Musings

As I hadn't seen him for some time, I thought I should climb the mountain to his cave and see if he was all right. I put on my crampons and ice-axed up the glacier like an old mountain goat high on Jimsonweed. Braving the howling wind at the summit, I hobbled as fast as I could to the cave's jagged entrance and stepped inside.

A voice from the back of the cave, sounding like James Earl Jones on helium said, “Is that you, Fed Ex guy?”

“No, it's me, master.” I replied, as I dusted the snow off of my parka. “I brought you a gift.”

“I told you not to show up here any more, you worthless piece of Llama dung! I still have a bad hack from those rotten Datura blossoms you gave me last time.” He shuffled into the feeble shaft of light that penetrated the mouth of the cave, and grabbed the pouch that I proffered in my frost-bitten hand. He opened the drawstring and peered inside suspiciously.

“What is this crap?”

“Well, it's the Joni Mitchell CD that you wanted, and some seeds from a Yopo tree that I collected in the Amazon last year.”

Mollified, he sat down and assumed a full lotus position on the cold granite floor. Digging an old corn cob pipe from under the filthy Navajo blanket that draped across his shoulders, he stuffed a few seeds in the bowl and lit up, drawing the pungent smoke deeply into his lungs.

His eyes bugged out like a toad and after a few minutes, he exhaled the greasy green vapor. “That's more like it”, he squeaked, “ Gimme some of the Tequila from the hip flask that you're hiding under your parka”, he demanded.

“How did you know I had that?” I unzipped the parka and handed him the bottle.

“You are disgustingly predictable.” he replied, chugging the contents. “Now, what do you want?”

I pondered his question for a moment. “Well, I HAVE been considering giving my fishing boat to my nephew. I love it, but I'm getting too old to use it anymore. And, the kid doesn't even have a car to tow it around.”

“So what? Maybe it will motivate him to get a job. Besides, things are to be used and people are to be loved. Most folks think it is just the reverse.”

I considered this comment while the old man belched and farted contentedly. He was right, of course.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, “Those seeds are all right! I'm getting tunnel vision and colors!” He scuttled across the floor like a crab and sat back on an old mattress covered with bat droppings. He slipped the CD into a portable player, and a clear sweet voice started the first tune from ‘Shadows and Light'.

“Anything else you'd like to tell me before I go?”

“Yes.” He said, scratching his beard absently. “Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habits. Watch your habits; they become character; Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.”

I pondered this admonition for a minute, and satisfied, I zipped my parka back up and turned to leave.

“I'll be back again, someday.” I called over my shoulder.

“If you see that Fed Ex guy on the way down, tell him that the porn he's delivering had better have some women in it this time.”

“Will do,” I replied.