Thursday, June 22, 2006

aged

i saw him one last time before i left.

you'd think he had never spent a day in the sun. the light from the incandescent bulb dangling outside his cell cast shadows that made him seem haunted and illuminated his skin with an eerie glow by turns. all i desired to do was to hear his voice, to have him once again speak calming words that would make my fears fade away as they did when i was a small child. but his voice was cracked from underuse, and i could barely hear him. that scared me more than anything, i think.

"you have everything you need, child."

"i tried to bring water, master. but they took it from me and spilled it to the earth." this is the thought that had broken me. that the water that could save his life was now turning the dust on the floor to paste and my master was nearly dead.

"have no more thoughts of me," he croaked. "save your stength to face your enemy. he is a brutal beast, but he is a dumb one. never forget that."

"i cannot fight a beast! i can run errands, and make coffee, and bring you your glasses when you cannot see. that is all i am good for. i can't even use a weapon, how can i possibly defeat anything as brutal as a dragon?"

his eyes cleared at that moment, as if his cataracts faded away and i could again see into him as i could before. his countenance changed. i saw then the master of my youth, whom i had followed like a shadow and begged of him to give me shelter. he took me in, and even though i lived as a slave, i had a good master, so it was no matter. his riches were gone now, fed to the fat bureaucrats who no longer believed in such foolishness as dragons. but he was still my master.

"i was going to leave you my wealth, child. but you should learn sooner rather than later that all of the world's wealth is foolish. so i will give you all i have left. come closer, child."

his voice was growing faint.

he leaned in close to me, and through the bars he cupped my cheek as if i was still small. he pressed his forehead to mine and closed his eyes and in his last breath i heard his whisper.

"there is always... hope."

my inheritance faded away as if i had never heard his words. wiping my face i stood and went to the front desk.

"you are the only survivor?"

"yes. everything should be there in the papers he left. may i take his body to be buried?"

the guard reached into a drawer and pulled out an old box. he carelessly pushed it across to me. "your master was a traitor. if you have his inheritance, then here it is. this box, and your master's fate. you have gone from slave to exile."

"and what of my master?"

"he will be burned. he always wanted to face a dragon - he will get his last wish and die by fire. damned myth-men never will be a part of the rest of us... they only live in the shadows of the ignorance we've left behind."

i had no concept of life without my master.
i took his box and walked out of the building. i would be chased by the dogs through the borders if i didn't go quickly, so i used the shadow-hiding i had learned by following his every move. it couldn't hide me from the nose of a dog, but no human would see me leave unless they still believed in myth.

there is one good thing about being a myth-follower. the "enlighted" are still afraid of the forests. the prison was at the edge of the lighted world. they wouldn't even send their beasts in here. apparently ignorance can stalk in the night and snatch trespassers in the forest away never again to be seen.

i sat on a log and opened the box. i had cleaned it many, many times before. the temptation to open it had grown with everytime i touched it. the insides of the box glowed, so i knew it held a wish.

the enlightened ones wished by stars and wished with coins thrown in the fountains in their lighted world, but the myth-men knew a different way. we know that wishes could warm you, could seep into your being - which is why wishes must be handled with great caution. wishes and greed are not far removed, in myth.

i sat with my heart clear and let my master's wish fill my soul.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

all is not somber

Q: How many Zen masters does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A: A tree in a golden forest.


Q: How many surrealists does it take to change a light bulb?

A: Two, one to hold the giraffe, and the other to fill the bathtub with brightly colored machine tools.


Q: How many Bush Administration officials does it take to screw in a
light bulb?

A: None. There is nothing wrong with the light bulb; it's condition is
improving every day. Any reports of it's lack of incandescence are
totally unfounded, and the result of delusional "spin" assaults from the
fanatic, elitist, liberal media. That light bulb has served honorably,
and anything you say undermines the lighting effect and dims it's ego.
Why do you hate freedom?