Go With Your Gut

What does my gut tell me? I asked myself. Always have to go with my gut.

Prebiotics rule my diet. They feed my gut bacteria their delicious and nutritious fiber. This re-equilibrates the ratio of good-to-bad bacteria in my intestines. It behooves me to keep the ratio lopsided toward the good ones, lest I regret what my gut tells me.

First things first--to know one is to be one.

PART ONE: THE SCIENCE

There are 100 trillion bacteria in my gut microbiome. We humans evolved with bacteria--a symbiotic relationship in which the whole was better than the addition of the parts. There are 86 billion neurons in my brain, the same as is estimated for the number of stars in the Milky Way.

Between one and two billion years ago, we evolved batteries to run our bodies. They generate our energy and without them we'd only be spineless, amorphous sludge that the sea foam washes up on the shore.

These battery/dynamos are our mitochondria, which originated from cellular capture of bacteria, engulfed presumedly for lunch, but which escaped into our cells' cytoplasm. Somehow, they eroded through the food storage vesicles into which they were initially engulfed. As such, we are hybrid creatures with foreign genetic instruction sets. Our bodies can talk with bacteria; they talk back, too. We should listen.

Our self-awareness as sentient beings comes--not from the number of neurons in our big, evolved brains--but due to the interconnectedness among them. While there are as many neurons in our brains as there are stars in the Milky Way, there are as many possible interconnections among them as there are particles in the universe.

So in counting the 100 trillion bacteria in my gut, I can only imagine the number of possible connections among them. I wonder: what is the magic number of interconnections from which sentience arises--self-awareness, feelings, and the pursuit of well-being?

I submit there are enough in my small intestines to represent a whole quorum; I could miss out on some great dialogue and sage advice were I to be deaf to their consultations or, worse, refuse to listen.

But I choose to listen. They advise wisely.

PART TWO: FIRST IMPRESSION

She seemed too good to be true. We met at Barnes & Noble in the philosophy section, which in itself was a good sign. One conversation later on Camus and our first date was set. We took brunch at a vegan diner, which wasn't as good a sign for me as the philosophy section, but, I mean, look at her!

Dark, flowing hair with deep blue eyes, and a subtly dark complexion that hinted of mixed race somewhere down the line. Sexy in the way she tossed her head--in that oh-so-feminine way.

She laughed at all my jokes. Even got them. Light conversation revealed she had gotten a tattoo with her female lover at the time, which excited me, but I don't know why. Also, I saw no tattoo, even though she was wearing a sleeveless dress. Must have been a discrete location, which also excited me.

She was a screenwriter of some repute, which meant that I, a freelance copywriter, was trading up. She earned her living with talent and dedication. From the way she talked about herself, she owed no one anything. She was evidently a strong woman. In fact, I think I saw a small pistol in her purse that had fallen open where it sat at her feet. Skinny ankles. I was a sucker for skinny ankles. Not so much small pistols, but the ankles trumped that.

She was cool, confident, and self-actuated. She seemed to be as intrigued by me, as well.

PART THREE: THE CONVERSATION

My gut instinct, though, was that she really was too good to be true. I listened to my gut.

Beware! I see an endless life of misery with her.

How do you know? I ask my gut.

Look, you will always be an also-ran in her life--to her hotsy-totsy Hollywood friends, to her secret lovers--male and female, to her strength and to her convictions. I hope you vote Republican.

Depends on the candidate, I say.

And you see that little lady pistol she's got? Do you know she's used it before? Yes, and on better people than you.

I beg your pardon.

Yep, you're gonna be miserable. You're gonna hate her more than she's gonna hate you, which is hard to imagine. And what are you gonna get for it? A little lady bullet right to your big, manly, evolved brain, that's what!

How do you know all this? I ask.

I'm a hundred trillion guys in your gut. That's 1 x 10 to the fourteenth, if you're counting. I only need 1 x 10 to the tenth to cogito-ergo-sum. And we're all talking to each other in here. How many orders of magnitude do you think I need for telepathy? Or even clairvoyance? I have orders of magnitude to spare, my dear host. That's how.

Oh, I thought. Then, I guess I should go with my gut, then.

Good call.

But I'm still a little confused. I mean, you're actually seeing into the future.

1 x 10 to the fourteenth.

Yea, yea, I get that, I assure my gut. What I want to know is while you seem to know way beyond into my future, you seem to know hers, too.

She's got a gut, too, y'know. Do you think I'm talking with just you?

Oh, I see. Well, I understand how getting their point of view can be very informative.

Very. By the way, do you think you might try to score with her anyway?

Sure, I told my gut. Why not? One night stand, then it's over. What's the harm in that?

You should know what she thinks of you, first. You're lucky she hasn't shot you yet.

I went with my gut. Paid the bill, walked her out of the diner, then ran like hell. But not as fast as her.