A Moment with the Lizard King


I am sitting on a large lawn in a park on a sunny day. It’s springtime, the weather is cool and few people are out. I am cross-legged on a small rise at the far end of this little slice of nature, and yet the whole world surrounds me. The cool shade of the woods is just behind me, and while a light wind rustles the leaves in the trees, a young couple stroll past and the park is empty.

I begin gazing softly at the blades of grass around my legs and time passes. An object, no, a small red ball, rolls slowly into the edges of my vision. It comes closer, rolling uphill towards me, until it stops within arm’s distance of where I sit. Here it sits, directly in front of me. Now a few more balls, different sizes and colors, roll toward me, each stopping a few feet away. Then more, and more and more.

They are coming from down the hill, from both sides and from behind me, increasing in quantity and variety. It is as if I am a ball-magnet – there is no resisting this attractive force, but I just sit, more curious of my immediate surroundings filling with these balls than anything else.

These balls come and they come, more sizes and colors than I could begin to imagine. Patterns displayed by the balls become patterns displayed by their placement around me – they are all in their places when no more arrive. There is order and purpose to the layout of spheres around me. It is like sitting in a field of colorful wildflowers, only these are balls. Still, this doesn’t seem strange to me. I am surrounded by these spherical realities, all those things that I have done in my life, and all that continues to exist. I am surrounded by spherical potentials in my life, unrealized truths awaiting to be born in their turn, awaiting their queue that must be issued by me. They await in a metaphysical queue and I am their gatekeeper.

At the perimeter of these satellites that now surround me is a shadow. I look slowly up and directly in front of me is a pair of feet with two legs attached. My eyes move upwards past some knees and on to a waistline. I continue – hands, lower arms and stomach, a chest, shoulders and neck, and then a face.

This is the face of a very tall and large, black man. I say tall because he is tall – maybe 7 feet. I say large because he is the largest man I have ever seen. I say black because his skin was black. I don’t say Amero-African or any other race because I know he could come from anywhere. I know he does come from anywhere – anywhere but here.

His lips are moving as he speaks to me, but I hear no sound. I tell him this as his lips continue to move. Now they move more slowly, with his intent to be understood, I now understand. I can read these old lips as they sound out in my head – “How … are … you … feeling?”

How am I feeling? “I’m feeling great,” I reply. “Thanks for asking.”

His face now changes slowly, expressing simple pleasure at my response. He is a quite gentle, very large, old man. While he smiles, he slowly acquires a distinctly reptilian look, a genuine reptilian structure, but still with a smile on his face (Have you ever seen a lizard smile? From what I hear, they are not the type to smile, and apparently not very pleasant to be around, but in this case – I must emphatically disagree).

He begins to fade away – to disappear in a transparent kind of mist right before my eyes, until he is gone. Merde, I was really hoping to carry on with this one, to commune some more, but I somehow knew I would be seeing this one again.

Meanwhile, my collection of colored and patterned spheres remain….

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3 Responses to “A Moment with the Lizard King”

  1. bwinwnbwi Says:

    Thanks for reminding me that “to be,”– to live in the now,– requires practice, mindfulness practice. I used to be familiar with the “mindfulness state”, but. like all whose “best” has long past, I am only reminded of what it used to be like! Anyway, I found this old journal entry, it’s not exactly the practice of mindfulness, but without mindfulness, it never would have been written:

    “I was drinking coffee when I flicked on the TV. The morning movie was an old Errol Flynn movie entitled Uncertain Glory. Immediately, I became wrapped up in the complexity of the French underground movement as it fought for a free France during the German occupation of WWII. Freedom is indeed worth fighting for, and dying for if need be, but not because it allows us to pursue and satisfy our desires, but rather, because existence, human existence, is the result of its evolution. Freedom is about awareness, growth and, ultimately, bringing the divine into realization. Freedom moves freedom forward through the liberation of humanity and civilization. At the end of the movie, when the “cad,” Flynn, made the ultimate sacrifice (faced the Nazi firing squad to save 100 innocents), I began to cry uncontrollably. I cried for the “preservation of the good” in the face all the violence, pain, and despair in the world. I cried for the “spirit of freedom.”’

    • Pete Madstone Says:

      Hi Bwinwnbwi,

      Thanks for stopping by and providing me with a little taste of what I love – the non-sequiter. Your “best” is not long past. It is with you in any moment if you would just turn your attention towards it once again.

      Mindfullness, however, is not about being affected deeply by things that arise and depart – it is the stillness that feels deep permanence while surrounded by all that is impermanent. It is about no attachment, and no aversion, no craving or need, and no fear. It does, however, allow for the awareness of deep feelings that also come to pass – with a perspective that they have no infuence on that inner peace.

      The Advahuta gita provides that the true state of freedom is to see everything as one, and is becoming a well-accepted stance these days by the non-dualists. Freedom is grossly misdefined as a concept by our first world, making people think that it can be given, provided even by certain laws, legislative and other bodies, or by another. Freedom cannot be given for it comes from within.

      One cannot “fight for freedom”, this is an oxymoron, like “military intelligence”. A Cherry Tree cannot produce a pernicious weed from its seed, and war CANNOT produce peace — simply impossible, and part of the “glamour” laid over the television watching population.

      I see you are quite prolific (have found your blog – must find time to plunder it) – it is always good to meet such an impassioned writer.

      Pete

  2. Arsene Jack Says:

    I like what you guys are up also. Such intelligent work and reporting! Keep up the excellent works guys I have incorporated you guys to my blogroll. I think it’ll improve the value of my website :). “As is a tale, so is life not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.” by Lucius Annaeus Seneca.

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