We Get to Live Another Day for the Chores
On this misty holy morning of Sunday, I gathered my notepad case and produce bag and hopped into the green fossil fuel box, meandering my way through the sloping and winding road and out of the crevasses of the canyon, and yielded onto the highway of death that is armed by mankind's arsenals of roaring motorcycles and diesel trucks.
In an Era of the so-called New Age of long awaited "Golden Dawn" of carbon monoxide and dioxide. If one happened to be traveling on this contaminated public road trailing behind a diesel vehicle, the choices given of breathing the toxic fumes are but only one.
At last, I arrived at the open market place where people swap ideas and meet their expectations and needs.
My first landing was at his trading stand and I greeted the old friend. "Good-Morning Senor Ramon." He is of eighty years, stolid and slender, a three -limbed man his fourth limb having been replaced with a titanium hook. It had happened back in the day at the age of sixteen. After escaping the needless, extreme danger of thirst, hunger, sunburn, gunshots, and being chased and bitten by border patrol dogs, he had finally reached the barbed wire fence that separates the natives from their own conquered land all in order to earn more then one dollar a day, for a twelve hour shift.
His first stop was at a tortilla bakery. One hour into the job, the sleeve of his white, stained shirt snatched into the cogwheel of the conveyor belt. That is when the right limb lost its ghost and the last time he would use the hand and forearm as he knew it.
As usual, I selectively pick the fruits and vegetables simultaneously exchanging a sentence here and there about the events of our week and sometimes about the present day. I couldn't help but to notice a man listening to our conversation with one ear focussed on us and the other on his beverage-filled cup.
With one hand spooning the shaved red ice Slurpy, the other hand was holding the grande' paper cup and resting it on his exaggerated protruding girth, he directs his voice at me and curiously asks, "Are you a chef?"
Accused of being a chef, I reply, "No Sir, but I do assist those who wish to transition from an animal- based habit of eating to a healthy and wholesome way of living." In addition to his extended waist, glimmered by shiny metals and stones giving him an extra balancing weight and chained by the cross around his neck, I waited for him to take his first breath. After firing mutable and multiple catapulting questions, he continues.
"Are you a Vegan?" Before I could answer his inquiry, he interjects with a second statement. "Well, my daughter is vegetarian, and she couldn't influence me to follow in her footsteps. But you don't look like a person who's vegan. Your robust stature tells me otherwise."
I retort, "Sir. The symbol on your neck suggests that you are a devoted Christian. Is this so?"
"You better believe it."
"Thank you for answering so honestly. That is fantastic. From my understanding this means that you believe in a creator that created all that we see around us, yes?"
In between his slow and messy slurps, this enlarged man responds,"Yes, of course."
"Fair enough", I say. "Why would a creator want anyone to eat another sentient being that feels pain, and more importantly, is clearly aware of nature and tuned in to its needs more then all of the two- legged humans put together?"
As he hung himself on his own cross, he then fired his next round of ammunition, by stating profoundly. "I used to be an atheist, and didn't believe, but now I do."
"That is wonderful, does this mean that you do not believe in harming another life form at this point of your personal realization?"
"No, of course not", he assures me. "But if they don't believe in Christ they'll be gone."
"Is this why you are eating animal flesh, because the animals do not believe in Christ?"
He paused for a moment as he glared, realizing his own contradiction. To remove the weight of guilt off of his shoulders, he nodded. "Yeah, they will be gone in the rapture."
"Fair enough," I reply in a sarcastic mode. "That sounds more appropriate. My next question if I may? What is your view on the situation in the Promised Land, whereby the so-called settlers bulldoze Palestinian homes to build their own on the native's ancestral land?"
"They don't believe in Christ."
"But Sir. Neither do the men in black suits and long beards. If you wish, we could continue this conversation or stop while we can? (The slurpy started to reflect it's color in his face).
No! No!
Sir. Do you mean no as no, or no as a yes?
"No. I mean, ah,yes," We could continue until I have finished my shaved ice slurpy."
"Sir. Then I better ask the next round, to give you a chance to really enjoy your Sunday treat." Suddenly his slurping the artificial flavored colored ice complemented by his superficial belief, went from one spoon at a time, to double, to triple. By the look on his face, it gave a whole new meaning to brain freeze,
" Sir. If you don't mind me asking the next sensitive question, what is going to happen to those who belong to a different Sect or religion?
'They're going to hell!" he answered with a fundamental conviction.
" But Sir. A minute ago you agreed that your Creator created all and everything. That means you are including all of the belief systems and dogmas. What happened? Did the Creator change its mind and now is ready to condemn its own creation?
Due to his brain freeze, he huffed and puffed and scurried along into the land of oblivion to the cage where he belongs.
The question remains, is this the Age of Ignorance or the Age of Stupid? Better yet, is it the Age of the Mental Golden Cage?
As I prepared to leave the produce stand, Senor Ramon raised his hook in disbelief of man's democracy disguised by his hypocrisy.
Published by Mystic In Your Kitchen. Protected by Copyright:
No comments:
Post a Comment