The Limit

I found out about the society through my friend, Bente Edo. In the first year of initiation, there is no use in having your old name. You get reborn into the society through a process of transformation and change.

At first, I was skeptical. I thought perhaps I had found a new church or congregation. But it was not typically religious in that sense. It was a spiritual conversion that I was after. My old way of life and thinking was not cutting it anymore. I needed something to inspire me to aspire to a new way of life.

I was not meant to know the name of the society but one night after a meeting with the elders and the new initiates and the old heads, Bente and I went out to a dive bar and got very drunk. And then she told me the name of the society. Logico Moon Tiger or LMT. Sometimes they secretly called it the limit for short.

I was pleasantly surprised. More so because Bente Edo had gotten me into the place. Her recommendation for my acceptance was approved and they welcomed me in. At first, I was only allowed in the annex of their building and made to watch some videos on a large projector screen that unrolled before me and two other new ones.

One night after the videos, we met at The Holy, a dive bar in the city.

Is it witchcraft? I whispered to Bente under the red glowing lights that made red shadows on her ivory face.

I noticed again the tear drop tattoo coming from the corner of her left eye. There were two tear drop tattoos on her face. I never had the heart or the chance to ask about them. I just assumed it was from a time before when she ran with the wrong crowd and that she might not wish to talk about it. So, I left it alone. I did not think it had anything to do with Logico Moon Tiger or the Limit’s small group of people, or as they called each other beloved friends.

I was Bente Edo’s friend. We had known each other for several years and had gotten together often over the years for dinners or drinks out in the city. She had never been to my apartment, but I had been to hers. It was an expansive studio warehouse space in an old, converted warehouse in the meat packing district. She had a wall of gridded windows that went from the floor to the ceiling, and she could open some of them to let in the fresh air.

Bente Edo was a painter—prolific in niche circles—and I wondered if her involvement with the organization had helped her rise in her fame and fortunes. But of course, I never asked her that. It was well understood that something had bolstered her attempts at success. That something had to be The Limit.

I was excited about the prospect of joining although I did not have much extra money and was worried about the initiation fees and dues that might be required. Bente put my mind at ease when she said, “There is nothing we have that we do not share. Worry about nothing.”

Unfortunately, her comment did not make me worry any less. For I always saw nothing as a something, a marvelous entity in and of itself. Nothing could never be nothing. Unless of course, nothing was null and void, a grand abyss, a lack of any object, invalid. It was certainly possible that the nothing of which Bente spoke was the thing that I should worry about.

Be concerned about nothing, she seemed to say.

I looked too far into it. I had overthought about it yet again, as was common for me to do. I tended to overthink about things. I would roll the idea around in my mind repeatedly until the meat and pulp of it was squeezed into a fine juice that then became a simmering tea I would inadvertently sip upon, drinking in the essence in my mind.

“Can you tell me more about it?” I whispered to Bente as I eyed the bartender, a man in an oxford shirt, rolled at the forearms, and wearing suspenders for that prohibition era look to him.

He hardly glanced in my direction, and I knew he could not hear us, but I wondered if he could all the same. I knew he could not for we were speaking in such low voices. But I worried that if he could hear us, he would then know the secret of the organization, the society that was meant to be entirely concealed by the members from any random public view and outside perceptions.

“Perception is key. True feeling. Belief in the good which exists beyond the realm of our self-imposed limitations,” Bente informed me that evening, when it was late at night and we had had several hardcore cocktails, clinking our glasses in celebration.

Bente had been informed by a higher-ranking member that I was to be admitted into the fellowship at the next meeting. It was a cause for celebration. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. But that didn’t matter. I had only very few friends in the city, unfortunately. And I was looking to make more. And I wanted to make more money.

I felt the fellowship of The Limit would offer me opportunities upon which I might launch myself into orbit in the future, in the cool art world where Bente was now enjoying such success.

“It is all connected, “Bente whispered over her drink, and she moved the red straw out of the way of her nose and took a generous sip.

Even I knew that. I was happy, for once, that I would be able to join into something that was both enticing, exciting, and meaningful. Being a part of the fellowship meant that I would no longer be so alone, as I had been. And that I might find the encouragement of likeminded souls on a fantastic journey that paralleled or bisected my own.

I was still single. And I envisioned meeting a handsome man at the meeting who would sweep me off my feet or at least manage to be an equal partner and someone who I could bounce ideas off of, enjoy long walks through the parks, avoid the hot dog carts with, try to eat healthier foods with, and spend time at the gym, working out together. I had in my mind what I wanted to see happen.

“Be careful not to engage in fantasyland dreamscapes until you know what you are doing and how you can do it.” Bente advised as she set down her glass on the lacquered bar top and moved her small napkin square over the ring of condensation, absorbing it into the napkin.

I was enthusiastic about my new prospects. When she said that it made me realize that while I was engaging in a fantasy dream mode there was still the potential and possibility for my dream to come true. I just needed to wait a little longer till I found out the secrets of the society’s inner workings and core principles and their humankind and spiritual being development practices.

A man walked into the bar with a pretty woman in a classic leather jacket on her shoulders and Bente’s eyes opened wide. She recovered quickly by taking another sip of her drink and turning towards me on her barstool.

“Do you know them?” I asked, my curiosity at an all time high.

Everything was intriguing to me, suddenly. I felt the world had finally opened to allow me access to something that I had been searching for for so long.

Bente squinted at me then and I wondered if she did know them or if she was trying to say something through her eyes. She did not say yes or no, and she did not nod or shake her head. She stared straight ahead and then flagged the bartender down for one more drink.

After the man and woman came into the bar, Bente was quiet. She said nothing more. The man and woman came up to the bar and sat down at the bar on her left side. She looked at me over the rim of her glass, but I could not tell what she was trying to say or what she was thinking.

I felt then that she did know the man and woman who had come into the dive bar and had sat down beside her. But they said nothing to her. And she said nothing to them, nor did she acknowledge their presence after her initial look of surprise.

Because Bente had fallen silent, we could now hear the man and the woman talking in low voices but not so low that we could not hear what they were saying.

“Everything is…” the man trailed off.

“Connected, “the woman replied.

“You might think you know the rules of this game, but you have no idea what the rules even are,” the man said to the woman, but it was as if he were speaking to me.

“And it is no game and there are no rules,” the woman replied.

Then the bartender came over to them, and they ordered some drinks. I thought Bente would want to get up and leave then but she stayed seated at the bar, drinking her drink pensively. I drank mine more quickly than I had before the couple entered the bar, feeling a sense of urgency to leave then.

I could not tell if the woman in the leather jacket had said there are no rules or there are know rules. I wanted to ask Bente, but she seemed suddenly perturbed, perplexed. She paid our tab, left a sizable tip in the tip jar, stood up from the barstool, got on her coat, pulled on her fuzzy knit hat and her gloves and scarf.

“Are you ready to go?” She asked after I had done the same thing although I did not have any gloves having forgotten them in the cab on the way there, unfortunately.

As we were walking out past the couple, the man suddenly shoved something into my hands. It was my lost pair of black wool gloves!

“How did you…?” I asked him and he smiled warmly and said, “Worry about nothing. Just know. Ask no questions.”

I took the gloves in shock and caught up with Bente who had been moving forward quickly and had not seen the exchange.

Once we were out of the bar, and I was pulling on my gloves I said, “You know that man.”

Bente looked at me, blankly.

“He gave me back my gloves that I left in the cab! How did he…” then I remembered what he said about not asking questions.

Bente smiled a small knowing smile and nodded, and I could see that she was not surprised at all.

“It is all connected. Our ways are…mysterious yet so vastly different from what is normal. Losing is unfortunate. Finding is so powerful and transcendent. Wouldn’t you rather find yourself than lose yourself?” Bente said.

“But how?” I replied.

I found I could not help but inquire about the nature of the mysterious world the fellowships society was inhabiting. It was beyond my wildest imagination. The people of The Limit had special powers! I found myself asking, what is the Limit? Because now I found I certainly did not know.

At the main boulevard, Bente went right and I turned left to walk home. My apartment was only ten blocks away. I was bundled up against the cold of that wintry night. The alcohol had warmed my body, my core and my veins felt full of alcohol as it sparkled through my system.

I made it home safely.

I looked around at the acrylic shelves I had installed up on the living room walls, full of my anime dolls with the funky comb-able hair and expressive embroidered eyes and faces. One was missing. Sad Boy. Sad Boy has a sad face with sad eyes and wild brown hair that is messy and two animal ears and a furry brown animal tail. He is my furry companion. I talk to the doll collection when I am home alone, which is always. I thought the missing doll was curious but after what had happened, I was too impressed to care and too impressed to wonder what had happened to him.

I laid down on my plaid couch and passed out and in the morning the light streamed through the windows and lit a stripe of light across my nose and right eye. I blinked my eyes open. The light hurt my eyes.

When I attended the next society meeting, I was infinitely more impressed than I had been at first. They had a ceremony for the new members of the fellowship and hundreds of candles lit up against the back wall. There was fragrant incense in the cathedral space. The meeting or service was being held in an ancient Catholic Church with stained glass images of transfiguration and the crucifixion of a classic emaciated Christ.

Logico Moon Tiger had taken over the old Catholic Church. It was their property now. Then Bente told me in a hushed whisper that the church had fallen into disrepair, and their organization had bought it up for next to nothing and restored it to its original glory.

The ceremony was intense, and I could not follow what was happening, but I tried. A man stood at the podium and stretched open his arms like he was welcoming in a crowd of people or about to give someone a big hug. He held his arms spread wide open and it occurred to me that he looked a lot like the stained-glass image of Jesus hanging on the cross.

Then the man closed his arms, adjusted his cobalt velvet robe. I had only been to a Catholic Church a few times before with my mother's father when he came to visit us before he died of old age. I liked the service. It was predictable and I could get behind that. But then I thought about how that predictability could be used against people…how it had systematically been used against some of the congregations, in the past. But weren’t all churches guilty of looking the other way or of making excuses for their leaders and people who were only fallible humans in their midst? Logico Moon Tiger—The Limit—was remarkably different.

There was a moment of silence during the meeting that lasted for almost fifteen minutes. Then, when a woman spoke it was with clarity and conviction.

“We are here to see. We are here to listen. We are here to help. We are here to be. To just be. And to move into the future, with purpose, intention, grace, and gratitude. For all we have.”

Then, everyone in the room said in unison, “for all we have.”

“We give.”

“We give.” The people repeated after the woman, who was wearing a dark green velvet robe that spread out onto the floor like an inverse flower petal.

Then a man walked down the center aisle and up the stairs onto the stage. He spread his arms open wide, but he was an entirely different man than before.

“Now will the new members—our new beloved friends—and our old, beloved family please stand and join us here?” The man in the cobalt velvet robe said.

Bente looked over at me, and I stood up and made my way to the stage. I quickly stepped up the hardwood steps onto the hardwood stage and was guided by the woman who turned me around so that my back was to the people in the audience now. I was joined on the stage by two other people—a man and a woman. I did not know them. Had never met them before. Had never seen them before. I wondered if they were as nervous as I was. I did not know what to expect.

I could feel the man in the velvet robe behind me, facing the people in the audience, seated in the wooden pews. There were coughs and a sneeze and then silence. There was an echo of another cough. Then the room was silent again.

“We welcome you here today. You with no names. You for whom the world belongs and believes in. Everything is connected. Never forget that. We are each of us carried on by strings that connect us together. We are here today to make our purpose known. Necessarily. Thank you for joining us in fellowship. Our society is full of likeminded individuals who are passionate about our growing group and willing to do what is necessary to survive. We are committed to helping one another as we reach the end of our journeys in this level. May you be blessed and protected, made whole and complete. Show us who you are.”

I was spun around to face the audience and they gasped. I did not know what they were gasping about. I was glowing, but I did not know why.

Then I was floating three inches above the stage. I could feel my levitation. My body was light as a feather. I was glowing a glowing from the inside out. I was happy then. Happier than I had been in a long time.

We gathered and we harvested. We worshipped our beloved entities and God. There were the saints and martyrs. The ancestors who had come before us. There was Dyre and Lani, two angels who stood before a gilded throne with roses and doves in their hands and swirling, glittering robes draped in waves like the ocean about their legs.

I was given a new name.