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“If you want to explore choice and return home... to the present, you must know how to become one with your higher self. Here, to know ‘who’ and ‘what’ you are, you must now clarify the difference between the dualistic ‘Relative’ and the watercourse ways ‘Absolute’.”
“Cause & Effect are siamese twins masquerading as two, when in fact they are one. They’re convenient distinctions that exist only in our imagination.”
Chickens with french accents
Crawdad piped up, “I may be deformed, but I know something.”
“Please tell…” I teased.
Sitting as straight as his crooked spine allowed, he belched. “Everyone’s having a good ole’ laugh at you too.”
I grabbed a half-eaten buffalo wing and shot back, “Would you like a chocolate milk Crawdad, or perhaps a nap?”
An accusatory finger extended, poultry tendon dangling.
“Matter of fact Xavier, I would!”
Crawdad clumsily picked up another drumette, took a bite and spoke while chewing. “Remember when we gorged ourselves at Tex-Chung’s all-you-can-eat.The waiter insisted the yin-yang two-taste was best, yet you demanded the opposite.”
I inquired, “Yeah. You have an opinion about ‘positive and negative’ too?”
“In East and West Texas, they appear at the same time. But understanding that doesn’t take battery cables clamped to your nipples. What gets you there is what you said in the bar…”
“Uh, huh… and what was that?” I asked.
Crawdad’s eye twitched. His claw-hand shook as he answered.“You tried to plant a distracting seed by saying there ain’t no right without a wrong.Didn’t you see our eyes rolling?”
Wanger tossed a half-eaten chicken bone, hitting Crawdad across the cheek.
Crawdad ignored it, but gagged like a dog choking. “As if truth was handcuffed to lies! There are those with masks, pompously speaking about frijoles and gas, refusing to acknowledge their real selves. Their bullheadedness is understandable, because in the casino, there’s no such thing as randomness. Also, there’s one particular beaner whose name I’d rather not mention, who’s an amigo to no one. He’d rather have those around him believe their level of ignore-ance is an indicator of smarts.”
Crawdad stroked his chin. “Strange how the smartest refuse to leave the ring. But then again, perhaps time and intelligence has nothing to do with it. Hmm…”
My mind thrashed from hearing the word ‘ring’.
“Get it Xavier? West Texan ‘right and wrong’ is embroidery on the Siamese twins ofcause n’ effect,or ‘gimme the car-maw’ as the East Texans call it. Damn it. West Texan duality isn’t a pair of horns hanging on the other side of the fence.”
It took a while to sink in. I was irritated, but curious. Crawdad had sauce on his hands and cheeks. I looked away and asked, “Any hogwash about ‘light and dark’?”
“Yeah Xavier. Remember the truck stop bathroom in El Paso, when you fumbled for the switch, where light appeared to be at war with darkness? After you finally found your way out, we sat there watching West and East Texans refusing to sit at co-joining tables, looking at each other’s lunch and refusing to order the same. When the coffee’s brewed, you, like they, are at war with yourself. If you look down, you’ll find your imaginary foot mired in the overflowing toilet water of existence and non-existence, is and is not, unaware that the absolute needs neither. Once your eyes are locked with the rising beer bubbles, ignoring the space between, it’s easier to obsess about bean vs. burrito, wrestler vs. ring, God in sky vs. God in reflection.”
Crawdad sneered, revealing the contents of his nostrils. I looked down, and my feet were indeed soaked from the overflowing bathroom waters.
“Xavier, you’re saying you might fall asleep as if you already aren’t. I’m referring to ‘freewill’, the lonesome hobo that needs nothing.” Crawdad confided.
I pretended that my eyelids were drooping.
“Choice is absolute!” Crawdad yelled, slamming his pointed finger against my chest, leaving a barbecue sauce stain. “Why’s it you haven’t told anyone? I know… so ants might be convinced to move pebbles.”
I’d been tricked into inconvenient connections.
Crawdad tumbled back into his rant as he sucked sauce off his fingers. “Still Xavier, the more you talk, the more I feel like drawing chalk lines around your body. There’s a place exempt from clucking,liberated from the chicken coop of divided light.”
It wasn’t just Crawdad, the whole gaggle of them were slurping away, gnawing Buffalo wings in a stomach-wrenching chorus.
If the bathroom weren’t in such a disgusting state, I’d have chosen to relieve myself again. “Get to the point,” I demanded.
“Xavier, you’ve been listening to fairgoers holler that you’re destroying sturdy chicken cages, expecting the free range poultry to have manners. Well, that’s nothing but blathering of those in need of soap operas - a dangerous state to contradict. So, if you ever pull your head out, please don’t lick your lips, and remember to tread lightly or you might experience ridicule, death or worse…a blemish on your beautiful Airstream!”
Gnawing a chunk of gristle, Crawdad garbled, “The imagination has such a bulging beer belly it creates brands of booze that don’t exist and says they’ve seen ‘em in the liquor store, casting any-thing outside its drunken travels as unreal.”
His chewing gave me visions of feeding lions.
“Xavier, this has nothing to do with blue ribbon awards from prize piglet contests. It’s horrifying to most, as they feel they’re admitting a chicken with a French accent picked up on them. They accuse the realization of being circular, a word that clucks of reluctance, a ‘b’cock’ yelled into deaf ears. They think, therefore their reflection is. And that’s what’s going on with you!”
Dejected, Crawdad sucked on his claw finger and said, “Perhaps you haven’t asked to leave the cage open. Who am I to tell you you’re confused by the angles, which are the angels of your creation.”
A curiosity simmered. I forced myself to ask, “Wait, what about life n’ death?”
Shaking his head and tightening his lips, he lamented, “There’s nothing to pin-the-tail on the donkey for what ‘You’ really are. But I get it, every time you ask, you might as well speak into your bullhorn, announcing, ‘Don’t bother, my fingers are in my ears.’”
At that moment, I didn’t care if everything was born of thought.
Damn I was parched...
Where was my Pabst?
“When viewing from the Absolute (Playgroundia), it’s clear there’s no-thing such as randomness. All movements, in every form are that of Will. This understanding comes from vantage, not knowledge.”
“Could it be that sincere genuine choice only exists in the present, outside of every form of spell? Hmm ; ) If you are getting a sense of sadness now, then please visit the ‘Tissue Box’.”