I watch as days follow days in the desert, daring me to find meaning in the endless cycle. This morning I had some assistance on the "meaning" front from Robert the Telepathic Gila Monster, who woke me at dawn with his signature scratching on my cabin door, which was of course accompanied by intrusive thoughts. This as I was trying to catch up on sleep after fitful impulses the night before had kept me awake until the wee hours. Here's the dialogue that ensued, hopefully with elements meaningful to the reader:
Robert: Harry, wake up! It's the end of the world!
Me: For a change.
Robert: Listen to me, Harry. Red lines are being crossed.
Me: Red lines?
Robert: That's the phrase your news sources use to describe an action or situation that pushes an individual or group to the point where they cannot continue to be rational, and must express their frustration with hate-filled speech or violence.
Me: I suppose you're referring to events in the Middle East, where each faction perceives that its enemy has crossed a red line.
Robert: The Middle East of course, but red lines are being crossed everywhere. Go to the Family Dollar Store in Pearblossom today and check out the mind of a random customer [Robert and I are telepathic]. You'll find something to the effect of, "I can't take this any more!"
Me: Robert, I could have slept another three hours. What do you expect me to do about this? In fact, by waking me up you crossed one of my red lines!
Robert: I have more to tell you, Harry. You'll recall our discussion of my upcoming trip in December to Bhutan with D.L. [author of Lasken's Log at https://laskenlog.blogspot.com/], the part about the "Tsen," the ancient gods which were retained when Bhutan adopted Buddhism?
Me: Uh huh, various gods of woods and streams, and one with a weird name.
Robert: Yes, a mountain god named InsertHere, to whom I'm supposed to offer greetings from the god of our own Funeral Peak near Death Valley, named Tab B. I've already explained their unusual names.
Me: Right, something to do with cultural appropriation. What's that got to do with waking me at dawn?
Robert: Harry, I'm learning through the god network that there are Bhutanese gods I didn't know about, who have been awakened by the human conflicts and are angrier than you are about losing sleep.
Me: Like what gods?
Robert: Like Dorje Legpa, described by local monks as a wrathful female deity associated with elevated terrain and the natural world, often depicted as red and holding a vajra [a Buddhist symbol of spiritual power] and a scorpion, believed to protect against harm and bring good fortune.
Me: What's the problem, then? She's wrathful, but also protective.
Robert: It's the wrathful part that's waking up, looking around to see who woke her and why.
Me: Was it the war in the Middle East?
Robert: Not by itself. It's the worldwide attention, the buy-in, the belief that the developing war is real.
Me: Isn't it real?
Robert: Yes, because it's made real by forces no one has the strength to counter. No one is able to make it not real.
Me: Can't a god make a war not real?
Robert: Not in this case. Dorje Legpa is as pissed off as the humans. And she's not the only pissed god in Bhutan.
Me: Oh great. Who else?
Robert: There's Mhakala, another "wrathful deity," often depicted as black with multiple arms, considered a protector of the dharma and a powerful force against obstacles.
Me "Protector of the dharma"? What's the difference between "dharma" and "karma"?
Robert: In simple terms: Dharma is about doing what is right and fulfilling your purpose, while karma is about the consequences of your actions, both good and bad.
Me: Robert, you got that from Gemini, Google's AI, didn't you? I recognize the style!
Robert: I...Ok, so what? I use many sources.
Me: It's hard to see how an AI could rationally describe a god, since they are natural competitors.
Robert: How so?
Me: Like a god, AI knows more than we mortal biological systems do and is destined to control us.
Robert: Speak for your own kind, Harry. Gila monsters will never be controlled by either gods or AI!
Me: That's comforting to hear. Anyway, are there more angry gods?
Robert: Yes, there's Dzambhala, described as "the god of wealth and prosperity," often depicted as yellow and holding a mongoose that vomits jewels, believed to bring good fortune and abundance.
Me: What's Dzambhala pissed about?
Robert: He was awakened from a sensuous dream about drinking the bejewelled vomit of a mongoose, but awakened for what? He wonders, “Where’s the money in this?”
Me: I get the picture. I ask again, what exactly do you want me to do about it?
Robert: Not much, since you're not going to Bhutan in December, as D.L. and I are. I intend to commune with the Bhutanese gods, perhaps make offerings, and see what I can do to help them reverse the suicidal impulses of the Earth, which is tired of circling the sun forever without purpose. I will try to suggest purpose.
Me: Robert, you are a nut-case. You have about as much hope of saving the world as a gila monster lost and confused in the desert. Oh wait, that's what you are.
Robert: Laugh if you must, Harry, but at least I'm reaching out to the gods, expressing alternate views from the planet's biosphere, not just catching up on sleep, like the sad insomniac you are! I'll let you get back to bed. Pleasant dreams, Harry.
And with that Robert trudged off to pursue his hobby of influencing the universe by talking with gods. To each his own. Though I must confess Robert did arouse some guilt in me - over my laziness, my defeatist mindset- but not enough to keep me from going back to a deep sleep and dreaming that a mongoose was sucking up what's left of my estate and vomiting it onto the desert floor.
When I woke I thought of Bob Dylan's song, "With God on Our Side," though he meant "God," singular. If possible it seems advantageous to have a god on your side, but you should be careful which god.
