Dreamers and Doers

Well, here we are on this fine day on the triplet islands of, Melowee, Soothee and Krapzot; just in time for the “International Convention For Clear Cut Confusion.”  The schedule of events has been conveniently printed on a combination map/toilet paper, with gobs of free time set aside for the attendees’ favorite pursuits.  Some of the Solemners from the neighboring isle of Ubetta Warchett have complained that this conclave is siphoning off potential participants in their, “Let’s All Be More Smarter” workshop.

A visitor asked the local Enlightened One:
“Why is it that I sometimes feel my inner struggle to be mighty and ponderous, and sometimes I want to kick its ass…plus: do you know where the tennis courts are?”

Cattle speak only in moos, back and forth to one another; wolves will space out their yaps in the attempt to appear clever, while dreamers sit a dreamin’, and doers sweat up the place with their incessant doing.  “Say, what does it take to get a waiter out here by the pool?”

There used to be a guy who gave daily talks at a place that seemed to be about, “waking up,” and, “being more conscious,” (you know, that kind of stuff – anyway).  After thirty or twenty eight years or so of doing this, one day when he showed up to give his daily commentary, he told them how to rebuild a carburetor.  No one in the audience found this funny, and the next day his talk was about the illusionary nature of carburetors, a notion that none of his listeners accepted.

The following day, he described a fantasy in which a man imagined he had heard a lecture concerning carburetor re-building, and the crowd shook its head in disbelief.  The subsequent day, he told a tale of cattle dozing on their feet whilst they dreamt of being awakened from a dream in which they had rejected the idea of carburetors being pigments of their imagination.
The audience rose up in massieand randomly demanded:  “We still want to know: how do you ‘wake up’?” And from under his robe he whipped out a fuel injector system, sprayed the crowd with gasoline, and he obligingly – set them all on fire.

A son who had always just adored this story asked his yarn weaving pater:  “How long does it take to make up a tale like that?”  “The speed of speech,” he answered.  “But how long before you told it did you think about it?” the lad inquired.  “I didn’t – I just made it up as I was telling it,” the pater replied.  The boy persisted, “But that’s not possible!”  And he replied, “Oh, you and everyone else do it constantly – you just don’t take notice of it…it’s a fact too frightening for most people to face.”


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