Once Upon a Time, in a Timeless State of Mind…

NOTICE:  

Hear me and read my writing on the wall. I would like to swipe and steal a scanty sand-pebble from the hourglass of your Fairy Tale Time to guide you into this dangerously dutiful acrobatic illusion that I am about to perform, for you. But let us first lay down The Law of Fairytalism.

THE FAIRY TALE LAW: Thou Shalt Not Use Literalism.

Diving deep down dexterously into the Rabbit Hole of Today, I pursue to break this law. You see, growing up I was blessed and cursed with the nature of being a troublemaker, and so any barriers that present themselves to myself, there is the Devil in me still yearning to destroy and set the blockades ablaze. For this tour de force, I will force my own self into the spiraling hole of these Fairy Tale Lands. And as for the Storyteller, I will playfully impose against his playing will my playful playing character, Jack the Pumpkin Headed Son of the Earth, to swap with me our roles. As this stunt is hazardous to the health of myself and the Fairy Tale Art, this will be the first and finishing stab. Jumping in now, Jack.

The Giving Tree That Steals

Well, Jack O’Lantern, since you have taken on the role of a God and have sinfully set me seated in this seat like a snake, the seed of this Fairy Tale is mine for the stinging steal. What do I will? …what do I will… A Fairy Tale… Inside of another Fairy Tale:

“There was an old woman who lived in a shoe. She had so many children, she didn’t know what to do. She gave them some broth without any bread; then kissed them all soundly and put them to bed.”

…except for Jack O’Lantern.

You see, there are holes in this old woman’s shoe, and so it is Jack’s job to sew them shut.

Jack O’Lantern: (Pricks thumb with needle) Rats. What is this rebel cause that causes these ripping holes in this righteous boot? This shoe is immortal, and so how is it that a tear has torn and toiled-up immortality? Surely this source must be Herculean to have conquered a gold goal such as this.

Meet Sweet Sukha Squirrel, Jack, who joyfully prances her way betwixt you and your trade that you willed.

Sweet Sukha Squirrel: (Raises arms) Behold! Your beast. (Bows)

Jack:  Nonsense, move squirrel.

Suka:  No, allow me to move you.

Sukha pounces for Jack’s facial features, sticks the landing, and tumbles, flips, stumbles and trips them backwards into The Rabbit Hole of Today. And so, the tale begins…

Jack:  Falling in now, Jack.

Falling in now, Jack O’Lantern.

Jack:  You have fallen us into a tree, you dunce. How does one fall into a rabbit hole and end up on the peakiest branch of a Redwood? Have we fallen up or down?

Sukha:  Ha! Falling is a funny thing if you fancy the fatigue of the philosophical facts, Jack. The sky is above, the sky is bellow, which way is to fall now?

Jack:  Well, If I were to take on the rabbit’s role and shovel a rabbit’s hole to the other side of the world’s whole, I would pop up out of the ground like a flower that attempts to reach the sky. We are always falling up.

Sukha:  We are always falling up, Jack.

A rumble rumbles and the Redwood Tree births breath.

Sukha:  Rise! Awaken! Won’t be long now, Jack. I hold a letter for you.

The Redwood Tree stretches her crooked limbs, cracks her screwy fingers, and wiggles and bends her body to shake off the snooze. With a branch that concocts a claw, she spans for her crown and pinches Jack up by the thread of his shirt. Sukha scurries down the bark.

Jack:  Put me down! Up? Put a halt to me somewhere!

The Redwood Tree plops Jack down to the Divine Ground.

Jack: (Brushes off dirt) Surely chivalry is dead. Who are you? And please kindly tell me if we are ascending or if we are descending. My mind is mixed and mashed, and it cannot be that an inch towards Hell is an inch towards Heaven as well.

Generosity the Giving Tree:  Sweet Dear, I am Generosity the Giving Tree. Heaven and Hell, highs and lows, here and there and wherever you go, you must seek the middle ground. How can one decay if one is between life and death? Which one are you? Where do you go? Are you here or are you there? Nowhere, or all around? Seek the centering of yourself and stay centered in the center of the world, because you are a center of the world. The competition seizes to exist if you are above Good and Evil, Jack, so where do you lie?

Jack:  Where do I lie?

Sukha:  Well in a smelly old shoe, of course!

Jack:  Can-it, Sukha. I pursue my trade like a gentlemen. I am needed by the old women who lives in the shoe and so I surrender myself for generosity, and in return I am to do what I love with a needle and thread.

Sukha:  So noble! To mend the miniscule mishap of a monster shoe. My hero! My prince! Tell me, do you wear a Knight’s suit of shining armor when you pursue it, Jack?

Generosity:  Be kind, Sukha, the young man has much to grow. Surely you will not tailor fabric in a world that drowns inside of it, my Sweet Dear. You do look noble with a pen though, Jack.

Sukha:  Oh, he does! He does, Generosity.

Jack:  As in a peacock feather with its tip dripped in ink?

Generosity:  As in a peacock feather with its tip dripped in ink, my Sweet Dear.

Jack:  Nonsense, writing is a nuisance. I love the needle and thread, Generosity.

Generosity:  Kill it, or be killed.

Jack:  Is that so? And by who?

Sukha:  Ut-oh, Jack. You shouldn’t have said that…

Storm clouds on the horizon, a rush of wind in the air, lightning bolts and thunder bangs, and Generosity doesn’t play fair.

Generosity:  I! I AM! I AM! I AM THE GIVING TREE!

Jack:  OK! Enough! Strike me with the pen and rain me with the ink, I surrender to your will!

The storm simmers into a sunny sky with a rainbow arc reflecting through Generosity’s top.

Generosity:  Lovely, my Sweet Dear. You will find yourself yet.

Jack:  I am right here.

Sukha:  Well I do not see you.

Generosity:  Sukha, my Sweet Squirrel, do take Mr. Jack O’lantern up the bend and through Fern Ally to find Philo and Sophia, the siblings. They reside beneath a hill with a star from the sky stabbed to their rooftop. Light shines there, Jack, even in the darkness. They will feed you with the fruit of your new trade and they will learn you on the theatrics of the world.

Jack:  Theatrics?

Generosity:  Patience like the sloth, my Sweet Dear. Collect an ear of corn, as they will offer it, and sheer off the leaves for the writing following your task.

Jack:  My task?

Sukha:  I have a present for you, Jack. But first it is important for you to participate with me in a trade.

Jack:  What do you want to take away from me, Sukha?

Sukha:  Your sewing needle, for this…

Sukha appears a peacock feather out of thin air and offers it to Jack.

Jack:  I will not.

Sukha:  You will.

Generosity:  Be generous and slaughter the lamb, Jack. It is food for the Gods.

Jack makes the trade.

Jack:  This is Hell.

Jack and Sukha venture through Fern Ally and spy out the hill with the star from the sky stabbed to its top.

Philo:  We we’re expecting you, Jack.

Sophia:  But it was unexpected that you would show, you know.

Philo Sophia:  You come to us for your Task.

Philo:  And so, we will show you the way to go.

Sophia:  This world is nothing more-

Philo:  –And nothing less,

Sophia:  Than a play.

Philo:  A masterful drama put on by the Creator himself, Jack.

Sophia:  He hides in all for us to find, and some do seek but most do hide.

Philo:  And so, for your first enterprise you will ink out and master–

Philo Sophia:  The Play of Life.

Jack:  A writing assignment. Golden.

Sophia:  That is, once the Ahamkara’s identity is abducted and kept for safe keepings.

Jack:  Good God, what the hell is the Ahamkara?

Sophia:  He is a wretched being with a heart like Lucifer. He is a mask, and he is the Mask that masks life. He is a provider, and a thief. He is a judger, and an abuser. He is the ego of all and the downfall of all he overfills. He is tricky, like the play of life, where the pretender pretends in order to trick the audience into realism. He must be tricked, Jack.

Philo:  You need that mask, Jack. Hear my words and take this ear of corn, and create good use of it. There are many husky levels of leaves, so leave not a leaf on the stalk. Head South and surrender yourself to the land where the sun forever hides; it is the blackened soil of the Ahamkara. Rip him off to rip off his mask, as you will need it for your forty-day and forty-night conversion into the writing realm. Once you have inked out professionally the Play of Life, retreat back to Generosity with the masterful magical masterpiece.

Jack:  I revise to redress: This is Hell.

Sukha:  Down we go, Jack!

Down they go, South.

Jack:  How do I trick a demon into giving me his face, Sukha? How do I rip off a monster without him ripping off my head from my neck? And an ear of corn? What does this do for me?

Sukha:  Maybe it’s not just an ear of corn, Jack. Don’t you know that anything can be anything without the locked-up label that is kneaded in and knotted down to it? Surely, like all things, this ear of corn is more than its word.

Jack:  I have an idea.

Into the darkness they tread, with a mask made of leaves worn upon Jack O’Lantern’s head.

Ahamkara:  Is this Nature upon a face, I see? It cannot be…It is one who has made it beyond me…

Jack:  I am the Natural Man, and I am here to pass beyond your blackened soils. I do like your mask, but I am afraid that I do love mine more. Which way is the exit?

Ahamkara:  Not so fast. I must have that… I will make with you a trade, do surrender to the offer.

Jack:  I am the Natural Man, and I am here to pass beyond your blackened soils. I do like your mask, but I am afraid that I do love mine more. Which way is the exit?

Ahamkara: (The Mask rises high) ENOUGH! (Stoops back down to Jack’s eyelevel) What would you like, my friend?

Jack:  The mask you wear upon your face, I care not for the look of it. Melt and form it into the armor helmet of a Knight’s, and seep into the steel the color of blood, for red is royal like the royal bloodline of Olympus.

The Ahamkara sets fire to the ground, smothers the mask in the flames, blows on it to conjure a spin, and the mask twists into a Knight’s armor helmet that is the beatific blend of brightened reddened blood.

Ahamkara:  Your prize, Knight.

Jack:  Your prize, Natural Man.

Jack makes the trade and for forty-days and forty-nights he scribbles like a scoundrel upon the leaflets of the corn’s husk. He returns to Generosity wearing the armor helmet of a Red Knight, and with the scribe of leaflets snugged tight around the cob and bowed with a golden thread from his spool.

Generosity:  Well, look at you, you have found a more noble face. Has it reached a stage of completion, my Sweet Dear?

Jack:  It is the Play of Life, Generosity, and my what an irksome labor it bred. I have written and worked on the play 7 wholesome times, which is the number of completion you seek. For, the first three scripts belong in Hell’s fire, but I must profess that somewhere within the center of the fourth I was struck by the lightning bolt of Zeus. He taught me how to perform the masks of a character, and so my admission is that I started to take kind in the art. It is wise to know things before you judge them.

Generosity reaches out a branch and tweezes with two twigs the scribe of corn. She hands it to Sukha who eats it.

Jack:  My art!

Generosity: Be generous and slaughter the lamb, Jack. It is food for the Gods.

Sukha:  Some good art, Jack! A noble meal, rich and hard-worked indeed.

Jack:  You steal my needle, and now you steal my art that you ill-willed me to start. What is next for the theft, Generosity?

Generosity:  I steal no more, my Sweet Dear. Prepare for your final task that is not your prickly point, Jack, you reap what you sow and so you shall reap. Over yonder where the lightning meets the thunder you will fill your eyes with the sight of a seashore surrounded by the unconscious waters; it is Psyche Island and it is there that you will tend to the land’s Goddess. Psyche will feed you with the fruit of your new trade and will learn you on the nobility of being novel. Collect an ear of corn, as she will offer it, and sheer off the leaves for the writing following your final task but not your prickly point. Tail along, my Sweet Sukha Squirrel, for your wisdom is constantly a blessing.

Jack and Sukha reach the unconscious waters of Psyche Island. On her cloud, Psyche greets them both.

Psyche:  Sweet Sukha Squirrel, Mr. Jack O’Lantern, how do you two do?

Jack:  All I harvest has been robbed. It is not well.

Psyche:  Well then, let us harvest something new, Mr. O’Lantern. Tell me, amongst a swirling swarm of hummingbirds there is a black bat that has decided to attend the flight, what burgeons the eyes to pop?

Jack:  The black bat, of course.

Psyche:  Because he is his own specimen, and not a copy-cat for normality. Normality is shackled and trapped within a rigorous riptide of mean mediocrity. It drowns in its tears and is tossed in its fears of being a black sheep. Novelty is the black sheep, novelty is the black bat amongst the hummingbirds, and so you will succumb to the task of putting down on the leaflets a Novel of Novelty like a black sheep with bat wings.

Jack:  This difficulty decapitates the labors of the Play of Life.

Psyche:  But before you destine to defuse the difficult labors that decapitates the labors of the Play of Life, you must possess the canine tooth of the Nemean Lioness of Nemea.

Jack:  The one that Heracles, the greatest of Greek warriors and the seed of Zeus, labored to slaughter to the Gods?

Psyche:  Yes, it is that one’s sister. Her golden fur is mightier than any shield of armor, and her clawing claws will shred through any shield of armor. She has acquired a loosened tooth where the right canine is wedged from a mishap with another Mount Olympus God; he did not make it, for perhaps he has been sacrificed for you. You need that tooth, Mr. O’Lantern. Hear my words and take this ear of corn, and create good use of it. There are many husky levels of leaves, so leave not a leaf on the stalk. I have conjured for you a raft made of oak; the current will ship you South down the river to Nemea where the tail’s end meets the lion’s den. She will be in a slave of a slumber upon your arrival, so make good use of the dreaming state. When kernels fall, she will rise. Once you have acquired the tooth through red-horned-risk and Lucifer’s luck, you shall begin your forty-day and forty-night expedition into the novelty realm. Once the leaves are inked in full, retreat back to Generosity with the masterful magical masterpiece.

Jack:  This is Hell.

Sukha:  Down we go, Jack!

Down, down, down the river they flow.

Jack:  Tell me, Sweet Sukha, how is a mere mortal to pirate the canine tooth of an immortal beast without her pirating my mortal hand from the mortal bones in my mortal wrist? And an ear of corn? What does this do for me?

Sukha:  Maybe it’s not just an ear of corn, Jack. Don’t you know that anything can be anything without the locked-up label that is kneaded in and knotted down to it? Surely, like all things, this ear of corn is more than its word.

Jack:  I have an idea. But it is nothing but red-horned-risk and requires a plethora of Luciferian Luck.

As the current moves him, Jack O’Lantern moves some thread from his spool and weaves a web, like a spider does do. Tossing some kernels of corn on top of it, he yanks on a string and shrinks the web into a sack with the seeds inside. They float up to the den with the slumbering lioness’s tail peeking out of the grotto. Jack tip-toes, ties a Hercules-knot with the string of the sack to the tail-end of the Nemean Lionness, and drops it. The Queen of the Jumgle rises with a roar.

Jack:  Dart!

The chase is on – Jack zig-zags and the lion tails.

Jack:  Law of Attraction, help!

Jack nose dives into a rabbit hole and falls up onto the tree above.

Jack:  Abracadabra!

The Nemean Lioness of Nemea pounces for the same hole but gets her head caught inside of it. Her face is manifested through a wormhole where Jack sits perched on a branch. He tries to swipe the tooth but can’t get the timing down between chomps. The Lioness frees her head from the stuffy hole.

Jack:  Catzilla, I’m up here!

The lioness claws the tree and takes on the climb; Jack slides down the bark to meet the beast in the center where the tree cleaves. They meet; she roars.

Jack:  Track me.

Jack jumps through the cleave and braces for the hard fall to the dirt; the Nemean Lioness copy-cats Jack’s planned action and the sack of kernels gets wedged between the tree’s split. She hangs and squirms and chomps her biting jaws at an eyelevel Jack. Jack takes a club of wood and jams the Queen’s mouth open wide. He grips the canine tooth and slides a Knight’s sword out of her gums. She bites through the wooden club, the thread breaks and she pounces for Jack, who removes her head with her own tooth. Jack collapses to the Divine Ground.

Jack: (Gasps) Thank God for Lucifer.

For forty-days and forty-nights, Jack scribbles like a scoundrel upon the leaflets of the corn’s husk. He returns to Generosity wearing the armor helmet of a Red Knight, the skin of the Nemean Lioness cloaked around his shoulders, with the Knight’s sword of the canine tooth in one hand, and the scribe of leaflets snugged tight around the cob and bowed with a golden thread from his spool, in the other.

Generosity:  Behold, the Red Knight. I told you that you look noble with a pen, my Sweet Dear. Tell me, Jack O’Lantern, has it reached the height of completion?

Jack:  It is a Novel of Novelty, Generosity, and my what an irksome labor it bred. I have written and worked on the novel 7 wholesome times, which is the number of completion you do seek. For, the first three copies belong in Hell’s fire, but I must profess that somewhere within the center of the fourth I was struck by the lightning bolt of Zeus. He gave me art which is the teeth of a story, as the art is the celestial food that my loyalists will grind down and consume. This is a work of art, Generosity, and it is certainly my point. I do love this trade more than the thread and needle, and so I thank you for being so generous.

Generosity spans out a branch and tweezes with two twigs the scribe of corn with the Novel of Novelty written down on it.

Generosity:  Be generous and slaughter the lamb, Jack. It is food for the Gods.

Jack:  No!

She hands it to Sukha who eats it.

Jack:  But…Why? But…You said. You lied. You are a rotten apple, Generosity, and I care not for the Devil inside of you.

Generosity:  Very well. Off you go to find Muthos, who is somewhere at the center of Time and Eternity. Tail along, my Sweet Sukha Squirrel, your being is needed in this needle-y prick of a prickly point.

Jack:  This is Hell. And Generosity is the Devil.

Sukha:  Up we go, Jack!

A levitation occurs, and up they go to where Time meets Eternity.

Muthos:  Is this a myth I’m witnessing? You two levitate up here, and by what cause? Ah, I know, it is the cloud of knowing that has made you arrive.

Jack:  I know nothing.

Muthos:  Not yet, poor boy. Your ending is not yet completed, and every story needs a good end. It is the mythological stories of the world that hold up the psyche like the cliff that holds onto its base.

Jack:  Is there any mythologies of today, Muthos?

Muthos:  No, Jack O’Lantern, no one is taking on that roll. Please, it is time for your prickly point. Passed God’s Gates, through the Graveyard of Ghosts and behind the Crucifix of Christ is where you will find the birth of a new chapter. I hope you are trained well, Jack O’Lantern, as you are slaying for your life.

Jack:  All I do is descend.

They pass God’s Gates, walk through the Graveyard of Ghosts and travel behind the Crucifix of Christ.

Jack:  Wherefore art thou, my monster? For I wear the helmet of a Red Knight and cloak myself with the golden fur of the Nemean Lioness of Nemea. It is I who possesses her canine that is the tooth of the Knight’s sword which she had possessed in herself. Show yourself so I may slay you where you stand.

Sukha: (Climbs the Crucifix of Christ) Behold! Your beast. (Bows)

Jack:  Nonsense, Sukha. Surely, I will not slay an innocently annoying squirrel like you.

Sukha:  You are forgetful, Jack, aren’t you? It is I who have torn the tears that have toiled-up immortality. It is I who have eaten the food for the Gods that is your slaughtered sheep. Hear me, and read my writing on the wall, I, am the God.

Sukha slides Jack O’Lantern’s sewing needle from the sheath on her hip and holds it high. The prickly point reflects.

Sukha:  I will slay you with the prickly point of your own sewing needle, Jack O’Lantern.

Sukha sprawls from the Crucifix of Christ and towards Jack’s facial features; he ducks the attempt and stands ready to dual.

Sukha:  Noble boy, how much you’ve grown! But let us not hail to the Red Knight yet.

Sukha treads swiftly on her light feet, somersaults her way into a flying dive, stabs the foot of Jack O’Lantern and sends him stumbling into the crucifix where he falls to a knee with the blade of the sword in the Divine Ground and his hands supported by the tooth of the Nemean Lioness. Sukha cartwheels into the rabbit hole, falls from the Divine Heavens, and pierces her heart on the prickly point of the canine tooth.

Jack:  Sukha!

Sukha: (Withering away) I hold a letter for you, Jack.

Sukha’s spirit fades and where the blood from her heart once flowed there is now cotton stuffing as she is transformed into a fabric sewn squirrel. Jack picks Sukha up by the nape of her neck and it is revealed that on the prickly point of the immortal tooth that has slaughtered Sweet Sukha Squirrel, the God, there is a green leaflet that is impaled onto it. Jack brushes the cotton away and slides the letter off of the tooth.

The Leaflet Reads:  Fairytales.

From the top of a Redwood, Sweet Sukha Squirrel peeks and speaks.

Sukha:  You’re always falling up, Jack!

Jack: (looks up) This is Heaven.

Abracadabra.

Letter from Jack O’Lantern:

Well, the task is locked-in and completed; dead-bolted and bagged, and I am rotten glad. Surely,

Thou Shalt Not Use Literalism.

-Jack O’Lantern

 

COPY @ 2018 JACK O’LANTERN