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“If you master intent, you can carry your smaller-self to other experiences. This is how you go beyond birth and death. Yet, the higher-self seeks a playground experience, unattached to the intoxicating roles we play, experiences, thoughts & ego.”
“‘Higher’ Wills who haven’t become an ego whisperer wish to forget their essential nature, and partially do so by creating language that reinforces their desires. The language of time is fraught with self-reflecting notions. By exposing them, you take your power back. Sovereignty in relation to time is always balanced with the choices you ‘made’ and are making.”
A Bigoted Hags Haranguing & The Enigmatic Mexi-Wizard
I walked away, perching behind the bar’s couch to listen in on Ella and Crawdad.
“While he was slouched over he was s… s… saying something stupid about aborting an unborn savior’s life?” whispered Ella.
“What are you ladies talking about?” I asked.
“You!” Ella snapped.
Grinning, I replied, “Really… about?”
“When Wanger and jajaja… Jack dragged you out of the bathroom, you were babbling about going back in time to snuff some-mum-one out.”
Ella mocked, “I remember everything, it made such an impression. We wondered… c… c… could it actually be done?”
“Well then, why don’t you tell me. Do I have to beg?” I prodded.
Ella didn’t hesitate. “We thought you were s… s… smarter than that, and all laughing at you. Especially the part where you thought it was a dream!”
Then, she stood up at the table’s corner and recited the tale, orating, “Head ff-first, I dove into the current… I waited in a silent vivid whiteness”
Alice interjected, “But not in the fuckin’ sense of time.”
There was a long pause as another truck pulled in. The engine powered down, but its headlights streamed through the window.
Emboldened, Ella stepped on the chair, opened her arms and spoke with a mock eloquence to increase her ridicule.
“Then a chill, my eyes har… hardly opened. There were foggy circles of red, blue, and green. My eyes were opening as if I’d never seen, pure intensity in a new world. Its hue, the very breath I inhaled… again I’d been born.”
A loud noise accompanied the truck out front as its headlamps turned off.
Ella stepped from her perch, keeping her other foot on the seat. There was a squishing sound. She looked down at her submerged foot. “It d… doesn’t matter that memory’s torn apart in such journey. Whether it’s now or next century - vision, sound, delight, and pain are the same. The gas pedal of intent pushes us to new destinations, even past fatal head-on’s.”
Alice leapt to her feet in a co-narration. “My goddamn leather boots led me over the soils of centuries, past the wooden crosses and rusted nails, past the hungry crows and gasping Mediterranean wetbacks and sand nigs…”
Then, with chin jutting, she stepped onto the table, pretended she was me, and yelled, “I was the fucking first. That’s why I carried my intent through all those years, fucking immune.”
Crawdad catcalled, “Alice, great rendition for a bigoted hag!”
“Shut up bastard! I’m going to finish what he said.” She straightened her face and continued, “When the time arrived, I came upon the village and dismounted, entered by foot to find my quarry. The blade found the bellies of many, but the shit for brains fairgoers were everywhere in every fuckin’ place, on every goddamn planet in every time. Sweat poured from my brow and I heaved from the dry air. I was running way fucking behind. A complete loser, I worked feverishly, until I fell to the ground. Could it be I’d reached the place of no return?”
Alice consumed the gaze of her makeshift audience and gestured for applause.
Crawdad cheered, “Wonderful recitation!”
“Coooh!” cried Jack.
Wanger barked, “Darn, now that was a performance!”
Gloating, Alice and Ella hugged each other, snickering. After the din died down, the entire group turned to stare.
Alice scolded, “You’re an ass clown looking at the events of your own brush stroke. You can’t change the decisions you’ve made, but you can lay skid marks on ‘em. Goddamn, there’s a coffee stain here, a smear of body fluids there. Although you never remove blemishes, you blend them into new creations. Fashionable consciousness changes the dress of lard asses who frequent the Waffle House—attention and intention are twin ring-ladies prancing around with signs.”
Gustavo barely held back laughter. “Eh, heh heh heh! Chingón, your conception is more like a bowel movement swirling in the torrent! Our life’s stories are chiseled with our own hands, before we were born. Ejole! Time means nada ‘before’ then. This doesn’t pull the soiled poncho from under the existence of Will. But you thinking so, is the reason you’ve believed fate was a headlock you could never get out of. Fate... well it’s nothing more than freewill in the now... awareness bent through thick grandma glasses.
Gustavo spit on the floor. “Rulacho, asshole… it means there’s no going into the future or past, except in your imagination.”
The entire bar shuddered. Glasses shifted an inch or two.
Gustavo stood up and slapped me on the back. “Compadre, as if moving from one toilet to another changes the decision you made not to wipe yourself! And pendejo, don’t confuse the past-tense wording;it’s just your inferior English language attempting to corral you from conceiving the ever-present. Aye aye aye!”
There I was, a mealy-mouthed bumbler stumbling on words and capsizing in denial. I knew prophecies were self-fulfilling. This knowledge was attainable by any carny… it was happening to me. But I craved my warped mirror.
Gustavo piped up, “If you were to look at your reflection, you’d see a brow that’s low and primitive… chango-like… Chumba-like! You could change your name to a really handsome one, you know… like Gustavo, or better yet... X'Tzu!Amigo, as long as you believe in forever, that’s the way it’ll be… if it weren’t, the here n’ now couldn’t be called eternity.Unbounded time in never ending futility causes nightsweats - no bueno.”
Something spoke deep inside, a voice of possibility whispering an eternal apology that might exist, but only if I traveled there myself.
“It’s possible to move beyond fate and freewill. There is no going back in time, this only occurs in the process of observation; a dualistic belief that ignores the actuality that ‘fate’ is simply ‘freewill in the here & now’.”
“Gustavo appears to be a soul-version of Xavier. How is it that this ‘entity’ is ‘outside and inside’ time at the same moment?”
