At the culmination of arduous legs on parched journeys in search of the not-so-famed Oracle of Dromedary, our very own Martin, upon finally gazing into the ize of said wise man, could think of only one question to put forth. “Hey,” he staccato blurted, bringing forth his inner Tommy Chong. “Is the plural of medium media or mediums? I mean like, I know the plural of medium as in materials — y’know — that’s media, but how about a channel for the spirt, like you man? Like, is that mediums? I mean those?”
“Man is but a tube of paint,” came the silky smooth if pseudo cryptic response. “And each day the heavenly creator squeezes what is required from him, until all that remains of us is a stained and crinkled old container, ready for recycling.”
“Yeah, man.”
“And thou shalt treat that container with reverence, especially in its later years, for it bears the fingerprints of the Divine.”
“Whoa. Divine, man!,” Martin beamed, then forgot to resist a comment on pop culture then and now. “And you’re not just talking about that fat dude dressed up as a lady. Travolta sucked in that remake by the way. Not really, I just wanted to say that. Huh, huh,” Martin bubbled off.
All smiled blissfully.
“But mistake not any of the tubes for that ultimate, Heavenly paintng which G_d uses our inner essence to create.”
“Well wait a sec. I don’t know about that dude. I’ve seen some funky ass works of art made from what most people would think are leftovers. Did you ever see that house on South Street in Philly, man? Or that ‘Throne of the Third Heaven’ guy down in DC? Like, I don’t know man. Couldn’t the tubes themselves be part of a creation without you ever noticing it. I mean, like, some wider aspect of a bigger ‘It’? Like I don’t want to offend you man, but maybe you need to open up a little more.”
The oracle bowed.
© All material Copyright 2009 by Foxx Falcon