Yesterday I was walking through the
desert behind my cozy shelter in Pearblossom when Betty the Coyote Creator Goddess
greeted me from atop a medium sized boulder.
Greetings, Harry! Betty called, Where are you
headed?
Hello Betty. I'm just wandering around, looking for inspiration to get through another day. The smoke from the L.A. fires has not helped.
Yes, the fires are adding to the pressure that's building throughout
the biome. On top of everything, it seems one of your big human wars is about to break out.
Plus ça change....
Betty, that's a cliche- tell me something I don't know.
That's a cliche too, Harry.
Here we are playing word games on the cusp of apocalypse.
Right, huh? Listen, Harry, I have the perfect distraction from the realistic magic you humans have to deal with.
Realistic magic?
That's what I call the other side of the magical realism you long for. In the current stage of your evolution you face magical realism’s opposite, realistic magic, where the magic is so well disguised it doesn't look like magic.
Hmm...Betty, what sort of distraction
did you have in mind?
Then I noticed a small red pouch held
delicately in her glowing teeth (she and I communicate telepathically).
What's in your mouth, Betty?
It's ayahuasca. Heard of it?
It's like LSD, right?
The difference is that a human chemist
invented LSD in 1938, while Ayahuasca was invented by the gods of the Amazon in a time of their own making. You can imagine it has certain properties beyond the LSD experience.
So you propose I have an ayahuasca trip
with you in the desert?
I have a different idea. First,
take this pouch out of my mouth and remove its contents.
I did as instructed, removing a small,
pliable purplish pellet.
Eat it, commanded the Trickster Goddess. I complied. It tasted like stale gum.
We began to stroll across the desert,
Betty leading the way. After a time the ayahuasca kicked in with the
usual stuff: a sharpening of colors, a lessening of the boundaries between
things, a freeing of the mind from conventional connections, conclusions,
assumptions. The morning was cool and still.
Betty, this would be an adequate LSD
trip, but I'm not sure what's particular about ayahuasca.
Harry, this substance was designed by
the gods to make a certain type of communication possible, when it pleased the
gods that humans engage in it.
What type of communication?
As I asked this, we rounded a dune to
behold a bowl shaped depression, at the center of which was a swirling,
shimmering....
It's a mini-black hole, Betty explained.
Yeah? Did you put it there?
No, it predates me. The ayahuasca
helps you see it.
Let me guess, we're going to jump
into it.
Close, you are going to jump into
it.
Maybe thanks to the ayahuasca I felt no
dread. It seemed a logical and very human thing to want to jump into that
hole, though I had some concerns.
If I jump, then what? Where will
I be? Will I be stuck there?
You will meet your counterpart, your negative, the antithesis of you.
Wait, you mean I'm going to Kurt Vonnegut's.....
Yes, the Infandibulum, where paradoxes
find true love.
Holy cow! And getting back....?
I'll come for you at the appropriate time. Ok Harry, jump when
ready!
I couldn't think of anything else I was
ready to do, so I did a little hop and just glided into the thing and popped
right out, re-dressed in a clean flannel shirt and jeans, seated at a picnic table
across from the new (for the second time) president of the United States, Donald J. Trump, dressed in a white polo shirt and beige slacks, beside his Mar-a-Lago golf course.
He studied me quietly, no sign of alarm. I felt the need to speak first.
Mr. President, I'm sorry for this
intrusion. I don't exactly understand what's happening....
No worries, neither do I. Bob gave me some stuff,
aya...something....
Ayahuasca?
Yes! Do you know Bob? They said he'd bring a "newly coherent vision"- he's certainly done that! I'm almost ready to scrap tariffs on Brazil for this stuff!
No, I don't know anyone here.
Would you like me to leave?
No, I was expecting you. Before I
took the aya...whatever, Bob told me I would be visited by someone who
would give me great new perspectives. It's perfect timing as I launch my historic second term. We're
more or less on top of things, but it gets intense and you never know what might help.
I understand, Mr.....shall I call you
Mr. President?
Call me Don. Who are you?
Harry, aka Harry the Human. I'm a retired
mind reader. In my youth, in the hippy 60's, I did performances in the
Haight.
A hippy! I've always wanted to talk to
a hippy! What is it with you guys?
Hmm?
I mean, you don't give a shit that you
live in a fantasy? That your ideas are from another
planet? The "peace and love" planet? The "We are one" planet? Guess what, Harry- we don't live on that planet!
Well put, Don. That's a good
description of the situation. But which is worse, finding that your ideas about life
are fantasy based, or accepting reality, day in, day out, with no escape?
Touché, Harry. Honestly,
sometimes I don't know why the hell I'm doing this. It was exciting at
first, just to be able to show people I'm not a dummy, that I'm actually
smarter than they are, and now they know it...very exciting, but the shit here
doesn't stop.
Don, I have to confess I've written things about you that you might not like.
Such as?
Well, I wrote that you fulfill a prophecy in the biblical story of the Tower of Babel [see The Babel of Trump Tower below].
Yeah? That's when God got angry and made it so everyone speaks different languages?
Yes, like now, when it seems like people can't communicate.
And that's supposed to be my fault?
He looked at me quietly, and I realized I was speaking directly with his subconscious
(as we presumptuously call it). The gods put into ayahuasca the ability for mind to mind, soul to soul contact.
It seemed safe enough. The parties do their business, then each
withdraws, back through the black hole, back to normalcy.
I tried to soothe him.
Don, I understand your frustration about life even when you're victorious. We get
worked up about defeating things that make our lives hard. We may defeat those things, but it's still the same fucking life.
Damn right, Harry! It's the same
fucking life!
People will kick you when you're up as well as down!
Right again, Harry the Human! I can tell you've been around the block a few times.
Don, I've got to ask, and feel free
to decline, but this seems like a safe place....
Go ahead, Harry. I find this
therapeutic.
Well, I've written about the
military industrial complex, which was President Eisenhower's concept.
Remember him?
Yes, we were little boys....
We mused quietly for a bit. Don continued:
Of course I've heard of the military industrial
complex. It's a lefty idea.
Well, sometimes it's a right wing idea too.
Yes.
Anyway, as you know, the military industrial complex is all
the private interests that make money off war and preparation for war, and the
government defense agencies that make policy.
Yeah, sure, what about them?
Wonderful people, by the way.
I'm sure many are, but Eisenhower saw a potential for collusion between profits and policy. I should note, I've added the media to Eisenhower's phrase, since it has become an extension of war policy.
The media! I showed those
cocksuckers!
They did not see you coming. Do you
read the New Yorker?
Sometimes my people show me stuff.
Boy do they hate you.
Yeah, because I'm not a Kennedy, all
polished and patrician, or Obama! Did you see at Jimmy Carter's funeral when Obama sat next to me and I made him smile, made him do nicey-nice with me? OMG, once you're on top it's so easy to embarrass these guys!
Don, how the hell do you know the
word "patrician"?
Don laughed. If you couldn't
tell, the ayahuasca was loosening us up. I felt the need to get back to
serious discussion points.
Anyway, Don, back to the military media industrial complex, how do you get along with them? Do they accept you on their turf? After all, you're a real estate guy.
Harry, I just follow the news like
everybody else, and I see when a story gets weak. It gets weak when things take too long to happen, like in a bad story that puts
people to sleep. We learned about this in 9th grade! Remember high school English?
Don, I taught high school English!
No shit! You don't seem like that.
Like what?
Like a high school English teacher.
Those were my formative years, before I became what I am today.
Which is?
I told you, Don, I'm a retired mind reader.
Oh yeah...anyway, as you know, a story is supposed to have a beginning, then comes rising action, like a terrorist attack or a big argument about abortion or oil or something. Harry, I guess I don't have to tell you the last part.
You do not, Don- it's the resolution, which is supposed to resolve (from Latin, "to solve") the stresses of the story. I think I know what you're saying: All we have is the first two parts: intro and rising action- we never have resolution. Nothing ever ends or is resolved. But as for putting everyone to sleep...sometimes I like going to sleep.
Sure, Harry, but don't you like to wake up
too? And when you wake up, don't you want things to happen? The military, etc. complex was spinning the same stories over and over, about
communists...terrorists...North Korean nukes- on and on, and nothing ever
happened. Generations passed, and nothing happened. No resolution- no story. People get tired of that, of endless anxiety about how stories will resolve, or if they will.