A fly was bugging him during the last few days. He had been hoping that the animal would go to sleep, but the Sun kept waking it up. Then he opened the balcony door, and the fly drove away. She was immediately replaced with a family of fruit flies which had made their home in a bunch of tomatoes left on the kitchen counter top.
He hates it, when his tomatoes have seen the fridge.
Only one of the fruits was rotten. He threw that one away, and then he prepared the others into a tomato sauce. “This needs one onion,” he thought to himself, thus he discovered more of them, fruit flies, because a second family lived amongst the onions.
Only one bulb was rotten. He threw that one away, pondering on the natural wisdom of the flies: They do not eat all the food at once. Perhaps one fly finds her way through the skin of something edible, and there she lays her eggs. Later the larva eat their food until they metamorphose into tiny adults who will leave unless they find a suitable spot to lay their eggs. On that second turn , the chances are that all the available food would be targeted.
Flies make the perfect pet for someone like him, who lives alone on the fifth floor of some new building in a big city.
Flies make the perfect pet for someone like him, who lives alone on the fifth floor of some new building in a big city.
Earlier he had imagined a lonely plastic boy who was exploring a world of his own making, a world virtual and especially created for his soul. “My soul is made of plastic, the lonely boy explained to the Sky (indeed he addressed the sky like people used to do). --Plastic adapts very well, and it can last forever or almost, continued the boy. Death is but the sea that we shall leave behind, sometimes in the future, just like the fish with lungs and legs left the waters, a long time ago.”
Sky was a rosy peach, and beautiful, yet it couldn’t talk, so it remained silent, mute, but the Sun was still visible, and as everybody knows: It sings.
::: ::: :::
[Picture: The lonely plastic boy by reading_is_dangerous]
//earlier...//
ReplyDeleteso sad a story Don't tell me no !
I cry when I read your words and saw the plastic boy speaking to a mute peach sun in a virtual world
nevertheless, I find more and more beauty in your drawings They are refined, ethereal Nothing come between the emotion and our heart'eyes
Thank you, Mijo!
ReplyDeleteWith drawings it's seldom that I come back to my post, in the morning after, to find myself horrified like it sometimes happens with the text, because of superfluous or missing words.
I just returned from a long visit in Texas. I listened to a great teacher who said that Death is after all a promotion. Mae me think about it a lot. I was learning meditation practice & it was, um, wonderful & a bit surprising, something to get lost in, maybe. Or found, I'm not sure yet.
ReplyDeleteI think the silkiest, most delicious tomato sauce begins with sauteeing a small tin of anchovies along with the onions in the anchovy oil at the beginning of the sauce. The anchovies disappear, but leave their finest whisper in the sauce. Enjoy!
@AJ
ReplyDeleteYou're saying that Death somehow leaves our finest whisper in the sauce. That's fine!
But perhaps it's not the only way to cook? :-)
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ReplyDelete@Edita
ReplyDelete//then we are immortal and I am not sure if its is good or bad...//
Immortal or not, the question remains the same.
No, it certainly isn't the only way, far from it. During the retreat I only ate veg & only fruit & tea for supper. Made the morning oatmeal quite a treat, lol! And I never really enjoyed tea so much until it became the high point of the afternoon. Many changes took place there.
ReplyDeleteAs for the vie quotidienne, I have to accomodate the very extremely picky H who thinks every meal is all about the meat. He's the hunter, I'm the gatherer, & w/just the 2 of us, I make a whole lot of vegetable soup & cornbread & tremendous salads for myself with only a dab or two of stew, or whatever limited choice of meat that is the centerpiece of his dinner...
As death, I believe the wonderful/horrible body is only the carrying case for the Soul, which is a miniscule part of a God/dess so vast we can only imagine It, a Benevolence with a questionable sense of humor who uses our bodies for novel experience the same way we use a TV or computer or any other source of entertainment or philosophical toying about.
Thus the translation from body back into the fold of Consciousness is kind of a promotion, I suppose. Our bodies must follow the laws of Nature, which is eternal change, death & rebirth into something similar but different.
But our Soul is immortal, & not just me but US, the whole shebang in one "atom of gold" with its particles & waves of light comprising a magnificent spectacle, which might be entertainment for an infinite number of systems of entities.
The possibilities are unlimited. Not that I plan to hurry the process along, but I think & feel that Death is our means of escape from a prison we design for ourselves, & the afterlife, ditto. Someday I'll know for pretty sure. That's how it seems to me now.