. Anyway, I seem to be bulletproof.

I'm not a new ager. I'm generally revolted or amused by the silly lies contemporary mystics tell themselves. . . but to each his own. However, I do want to say right here: 'Thank you, Spirits,Guides and Angels for making my path as easy as possible for these 55 years.' Maybe I have good Karma, maybe i'm lucky and maybe I'm just overdue for disaster. But I prefer to think of myself as protected.

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[David Bowden]

I've also experienced an amazing run of close encounters with the Grim Reaper, that I've decided to start listing them from age 5 to 50 (glad to still be ALIVE)!