He Just Won’t Listen

“What’s going on, Man?” Susan asked. “Who started the fire?”

“Mr. T, of course.”

“Mr. T? Who’s that?”

“Mr. Trouble. Griff, of course. John Griff, the outcast,” Bill said.

“The guy is always in trouble. I think it’s time for him to pay for his cockiness, don’t you?” Susan asked. “I think a prison sentence might turn him around.”

“That's a little harsh,” he responded. “Yet again,” he spread his hands. And that, two prosecutors in agreement, sealed my fate. Here I was standing before three judges because I went to bed with a cigarette in my mouth and passed out. I only burned down my house. Why focus on material things? We were gods. I could make a new house. I’m sitting there waiting for this sham of a trial and in comes the lead prosecutor, Susan Graham. A horrible little creature I had a brief affair with years ago who can’t seem to get over it or herself. I look at her, glare, and suck my teeth. She just glanced at me and approached the three judges.

“Mr. Griff has had several difficulties here.” She handed them a thick manila envelope full of my records, minor run-ins with the law. I was surprised it was that big. I scratched my chin. “It is apparent to all of us, the ones in his community, that he needs some time for rehabilitation.” She looked at me. “He just won’t listen. No matter what we say he won’t listen.” She looked at the judges. “He needs to be reeducated.” The lead judge began to scan all of the incidents. He passed the folder on to the next judge.

“Do you have anything to say in defense of this, Mr. Griff? Seems that you have made a disaster of your life and this community. You know better than to have chosen the lifestyle you have. You know there will be repercussions, don’t you?”

“I hope not. I just fell asleep.”

“With a cigarette in your mouth,” Susan interrupted. “What next? Streaking, stealing a bus you couldn’t drive, putting a bucket of water on the top of a cracked door, popping a balloon behind and senior on an ice covered sidewalk...what’s next?”

“Miss, Graham. I will ask the questions. Please remain silent.”

“I can’t remain silent anymore, Your Judgeship. I demand that this menace be sent somewhere to be reeducated for the safety of all of us.”

“You demand, do you?” The second judge said. “Maybe you need to be reeducated yourself.” She lifted her chin in defiance.

“Mr Griff, do you have anything to say?” The first judge asked.

“Yes. To be truthful I didn’t hurt anyone but myself. We are gods and we are supposed to be free. This place is dull and boring. You should be thanking me for the things I have done.”

“Thanking you?”

“Yes, thanking me. I won’t apologize for this. I am the only thing that makes your humdrum lives worth something. I mean really, who needs judges and a legal system in a community of highly evolved beings? And what will you do?” The crowd murmured and I was emboldened. “Where will I be educated? You can’t force me to do anything. I am all powerful. I am eternal. What are you going to do?”

The judges looked at each other and then gave the guard a knod. He pulled out an object that looked like a short stick and pointed the end toward me. Before I could say a word a flash of light came out and hit me right in the center of the chest. I couldn’t breathe for a moment, and then I woke up somewhere else. I had experienced it before. I knew what was happening. I was being born. I looked up into this beautiful, black woman's face and knew she was my mother. Worst of all, for the few moments when I was omniscient, I knew I had been born as a black man on Earth. What had I done to deserve that? Thankfully my memories began to fade.

First grade sucked. It was horrible, sitting with all of those kids, several white ones and one or two black, like me. At first it was fun. I liked learning how to read and match pictures to words. The teacher would often tell us new things. I wanted to know everything, for some reason. I knew deep inside I had to learn something. I knew I didn’t belong where I was and I needed to learn something to get out, but I also knew, after the second or third week, I wouldn’t find it there. The class was lame.

The teacher was mean, often treating all of the black kids horribly. I could sense the hypocrisy, even though I didn’t know the word or concept. I had no idea that lesson was part of the real lesson plan. Who knew that the level of hypocrisy that I was sensing in first grade, would be the underlying engine of the whole world in which I found myself until I died. I realized this and began to play the game. I began to do like everyone else, parrot back whatever the teacher said. I began to get smiles and As. I began to get gold stars on my papers and they would be hung up on the closet door for everyone to see. My mother just loved it when I took them home.

Unlike myself, my friend Tom would get Ds and Fs. The teacher would give him giant red Fs and hang them on the door. Everyone began to tease Tom until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He started getting in trouble for fighting all the time. I guess that’s the only way he could hold on to any type of self esteem. I felt sorry for him. Very sorry, but I learned to cover it over. If I repeated it enough times, the fact that he was lazy and deserved it, as I picked up from most of the adults, even my dear old mother who told me not to hang around with him, the feeling of empathy would soon pass, buried somewhere deep down in the deep recesses of my mind. It was buried, but not gone.

I kept parroting and I kept getting rewards. I kept ignoring the people who needed help and were pressed down, the misfits, and I got even more rewards. As time went by and I moved from grade to grade I discovered that all I needed to do was two things. The first was to parrot back whatever I learned from the one in charge. The second was to learn to figure out what they wanted to hear and say it before they told me. That is when all of the fame and fortune began to flow like a fountain. People saw me as someone going places.

I attracted the attention of beautiful girls, and later women. I got a scholarship to Princeton University and passed at Princeton with flying colors. I admit, it was hard. I worked my ass off all along the way memorizing things, reading, writing research papers, but I had learned the secret. I had learned to play the game long ago and my parents just loved me for it. I often wonder if they would have loved me if I was like Tom, the guy they told me to avoid. I didn’t dwell on questions like that. They were troubling to me and no one liked a troubled person, did they?

And so I went through Princeton. I attached myself to one of the hardest professors with the most prestige in Archaeology. He recommended several books that I devoured. I knew that working with him would give me the clout I needed and put me in the right place. I did a lot of independent study courses with him, going out into the field. I had a lot of experience in undergrad school, so of course I got a Fellowship to go to grad school for my PHD.

It wasn’t very different from undergrad school for me...the same amount of studying, reading, and networking with leading professors in the field as before, except now I had a reputation. I was older and more used to it. I fit in just like a hand in a glove, and soon became a leader in the field of archeology. That is when I discovered that my life sucked.

I had graduated. I had a beautiful wife. We had a large house and two children. We each had brand new SUVS. She was a lawyer. I was a professor, but mostly a lecturer. We traveled when we wanted. We sent our kids to the best schools, but I couldn’t stand them or her. They were little pricks and she was a snob. I don't know when or how I decided this, but it was apparent. I think my travels going to digs in poor countries had affected me and I began to see the things I didn’t like in my own culture.

In Egypt, Iran, India and many parts of the world I saw people living in squalor. Many of the places were supposed to be very religious, even theocracies in some cases. How could they have a small group of elites running around tons of resources while the majority of people were scraping to survive? I had given up on any idea of a god or religion a long time ago. I had given up on a lot because all I found in this world was hypocrisy and cruelty.

There I was in India looking out a window eating a beautiful meal and rubbing elbows with the elite while people with no legs were on boards with wheels begging in the street. I sat there for a moment thinking about it and then I hit the off switch and ignored all of that. The off switch never really works, does it? I am sitting in this fancy restaurant and a man comes up to me.

“Kyle? Are you Kyle Little?”

“That would be me.” He extended his hand. He was a short Indian man with dark hair wearing traditional Indian dress. By his clothing I could tell he was from the Indian Upper Class. We shook hands.

“I am Shivadass. I am here to save you.” I pursed my lips.

“You are a little too late for that,” I said. “You can have a seat anyway.” He pulled out his chair and sat.

“So what are you, a Hindu Jehovah Witness,” I asked with a grin. I took a bite of my food. I had been eating with my fingers, as was common in India among many. I wiped my hands and picked up my cup of water. I looked at him. “I’ve already read the pamphlet, if that’s the case. Om Namah Shivaya.”

He furled his brows. “No. I don’t mean anything like that! I’m here to save you for real. They sent me as punishment to save you.” He glared at me. I was about to call security. “Don’t bother. If you call them you’re going to be in this world forever and if you die you'll be right back here. You’re trapped in the cycle.”

“And how do I get out of this cycle?”

“Follow me.”

“Oh. I knew there was a catch to it.”

“You are still the same hard ass you were before Griff. I don’t know how I got attached to you. I’m Susan Graham.” I just looked at him.

“No wonder you took on a different name,” I said.

“You don’t remember anything do you? You don’t remember who you are, where you're from, or why you're here? Why did I insist they do this to you?”

“What are you talking about, Man. You are about to scare me.”

“I can’t believe that you can’t remember anything.” The guy was just about in tears when several people gathered around. A woman in a sori came rushing over.

“Shivadass, are you all right?” He held up a hand.

“Don’t worry, Sister. This is an old friend. He doesn’t remember anything.” They all looked at me. “This is the one I told you about. I came into the world after this one.” They really began to examine me closely. I slowly shook my head. I don’t know why, but I took out my card and slid it to him on the table.

“I don't know why I'm doing this, but call me sometimes.” I wiped my hands, got up from the table and left. I kept asking myself why I gave that guy my card. He had to be crazy, but he seemed so familiar and so concerned. It seemed he had touched something inside me, something just below the surface of my mind I couldn’t remember.

I really didn’t believe in religion very much, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t spiritual. It didn’t mean that I didn’t meditate sometimes, or chant. I didn’t think religion was the major problem on this planet, I thought the hypocrites were, and the need to be a hypocrite to prosper. All of my experience in academia and the exploration of previous civilization had discovered a certain time about six thousand years ago when the world had become more violent and many people had to become hypocrites just to survive. The hypocrisy was like a disease.

I knew I was a bullshitter. I knew it. It seemed that others didn’t realize it. It was natural for them. It bothered me. I started to hate it and to hate seeing people doing the same thing and thinking it was just fine. And then this nut comes up to me. I don’t know how he got my name. I just found it interesting. He apparently had some type of clout and was supposed to be some great guru or something. Well, if he could find me I would believe it, because I was going to Turkey for a couple of years.

***

More religious people in Turkey. Muslims this time. A corrupt government, chauvinism, homophobia, racism against Africans, the usual things that accompanied religious people. As a black person I saw it all and experienced it all, until I opened my mouth and they realized I wasn’t African.

The country was old. It was a great civilization, but there was a certain cruelty to it, the kind you would run into if you were not part of their group. If you were part of their group and culture you were in. If you weren’t, no telling what would happen to you. It didn’t matter to me. I had seen the same all over the world. So here I am sitting in a small restaurant and in comes a man dressed in Indian garb. He walks right over to my table. I look up. It is Shivadass, in a Muslim country. He is alone this time, his crowd not following.

“Mr. Little,” he says.

“Ah, Shivadass. You are the last person I expected to see. Don’t be so formal, just call me Kyle. Have a seat.” He sat. “I expected to see you months ago. It has almost been a year. How are you and why are you in these parts?”

“I'm just here to see you again. It took me a while to build up enough power to get here like this. How have you been, Kyle?”

“Fine. As good as possible.”

“That’s not good enough though...right?” I didn’t answer. “We both know…” he leaned in close, “that this world sucks. Especially all these so-called religious countries." I grinned to the point of almost laughing. He leaned back.

“I’m sorry that I made this happen to you now. One reason is because I have had to come here too.” He laughed to himself. “I have been here almost 30 years. How about you?”

“Here? If you mean on Earth, about the same.” He laughed.

“They did it to both of us. You really don’t remember, do you? I was your prosecuting attorney. I got them to send you here because you were a real trouble maker.” She laughed. “The last straw was when you went to bed smoking a cigarette and set the whole building on fire. I was livid. I insisted you be sent somewhere for reeducation. And then they sent me back with you because of my disrespect to the court. They assigned me to save you.”

“Really,” I said. I was skeptical. “And how do you know this?” He tapped the side of his head.

“They gave me just enough memory to recall it if I really worked at it. They sent me to start you on the path to remember. I am not really here to save you. I’m here to help you save yourself. All I can tell you is to follow the seed that this conversation has planted. If you do that you will be free of the karma of this place.”

Tonight you will have a dream with a grain of the truth. If you begin to do dream work, meditate, and follow that seed you will attain liberation.”

“Thoughts?” He asked. I just shook my head. “You still don’t believe it. You will. Truth is that I’m not here. I’m still in India meditating. This will be your woo woo sign.” The waiter came over.

“Anything else, Sir.” I shook my head. “And you will have something, Sir?” He asked Shivadass.

“No thank you,” He said. “I'm glad you're here though. You can witness something for my friend here.” He looked at me. “I'm going now. Remember what I said. Follow the seed.” And then he just faded out. He slowly disintegrated right before my eyes. Someone across the room gasped. The waiter almost dropped his tray. The room was filled with inquiries and conversation. I looked at the waiter.

“No, that was impossible,” I said. He just stood there gathering his wits for a few moments.

“Obviously not, Sir. A true sage, he said looking into the distance. He turned to me. "Would you like a coffee?”

“Yes, coffee and the check.” I looked at him. “Did you see…?”

“I did. Everybody did, but…” he shrugged and headed to the kitchen. I wondered what I was going to dream about, but if it would get me off of this shit hole world, I was ready. It was about time they came for me, yet again, I was surprised they sent her. I wondered where that thought had come from. Who was she?

The End

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