Save Me, My Messiah
By Samuel Sequoia Hovig
I was just a young man with young man fantasies. I worked an honest job where my body was going into debt along with my weekly wages. But the simple fact remained that I had questions about life, love, morality, and ethics.
I decided the only sensible way to conquer these answers was a drug-pycheclidic induced journey into the worlds religions. The goal was to question each master/God on their definition of right and wrong, and pick through their various stories of my origins to find which one was really telling the truth, if one actually was.
This is where my story begins. On a park bench in the perk ponds. Where the county of Santa Clara tried try to incorporate society corporation with societal recreation. The equilibration would of have been accepted and ignored, minus the placement. Some city council members and a mayor some how thought that their thoughtful citizens would find peace in a piece of land filled with water fowl and paths next to a northern California vehicle thoroughfare. Maybe the resounding thoughts in their head would keep down the sound of the cars and trucks passing by not 50 yards away. Regardless it is the most convenient place to touch nature in my suburban situation. So trekked on my 10 speed to the entrance gates. I had my Volcom back pack, scared with a gaping hole in the left hand corner from a Santa Cruz bonze fire long since past. Inside I had packed it with the bare essentials of a mind trip bending vacation I planned to take. Items as follows: 2 Budweiser 40 ounces to freedom, 1 plastic bong, an eighth of Romulan weed, an eighth of California's best mushrooms, and of course a 1 lb bag of Ruffles original
As I debated whether this was in reality the appropriate path to take to find answers, the day was slipping away along with my time off. With no further hesitation the caps from the shrumms were placed between two Ruffles chips, making a sandwich of sorts, and I ate. To kill the time waiting for the full effects of these drugs to kick in and my journey to begin, I cracked one forty while listening to the autobiography of George W. Bush on tape. Near the end of chapter three in his book and 3 quarters done with my first beer the first inkling of the alternate reality begin to show it self. At first I though it was just a trick of the eyes done by the dancing shadows from the cattail growing near the waters edge. Then I looked closer. It was not a shadow changing direction but a colony of ants. Moving back and forth with the wind blown cattail in perfect harmony. I finished my beer, while still watching this new act of nature, and pulled out the headphones. I figured that war plots; political lies, and the rest of the autobiography of our cocaine cowboy president would have to wait until another day.
I took my now empty beer bottle and placed in the recycling bin, and hopped onto my bike. I did not have an exact destination in my mind, but I did have an exact plan. I needed answers. I need to hear the gods make their justification to me personally so I can be at peace with myself. Other friends I once knew had different tactics to tame their demons and questions. One young man named Kenneth came to the unfortunate conclusion that a daily dose of Ecstasy in the morning with his breakfast was sufficient enough to keep both his demons and questions at bay. His refusal to explore the avenues of his life not yet explored left him with brain damage last summer. He now is fed through a tube and only his rudimentary motor skills.
Another former friend of mine named, Michelle discovered that a bottle of Smirnoff Raspberry Vodka in her soda drink left over from lunch, made it much easier to apply and maintain the make up made face, personality, and life that she had picked and kept applied. Another upside of this strategy that she discovered was that if she could finish the bottle by the end of 5th period she would want to throw up her lunch and Vodka roughly 20 minutes after the end 6th period. Giving her just enough time to brush her teeth, washout her mouth, and ensure her weight was kept 95 pounds before field hockey practice.
While I may look a tad hypocritical telling you my own story of drug induced activities, It is important to bear in mind and understand that my reasons lay behind the though process of trying to better myself and my understanding of life as a whole. This simple difference justifies the journey. I wonder how Joseph Smith the founder of the Mormons would explain that to me? The answer to that question and many others will have to wait until later in the day.
I began to peddle faster.
Or was I pedaling faster?
My whole sense of time and reality begin to become disoriented. The usual laws of the physical world seemed to be breaking slowly one by one. Up was limitless and down was limitless. My horizontal viewpoint and depth perception were fluctuating, along with my idea of what reality really was. At this time of colliding dimensions a certain indescribable need came over me. It was an immense desire to take my trek from land to water. The canal, that was only 5 or 6 feet wide with a steep bank, flowed by like information being passed between two scholars. I then had the sudden realization that the first guest in this journey would show his face soon. I allowed the drug in my head to dictate my direction, so I veered from the land that had let me walk its face with no payment and entered the water. Yet as the front tire of my bike went under the surface and my feet on the foot pedals followed, I felt nothing. Not cold, not wet, not even a current. It was as if I was not in water. I looked up from the brackish fluid and saw a man standing about 50 yards down stream. He was about knee deep in the counties recycled water source and beckoning me. I continued to peddle and in a few short minutes I stopped, only a few feet separating us. He raised his right hand in greeting and said, “ I am Moses why do you seek me?”
I stared back into his eyes trying to find deceit there. I found nothing and replied, “ Why do I not feel wet sir?” Moses frowned at this query and shouted, “ Why you concern your self with inconsequential matters!” I coward away at first but regained my composure along with the right question. One of the questions that originally gave birth to this journey. I Looked back at him and asked, “ Why does your God allow hate and show favoritism to some men and not to others?” He blinked at first then slowly took a breath and ordered me to sit on the bank. Moses sat down beside me. He was methodical in his movements after that, slowly resting his staff next, and removing a pouch that had been strapped over his back. Finally once he was settled he turned to me and said, “ My god allows hate so that men can appreciate love. How can someone truly understand the affection offered by a woman if he does not fully appreciate the desire to hate a man for a wrong long since past or present.” I considered this and thought back to when I was younger and the whole ocean of emotions was still a sea that I had not yet sailed on. I remembered when winning and losing were merely outcomes with no consequence. I remember when there was no emotional spectrum or a keel to measure it by. It was simply a plain plateau where one end was no different from the other. The realization that I had learned love and hate dawned. It became clear that I myself made the conscious choice to pick which category someone would fall into. Or was it? I turned to him and asked” If your God truly loved men why wouldn’t he have made love part of our nature instead of a consequence of our choices?” Moses smiled, and responded, “ If God made it our nature to love there wouldn’t be a need for a God. If all men accepted one another for who they were, there would be no war. No symbol or ideology to rally behind and justify conquest and retaliation. Without hate there can be no God.”
It was a puzzling thought process. Almost a paradox to my sensibility, but the words rang true to some degree. As I sat there on the bank with the great prophet I mused whether this was a ploy planned by him to trap my faith in his beliefs. Again I looked into his eyes for even the lightest hint if deceit, but nothing was there save for a the most honest expression I had ever seen expressed through a man’s eyes. The only possible answer for this integrity was his faith.
When I tried wrapping my mind around this abstract idea of faith the first time I couldn’t even comprehend it, but again at age six how could I or any other child. I expressed this problem to my parents at the time, and the response that was given to me was, “ Try harder Jack”. Try harder? As difficult as life can be on the day-to-day basis from the collection of tolls due to the government, finding your personal identity, and defining love, I was told to try harder at finding faith when I didn’t even have faith in faith. This experience resonated with me for a long time. It was in fact one of the building blocks for the quest to find answers. It is why I am here now, sitting with a biblical legend who could only give half way answers to my full length questions. Beyond the obvious initial disappointment at not having the true revelation that I sought, I was further befuddled with the answer that was given. Instead of the this knowledge closing doors that had been in open in my mind for far to long, new ones were opened, with a kaleidoscope of ideas hanging off each door knob that wished to be turned.
I closed my eyes for a moment to gather myself, and the last bit of reality that my body was holding on to. When I opened my windows to life again, to observe the world that was not the one I was born into, my guest for a lack of a better term, was gone. There wasn’t even an imprint from his body weight where was he sitting. Not a blade of grass broken or a rock disturbed.
Unsure of how this was possible and even more unsure of whether this self-created journey was worth travelling anymore. I stood and debated whether the forward motion of progress really laid down the trail more, or perhaps a bike ride back to my house.
While weighing the pros and cons of both, a turtle’s head broke the surface of the water. Just the top fifth of his shell was visible. If one removed the legs, feet, neck and head of the turtle it would of resembled a small volcanic island in its infancy. Where no seeds had traveled on the ocean currents yet to eventually reside there. Or birds blown off course to silently accept their lot in life and build a nest. It was a strange scene to imagine, a whole eco system evolving on this “ Turtle Island”, but not as strange as what was really occurring on it when I leaned closer to the water for a better look.
Instead of a miniature slice of life, there was a Praying Mantis sitting on top of the shell. It was clothed in something that was similar to a monks robe, and appeared to be in a complete state of meditation. Its prominent eyes were shut tightly and its two enormous front claws were held close together in a position, very much resembling our homosapien posture when in prayer. With no one else present to judge my actions I shouted, “ Excuse me, Mr. Mantis, may I have moment of your time”? The praying mantis’s left eye, which was the one closer to my side of the bank, snapped open, and he reached gently down with his two front arms to the water. Without a word it pulled up what looked like a harness, like what many humans use on horses, and purposefully steered his turtle transportation to the bank.
When his coach landed he strained his neck upwards to look at me and said, “ My name is Ezekiel and it is obvious from your bewildered expression that you find it quite dubious that a thing like myself can speak. Though not to long ago you discussed theology and faith with a man that had passed away many years before you or I were conscious beings on this plane of living. Further it is abundantly clear that you, who ever you are, have not yet found what you seek. This is because what you seek can not be found here, it can only be found only in heart and your head.”
Hesitation and doubt made my formulation of thoughts difficult…but the pieces fell into place along with a sentence, “ You may know your world and your place in all of this, but my goal is mine alone. My objectives are beyond the comprehension of an insect, like you, whose survival is based around preying on those less than itself. So please do not be offended by my apparent lack of respect, but what I seek is knowledge that you can not provide.” Both of Ezekiel’s eyes squeezed shut in exasperation, like a heroin addict who had just tried to justify his substance abuse to a drug counselor, one claw clenched tightly, as if it was trying to sever the last string of hope that modern mankind held onto, and he whispered or mumbled something to someone else or himself. As I was curious to whom he was speaking to I questioned him. “ If you have wisdom, guidance, or harsh words to say, share them with me friend, for we are the only two breathing souls here” I said. “ Ha, you wouldn’t want to hear or believe what I have to say. The truth is to much for such a young person like you” Ezekiel replied with contempt and sadness dangling off each word.
“How can you say that? You don’t even know how I am.” I questioned. “ Oh but I do.” Ezekiel said. “ The regret and remorse on your face is plain to see and your eyes can not hide your distaste and dissatisfaction with how the gods have rolled your dice of life. It is true that you have toiled. It is also true that you desperately want a feeling of equality with your fellow man, but your choices and circumstances have not allowed such equilibrium to manifest itself. You have made certain conscious decisions to separate, to break new ground. And now you find yourself alone searching for answers, but as I said before you are not ready for such truths.”
I was angry at hearing this but also a little stung, for the truth always hurts more then a lie, especially when/ you know it to be true/ it is something you don’t want to hear. However I was not ready to concede defeat on my quest and made the decision there and then to continue on. I felt obligated to remain as cordial as possible with this new and unwanted commentator of mine, so I bid him farewell, and wished him luck on his journey down the canal. Privately I hoped his turtle would catch some sort of water born disease from the fluid they were swimming in and suffer a massive and immediate heart attack. That would leave Ezekiel struggling in the canal as his floating coach sank, thus allowing the Perk Pond grim reaper to escort him to a watery hell. Without further hesitation I stood up from my spot on the bank that had been the location of some of the more strange, enlightening, and frustrating experiences of my life and crawled back to the top of path. Once I got there I remembered my bike was still half on the bank and half in the water so I quickly retrieved it. Now that I had gathered my belongings and thoughts a new question arose.
Left over the bridge or keep heading straight down the path that had already offered so much and too much at the same time?
The dilemma of this choice was compounded by a personal resolution I had made earlier in my life that insisted on never getting too comfortable. Bearing this in mind I choose the left, as if there really was any choice left, and began to peddle. I crossed the bridge and saw a heron fishing on the banks below me. The bird stopped in its quest for food only long enough to give me a nasty look for interrupting his activity, so I rode on. I thought about the past events and tried to find reasoning behind them. Was there a significance in the order that they happened? Did the actual definition of order even apply in this world? So far the most obvious answer to that question was absolutely not, but then again who was I to make such judgments on a place and things I knew little off. That very human act of being quick to judge has been the root of many conflicts and controversies. All these thoughts were running around in my head, like a hamster on its wheel, just going around and around in no direction and zero progress being made. I began to think if Socrates were given the opportunity to questions the gods would have he taken it. Perhaps he was wise enough to know that the answers the he would have heard would be beyond his comprehension, thus making the quest utterly pointless. One could spend all of life wondering how man came to live in such a perfect harmony with their bodies and nature. I suppose the answer to this would change depending on what denomination the person you were asking belonged to. But I strongly suspect that there must be a underlying universal truth, or an agreement so to speak that either binds or gave birth to all of our gods. This train of thought was changing tracks, adding and removing carts faster than I could add coal to the engine. I then finally took a moment to take stock of where I was. I had been mindlessly peddling for almost 15 minutes. That is if my perception of time was at all accurate, and I had travelled far from my first encounter with Moses. I decided to take a moment to relax, so I pulled off the path and sat down at a near by picnic table. It was a simple concrete piece of government outdoor furniture. Specifically made so that it would be impossible to steal and insured to last, very much like the American dream, or at least that’s what I heard during last years republican presidential campaign debate. I leaned my bike on the far side of the table and laid my backpack on top. The scorched hole in the left hand corner still had the unmistakable smell of a bon fire, and reminded me of the world I had left. Where things were much simpler in one way, and far more confusing in others. Out there, help was a four-letter word, in here it was only hard to find. A lesser of two evils, much like many things in life no matter the reality you live in. I took a seat at the table and the cool concrete felt good on my hot skin. A total feeling of relaxation went through every vein in me. One could surmise this was another pleasant side effect of the mushrooms I ate earlier or perhaps it was connected to something else. Maybe it was because I was living in the moment. There weren’t any obligations that required my attention or fellow humans to interrupt the simple silence of silence. The sun was at it zenith now and the heat of it felt good coming from so far away. Not to hot and not to cold, perfection of placement, put there by someone I hoped to me on this very day. As I sat there I heard the distance sound of footsteps behind me. I turned around and saw a man approaching. He was of medium height and dressed in a very fine looking suit, Italian in origin if I had to guess. His hair was perfectly gelled, and he carried a briefcase. He was the image of a stereotypical Wall Street businessman, moving with a purpose and his head held high, as if he did not want his nostrils to catch the undesirable stench of the common man. As he came closer I was surprised to see that the color on his collar protruding from the top of his suit jacket was blue. I laughed to myself at the irony and wondered if this man was aware of his contrasting social image his was displaying. The oxymoronic businessman was coming parallel with my table and seemed to notice me for the first time. I was taught manners at a young age so I said, “ Good afternoon, beautiful day isn’t?” He paused midstride, which implied that he had planned on simply walking by with no contact at all. Looking almost forced he half smiled, and responded, “ Yes it is quite nice.” He continued with his right leg forward motion and stepped off again, apparently satisfied that this conversation was thankfully over. I watched him and he continued to walk briskly away from me. However after about twenty yards he abruptly stopped. With almost military precision, he executed an about face, and came walking back towards my table. The man that approached me now seemed to have undergone a complete personality transformation. He let his shoulders fall naturally as he walked, instead as before where it appeared that where a 2x4 beam strapped to his back and tied off some where on his midsection. He even let his arms swing back and forth, as if he was on a pleasant stroll instead of in a military parade before the commanding general. It was a unique seen, and in only a few minutes he was standing on the other side of my table.
“ Good afternoon lad, my name is Muhammad and I was wondering if I could ask you for some help.”
