THE FLY AND THE DOE

By Chris Koch

On a day that corresponded somewhat insignificantly with the one-week anniversary of his having hatched, a fly flew through a forest in search of a relatively fresh dung-pile.

As he flew, being somewhat distracted by his own thoughts concerning the precise nature of the dung pile that he would prefer and (on the loftier end of a fly’s thought-spectrum) what the purpose and calling of his short life might be, he became ensnared in a spider’s web.

“Oh, holy fuck!” he thought. “Now I’m screwed!”

The spider, who had been keeping a still and patient vigil in the shadows now sprung into action, making her way toward the fly with its methodical, delicate tight-rope walk. It seemed to the fly that the spider was smiling and there may have even been a small bit of drool emulating from her frighteningly jagged, toothy orifice. The spider said something, but it seemed to be in a foreign language… maybe German or Russian. The fly couldn’t tell.

“Listen,” the fly pleaded, “I know that according to the laws of Life as it has evolved on the planet earth, your job is to catch and eat small insects and that I, being a small insect, have initiated a series of programmed behaviours which will render me dead and you somewhat better off…”

The spider continued his approach without the slightest regard to the fly’s rambling monologue.

“… and I further know that I have nothing with which to bargain in an attempt to save my own, pathetic life — I own nothing that you desire other than my juicy insides which, were I to use them to bargain with, I would have no life left to save anyway…”

The spider again said something in its harsh, guttural language, which ultimately meant, “Stop your jabbering, breakfast! The more you speak, the more water vapour you release and the less juice for me.”

Unable to comprehend the spider’s message, the fly continued.

“…but I would really, REALLY, appreciate it if you would let me go, just this once. I will, I promise, devote the remaining few weeks of my life to serving you. I will lead other small insects to your lair. If you let me go, then you could potentially gain several meals my size. Whadya say, huh?”

The spider’s unfathomable words meant, “I have never encountered such an annoying meal,” and it moved in close to run the program sequence entitled bind_kill_eat.exe.

The fly shut its eyes and prepared for the worst, offering up prayers, supplications and apologies to anyone or anything that might care to listen and grant him another opportunity at life either now or in the future. Then, in a suspiciously coincidental moment, just as the spider was about to begin wrapping the fly in an impossible tangle of web, a beautiful doe walked by as it grazed and inadvertently broke the web, squishing the spider and releasing the fly from bondage.

The fly was so overwhelmed with joy at its liberation that it didn’t know what to do but flee, flying frantically forth, trying to get as far from his near-death experience as he possibly could in the shortest amount of time. He landed on a leaf to catch his breath and ponder the magnitude of what had just happened.

The first thing he did was rummage through his really short short-term memory to make sure that he hadn’t made any promises to whatever entity may have been responsible for his release — a promise to join a monastery or, even worse, a promise to abstain from eating shit. But as far as he could recall, he made no such promise.

Still, the fact that he had been released just moments after he had prayed was so profound to him that he felt compelled to take some action in order to remove the oppressive weight caused by his sense of gratitude and obligation. These were, after all, emotional states for which a fly is not best known.

Of course, this put him in the difficult situation of having to decide to whom or what he should express his gratitude. Was it the doe that heard his mournful cries? Or was it some invisible controlling entity which guided the doe to provide aid? This was really too much for the fly’s tiny mind to process so he decided to approach the doe directly as she was a tangible being and also had a nice, meaty smell that appealed to his fly-like instincts.

He flew to her and made several attempts at landing on her ear before finding a spot that was not sensitive enough to cause her to flick him violently off.

“Excuse me,” he said.

The doe stopped munching, waited for a moment, shook her head, then continued on.

“Excuse me. I really am trying to get your attention, Miss Doe. Can you hear and understand me?”

The doe looked around to make sure that she wasn’t being tricked by some sneaky carnivore.

“Precisely who is addressing me?” she asked. “I am not accustomed to having conversations with entities that I am unable to see or smell.”

“It is interesting that you should mention that,” the fly responded, “because I usually feel the same way. However, in my darkest moment, which happened just a few moments ago, I attempted to have a conversation with an invisible entity and it seemed to me that, in response, that entity sent you to save my life.”

The doe considered this for a moment.

“Save your life?” she replied, sounding rather astonished, “What on earth do you mean?”

“Well, I am a fly, you see, and I was trapped in a spider’s web. The spider was just about to ensnare me in a shit-tangle of webbing, so I prayed — I suppose prayer is what you’d call it — and at that precise moment you walked by, demolished the web with your left-front-foot, turned the spider into a pile of guts and legs, and set me free! So I came to you to express my appreciation for your very heroic deed on my behalf!” the fly said, with great enthusiasm.

“Wow,” said the deer, “I had no idea all of this was going on. As far as I’m concerned, I was just out having breakfast.”

“Yes. That is true,” the fly retorted, “but you stepped exactly in the right spot exactly when I needed you.”

“Well,” she explained, “the fact that I walk is simply a matter of my being an earth-dwelling animal with legs. It is what I do, almost constantly, as a matter-of-fact. I am a foraging machine that turns the sun’s energy stored in grass and leaves into deer flesh. In the process of doing so, I walk, and walk, and walk. The only time I am not walking is when I have found an abundance of food in one locale or when I am asleep.”

She paused in consideration.

“I am told that, in the Fall, when a buck approaches me to deposit semen so that I may bring forth new deer-life, I should just remain still and allow it to happen. So I don’t think I will be walking then either. But they say that the whole, messy business doesn’t take very long and then I’ll be walking again.”

She wrapped her tongue around a juicy clump of grass, tearing off as much as she could and munched for a spell. The fly had the sense that she was pondering this mysterious future mating ritual with a mixed sense of anticipation and trepidation.

“As for the sequential correlation between your being trapped in a web and my left-front-foot invading the self-same space,” she continued, “I would be inclined to employ Occam’s razor and assume that it was merely a coincidence.”

The fly thought about this for a moment.

“I tend to agree. However, I never-the-less feel as if I am carrying around a burdensome weight of obligation that I need to somehow dispel. If an invisible entity did in fact send you my way, it really doesn’t matter much because I have no idea who or what it was or how he/she/it would like me to respond. So my most reasonable course of action, in light of this quandary, is to choose you as the recipient of my heart-felt gratitude,” the fly said, with a bow.

“Unnecessary,” she said, matter-of-factly, “but… okay… expression of gratitude accepted. You may go in peace.”

The fly kissed the doe on the ear (though she didn’t notice), wished her good grazing and a long happy life, and flew off to continue its search for a good dung pile. Fortunately, the doe had just deposited a significant load and he didn’t have to travel very far.

Over the next few days the fly enjoyed its life with the fresh sense of appreciation that usually accompanies having nearly perished. He also enjoyed the free abundance of calories that the doe provided several times a day in neat little piles on the ground. So, while the fly had initially intended to continue on with its simple, self serving life, he found that his love and appreciation for the doe only increased. And so did the pesky sense of obligation that he felt.

He tried to ignore it by chasing other flies around his dung piles and working diligently on his aerial acrobatics, but every activity that he enjoyed was underlined by the fact that he would be nothing more than spider-flesh and a silk-bag-filled-with-exoskeleton if it weren’t for the doe.

“If it weren’t for the doe, I wouldn’t be savouring this dung,” he would think, or

“If it weren’t for the doe, I wouldn’t be flying freely through the forest,” or

“If it weren’t for the doe, I wouldn’t be copulating with these female flies.”

At last the burden became too great for him and he pledged to do something special for her.

But what? What could he offer her?

Now, you might be surprised to hear this, but the fly fancied himself as somewhat of a poet. No one really thinks of insects as being capable of art or literature and perhaps the majority of them aren’t, but our fly had a long-standing love-of-language and something like a knack for prose. (When I say long-standing, of course, I mean to suggest that it was for at least the past week since he wasn’t much older than that.)

And so, he put his mind to the task of poetically expressing his love and appreciation for the doe. At last, he felt that the product of his heart’s best efforts was ready for presentation. He boldly approached her.

“Hello, again!” he said, after landing on her ear.

The doe stopped munching, waited for a moment, swallowed, and then spoke.

“The fly, right? The existential fly? How are you?”

“I am well, thank you very much! I’ve been really overcome with a sense of purpose since our last exchange. Motivated, really, to produce something of value that I could give to you as a token of appreciation. If you have a moment, I would love to share what I have created,” he said, with an air of smugness.

“I don’t see any predators around and I am content with the current offering of edible vegetation,” she said, in a rather bored tone. “You may proceed.”

The fly cleared-its proboscis, and began:

My Dear, Deer
by a fly

My dear
My dearest dear
My dearest dear, deer
I don’t find it easy to know where to begin, see,
But you have ignited a fire within me
My eyes, though compound, they see only you
I watch you with longing and strive to be true
You’ve opened the floodgates of my heart’s expression
This is just the first poem of many, I’m guessin’
And now I expect that there’s no way of stopping
You’ve set my wings free and then fed me your droppings
So each day I live, I will give you my love
Because you saved me from that fucking spider

The fly concluded and although the doe couldn’t see him, of course, he had a look of expectation on his face as if he were waiting for the entire forest to break into a deafening applause.

“Well,” said the doe, “that was… that was… I didn’t know that a fly could write… poetry… like… that.”

(If only a fly could blush and a deer could notice it!)

“Thank you! Thank you, my beloved liberator!” he said. “I really wanted you to like it, and I am very glad that you did!”

She paused for a moment, to reflect. “Did I say that I liked it? Hm.”

Although the fly was a bit hurt by this last remark he never-the-less wished her good grazing and a long healthy life without betraying his emotions. He buzzed off, not feeling overly dismayed or discouraged but more determined. He simply had to do better and he would.

He spent a good amount of time analyzing his first offering to try and figure out what was lacking or flawed in content or form but couldn’t, for the life of him, imagine why anyone wouldn’t like My Dear Deer, so he just decided to wipe the slate clean and try again. Maybe something a little different this time. Maybe more of a free-style approach.

THE DREAM
by a fly
In my dreams, we are together
You are not 500,000 times my size
And I am not a shit-sucking insect
Birds. We are birds.
We fly and build nests and stuff
We migrate South in the Winter
We migrate North in the Spring
We do all kinds of things
And when you have fleas
I pick them off of you
Because I do love you

“That’s nice,” said the deer, “I really hate fleas.”

The fly, once again feeling as if he was being denied an adequate response, paced back and forth for a moment and then erupted.

“Okay! What? What the hell is it?” he asked. He was clearly agitated. “Just… can you just tell me what it is? Do you not like birds or something? Are you saying that you would not want to be a bird? Christ sakes! Come on! Just about everyone wants to be a bird!”

“Don’t get your wings all tangled!” she snapped. “Birds are alright. I don’t mind birds at all! Calm down! What’s your problem?”

“I dunno,” he said, in a dramatically deflated manner, “ I just… I’m not feeling like your really digging my stuff here and I worked really hard on it.”

The doe let a long stream of air out through her nostrils. A sigh, I suppose.

“Alright,” she inquired, sternly. “What exactly is going on here? What is it you want me to do? How exactly do you want me to respond? What kind of mutually beneficial arrangement could possibly be enjoyed between a fly and a doe, anyway?”

The fly was stunned. He was not prepared for such a levelling expression of honesty. Humbled and broken, he sat silently for some time, nervously flicking his wings together. After a time, the grave truth of her statement reached him like an epiphany, if a fly can be said to have an epiphany.

“You know,” he sighed, “you’re right. You are absolutely right of course. I know that this is… strange. Beyond strange. I know that we can’t, like, produce offspring or anything like that. That isn’t what I was after anyway… I don’t even really like kids. I just look at you or think about you and my microscopic nervous system starts going all haywire! I mean, I would be a pile of spider shit if it weren’t for you, do you understand that? I am so grateful for the fact that you saved my life that I don’t even know what to do with myself! And then, on top of that, your faeces are just, like, totally delicious. Why are you so nice to me all of the time if you don’t want me around?”

Her heart swelled with compassion.

“Hey, listen. First of all I never, ever said that I didn’t want you around, okay? I mean, that is just not true. I like you. I like our little chats. Second, let’s get this straight… I’m not really doing anything special, here. Your being set free was the result of my taking a simple step, like one of the thousands that I take every day. We’ve already discussed this… walking is just what I do as part of my life. And so is crapping, by the way. For mammals it isn’t involuntary like it is for birds or insects… we do have a little control over placement and timing and things like that… but it is simply a by-product of the huge amount of roughage that we take in every day. It keeps going in… it keeps coming out. That’s all. Don’t get me wrong… I’m really glad that you enjoy it and that it provides you with nourishment and all, but I’m not exactly defecating for your benefit.”

“I knew there was something about birds!” he exclaimed.

“Hush! You are not listening to me!” she said forcefully.

He backed down and remained silent. She took a moment to regain composure.

“Can’t we just hang out?” she suggested. “I mean, just be in the same space together with no expectations?”

He looked down at his feet and dug his toe into her ear. It was imperceptible to her.

“And you’ve got to get this whole idea of thanking me out of your head. I’m not a fly-saviour!” she asserted. “I’m just a doe, doing the deeds that a doe does in a doe’s life. Really! I’m not trying to lead you on or give you special attention or anything of the sort. I’m just trying to survive and thrive like everyone else in the forest.”

He finally spoke, slowly, and with sincere resolve.

“I get it. No, truly… I truly get it. I’ve been trying too hard.”

He took a minute to clear the emotion from his voice.

“But I hope you understand that I’ve only been trying so hard because…”

He took a short circular flight and hovered in front of her gigantic face.

“…because you are very dear to me. I adore you. I really do. And I honestly say that with no expectations. You told me that you have become part of my life simply by doing what a deer does. Well, I guess I am just doing what any fly would do if he were saved from certain death by the most beautiful creature on the planet! This is who I am, dammit! I am a person… I mean… I am a fly who appreciates beauty and freedom and friendship. I’ve just got to express the joy that I feel when I’m in your presence. If you can’t deal with that, then… then… I guess I’ll just have to go!”

She smiled, and he thought he saw her doe-eyes fill just slightly.

“Oh, I can deal with that, my sweet fly… I can deal with that. Now come over here and give me a hug! I mean… just… hang out on my ear or something!”

And they did hang out relaxing in the forest and enjoying each others company for the next few weeks.

But then, of course, he died because flies just don’t live very long.

She was a very strong and smart doe, so she understood the cycle of life and accepted all phases of it. Of course she missed him, but she wasn’t crushed or despondent by any means. For the most part she kept their friendship in a special, private place in her heart. On only one known occasion was she asked to express her feelings about his passing, to which she replied,

“You know… I really miss his poetry.”

THE END

“PLEASE!!! Curb your god!” – 27-Sept-2010

FAITH is a highly subjective matter. What this means is that it is absolutely personal. The existence of god or of a particular god is not something that can be proved except (apparently) in the heart and mind of an individual.

WHEN two or more people who have proved (to their own, personal satisfaction) the existence of a particular god, and have a similar understanding of how that god thinks and communicates and what it wants for and from humans, they may enjoy the perfect liberty of discussing the depravity and eternal misfortune of those who do not hold similar beliefs. This freedom of private discourse is absolute as is the freedom of those (who have proved to their own satisfaction the non-existence of any particular god) to assemble and discuss the intellectual ineptitude of the faithful. These freedoms may be fully enjoyed IN THEIR PROPER SETTINGS.

FORCED compliance to a particular set of religious ideals or dogma results in conflict, animosity, resentment and frequently, bloodshed. This should be obvious to all humans at this point. The examples (to anyone who will break the seal on their high school World History book) are numerous and disturbing. When a human conceives a fantastic idea, he or she is free to explain it to another human (using intelligible English, please) who is perfectly free to respond favorably or unfavorably. Telling the hearer that he/she MUST respond favorably to an improvable, subjective idea is neither possible nor sensible.

UPON what grounds and by what means should an individual assert an idea and expect full acceptance by another individual? If the idea is reasonable and may be expressed using terminology that is verifiable as having common definition; if the idea may be proved using accepted methods of logic; if the idea conforms to a commonly held, relatively contemporary understanding of the world in which we live; if the idea does not result in harm to or alienation of self or other humans. These are some examples.

OTHERS have always been and will always be responsible for weighing the evidence that you present to them. The consequences of failing to review evidence and accept some ideas can be real and immediate. For instance, if I fail to accept the concept of gravity from the discipline of Physics, the consequence of hopping off of a cliff will be quite grave. (Pun intended.) Likewise, failing to understand long-and-widely-held rudiments pertaining to Mathematics and Biology are likely to have negative results.

WILL a person exact real and immediate consequences should they fail to believe in the existence of a particular god? Only in the sense that a group of individuals that adhere to a particular set of subjective beliefs and the related dogma may find it justifiable to inflict immediate physical or emotional punishment upon those who do not hold those beliefs to be reasonable or acceptable. Beyond that, the consequences are as subjective and imagined as the beliefs themselves. They are also not of any immediate concern unless you buy into the subjective, fantastic idea of Eternal Life.

FAIL to keep tabs on which ideas are subjective and which are objective (meaning, not influenced by personal feelings, interpretations, or prejudice) and we run the risk of continued conflict because, when you cannot appeal to reason and evidence in attempting to have your idea accepted, options become severely limited. However, if you will keep your ideas about your particular god in the private compartment where they belong, and if you will accept them as being limited to providing personal affirmation (rather than as tenets that must be adhered to by all) the possibilities for peaceful, tolerant co-existence increase dramatically.

Please! Curb your god! Keep him/her out of all public facilities (and your neighbor’s bedroom!)

IF YOUR GOD DEPOSITS REFUSE IN PUBLIC, PLEASE PICK IT UP AND PLACE IT WHERE IT BELONGS: IN THE NEAREST CHURCH, SYNAGOGUE, MOSQUE OR OTHER UNSPECIFIED HOUSE OF WORSHIP.

THE MIRROR (EL ESPEJO)

by Chris Koch

–A Dream

That night, he dreamt. They were sitting across from each other at an elaborately set table of burled maple with matching chairs. The table was in a grassy clearing in the middle of an otherwise densely wooded forest.

“I don’t have a weapon,” she said. “I don’t use weapons because I don’t believe I should have to. Not with reasonable people such as yourself, at least. No… all I have is this mirror.”

“Yes,” he replied. “I have seen the mirror. And although I know that I have to confront it, I…”

He hesitated and turned his head to make eye contact with the small object impossible.

“I know that I have to confront it but I have been afraid,” he continued, “or maybe just unwilling,” which he added to lessen the possibility of being viewed as a coward. “It is difficult to explain. I know that I have to look. I know that living under a delusion is not an option for me.”

He saw an opportunity for a little puffery and added, “Others may choose to do so, but such a false life is repulsive to me… beneath me.”

“So what exactly is the fear, then, or the source of your reluctance?” she probed, “Do you know?”

“Of course I know,” he replied, with what he hoped was not too much arrogance. “It is the fear of probability. The cold, unerring, ruthless objectivity of numbers assures me that the likelihood of my receiving another such opportunity for transcendence is practically…”

He could not finish his thought.

“And this is a truth that you are unwilling to face?” She took a moment to dramatically shift her position forward on her chair and adjust her expression to one of determination, though without rendering it entirely void of earnest compassion. “Having battled your way to the surface after so long dead in the vast sea of delusion — having taken a deep lungful of the nutritious air of reality at long last — will you now willingly return to your drowning?”

He fought off an impulse to accuse her of being cruel and relentless, knowing that it would only appear as a childish, emotional response. Her frankness was, after all, entirely appropriate. He struggled for expression.

“No… I will not be the dog returning to the vomit. But I think there is more to it,” he began to explain.

“What have you not told me… what are you not telling me?” she exerted in a way that he could not deny.

In anguish, he held his head in his hands and rubbed his face for a full minute, collecting thoughts, collecting composure, collecting nerve.

“I swam to the surface, as you say, and filled my lungs with reality. I was no longer living under delusion but I was still an animal — an animal called ‘human’ but an animal just the same. And I was content to live more as an animal than a human because of my disdain for the ways of men. I could tolerate no more cruelty and stupidity.” A hot, violent look of hatred flashed momentarily across his face and faded just as quickly.

“But under your influence I saw a virtuous side of humanity. I saw a nobility and beauty there that I had utterly forsaken the possibility of ever knowing. And though I had not seen things in this way before or known the depth of feeling that resulted from such a change in perspective, somehow I knew that this was how I was supposed to feel… that I was meant to be this way.

“Of course I realized that you were on your own journey and that you would be looking for a means to influence the furthering of your own transcendence. The laws of thermodynamics suggest that it would be impossible for me to provide such an influence because the expenditure of a quantity of energy never results in a greater quantity of energy. And likewise, from the discipline of physics, one entity cannot provide leverage to a second entity and, at the same time use the second entity as leverage for its own movement.

“But perhaps, or so I thought, I could maintain orbit around you… not detracting from or hindering your own progress, but merely absorbing your influence like the Earth absorbs the Sun’s energy. In time, it seemed possible to me, your energy would bring forth Life and it would evolve and eventually become intelligent and beautiful and noble and creative. And then, perhaps, I would be more of a partner than a protégé… a working part of the same system rather than a by-product thereof.

Emboldened by his analogies and by his own honesty, he continued.

“I decided that you could keep me at arm’s length for a long time, even indefinitely, and I would be content there. I would require nothing… ask for nothing… take nothing. The mere possibility that one day you would be pleased with the Life brought about by your energy would be enough.” he said, and with an almost innocent enthusiasm, added “I swear it!”

“And your fear, then, is that…?” she coaxed.

He sighed and finally admitted with an air of shamed defeat, “That looking into your mirror might reveal something that would erase this possibility.”

She sat back in her chair.

“What do you want me to say?” she began, but then shook her head decisively. “No! It doesn’t matter what you want me to say. I know what needs to be said. You have to stop this. You have to look in the mirror. I will not allow this foolishness to continue, do you hear me? But I cannot force you to look. You have to do it yourself, freely. And frankly, you either have to look now or continue in your folly until you become a pathetic shell of a man. You have to look now because, while I may be able to wait around for you to come to your senses, I am becoming less and less willing to do so. My respect for you is in jeopardy, here. But understand that these words are not fueled by cruelty. They are inspired by empathy and compassion and concern for your well-being. If you intend to reach your potential you must discard this dead-weight of ‘what if?’ and accept ‘what is’.”

His eyes filled. In his mouth was the salty taste that is usually followed by vomiting, but he resisted. Anyway, there was nothing in his stomach besides the gnawing pain of anxiety.

“Will you look?” she asked. He said nothing.

“Will you look?” she asked again, more sharply. His head nodded slightly, nearly imperceptibly.

“I ask you, will you look?”

His frustration erupted. The dam that held his tears broke, mucus streamed from his nose and his saliva, plentiful and viscous, stuck to his lips as he spoke.

“Shut up! Shut up, will you please, and just show me the fucking mirror!”

She raised it up slowly and, once at the proper height, flicked her wrist to give it proper alignment for his viewing. With some difficulty he forced himself to turn, keep his eyelids open, and peer intently forth, searching, seeking whatever it was he was supposed to know. In an instant his face took on the expression of profound, pained astonishment.

This lasted only briefly, however, for he became aware of the fact that he was falling… physically falling. The profound truth of his gravitational descent evacuated all other thoughts and feelings, replacing them with the instinctual, urgent need to preserve self.

But he was unable to stop himself; unable to find balance, to brace himself, to re-position himself or to do anything that might lessen the impact. His body was a mere object, a lifeless mass in the planet’s unyielding grip. Each moment of descent seemed to give him several to recognize and acknowledge the truth of what was happening.

I am falling.

I am still falling.

I am pulled closer, now.

Still closer.

The sky seems very blue.

I wonder if there will be pain.

I think I am nearing impact now.

There… I see her knees in my periphery

I must be nearing the forest floor.

What beautiful knees they are.

Here it comes.

The impact took place without any sense of pain. It was more of a sound that he detected, or a collection of sounds, actually, with each part of his body having its own timbre as it met the earth. His elbows made a light, high sound while his back was more of a baritone. His head was unquestionably the loudest — a kettledrum, perhaps. Then came a long, push of air from his lungs through his mouth that seemed like an audio signal, amplified, slowed down and processed through a digital reverb for exaggerated effect. Then silence.

He eventually became aware of her face above his. It was not agitated or surprised in any way; not frightened or frantic. What he thought he saw on her face was the look of heartfelt pride that a mother might present to a child who has made it through a painful but necessary ordeal. There was a small tear running down her cheek.

“You are a good and brave soul,” she said, with detectable emotion in her voice and a beautiful, reassuring smile on her lips. She bent down and kissed his forehead.

He realized that he would be able to afford only a very few words and they seemed obvious. He forced them out, broken, in barely audible gasps,

“Thank… you… my… An… gel.”


–An Analysis

“And how do you interpret this dream?” the analyst asked, in the knowing way that analysts ask such questions. He was a near perfect stereotype of an analyst — the beard — the tweed coat with leather elbows. All he needed was permission to speak in a German accent and it would have been a complete package.

“Well, first of all I never said, unequivocally, that it was a dream,” he replied.

The doctor offered a slightly restrained sigh. It was obvious that he had wanted to sigh a more obvious and dramatic sigh, perhaps accompanied by a temple massage.

“Let’s start here then,” the doctor suggested. “Who is your mentor in the dream?” He applied tactful force in using the word “dream” in order to feed his own ego and sense of superiority. “Who is the woman who is guiding you to face reality? Do you know?”

“Yes… I know her. She is my Angel. Well…” he hesitated to consider how he might adequately qualify his statement. “She doesn’t know that I know that she is really an Angel. She has manifested herself in the flesh as part of her “covert” mission to liberate me from bondage. It is not really covert as far as I’m concerned. It is perfectly transparent to me, but I mustn’t let her know. I believe she feels that I will be afraid of her if she appears distinctly as an angel or that I won’t be able to handle the knowledge that there are angels to begin with. For my part, I don’t want her to know that I know that she is an angel because she may become distraught when she learns that I am one of the rare people who can tell when they are in the presence of angels. So she is happier believing that I don’t know that she is an Angel, and I am happier to let her believe that I am oblivious to this fact so that she will continue to appear before me. Do you see?”

“Mmm.” was all the analyst could manage.

“She is my “mentor”, as you say. And who better than an angel to lead the liberation of the imprisoned? Was it not an angel who smashed the bars of the prison and allowed St. Paul to escape? She has given me her hand and is trying to guide me forth toward a life that knows no bounds. I only hope that I will be strong enough when the time comes. It will, I am sure, be very frightening to take a prolonged flight without the use of motors or man-made wings. I will have to be extremely courageous… more so than I ever have been.”

The analyst wrote some things down in his notebook and closed his eyes for a moment to consider his next statement. On the couch, the patient witnessed all of these subtle gestures and could not help thinking that he presented the doctor with the most satisfying challenge of his professional career. This pleased him.

Finally the doctor spoke.

“What convinces you that this woman is an angel? What qualities make her divine, in your estimation?”

“Woof!” said the patient, with enthusiasm. “Well! Where to begin! HOW to begin! There are things I could certainly mention. She is… well, she is wonderful, for one thing! Absolutely not anything like other girls. Certainly not like these small-minded American girls. Well, not like any human for that matter!. Not concerned with trite, petty nonsense for instance. She walks completely unencumbered by the constraints most of us know. Right through walls I imagine, if she wanted to. Her hands are softer than any human hands could ever possibly be, but… “

He stopped, shook his head, struck the heel of his hand against his forehead three times and laughed at himself… a good, hard, hearty laugh.

“Well! Isn’t this just perfectly foolish of me!” He laughed again. “Here I am attempting to put into words sublime qualities and sensations that are beyond any frame of reference you could possibly have! It’s quite impossible, really! When I say “Her hands are softer than any other human hands”, it means something entirely different to me than to you since, at best, the softest hands you have ever felt are only a scant percentage as soft as hers! She has re-defined the word “soft” for me so that the word can no longer communicate clearly the essence of her hands to others who have not experienced this level of softness. To be honest, offering descriptions of any aspect of her using mere words is a complete waste of time. But at least I can say this — in her presence, one feels a flow of spirit and energy and a freedom of mind that is not attainable by any other means known to mortals. It is both exhilarating and… terrifying!“

The doctor looked up from his notebook, sensing a possible opening through which to steer the conversation toward reality.

“Terrifying? Interesting. In what way, do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, the sense is that I am, for some inexplicable reason, receiving an unprecedented opportunity… a rare, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that will only be missed if I screw it up by my own hand. And what if I fail! AACH! That would be SO terrible! Destined to live the rest of my pathetic, stifled life knowing that I could be flying had I only mastered my fears and insecurities! And this is precisely what she is trying to teach me to do, Blessed Angel be praised!”

“Yes. Fear can certainly cripple us… cripple our minds… prevent us from reaching our potential. Is this what you mean by flying? Is “flying” here a metaphor for self-actualization?”

So much Psychoanalese… the language of PhD’s.

In a breach of protocol, the patient spun around on the couch to sit up and face the doctor, who clearly appeared startled at the abrupt change in positioning.

“Doctor!” he exclaimed. “Jesus! You think I’m off my rocker, don’t you! You think I’m making this shit up? You think I am suffering from delusions? What next? A sedative and a straight-jacket?”

“Now, now, my dear boy…” the doctor said in his soothing doctor-voice, albeit nervously. “Calm down! I am merely trying to understand the nuances of your language. People use the word “flying” in all kinds of ways… flying down the highway… my hands were flying across the keyboard… his mind was flying through his memories… and none of these intend to indicate actual flight through or out of the Earth’s atmosphere. Take a deep breath. Relax. Lie back down.”

It seemed so important that he be lying down, as if as if the couch was suspended above a trap door that the doctor operated by pressing a button on his pen. Unless the patient was completely upon the couch, he might clamor to avoid falling down the chute that lead to the padded room below. Never-the-less, the person who was paying for the time acquiesced to the person collecting the fee and lay back down on the couch, resuming the traditional doctor-patient posture.

“So,” the doctor continued, “to continue where we left off, are you fully expecting to achieve flight then? Without the aid of motors or man-made wings? This is very exciting indeed,” he said, trying hard not to sound incredulous or condescending. “Can you speak about this?”

The patient emitted a sigh that indicated regret at having brought it up in the first place. This sigh preceded a moment of silent preparation and a moment for a bit of self-reproach; he should know better, he thought to himself, then to introduce such fantastic ideas to the hopelessly earthbound. At last he continued.

“Listen. I know what you’re thinking,” he confessed in a subdued tone. “You’re thinking that what I’m speaking about is outside of the realm of possibility. Well…” he threw up his hands, “I really don’t know what to tell you… how to convince you. I don’t suspect that there is any real reason to try. I’ve flown before with her. It was a short flight because she knew that I would not be able to endure a sustained one. But it was a flight never the less and she intends to grant me more opportunities to experience this phenomenon. Had you experienced it, you would agree that anyone would be foolish not to take them.”

“Flight,” he said flatly, as if wanting to make sure that they shared a mutual definition of the term. “You traveled or hovered or soared relatively far above the surface of the earth for a relatively long time with no mechanical assistance… without any strings or other… conditions?”

“No mechanical assistance,” he assured. “Definitely no strings. I can’t say that there were no conditions though, because there was at least one. I did have to be within her,” he said, with no hesitancy or reserve.

“Within her?” came the obvious inquiry.

“Yes. Coitus. She made it clear that flight would only be possible for me during intercourse and that orgasm would render me at the mercy of gravity and I would crash to the earth and burn instantly.”

“I see,” said the doctor. “I wonder if you have heard of a condition known as…”

“And so this is the impetus that drives me, currently,” he interrupted. “To master self. To endure. To maintain flight. If I can remain within her, in control, I may achieve enduring freedom.”

“All… alright,” said the doctor, clearly flustered. “Can we… how about… well… what about the mirror?” he said, in order to change the topic. “Do you have any ideas about what it represented and what you might have seen? Can you imagine what she showed you that caused you to have such a dramatic, physical reaction?”

“Really? Really Doctor? Wow! I’m surprised to hear you ask! I think it’s fairly obvious. I thought you would have figured that out long ago. She is showing me that I am a mortal and she wants me to see for myself how unlikely a pairing we would be. A mortal and an angel! Can you imagine!”

“Yes. Yes, it does seem a bit far-fetched, I admit,” said the doctor. “Perhaps she is being merciful, then… giving you an opportunity to face reality and accept the fact that you should seek the company of another human instead, no?”

He paused to consider this, and took on a look of resolve that may or may not have been feigned.

“It’s true. Yes. I see that. She may have been trying to get me to face reality… to face the possibility that I may not achieve the level of… I suppose “perfection”… that she requires. But on the other hand, and this is what you are failing to realize, dear Doctor, I have been chosen to be the recipient of her beneficence. Me. Not anyone else. For some reason — whether I shall ever receive enlightenment as to what the reason is I cannot even venture a wild guess — I am the one she has chosen to release from bondage.

He thought for a moment.

“I would venture to say that the Israelites did not fully understand why God decided to free them from the hands of the Pharoah. They were just, like, ‘Oh! God wants to get us out of this hell-hole, put an end to our slave labor and take us to a land flowing with milk and honey? What the hell! We’ll take it!’ And even though they fell short time and time again with their idolatry and manifold sins, Yahweh just kept at it and kept at it. They were chosen. Nothing to be done about it. End of story. In the same way, I have been chosen by my Angel to receive her gracious assistance… to be succored and comforted by her in my time of tribulation. For what exact purpose? Who am I to say! I am a mere mortal! But I trust her implicitly. If she smashes down the walls just so that I can walk freely and then decides to abandon me, so be it. Until then, I am as important to her as a recipient as she is to me as a benefactor.”

He was practically out of breath when he finished. The doctor sat for a time, trying to figure out exactly what was needed. When he came up short there, he then considered what it was that he wanted.

“I would say that… Whoop! Look at the time! Damn!” The doctor was artful at conversational deception. “Well, why don’t we conclude here. I think I have to. Other patients you know. Anyway, you’ve certainly given me plenty to think about. Plenty.”

“Are you sure?” the patient replied. “I can literally talk about this all day, so if you need any more information… if I can answer any further questions, just let me know.” This he offered in complete earnest.

“No! No! I’m quite content with the amount of information you have already so generously supplied, believe me! I intend to pour over this in my spare time tonight and in the days leading up to our next visit.”

The patient smiled, innocently and genuinely.

__

Her voice, even when distorted by the phone, was like butterfly kisses upon his ears.

“So, how was your meeting today?” she asked.

He responded in hushed, secretive tones. “I think it went very well, my heart! He really is such a nice fellow and I believe that he is truly on my side. Much cause for optimism! Much cause for optimism, indeed!”

“Was there…” she hesitated, “…any talk of…”

“No,” he answered quickly, to avoid hearing the question in its entirety. “Not yet, my dear one. But we have to be patient. He is, you know, dreadfully ‘in the system’ and it will take some time for him to see.”

“Sometimes being patient just sucks,” she pouted.

“I know, I know. It will be soon, though. We will be together soon. I’d better go, before I am discovered. Good night, my beloved Angel!”

“Good night, you crazy fool! Te amo!”

“Ti adoro!”

He made a kissing sound into the secret shoe and put it back on his foot. All was well in the world and his bunk mate’s snoring could not prevent him from sleeping peacefully and dreaming of flight.

COLOSSAL CONSPIRACY
by Christopher Koch

BACKGROUND

I often wish that I had chosen to study Biology. I loved it in high school, performed well in the class and received an excellent grade on the Biology Achievement Test given at the University. I suppose I just wasn’t tuned-in to my inner voice and ventured elsewhere.

That voice vibrated at a frequency that I had to cancel out when I eventually decided to attempt to live a Biblical lifestyle. Faith, not scientific skepticism, was what I was attempting to develop then — how to believe in things that seemingly failed to exist within the realm of scientific observation. But even throughout my faith-experiment I never lost my love of Science so that when I finally decided that faith was not the method of navigating through Life that worked for me, I had a familiar and trustworthy old friend to rely on.

I needed such a friend as I began to sort out what my new secular life might be like, and there was plenty to sort through. I had gone from being “faithful” as a child (meaning that I mimed the faith of my parents) to being a rebellious heathen as a young adult, to feverishly pursuing a personal faith in God as a man. I wanted to avoid such pendulum swings in the future and determined to do the work necessary to land as solidly as a mere mortal can on questions regarding the supernatural realm. So I went back to Biology — back to the scientific language that I understood better than any other. Naturally, I found myself spending time at Darwin’s feet.

I know I must have learned about Natural Selection in my high school Biology class. It was probably a section in the textbook for which I received an admirable test score, which is merely to say that I committed a number of its factual elements to memory so that I could sufficiently recite them when it counted most. But in spite of a decent grade, “Darwin’s Dangerous Idea” was not an aspect of Biology that had impacted me in any significant way.

Years later, with a fresh mind recently let loose and focused on mining for understanding, it hit me profoundly that Natural Selection is a mindless, heartless sorter of what works and what doesn’t.

WHAT HAPPENED?

Around the same time an earthier question, challenging in its own right, began to gnaw at me. I had removed the rose-colored glasses and now saw troubling and complex problems everywhere I looked. Though perhaps naïve, I just didn’t see why Life should have become so damned complicated. I wanted to know why. Where did we go wrong? How did this one species, my species, take the pure simplicity of a balanced and harmonious life and entangle it in confounding political, sociological and economic complexities of its own conjuring?

The most satisfying explanation I found was that we, through a series of conscious and unconscious turns in our civilized history, have lost nearly all conscious connection to the biosphere in which we evolved. This is a phenomenon that author Daniel Quinn calls, “The Great Forgetting” .

WHEN WE WERE YOUNG

Like every other living thing, early hominids were pounded into shape by the hammer of Natural Selection on the anvil of their local environments. They responded and adjusted to the advancements other life forms made while living in a dynamic world and the other life forms responded and adjusted in turn. If these adjustments and adaptations served a species well it was rewarded with continuation, and its special traits would be passed on to give descendants a competitive edge.

And like every other living thing, early hominids were in balance with the biosphere during this time of refinement. As hunter-gatherers, a local population could not overstep the caloric production of the region in which it lived; to do so would result in communal suffering, possibly jeopardizing the health and continuation of the tribe. We were intricately connected to everything around us. We couldn’t possibly have been otherwise.

A LEFT TURN?

It is a personal struggle of mine to definitively decide how I feel about the Agricultural Revolution. On a personal level, I owe my very existence to it — I certainly wouldn’t be here to question it had it never happened. And, I do appreciate what it has accomplished. When we became producers of our own food we no longer had to limit ourselves to the natural carrying capacity of our immediate environment. We could sequester land and cultivate it to produce only our favorite foods. We could settle and develop societies and we did so with many positive results. Division of labor, improved sanitation, advancements in science and health, and some of my favorite aspects of “civilized” life — art, music and literature — were all given time and space in which to evolve.

But The Agricultural Revolution also launched our current trajectory, which is beginning to feel like some kind of terrible mistake. Our improvements in the area of food production powered an ongoing explosive increase in human population that continues to decrease the populations of other mid-to-large sized complex organisms (since any biosphere can only sustain so much biomass), and the ever-increasing consumption of resources and subsequent toxification of the environment does not paint an attractive picture of life in the years to come.

It might also be argued that the Agricultural Revolution laid the groundwork for The Great Forgetting. Whereas individuals of every other species are responsible for their own acquisition of calories, we have placed food production and preparation in the hands of others. As a result, there is an intellectual disconnect – a missing link — between us and our energy sources . We scarcely see our food as once-living members of the plant or animal kingdom but much more so as something that comes in a box from a store down the street. We have, in essence, lost a tangible understanding of the flow of energy in our solar system and a connection to what we now call (in a rather incriminating term) “The Natural World”. The fact that we apply this label to all aspects of life beyond the pavement belies our strange belief that we are no longer part of it — as if that were even possible.

Whereas early hominids were “mindlessly aware” of their connection to the biosphere simply by virtue of the way they made a living, modern man has to actively, determinedly reconstruct the knowledge of that connection. Our modern ways and means, with their manifold layers of abstraction, have obfuscated the simple truths of how Life works.

FACSIMILE COMPETITION

But even though humans are controlling larger and larger portions of “The Natural World” all of the time, Natural Selection has in no way diminished its role as the mindless, heartless sorter of what works and what doesn’t. It is patient and it is thorough, and it will surely make a stop in your town on its World Tour.

Right now we may be living comfortably under the impression that we are on top of the heap and never to be dethroned, but the ultimate decision is only partially ours to make. For a long time gigantic reptiles ruled but when conditions changed, Natural Selection decided that large, cold-blooded animals did not work. Had the environment not suddenly and dramatically changed, it is possible that the dinosaur would have remained in its eminent position and mammalian life forms would not have received an opportunity to succeed. Perhaps man might not have had the opportunity to evolve and refine as a species. But the environment did change, and Natural Selection decided that warm-blooded animals were more flexible and better suited for a dynamic world.

Since the beginning, inter- and intra- species competition has ultimately been for Natural Selection’s favor — her highly coveted kiss on the cheek that grants a long line of descendants. But for modern humans, competition takes place in stadiums of our own design and on our terms. The primary contemporary arena of battle seems to be the economic one, but it also takes place at the national, regional, ideological, corporate and street-gang levels, right on down to keeping up with those impossibly fashionable Jones’. Within these manmade arenas we compete not for something so precious or noble as the continuation Life, but for something more like self-satisfaction. We determine the winners of such competitions by a number of arbitrary measurements and the prize is a short-lived emotional one that requires near immediate replacement.

MORAL IMAGINEERING

What if we woke up from our Great Forgetting and began to evaluate all of our actions and even our very existence based on the simple, single criteria of whether or not it works? In other words, what if we evaluated ourselves according to the same criteria that we will certainly, ultimately be evaluated by? Does our way of life work in a sustainable, evolutionarily advantageous way, not only for the individual, but also for the whole?

Currently, what works is a highly subjective matter. An arrangement that allows for amassing unlimited wealth works for the rich, but obviously does not work for the poor. To a large manufacturing company, a relaxation of environmental regulations works to save large sums of money that would otherwise have to be spent on proper pollution control measures, but this obviously does not work for other organisms in the local environment. In the course of geological time, however, “what works” is not at all subjective.

The implications of our amnesia, forgetting that we are part of a co-evolving whole, may be that we have become incapable of making objective judgments about whether our way of life is working — whether or not it is evolutionarily stable — whether or not Natural Selection will reward or punish us for our conduct.

It seems to me that this has moral implications as well, because if our fantasy separation from the “Natural World” allows us to assume a superior position above all other life forms, then it is a small step to extend that sense of superiority toward others of our own species. And it is no news to anyone that we have mastered the ability to take that step with hardly a detectable quiver of conscience.

The absence of holism results in a negligent failure to consider one’s neighbors or the Earth’s future inhabitants. Further, as the immediate competition for resources becomes greater (as it surely and directly will), the less able we will be to acknowledge that we are squandering the endowment intended for future generations.

As part of the animal kingdom, there is certainly a natural instinct for us to be concerned about self-preservation and the preservation of our immediate families and tribes . But as humans, with our advanced cognitive powers, we are uniquely capable of understanding systems and concepts that are far outside of our local sphere of concern. A colony of yeast will consume sugar with no restraint until there is nothing left but a level of self-produced toxicity that it cannot withstand. But we are able to understand the laws of ecology, the way that energy is transferred between organisms and precisely what by-products result from the process. We are able to project and anticipate the consequences of our actions through time and space.

Other animals (regardless of whether they possess such processing power) are not required to think about such systems and concepts because they are not capable of usurping the laws of nature. They can only remain in balance with their environment according to its carrying capacity, regardless of how severely humankind has diminished it.

But because humans have mastered food production they can create an unnaturally robust carrying capacity that results in unnatural population growth and an unhealthy imbalance. Our advanced brainpower allows us to take on the extraordinary and unique role of food producers. Dare I suggest that the self-same brainpower might allow us to take moral responsibility for the ramifications of our way of life?

Although I live in fear that a near impossible amount of energy and force will be required to slow or shift the current momentum away from the individual and towards the entire system — to shift focus away from the granular and onto the whole — I can’t help imagining what would happen if we did so.

Imagine if a trend toward reconnection reached its tipping point — if we promoted a Great Remembering that allowed us to align ourselves with the entire planetary system and evaluate our actions not merely according to whether they work for us as individuals or even for us as a species, but according to whether they work for the whole… the whole biosphere. If it works let it continue and if it doesn’t, find away to discontinue it.

I know, I know — it would take a conspiracy of unprecedented, colossal complexity to usurp the genetic selfishness that fuels the success of all organisms.

But imagine what it would be like if we mimed the simple sensibility of Natural Selection, the way that children simply mime the religion of their parents.

WAKE UP AND LIVE – 2/6/2008

Greetings, fellow earth-dwellers.

As someone who considers himself to be a “language artist”, I labor under the assumption — MUST labor under the assumption — that people care about what I have to say (and how I say it). Without that assumption, there wouldn’t be much of a reason to continue writing songs, poems, blogs, editorials, whatever.

Oh, certainly, there is a great deal of personal satisfaction that I derive directly from the process of creating, and I don’t mean to belittle it in any way for it is something that I very truly cherish. But if I held absolutely no hope that the thoughts I endeavor to convey were meaningful to some reader, somewhere, on some level, then they would only be the by-products of intellectual masturbation, and hardly worth public presentation.

Well! A blend of assumptions and self-gratification — now there’s a solid foundation from which one might launch a successful campaign! But as it is the only foundation I have, it is the one that I have to use. So! Feet squarely sloshing around in it (and in spite of the fact that no one has requested this information) I hereby take the liberty to let as many of you (who might actually read) know what I think ought to be important right now.

You see, I’ve spent a good amount of time considering what should matter, because with so many issues clamoring for our attention these days, there are only so many that will succeed in winning the contest and gaining our most passionate devotion. We can only juggle so many balls — keep so many things in the air at one time.

Especially in an election year, when we most vividly see things get boiled down to a consensus. After all, how many issues can a given candidate vow him or herself to? A candidate must devote his or herself only to the top issues of the day — those that represent the concerns of the greatest percentage of the voting population.

And what are the candidates speaking about this year? Let’s see… the economy… the war in Iraq… healthcare… immigration… Mmm… yes… all very important issues.

Well, here — let me distinguish my prioritization scheme in a sentence — all of these election-year issues only bear relevance in a world that is inhabited by homo sapiens sapiens, and such a world is in very real jeopardy.

What do I think should matter most to the greatest percentage of the voting (and non-voting) population? Two related things:

1) Human population and
2) the fact that we are, right now, living through a Mass Extinction Event — a man-made Mass Extinction Event.

There are so many on line resources that I could provide you with, but I am already running the risk of over-taxing the average attention-span. So I leave you with just one. If not now, then sometime soon, take 10 minutes to watch this trailer for a movie entitled “Call of Life” sponsored by Species Alliance.

http://speciesalliance.org/video.php

Now, if you can donate anything to the production and release of the film, go ahead and donate. But that’s not my point. My point is that we have to stop pretending that we can continue on our current path indefinitely without consequence, and we have to stop pretending that our future will somehow be magically corrected without our deliberately deciding to change the aspects of our lifestyle that are contributing to the problems.

Because for all of the truly noble and noteworthy things that homo sapiens sapiens has become good at in his 200,000 years of existence, it seems he has also become quite good at making the planet uninhabitable for mid-to-large sized complex organisms. And oh… by the way… homo sapiens sapiens is himself a mid-to-large sized complex organism.

Yes, for all of our congratulating ourselves at being the ultra, mega, best and brightest of all complex organisms, we seem to be capable of exercising no more knowledge-based self-control than does common yeast — devouring and devouring and multiplying and multiplying until nothing wholesome remains, but only a level of toxicity that we ourselves can not tolerate.

What is the “take-away” from this weighty message? Is this just one of those bummer emails that seems to have no purpose other than to spread hopelessness and anxiety? No. As a matter of fact, I send it because I do maintain hope, and because I do think that, in many ways, we are the ultra, mega, best and brightest of all complex organisms. I believe that if we focus our immense, collective, creative forces on a problem, we can conceive and implement workable solutions. Problem solving, after all, may be what homo sapiens sapiens is best at… our strongest evolutionary advantage.

But the sobering truth must at least be roaming around in our subconscious for solutions to come about, and I fear that we have devised so many effective means of distraction ourselves, that we may not properly focus those special creative forces in time. The “take-away” ? Don’t hide from this truth. Consider it. Consider it deeply. Consider what needs our best attention.

Because… well… cockroaches, carp and crows don’t care much about the economy, the war in Iraq, healthcare or immigration.

And by the way, I’m not saying that the US Presidential election isn’t important, because it is. But let’s be honest — politicians aren’t really leaders. They only succeed to the end that they successfully follow the concerns of the voters. It is the voters who must lead, by knowing and telling the politicians what the priorities should be.

Wake up and live, y’all,
Wake up and live!
Wake up and live now!
Wake up and live!

Life is one big road with lots of signs, yes!
So when you riding through the ruts, don’t you complicate your mind:
Flee from hate, mischief and jealousy!
Don’t bury your thoughts; put your dream to reality, yeah!

(Happy 63rd Birthday, Bob! 2/6/1945 – 5/11/1981)