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Mind Trapped – Perception Strapped

A short story by Randy Gonzalez

A work of fiction...Well maybe...

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Mind Trapped – Perception Strapped

A story by Randy Gonzalez

“Doc, it’s dark in here, bleak and barren, so dark I can’t see my physical self,” he
murmured softly, hesitantly and with a strong sense of losing control. Handsome,
wealthy, and upper class educated, he squirmed on the comfy brown leather couch. “I
need to see me, how could those people out there be so ungrateful after all of I’ve done.”
He demanded to know. “There’s emptiness inside, a detached feeling of inability to claim
dominance and manipulate others to my singular advantage. I’m good at this stuff. For
god sakes, I’m in charge; I mean what the hell is going on?”
The venerable perhaps even ancient mentor, more therapist than advisor, mused and
the rambling this self-proclaimed man of distinction. Not only that, the outpouring sense
of entitlement, superficial conjecture and feelings of self-importance spoke volumes. The
old doc barely raised an eyebrow, or wrinkled his facial expression; he simply nodded
and uttered seemingly meaningful commentary here and there. For the sage observer of
human behavior, he long ago accepted the arrogance of the many, while the few struggled
to make changes in their lives. To him, most people were very selfish.
“You’re center stage in a long running play,” the good doc said. “The script is how
you play out subsequent passage of scenes. You make your choices and learn to live with
your mistakes in the brief time you have here. It goes quickly.”
“Yeah, I see that,” the man answered excitedly. “Of course, it’s my show,” he
demanded and waved a hand in the air. “It’s my time in history and therefore it follows,”
started to pontificate again. “I’ll the center of attention, right?”
“Hmm,” the aged one started and rubbed his neatly trimmed chin whiskers. “That’s an
interesting question, for which the answer is a little complicated.” He pulled in a long
patient breath. “And, you think this is for the greater good?” The older mentor inquired.
For a second, he stroked his grey-white beard again, adjusted his gold rim glasses. From a
nearby dark oak ashtray stand he retrieved his unlit imported cigar. “That is to say, you
feel you’re doing them a favorable thing and they’re ungrateful, right?”
“Uh, well, yeah, kinda sorta, doc,” the athletic looking man on the couch responded.
“These weird dreams I’ve been having are very dark, people staring, and women walking
around naked with their eyes fixed on me. It’s as though they are resentful.”
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“I think you’ve summed up very nicely, the basics of your distress. For you, the most
important thing is the past pretentiousness of the glories you find in yourself. You are
very important to you and no one else,” his mentor advised calmly and chewed
comfortably on his cigar. “Being in command is important to you.” For the time being,
the grey haired advisor propped a yellow pad on his knee, as he sat adjacent to the couch.
While he doodled and drew pictures, he said, “Tell me more, how do you feel?”
“Yes, being in charge is vital to what I’m trying to do for my fans, the public, the
country,” the man on the couch continued. “This is my moment in history. I feel I’m
losing control and trapped by the constraints others put on me, Doc.” He tossed and
turned on the couch and continued. “Yeah, I know, my destiny is crucial to the greater
good. I am entitled to such things, you know, it is like an inheritance for public service.
My family is very influential.” The dreamer made a hissing sound as he pulled in heavy
chunks of air. “I feel captive though. Don’t others understand that? I mean all the
criticism. They’re jealous and I blame them for my setbacks. Yet, I know I should be
getting my agenda on track. There’s so much I need to do for my legacy.”
“Of course you do, please continue,” the older listener said softly. As he pretended to
take notes on his yellow pad the old-fashioned way, free hand sketches evolved. Upon his
pages, he drew exceptional depictions of people “I wanna make sure I get this down, so
we can look further into the dilemma you are expressing here.”
“Thanks, doc,” the couch man said with a hint of appreciation in his tone, yet, as
usual, given his social status, he masked the pretentiousness of his own reality. “I’m
trouble by my sacrifices for my fans and all those who count on me.”
“Yes, yes, quite so,” the elder replied softly and without discernible effect. “Uh huh,
that’s all part of the process you have chosen for yourself and for you alone, in spite of
others,” his venerable confidant told him. “You bear a heavy burden of your own making.
Everyone makes choices, and yours seems a noble one.”
“Of course!” The dashing articulate reclined fellow claimed. “Nobility exudes from
the actions I have taken, and at this moment in history, it’s my turn…” He coughed on
that comment, to which his mentor smiled. “You know, I’m entitled.”
“For the glory or the gratitude?” The older one offered a query. “All energies are
directed toward gain. But, what is the gain to be obtained by each action.”
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“For both, I want it all, it’s only right and fair, I get my due,” the immaculately
groomed one answered. “I’ve been at this a long time.”
“Very interesting,” elder said. “Hmm, as an ancient text said, a book of books you
frequently quote from, it’s not what goes into a man. Yet, it is what comes out in the end.
You live, you die and at some point, after a brief intercession of adjustment, you cross
over. Then, it gets dark, very dark, you’re dead and nothing matters anymore.”
“Wait what? What do you mean it gets dark?” The middle aged privileged one asked.
“You’re talking about heaven, or hell?” He sat straight up and stared at the dapper silver
bearded listener. “My pastor assured me, I’ve paid my dues and I have reserved my place
in the afterlife.” He inhaled a long breath. “What the hell? I’ve been saved for that part.
Not only that, but I give a lot of money to the church.”
“Okay, whatever, lay back and relax, go on,” the doc told him. “Tell me more about
your dreams. Express some of your inner feelings associated with that.”
“One that is frequent and disturbing picks up where the desolate darkness left off,” the
man on the big couch said. “Crowds chanting and booing, I don’t get it. They should, uh,
should, support me,” he stuttered and let the last two words seem like a question. “How
dare they rate me the way they do in social media.” He gulped. “They should think I’m
the best thing since white bread and peanut butter, you know what I’m saying.”
“Fascinating comparison,” the sage older one added. “Of course white bread contains
numerous artificial ingredients deficient in wholesome nutrition. And, a lot of people are
allergic to peanut butter, plus its fattening. But, interesting for you to say.” The venerable
advisor toyed with an unlit cigar. “Please continue, tell me more.”
“I don’t like the booing; it’s as though they don’t appreciate what I’m doing for them.
Seems like all I get is criticism. I’ve made sacrifices for them, and yet, I know there’s so
little time to get these faceless people to think my way,” the important person lamented.
“I’ve spent years accumulating so much to get to this point.”
“Uh huh, you have many possessions, much wealth and have been in many positions.”
The wiser one leaned back in his thick brown leather chair, offset next to the crimson
velvet couch upon which the other reclined. “With so much wealth, power and influence,
it’s fascinating that you’d have detractors.” A hint of sarcasm, missed by the other one,
laced the mentor’s voice. “Still though, you do have quite a number of followers.”
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“I always say, it’s not about me, it’s about the big picture that I am painting for the
greater good,” of self-importance, the one reclined commented. “I want to do so much
more, but run into these annoying obstacles. It’s not fair.”
“So, you feel betrayed, as they are ungrateful.” Gently, the elder chewed on the
expensive Cuban cigar. No immediate response came. “Well, I’m sure with your cunning
skillfulness, and clever insight, you can imagine many alternative possibilities. We make
our choices, freely, willfully and with purpose. It’s common in your world, with a lineage
of emotional deficits reinforced by a sense of entitlement.” The esteemed and dapper
gentlemen explained to the reclined man. “I call it ‘mind trapped’. To that end,” he went
on a little further, “such is a contrived and purposeful mindset.”
“So, doc, you’re saying,” the very important person asked, “the way I feel is
intentional, and not only that, a matter of my own free will?”
“Somewhat precisely,” the wiser one confirmed. “With a mind trap, you deceive
yourself so well, you believe the inherent ideation you created. Typically, it is all a matter
of premeditated deception. Everyone is conning everyone and truth is lost.” He paused to
see what effect that might provoke. Nothing in particular was discerning. “You see with
the superficially concocted personal affect, one pretends what one is not. Rather than
working tireless and authentically at self-evolution, that is to say, a more profound
differentiation, one avoids exceptional responsibility for enlightened transformation.”
“Say what?” The very important one asked with a stunned expression. “Uh, okay,
maybe, I think,” He stuttered randomly. “Yes, I know that, I mean, I get it, I want to get
it, but I’m haunted by it,” the prone patient feigned patience, yet he was one who often
hinted impatience with others. “That makes sense, I think.” Here with his adviser, his
tone pleaded anxiously. “I struggle every day, whether or awake or in dreamland, to be
kind to the common people. But, at night, the creatures, they come for me.”
“Uh huh, as though you were captive of your own thoughts and subsequent designs,”
the sage speculated openly. “Again, that is ‘mind trapped’, strapped by the inner
selfishness in terms of subjective validation; given a range of intended fallacies.” He
scribbled a few lines to his notepad etchings. “In general, people are diverse yet share a
broader commonality of selfishness rather than selflessness for the greater good.”
“Seriously?” the younger one asked.
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“My dear friend, all is part of your dysfunctional personality,” the wiser more learned
of the two added calmly. He shifted his cigar and doodled on a yellow legal pad. “Each
incomplete basic self-strives to overcome its original inception. It’s fragmented and
labors over time to fulfill completeness by an intricacy of complex interactions.”
“But, I’m different, more important than others, I’m exceptional, a cut above,” the
reclined one proclaimed proudly. “Successful family, a long line of wealthy peerage,
private schools, top ivy league education, all the right contacts, and so on.”
“Plus, you even attend church on a regular basis,” the learned one added. “Uh huh, the
constant use of the personal pronoun is quite indicative of your self-determination.”
“Yes, that’s it, I’m convinced I’m very different from the others, all those people out
there, the great masses of humanity, I’m what they need,” the prone patient asserted with
a potent sense of self-presence and self-preservation. “I’m what matters.”
“Of course,” the counselor superficially agreed. “You’re the perfect poster child for
the excessively absorbed selfie generation. It’s about the ‘I’ of the believer.”
“Wait what? Are you saying I should change?” the sleepy one asked. “But, that means
I have to give up something to get something else doesn’t it?”
“Sure, you might consider that,” the wise one said. “Giving up old ways for the
adventure of becoming a better version than the original is noble.”
“Ah, well, I like my old self,” the less wise one answered. “It’s like the thoughts I
have, the voices that keep warning me.” He told his venerable mentor that murderous
forces held him captive in his thoughts. “At one point”, he outlined ominously, “An
amber tinted surreal darkness in a huge black forest, where I lost complete control
became frightening as shadowy figures tried to grab me from all directions.”
“Doesn’t sound too untypical,” the sage told him. “Some experience gods, others talk
of demons, several proclaim alien abductions and so on.”
“But, Doc,” the younger less refined one started to say, “These inner forces
surrounded me, my body and thoughts were useless, and my focus became blurry.
Without warning, I struggled to make sense of things. Around me, the dystopic setting
moved fast, as the whole landscape changed to one of desolation. Darkness with a terrible
grip ensued and stole my soul right before my eyes. Regardless of the power I had there
was nothing I could do. My senses went senseless and I felt powerless.”
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“Uh huh, pretty much.” The elder continued to doodle on his yellow note pad. Stick
figures became a sketch of different kinds of people. “Please, continue.” The doc glanced
at the ceiling, smiled and yawned. He’d seen this so many times before. He mumbled
under his breath. “You’re not that special. In fact, you’re very typical.”
“Really, doc?” The dashing fashion statement of political status quo asked. “You
mean, I’m okay? But wait, you said I was like other people? Not special?”
“Well, I didn’t say you were okay,” the doc answered. “You see, in post-modern
American society, especially in politics, we have allowed the devolving status of a
debilitating self-indulgence that exhibits classic infantile narcissism.”
“Oh my, is that some kind of contagion? The man on the couch adjusted the sleeves of
his expense shirt and tugged at his gold cufflinks. “Like a zombie virus?”
“Very similar,” the sage answered, “but not a virus. “It’s a way of thinking that
pervades a large spectrum of society. It’s an acquired mindset, whereby defense
mechanism purposely perpetrate the oversimplification of every perceivable challenge to
daily living experiences. Life reality avoidance for the self-gratification of cognitive bias
in the intentional escape of responsibility for one’s actions and beliefs.”
“Whoa, you think I’ve got that?” The man-child asked with surprise.
“Well, there’s a strong possibility in the outer expression of egocentric proclivity,” the
wiser one explained and smirked. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t that correct?” The old
one held up a hand to stop the other from commenting. “Through the looking glass of
reflection, or a dream, you see yourself and perceive the dark side.”
“Symbolic? Narcissus?” The one on the couch asked.
“Precisely,” the sage quickly answered. “You get this, right? Your fear is like the rest
of the people out there. Borderline stupidity in overly simplistic self-gratification in
constant satiation of a selfish inner self. You’re like them, two-dimensional. Most people,
like yourself, do not change. Only an extraordinary few ever self-evolve.”
“Wait what? You call it stupidity?” The younger swiftly responded.
“If that is uncomfortable, then maybe lazy self-gratification to escape the
exceptionality of responsibility,” the sage postulated. “If mistakes are made, then most
conjure a myriad pattern of easy trouble-fee excuses to avoid accountability.”
“Self-evolve?” The younger wanted to know in his confused state.
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“It is the determined intention,” the sage advised, “to change yourself and to become a
better version of the original self. Which means, a profound willful differentiation to
higher states of enlightened transformation. Most people will never make it.”
“But, doc, what do you mean?” The sensitive emotional younger one asked.
“Oh, you see, the vast majority surrender to a self-subservience of the status quo,” the
venerable doctor continued. “It starts very young in our culture. That is to say, to
convince everyone of a mythic tale called the “American Dream”. That, my friend, is
constructed upon a false set of precepts cleverly contrived by an elite oligarchy.”
“Okay, now hold a second,” the man lying on the couch cautioned. “You’re saying
this is about the rich versus the poor. Doc, I’m rich and very successful.”
“And, you are very powerful, given your position in society,” the doc answered
quickly. “However, that’s not what we’re talking about here. It is much more complex,
intricate and spans a multidimensional from the physical to the non-physical.”
“Oh come on, doc,” the younger one said. “I can describe the importance of each
achievement to the betterment of the greater good.” In self-focused detail, he further
detailed his lists of awards, certificates, college degrees, and mementos of a lifetime of
service to the community. “Material success is what it’s all about, right?”
“No, like I said, it’s convoluted,” the doc told him. “A matrix of life, if you will, by
which all things are connected in some way. So that, when an imbalance occurs, there are
ripple effects. The illusions soon collapse and a devolving process occurs.”
“You mean it’s not as simple as I think?” The man asked with a shaken look.
“Yes, nothing is as simple as you or anyone else thinks,” the doc confirmed.
“Well,” the man on the couch said and scratched his head. “Why doesn’t everyone see
that my only interest is their welfare? I’m here to make their lives better.”
“Because, for one thing, that’s not your job,” the older replied. “Your job is to make
yourself better. Likewise, their job is to make themselves better. Who are you to assume
you are responsible for enhancing the greater good? That’s very selfish.” He paused a
moment to shift his unlit cigar and doodle as if taking notes. With a bored yawn, he went
on, “Your calling is a private and personal quest, not the meddling of your dysfunctions
in the matters of others. As the ancients have said, your task is to get your own house in
order, ask nothing of others and be satisfied with what you have.”
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“Uh huh, yeah, okay, well here’s the thing,” the younger stuttered and shifted
uncomfortably. “Ya see, most people out there, the public, they just want a piece of that
old illusion we call the “American Dream”. Now, some of us knows, that’s bullshit. It’s a
fantasy fueled by consumption in a never-ending supply of goods and services. At the
present moment, my legacy, my place history, you know, basically, no one else matters,
as long as the agenda is kept, and the systems maintain the status quo.”
“That’s very interesting,” the older one said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. One
would have to be very discerning to appreciate the skepticism. “Yes, you’re just normal
like all the rest, where the essence of dysfunctional and maladaptive hope springs eternal
that nothing will ever change, and world last forever.”
“So, doc,” the younger started. “It’s not too twisted, horrid and tortuous, like in the
images I get in dreams. Faces, like neon lights blinking madly in the darkness, enemies
haunting my every thought. Seems like this character, a ghost, tries to escape mature
responsibility and any pretense to grownup accountability. Escape, evasion, and cover
and concealment, it wakes me in the night.
“Na, you’re typical, not unlike many,” the doc added. “I would say something akin to
an infant in an adult body, prehistoric, a soulless empty vessel, very primal. Not much of
an intellectual level going on inside. Uh let me see, what else? Well, there are studies on
this, nonetheless, suffice it to say your part of a selfish entitled generation.”
“Whew, thanks, doc,” the younger said. “Geezus, I was afraid I’d have to change. You
had me going there for a minute; I really thought I was somehow an odd ball.”
“Oh no, quite the contrary, you’re very much the status quo guy,” the old doc added in
a friendly manner. “It’s what some call a cupcake mentality.”
“You know, I’ve heard that before,” the couch man agreed. He glanced at his watch
and picked up his cell phone. For a moment, he did a few texts. While texting, he said
more, “Yeah, please doc, tell me more. This is interesting to say the least.”
“Not much more to assess,” the doc replied and chomped his unlit cigar. “Personal
transformation is essential by way of self-initiated intention. A huge part of that is the
vital necessity of individual creativity in a productive and self-sufficient manner.” He sat
back in his large chair and scribbled on his note pad. “Each subsequent generation that
followed the great generation has been devolving intellectually.”
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“No, seriously, doc, I want to hear more,” the little rich kid inside the adult’s body,
requested more information. He glanced at his mentor for a second while fondling his cell
phone. “I’m listening; I’m checking the stock market and skimming the recent polls. And,
I have to keep up with my blog postings.” He pulled in a long seemingly bored breath and
exhaled with an equally uninterested sigh. “Yep, gotta keep up with my fans, a few
selfies, you know, the usual political stuff people and the media crave.”
“Oh sure, please,” the mentor, with the wave of hand casually agreed. “Continue,
don’t mind me.” He eyed the phone in the client’s hand. “I’m reminded of how infants,
early on, need a pacifier, you know, something to suck on.” He chomped his ever-present
cigar. “A crutch if you will, for an unevolving behavioral affect.”
“Oh yeah, I get that,” the reclined person asserted. He chuckled arrogantly. “People,
they’re such babies sometimes. Geezus, they just need to grow up, you know.”
“Sure, not a problem, take your time,” the wise one said with a smile. He grinned and
quietly thought to himself. “So very typical and commonly contemporary.” For a
moment, he chewed on his cigar and drew a sketch of his patient, while exercising
patience. “As one generation begets the next, the subsequent offspring devolve.” Drawing
a child-like depiction, he added, “Most never grow up, they stay mostly immature and
juvenile, fixated on one aspect of their lives that reassures their childishness.”
“Uh huh,” the young client said with a nod “You know sometimes I feel on the inside
that each thought is just a weak reflection of a boring life.”
“Highly probable,” the doc answered with a sly grin. “And yet, that begs the question,
why is it boring, since one always has the free will to change? The one who follows the
pursuit of the true selflessness, well differentiated to a higher level of enlightenment, and
devoted to an adventurous creativity of living, well now, there is the person who evolves.
That’s the singular expression of a liberated authenticity.”
“Uh, oh well, yeah, that sounds, uh, okay, interesting.” The couch prone listener
sought to agree with a quizzical expression. “I think I’m with ya on that.”
“Oh, for the wonder of it all, such is possible.” The venerable one lowered his voice to
nearly a whisper and muttered, “The weak remain ignorant in their evolution of personal
character, intentionally stuck in the primordial ooze of foolishness.”
“Sure, Doc,” the younger replied without looking up from his cell phone.
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“To continue, spurious twitter,” the older started. “The lamentations of a faltering
generation reverberated incessantly throughout social media, communal institutions and
contemporary socio-economic strata. From fake news to shameful politicians,” the sage
said, “Not much changes, instead, it only gets more debasing.”
“But wait,” the schemer interrupted. “There’s hope, right?” He sucked in a breath and
let it out slowly. “What you said the other day, maybe moments ago, the evolution of
personal character, strength in introspective thought and determined insightful liberation
of the human spirit. You know, what about all that stuff?”
“Well, at least you remembered a few key points, very good,” the wise one said. “The
essence of human nature, a duality of choices, good or evil, creative and regressive, it all
depends on willful instigations. One should always pursue discovery, no matter what may
come, to every extent possible, pain and suffering, pleasure and displeasure, and so on.”
He chewed his cigar. “Yet, it is too late; there is no hope for humans.”
“What the fuck, doc?” The younger unimaginative one sat up. “My legacy? It’s in
jeopardy?” He worried selfishly. “You’re saying people can’t change.”
“Not exactly, but mostly,” the doc answered. “The vast majority will never change.
The replication of history indicates that. In thousands of years of existence, the human
species has not changed. A few will, but it is already too late for them.”
“Oh come now, how can that be?” The younger one said.
“Evolution of personal character,” the sage started. “Most fear the comfort of their
safe mediocrity and avoid perfecting the strength of introspective thought. Let’s say with
the overall wussification, if you will, of the American culture, the sissified mindset of the
general collective cannot tolerate any deviation from the status quo.”
“But, there have been great innovations in technology,” the man on couch claimed.
“Yet, most people did not and do not contribute to that creativity,” the venerable one
said. “They remain consumers bent on constant never ending consumption. The few
cannot sustain the many for much longer. It’s much too burdensome.”
“Oh for goodness sakes, doc,” the foolish one asserted. “I’m here, I will save the day.
That’s who I am; it’s what I’m about. I will ensure the American dream.”
“Of course, another savior,” the older one added. “Naturally, I wish you the best with
your crusade, yet I know you’ll have minimal impact if any on all that.”
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“That sounds skeptical, doc,” the reclined one said. “I serve the greater good.”
“Well, that might be true,” the doc answered politely. “Yet, you have suggested others
disagree. For that possible doubt, one must appreciate the determined intensity to liberate
the very essence of human nature, which begins by skillfully relegating oneself to
selflessness of insignificance. It’s a matter of personal transformation.” For a moment, to
let that sink into the shallow depths of his client’s consciousness, the Doc pondered the
present situation. “Answers are complex and multifaceted.”
Among his scribblings, the doc noted that his client was not special or untypical of the
rest of the population. Self-centered, uncreative, and selfish, the one on the couch was not
unique. To the doc, the man, if one were to call him a man, was the quintessential
arrogant product of a gluttonous consumer society. Essentially, the client willingly
allowed himself to be seduced by the “infotainment” industry. All so typical of
mainstream society, a herded majority mindlessly grazing on inactivity.
No matter how hard, this weak-minded person tried to be different, the more he
succumbed to a consensus of conformity. To the venerable doc, there was a diversity of
deceptive conforming obsessions. Much of it reflected in the excessive materiality of the
culture. Easily a media manufactured politically correct and socially suitable “celebrity
hero”, his fakery was for the foolishly immature.
Yet, in reality, he was neither heroic nor talented. However, to his fans, he was
everything they irrationally wished for in their egocentricity. As hope springs eternal, for
cognitive bias, he was their empty shell of selfishness for prurient satiation of subjective
validation. In a collapsing society, his client represented their erotic dysfunction for the
savor of a dystopic future. Popular in the polls, yet despised in the superficiality of smug
piety, the collective interactivity was a paradox of stupidity.
The old doc, having been around long enough to know history, keep one part of
himself focused on the client, and the other on his notes. Not to mention of course, being
old school, so to speak, he could multitask other thinking processes. With an historical
reference point going back many decades, he understood not much changes in terms of
human nature. Except now more than ever, he noticed the gradual dumbing down of the
populace in general. That was disturbing. Sure, he would accept that some, a very small
number, were exceptionally talented, skilled and creative. But, not most.
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“Uh, what’s up, Doc?” The younger one asked, his tone sounded like that of beaver
gnawing tree bark. “You think this anxiety will pass? I’ll be okay?”
“I doubt it,” the ancient one answer. “But, rest assured you’re not unlike the vast
majority out there in wonderland. There’s always been stress and there always will be,
and to sell drugs we give it different names. As time passes, we invent more alleged
mental illnesses. People don’t cope anymore, they simply complain.”
“Oh come now,” the man on the couch started. “Geez, doc, a certain amount of
entitlement goes with success and you get exhausted by all the things you have to do.” He
sucked in a long seemingly weary breath. Slowly, he exhaled and gave a facial expression
of concern. With a huff, he said, “I’m important, I got stuff to do.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do, and so does the idea of selflessness, along with the discipline
of time management,” the doc added. “By contrast, selfishness degrades the very essence
of productive potential.” He chewed his cigar. “You see, here’s the thing. In our culture,
if not the rest of western society, we focus on ourselves. As such, we invent myths based
on a magical thinking that reinforces preconceived illusions. Bias pervades everything
and taints the effort to grow and mature toward illumination of insight.”
“Okay, well, I’m just not up there where you are, you know.” The one on the couch
insisted. “I’m just a basic kind of guy with basic kind of needs.” He played with his
phone, grinned at the tiny screen, and babbled superficially. “Yeah, doc?”
“Sure, to continue,” the Doc went on. “In a regressive selfish culture, anything is
believable so long as it sounds something like science. Yet, in reality, it is all a cover for
pseudoscience. As such, human selfishness stifles creativity and innovative drive to
ascend to more enlightened places. In another era for example, a fascist dictatorship used
such manipulations of pseudoscience to control the majority of the population.”
“Uh, okay, were they successful?” The reclined clown asked. Oblivious that his circus
world had already folded the tents and readied for collapse. “History eludes me.”
“I don’t doubt that for a moment. Nonetheless, in that period of history, with a great
war engulfing the planet, yes, they were quite successful. You are familiar with World
War II, right?” The doc countered. “To know human history is to learn lessons.”
“Oh yeah, something to do with Nazis, right?” The youngling added. “You know, I
vaguely recall from history class in college. Was it relevant?”
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“Oh yes, indeed, very relevant especially today with the spread of rampant stupidity,
reinforced by incessant commercialization of everything,” the Doc went on to explain.
“The past, the present and a blurred uncertain future forms a three-headed trinity of
horrors. They are monsters from the Id. We forget the past and reinvent the errors we
thought we fixed but we conveniently forgot them. Yet, history warns us time and time
again. But, we do not pay attention as we promote ourselves endlessly.”
“Um, well, you know, like, okay I wish could understand all that.” The youngster
pretended to listen patiently. “Sorry, doc, it’s hard to understand that stuff.” He looked up
from his cell phone. “You know, doc, I got my undergraduate degree in psychology, so
get some of this stuff. When I graduated from law school, I figured I knew most things.
But,” he said with animated pause. “Uh, it’s all so confusing, you know.”
“Yes, I know, such things require a deeper perspective of thought,” the doc answered.
“Only a few brave souls will transcend the mediocre, rise to the higher levels of
transformation, while so many others will not.” The astute elder remained in the present
moment of well-seasoned and experienced maturity. The wise one endured silence, while
the client remained puzzled by his lack of understanding. “It’s difficult to grow up.”
“Yeah, I know, doc,” the young man answered with a hint of frustration. “I just wanna
stay in high school and relish in the glory days of youthful irresponsibility.”
“Of course, most people do. They really do not get much further in life beyond the
high school years. As such, some philosophers have lamented, it is all too human,
stagnation is all too human,” the mentor hummed humbly. “You are simply mind trapped
by willful intention, an uncreative and unimaginative soul that is wrapped up in its own
selfishness. So much so, you believe your illusions, myths and deceptions. Not to forget
of course the dogmatic beliefs. Yet, simple doesn’t describe the complexity.”
“But, how can that be, doc” Senator Bogus Warble wanted to believe.
“Sir?” A stern but respectful voice echoed through the office door, followed by three
knocking taps. “Sorry to bother you, but it’s nearly time to go.”
“Thank you,” the senator called out. “We’ll be a few more minutes.”
“The Secret Service can be so insistent at times,” the doc commented.
“Oh yeah,” Warble chirped. “When you’re the front runner for President of the
United States, they get a little sensitive. Okay, so for now, doc, what else?”
 15

“For now, there is much to be done,” the doc advised. “To be a non-anxious, well-
differentiated person, with a presence that speaks humbly of enlightened transformation,
with empathy and selflessness, disciplined by exceptional maturation, well, there’s the
challenge of the ages. Very few people can go to that place, most never make it.”
“Oh shucks, doc, where is this place you speak of?” Senator Warble asked from his
self-imposed superficial trance state of egocentricity. “It’s hideously hard to find, right?”
Anxious about his popularity in the upcoming election, his reactivity did not sense the
clawing gesture of his fingers digging deeply into quilted crimson cushions of the couch.
He nearly dropped his phone, but rescued his electronic pacifier just in time. “We’ve
been at this for a while, before the primaries and such, and I’m still puzzled.”
“Oh yes, that’s very much understandable,” the mentor said. “Don’t worry; you’re not
untypical of the majority. Yet, to ascend to higher levels there must be change.”
“That’s a lot to consider, Doc,” Warble answered. Although the divan upon which he
reclined at first felt comfortable, supple and hugged with depth, the feel had lost that
welcome. “Kind feel I’m on pins and needles. It’s seems senseless to do all that work,
invest that time, you know, Doc?” Inside, I feel like it is just one tormenting scene after
another. Do this, do that, my mind is just overwhelmed. What’s the payoff?”
“Well,” the soft voice from the Sage sought his attention. “Stay on task, remain
focused and go beyond yourself. Leave the old version in there and walk away.”
“I can’t!” Warble whined in the shrill resonance of a child. “The people need me, the
flock needs their shepherd. People need someone to look up to.”
“You can walk away any time,” the learned one said. “Remember this, at the end of
the day; you have to ask who you really are and what kind of person you have become.”
The doc held up one hand to stop the Warble. “Neither material thing, nor fame and
fortune matter in the final assessment of your life. No one will care or remember.”
“What do you mean? I’ll be forgotten?” Warble whined.
“When you are gone, that’s it, the final curtain is drawn, and you will fade and quickly
vanish beyond any recognition or fleeting mention. In death, it gets very dark.” The Doc
said with wry hint of warning. “What you seek you will not find.”
“Oh shucks, Doc,” Warble said smugly. “You’re putting me on, right?”
“Not at all,” the Doc answered. “You’re dead already and mind trapped.”
 16

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