I was sitting on my favorite local mountaintop when a seeker arrived at my camp with metaphysical questions. I have a bit of a reputation for being wise, which is why I escape up the mountain occasionally, to get away from the clamoring questioners.
I put down my joint and snubbed it out. Who knows what her opinion on medicinal mj was? I did not want to make her uncomfortable, because she was damn cute, in her psychedelic t shirt and cool black culottes and comfy hiking boots. “Hi! I am so so sorry to disturb you, master, but can I sit awhile? Totally up to you how long I stay. I got a day off, and heard about you from that kid Danielle, the one with the purple hair, and how you, uh…”
I stood up and tried to look lithe, like a Jim Morrison lizard king type. I pushed my fingers through my hair to puff it up into a white afro. I smiled, and said, “Danielle just needed to be reminded of her own worth, or something like that, I think. Continue talking!”
She sat on a rock and sighed. “I talk too much. Sorry. I want you to talk! That’s why I’m here!” she took out a girly flavored water, sort of tangerine colored, and swigged. I sipped my philosopher-strength coffee. I noticed she had a backpack full of books with her.
“What, pray tell, is in the bag,” I asked innocently. She was not young, not old, just right. Weathered by the vicissitudes of moral decay in the enveloping zeitgeist. But big clear eyes, and a seeker’s way of being totally discombobulated and apologetic and just plain comical.
“My bibles. Plural! I mean, ‘biblos’ means bible, means book, right? Am I right?” she said. She took out Gibran. “The Prophet’. Aha. I caught her vibe. One more book, and I could triangulate her spiritual progress.
“You are, yep, “ I said, sitting crosslegged in my old jeans and pink Floyd t shirt. About 10 feet from her. I was going to let her talk now…
It took awhile. She kept checking her pack and her pockets and rubbing her face. Finally she said, “What is the soul, in your opinion?”
“The locus of individuality. Behind your sense organs.Seeing through your eyes,” I regurgitated.
“oh. Ok,” she said, pondering.
I let her sit.
She said, “ So: it is what is us, most us, I mean me, right?”
“Us or me. Either way.”
“What?” Smile. She was expecting paradox from a guru, and I never disappoint.
“It is the source of the stream of consciousness, the changing flux, the instantaneous power of something –new, the way, somehow, you remain yourself.”
I got up and retrieved the joint. Winked hesitantly , and was pleased to see she wished a hit.
“Sacrament?” she said.
“Absolutely.”
Later, after I managed to give her a metaphysical massage without once coming closer than a respectful master-pupil ten feet, we exchanged numbers and emails .
I am pretty sick of all this asceticism. I mean, it has made me into who I am, an avatar-type fellow & whatnot, plugged into the Cosmic Consciousness or Oversoul or Godhead or whatever linguistic label you put on the Source, but I am getting awfully lonely sometimes. This gal looked like she might be a nice re-entrance into the world of Maya, illusion. A good bodhisattva has gotta return to his peeps, man. All this Dylan is driving me a bit squirrelly. I need to make some money, go to a Dylan concert in person. I might invite this charming young student of mine.
I packed up my shit and headed down to town.
Giving her a respectful head start. I don’t wanna come off as a stalker.
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A marijuana inspired bodhisattva in his pink floyd t-shirt charming a young woman "weathered by the vicissitudes of moral decay in the enveloping zeitgeist" with big clear eyes, sounds like Jimmy the lizard king man get out from under his rock yet. ;)
Gurus should drink tea, I think. Now that you have nice new choppers you need to start getting some action, as the Samsara mama used to say.
(If you don't like the answers, then cease asking scary questions...)
Oh, No, I mean a megaphysical massage
even a minphysical massage would do
I mean an up close and personal physical massage
not one from 10 feet away
Would that be a sacrament?
I mean sacrifice
rated with love
A good bodhisattva has gotta return to his peeps, man.
But big clear eyes, and a seeker’s way of being totally discombobulated and apologetic and just plain comical.
Aha. I caught her vibe. One more book, and I could triangulate her spiritual progress.
I am pretty sick of all this asceticism. I mean, it has made me into who I am, an avatar-type fellow & whatnot, plugged into the Cosmic Consciousness or Oversoul or Godhead or whatever linguistic label you put on the Source, but I am getting awfully lonely sometimes.
I stood up and tried to look lithe, like a Jim Morrison lizard king type. I pushed my fingers through my hair to puff it up into a white afro
Ok the Jim Morrison, white afro thing, quite cool.
the other lines, well, just your usual diamond stuff.
I think you've spent too much time breathing the rarefied air on that mountaintop, Master. Let me give you a tip or two.
Complement the clever lightning bolt design on her acrylics. Tell her the contrast of light and dark in her skunk hair is a novel representation of yin and yang. Remark on her soul-searing eyes even if she's applied so much mascara she can barely keep them open.
We women put a lot of effort into our appearances, and we do not want to hear the words "weathered" or "decay" in relation to them. And many of us will think if you say "zeitgeist" you're calling us fat. If you don't want to wind up wearing your philosopher strength coffee on your dashiki and wish to get beyond a metaphysical massage, you would do well to remember that.
No no, don't thank me; I know that being plugged into the Cosmic Consciousness doesn't leave much time for reading GQ or Maxim or whatever is the guy equivalent of Cosmo. Which is why I'm also going to tell you to shave the white 'fro.
(I almost started the sentence with "And" despite wanting to start it with "Then," then I remembered reading that Jonathan Franzen, whom I do not intend ever to read, said NEVER use "then" as a conjunction, thus I gleefully followed my inclination.
JANE: The old boy has apparently changed his act recently, I see on youtube . he is dancing and carrying on like Charlie chaplin disguised as a tiny old jewish woman, or vice versa. Smiling, just having, dare we say, fun?
MC: Am drinking aforementioned coffee right now, and soon my comments will reach whimsy status. Then perhaps they will get intelligent.
SCARLETT: Yes you understood the title correctly. Rather clever of me, hm? Not that it was intentional, of course. I wish half the shit everyone says is so smart and funny and just plain wonderful about me was even halfway intentional, but that shall be our secret, dear S. As for escaping from under my rock, I am revving up to get ready to think about it, soon. It is so comfortable down here, with that reassuring stone fixed over my rabbit hole. Plus I got cable tv and computer . I am saving my silver change in a big blue piggy bank for either 1) a pet spider monkey or 2) a Japanese robot girl with slender hands and some of those character lines in her otherwise flawless face that reflect the abovementioned vicissitudes.
what about Jung's supposition of the numeral '3' and the characteristics of the '4' ?
as a blue collar aristocrat, my own library research (thus far) reveals a pristine *Paradise Lost* (1928 edition) had only four date stamps, whereas *One Flew-Over the Cuckoo's Nest* was so inked up and unsanitary looking--what with the rip and terror kool-aid stains.
Have we met the enemy, then? Are we smothered with flawed paradigm? Also, the Tarantino/Rose interview, jim, is worth an entire semester of auditing, say, ________. I know, tangerines and Kit-Kats, but give it some thought...please.
Excellent post! TY!
HART
ALSO: YEAH, I RAN INTO mr. natural once, in Tibet. I offered to share my heated /electric tent with him, but he eschewed it and slept up in a tree. Stupid fucker fell out of the tree then came crying to me for some bandaids & sympathy. Boo hoo, boy. I got on my computer and found out how to stitch up his head. What a baby, that guy. Cabbage, ach!!
POPPI: THANKS, it’s kinda nice, up here. Gets lonely, as I said.
MHOLD; excellent metaphor, indeed!!!
MALCOLM: Who hates pink Floyd??!!! Man, u are once irascible dude!
ROMANTIC P: Listen, I know a mountaintop not far from here where the guru is a little more hands on. He is a gestaltist. He believes that the deleterious imprint of our tortured soul’s activity on our bodies is best fixed from the bottom up, not top down, like I do it. Megaphysical doesn’t begin to describe his methods. Some gals come down his mountain skipping & dancing like little girls, and others, well, they never do come down again. Except to accompany him down to town to buy massage oils and spring water.
“Day and night . . . the shadows move too slowly
From dark to light she promised she could know me
Remember when . . . I watched her on the stairway
She was drinkin' wine . . . and she told me what the
stars
say . . .
Some destinies, they should not be delivered . . .
But in her eyes I saw a thousand reasons
Day and night
I feel her skin . . . it's thin and white as pressed milk
I closed my eyes and she vanished just like burnt silk
And what remains was like some fallen thunder
And my lips were chained; they were filled with empty wonder
But the stars tell lies, it blinds the only warning
And when darkness dies, there's nothing left but morning . . .
Just day and night
Day and night . . . the shadows start to scatter
When touched by light . . . each promise made is shattered
And even when the question find the answer
But even then, they're something like a dancer
But even then, they're something like a dancer
Like day and night . . . dark to light
I move from day to night”
Sounds like LIFE!- especially the "I don't wanna come off as a stalker."
Wish you had gone into their discussion/message.
Enjoyed!
SUSIE: Followed her to a dunkin donuts. She got chocolate donuts. I got more coffee. They had wifi there. We made a date! Gonna take her to the butterfly garden.
RENNIS: yes, I have a license for it. metaphysician, heal thyself. Self.
KERI: I ALWAAYS SHARE!
MARGARET: this gal likes my odd look, M. she aint no cosmo girl. She=a cosmic customer! Her favorite magazine is “mother jones”! she is retro all the way. The afro, my dear, stays. Pooof.
I never thought of that angle--thanks for the tip!
...Hey, wait--isn't that what Catholic Priests do?