Thee atilt guru, who was admired by so many furious folks upon the streets of the Third World lands, slung-shot a rather heavy stone into a distant bedazzling pond.
Davy Crockett reincarnated, sauntering thru the day-room that morning, couldn’t help but note the bewildered look upon the faces of the patriots stretched-out infront of the post-modern campfire plugged into the wall of instant news.
T’was their pond. Two of the tallest skyscrapers around ~ collapsed. Thousands died. And ripples of sorrow, anger, and high-tech vengeance began to move across and beyond the pond. And these fragrant pond water ripples expanded around our ancient space ship ~ Earth.
And then, and thennnnnnn, bombs begun falling all around Osama bin Laden, thee atilt guru of today’s and tomorrow’s yore.
Davy Crockett, yes, reincarnated, who in this budding 21st Century was an unemployed homeless man, somewhat confused by these ricocheting ripples that had slapped upon the shores of his sleep-walking dreams, didn’t know what to do, so he watched the tube & read the paper, and finally kicked a can. The airborne tin smacked Sammy Sidhartha, a Budhist amongst us, up the side of his head.
And Sidhartha replied, “Behind a very valid and pretty pertinent assertion are centuries of cumulative Budhist insight into the relationship between the individual and the cosmos.”
“Yes, yes,” intellectually prodded Crockett. “And that assertion is?”
Sidhartha continued, “It’s just that errors in the realm of religion invite disasters in the external world. For example, embracing one creed rather than another can result in earthquakes and epidemics.”
Crockett scratched his head vigorously. “Sounds like superstition to me.”
“That’s because you’re an occidental oxymoron.” Sidhartha smiled benignly. “Another way of putting it is ~ your smallest remark, your slightest move can have undreamed of consequences.”
“Such as my kicking the can and it accidently hitting you up side of your head?” inserted Crockett.
“Exactly!” punctuated Sidhartha.
“But what about Osama bin Laden?”
“What about him?”
“He’s had quite an effect.”
“And so can you!” concluded Sidhartha. He staggered slightly from the blow of the can, straightened up, and went back to his chores.
Davy was left slightly dazed by this information so generously expelled by his fellow patriot, who was also homeless. The wisdoms exuded by this new found info, slipped like smoke through the mesh of Davy’s brain ~ ’til his initial dazementality transformationed into a brand new day between his ears ~ a clear day in which he could see forever. This broad landscape behind Davy’s eyes, which incidently became more n’ more gooey bright as his triggered intellect rapidly evolved, this broad landscape more n’ more resembled the Sonoran Desert ~ and Davy construed out of a certain memory a newly discovered truth.
Yes! The memory of a coyote in a thick winter coat trotting by Davy’s truck, which was parked by a dry-wash in the middle of a desert no-where one crisp morning, this coyote’s momentary appearance upon the scene, now, many moons later, made Bin Laden’s murderous antics less affecting than ~ than an ant!