The Reincarnation Blues Club

By Richard L. Cohen

Many of us wonder what will happen when we die. For blues lovers, what happens is a trip to THE REINCARNATION BLUES CLUB, a musical way station on the road to their next life. But where will that life take them? Will it be forward in time, or perhaps somewhere in the past? Will it be on Earth, or on another planet? Will they remember their past life and their love for the blues or will that be lost? Follow the exciting adventures of this reincarnation blues train as it meanders through the ups and downs of the blues world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462018048

Book preview

Chapter 1

What does it mean to die? Who will I see? Those were the last thoughts of lifelong blues fan George Dunn as he passed away at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital in Atlanta. It was a massive heart attack of a man who had only days left to live, his relatives would say later. But for George it was the end of…..or was it the beginning?

All of a sudden George saw himself on the hospital bed, still, oh so still. He had a slight smile on his face. A nurse barreled into the room and then a doctor and then…. Wait a minute. I want to see more, the late George said to himself as he felt himself rising. Where he was going he didn’t know, but it was warm, comfortable and peaceful.

George was flying. He was flying. So, all those flying dreams were real, he thought. Zoom, he flew through the sky. Green was below him and birds were with him. Look, there’s the ocean. How did I get here so fast? Is it the Atlantic or the Gulf of Mexico, or maybe I’m on the other side of the world on the Pacific? What does it matter? I’m here; there it is. What a beautiful seagull! There’s a ship! I see a ship! Wow!

When you’re dead, there’s no way of telling how fast you are going or how long it’s been since your journey started. George got that as he floated effortlessly above the water. He wasn’t hungry, cold or hot. With no corporeal body all that seemed irrelevant. Yet, as he looked around himself, he saw limbs. His arms and legs were flailing in the wind. He touched an arm. Yes, it’s here. I am a body, but how can that be? I’m dead.

All of a sudden he saw it — the statue of Christ the Redemptor in Rio de Janeiro. It towered over the city. He had gone south. That’s it. He traveled south. No Eurocentric after-life for him.

A minute later he saw a bridge, a golden bridge. Oh my! It was the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. How did that happen? How could he get from Rio to San Francisco in a flash?

Then, George landed. He was standing outside a nightclub. There was nothing else on the horizon, just the club. The band inside was heating up. Chicago blues, George’s favorite music, jumped out at him. The harp wail sounded real, the guitar sounded real. The singer was singing Help me baby. Can’t do it all by myself.

And, there was a large banner at the entrance to the club that said: The Reincarnation Blues Club. George was beyond stunned. A woman stood at the door.

Welcome. My name is Marilyn. I own this club. Come on in and make yourself comfortable. No cover charge. You’ve already paid it by dying.

George had so many questions to ask, but he felt paralyzed to do so. The music pulled him in. He saw a large group of enthusiastic fans watching the show. That’s it – watching the show. No drinking; no alcohol; no cigarettes or food, just grooving on the music. He took the first open seat he saw.

George was stupefied by the scene. Is this heaven? he muttered to himself.

I don’t know. Is it? said a man with horned-rim glasses next to him.

Hey. My name’s Rod Carson. Glad to meet you. What’s yours?

For a moment, George couldn’t react. All he could think of is that the guy was wearing glasses. Why would he need to wear glasses if he were dead? Couldn’t his soul see perfectly?

George. Say, what’s with the glasses? If you’re dead like me, why would you need them?

You must be new here. Listen, here’s how it works. I’m not wearing glasses. You see me wearing glasses because that’s what you want to see. But I tell you right now, my vision is 20/20 and it’s always been that way. One other thing I can tell you, and I just learned this, our appearance in the afterlife is at the age when we were most content in our last life. So, for me, it was in my 40’s. For you – I’m looking at a man in his 60’s.

That sounds about right, George said. It was a great decade with my wife, kids, grandkids, and a successful business. So, when did you die?

I hate that word; let’s rephrase – when did I pass away? It was last Wednesday at 7:57 a.m. I was walking down State Street in Chicago on my way to work. I am (was) a journalist for the Chicago Express. And, all I remember is looking at my watch, clutching my head and falling. It was like I was falling into a hole. I died instantly.

And then what? asked George.

The next thing I remember is soaring over Lake Michigan, seeing the shoreline fade away and then glimpsing the beaches in Hawaii and then landing at the entrance of this club, Rod said. At first I thought I was still alive, but dreaming. The Reincarnation Blues Club sounded just like something one would encounter in a dream. James, he’s one of the hosts you’ll meet, he convinced me otherwise and I’ve been here ever since.

Rod explained that he had always loved the blues and was so happy that he lived in Chicago where he could see great blues any night of the week. The last few days at The Reincarnation Blues Club had been a gas. Stunning guitar work, great harmonica and piano flowed from the stage effortlessly. And then there were the singers. Sometimes they sang classic blues tunes about drinking too much, losing in love and hard economic times. Listening to those felt comfortable, like it was old home week at Buddy Guy’s Legends.

And, sometimes they sang lyrics only appropriate for the dead. "Oh man! I’m lying here and my baby come cry over me."

I’ve got a mind to stay dead and leave the living to her.

I’m blue and dead as I can be.

"Man, who is writing this stuff for them? They must be dead on."

George started laughing hysterically. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard since I’ve been dead. They must be dead on.

Sylvia Simmons was not expecting to die on that Saturday morning in Dallas. The day started normally. She was assaulted by her two puppies while her husband Jack made the coffee. Ron and Nancy stop that, she yelled as she did every morning. She knew they wouldn’t obey, but she could try, couldn’t she. Someday they will grow up and stop it. Someday, she could arise as a normal person, slowly wake up, drink her coffee, read the morning newspaper and get ready for the day.

So, what’s on tap for today, dear, said her husband Mike. Sylvia was used to making lists; lists of groceries, lists of chores, lists of television programs to watch, lists of recipes. If there were multiple items in play, count on Sylvia to make a list.

I’ve got to do the bathroom and vacuum the house and then we can go to Ace to get those new toilet seats and look for a tool shed. I’m sick of your tools lying around the side room.

That sounds just fine, Mike said. After we get back I want to mow the lawn and watch the Ranger’s game at 3.

They never got out of the house. Sylvia ate her breakfast of two eggs, scrambled, one piece of whole wheat toast and a grapefruit. After she cleaned the toilets, she got ready to vacuum.

Today she would use the heavy vac. Too many times in a row she had used the light vac and it just didn’t clean those all important crevices. Twenty minutes later, Sylvia was vacuuming the bedroom’s wood floor. She has moved through the living room, guest bedroom and kitchen just fine. Now it was the bedroom’s turn.

Vacuuming was like meditating to her. It soothed her soul to make the back and forth motion again and again as dirt came up. She loved how clean the floor looked after a good vacuum.

There is a fine line between meditating and day-dreaming. Sylvia crossed it. All of a sudden, she tripped over the cord and fell forward right on her head. She died on impact.

That was a month ago, or so she thought. She had little sense of time in here. Just her favorite music, the blues, and endless conversations with the others occupied her time. All she wanted was for someone or something to tell her what was going on. Was she dreaming? Was she dead? If she was dead, then it was clear she must be leaving at some point. After all, a name like The Reincarnation Blues Club certainly suggests that she was in some sort of limbo on her way to a new life. But when would that happen and who would she become? Who controlled the strings in here anyway?

Sylvia had not talked to George yet. Maybe he knew something. He was the newest…..Couldn’t get anything out of Rod; he was as clueless as she was. Sylvia made eye contact with George. He looked back and continued to stare. Wow! She was gorgeous, long brown hair, brown eyes, a dark complexion.

I’ve seen her before, he thought to himself. Where have I seen her? All time seemed to stop for George even though he knew at some subliminal level that linear time might not exist in the afterlife.

"That’s It! That’s It! That’s It! She was a finalist on that reality show – what was its name? Not Survivor, not the Apprentice. It was Commander. That was it. Each of the contestants took over a real business that was struggling and had to turn it around. Each week the judges had to decide who did the worst job and throw that person off the show. The winner would have to run a business better than anyone else in the competition for six months – 26 weeks, one full television season. George had loved Commander. He had run a number of businesses during his career, some great, some not so great. There was the pizza parlor he ran into the ground because he gave away too many discounts. But he flourished with his tire store, placing it in just the right neighborhood and wooing customers with great service and low prices.

He enjoyed watching that old man trying to run a skateboard manufacturing plant and manage all those twenty-somethings who thought slacking was a company requirement. Then there was the woman staring at him.

She sure did a number. Her assignment was to take over a company that worked under contract with appliance retailers to deliver washers, dryers, dishwashers, refrigerators and stoves. For the first week, she just observed what people did as she figured out what changes ought to be made. And, indeed, changes would be needed, and fast. Her crews were finishing later and later; some as late as 10 p.m. Consumers were angry that the delivery crews weren’t showing up in the three hour window mandated by the retailers, but would often come hours later. There was a growing file of complaints from consumers and notice from four of the major retailers than unless things improved, and soon, the company’s contracts would be canceled for non-performance.

George watched one show where the woman pored over charts that compared the number of installations per day with industry norms she found in a trade magazine. The big Aha! Moment came easily – this company’s crews simply took much longer than other contractors to get the job done.

When she confronted the delivery crews, they said they were working as hard as possible. It’s a tough job and stairs and narrow entryways made it tougher. Rather than argue, she scheduled herself a day to observe one of the crews. First delivery was scheduled for 8:30 a.m., so she arrived promptly at the shop at 7:30 a.m. But where were they? They should have been ready to work at 7:15 a.m. At 7:45 a.m. the last of the crew members rolled in. Coffee, bathroom and out the door at 7:55 a.m. We’re already lagging and we haven’t got started yet, she thought.

As she moved through the day, the cameras recalled her astonishment that the drivers were criss-crossing the town again and again. It just didn’t seem logical. Aren’t you computerized, she asked the driver.

Yeah, we are. We’re just doing what it says, lady.

Little bits of time ate away at the crew’s timeliness until by the end of the day they were 90 minutes over. And that meant extra pay along with the annoyed customers.

George remembered what came next as if it happened yesterday.

She came back to the office the next day and called an executive team meeting. Two things and two things alone are going to solve this monkey! she yelled at the team. Everyone must be here at 7:15 a.m. every morning. That’s it. If the crews can’t get here on time I want them fired. And, who programs the schedules around here? Either the software is failing or the route scheduler isn’t doing it right. Figure it out. Now.

Turns out, Sylvia learned that there was a bug in the software program that was not allowing the system to route deliveries logically. It wasn’t hard to fix, nor was the attendance problem. Once the guys were told in no uncertain terms that they would be fired if they weren’t ready to work on time, they started showing up on time. In a tough economy for blue collar workers, this was a primo job and they didn’t want to lose it.

Sylvia finished second, losing in the final round to a guy who successfully managed a company of teachers who had set up an after-school tutoring service as their second job to make ends meet.

All this George recalled with a simple penetrating glance at the woman.

Sylvia slid over to George and Rod’s table. Hey Rod, what’s going on?

Nothing more than the last time we chatted, he said. Great blues! This would make a great story for the living if I could ever write about it. So, this is what being dead is like. If I could find a computer, maybe I could write it and send it back to Earth.

Fat chance. Introduce me to your friend.

This is George.

And you’re Sylvia. I remember you from Commander.

That was a long time ago. Must be six years now. Gosh, it was fun.

I have a great memory and I was rooting for you. I would have voted for you to win.

Second was great! I got $25,000 and I didn’t have to quit my job and give seminars all over the country about entrepreneurship. I just lucked out.

Sylvia sized up George. She thought right away that he was a straight shooter, and, he seemed as hapless as she was in understanding what happens next.

How did you die, George?

Don’t say die. I hate that word. I have passed away, moved on, kicked the bucket, gone to my reward, but I didn’t die.

George told her about how he passed on and asked the same of Sylvia, who was a bit fuzzy on the details. All she could remember was vacuuming, losing her balance, and voila, she was in the club. Where the club was located, she had no idea. It might have been in the sky over Earth, another planet or maybe even another dimension for all she knew.

George, Rod and Sylvia talked for quite awhile, about life, their lives, their families, death, this strange club where there was neither alcohol, food, cigarettes, or for that matter a bathroom. Eventually, they landed at some of the questions that not only plagued Sylvia, but were top of mind interest for George and Rod as well. When are they going to leave this club? Does everyone get reincarnated? Can people choose what they’re going to be? And, if they can choose, can they choose to spend a lifetime as something other than a human? How about a dog, bird or deer? And, then there was the granddaddy of subjects to consider: the linear nature of existence. George brought this one up.

So, if there is reincarnation, when will we come back? he asked. Could we be reincarnated 100 years in the future, or will it be next week?

Who made it a rule that we’re being reincarnated in the future, Rod said. Why couldn’t some of us be reincarnated in the past?

That makes no sense, Sylvia said. I could be reincarnated as Cleopatra and yet I read about her in school. Does that compute? No, reincarnation must be moving forward.

George commented that the paradox around this question is similar to the arguments folks have had for years about time travel. Can we travel back through time? And, if so, can we change anything? And, if we can, what downstream effect would it have?

Naw, I don’t think that’s a valid comparison, Sylvia said. With time travel back into the past, you know what you are doing and who you are. If reincarnation into the past exists then we won’t have any memory of this life, because if we did there would be all sorts of people wandering around the streets today telling us what to expect in the future. And that’s not happening.

Chapter 2

So, if you were reincarnated as an animal, what would you want to be? Sylvia asked George.

A bird. George said instantly. He recounted his incredible experience flying around the world when he passed away. "The mountains, the sea, the wind, the birds, I felt and saw all of it. I was always too