<center>
Tiajuanaco Sun Gate</center>
But this was not what I was looking for... so I went to India. It was very crowded... noisy, and did not smell fresh. I really had to get out of there. But the music was memorable. That was the good part.... that and the food... they have an ancient cuisine. Been at the cooking game for a long time. The music too, is very ancient... tablas, tambouras and sitars. Meditative music that Gautama heard growing up.
So from there I decided to just stay on the boat and go where it went... floating along. That is when I spotted an island that nobody had ever seen... or at least been to...
We approached cautiously... it was a mystery, and mysteries can be a challenge to solve. One must be slow and Henry David thorough to find the clues and follow the path.
The island was not very large... probably why nobody had ever seen it. I just happened to see a bird and dropped my vision down to the horizon, following this bird’s flight, when I saw a tree, or at least the silhouette of a tree. The seas were calm and the sky without clouds... the boat stealthily moved upon the silence.
Then I heard a bird. Was this the same bird that I saw 20 minutes ago? I scanned the only tree on the island but was unable to notice any birds within the deep green foliage of the only tree. I did not recognize what species it was.
I was drawn to the mystery of the tree. I walked towards it slowly enough thru the mix of broken rock and beach sand. It was uncomfortable but I had a mystery on my hands. I got about ten, maybe fifteen feet away from it, when the leaves started rustling and then a branch dipped down.... a miniature bull stepped down to seemingly greet me. It gave me pause.
The little bull stretched his neck, his head swinging from right to left, front to back, then in a circular motion... got some cricks he had to loosen up, I figured.
A few moments later he cautiously approached me. I kept my eye on his horns. He was a little bull, but his horns were contenders! I swear I didn’t see them before then. When he shook his head around they must have popped out, at least that was the best guess I had at the time.
“My name is Normandy.” He replied in English... perfectly spoken as if he just got off the carriage from Oxford.
“Nice to meet you,” I carefully held out my hand... not that a bull has hands. It was instinctual, or maybe just holding out my hand to measure myself from the horns.
“There’s nothing here for you!” Normandy sounded a bit disturbed. My eyes scanned the little island... but they saw nothing but that one tree and some grass growing around its base. The rest of the little island was more of that broken rock and beach sand.
“Yeah, I can see that, Normandy. Not much at all.” I began walking backwards, keeping my eye on this grouchy little bull. I might have stepped back six, maybe seven steps when I noticed the smell of feces ... I had stepped into one of Norm’s pies!
“That’s my going away present to you,” the little bull arrogantly commenting to me as I found a fecal-free place to sit down so I could remove my shoe and scrape the crap off of it.
“Bullshit!” I yelled out at him...”bull...shit!”
I soon returned to the boat. I, probably like dozens of others, never came back to the little island with the one large tree, home to one bird and one miniature bull named Normandy. It was not a place anyone would return to... it was “Bullshit.”
Cecil ~ bullshitting around
10/17/04
<center><b>Trickster</b>
[acrylic on canvas]</center>
