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“Faith comes from a state of being, belief and belief systems from the choice that distinctions have greater value than your own sovereignty. Which is which? Faith and belief are not the same.”
“The Airstream Trailer represents the soul. The driver of this vehicle is your higher-self. When your windshields are clean, you know you’re inside and outside Playgroundia.”
Gustavo’s Magical PBR
Gustavo shoved a pint into my hand, lit up a cigarette and nestled into the booth. There was a glare on his eye from the ember, a small reflection from the hot cherry on his glass, an intermittent orange shine on his cheek.
Aiming his cigarette, he pointed around the table, announcing, “Unlike the babosos who insist belief is faith, you knew the proper instruction to your deep mind could make your jockstrap tighter, regardless of whether you were wearing a mask. You thought you were jeZeus, crossly creating distinctions in the carnival of unreality.”
“I suppose, so what’s your point?”
Stone-faced, Gustavo jammed the smoldering cig into my forearm, searing it like a grilled T-Bone. We heard the sizzle. I didn’t wince. Saliva glistened on the side of his grinning mouth as he slid forward. “You’ve learned to hide your emotions well pendejo! No doubt you’ve created trinkets and baratijas washed away with the flood.”
Tendrils of pain squirmed from the burn. Still, I had to ask, “Did you just use a ‘swimming against the flood’ comparison’?”
“Sure did, but you were the one grumbling about the rising waters when you left of the bathroom. Let’s talk about the Mexican jumping beans that have been bouncing around inside your cabeza.”
I shuffled in my chair, adjusting my collar as my knee shook nervously.
Confrontational spit sprayed as I replied, “The power’s there for the taking—what the hell? Even our subjects use prayer and ritual to get better jobs and sexier girlfriends.”
“Subjects? Hmmmm. Xavier, you are un grand retrasado, a big dummy. Mostly, prayer’s a cowards’ excuse, used because they’re too big of a pussy to punch somebody in the face. Perhaps there’s some other reason your reflection refuses to be honest?”
Reflection?
What he was he hiding?
Why did it seem he was trying to clue me in?
It angered me to be reminded of a truth that might force a change.
Gustavo sprawled out in the booth, wiping froth from his mouth and bleated like a goat. “Since I’ve got your ear, let me (((((aaaaaask)))) you a question… Why wouldn’t a leader reveal how to have faith? ¿Porqué?”
I stroked my beard.
Gustavo’s counted his fingers. “Let’s see… Jack and I got stomach parasites from sushi at Tex-Chung’s, Crawdad’s hand looks like un parásito, and Alice, Ella and Wanger spread parasites. Ahhhh, Xavier… but do you really want to know why? It’s because they are parasites!”
In the corner, Ella and Alice were picking through each other’s hair.
At the time I wasn’t quite sure who I’d become, and considered his observation, arguing, “No, it’s because consciousness opens it’s legs, birthing nature and nurture, and is more like a place than a thing when seen in clean mirrors. It’s because ideas mixed with intent creates illusory distinctions in other’s minds, and faith re-routes the organization of the thought created universe!”
A vein pulsed dangerously on Gustavo’s forehead.
I forged ahead. “And you know, the relative sniffs the butt of the absolute. For us Gustavo, we live on the edge of the lie, knowing it exists for our advancement. Greater rebellion made us. This was our secret. I was born on the winter solstice, and it seemed that you took another 6 months to climb out. I was the first son to rise to the occasion. When we crossed paths, together, it was you and me that created the seasons of deeper imaginative proofs to convince others that the universe was particles and waves swirling outside of thought. Together, we made these bar-derelicts believe they were programmed Timex watches, vomit of bio-chemical evolution. It was an effective way to turn significance into insignificance! For if everyone believed they were accidents, it would deny the existence of Will.”
Gustavo was heartily laughing, bent over trying to catch his breath, saying, “You’re mistaking me for my brother, Chumba, moron. I’m not that pinche rulacho. So again chingón, which incense burning scroll, or test tube worshipping group teaches you how to create?”
I answered, “I don’t know, hopefully none.”
“Well Xavier, you’re stinkin’ right, not a one, except for those ridiculous cyclopean seeing-eye pyramid-owl folks.
Sly! Smelling like pescado, you give ‘em pescado, but no pole to fish with.”
Clench-jawed, I growled, “Don’t you start talking about owls when all I hear is crows. Gustavo, I knew everything I created wouldn’t last, even if I printed my own tokens. You know… the ones with the great design of an erect phallus with a snake wrapped around it$. I knew I was wrangling with a larger number of Wills than my own.”
“You heard me,” I insisted, “Faith doesn’t rely on an immortal superbeings approval.”
Gustavo jumped. “Exactamundo! Your mind is churning a rancid mantiquilla. Belief, born from the útero of faith makes you buff. Still, your single unique characteristic, or should I say ‘mutation’ is you manifested intent in the condition of a paralyzed horse tied down before the flood. Understand Xavier, to untie yourself and return is a difficult thing.”
“Return to where?” I flared with a dose of feigned idiocy, “A farm?”
Gustavo answered, “No retrasado, the trailer of dreams, the one that’s across the road and through the carnival. Feeling the acceptance of the chingasos you hung with, including the babosas, clowns and carny’s, there was reason to stay.”
“What flood are you talking about?” I interrupted, thinking I’d caught him in a slip up.
“Hey, what flood are you talking about?”
“Xaviers reflections are more than soulscape manifestations, they’re the competing desires that reside within duality. To move forward into the present, each desire must be identified & honored, then choice can resolve the conflict. You can learn how to do this with ease.”