Zen, mung beans and the lostness machine

When you're chasing the road of dreams sometimes things don't go as planned...

In another part of the story, Miss Pretty and the sundown frog chasing the road of dreams between the sheets of it all, made an important announcement, all things considered: the gruel was late, and the clay pot couldn't make it as Sunday.

"Stay in the story will you my dear fellow before you become lost.” said the voice of far away. These words were uttered far beyond the call of any duty upon the winds of time in the make-shift camp of wind-driven blue and oblivion in shades of desire and mortal awakenings notwithstanding the real things that could not be said.

God bless the king came along about then and was very kind and courteous and kept his mouth shut the whole time.

"So, he didn't say a word then?" said Miss Pretty.

Not a bloody thing." replied the sundown frog.

"Well that's alright then." returned Miss Pretty in a rather bored voice.

"Oh, come and have a glass of mineral water, why don't you?" cried out the sundown frog.

"What's wrong with a cup of tea?" asked Miss Pretty in a questioning kind of voice that wasn't sure it wanted to get involved, but was, so had to play along.

"Mineral water is better for you," she said.

As neither of them had any mineral water or tea they both carried on along the road of dreams, that was still very hot after the heat of the day, and, I, who was looking out from a bush beside the road of dreams went to sleep at last.

Next morning, when I woke up, I could not refuse to believe my eyes, for there before me was everything I had ever wanted dressed up as a suitcase full of money. Anyway, back to the story before it is too late.

Gregariously, as the winds continue to blow more metaphors and such to strike the midnight hour but were refused as being over presumptuous. And all things considered there is a belief this was so. If it was not meant to be then it would not be here would it? Oh, do keep up you there at the back. The pen writes faster than the teeth can gnash.

Now, you may be wondering what happened to our two wandering and most illustrious companions upon the road of dreams, and there would be an agreement with you about the wondering part too, as they are both lost; but as it is a road of dreams, to be sure they are doing fine; unless one of them falls beside the road:

"Oh my god!” What's wrong?" called out Miss Pretty. "Are you alright?"

"It's a black hole," shouted back the sundown frog. "Look, it's swallowing up my bloody leg."

"Pull it out quick," cried Miss Pretty most hurriedly, looking at the black hole with a worried expression on her face.

Just then, time started going backwards, and words were being carried away to become whispers in the distance of all things to be considered.

LEFT IT TOO LATE

It was an accidental shadow. It came out of the ground and it hung around a phone box for ages in the dark cold of it all, listening, waiting for an emergency call from heaven knows where. The sun never came up. Years of time stamped doom, smoke roiled chokingly. The shadow finally cried and went back home. It’s mother, god bless her, was busy swallowing legs at that moment and didn’t notice.”

Monk: “There are a lot of things that go on unnoticed.”

Crying out...

Zen: I could not get doomed enough, so I took to the fairy dust on the bridge of dreams where many flags were flying in the breeze; and I didn’t wear a crash helmet but said a prayer instead: “Oh to bend the deepness of it with the sharpness of the warriors sword snatched from the clutches of doom to be in any merry spell to belong where no soldier ever died so alone; and in that darkness where fear is learnt and colours all in a bondage ready to fly into the unknown, a moment is all that is asked to just be and feel there is a homecoming.”

I asked and received the moment I needed to make my heart strong. Then I was ready for what must be. So, a green camel came and carried me away quickly to a small cafe where I had breakfast with a coffee that was too strong.

The day was hot and the lostness machine sang songs of endurance as it ate wishbones and pretty numbers of prophesy. Then a parade went past a thousand million deep chanting “who am I,” in unison. A mung bean couldn’t hear me eat my food so swooned away as the lostness machine banged a drum.

And then I came across a place I remembered well from before, it was easy there. I took some rest amongst the breezes of far-away oceans that blew through shells; driftwood whispered lost secrets from the corners where the shadows were warm. Outside, the storm was darkening where lonesome lovers called, but I hushed my mind from it all and sat in silence, in every aspect, as if home had been found at last. And in the story being read the evening mists swirled around me.

Facebook closed its borders against foreign subversives writing poems on the wall; and that was going to be the end of the story, but a mung bean jumped around the magic corner and sold me a secret way back in.

“I must have secret friends,” thought I to myself, and drifted off to sleep.

Black Mac was having trouble catching mung beans with his vest on fire so he found a new pair of sunglasses on the beach of surprise to offset his desires, and so decided to grow a beard as was the way of all good mung bean catchers.

Pretty soon all was well with the world, so my dream ended and I woke up refreshed next to a mountain of mung beans that had a pair of dark sunglasses inserted into it.

The mung bean mountain stared at me without blinking but made a small squeak of sadness like a turnip makes when it is being press ganged into the army with a hot branding iron.

The sun flew up into the middle of the sky and became too hot for anything, so I yawned, brushed my saffron robes a few times with my hand and gave my long hair a quick groom while wondering if there was anywhere at all to get cleaned up. Then I walked along the beach of dreams wondering that everything was a little strange, and where was the cafe?

Five nuns flopped out of the ocean and genuflected and bowed to me, and one of them gave me a fish. Then they flopped off in their flippers, but one flopped in fins; their black habits soaked and dripping clinging to their precious bodies. A bone dust dog followed them all the way home.

When I got to the mung bean factory I asked two there if they knew of any work to be done. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed many small lizards running up and down broomsticks leaning in a corner behind the two who were staring at me as if trying to decide something deep and meaningful.

A wounded heart came by with a pony and plodded right on by.

But I would ask more than the small misery; and so not a death too soon came the sundown frog and Miss Pretty with a job of work for me, i.e. the two lost ones from their road of dreams who had finally met up with their destiny as mung bean pickers and packers to make crackers for the Chinese. I hung my wings on a peg and wrote one last letter and posted it in the sea of dreams then went to work.

So, I too became a cracker packer and died later that day of boredom.”

Monk: “I don’t blame you, I would too if I had to do that job every day.”

And of another part...

Image from Pixabay

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