Once upon a time, several years ago, i lived inside a plastic hamster ball. i didn't understand how i'd gotten in there i just knew that it was rather unpleasant. The air was stale and it smelled of urine, and i couldn't perceive very well the lifeworld, attempting to make contact with my senses, beyond the millimeters of hazy polyvinyl-chloride. i was rather annoyed most of the time.
At first i tried to meditate my way out, like Neo in The Matrix, repeating mantras to myself, "There is no spoon. There is no spoon." But that failed to get me past the sphere of haze, annoyance, and inexplicable low level grief.
One morning, feeling quite fine and with nary a site of the walls of the ball, i decided to walk the 2 blocks to my neighborhood coffee shop and write for awhile. i purchased a scone and a coffee and sat at a table facing south and on the west wall of the shop. As i waited for my computer to boot up, i began to drink my coffee and eat my scone and was astonished to witness that damn hamster ball begin to descend over me clouding my perception and bringing an inexplicable low level grief. But it was different this time, it'd been caught in the act, and an insight arose exclaiming, "It's this mother-fucking scone!" And i thought, "That's odd, apparently the muses don't care about politically correct speech. Hm."
Not being one to lecture a demigod i decided i'd better just check out the truth of this scone business. So over the days, the weeks, and the months that followed i took the insight of the muses as a hypothesis to test. i'd eat pizza one day, and not the next. i'd eat a muffin and watch Satan's ball descend. Again and again i watched the effect take place and became convinced beyond a shadows doubt that wheat was spawned by demons. And i lived happily ever after. Until...
Once upon a time, a few years ago, the day after drinking a large box of wine with my girlfriend i began to itch violently. i'd been itching on and off for several months but this was the worst it had ever been. Sometimes i'd itch on my skin, and sometimes i felt as though my bones were itching deep below the surface. i itched everywhere with an intensity that would keep me awake at night, and my gums bled on brushing. i wondered if i had some disease, a virus, bacteria, or cancer, or was infected with a yeast or a fungus. It was rather maddening, and i felt rather annoyed most of the time. So i took to the internet seeking understanding and hypothesizing that the cause of this madness must be one of those 5 Horseman of the Apocalypse . To defeat them first i tried some herbal and mineral remedies. i bought magnesium and oregano oil, used lotions, and ate 75 lbs of cilantro per meal, which i purchased in bulk and bailed up like hay, but alas i was to have no respite, and lo the Horseman continued playing their endless game of polo within my bones.
But then, when all hope was gone from mine eyes, a hero seemed to come from darkest Africa offering health care for all; Obama! The Deliverer! Being raised a poor white kid i'd never had the benefit of shamans i could call upon much. i signed up for the boon with hope restored, but my hope was to be short lived for the witchdoctor shaman would turn out to be nothing of the kind, but a sham.
The first shaman i saw was quite kind. A good heart, and no sham about it. i was tested for hiv, hepatitus, and some other nasties i think, and i asked many questions. The good word came and each result was in the negative, but this meant that we did not know for why the Horseman still played polo within my bones. With one small tear in her eye she wrote for me, with quill and ink, a letter for the alchemical potion known as histamine blocker, sorry that she could do little more. But one more letter she would write, with quill and ink, allowing me entry into a witchdoctor's palace of dermatology. Upon handing me this last token, and seeking a greater understanding, she asked that i let her know of any knowledge i might glean there, and we parted.
i waited two moons till my meeting at the witchdoctor's palace, and hope shined in mine eyes.. Through the great doors i went, and into a little room. I was met there by the witchdoctor's apprentice, and a cute little witchdoctor's apprentice she was. i showed her the little histamine bumps on my skin, since i had not taken the alchemists potion in order to keep the road to the cause clear, and told her of the Horseman playing polo within my bones. After a few minutes she recommended an alchemical potion known as histamine blocker... "i hesitate to take a medication in the absence of a diagnosis." i calmly informed her, and so she went calling upon the witchdoctor herself. On entering, the master asked nary a question of me but looked briefly at my histamine bumps. She recommended again the potion. "i hesitate to take a medication in the absence of a diagnosis." said i, and at my pronouncement she said with a smug air and tone of finality "Your diagnosis is puritus." Well, that was too much! "You mean to say that i itch in latin!?" i raged. "You are a hack, madame! i see you've no interest in cures; no interest in knowledge! No time, nor compassion, and no mind to understand the nature of fundamental causes! You do not work for your patients do you, not for Asclepius, but for your pocket book?!!!" Then she began to speak, "Silence!" i boomed, slamming my fist upon the table there. "You are paid by none other than the guilds of dark alchemists themselves! And i will hear nothing more of your lies!!!" And then, taking gently the hand of the witchdoctor's apprentice and looking into her eyes, "Get out," i says gently "while you still can." and strode from the little room, leaving it in silence.
But then, just beyond the great doors with the blue air shinning clear relieving my lungs of the fortresses dank, the apprentice came to me saying, "Take me with you." and i could see freedom, and love there in her eyes. We walked, her hand in mine, to where i'd parked my red horse whose name is Rosalita, and i took the maiden gently by her waist helping her to set upon my steeds back. And saddling up myself, i cried out "On, Rosalit!" and we galloped into the sunset and lived happily ever after. Until...
My day dream had passed, and i heard the witchdoctor say, with a smug air and tone of finality, "Your diagnosis is puritus." Well, that was too much, and i was immediately engulfed in a smoldering rage! i felt adrenals firing chemicals into my blood stream, and reason was clouded over something like the devils old hamster sphere that i'd known before. And i stopped hearing any more words spoken by that fraudulent "healer". i vowed there, in that foul place, that i'd figure out for myself the source of the horseman's power, and i knew then that Asclepius himself had sent the politically incorrect muses who'd spoken to me long ago. And i came to a faith in he and them.
At the setting of the second sun after that day, as i prayed the prayer of silence, insight came to me again, but this time the muses were subtle. They said, "If you are what you eat then so may be your symptoms." "Oh! Thank you!" i prayed in gratitude. "No problem my nigga." came their heartfelt reply, and i thought "Hm. They must be black."
Ninety suns i watched set and still the Horsemen played. But i was dogged in my pursuit of knowledge scouring the world... wide web for causal agents in my food that might be the source of the Horseman's power. And then something came to me one day; came perhaps as a hypothesis, though i cannot at this late age recall the details, but i saw that it was a grain that made Satan's bubble and so might be grain that fueled the Horsemen as well. So i took the hypothesis and tested it. i ate rice then didn't eat rice. i would eat of lo hot cereals, and then eat of them not, and the polo game of the Horsemen did ebb and flow likewise. But then something happened that i did not expect. i ate not of the corn chips and black beans undergirding my salad that had accustomed my plate for many years. Indeed, very many long years it was. That's when i knew this, that grains, beans, and corn did make gay the Horsemen's game. But that was not to be the end yet. For on the heels of consuming cornucopias of fruits with yhogurt and honey, yea, did their game become rambunctious again.
Looking more deeply and waiting, eating more singly and feeling, feeding the Horsemen's five steeds and watching i found out that horses like apples, hm? And horses eat grass, oh my! And i wondered why beans had anything to do with it, but there it was. Just then i knew in a flash; for the muses came once more and said, "Aaaaah! That motherfucker; you figured it out! It's motherfucking carbohydrates, B! You done well, ese!" And i was filled once more with gratitude for their help, and felt warmed by their camaraderie and companionship, and i thought to myself, "They must be of multiple ethnicities, i bet their home life was very multicultural."
And when i thought it was over a hodgepodge of medical gods and demigods, healers and spirits, of every color and creed, appeared to me and spoke one after another. This is what they said:
The Buddha came first saying,
"Ah. You started by familiarizing yourself with the moving mind and that was good. You may not have seen the causes of Mara's hamster ball had you not done so."
Then he vanished.
And then came Avicenna saying,
"The knowledge of anything, since all things have causes, is not acquired or complete unless it is known by its causes."
Then he vanished.
And then together came Gilbert and Sullivan from the Sesame Street pantheon singing,
"All people need to eat a healthy balance round the diet. I'm sure you know that if you want to stay in shape you'll try it. So eat your meat, some fish and fruit, some vegetables and water, and know that you'll be eating just exactly as you outta!
Then they vanished and i thought, "Well, i'll eat lemons and avocados as far as the fruit goes."
And then came Asclepius saying,
"And under Him is ranged the choir of daimons—or, rather, choirs; for these are multitudinous and very varied, ranked underneath the groups of Stars, in equal number with each one of them. So, marshaled in their ranks, they are the ministers of each one of the Stars, being in their natures good, and bad, that is, in their activities (for that a daimon’s essence is activity); while some of them are mixed, good and bad. To all of these has been allotted the authority o’er things upon the Earth; and it is they who bring about the multifold confusion of the turmoils on the Earth—for states and nations generally, and for each individual separately. For they do shape our souls like to themselves, and set them moving with them,—obsessing nerves, and marrow, veins and arteries, the brain itself, down to the very heart. For on each one of us being born and made alive, the daimons take hold on us—those daimone who are in service at that moment of the wheel of Genesis, who are ranged under each one of the Stars. For that these change at every moment; they do not stay the same, but circle back again. These, then, descending through the body to the two parts of the soul, set it awhirling, each one towards its own activity. But the soul’s rational part is set above the lordship of the daimons—designed to be receptacle of God. Who then doth have a Ray shining upon him through the Sun within his rational part—and these in all are few on them the daimons do not act; for no one of the daimons or of Gods has any power against one Ray of God. "
Then he vanished, and i thought "Geez, Asclepius is longwinded!"
And then came Tsirona saying,
"Pure water is life. Drink little else."
Then she vanished.
And then came Hippocrates saying,
"Let food be thy medicine and let medicine be thy food."
And he began to vanish. "Wait! Mr. Hippocrates sir." i called to him. "Yes, my son?" he said patiently. "The historians sir claim that you never said that..." "Er, well since I said it now let's say I said it then" he said and vanished.
One after another they came making similar comments and generally passing on the torch of knowledge, but there are too many to list here and you can just look up what they said anyway, besides all the gods defer to the twin gods of observation and reason. And so lo and yea the pageant was over, my cockles were warmed and i lived happily ever after in blissful contact with the more than human lifeworld of which we're a part. (except that i still smoke cigarettes and drink a bit)
The End