The morning after brought pain. Joints and junctures were muddled and misaligned. The easy answers fizzled. Understandably, suffering followed soon thereafter. Not even the most devout humans who prostrate mindlessly at the knees can ignore that one.
The morning that came and went after that was followed by another morning that brought more of the same. By that time I had enough proof that enough was enough. It became harder to pretend that my world did not revolve around me. Along with the sick and the lame, I sought professional help. I should have known better, but numerous inconvenient facts seemed to prove otherwise.
Once my superficial off-white skin, moreover, underwent a rare form of radical dermatological scrutiny inflicted by a deadly foreign body with a degree in medicine, who began glibly by jiggling my broken nose in three distinct areas that seemed untoward and gratuitous to me, which caused my eyes to bubble with spontaneous combustion like murky globules of a highly rancid fat in a heated pan, and then looked into same said eyes, and murky ears as well, before she vigorously poked and probed the bruises, the cuts, the ruts, the abrasions, the ravines, the occlusions, and the rashes in sensitive areas of concern to me if not her, and then shoved the obligatory finger up my most sensitive area, my bereaved and lop-sided ass, where additional gleeful jiggling occurred that gave her no apparent pause, I pulled up my pants with determination, and kept them there, firmly in place.
She said, “Whatever it is, you’ll get over it.”
I said, “Thank you. I’m relieved.”
She said, “I’ll need to examine you again next week.”
I said, “Are you sure that’s the best I can hope for?”
I returned home to find the tawny owl ready to resume our tactical lessons in extra-galactic strife from the point of previous departure. To him, my injuries were neither more nor less than expected, a service to the greater good of beautiful birds. The war against the human enablers of treacherous cats who murder beautiful birds was bound to take its toll in many untold areas of obvious weakness.
In our next session, I was somewhat surprised to learn that a gaseous overdraft had farted a cloud of metallic dust that re-routed illumination once traveling in a bluish arc from Galaxy M102. The eternal color wheel, it appeared, was flying higher than usual. If it had been Galaxy M87 it would have made more strategic sense to me. But then, who was I? And why is it that I don’t know?
Otherwise, the war in which I had opted to become a traitor to my species seemed to be going well. With his extraordinary eyesight, the tawny owl was able to see that the cats were about to get skunked again. He was able to envision not only the multi-dimensional ebb and flow in the multiverse, but the plops and flizzes as well. From his point of view, looking down upon the many humans digging in the dirt, I had nothing to complain about.
“The majority of humans,” he began, “who have ever been alive, are alive today. Most of them are still wandering in the same desert. It’s not hard to see where they are going to end up. With no balance, you fall. Every teeny tweety bird know that. How many humans are able to admit that they are just one more obnoxious and invasive species that will soon be gone?”
I said, “Whoa… like none.”
“My kind have been around for about sixty million years. When we were a hundred thousand years old we didn’t know squat either. We had to learn. But, it seems your kind doesn’t want to know the facts, Jack.”
“But you don’t mean me, right? I can’t think of anything I want more than to know. What else am I here for?”
“All of your kind deep down think it’s all about all of your kind. That’s why you won’t be here any longer than a few thousand more years.”
“Now you’re just trying to blow my mind again.”
“What would a beautiful day be without a bunch of minds getting blown?”
“You mean your mind sometimes gets blown, too?”
“Not much beats stretching out and getting your mind blown, if you ax me. I dig it the most when I get my balance just right, and I’m soaring in an updraft, and I’m riding on the edge of multiple planes between galaxies, and spinning in simultaneity like some random motherfucker. It don’t get no better than that.”
“That must be when I start to fall.”
“You fall way before that.”
“I’m just saying.”
“You’re at your best flat on your back and with your eyes closed. Not just you.”
“But, isn’t my kind and your kind really all part of one kind in the end?”
“How many times I got to tell you there is no end?”
“I’m sorry. I still have a hard time dealing with that one.”
“We all know you’re never gonna fly, but how you gonna get higher when you stay stuck so deep in all your mud?”
“I know it’s a heavy load to haul around.”
“Best you can do is keep working on your figure eights: head to groin, head to groin, head to groin…that’s how you evolve. Whatever else you do, don’t stop, look down, and turn back. Once you stop, you gonna drop for sure. Once you drop, you got that much farther to climb. Listen to Coltrane while you’re at it. That helps to get higher.”
“I felt like I was getting closer before my face became smashed.”
“All for that higher cause.”
“It’s still hurting, though.”
“Sad fact is, Jack, that what you need is about a million years to get anywhere.”
“That’s another one of your cosmic jokes, right?”
“I’ma still be laughing my ass off.”
“Where am I going to find a million years?”
“Ain’t it funny how time slips away?”