Copyright © 1999 - 2002 Bob Persons
The Horse Beatitudes - 3
It is in out nature + our destiny to constantly war with each other (Lords of the Starship). If we destroy ourselves + the planet doing so, then that is the way of the universe. That's one way of looking at it - Krishna's admonition to Arjuna. Life is as it is. Learn what it is, + learn to live without resistance to it.
Another way of looking at it - Jesus' call to humans to revolutionize their spirits, overcome the destructive impulses + work at a new consciousness, build a new society which adds compassion, empathy, love to the old eye-for-eye laws (Andrew Harvey's Son of Man).
So Rollie sits under his tree, dreaming of another consciousness, working out in the model the problems he couldn't face while awake, solving the problems in his dreams + bringing the solutions back. Yeah, he wished. He wished he could just remember what the dreams were, let alone how they solved his problems. Jesus dreamed + brought those dreams back to his life. Arjuna dreamed, and it was his life. Where did Rollie go with this? Where was Jim?
Jim is in the tree. Jim is in the sweat-soaked sand under Rollie's ass. Jim is in the lightning gashing soundlessly above the roiling western sky. Jim's voice is among the chorus that comes with the dust + is gone with Woody's wind. Rollie sees all that - in his desert dream. And then he wakes, + he forgets. He sees only the purple sky, the khaki sand, the sweat + urine pooled under his haunch.
The black bird croaks. The dream is one tattered ribbon flapping from its beak. The black bird flits. Rollie topples to the dust. His red skin gets redder. "I need a shade. I need to get out of the stinking sun. I need some peace." But peace is foreign here, under the bristlecone pine, in the flatiron desert of a mangled continent floating in a cesspool sea under maggot clouds squirming for foothold in the broiling universe of shame. "I need peace!" is just one more black bird croak flung into the grappling heat that churned around him.
He could slit his own throat. He could spread his blood across the stinking sand. He could exhale all the foul odors stored inside him into the polluted oxygen he swam in. He could rip his body to shreds + chunks + let the black bird feast. He could cash in his life insurance policy! He could drive down the river of madness to bomb Toad Hall, toss the money-changers from the Temple, spit on the whited sepulchers, hang himself high on the black bird's tree [2000-0909.1847: Like Jim did]. And the universe would not for a moment give a sigh. Live with that, Arjuna! Live with that, Jesus!
- Lone Coyote Calls
|Lonesome Coyote's home page|
Way out in the wilderness
a Lone Coyote Calls.
Your eyes fix on the shotgun
that's a-hangin' on the wall.
- B Dylan