“There you are! Thanks so much for agreeing to meet me. I thought you might enjoy today’s fall fair.
“Let’s all just queue up and then follow along this path into town. That’s right – we will follow along the edge of this pumpkin patch here, and then along the way, we’ll start to see some of the vendors setting up along Main Street and, of course, the stage set in the town square.
“Oh listen, I think you can start to hear the band playing. What is that song?
“Yes, I think you’re right Billy, that is the name of the song. Oh, now what do we have here?
“You’ve all seen this man before. No one really knows his name. Most, it seems, don’t even notice him. They call him the Gypsy.
“He sits right there on that small wooden stool, squatted in front of his home, an old circus caravan car, the kind that elephants had once pulled as a train, from one town to the next.”
No one can remember the last time that had happened. Weeds and grass, grown around the wheels of the single wooden car; the car, alone, like prey separated from the herd; wheels, with their wooden spokes, entangled in green and straw, conspiring-colored whiskers; whipped by wind and rain, sunshine and snow, each patiently persisting in its promise. Fading flecks of paint––red and blue, yellow, black and brown––hint at images from yesteryear: balloons; a clown with no nose, and the rise of a headless giraffe’s neck.
Erasure reveals the unadorned.
The Gypsy, in denim and flannel, surrounded by vessels of a sort that, at once, seem both uncommon yet familiar, scratches at his stubbled beard, a textured gray that seems to match the rough hewn slats of wood behind him, held together by protruding rusted nails, freed from the fading flecks. Sprigs of hair spring from his hatless head.
He handles these objects adroitly, flipping and catching them with both hands at once, juggling three, four, five and six at a time, never allowing any to fall to the ground or break.
The vessels themselves appear both fragile and heavy, glass and metal, variously, and all manner of colors, from what appears clear glass to blue, green, grey, even a metallic steel silver of sorts.
His skill is undeniable. The Gypsy operates with abandon and oblivion, apparently unaware of the galleries that gather, then dissipate, only to re-form audiences anew, again and again, during the day.
Seated on his stool, the Gypsy, neither noteworthy nor threatening, seems a fixture, belonging to the background behind him: the circus caravan car, the vessels, the weeds and grasses growing, and the stool on which he plants himself.
“So now watch as he starts his handling of the vessels and — Wait! Did anyone else see that?
“There, he did it again. Did you see it that time?
“How am I supposed to know what he is doing? It seems like he is organizing these bottles, but they don’t appear to have anything in them, at least no liquid, and then, there see, he flips it up and it seems like he is… drinking air?
“Oh you don’t think so, Billy? Well, then. Shall we ask him? Okay, let’s do it. Come on, follow me!”
As Billy and I approach, I see Gypsy’s lips moving inaudibly, until, within earshot, I hear his tone, reverent and somber, like prayer, and then his words become audible:
“… The feeling is one of receding regression. Teeth and tongue telling truth…”
“Excuse me…”
“I adopt a rhythmic grinding due to saliva production that results in more such production.” His hands fly as he juggles the vessels, flipping and flap-jacking, then he ever so quickly brings what appears to be an empty green glass bottle to his lips and sips.
He resumes. “There is no clearing one’s throat, and the volume one must swallow may force a gag that induces vomiting.
“Excuse me…”
“But this is all just part of the shedding of earthly garb.”
Suddenly, an image appears in front of Billy and me. I wonder if others can see what appears to be a holographic image, but my eyes are locked on this image and Gypsy, who can be seen through the translucent image, and I cannot turn my head to look behind, satisfy my curiosity.
The image: A mouth swallowing itself in a continuous and unending cycle, and then, when vomit comes, the eyes on the face close and everything that is being seen is no longer with two eyes, but with the third, which has been opened. It is at one level virtual, at another predictable, as the series repeats, and at yet another, suggestive of some deep and primordial truth.
“There is a primacy to the experience that transcends the senses. The awareness of one’s body disappears, as though it has transformed into a liquid like the vomit creating another of an infinite number of regressions where things seem to fold into themselves, become one and the same, then disappear altogether.
“You have entered the spiritual realm.
“The spiritual realm, you realize, has never not been there. It was awaiting your arrival, and it will persist after you depart.
“The spiritual realm will not be televised. It is organic and organized in a manner that defies depiction. It is ineffable, though we all try to eff it.
“Eff you, says the spiritual realm. You may not eff us. We are not yours to eff.
“Eff you, indeed. So perhaps you might think the spiritual realm is inhospitable, but just the opposite is true. It always will welcome you, but you may not export it, as it does not belong to the earthly realm. Rather, the earthly realm belongs to it, and it may lay claim to that which is in the earthly realm when its time has come.
”You may seek to return to the spiritual realm, but, once again, the ability to break through is not at the discretion of the mere mortal.
“Only the enlightened individuals who have been considered deities in their own right have the capacity to move back and forth at will, and even they are still subjected to the limitations of the earthly realm as it relates to the physicality of their own earthly bodies.
”The difference between them and us as it relates to our bodies is in how we treat them.
“The enlightened individual is prone to fasting, not gluttony.
“The enlightened individual recognizes the obvious wisdom of certain admonitions and is able to live in accordance with them.
“The enlightened individual seeks not fame or fortune, yet gains recognition in spite of avoiding this type of attention because
“The enlightened individual recognizes that he or she is but a conduit for the true source of enlightenment which inhabits the spiritual realm primarily and grants access from the earthly realm in the first instance, universally, but thereafter, only to those who find a way to unlearn that which has been accorded to the world.
“The children have yet not been co-opted by the ways of the world; though they may have much to be taught, it is critical that it be done by those who set a good example.
“Yet many bristle at these notions, as they run counter to the traditions in which they were raised, in the case of the religious believer and the secular non-believer alike.
“The surest sign that one is departing from the so-called ‘straight and narrow’ path is a combination of gracelessness in the face of countervailing perspectives and a concomitant arrogance of piety, rather than graceful humility, which is undoubtedly the message of the enlightened.
“This is not incompatible with the notion of free will. Think actions with best intentions and unintended consequences.
“The only certainty is uncertainty.
“The only thing that can be known with certainty is the fallibility of knowledge. Why? Because knowledge is based on perceptions and perceptions, being human, are inherently fallible to start.
“Thus, that one can’t see what isn’t so, implying that what one sees must be so, is inherently false. Many think they see. But they look with two eyes, and the third, remaining closed, never opens.”
The Gypsy stops speaking and breathes in from one of his vessels. As he exhales, his skin takes on a pale green hue, and the rough hewn texture of his face now reveals reptilian scales.
Where did everyone go?
The crowd, the group which we greeted, all are gone.
“What do you see now?” Gypsy asks.
“Everyone is gone.”
“And you,” Gypsy turns to Billy.
Billy tries to speak and bleats out like a goat.
“What did you do to Billy?”
Gypsy smirks. “What did I do? Why, I did nothing. You and your friend came to me.”
“We were curious. Can you make it so he can speak again?”
“Could he ever really speak? Would he not get tongue tied?”
“I suppose he would, maybe, now and then.”
“And now, you see, he can simply verbalize without the burden of needing to articulate words.“
“But, without the ability to speak words, has not his ability to communicate been … stolen?”
“Stolen! Why did you pick that word?”
“Well because that is what happened. He could speak before, and now he cannot. It appears he has lost his ability to speak.“
“Oh, I see, he lost it. It was not stolen.”
“No, it was lost because it was stolen. It was lost because… because you … . You stole his voice from him?”
“That’s not true. He still has a voice. Billy,” Gypsy called.
Billy bleated.
“See, he still has a voice.”
“Yes, but he cannot speak words. He cannot express himself.”
“Why did you bring Billy with you?”
“We wanted to ask you a question.”
“What was the question?”
“What are you doing when you bring the vessels to your lips? What is in them? Are you ingesting something?“
“That is not ‘a question.’ “
“Okay, I guess we had a few questions for you.”
“I see. Which one do you want me to answer.”
“The one that is most important.”
“Important to whom?“
“Who?“
“No, whom.”
“Okay, whom?”
“Yes, to whom?”
“To you’m.”
“Clever. Were you trying to make it rhyme?”
“Nine.“
“Nein.“
“That’s what I said. Nine.”
“No, you said Nine. But I think you’re trying to say ‘No’ in German, which is ‘Nein.’”
“How can you tell how I spelled the word?”
“Third eye sees the letters in the bubble over your head.”
”I do not see a third eye.”
“No, you do not. But the third eye sees you.”
“Billy, let’s go.”
Billy bleats and, as he follows me out of the circle, the townspeople return, and Billy, behind me, says, “Oh, that’s so much better. I can speak again!”
As I turn to say, “Oh Thank God!” to Billy, he is gone, and next to me is a goat.
“Billy, where did you go?”
“I’m right here.“ The goat speaks.
“Oh no. We have to fix this.”
I turn around to reenter the Gypsy’s circle, and he is gone. The stool is empty. The vessels are gone. Only the caravan car remains. I approach and knock on the door. “Open up!”
No answer. I reach for the door knob and open it to walk in, and the universe is opened to me. Saturn is recognizable among the planets, blanketed by pinpoints of light against a background of blackness, darkness of the deepest sort, and then, again, pinpoints of light, in motion, spilling across the celestial fabric.
As I float in space among stars and planets, there is no reference to whence we came. The word Saturnalia appears as an image, and Billy, still a goat, floats into my field of vision.
I try to speak, but no words can be uttered, no sound emitted.
I muster a scream, a shriek, a yell: “Gypsy!” is what I want to say, but there is no ability to do so.
And so I think this thought: “Gypsy” in a most concentrated manner. Thunder booms, seconds later, and the word “Gypsy” can be heard, and, in fact, echoes through the universe.
It occurs to me that if we are in space, there is no oxygen, and perhaps that is why the ability to speak is limited: Opening one’s mouth to speak would require respiration, and if there is no oxygen to breathe, then clearly we mustn’t speak, hold our breath.
Seeking comfort in this thought, I abandon any effort to communicate. I am comfortable, I decide, when it occurs to me that, even if I refrain from speaking, I cannot continue to hold my breath indefinitely, and I will in fact need to oxygenate, breathe air, at some point soon.
At that moment, a rich reverberation of laughter erupts, as if to poke fun at the fallibility of my logic: How indeed can I breathe?
I yearn to take a breath, to fill my lungs, each alveolum and all of the alveoli; to flush my vascularity with air so pure; to imbibe water so clean, and to emerge with a mind so clear.
As I float in the universe, I try to swim in the direction of Billy, who moves his own four legs and makes motions with his mouth, but silence has been restored.
I am unable to see, let alone navigate to, any portal or, for that matter, any evidence of the Earthly realm.
“Am I still in the Earthly realm?”
Asking.
Nein. I see the letters.
The answer is No.
=====================================
“The answer is no. The answer is no. The answer is no,” I hear myself saying. Suddenly, I am conscious of having uttered these syllables, that I am both the source and hearer of the sounds. “The answer is no.” I open my eyes. Blue sky and clouds float by.
“Are you okay?”
“Billy?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
I prop up on my elbows. It is indeed Billy, not a goat, and he is speaking, not bleating. “Oh, thank God, you’re okay?”
“Yeah, fine. What happened to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you approached the Gypsy, and you were a couple of steps ahead of me, I guess, but then, all of a sudden, it was like you were completely unable to talk, and your limbs became spastic, almost like you had some kind of palsy.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I kept trying to say your name, and you seemed like you could hear me, but then your eyes rolled back in your head. That’s when you went to the ground.”
I rub the back of my skull. It is tender. The ground feels soft and spongy. Maybe I hit a rock, I think.
“I tried to cushion the fall, but you went from spastic and stiff to limp like a …”
“Noodle?”
“I’m just saying sorry if you hit your head on a rock. I think you might have.”
I looked at my hand and upon seeing it said, “No blood,” and shrugged. “So you are really okay?”
“Yeah. Nothing happened to me. You’re the one who seemed to have the … um… experience, I guess?”
“What did the Gypsy do?”
“At a certain point, he went inside his caravan car. He apologized, and said that this had nothing to do with you, but he simply was due for a break. And then he went in the door and closed it.”
“Really? Could I see that he did that?”
“How am I supposed to know what you could see?”
“Fair point. What I mean is, was that within my field of vision, from what you could tell, assuming I could see?”
“Oh. Well, yes, you were facing that direction. And it was before you…”
“Went limp?”
“Yes.”
I look at the caravan. Gypsy is nowhere. The vessels are gone. Weedy green grass is all that’s left. “Should we go?” I look the other direction, toward the crowd, the people I had been guiding in with Billy. They are gone, too. “Where are the others?”
“I think they never really stopped. You and I were the only ones who came over this way. Actually, you were the only one, I just followed you, which, I guess was fortunate.”
“Thank you, Billy. It was fortunate,” I manage reflexively, although a part of me resents the insinuation.
“Did you hear any of what the Gypsy was saying?”
“No, but that reminds me: At a certain point, you were trying to say something, but you could not articulate syllables. It was when you were most palsy-esque. Like someone was squeezing your whole body, you tensed up. And then you started, I don’t know, like… bleating. I overheard someone say, ‘Hey, what’s the matter with that guy? He’s bleating like a goat!’
“I was going to say something to him, but he just laughed and kept on walking.”
“What were you going to say?”
“Nothing.”
“No, I mean to the guy. If he hadn’t kept on walking.”
“I was going to tell him not to make fun of my brother who has an undiagnosed form of palsy, and that he was seeking an ancient form of remedy which only the Gypsy could access, and we had traveled by caravan train in search of the missing link that this car provided. Now, good day, Sir!” Billy pantomimes tipping a top hat he has not donned and mocks a bow, then looks up at me with a broad grin that shows his teeth.
I laugh. “Well, that would have been very kind of you. For what it’s worth in my…”
“Experience?”
“Yeah, in my experience, you were bleating like a goat and the Gypsy was saying that it was better that you were unburdened or something.”
“Well, I’m afraid I never lost consciousness, whereas you did, right?”
“Your point?”
“Just that one happened in real life and the other was the by-product of one person’s—your—imagination.“
“I hear you.”
<END>
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