Drippings: The Memoir of a Lucid Dreamer #8 1/2
Self Involved in a fault
Here is the Preface to this thread…
I was in this room. Hundreds of couples were stuffed in it. We were attending a workshop on relationships with the great Guru of the Astral Plane
Only a few of the couples were human, the rest were cyborgs and the workshop space looked like a large cruise ship. We would stop every once in a while for cucumber and mayonnaise sandwiches and a lithium battery change, then return to our seats. The Guru began. It spoke in a droning voice and we all listened to it as if it was the sound of our own voices.”:
“I once knew a couple at war. They were totally attached to each other and yet they always had their claws ready for the attack. The only way to describe their sex life was as a frantic mutual assault. The only way to describe the modus operandi of their life together was the same.
I had tried over time to understand them better because I knew that future human-cyborg interactions, some romantic ones, would become more common.
At times the Cyborg Guru seemed to be a thing of great depth and then would make a comment like “I just read The Agony and The Ecstasy but I much preferred 50 Shades of Grey. I definitely liked the first movie better.”
They would add “Except for the agony part ; and besides how much can you say about drying paint and the agony of cutting off your ear.”
My wife would see the look in my eyes in response to such comments and would say “Maybe the Lithium battery leak rotted the cells in the part of his brain that handles his bipolar? He really should switch to Triple AAA or D batteries”.
The Cyborg-Guru’s wife, who was sitting next it responded, “It always promises to give up the stuff but only says it when it is drunk.”
Finding it painful to watch anyone stumble around drunk from a lithium leak, human or bot is quite disturbing to me.
Later I saw the husband of one of the couples in the seminar pick a fight with a bot bartender in the bar. I suddenly awoke, but I knew intuitively that it might be just a false awakening.
The Vacation
In this new dream, I am driving my 40-kangaroo-power recreational vehicle by the Sydney Opera House. The designation of horsepower to describe the strength of vehicles has been banned in Australia as a result of the Aboriginal movement against European cultural imperialism.
This home-pride reaction has taken political correctness to a new level and shown its greatest influence on the profession of map-making.
You see, all Australian maps show the rest of the world as down under and Australia in the center of it all.
In addition, the new rules replace horsepower with marsupial power. The fly in the ointment is the unexpected reality that sets in when you least expect it and this was of all things least expected. Baby Boomer women passing through the outback of menopause think that this is the final frontier. With a little therapy, respect, and nurturing they are in better shape than men going through middle-aged crises. That’s the way it is when you need a vacation. My wife was just saying to me yesterday. “Don’t put your head in the oven,, honey.” She knows that things have seemed a little rough lately. The problem is that there is a scam going on. It’s the # 1 — con in America. It’s as if reformation and rehabilitation were the operating model for how things work. I know something is happening. It’s moving in a positive direction though it’s unnamed and incomplete. Things happen quicker than you could ever imagine. The #2 — con is pistachio nuts. Events move faster than the speed of light. If pistachios are not bright green why is pistachio ice cream green and why did they decide to dye the shells red instead of some other color? Why shouldn’t the Australians control the maps? Then they’d be in the center of all the maps and we’d be floating on the edges.
As I ponder all this I feel a tap on my left shoulder. It’s the Teacher. She is speaking in an Australian accent. She says as she winks at me “Creativity is a drop of water in a whirlpool. It’s an idea going round and round in the bathtub of fruition. Try to catch it before it slides down the drain. Writer’s block at wit's end is nothing more than a pregnant idea that’s entered labor. It’s a newborn babe sliding down the tube to existence. It’s art in the world, a living, breathing being for all to see.
It’s the accusations of artlessness that hurt me the most. Arrows pierce the heart accused of creating and then passing vulgarity off as art. Equating artistic worth with personal taste. Some claim that one must distinguish between the vulgar and the refined. Didn’t the Nazis try that with their decadent art exhibits? After all, if it moves you on an emotional level it just might be art. You can call it vulgar but have you checked the color of your glasses lately? If it moves the doer and the viewer. It might be Art. But then again, it might be another type of false awakening.
I tell the Teacher that “I was watching a rerun of the Beverly Hillbillies. I fell asleep and created my cast of characters.” She asks me, “What is a Beverly Hillbilly?” I respond “ This is the story of a man named Jed. A rich, eccentric he was creatively marooned in a light-brown house in Jamaica where he wrote science fiction, plays, and cookbooks while reading self—help books. He mastered narrative by reading books that turned history on its head by looking at it from an eccentric angle. When his time was overextended in the writing of non-commercial literature he would earn extra money by converting Zen Koans and Wittgenstein into Cliff and Monarch Notes at 75 cents a word. His first conversion was based on Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico Philosophicus and was called Tractatus by the Numbers.”
“Where is all this going?” The Teacher asked.
“Only the future knows.” I responded. “But then, being mindful most of the time, I have no regrets or expectations.”
© 2024 by Lewis Harrison
Here is more… @LewisCoaches
Author: Lewis Harrison is an American author, public speaker, and life coach. He is known for his sardonic, ironic, humorous, and absurdist commentary on life as filtered through his New York City sensibilities and his travels through the back country of Africa, South East Asia, and the Zen mind. He is the Director of the Mystic’s Academy.
He can be reached directly at LewisHeals@gmail.com
✍ — Published by Dr. Gabriella Korosi, at Dancing Elephants Press. Click here for submission guidelines.
