It could be that I’m crazy. You always have to keep that in mind, cause when you stop thinking you could be crazy, then you’re usually crazy. So it could be that. Either way, I’ll tell you what I felt.
I was supposed to direct an acting/writing workshop for a handful of days. I had started a couple of nights before to write up a schedule and I had asked about time off for the week that I was coming up to Twilight City. Originally, we were supposed to create a movie this week, but due to conditions caused by accidental overscheduling, we lost half our crew within a month of the shoot. I came up with the idea of an acting/writing workshop to keep up everyone’s morale, unfortunately, barely any of the remaining cast could make it. Except for one.
What his name was is not important,
he had traversed
had bled and wearied his mind
searching for a truth he wanted to hear.
He knew, and knows many things–
but knowing did blind
so he believed he looked through his third eye.
A Player forever,
dressed as a Scientist of the Strange.
When he came to my house, he was ambitious to talk about big things like God and religion and oneness, but he wanted to talk. It was he who wanted the conversations and he who wanted to find out more. I was just in the car with him, along for the ride. But I’m always game for a bit of bullshitting.
“We don’t, Jack, we don’t know what is even going on around us.” The Scientist spoke, swinging his forehead towards me.
“I think some people are aware of what’s going on around them– I think a lot of people are aware of what’s going on around them actually. It’s just at different levels.” I parried with my chin, a light blow. I left a little dazed.
“Yes, yes… Different levels…” He searched for a beaker of memory in his mind, a potion of some strange concoction to distract my forwardness.
“By different levels, you mean, you mean, some people can see it and some can’t.” It smelled like perfume extracted from a brainwashed pig. Where did he get these thoughts?
“Everyone’s perspectives are different, but they’re all equally valuable.” I covered my face with hazmat care.
“But some people are open to the oneness and some people aren’t” A flare shot out of his mouth.
“You don’t think everyone is open to oneness?” Thinking quick, I shot at his flare.
“In Islam, we call those closed to openness a kafir and those open to God/Allah/the Quran, what have you, we call them Muslims.” I didn’t see where he pulled it from, but he had a bag of tricks, perhaps it was his mind, and he seemed to bring forth from it a large twirling rod that didn’t hit, but misdirected.
“So you– I didn’t know you were a Muslim.” His whiteness shone behind his glasses with a winning grin. I didn’t laugh, he could, be, a Muslim… Shit! Did I mispronounce it? Is he gearing up to tell me so, bragging with wokeness?
“From the sounds of it, you’re a Muslim too.” He put the strange rod away. He smiled daring with his teeth.
“I was raised Cath–
“But you believe in the one true God.”
“Well, I, I believe there is a God–
“And you submit to him.”
“I know there is a God, I’ve felt him before, but it’s not like if you don’t believe in God that you’re bad.” Steam shot out of his mouth as he let out a sigh heated by anger.
“I’m not,” he slapped the steering wheel, “I’m not saying that. What I’m saying is that there are those who are open to it and those who aren’t. Look, men and women are different. They are different, physically.”
“We’re definitely physically different, that’s for sure, bro, haha.” God I love my cloak of stupidity, when did I get it? Somewhere in between my dad making dad jokes and Eric Andre breaking out as a comedian. I stuck my hand up for a high five.
“No I mean, I mean, they have different energies. They change all the time. For, for example, a woman is better at telling detailed stories than a man.” He really just lights dynamite left and right, huh? He doesn’t care about the social explosions that erupt, even in the intimacy of his car.
“Well I think I tell pretty good stories.”
“Yeah but they’re not as good as a woman. You speak in allegory, they speak in detail.” What? My mouth was a flytrap of confusion.
“You’re looking at me like I’m crazy or something, but that’s how it is. Different physical bodies and different energies, it’s Yin and Yang.” Ah, you fucked up. You fucked around with Yin and Yang. I play better with those. They always talk big after they think I’m dumb.
[I am dumb.]
“Hmm. By Yin and Yang it’s only meant, I think to some degree, that all energies have opposing sides to them. So masculinity and femininity are each other’s opposites, but they also describe each other. But what is masculine and what is feminine isn’t just contained by one’s body, our energies–as you said– derive from something greater than just physical appearance. It’s derived from our decisions and our thoughts. I have a lot of “feminine” traits, but I’m still a man.” Despite that all this was directed to him, I hadn’t looked at him once. I did not strike, but merely tickled him with suggestion.
“Yeah. Yeah. Great, well, great. That’s great. Really. That’s something. Could you grab my EZ pass? It’s in my bag.” I reached behind to the backseat, pulling out his bag. He took his bag in both hands, steering off the road.
“I can take it out!”
“Thank you, so much it’s in the back leather pocket.”
Yup, the social games. Teasing, projecting on to the other, trying to gain power. Wars had been fought over poor etiquette. We wage battles every day one against the other, trying to trip the other up. Or if we’re kind, and most are, we ask for not so much, for some language dancing to get us out of the dreariness. The Scientist was no different, he just wanted to see it through his third eye.