Tpp-cb2
rev. 150903
Table of Contents
Chapter One – Willy and Baxter 2
Chapter Two – F(Ph)red 6
Chapter Three – What Do You C? 8
Chapter Four - Smooth As A Donkey 10
Chapter Five - Crackers and Cretins 13
Chapter Six – How Do You Know? 18
Epilog 21
Chapter One – Willy and Baxter
Solemn Invocation
By The Right Reverend Thomas Brown, PhD (Plough Department)
There once was a giraffe named Baranga, who lived on p-nuts and beans.
He could fly in the sky on his tricycle, and foretell the future in dreams.
Even though he had such power, he never claimed to be God,
Because by his powers he saw truly, that pride leads to the path of Nimrod.
OLD KING NIMROD BUILT THE TOWER OF BABEL. HE SANG A SELFISH SONG.
OLD KING NIMROD DAINTY DAILY DINGED ON HIS SILVER DONG.
= = = =
Willy Brent Winset was walking down Main Street to Judd’s Supply Store, kind of swimm’n in the early morn’n passion. Ladies and Gents, tradesmen, school boys and girls, were all mov’n with grand passion in the direction of their work. Truth is that even though the days always started out with such hopes they always ended up with hair scattered, collars open, dragging book-bags back home, summer heat.
“Hand me that hammer”, appealed an old duffer, as Willy walked the boardwalk. He looked over and saw Fred Baxter, his cousin’s uncle, whom he guessed was thus his father, working on a covered cart. He had his hands full holding up the wheel-brake and couldn’t reach the tool-box.
“Sure, Sir,” responded Willy.
“Thanks, Son”, replied Baxter.
“Done with your Japa and chores for the day,” enquired Baxter.
“No, Sir”, responded Willy, “Gotta, deliver a cord of fire wood to widow Parchet’s house and wash down Scrapper Jewess’s wagon and chant five more rounds.
“Industrious fellow, just like your Ma’s people”
“What’s this cart for, Pa?”
“I’ve taken to the road since, you’ve grow’d up, and do a teacher’s circuit”.
And a fine cart it was. For sure, Krsna and all the cowherd boys, and Gopis, surely ran alongside it dancing, sat inside of it, watched the passing scenery sitting on the wooden bed. It was a two wheeled affair, and all made of super-flexible, but super-tough, Gingu-bee-bee wood. A really stout, but peaceful, stallion pulled it. The roof was rounded and it had a back wall that opened and framed windows on each side. The windows could also double as puppet stages and Baxter would stand out front and narrate the shows while his minions would run them from within. Special effects such and fireworks were also included.
“Ask that Ranger of yours, Billy Goat, to tell your Ma, your Pa grabbed you and you’ll be truck’n with him for about two months”.
“I couldn’t just walk out on her like that, Pa”.
“Who says you’re walkin’ out... She’ll be fine. Your Uncle’ll take care of her and she’s got a parcel of lady friends who 65% of the time they’re doin’ their chores love to lament about how much they’re being mistreated.
Secretly she’ll be as proud as a Jaybird that you got enough guts to go wild and go off look’n for gold like a real man. Of course, she’ll expect som’thin to put in the grain bin and a few ornaments for the house and hair when you get back, but all in all she knows what every woman knows.”
“What’s that???”
“Peter, Paul and Mary (!): ‘As it was in the beginning it is now and shall remain, that women takes a life from man and gives it back again!’”
Baxter snorted in a kind of bemused laughter and put the final touches on the cart corrections.
“Well, come on, don’t dawdle. We gotta get over them foothills before the sunsets or God only knows what kind of foul beings we’ll discover in the dark.”
------
About three hours later they were well into the hills and Willy had been ask’n all kinds of questions, but also they both chanted a lot Nama-Japa. The horse was satisfied with the work: You gotta do someth’n to earn your grub, the pay was regular and definitely you got out and saw and smelled a lot more of the world than most hill-billy broncos.
Suddenly as they passed through a little hill-top ravine a hungry wolf rose up on a boulder and snarled at them. He was about to pounce.
Baxter just tossed him a double fist-sized chunk of warm smelling bread and didn’t even deviate from the conversation. The wolf pounced on it like it was a writhing rattle snake, shook it in his jaws and then dropped it and raised his head up in triumphant howling. Then he dropped down on his belly and devoured the loaf, without so much as two bites of chewing for each mouth full.
“You gotta understand Willy, me lad, that this world in just like a talkie. You pays your money, goes inside and sits down with a bunch of other people and just become absorbed in what you are seeing. You forget your pop-corn. You forget that you came to the theater with your wife and kids on the right and didn’t notice that your girlfriend of your wild youth just came in and sat down on your left with her husband. We may have little or no voice in the movie plot. What is Karma and what is our choice is a whole ‘nuther subject.
“I mean, look at it”, he continued, “you got a shadow-show of the puppets. The actual show is as thick as the bedsheet you’re project’n on, while behind that is a big arrangement of stick-puppets, lights, props, people, boxes etc.
“Ol’ Doc Bensen, he may have to open up you, me or even your own mother who nursed you and what do you get: Lungs, a rope-long load of intestines and that’s about it. This body is a movie screen for project’n the soul’s life, which is really sitt’n in Goloka with Krsna. Yo-yo, yoga, religion, means to step back one big step at a time and realize:
- You’re in the movie house.
- It’s popcorn your eat’n.
- On your right’s your kids and wife.
- Yikes! On your left is your former girl-friend and her husband and it seems they haven’t noticed who you are yet.
- When you get out of the theater you got another, three dimensional, life.
In this world we gotta advance our own cure and also work like Reform School Wardens, mental mistresses, for others and that makes Krsna happy.
He has a whole truck-load of stuff he and the boys want to get done in Goloka, and everybody here is a unique, every improving, tool that is needed to get the Goloka stuff done. So we go around looking for Ready Ruddys. We tell ‘em how it is direct and toss ‘em in the oven, and we start the yeast ris’n for the Not So Ready Freddies.
------
That was enough of an eye opener for Willy for one day. If you really took it seriously, and his Pa had certainly talked it out in a plain and sober fashion, then it was a big change in life. Like everything new we hear, we plack it up against the things we see. Looking at your mom, or a luscious, lascivious girl, as a robot bag of intestines is a real change. The act presented by people who believe they are the robot seemed so convincing, but it certainly was interesting to adopt that attitude, Buddhi, consciousness and see if it penetrated. Of course, it requires that we see ourselves that way and see the smile on our faces not as us being happy but the robot acting. You can’t see jaundice in the other guys eye if you got it yourself.
“You are hallucinating and disassociating,” said the Devil’s Advocate.
“Disassociating is not bad if the above hypothesis is correct,” answered the Angel’s Advocate:
NIH - U.S. National Library of Medicine
Hallucinations involve sensing things while awake that appear to be real, but instead have been created by the mind.
Oh, God almighty! What a stupid definition from such an esteemed medical resource. Look at any college level text-book, on perception, and it will give you an eyeful about how much our perception is absolutely determined by the mind. Furthermore, in the list of common causes of hallucination given by the NIH, we don’t find philosophical contemplation of a traditional idea (Socrates, Confucius, Solomon, Shakespeare, Jesus, Mohamad, Krsna, Caitanya) described as cause for hallucination. Usually they are the result of being drunk off your floor-boards or some other obvious infirmity.
Devil’s Advocate, we request that, what to speak of the treatment of the subject of hallucination in Psychology 1A-1B, you at least take the specific university level course on Perception before making such strong assertions.
------
Willy and Baxter made it out of the hills by late afternoon. Set up camp in a little grove of trees above the river and did their evening prayers and food offering and settled down for the night. Baxter played a Bolivian flute, Quena, and Willy played a small drum while Radha and Krsna and the Gopis and Gopas, danced and played to the music around the campfire.
Willy fell asleep to the sound of Their ankle-bells with many thoughts in his head like: Does my Father love my Mother, where do Mariposas come from, how can we solve the population problem.
Chapter Two – F(Ph)red
Willy and Baxter’s stallion, cart-horse, was named Fred, although he preferred to be called Phred. He wondered why there were no horses mentioned in the KRSNA book in Goloka and he thought that maybe he should become a bull.
So, he did it, but kept the same name.
“Where are you going,” asked the Black Witch in a sharp, loud voice?
She had jumped out in front of them on the path as they we driving on the valley road the next day.
“We’re going to Govinda’, squawked Willy!
“I know that,” said The Black Witch, “but what PLACE are you goin’ too?”!
“Uh, uh, Brazil,” bopped Phred.
“For a Bull he really is a pansy,” thought Willy.
In all justice he should not have been so harsh, everyone was shocked by The Black Witch, but, Phred had become a Black Bull overnight and he kind felt like TBW had some kind of more direct control over him because of their skin color, and she was terrifying:
Her mouth was a gash like and open wound, red with blood. Her teeth sharp as razors and as strong as diamonds.
She was a one-breasted, hermaphroditic, trans-gender, AIDS infected, tuberculous blood coughing up all over her filthy clothes, mother of five, eight foot tall black-woman with a club made from the hip bone of a prehistoric hyena, who had a seat on the New York Stock Exchange and was Ambassador of Rewanda to the United Nations and stunk so bad she suffocated you from a distance of five paces.
“How did you get that body, Karma,” emoted Phred?!!
“I was an ISKCON Sannyasi who ate chocolates in secret,” she wailed.
“Oh,” replied Baxter with a stern look, “but at least it wasn’t Redbull or anything like that.
“Well,” she said wiping the tears from her eyes, “I started out on chocolate but soon hit the harder stuff. Can I go with you?”
“No,” said Baxter with a determination, “but here, take this carrot Halavah made by Jagadisa Das B’cari. It’s Radha Gokulananda from San Francisco Mahaprasada.”
“The b’cari who used to have a slight stutter,” she asked taking the packet and continuing to wipe her tears and taking a sample of the Halavah?
“Yes
“Mmm, this is good. It really tastes like carrots and its actually kind of crunchy, not like that limp, blubbery stuff that pass for CH normally!”
“Do a lot of Hari-nama Kirtan, breath deep on the fresh air, and well see you when we pass this way again!”
“Hoooonnnk! Hooonnnk! (blood and mucous from the lungs). Thank you, see you then!”
Chapter Three – What Do You C?
U c, there are two Tpp-CB21s. The Primary (CB-21p) one is hand-written and then this one is Docx. I guess we can integrate them with date tags. “150726” means, “2015 July 26th”. We should probably review the CB-21p and note our results. Life is like that. It is a little bubble of time a space dominated by the feet of His Divine Grace, where we chant Maha-mantras, in number three, and read the KRSNA book instead of T.V. . . . Of course, we also have to chant more Japa, and go to class by 7.24AM.
Hare Krsna, Hare Rama: Chant this song and plans they all come on.
150726 [7.06am] . . . Just arrived from CB(21). It is a mass of fundamental ideas. Hope they sink in and give a perspective on this book, proper attitude to use it.
===
Quacky Dack’s
Traveler’s Packs,
Read the sign on the little store by the side of the road. Willey pulled up Phred and sat and looked at the store. Baxter stuck his head out of the cabin of the cart, grunted, and descended back inside to work on his writing. There was also a wagon stopped there. It too was pulled by a handsome bull. Phred kind of let out a neighborly snort and the other bull responded and nothing else was said but there was a deep undercurrent of communication through posture. Both leaguers chewed thoughtfully on the straw and grass laid before them.
“Who are you,” said the other bull? It was his duty to initiate the conversation since he was the first one to have arrived.
“I am, Phred,”
“Are you well read?”
“To the bone and brain I work to be informed. I read the trees, I read the seas, I read my fellow man”
“It is good to be a bull and know many things.”
= = = =
After searching his mind and then taking a tour of the store, Willey bought a bottle of fresh lemonade for himself and some Sripada Baxter stuff and felt confident that they already had everything they needed except for some more writing paper and some organic laundry soap.
Back on the cart they continued to travel.
The days went by a little swiftly. They were looking for Srimati Radharani. She is the best audience for Krsna katha. While they were thus traveling, an upright fellow, riding on a red Mrdanga approached them at high velocity. Both sides of the lane were fenced by tall stands of Cypress and so there was not even any option to dodge the oncoming rocket, but just at the last minute he stopped and announced with great alacrity, “I am Bango Barangi, and I play the red-mrdanga!”