My own little piece of transcedence

Yoshi, your post confuses me. Is this some sort of riff on TS Eliot, Jack Kerouac, or Nietzsche, or is this your own unique brand of insanity?

Whatever it is, it seems mystical, and I feel this precedent you've set has given me permission to share my own little piece of transcendence with you all. I hope it's pretentious enough for everyone, though it's not intended to be at all.

You see, this past July, I took a two week vacation from work and, well, everything productive for that matter. I spent most of my days laying in front of a box fan, eating fast melting popsicles while occasionally glancing at an enormous pile of books I was half-heartedly trying to read. The reading list included -- but was not limited to --- Albert Camus' "Le Mythe de Sisyphe," Lucretius' "De Rerum Natura," and the Marquis de Sade's "Aline et Valcour." While laying there in a pile of popsicle sticks and wrappers, lapping up the last drops of my firecracker and reflecting on these dissipated philosophes of yesterday, it hit me. I don't know if it was the sugar overload or the bleak outlooks of those gritty metaphysical adventurers whose words I was reading, but my mind was cast into the abstract realm of ideas...I was rapt as if in a vision.

There I was, accompaned by Jesus Christ in the desert. We walked together in the lonely void, when suddenly appeared the tempter. He was a scholar and it was clear that he had dwelt longer in this desert than either Jesus or me. The absurdity of the world had crushed the man's spirit, for what man could affirm a world that offers up a stone to the famished when they are in dire need of bread? When we approached, the tempter's jaundiced eyes lit up with fury. At last, the one he had long awaited -- longer than even his sharp memory could recall -- at last the Son of Man had appeared. But how surprised I was to see this cold man's face transformed in the presence of Jesus. It was as if one last colossal effort of the will was summoning up hope in this disillusioned man's heart. Tentatively he held out the his hands to his Lord. At first meekly, but with more assurance as he spoke, he declared, "If you are the Son of God, command these stones to be loaves of bread!"

I waited in the stillness. At first I wondered if Jesus would answer at all. I could tell that Jesus knew his tempter well. I think they may have been old friends, and there was certainly love in my companion's eyes. I almost willed Christ to consent because I knew that the scholar, whose clerical robes were torn and tattered, I knew his very life was dependent upon it.

Jesus broke the silence. "My brother, do you not see? You have been dwelling in a land of abundance, if you would only have it." Jesus then picked up the sand, stones, and scorpions nearby and handed them to his friend. "Are these not sufficient?"

The academic was dumbfounded. He was struck by the insanity of the question. He saw the absurdity of the world. Once again, he, a child of the world, sought bread and was given a stone from his father. The scholar shook his head and looked at the ground to veil his reaction. His body shook under his once dignified robes, veritable sack cloth. I couldn't tell if he was laughing or sobbing. Jesus' face betrayed no emotion. And with a firm voice of finality, "Is it not written that Man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God?" Signalling to me, Jesus and I left the desert...

My dream continued in its wendings through my subconscious, but I think this is enough for you guys to get the gist. Needless to say I woke up from my glucose-induced stupor with a pulsating headache.

But most of all, upon awakening, I felt a most intense inclination not to share my dream with others. I felt as my great namesake Nick Bottom did after his premature arousal from sacred slumber. For I too have

had a most rare
vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to
say what dream it was: man is but an ass, if he go
about to expound this dream. Methought I was--there
is no man can tell what. Methought I was,--and
methought I had,--but man is but a patched fool, if
he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye
of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not
seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue
to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream
was.