A Delicate Quiver (continued)

_ I'm uploading my entire existence into this new thing. It has no name, nor does it have boundaries; it is like thought just prior to a host thinker. A delicate quiver traversing the innermost sanctum of the heart; a vibration. I'll leave it at that.

_ Not if I have anything to say about it. I know astronauts who have been to the moon; and they have a firmer grip on things than you do.

_ That's because they're used to having things in their hands  - it's lonely out in space. I would like to see them build a fishing dock out in space so these astronauts of whom you speak are able to sit quietly and do a little fishing - it's very relaxing. Imagine just sitting on a rustic fishing dock in the middle of outer space. You wouldn't even care if you didn't get a nibble. Maybe catch a space porgie.

_ I used to catch porgies and lay them in the road in order to watch their eyeballs pop out when cars ran over them.

_ Were any of your astronaut friends with you when you were thusly engaged?

_ No. Howsaboy?

_ Outrageously wonderful. I was awakened by a large nut, or perhaps it was a bolt, dropping on the floor of the ceiling above me. A delicate quiver; and then 'Bang!'... Suddenly, and without warning, I was awake. It was as though I sensed it all prior to its happeninng.

_ You did. You did?  The fourth Earl of Sandwich had serving bowls filled with porgie eyeballs strategically placed around the palace. They were a delicacy in his mind. Howsaboy?

_ Thank you very much. You take quite a chance asking a busy man that question. I admire your resolve; it's like a smile on the face of one unafraid to die. As a young boy I had an intense vision, the result of seeing George Harrison's picture for the first time - it was in Jan. of 1964. Eventually it led me to a teacher - her name was/is Gurani Anjali. She prompted us continually to realize the sacredness of life, the dignity of man and the existence of all of existence within our own existence. I now share this with you. I hope it answers your query.

_ It would... it could... but you've missed one thing.

_ What?

_ I call on the ghost of Sartre to elucidate that like an egg sans salt, or a kiss without a moustache, etc., etc., etc., you - we -  are missing something... You haven't asked me 'Howsaboy?'.

_ I, most likely, will not be asking you 'Howsaboy?' today or any other day from this day forward.

_ Fine.

_ I know how you are; I know how I am. I find it all very boring... 'and a librarian shall lead them...' Silence, you fool! Thirty days hath September; eight books comprise the month of June. I find myself wishing that I was fishing on a dock in the middle of outer space. Can we get there without all the distractions? Is there an express?

_ Fine as frog hair. Thank you for asking. Yes; and no. I, too, wish that things didn't make sense. I'll bring the worms. Chai?

_ An empty boat afloat somewhere in the uncharted regions of what we commonly refer to as outer space. Another boat bumps into it - it, too, is empty. No one gets angry.

_ That's not surprising. Who is unafraid of dying?

_ I feel that George Harrison was. He was ready to move on. He endured a very challenging circumstance and walked the talk. Then, with the timing born of right action, cancer appeared. Why is it that I feel cancer is a godsend?

_ You tell me.

_ To look in all directions; to feel the suffering implicit in endeavor. To look in all directions and recognize the quivering in your heart that allows for you to know that you are being called forth. To rejoice in the transcendent; to leave the small behind. True love. The essential nowhere, and no one, of what we refer to when we speak of love. It is a point through which we align ourselves with that which is beyond all measure. Sometimes it's quiet enough in your local library to indulge in this exercising of love's power; sometimes it's contained within the sound of a nut, or perhaps a bolt, falling on the floor of the ceiling above you. What's strange is that in sensing it sometimes and not others we tend to bemoan our fate rather than be inspired to shed our limitations. We are strange creatures.

_ No argument here. Chai?

_ Amidst the nowhere of the infinitude of space; amidst the clamor of an infinite array of empty boats banging willy-nilly off of each other in the vast uncharted ocean of space, which contains all sound and yet is forever silent; amidst the hullaballoo of me and you slurping chai whilst playing tennis with the alphabet; amidst people making sense of nonsense; amidst the illusion of choice, yes... yes, I'll have chai.

_ I once went fishing and forgot the poles. I seem to recall floating.

                                                                         *****

... Das boot! Halyards ringing against the mast. The sound puts some to sleep, others awaken; some seemingly never hear.

... To mistake the corrupt for the pure, the temporal for eternal, the painful for pleasurable and the idol for the true: this is ignorance. But one can ignore for only so long.

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