Monday, March 29, 2010

And 5, 6, 7, 8...

*** Third in a series ***

Max LeMonk, the monkey puppet, and I wandered through the rocky, cactusy, tumbleweedy desert night, looking for Max's MP3 player. The question, "where did you have it last?" frustratingly rolled across the stony hills over and over.

Then over a berm, we saw flickering, and heard what sounded like the faint tones of a medley from A Chorus Line. Max and I glanced at each other with a sense of both excitement and fear.  Max did not remember being in this apart of the desert. Was it really his MP3 player? Had it taken living form to move?

And was Max into show tunes?  He did look sheepish as he recognized the tune.

On the crest of the hill, we saw fireflies in a kick line formation  and a buzzing and crackling that alluded to a voice singing "One - singular sensation, every little step she takes." As we crested over the mound, we saw don Rey Ortega, the nagual*, sitting at a fire. "Oh, geez," Max muttered. "How didn't I see this coming?"

Don Rey simply turned and smiled.  "Don Rey," I said with respect. "What magic controls the small creatures? From what muses does the music come?" With a nod, he answered:
What appear to be fireflies are actually burning embers. And the music? Well I just happen to like show tunes. Sitting by the campfire on a moonless night is a great time to find inspiration, creativity and listen to that little voice inside.
As don Rey turned his head, an old-style earphone became obvious in his ear. Then in his hand we saw a 60s-vintage transistor radio. Max grumbled, "Well, that ain't my dang MP3 player. He probably hocked it." Don Rey rose and inexplicably threw dirt on Max's shoes, and Max inexplicably started to tap dance with a skill no monkey puppet possesses.

My eyes opened wide in amazement. Don Rey continued his wise consult:

You see this pile of wood here next to the campfire? Those logs represent ideas that are hidden in our minds. All potential but no action. Once tossed into the fire, the sparks of what could be dance into the air!

"Could you potentially let me stop this damn dancing? Or at least some Rogers and Hammerstein?" Max asked, huffing and puffing from exhaustion. Don Rey played with the tuning knob, and Max stopped. The nagual grinned, sighed, rubbed dirt into Max's hair, and said:

At that moment we must be ready to grasp the meaning of those momentary flashes of light and ideas. Many sparks of inspiration will swirl into the night, yet only a few can you take with you.
We heard a wolf howl in a full moon. We stared at the moon together in silence, then spontaneously and in unison sang, though I myself had never really known the words:

"Kiss today goodbye,
And point me t'ward tomorrow.
We did what we had to do.
Won't forget,
Can't regret
What I did for love."

And just as we started to break into harmony, don Rey covered himself with his poncho and disappeared. In his place stood a sandwich board with a note tacked to it. The note read:
What will you do with your inspiration and imagination? How many will you keep? How many will you use? This advice is free. The price you pay depends on what you do or don't do with what you have been given.
The sandwich board advertised the upcoming season of "Music, Music, and more Music" at the local village's playhouse. There was an opera version of Elmer Gantry, a premiere performance of a show about two actors and their dancebelts, Fiddler on the Roof - All Goy Cast!...

...and A Chorus Line.
For those of you who want to sing along
with Don Rey, Max, and Dan,
Here's a "What I Did for Love" link.

Come on - I know you all want to.
Dear Regular Readers (the whole glint** of you):

I am back as promised. Glad you are, too. I home you can tell from this post that I was off on a spiritual retreat. You did get that idea, didn't you?
*A nagual is a mystic Shaman leader, not to be confused with a narwhal, which is a fascinating arctic aquatic mammal.  As soon as I can come up with the thinnest connection between a narwhal and ventriloquism, I'll be writing at length about them.

** A glint is a group of goldfish. It could also be a trouble of goldfish. Regular readers: You are no trouble - at least so far.
When not causing monkey puppets to imitate Fred Astaire in Top Hat, don Rey Ortega's un-dons his mojo and his exploits are on wonderful display at  Thanks, Rey - Did the Mayans have some equivalent of Broadway? I mean, without lights, obviously. Or maybe?

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