The rainbow war

Bastante Solipsis Marquez was gallant.  He drove an old van across the vastness of the American West and grew dreadlocks.  That was how he liked it.

Sometimes he drove with ganja from California.  Sometimes he drove with peyote from Mexico.  Every now and then he would carry human cargo from one place to another.  Most of the time he drove with nothing at all.

He liked to drive.  It was like riding a great horse.  He would drive endlessly for days.  It suited him.  He was an anachronism, unsuited for office work or profiteering.

Bastante desired above all else to tear apart the past with his fingernails, to undo what had already been done and start over.  It was impossible, and he knew it.  So he languished in anguish.  He repeated patterns, noticing how history never repeated itself yet always seemed to rhyme.   He learned from his own karma, and grew disgusted with himself.  

Slowly, he matured.

Bastante had discovered his own past lives through acid, dmt, psychedelic mushrooms, and vipassana meditation.  He had seen his own past lives, and they were embarrassing.  He was embarrassed to be human.  He only felt comfortable around humble people.  People who felt good about themselves, people who believed that they deserved their humanness, left him feeling awkward and humiliated.  He shunned society.

Bastante practiced yoga, and meditated.  On good days he stayed sober, and the rest of the time he was stoned.  He spoke to the stone people, and hugged trees for the psychological benefits.  He had late romantic nights with the stars.  He found hot springs that no one else knew about, and never told anyone.  He loathed money, and depended on it.

Bastante loved life, and despised the chains he chose to carry.  He despised his own bad choices, and learned to live with his own sorry ass self.  Nothing ever worked but perpetual forgiveness - of his own deep flaws and everyone else's.  It was a sad state of affairs but then what else was new.  Got lemons?  Make lemonade.  Bastante drove across the west to keep from driving himself mad.

Bastante grew old learning to forgive himself, and then grew older learning how to outgrow bad habits.  He discovered his own pessimism, his own fatalistic and depressing outlook towards life.  He saw that his own failure as a family man, as a householder, a committed and responsible person looking out for something other than #1 in his life, was due largely to his own victim mentality.  'Poor me' Bastante couldn't help but get the short end of the stick.  He saw himself in the mirror, and it shocked him.  He grew outraged, and evolved.

'Poor me' Bastante decided to be brave, and accept responsibility.  It was terrifying, life-threatening even, but still a decided improvement over perpetual victimhood.  He was happy for taking the step.  But bravery had its own problems.  It was easier to be brave than it was to be cool.  Bastante set out to be brave and came back uptight.

He forgave himself.  Lots of brave movements end up uptight.  Look at the Republican party.  Or Israel, for crying out loud.  Bastante saw what was he was up against, and pondered his next steps.

He knew he needed to surf.  But he was in the frigging desert.  What to do?  He hatched a plan.

He would be brave.   But he would not be uptight.  He would be nonchalant, and optimistic, and good humored, and nonattached, and chivalrous, even.  He would find a cause, and devote himself to it.  but he would not get uptight over it.  He would be brave, and positive, and not take himself too seriously.  Bravery and positivity were actually the same thing, he realized.  Positivity was, and is,  the greatest bravery.  And so he chose to be positive, even as everything he held dear poised on the brink of annihilation.  He grew stoic, and confident.  Not because he felt either, but because he felt responsible for faking it.

And what does a mature, stoic, good-humored confidence look like?  Bastante found a word, and stuck with it.

Bastante Solipsis Marquez chose to be gallant.

What else could he do?  He led a romantic life, devoted to the philosophical ideal of hope.  
"There is a way," he would say to anyone who would listen, and after a long time he began to believe it.  Whether it was true or not didn't matter.  If he believed it, it would come to pass.

And he thought.  And he thought.  And he thought.

What would make the difference?  What would heal the suffering of the world?

Bastante rose one day and knew.  He saw the path.  He chose it, or it chose him.  The way was clear, and called him.  It was a wonderful marketing opportunity.

Bastante went into business promoting hemp dollars.  He became a hemp dollar promoter.  He saw the way forward before anyone else made it plain, and he led the way.

Much later he would be heralded as one of the great chiefs of the Rainbow War, but that was too far in the future for him to see, or care.   He simply chose his mission, and determined to fake it till he made it.

And that was all.  Surely, that would be enough for any man-