The Saving Tibetan Tableau

Knowing Your Destiny

Part 28 of 30

Nothing says "Destiny" like the time humanity's destiny was so far askew that they said there was a rip in the fabric of existence. I remember hearing about it and thinking, "Whoa!" My entire family was taken aback and changed. Mom refused to cook and Dad refused to eat. We kids didn't know what to think. The neighbors came over to cannibalize us and we turned the tables and cannibalized them. It was a wild time. Despite our good upbringing, we ran roughshod over the town, pillaging and burning, Destiny askew as our excuse.

Later I came to understand and regret what had happened. Leading scientists said there indeed was a rip in the fabric, and left it at that, not sure what to do. But one thing became crystal clear to me, that cannibalism should be strictly curtailed, and that we wanted neighbors with good taste, not neighbors that taste good, which they didn't.

It’s times like these -- thankfully few and far between -- that you're most grateful for people who know what they’re doing. And there were some deeply wise souls. They went into a kind of soothing anthem that made us drift off and sleep for 10 years. We woke up as adults with a whole new perspective on things. All this was done with a  purpose, forces acting to keep existence on the right track. A kind of murmuring call went out from the heart of nature and we congregated in twos and threes all over the globe. It was thought up by Tibetan monks, who are quite modest, but, believe me, when we’re together they don’t want anyone to forget it was them that conjured up the saving hocus pocus.

They descended on our little town thanks in part to my family. One of my grandpas, going back a mere 50 generations, was himself 1/20th the illegitimate son of a Tibetan monk, the original offender having been translated into heaven before we caught his name. Grandpa’s powers mostly involved fishing, which was completely supernatural, but when the chips were really down, and mankind was cornered against a barrier no man could cross, Grandpa went out to the outhouse and blew off enough steam that the various portals of time were mystically adjusted, etc. Sounds impressive but it stunk.

That’s the old generation, and now we’re up to the new. And with Destiny going askew, that brought forth the monks and those with monk-blood chanting and quizzing one another days on end. This work ongoing, a kind of rough sludge gathered at their feet. The chanting continued, the sludge was everywhere. I had a pair of Hush Puppies ruined by it.

A week later, then, they realized all the pipes were backed up. The head master said it didn’t smell right, and he called them to buckle down on the chanting, faster, louder, in various languages known and unknown -- looking for every force in the universe that was good. Thankfully it all fell into place, rays of light from above blessed a particular artist, who came up with this mathematically perfect artwork. Unleashing it on the sludge, the sludge found its limits and retreated. Rays of light sped around the world in a cleansing work.

Of course then, the artwork being widely promoted, it was released on T-shirts, that, even though a capitalistic thing that seemed cynical at the time, was precisely what the monks hoped for. Because a  mystical haze descended on us from the symbol widely distributed. The sludge went away and now it’s so far gone I can’t even remember what it looked like, just mushy. Destiny was fully restored, back on track, and everything since has continued apace as desired. Even wars that were interrupted by the sludge resumed -- as they should have -- since life is more than cotton candy and party favors.

As for myself, I completely lack all temptation toward cannibalism and cheating on homework.

Newsletter -- Cannibal's Consumed

With Cannibal back in town -- he'd been away on assignment for the newsletter -- I called for an all-staff dinner, part of a secret plan to feel him out, to decide whether to forgive him or bounce him from the staff. I wanted to see how he related to The Lady. Was the sickening sexual display we'd endured on the Fourth of July still on his mind or had he merely followed the others in ignorance?

To this point Cannibal didn't know a thing about Danny, Spud, and Tipsy being gone. His assignment had taken him up just northeast of Silage City, where people don't ordinarily go, to get a feature on a cannibalistic cult in the backwoods. He was so far out there, and in such a dangerous place, I was a little afraid I'd never hear from him again, but not only did he come back, he seemed healthier than when he left.

I had a place at the table set for everyone, including the missing three. As we gathered I said, "I wonder what happened to Spud, Danny, and Tipsy, where they are." Cannibal goes, "Don't look at me, I'm still hungry." Seeing that he had no idea of any problems here, everything was just right for the test. Our time together was actually lovely, with nothing untoward in regard to The Lady. As we ate we shared in pleasant chit-chat about the cult and some of their practices, such as abducting people from nursing homes and giving them a fit send-off in their ritual. Cannibal said he made some important contacts for future articles.
 
Naturally I'm thinking, I believe I could forgive Cannibal for July 4. It was mindless sex, he didn't mean anything by it; he was simply weak and so easily swayed by the others in their lust. But then, after we'd eaten and The Lady was working on the dishes, I came back from the office and overheard him with his shrill grating voice coming on to her. "It's just you and me, baby. And this time I'll have you all to myself!" I sprang into view and declared that he was as guilty as the others, who had all bit the dust. "So you're not the completely withdrawn clueless cannibal you pretend to be!"

It quickly became very unpleasant, of course, as in the heat of encounters like this the bile flows so freely and has to have its way. Now fully exposed, Cannibal revealed himself as a thinking creature indeed, and a nasty one at that. "No, Kundalini, and you're not the mastermind Super Brain you pretend to be!" He revealed himself as fully conscious, amazing for one always hiding behind a clueless facade. He belittled the newsletter as "blurbs and trivial anecdotes of your pointless life!" The topper came when he declared of himself, "I'm the one with the true life! A life The Lady will share!"

That was it! In my opinion, a cannibal isn't that far removed from a vampire. And just like Dracula, this little bastard -- who literally feasts on human flesh -- absolutely intended to replenish his centers of power by one or more love noshes -- which could of course prove fatal to The Lady. She was already in his thrall, staring blankly ahead, like a shopper so fascinated by the bargains at a department store that she can't move and so is trampled from behind.

This was when it got scary. I started to move, but Cannibal twisted his hand in my direction and I was frozen in my tracks. I stood like a statue, motionless. But I still had my Super Brain and years of meditation to draw on. It came to me, that a little movement of energies would help loosen his hold. I used a technique called Diverting Thoughts; at a time like this it's concentration that means certain death. So step by step I set aside Cannibal's power by refocusing my thoughts. My thoughts weren't even of him. I quietly reaffirmed my resolve to put out the best little newsletter possible, and also, to be very personal, I thought of my mother in heaven showing me a power fist of solidarity.
 
I was of course gaining all the time and began mentally toying with Cannibal. Sweat broke out on his furrowed brow and his twisted hand pulled in on itself and he was gripped in pain. I saw in his evil cannibalistic eyes at that moment something I'll never forget, the look of absolute fear. The tables had turned! I returned to diverting my thoughts, thinking now of how much rain we've gotten and mentally complaining how high the grass is. Am I right? While extending my powerful hands and shooting rays and holding him transfixed in my grasp. "Take this, you cannibalistic bastard!" He sought in vain to shield my fantastic power. But in my mental grasp I was able to move his head close to the table, then up and down -- thump thump thump. That'd be painful for anyone, like the pain I feel mowing the yard twice as much as normal.

I stepped forward boldly and pulled the Lady to safety. She was free to return to the dishes. Then I bore down like I've never bored down before. Cannibal's narrow beady eyes bugged out of his head in fear. To be released, he would've sworn to anything I demanded: absolute fealty, worship and obeisance, free articles for life, no coffee breaks, vegetarianism. But I broke my grasp and left him panting and writhing on the floor.
 
I was surprisingly gracious at the end: "I'm not going to kill you, Cannibal, although I probably should. Instead, you shall live out your life with the terrible knowledge that, thanks to my newsletter, your name will forever be mud. Your shame shall endure as long as the newsletter and the world itself abide. As far as your personal fate, you shall be forever trapped in a purgatory of your own making, and no one will like you. You shall slog out your remaining days in the work release system, until eventually they march you to a small cell, then shoot the only key to its door into the farthest reaches of outer space, where only black holes abide. An existence I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, which by the way isn't you. You're not even worthy of that distinction. My worst enemy is forever the fear of missing the next deadline for my newsletter and blog."

The black prison bus arrived to take Cannibal back to the farm. From a mile away I could see him, looking out the windows at folks that, had he been free, he might've enjoyed.

Newsletter -- Mr. Food Chain

Friends, do you ever get that feeling you're being eaten alive? I've had that feeling the last few days, especially this morning when I got up. First, there's always the damned bugs of summer. Do I like bugs? I guess I do, in that sense that I like all of creation, believing it fits together in some kind of vast wise oneness. I just don't like them practically, as in feasting on my flesh and blood. Which I know is shortsighted and selfish, because I also feast on the flesh and blood of creatures. But I spray a little OFF on myself and I don't have too much trouble.

The other thing that's eating me alive -- and I suppose I'm generating some by mentioning it -- is karma. Everyone knows karma by one name or another as that thing that supposedly gets you in the end. You do something wrong and it eventually recoils on you and you're paid back in kind. The thing to realize about karma is that it's in continual action. Meaning, you learn from it or you don't. And if you don't, it's in continual action even more. If you learn from it and manage to keep your behavior somewhat in check, there's less of it to suffer. I've had so much Facebook karma this past week -- big news week -- I can barely mention it or I'll generate more. It does eat you alive, from the core outward.

Then there's one of my male staff-members, working with me on my upcoming newsletter, who will eat you alive if you let him, the disgusting Cannibal. I should've shipped him back to the work release farm (he's a prisoner) as soon as I heard of him. Because he creeps me out and I'm very afraid of him. It's tough to sleep knowing he's around. I've had his mouth on my arm a few times -- always playfully, of course -- but he has to be shaken off because he never seems to know when enough's enough.

Still, I need to give him some kind of tribute. It's fair to do -- I did the others. And there has to be something genuinely good I can say about him. Which, one obvious thing would be, like I said above about the bugs, everything's gotta eat. Would I want Cannibal to shrivel up and die for lack of nutrition? It wouldn't bother me all that much. Yes, I allow mosquitoes to live, for the most part; I don't begrudge them that much, since there's nothing I can do about it anyway. I kill one here, one there.

But Cannibal's one normal sized guy -- one filthy, slobbering, rotten guy -- and if he dropped off from lack of nutrition, it'd be a positive. Remember, this guy literally bit my little finger off! And while it's been stitched back on and is more or less functional, I'm very worried about my blood flow. Stuff like this was meant to stay permanently attached, in my not so humble opinion. But I'm not a guy to lash out. But if the other prisoners -- Danny, Spud, and Tipsy -- lash out at him, that's their business, and more normal to their proclivities. I wouldn't mind.

My Tribute -- My staff member Cannibal is one of the truest lovers of humanity I know. Most of us appreciate man's output: art, history, relationships. But only the cannibal goes for the whole package. Which can be a beautiful thing, just so the ones he goes for aren't worth crap. Various enemies, criminals, high school bullies. But most of us prefer to continue our lives much more than being eaten.

Cannibal's nickname of Mr. Food Chain is quite a tribute in itself. To have that continual hunger and yet to never be hungering, because there's always someone to gnaw on, must be very satisfying. He has the freedom and power and drive of a shark, particularly when his prey is sleeping. You're dreaming you have pain somewhere, you figure it's karma you're working off, until the pain becomes a little too real, too immediate, then up you spring, only to see Mr. Food Chain in action. Terrible. It's tough enough to fall back to sleep under normal conditions...

I have one consolation. Cannibal knows, because I told him, he can't mess up too many times, or it's back to the work release farm for him! So as long as I hold to that threat, I believe I will be OK. What's that??? Thought I heard him behind me, false alarm.

POLICE -- When the police showed up, I had to tell them, "I'm not aiding and abetting. He's eating and a'biting!"

Pigs: "Eat More Bacon"

[Artwork COPYRIGHT 2011 dbkundalini, All Rights Reserved, please don't steal it. Note: Getty Images, please feel free to contact me for usage rights. Limited rights offered to Pork Producers, International.]

I was with a guy at the local barbecued pork restaurant recently. I think it was last Thursday, possibly Tuesday or Wednesday, definitely not Monday, and they're not open on Sunday. And I was busy on Saturday...

Anyway, they have quite a few pigs and other hog-related memorabilia, statues, knickknacks, and portraits there, with the pigs seeming to condone and even encourage the eating of their meat. This struck my friend as being kind of odd.

And, now that I think of it, it also strikes me as being somewhat weird. Maybe they ought to be like the Chik-Fil-Et (sp?) chickens, I guess it is, or maybe cows, that are encouraging possible customers at their restaurant to eat more cow or chickens, whichever is opposite of what they actually serve there. I guess it'd have to be chicken in a place called "Chick-Fill-Et." Like they must serve chicken filets, so there's cows encouraging people to "EAT MOR CHIKN."

That makes more sense if your whole thing is to have people eat the other guy and not you. Or the other species and not you. But it's shortsighted, like in the Martin Niemoller quote, if Niemoller had been a cow: "They came for the chickens and I didn't stop them. Now they're coming for me and there's no chickens to save me." Still, being shortsighted when it comes to your self-preservation can be an effective way to save yourself, because it at least buys time and allows you to plan your next move.

But getting back to pigs, and I'm 100% serious about this, in my opinion it's better to exist than not. If I had never been born at all, imagine how unhappy I'd be. I'd be sitting there going, "What? A stinking chigger can exist, but I can't exist?! How crazy is that!" You'd be unhappy, too! Or step it up, with something better than a chigger but still not as good as a man. "A stinking pig has a shot at life, but not me? Good grief, what kind of world is this anyway?!"

Since I actually do exist, I'm happy to share the land with pigs and chiggers.

OK, back to the pigs existing. There are millions of pigs, and the fact of the matter is hardly any of them, like less than 1%, would exist if they weren't being bred for food. Think about it, no farmer is going to breed 5,000 pigs just to have them standing around. He's trying to make money, not clutter up the farm with useless pigs. Therefore, if no one ate pigs, pigs wouldn't exist in any quantity. So if you're a pig, and you realize all this, you are going to do what you can to make sure people eat more pork, because that's the only thing that gave you a shot at life.You're not going to have piglets without that policy, however revolting it might otherwise be to you.

Just today, I had four slices of bacon. And I feel good about it, because I'm doing my part.