The place looked deserted. The buildings themselves appeared to be advanced in design, yet somehow archaic and eccentric. They were fused into the rocks and you couldn't tell where one began and the other ended. Goober sighed. He had been having anxiety attacks recently, because two of his former associates were picking on him. He had been told his sense of humor, or rather, his ability to laugh at himself had been compromised, that he was taking everything too seriously. He had read somewhere about the Institute, and its' founder, so as a last resort he had come across the country to seek help.
“Fucking dead end.” he moaned. The area looked dead. Goober spied a cooper bell near the sign, and reached up and shoved the clapper. A loud and echoing “bonnng” rang out, causing Goober to clasp his ears, wincing with pain and shutting his eyes. When he blinked them open, the scene had changed. The Institute was bustling with activity, the gate mysteriously wide open. A figure was standing at its' center. Goober gasped lowly. The figure was an man wearing a blue and yellow saffron robe. He appeared to be both very old, yet youthful and vital. No wrinkles crossed his face, but his thick hair and trim goatee were snow-white. His face was expressionless. “Welcome Goober, I am Brugh Jay, and I will be your guide.” Goobers' jaw dropped and his voice quavered...”How did you know my name..?”
“You are here to find yourself.” Brugh Jay intoned, ignoring the question. “You seek validation and your own inner self-awareness. You find your associates to be hackneyed and tired, uncreative and tedious...yes?” Goober blanched. “How in the hell do you know that? I haven't told anybody that.”
“Of course you haven't.” Brugh replied, and winked. The old mans face phased out and was replaced by a winking smiley. :wink: Goober rubbed his eyes, and the smiley was gone. The old man viewed Goober stoically. He waved his hand toward the buildings. “Come Goober McTuber, be at peace.” Brugh Jay took him by the crook of his arm and led him inside. They passed a small garden. It looked like one of those Japanese desk gardens, full of sand and rocks and a rake. Groves cut through the sand. A single saguaro cactus stood at the center. Goober felt strangely drawn to the cactus. The pair walked past a group of students in all aspects of yoga poses, lying and sitting on blue mats. Goober continued to stare at the cactus. They continued walking until they passed a gap in a wall, and Goober found himself back out in the desert.
“For your first lesson, you will wander through the desert, looking at every rock, tree and shrub. You will seek the one that you have a special relationship with, it will become your teacher. Learn what it has to tell you.” A cloud of dust wrapped around Brugh Jay and he was suddenly gone. “The fuck?” Goober muttered. This whole experience had an odd Wizard of Oz vibe. “Next thing you know...”
“...winged monkeys will fly out of my butt.” the wind whispered. “Freaky.” Goober said, and began to wander. He walked for hours, yet nothing stood out. It was just a desert. It was hot. He was cranky and tired. He sat down in a huff, feeling exhausted and foolish. He was also lost. The Institute was nowhere to be seen. “God damn it, I'm screwed.” he moaned. He was thirsty and his throat was killing him. He felt like he had been walking in circles. “This is so effing stupid, and now I'm going to die.” He crushed his eyes close and a tear dropped down his reddening cheek. When he re-opened his eyes, he found himself back inside the Institute, right in front of the garden and the saguaro. A pattern of concentric footprints ringed the cactus. His own. “When are you going to stop running around and talk?” the cactus said. Goober stumbled backward in shock.
“Are you...are you my teacher?” Goober asked. The cactus said nothing. Goober looked around to make sure he was alone. He didn't want people to see him talking to a plant. “Will you talk to me again?” he begged. “Are you my teacher?”
No answer.
“Why won't you talk to me?” he whined. The cactus didn't answer. Of course it didn't. It was a cactus. Goober thought, 'I'm talking out loud to a damn cactus. They lock you away for this crap.' He thought for a moment. “Hey...” he said. “is this a joke? Biggie, is that you hiding with a microphone?” No answer. The wind rustled Goobers hair and he turned. Brugh Jay was standing at his side.
“Lesson number two.” the old man said. He pulled a deck of Tarot cards from his sleeve. He fanned them out in the air. The cards hung there as if by magic. Goober starred dumbstruck. “I want you to select two cards.” Brugh said serenely. “Pick the one that you like the best and the one you like the least.” Goober studied the cards, his head spinning. He reached out and plucked the Three of Swords and the Magician. “Ummm, these?” he asked. “Excellent.” Brugh Jay replied. Goober looked closer at the cards. The Three depicted a red heart pierced by three silver swords, set against a background of storm clouds and gray rain. He couldn't see anything but pain and suffering and heartbreak in the card.
“Now then,” Brugh said flatly. “I want you tell me what you see that is good in the card you like least, and bad in the card you like best.” Goobers' mind felt blank. He couldn't do it. “I...I don't know?” he said. A group of students gathered around the two men. They were discussing something in gentle whispers. Somebody from the crowd suggested that the card contained no blood, so the cut was clean. Someone else said it was a decisive card, cutting to the heart of the matter. The rain was cleansing and the storm would pass. Another said the swords formed a stable balance as they penetrated the center of the heart. The card had a finality to it, a sense of termination, an ending to worry. The card could be viewed as intellect taking charge of emotion, which is good.
Goober was stunned. Why hadn't he seen that? Something seemed so familiar about this as well, an idea or a feeling at the edge of his consciousness that he couldn't quite grasp. He turned his gaze upon the Magician card, his favorite. He really thought about the card. It showed a young man in a white robe standing before a variety of articles, including a blue bird and a shaggy dog. The dog looked hungry. The Magician held a wand high, confidently. There was an infinity sign over his head, which made him look powerful and wise. Goober could not see anything negative. “I got nothing.” he said to the old man. Someone behind Goober suggested the Magician was young, but he looked frivolous. A show off and a trickster. He didn't seem serious and his spotless robe indicated he didn't do any honest, hard work. His wand was actually a candle burning at both ends, proof of a dissolute life. The infinity sigil meant he would never get down to business, just going around and around. All in all, the Magician was a hopeless case of form over substance, appearances over reality.
Again, something was nagging with familiarity at his mind. What was it? “Do you understand now Goober?” Brugh Jay asked. “Umm, yeah sure...maybe...I, I don't know.” he stuttered. Brugh looked a little sad, then his expression shifted again to neutrality. “Hold out your palm.” the old man demanded. Goober did, holding his hand flat in front of him. Brugh touched a finger gently across a line. “This is your smack line.” he said. “What do you see?”
Smack line? What the fuck? “Smack?” he asked. “Smack is so last decade. It's passe.”
“Who told you this?” Brugh asked.
“Uh, Papa Willie...I think.”
“Papa Willie?” Brugh asked again. An extremely obese student was breathing heavily over Goobers' shoulder. His robe was littered with Cheeto dust, beer and pizza stains. His breath was fetid. Goober stared at him. The fat guy broke wind, spewing out a filthy brown butt-spray. “Ahhh, Papa Willie...it figures.” Brugh sighed. He touched the line on Goobers' hand again. “This is your smack line...do you see it now?”
“No.” Goober said.
“You will.” Brugh answered by shoving Goobers own palm hard into his forehead. “Ow, hey that hurt!” Goober bitched, rubbing his face. When his vision cleared, he found himself standing alone in front of the garden. The Institute was gone. The students were gone. Brugh Jay was gone. It was just Goober and the cactus. He shook his head. Nothing made sense. His butt suddenly vibrated, his sphincter widening. “Holy crap on a stick!” he shouted. His butt opened up and a small brown monkey with wings crawled out of it. It let out a screech and flew away. “No...fucking...way.” Goober said, massaging his sore bottom. Something moved at his feet. He glanced down. A cartoon-like blue roadrunner was pecking at a pile of seeds. “Hey.” Goober said numbly. It turned its' head toward him, looking him up and down, from side to side. It snapped its' head up. Goober followed the roadrunners' stare. Hanging over his head was a large metal weight. It bore the legend '1000 pounds' with the word 'ACME' underneath. A rope was tied to an eyelet on the weight. The rope ran from the weight through the cactus, up into a tree and back down. At the other end of the rope, was a mangy brown coyote with flea-bitten ears. It was grinning with evil intent. It was salivating. The roadrunner kicked up its' feet and let out a loud “Meep-meep!” and sped off in a cloud of dust and dirt. The word 'Zoooom' followed the blue bird. “You gotta be kidding me.” Goober said in a stupor. The coyote tugged the rope and the weight crashed down on Goobers' head, crushing him. Red blobs shot out and the weight buried itself and Goober three inches into the earth. Only Goobers' hands and feet stuck out. A little sign that read 'OUCH' unfurled from his bloodied hand.
“It's been good having you here with me.” the cactus said. “Dumb-ass.”
