Over in the coffee shop at the edge of town

wales (68)in #steemitbloggers • 6 years ago (edited)

The next clue...

A small one-legged mushroom with the hands of a ballerina, was standing at the bottom of the steps that led upwards, all the way to the top, where the doors of the ministry of emergency were in full-scream and milk in the hard-dust and waiting in the scratch with circles and some kind of background thud, thudding like a stutter in the ink of all that was going on, just to say: “you may be crazy or you may be lonely, either way you’re down among the dead, so change or not, but you’re lost and there’s no way out of here like this.”

This was not what the mushroom was expecting in its mission and so found itself nonplussed as to what to do next.

Pulling the book of Zen from out of a generous pocket, the mushroom leafed through the pages trying to find some clue in the garden of it where so many dreams have come and gone, and found a short passage that said: ‘perhaps you have a little reluctance or even a lifelong one to doing anything that is foreign to your reserve because the breaker of dreams has passed through it all and convinced you that you were wanting and not worthy.’

This was not exactly all that helpful at this time and perhaps the book of changes would be more appropriate. So a trip to the coffee shop was in order and off went the mushroom to do exactly that.

Arriving at the coffee shop some time later, the mushroom ordered a coffee and after looking through the bookshelf found the book of changes had been borrowed by someone else; so another book was taken that was covered in leather that had some mysterious signs burnt into it.

The coffee came and a tall hour was indulged in to peruse the book.

After leafing through for an age a passage was found that seemed to stand out: ‘Do not stop now that you have come so far.’

This was most perplexing to the mushroom and so it stared out of the window with nothing more on its mind than the passage from the book that repeated endlessly in its mind until there was nothing else.

THE FLIGHT OF THE MUSHROOM

Later, and somewhere near the bottom of the hour, the mushroom with nothing better to do swam inwards towards the light that beckoned to it to come closer. The mushroom had seen enough of the world’s offerings; and so with a small wave of dismissal it let it all go and prepared to journey onwards. And so with an out of body cry it became separated from all that held it back…

In its flight over the landscape it came across a graveyard: “A graveyard, how appropriate,” it said, and flew down to investigate.

As the mushroom landed on a patch of grass it expanded to become more until Kafka came along pushing his wheelbarrow of gold looking for somewhere to bury it.

“Hello,” said the mushroom in its best English voice that travelled into one ear of Kafka and out the other, but enough penetrated to cause him to pause for a moment.

“What’s this, a talking mushroom?”

Kafka looked at the mushroom and waited for it to say something else.

The mushroom remained silent in the expectation of Kafka who shook his head and then carried on.

“Strange,” said Kafka and the mushroom at the same time which caused Kafka to wobble a little bit as he pushed his wheelbarrow further on into the graveyard.