The Black Book
How One Unusual Day I Had Amazing Luck!
I read a lot of poetry, particularly the Slavic poets whose culture I feel a shared and deep connection. When in the bookstores, I rummage through the stacks to seek out the lengthy, tongue-defiant Cyrillic-in-translation names and sometimes find one. A Yevtushenko, an Akhmatova, a Herbert, or a Zagajewski. I have a signed Voznesensky to my credit. My collection is meagre.
One a sunny day when I had no thoughts about anything special I found a copy of 'The Selected Poems of Czeslaw Milosz', whom I call The Master. I do write poems, and my nickname for myself is Milosz' Apprentice. Milosz passed away in 2004, and up to that date had no idea I was studying under him.
I flipped open the poetry book only to look at the price tag: $7.50 Canadian. Fine. To the left of the price was a scrawled schmear of what may be his signature. WOW, I thought. The Master's signature? Maybe. But for that price...
I bought the book, and then pretended to not be having a stroke for the rest of my browse.
Later back in my apartment, I booted up the old Acer and checked online at a sight where famous writers signatures can be matched with the chicken-prints found in their books. The Master's was a perfect match! On another literature-related website there are rough estimates as to the value of signatures. Milosz' pen-glide was valued at over $200.00 US! Not a bad find for a $7.50 purchase. Such luck was usually way beyond my grasp, but this was not all that happened to me that same crazy day.
I carry around a working pen and some note pads, as want-to-be poets should, just in case an idea for a poem or a poem itself bolts into my head and needs to find a voice. I have at least 11 such pads filled with distilled, troubled nonsense. Out of pad and paper, I walked to Staples to see what was on sale, and came across a plastic-sealed set of three lovely black moleskin book-sized notepads with gently lined paper. They were on sale for students. I bought the set, and went off to a local Starbucks for a well-deserved mug of mind-sparking, brain sputtering coffee.
Despite not having any inspiration to write, I tore open the wrapping and opened the first of three moleskin pads. The void in my head was reflecting the void of the page. But, hey, what's this?
Tucked between two blank pages was a cheque, and it too was blank where a person's name and amount should have been filled in. How did it get there and who put it there? It was dated for this year January 1st, and was signed, not by The Master, or by anyone Slavic (that would have been An Event of Amazing Synchronicity) but by someone, of course, whose signature I didn't recognize or know. The first things I did was stare at it and wonder if such a thing was valid. The second thing I did was cellphone up a friend of mine, Steve, to tell him what happened and ask what I should do with the cheque. I was hardly ready to conceal my excitement, so called him at his office, determined to interrupt one of his Legal-advice sessions.
I told him the story, and he told me to see if I could locate the owner of the signature, maybe return it to him or her and if I was lucky they might reward me. "Reward me? Me? Do you know who you're talking to? They'll probably offer me a cup of Lipton tea while their drooling Rottweiler stares me down."
Lawyer friend Steve said "That would be the honorable thing to do, and that's my advice. Let me know what happens, but don't expect me to bail you out." Thanks, friend.
To make a long story short, I did manage to decipher the signature, and with the help of google actually track the name down to a location: Milan, Italy. How's my Italian? Non-molto.
So, with the magic of the internet, I contacted the company HQ, writing in nervous English, in a lovely font, describing what had happened and asking how to proceed, and pressed 'send'.
The time difference from British Columbia, Canada to Milan, Italy is 9 hours. 2 pm my time is 11 pm Italian time, so likely the company was closed until the following work day.
At 7 am my time a message came to me on my cell indicating that I should check my gmail, which I did. The message was in English, and was 'signed' by the company CEO. The name of the company CEO, Lorenzo something, matched the signature on the cheque. In no uncertain terms, he told me what to do with the blank cheque!
This cheque was intentionally planted in 1 out of a hundred thousand Moleskin notepads, and was a charitable gift to the finder, myself. I am to fill in a number, and cash it! WOW, I thought - thank you, Master Milosz, God of Poetry! I immediately wrote back, after showing my bleeding gratitude, 'How much?' or 'What is my limit, per favori?'
A poet respects limitations, especially his own. I don't like run-on sentences or over-drawn phrases. Keep in simple.
I filled out a number close enough to their offered limit, and rushed to the bank to make a deposit. As the figure was, for me, staggering, the bank needed three days to process the transaction. Breathing heavily, I agreed to return in three days. Yes, my account balance went well-over on the plus side for a change. My luck didn't stop there.
I asked the cute bank-teller out for dinner, and she said "Sure, I'm not seeing anyone. Why not?" I'm sure this transaction was caught on camera.
Sharon is still my girlfriend. It is now safe for someone like me to even propose to a woman.
Thank you Gods of Poetry ... and Moleskin.
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The Last Flame Challenge Winners
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The flame represented: Hope when resources disappear Discipline when comfort fades Focus when chaos grows louder Purpose when motivation collapses To keep the flame alive was to prove mastery over panic. It required patience instead of force, awareness instead of aggression. In a world obsessed with conquering, this challenge asked participants to protect instead. The Psychology of Endurance Endurance challenges expose something brutal and honest: the mind fails long before the body does. Participants reported moments where: Hands trembled, not from cold, but doubt Silence became heavier than noise Time stretched until minutes felt endless The winners were not immune to fear or fatigue. They simply learned not to negotiate with them. They understood that endurance is not about eliminating discomfort—it is about refusing to let discomfort make decisions for you. Why Most People Failed Many entered the challenge confident. Strong. Prepared. Most failed. Why? 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By Zahid Hussain7 days ago in Humans
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