[The obligatory image was taken from my Superluminal Essay Suite 19, where it signifies the concept of “Fish Plant.” It does not signify anything in the present entry: I just needed a picture, because text should never appear in public without a chaperone.]
(Cont.)
And, at dinner, the wild man said to the multitudes: “I truly wanted to enjoy a pilgrimage with you all . . . a road trip, a journey; some sort of adventure – an odyssey. I thought that we could tour the surrounding lands, and visit each one, and mix and mingle with the various people. But it seems that questions of allegiance and authority keep causing us to stall. So let me try to curtail all future skirmishes by clarifying our setup here. I, the Volcano, am your captain, insofar as I’m the one who’s governing the caravan: that’s only because I know where to go, and how to get there; for I’ve been here before (I’ve been all around the world!) – lo, I established all these other nations, and I have certain ideas about how I’d like for you people to live as well. And I appointed Moses to be my spokesman when your group was still in the Empire; but Moses didn’t fancy the idea, so I appointed Bryan to be his spokesman in turn. Then, when we had our feast on my home hill, I instigated a formality wherein Bryan was crowned the King of Kings – ‘King’ simply means ‘Christ’ – and I anointed him with oil, thus making him my ‘Anointed One,’ my ‘Messiah.’ Now, unfortunately, enough of your recently deceased comrades forgot these facts, and they set up Messiahs and Christs of their own, being led astray by convoluted arguments from Roman crackpots who secretly serve the creditor class. But, like I said, I wish to minimize the amount of time that we all spend arguing; therefore, let us, once and for all, determine officially, by democratic means, who is my favorite monarch and co-author. – What is it, Moses; you look like you would like to speak?”
Moses then spoke up: “I am only having some misgivings now – wondering if it may have been truly impolitic when I broke the stone tablets that you handed me on the hillside; for I recall that they contained a clear list of the royal line, and other useful information.”
“Forget the tablets,” said the Volcano. “Here’s my idea. Everyone who desires to be my favorite monarch and co-author should place his stave or staff (or his crook or crozier – whatever you use to herd your goats) on the same mantelshelf where we performed our censer experiment. Then I’ll take a look at each of them separately, and whichever one seems best, I will publicly honor by placing a bouquet of flowers before it; and whoever that implement belongs to shall be the winner. Does that sound fair?”
And all the multitudes cheered and held high their grails.
“OK,” said the wild man with the abundant hair, “now, all contenders, stand on your marks . . . get set . . .” then, instead of shouting “go!” or shooting a starting gun to begin the competition, there was a deafening thunderclap.
All the aspiring opportunists from the multitudes then walked over to the mantelshelf and deposited their sceptres, hoping to be elected King.
Now the volcano of potential arose and approached the shelf, to peruse the collection. One by one, he stood before each implement; whereupon that item, apparently sensing the presence of its judge, would cause a vision to bubble up in a dream-funnel directly above itself: and every one of these visions had a background of paradise, with a classical nude in the foreground; and they were all very beautiful. However, the goddess that appeared above the twining serpents of Bryan’s caduceus was in a glass coffin, and this greatly appealed to the Volcano, so he clutched it and held it high and said:
“This one is the best. To whom does it belong?”
Then Bryan arose from his seat and went up before the multitudes and held out his hand. And the wild man placed the wand into his palm, and it fit there perfectly. Thus was Bryan reconfirmed in his high office as the King of Kings, by popular vote.
And, from that day on, all the people who had once been members of the Church feared that, every time they drew near to the Tabernacle of Potential, they would meet their death by heavenly firebolt or the earth would swallow them. So it was difficult for the rest of the population to get them to join in on public gatherings, feasts and dances. But it never failed that, sooner or later, they could be prevailed upon to participate; and they were always happy and thankful when they did.
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