Inside and Outside My Truck

Beep beep beep...my pager went off for the second time. I could walk across many lanes of traffic, lots of traffic lights, around this little business complex, and try to find a payphone, but what would be the point. I'd have to lock up my truck and set out on a journey to find such a beast. I hate cell phones and I choose not to have one. So, in a senseless useless drama of making it look like I was actually doing something about this little issue, I hopped out of my truck walked over to the passenger side, turned around in a circle to try to spy a payphone that I already knew was non-existent within my perameters. But HEY! It looked good to me...and me alone...since I was the only one in the parking lot waiting for a restaurant to open so I could take them some produce they ordered. No...really...it looked good. Nice little turn... feh! I stood there laughing silently at my ridiculous dance. Pretending there is a pay phone where there isn't because I'm getting paged an dancing to the beeps that have stopped a few minutes before but continue to motivate me now like a dog dancing for its person when no one is around.

I stood for a few seconds, smiled at being so rediculous, and let out a little sigh. A snow flake, maybe the first snow flake of the morning, fell gently and quietly on my left shoulder, and I smiled.

As I walked back to the open driver side door of my truck, I saw three more flakes fall. I looked at the sky, but I didn't think a whole lot more would come, but I smiled at the prospect of that which teaches all to rest and covers everything with a simple beauty.

I pull myself into my truck and plop my ass on the seat to hear, "hey," from the passenger seat.

I jump in my seat (having a passenger is against policy), hit my head on the roof (without much pain), and recognize the voice that was talking to me, though he obviously startled me out of my seat.

"JESUS CHRIST! YOU FUCKING SCARED ME!" Jesus laughed, loving such ironies as people calling out his name in vain when he appears to them. He was dressed in all of his robeish fineries. He smelled like flowers. He had a great big smile shining through his dark skin, black beard and mustache. I always admired his dark hands and thick fingernails when he appeared to me like this.

"Haven't seen you in a while," I said after shaking off all of the startle energy. "You've probably been busy, bein' who you are and all."

He just smiled. He cupped his hands together, pushed them in my general direction, then opened them to display a small handful of marijuana buds.

"That's really sweet, Jesus, but they random at my work. You know, everyone has to try to control everyone else's..." I pause knowing whom I'm talking to. "Well...you know."

Jesus nodded.

"But I have a friend that sure could use that stuff. Could you take that to her?"

He nodded and closed his hands.

"I'm smoking this stuff now," I tell Jesus, reaching into my bag and pulling out the Pendleton zip bag gifted to me by my wife, and pulled out some tobacco. "That's Girl's Blend, blended by Steve Books from Rich's Tobacco. That's for you," I tell him and hand him the bag.

He opened it, inhaled deeply, and smiled broadly. "That's nice. Thank you."

Jesus cupped his hands together around the tobacco and opened them in my general direction showing two tightly and perfectly wound hand rolled in Jesus' own hands cigarettes. When I roll my own cigarettes, they always look like a snake that just swallowed a rat. I took one and put it to my lips, Jesus did the same with the other. They were both already lit and we inhaled deeply and let the smoke pour out the open windows of the truck and upwards symbolically toward his dad.

"We're not supposed to smoke in the truck," I tell him. "But then again, you're Jesus."

"You're not," he says.

"Yeah, well, ya know."

He smiled.

We smoked our cigarettes about half way down before Jesus started talking.

"You've been flat, lately," Jesus tells me. You should listen to your elders, I believe, and Jesus doesn't get much older than most folks. You have to trust these elders, too, and Jesus has earned mine.

"You've been uncreative, stagnant, stale, bored, boring," Jesus continued. "You're flat."

"Uhhhh, thanks, Jesus," I responded...flatly.

"That's not a bad thing, brother," he tells me. "It is just a point of fact that you need to know to recognize where you are, where you've been, and where you are going."

I like having these conversations with Jesus, though I ain't a christian and never will be. Sometimes, though, I wish it were Crazy Horse or Chief John or someone indigenous from so far back I have no idea who they are would show up...

"I heard that," Jesus said.

I was surprised he read my mind. "No offense."

"None taken," he said with a smile. "Now back to the subject at hand..."

"You've hardly written a poem in a while. You haven't written a short story in a long time. You are barely even writing political commentary and there is a reason for this. These are signs. There is a reason for this stagnation, this flatness. You've been burning yourself out, brother."

"Well, Jesus," I stated, getting frustrated with our conversation because, well, he was right, "I'm fucking tired of the whole thing. I'm tired of this world collapsing. I'm tired of the horrific poisons unleashed upon this world by my fellow human beings. I'm tired of war. I'm tired of genocide. I'M TIRED! I just don't understand why it is so difficult for people to understand that killing each other isn't cool. That poisoning our world isn't cool. That being mean and cruel to others to get what you want isn't cool. I don't feel like there is a whole lot I can do about it and that everything I have done has had little or no effect. But I have to keep on trying."

"What is the first right?" Jesus asked me.

"Health," I said.

"That's right. And it is the same everywhere. If you are unhealthy it is a sign of something. That something needs to change. Same with your world. If it is unhealthy, then something needs to change, and you know this. But you have neglected your own health which only contributes to the unhealthiness of the world."

Jesus flicked his cigarette butt towards a bare tree and it turned into a white moth and flew away. "Mitakuye Oyasin," he whispered.

I tossed mine out and it fell in the white grass and smoldered, "mitakuye oyasin," I whisper.

"You're daughter is a representation of everything you struggle against in your personal world and she is defiant and strong willed like everything you struggle against in your personal world. You cannot change her, brother. She is who she is and she will change on her own, if she changes at all."

"Look, Jesus, I've had this same conversation with others. You ain't telling me anything I don't know. I Love the kid, but I know she is going to lack greatly in gratefullness, compassion, empathy, and harbor strengths in being mean and greedy. As much as I Love her I realize I can't be around that all the time. She does her utmost to be mean to Shusli and I and she can't be trusted. She is a liar and a thief and a back stabber as well as all those wonderful things I've seen in her. The spirit she carries, the kindness, compassion, Love, empathy, is all being stood on for strength for the meanness she has become to strengthen her greed in the world."

Jesus smiled.

"I don't know what to do, Jesus, so I have taken many giant steps back. Her mom is finally doing something, but the core person she is, that greedy mean person, is absolutely strong. She lacks depth. I mean she has depth, but she stands on it to be the person she is.

"I don't think I can do this anymore, Jesus. It is just so fucking hard. She sucks up so much of my energy and Shusli's energy and the energy of everything all around her to get what she wants. I've tried everything, Jesus. Everything I could think of. But her armor is so thick and all I can toss are pebbles and pour water. It just takes too much energy, so it is time for me to step back or away altogether. I've started stepping back already. That seems to have had no impact on her at all whatsoever, so I truly believe that our relationship is gone, it is just a matter of time. I mean, I'm no Jesus, Jesus, and I can't see the future, nor would I ask you to look into the future for me because that is my responsibility, but this is a pattern that seems to scream our relationship is over, it is just a matter of time.

"Jesus, Jesus, it hurts too much for it to be anything but pain anymore, and youz all have told me I'm living into my 80's, and then this. I don't want this mean cruellness into my 80's.

"And the world, she is a metaphor of America and America of her. I can't change things, but what else am I gonna do, watch TV."

Jesus pointed his face gently and sternly at me. I met him half way until our noses were a few inches apart and I could feel his breath on my face. He smelled like Girl's Blend and flowers.

"A great man once said," Jesus stated, "'things rarely turn out the way we expect them to, but they always turn out.'"

"You mean someone said that before me?" I asked.

Jesus laughed a hearty laugh. "You think you're daughter is stubborn.

"You know," Jesus said, "I have thousands of appointments to make every day. At least in your human concept of time. Sometimes millions. These are honest prayers of people who want my help or dads help or both, or help that doesn't involve either of us. Some of them I talk to just like I do you. Others I can be as simple as something catching the corner of their eye. Sometimes I can make all these appointments all at once, again, using you allz concept of time. Sometimes I take them on individual basis. Sometimes I mix it up. Sometimes I'm just too tired and send in other spirits who are, in all honesty, just as great as I am...using you allz concept of greatness.

"I like talking with you. You just see me as human and spirit, at least when I appear as human to you. Nothing more and nothing less than you. Nothing more and nothing less than any of those around you and all humanity, including your daughter. I really enjoy that you don't idolize me, and that you don't look to be idolized. You are out in an attempt to change what seems unchangeable. You take your desire to help seriously, and are humble. You have many faults, but they don't matter to you as much as leaving a better place for generations to come. And you accept your flatness and stagnation at this time as a sign that you have burned yourself out and it was time to talk with someone like me again.

"Relax, brother. Take your time unless something requires immediate action. You're car is falling apart because you feel like you are spinning your wheels and going nowhere. Don't spin your wheels. You are trying to take care of your car, but it is a real pain in the ass TO YOU! You are trying to take care of yourself, but it is a real pain in the ass TO YOU. Take care of the world as best you can, but you can't do that from an unhealthy place as you have beaten yourself into.

"Take it from me! I'm Jesus, for Christ's sake!"

We both had a good laugh at that one.

"Jesus, tell dad and grandma I Love them," I requested.

"They know, and send their Love back. Don't forget that, brother.

"Looks like your appointment is showing up," Jesus said.

I looked out the window to see a car pulling into the parking lot. I look back at the passenger seat. Jesus is gone and there is the pouch of tobacco that I gave him in his place on the seat with a little note:

"Thanks again, but I think you need this more than I do. You know it is a prayer, and you need to pray like you are praying in this story. --Jesus"

"...praying in this story," I think, easily confused. The note turned into a white moth and flew toward a moon made invisible by clouds. Time to get back to work.

"I Love life," I say to myself, and open the door to my truck, the smell of tobacco and flowers in my hair. A few tiny white flakes falling gently to the earth.