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 Contextual Matters.
~~~ 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 bladder problem.

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.

Why 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:

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 either way.