#59: The 'Fare' Is False And Costly! (Fear)

Maybe It's Just You're Scraping . . .
Getting By, But Not Escaping.
You're Worried . . . You Might Be Aping
With Robes Of Want Now Draping . . .
All Over A Would-Be Life.
Well, Know Those Ghouls-A-Gaping,
You Thought Were Here For Raping
Reflect But Your Own Shaping,
And Universal Strife . . .

Our transitions from State to State
seemed varied as to time . . .
but this trip certainly felt to be
the shortest of its kind.

As quickly as the windshield blurred
it seemed to clear again.
The scene was so much like before . . .
we must be where we've been!

The Buggy's double-doors unlatched,
and opened outward to
reveal, not Freedom's silent mist,
but, nothing for our view.

So, healthy apprehension donned
we peered beyond the car.
"We can check it out," Jo said,
"and still not stray too far."

No solid ground was there to keep
us both from meeting death . . .
but heck, the Buggy had to sit
on something more than breath.

So, I stuck my foot out to the gray,
and then, in horror, watched,
as whatever ground was there began
to swallow my galosh.

"I knew it! I knew it," I yelled to Jo,
and jumped back in my seat.
"This place is worse than Freedom,
except we're not asleep."

The Carriage began to jostle about.
Jo quickly looked astern . . .
"Yikes . . . I knew a wolf might sneak
up here and try to learn . . .

what we're doing . . . how weak we are,
and we can't use our feet
to run and save ourselves the fate
of being good to eat . . ."

At first, Jo had me worried, but
as near as I could tell
there was no wolf behind the car . . .
"Hey, what the hell?!"

At that, my worst foreboding came
and scraped across our roof.
The slightest glimpse convinced me, and,
I needed no more proof!

"It's the movie creature . . . Alien!
I've seen this thing impale . . ."
"No, it's Beelzebub," screamed Jo,
"I saw his horns and tail."

We were hiding under everything
that we could get beneath.
With eyes shut tight, I still could see
the Alien's head and teeth.

It was then I heard the chuckling, and
I recognized the sound.
Wherever we were, or gone or been,
the Voice was still around.

Then, "Jo," I whispered softly so
as not to tip our hat . . .
well, just in case I might be wrong,
and Aliens laugh like that.

"What?" I heard him whisper back,
under a stack of maps.
"Do you think the Voice is out there?
I mean, I guess, perhaps . . .

we could muster up the strength
to check the door again . . .
after all, we can't just hide
in here for long, my friend."

The rustling papers told me Jo
was back into the game.
I took a look out through the door,
and at the gray terrain.

"Voice?" I queried, my eyes were fixed
where normal sky might be,
"Are you here . . . and if you're not,
can you help us flee?"

And then the Voice came booming from
everywhere at once,
"Again, you fail! But it won't help
to leave you here for months.

Bo, you should have clearly seen,
with one step out the door,
this State was going to show you
what you were looking for . . .

and even more, when Jo began
his paranoia dream . . .
how could a killer wolf hunt from
a land of whipping cream?

Like Silly Puddy, your brains pick up
a cartoon frame or two.
But any fear can stretch that clay,
and yes, the world you view.

You know I've other travelers that
need guidance now and then.
You already know the key here is
not locking yourself in."

Then, all at once a stillness fell,
and somehow we both knew,
the Voice had left to serve all those
stumbling elsewhere too.

"I guess we cannot blame the Voice
for abandoning two fools
who fail to read the warning signs,
and understand the rules . . ."

"Wait a minute," Jo interrupted me,
"maybe it's a hint . . .
Remember it said, 'lock yourself in,'
I wonder what it meant."

"Well, you thought we'd found Wild Kingdom."
I thought I got Jo good,
but he came back with, "Look who's talking,
you dreamt it was Hollywood."

But, even though it had now gone,
and we were all alone,
I felt this State was calmed a bit
upon the Voice's drone.

And so it was we sat there with
no threat to make us move,
trying to read the message that
this State was out to prove.

We discussed all types of nightmares:
the worry, fear and dread.
We considered all the evil things
that dwell inside a head.

Once in a while the Buggy'd shake
and provide a modest scare,
but preoccupied with analysis,
we didn't stop to care.

"Jo," I offered, reflecting back
upon his look of fear,
"what was it you mumbled when
the Buggy brought us here?"

"I really don't recall," Jo said,
"what caused the car to jump.
All I know is it made me want
to stop and take a dump."

"Well, concentrate," I admonished him,
"it might be our best clue.
What lesson do these nightmares have
to offer me and you?

What word are we supposed to find
to get us on the road?
Damn, I don't believe this place!
Why can't we break the code?"

"It was not a word I'm familiar with,"
Jo shuffled with a map.
"It was like some strange contraction
that made me want to crap.

Wait a minute . . . it wasn't sound . . .
but if my mind is clear,
it seems to me it was something like
a word about my ear.

Was it 'beer'? No, more like 'Be-here'.
It might have been 'Belief.'
Wait, I've got it. It was 'Be-lie-fear.'
Wow, what a relief!"

As Jo was searching for the word
that baited our last trap,
I watched him step outside the car,
and blithely take a crap.

"Be-lie-fear," I said to myself,
to only then confirm
it made me want to defecate.
"How can a simple term . . .

that isn't even a word," I asked,
"physiologically,
have an effect like this on us?
It's difficult to believe.

Damn, we're stupid . . . we never learn,"
a vision prompted me.
"Jo, I've found the secret, okay.
Now, see if you agree.

Again, we've ignored the feedback that
our actions generate.
We've done it before . . . refusing to hear
the message of a State.

I don't know how we failed to see,
but when I touched the ground
I imagined an evil quicksand, and
that's precisely what I found.

And then I dreamt of a monster that
I happen to respect.
Next thing I knew, what-a-ya suppose
my brain opts to conject?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it,
I pictured a hungry wolf,
and sure enough, I turned to see
one rip our bumper off.

And then the Voice answered our call,
and left us with a hint
about knowing the key to this State was
not locking ourselves in."

"So, what do you think it means, Jo Mime?
It feels to me the eye,
ain't meeting all experience in
this State of Terra-fy."

"Wait a second! I just realized,"
Jo-Mima pointed out,
"what if everything we saw . . .
our fears helped bring about?"

"What are you saying . . . that our nightmares,
and even threats from Hell,
are nothing more than images we
inflict upon ourselves?"

"Well, maybe so. Consider that
the horrors at our door
were preceded by our pangs of fear
the moment just before.

What if this State is nothing but
a mirror for our minds,
reflecting back to us the things
we most want not to find?

This State may be the canvas that
is absolutely blank,
waiting for the paint of fear . . .
a link of chain to yank."

Well, any reader who's come this far
by now, can, tonally,
hear a chord of truth when struck,
though maybe still off-key . . .

and yes, it's true that right or wrong,
regardless of the choice,
it always seemed when we arrived,
so too, came the Voice.

The Buggy jerked a little bit.
The engine tried to start.
The Voice returned, predictably,
"Well, that's the biggest part.

I don't know why I've come to take
the two of you to raise.
It reminds me more how hard I worked
back in Cro-Magnon days.

So, listen up. My time is tight.
Jo, you're on the scent.
The State of Fear is where your last
few moments have been spent.

Freedom and Fear are very close.
The border's hard to find.
It may, at first, seem neither has
an edge of any kind.

For mortals, I'd say that Freedom's worse.
Your souls just aren't mature
enough to stop your mind's defrost
to liquid horse manure.

And then, again, your souls don't know
all Fear is self-induced.
Your spirit can't be threatened by
things the world's produced.

And thus, Fear is a favorite State . . .
what do humans say . . .?
It separates the men and boys,
and eats both anyway!"

"So, that's the reason," I couldn't believe
Jo interrupted then,
"you told us that the secret was
not locking ourselves in . . .

the threat of Fear, though real, is held
completely in our brains,
a scimitar we shape and hone
to self-inflict our pain.

And that's the reason our guiding word
was just some cryptogram . . .
Fear is like a flood of lies
your confidence can dam."

By now the Carriage bumped and hummed,
but wasn't taking flight . . .
as Jo and I were listening for
the Voice to set us right.

When nothing broke the silence, I
just turned to Jo and said,
"We're getting pretty good at this.
Let's just move ahead!"

"You boys are really something else,"
the Voice severely spoke,
"even when you do okay
for human-kind of folk.

Your accomplishments are dust and crumbs
to creatures really bright.
In a hundred floors of this meta-world,
you've only come one flight.

Try as you will, the things you seek
remain beyond your reach.
You try to learn with logic what
only faith can teach.

You strain your guts to see the truth,
while you ignore the witness
that might decode the world for you
so fear won't leave you shitless.

'Be-lie-fear,' does not, my friends,
mean lies that bind your mind,
but rather that your fear's exposed
by strength your heart can find.

It's both hearsay and heresy,
until you learn to cleave
the roots of 'be-lie-f' and 'ear'
and learn what you believe."

"Wo!" Jo shouted, thunderstruck,
revelation on his face.
"I get it now!" He clapped his hands.
"Give my brain some space!

Fear is not just made of lies . . .
it's less than lies, albeit,
our minds succumb because belief
gives us cause to see it."

At that, and with the Buggy hot,
Jo and I were farting.
"Do we have time to take a crap,"
Jo asked, "before departing?

The Voice first laughed, and then announced,
"You fellows are so witless.
You never figured the password out . . .
it might have scared you _______!

With that the Buggy whirled away.
The windshield turned to black.
"Jo," I said, "I hope these States
don't ever ask us back . . ."