the indian and the scientist, round 1

what do you mean poor?

you know, monetarily…

excuse me, 'sir' but I have yet to consider myself poor, until I met you I had known little of the world of men who lived their lives for paper: and I knew that I was rich in time and beauty, the world gave me what I needed when I asked, and I was content. Now you come here, telling me of all of your wonders, and your need to change the way we live to solve the problems that your people have created, and ohhhh so humbly tell us that you will pay us and provide us with resources to continue living the way we have been living for thousands of years…

well, in fairness to myself, I'd say I, along with others are trying to blend the best that our society, however flawed, has to offer with your traditional wisdom. why can't we make the best of both worlds?

I was content, but now I see the forces of the world at my doorstep: we have long been the keepers of the forest and it is heartening to see some recognize us as such, not all of the light of humanity has left this world, i suppose we should accept your offer to protect our way of life, otherwise we may all suffer.

boat riding

You assholes! he yelled, in his spandex from the bike trail, don't you realize what you're doing is dangerous! The boys were in a canoe in the rapids, standing up, drinking beer as they nimbly paddled around the rocks, underneath the overpass, through lands that hadn't been canoed in a hundred years, maybe two hundred, at least since the dams went up. The river quaking beneath them, they barely registered his shouts though they could see the frantically waving figure, all brightly tighted up, on the bridge above them. "whaddya think he wants anyways?" one asked the other, dunno, must have his panties all in a snarl.
The man on a bicycle turned to a passerby; "kids nowadays! thinking they can do whatever they want" the other man on the sidewalk looked him up and down, the fancy bicycle all shiny in the sun, form fitting clothes, sleek helmet, heartrate monitor, water bottles, chronometer, lights, velocity, the whole deal, shrugged and rejoined "some people have all the fun, and some people think they have all the fun…" and kept on walking.

elbow room

and so we lost ourselves in music and sex, add a healthy dose of drugs to boot and you have the basic picture of what we were up to, all loose genitals and undone headpieces, lashing about in the frenzy of hedonism. And why not? Society had failed in providing us any meaning to our overly easy existences, and the mandate of the modern day tribe demanded that we share as many genital yeasts as possible, in order to create pheromone signatures that embodied us as a group. We were surprisingly lacking in violence, and to this we were latched: our mission was love, an amazingly irresponsible love yes, very little caring involved, but as long as we stayed warm and fed, little else seemed necessary; nevermind the slow cavern building in each of us, as the more we pursued our internal joys the more the became something indistinct, even sentimental as we were, and are, always seeking some perfect balance to reflect upon, some soft toned rhythmic music to make our heads float up above our emotions, not quite touching them, but again, feeling their yawning weight pulling out our souls.

"We live in an age where nobody is unbroken, nobody is pure or simple, and what do we do?" we dance. We dance into forms that only we can understand, past sorrow (thanks mama), into appreciations of the present moment, a new formulation: there is no past nor present nor future, just the enduring Now, brought up over and over again by our remembrances, daydreaming, plots and so forth, if only we stayed balanced we would have never had to deal with this mess in the first place.

What do you mean a mess?! she cried, feeling heartbroken, all these damn thoughts this boy had! what nerve! shame!

He turned upon himself, what a fool? indeed what a mess he had created with his own thought process: there is no shame but in the making of one's own world, he turned again and saw her beautiful as the moon, sun, all the good things combined, and reflected again: shining: what would you pass up to feel happy? all our own incomplete thoughts grasping at reality, the shining shining present, burning through our petty grievances, making us dumb, as in speechless...

wait! a feeling remains, that of this grasping at the unraveling of things, leaves unfurling:

the sky is grey and up above two geese are calling: not all have flown over yet, many feathers lay scattered over the landscape, there is poetry in the sky even though tis heavy, swollen. These damn puzzles keep us busy to the point of exhaustion, I cast myself upon the wind and open my wings: good she said, beaded lips upon the brow, breathing through the third eye down past the base of the spine, the heart straightened out now, music bristling neath the surface of the soul. Now take that sufi and dance.