after some short stories, how
about a fairy tale?
In the voluminous hidden texts of professor &)U(*^),
this was originally called:
Comparative Thinking about Anthroposophy, and Related
~~~ see link below ~~~
There once was a human being that had been enchanted
into being a fence post, by a evil wizard - let us call him,
with a drum roll and some trumpets: Mr. A.
Part of the problems for this fence post was that periodically
this dog came by and pissed on it. The fence post did
not particularly like this, but being of basic good cheer
(always had a positive outlook and never ever got angry -
apparently), the fence post choose to imagine the dog was ...
hmmm, what shall we call the dog? Imaginatively, that
is? Someone whose pissing nature was alright, if it (the
dog) would just decide to be positive like the fence post, and
so let us call him: a squirrel, yes, ... and not a dog with a
Quite right! That’s excellent. A squirrel who
liked to cavort around the garden, and only occasionally
accidentally not on purpose would water the ground next to the
fence post. There - that’s nice isn’t. No need to
be objectionable at all. Do go on.
However, unknown to the fence post, the dog/squirrel was
actually, as advertised in all the local papers serving the
various inhabitants of the garden, ... oh, we mustn’t say,
must we? Good grief, its just a f**king fairy tale, get
on with. Okay, but just to be clear the writer of
this fairy tale seems clearly to be talking to himself.
Sure, sure, fine. Yes, ... the dog/squirrel was really a
wizard too. Okay!?!
So, there’s the poor fence post, enchanted by a evil wizard on
the one hand, and pestered almost daily by the disguised
visitations of another wizard on the other hand. Dare we
say the latter was a good wizard? Probably not.
Personally I think he is quite cranky and old, and often not
of good temper, for why would he water the poor fence post all
the time, at every opportunity.
Please get on the the f**king story, this is getting boring.
Okay, okay. Anyway, the dog/squirrel/crankywizard,
buried in front of the fence post a magic book. Dug a
hole, and nut by nut by bone by bone buried the magic book ...
mostly to tease the fence post, by the way. To frustrate
him, - how? Well, we can’t very well read a buried book,
now can we. Although he still clung to being of positive
mind (in spite of lacking much imagination), the fence
post out of necessity had to stay true to his own nature.
Did we explain that lack of imagination thingy, earlier?
No, we did not.
Because you are a dick-head, that’s why.
No reason to get hostile.
One of the effects of being enchanted by Mr. A, aided by his
very sexy helper Ms. L, is that the imagination is
dulled. This is merely a technical aside, by the way,
and not really pertinent to our tale.
Never mind. Should I go on?
Please, oh God, please.
Various members of the garden found this regular activity
disconcerting. Others found it amusing (insert applause
and several hoorays). Flowers in particular, being in
love with their own beauty, were a bit haughty about it all,
while the potatoes and carrots, being root plants and quite
earthly, welcomed the opportunity to chuckle. It loosened the
dirt around them, and made possible a certain amount of
polite, yet exotic, dancing.
A collection of earthworms, finding this loosening effect
quite wonderful, managed to tunnel toward the buried bones and
nuts, and, not surprisingly eat the whole text. Some
robins later ate the worms, translating this into song, which
was recorded by a passing mockingbird and stored for
posterity on the Internet, here: http://ipwebdev.com/hermit/comparativecontextual.html
The fence post, certain that its purity of soul enabled it to
be completely free of the influence of Mr. A., and Ms L.,
continued to ignore the efforts of the
dog/squirrel/crankywizard to help it become free of ... of
what, pray tell?
Does this tale presume that f’n cranky wizard is right and the
wonderful and quite serviceable fence post is wrong? Not
really, wait a minute for we are getting to the point of the
fairy tale ...
This dilemma became much discussed among the members of the
garden, and would have gone on and on and on (and actually
did), although the gardener came by one day, dug up the fence
post, lay it on its side inside some fresh compost, and urged
it to let go and to die into what was later to become food for
the whole garden.
While doing this, the gardener sang a magic song, over and
over again, with a nice lilt, in a quite feminine voice.
rational, irrational, the blessings of the Way
transrational, impossible, the magic of the Way
every fool is what it is
even that which takes a piss
sensational, implacable, the joys of all the Ways
The sun began to set. A quarter moon later rose. A
mild rain approached from the south, and when that damn dog
went up to the compost heap to take just one more piss on that
poor fence post, lightening struck them both and they were
consumed in an instance, flash-burned to ash, that after a
brief period of dancing with the wind and rain, fell - shall
we say, without too much Steiner-said irony - ... it fell,
homeopathically, misting the whole of the garden.
Wait, dammit, wait! You never answered the question:
“free of what?”
Oh, ... you’re right, sorry. Me bad. Free of
himself of course. Everyone has that problem.
Mostly its our self-imaginative-conception lacking the right
amounts of the spice of foolishness. Usually we cling to
something. We like something about our own idea of who
or what we are, and then settle in. Can turn us into a
fence post if we let it go to far.
How, ... ? Come now. Where did you get that?
Yeah, the gardener. Or her, if you prefer. Works