To a son, a father said:
“The history of man is the history of a restless cattle herd.
The history of man is the history of a wolf pack on the prowl.
The history of man is the history of
what life causes men to say will happen,
and what life ultimately makes happen.

Half of men moo, and half growl;
half are chased, the other half do the chasing;
half make plans, and half do the doing,
this goes on, and none will admit it --
history’s purpose is to cover it up.

You are half cattle, and half wolf;
half schemer, half shoveler;
half dreamer, other half, dreamer-apologist. 

Cow historians say it is not the cattle’s fault,
that they are born accursed for some 
forgotten group offense;
wolves sneer at history,
while plotters and doers pretend to 
ignore one another.

Cattle stick together through fear;
wolves do, only when it profits the individual;
thinkers and actors stand back to back.

Cattle are stupid;
wolves believe themselves clever;
dreamers dream they will soon know it all;
of knowledge, doers seldom dream.

Cattle, wolves, dreams, actions,
illusions, hard facts --  these are the histories of man.”

And the son asked:
“But what has this to do with my wanting to  restructure the operation of my own so-called, mind?”
“You’re an idiot,” he replied, 
“A proven idiot for asking.”
 

Well, here we are on this fine day on the twin islands of, Melowee Soothee & Krapzot just in time for the 
”International Convention For Clear Cut Confusion.”
The schedule of events has been conveniently printed on a combination map/toilet paper, with gobs of free time set aside for the attendees’ favorite pursuits.
Some of the Solemners from the neighboring isle of,
UbettaWatchett have complained that this conclave
is siphoning off potential participants in their,
“Let’s All Be More Smarter” workshop,
and a visitor asked the local Enlightened One:
”Why is it that I some times feel my inner struggle to be 
mighty and ponderous, 
and some times I want to kick its ass?
…plus: do you know where the tennis courts are?”

Cattle speak only in moos, 
back and forth to one another;
wolves will space out their yaps in the attempt to appear clever,
while dreamers sit a’dreaming, 
and doers sweat up the place with 
their incessant doing.
…”Say, what does it take to get a waiter out here by the pool?”

There used to be a guy who gave daily talks at a place 
that seemed to be about, ”waking up,” 
and, “being more conscious,” (you know,
that kind of stuff  --   anyway),
after thirty or twenty eight years or so of doing this,
one day when he showed up to give his daily commentary 
he told them how to rebuild a carburetor  --  well  --
no one in the audience found this funny,
and the next day his talk was about the 
illusionary nature of carburetors, 
a notion that none of his listeners accepted,
and the following day he described a fantasy in which
a man imagined he had heard a lecture concerning 
carburetor re-building, 
and the crowd shook its head in disbelief,
and the subsequent day he told a tale of cattle dozing on their feet whilst they dreamt of being awakened from a dream in which 
they had rejected the idea of carburetors being 
pigments of their imagination,
and the audience rose up in massie, and raymondly demanded: 
"We still want to know: how do you  --  ‘wake up’?”
and from under his robe he whipped out a fuel injector system,
sprayed the crowd with gasoline, and he obligingly   -- 
                          set them all on fire -
 

and a son who had always just adored this story 
asked his yarn weaving pater:
”How long does it take to make up a tale like that?”
     “The speed of speech,” he answered,
”But how long before you told it did you think about it?” the lad inquired:
     “I didn’t --  I just made it up as I was telling it,”
he replied, and the boy persisted:
”But that’s not possible!”,
     “Oh, you and everyone else do it constantly --
you just don’t take notice of it.
….it’s a fact too frightening for most people to face.”

Cattle ride trains to chicago
while wolves pretend they’re running alongside;
and travelers who look out through the windows of their own eyelids see reflections of towns that never materialize, 
as candy dancers sing about what they’ll do to o and john henry 
if they ever show up on their tracks.
 

When he would awake from his night’s sleep in bed each morning, one man on Mondays & Thursdays
would immediately ask himself:
”Is this really me laying here,  and if so:
how do I know that it is?”
and on Tuesdays & Wednesdays he would say to himself: “What is it inside of my head that keeps 
talking to me?” while by Saturday he would have worked himself up to, The Big Inquiry: 
”What is it in me that believes it is me that is hearing this talk?” 
and that would always get his weekend off to its gregrecious start.
 

Cattle like stories about Lazy Days, 
and Peaceful Pastures;
wolves want to hear tales of tamerlane, and timbuktu,
while men with too-loud voices upstairs 
keep an ear cocked,
and men with constant rumblings down below
keep a cock cocked,
and one father finally revealed to the son,
”The Real Conspiracy”:
he described how life initially puts a thought in everyone’s mind 
that pictures the perfected model of everything they will ever encounter in life,
and then puts in another thought that will forever
see imperfect executions of the model wherever they look in life. 

Hey, they’re starting the topless volleyball tournament,
headless cattle & wolves now have something to do.
Hey, better be careful:  don’t go outside, and
never, ever leave your room 'cause I hear 
them stockyards a’callin’, and it's sure better to be careful 
than oscar meyered, huh?!
   and once the audience had partially doused the flames,
they began to jump about
as they shouted out 
a new demand: ”How do you get yourself fittingly 
ground up & tied at both ends ?” 

                  
                               Then suddenly they froze,
                               their minds turned to ice,
                               as he pulled out again,
                                    his incendiary device.
 

                                         NAJ