THE MESSAGE OF THE GOLDEN PHOENIX

For those of us who grew up before the inception of “real time” (and its nevermentioned dark twin “fake time”), the old myths still have a way of coming into life when you least expect them, like the other afternoon when I was folding my underwear. Generally not a mythic moment, but things stopped being “general” when I moved here. 

Actually the whole episode had started that morning, when I was opening an upstairs window to let in more of this luscious new air and saw The Lord of the Entire Moment strutting nobly, iridescent chest out, along the King’s Way (past my woodpile) as though tossing gold coins to imaginary mobs of worshipful subjects lining the path to my compost heap.

Royalty can, as we know, be oblivious to reality, though I wasn't thinking about that at the time, I was thinking Wow, he looks like he’s been prepped for something big, is he ever sleek, and in magnificent array-- but why is he just wandering aimlessly around his personal mountain gardens, to a small portion of which I happen to hold a mere paper deed?

 Not long after that, as the revelation unwound, from a back window upstairs where I was addressing said underwear, I saw, I swear, emerging from the forest, a shimmering Golden Phoenix illumined by the sun, the shining presence strolling nonchalantly, yet with supreme grace, out into the light as if to greet the world with revelations worthy only of a gleaming Golden Phoenix. This was way bigger than my underwear.

I was facing west, so the sun was fully in my eyes, making the phoenix a golden silhouette with a such blinding aura that I couldn't tell what kind of creature it was, other than that it was alive, but since it was a phoenix it had to be a bird-- one can be pretty convinced even at the edge of a myth, and this was a myth, right?

The presence came stepping nobly out of the dark woods like a good myth might, the brightest of light right out of the dark, lowdown and streamlined, rich with mythos, bearing a spiritual message... The truth came following closely a few seconds later when also came His Noble Self himself - long live the Lord of the Mountain - now just plain loping along, lusting after what must be, I realized, a vavavoom Marilyn-Ava-Rita blend of young hen pheasant, making the absolute most of the moment and its ambient light, who now did a fast u-turn and ran squawking back into the forest, barely managing to stay out of his lordship’s beaky reach and lusty clutches as she disappeared into the dimness, heavy-breathing nobility hot on her heels. 

Then I noticed that the forest floor and meadow ground all around was alive with bouncing birds of several kinds, including numerous thrushes tossing leaves aside while ogling each other, as the the King and his on-and-off consort continued running in and out of the woods while a warbler trilled somewhere with all his heart, and I finally got what Spring was trying to say.

FIVE MINUTES AS A TURTLE GOD

Caring about everything except monkeys can be a pain. But even excluding monkeys, 'everything' is a large category. It naturally includes turtles, who carry their houses wherever they go, so they don't care about much other than sandbagging until the next meal comes around. And under the Big Law of caring about almost everything, it goes without saying that sooner or later a turtle will show up.

In keeping with the Fine Print, I was driving up the mountain road when I came around a curve and there in the middle of the way was a big old turtle, named Shelby as it happens - must be some international history there - enjoying a sandbagging interlude on his way to a session of heavy-duty sandbagging somewhere on the mythic other side of the road. He was just sitting there like a -- sandbag. Midroad was a good clear spot, warm, in the sun, lotta space around, kick back,, chill,,, hang loose,,,, why not,,,,, what’s the hurry......

His naturally selfish location forced me to pull over to the side of the road to get around him, which I was doing when I thought: if he just stays there, some car or even worse truck is gonna come zipping along in meteoric human time, so I'd better get him to move. I pulled up and stopped with my window right above him, rolled down the glass and gave him a few considered words about how he should hightail his molasses before somebody heedless comes racing up the road in a big turtle squasher.

Shelby turned his head to look up at me with a reptilian onyx eye, in a "What the..." kind of look. I'll bet it was the first time in his long and carefully considered life that he'd ever seen a talking human head sticking out of a big red turtleshell way up in the sky, so far above him that it must be a Turtle God. He seemed to take my words to heart, for in turtle haste he began to maybe lift possibly one leg with the distant intent of perhaps one day arriving at the wayfaraway side of the road for some world-quality sandbagging. Since at that speed he would likely never arrive alive, in a louder, more Godly voice I told him to hotfoot it and he did, in his coldfooted fashion.

He reached the roadside in what must be a Turtle Olympic record of just a few minutes that will likely stand forever. While he panted his way across with my encouragement, I stayed in place so that any car coming up behind me would have to wait, but none came. None came because some real Turtle God up there cares about caring about almost everything, though you never know this until you join the club. To say nothing of the chance to become part of Turtle Mythology... They've been around way longer than we have, so we're talking Big Time here.