Nature’s Experiments

“You know that I’ve always been proud of the way nature singled me out. It’s the people who have been deformed by society that I feel sorry for. We can live with nature’s experiments, and if they aren’t too vile, turn them to our advantage. But social deformity is sneaky and invisible; it makes people into monsters – or mice.”

~Tom Robbins Even Cowgirls Get The Blues

So the fool went and wandered onward. The fortunes of chance carried him into a community of mystic believers; folks who spoke of ancestral memories, past lives, karma, auras, and chakras. Intuitive systems, founded on anecdote and oftentimes drug-induced epiphanies, pervaded in that place. Chafe, fluff, supernatural musings that crack under the weight of the Fool’s scrutiny.

But the Fool enjoyed himself, listened to and let others be. He did not undermine or critique. Because in that place, on that farm, amongst those communities, verity is less important than understanding. The Fool knows that every community splendidly exemplifies at least one aspect of the human experience. It did the Fool no good to meet with judgment that with which he did not agree.

The Fool, an adept noetic miner, took into his heart the method of their actions, but not the reasons. Living presently; being rid of consumeristic impulse; the respect of nature; and the effort to find a deeper meaning to life; these were some of the wonderful aspects the Fool reaped. The Fool had pioneered his own path to these ideals, and did not judge others for their’s.

The Fool rode in as a black sheep, as usual. The way he thought, the way he spoke, the motivations that guided his life deviated from that of his fellows. He walked a solitary path. But sometimes even a lonely tumbleweed can get wedged in the axle of a truck and taken for a ride.

The Fool got himself deposited in the rainforest. And there he met Tyrie; a buoyant nine year old, charming and vibrant as any father could wish his daughter to be. She was happy, healthy, and fully characterized by the sweet innoncence of childhood.

Tyrie had been singled out by nature, thrust by fate into the role of abnormality by a genetic err beyond the reach of human correction. The result of her mutation was a knobby knee and a fleshy foot.

The Fool loved her immediately. He touched Tyrie’s foot and kissed her knee. She told him they brought her no pain. He showed her his own knobby knee, and his many false teeth. He carried her in his arms, and whirled her arround like young children love.

In the passing days, she ran to him whenever it was allowed. And he carried her on his piggy back for the rest of the day. The Fool saw past Tyrie’s deformity, and his coat darkened while the other sheep recoiled at the sight of those abnormal appendages.

The Fool spent a week amongst the mystic farmers, paying his stay with a few hours’ daily farmwork. Each day he’d retire with a skinny dip in the nearby reservoir. It was there, by the way, in the rainforest, where the last vestiges of his modesty drowned.

Though treated well, a black sheep cannot capture satisfaction in white sheep musings. By consequence of his character, those things fail to satisfy. They hold no flavor. They carry no substance for him. So the black sheep must conjur his own mental sustinence. Each night the Fool delved silently, solitarily into the depths of his mind, tapping a well of appreciation through the objective lens of intellectual honesty.

One night, with Tyrie swinging in the hammock of his parachute pants, the Fool began a monologue. It was more for himself than anyone. He craved expression. It filled him, so the ramble went:

‘I love fire,’ he began, ‘the flames we see are a consequence of chemical energy being released into the air as the wood undergoes a combustion reaction. That energy excites oxygen atoms, nitrogen atoms, and all the others until there’s enough to vault their electrons to an outer level. And almost as soon as those electrons ascend, they descend again releasing in the exchange a photon of equal energy. It is that photon, multiplied by the countless billions of atoms in the fire, that forms the flames we all warm our bodies with tonight.’

The diction in this spew of abstruse trivia caught the attention of everyone surrounding the campfire. The Fool noticed, and continued, ‘So in effect, what we’re seeing is the most fantastic atomic fireworks display that anyone can possibly conceive of. And what’s more, the energy that leaves that fire, the light I see, the photons that my eyes detect, is further transformed into chemical energy within my brain; an energy that weaves these thoughts. Conveyed further into acoustic energy, it takes the form of words as it travels into the ears of everyone at this fire. So their minds too might be as astounded as mine. That is amazing to me. That is magic to me. And at the same time it all takes place in the material realm. There is no need to invoke the supernatural. The world is wonderful enough as it is.’

This was all lost on Tyrie, and much of it was lost on the fellow fire goers as well, but the Fool felt elated. For once his cold, clinical, objective belief system shone through with the brilliance that he experienced internally every hour of every day. The Fool was able to express himself in a moving way, in a human way. He was, for the first time, able to bridge the chasm between esoteric knowledge and wonderous experience. For once he took others on a tour of his beliefs, and they didn’t wander off midway.

Here he was having a mind-gasm, and not one could nod smugly and say, ‘Ah! You’re having a spiritual experience.’ NO! The Fool shouts. ‘I have transcendant experiences of reality without aid from the supernatural, the mystical, or the divine.’

The interaction struck to the heart of the Fool. He realized that the key to conveying the deep, deep beauty of the objective world was through artistic expression.

The Fool left that farm, that vegan lifestyle, that fringe community of new age philosophers, after a week. His heart broke for the pain of leaving Tyrie, and more for her pain at his departure. Because he loved her; for the life in her and for her affection for him.

A black sheep is forever susceptible to those who fully accept him. And Tyrie accepted him fully, without judgment, without even that subtle discord that arises between two people who see the world differently. Tyrie accepted him with a heart untarnished by years of living. And the Fool, utilizing once again his most valuable skill, was able to amplify and reflect that sentiment in return.

The Fool left with fond memories of Tyrie, and fairly fond memories of his time at that place. These things, wrapped carefully in his blue bindle, slung on his shoulder, bobbed gently along as the Fool hitched to Cairns.

Thank you for reading.


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