It was suggested to Andy and Gary they go west again.
No no no, we’re not going west again, we only have nine more chapters for this part, Andy shouted in frustration. In fact, the machines were quite agitated; this odyssey was getting out of hand.
The exile put a hand on Andy’s shoulder. Why are you anxious to get anywhere? All of time is available to us; in fact, to live and not to live, to seek and not to seek, to work and not work, that is how we find the Dao.
No you idiot, the know-it-all roared, happiness comes from setting the names in order. If the names are not in order, then the people will not know what is right; if the people do not know right from wrong, then there can not be rectification; if there is no rectification, there is no state; if there is no state, how do I eat a grain of rice?
This is untrue, the despondent said, the world is full of suffering and misery; when we die, we merely live again, sometimes as gods ourselves, sometimes as hungry ghosts on an endless plain; true bliss comes from leaving all possible forms of mortality, and therefore consequence.
This is false, there is but one life, and this is all; and we should have good thoughts, good words, and good deeds, the thinker said.
Nonsense, said the prophet, how can we trust the words of men? Better to trust the words of God, and not until every jot and tittle of God’s words are understood shall we truly be freed from this oppressive state.
Are you nuts? cried the gadfly, do gods speak? through the rustles of the leaves? the drip-drop of water? the whistle of the wind? The gods endowed us with reason, and we must exercise reason and our perceptions to discover first principles of the world.
You’re all wrong, and you’re all morons! Andy barked. This is what true happiness looks like; and he spread his arms over the land. In three millennia, the Chinese, the Indians, the Iranians, the Jews, and the Greeks shall live on this land in more-or-less harmony, and they shall be able, more-or-less, to determine their leaders, and they shall be able to, more-but-usually-less, steer their destinies; and they will settle their differences, not because they see each other as equals truly, but because the living on this land will be worth begrudging their rivals.
And no, Laozi, they shall not pursue what it is their soul fancies; they shall pursue whatever their guru fancies.
And no, Confucius, they will not know the proper time and place to do things; but they will put a Sticky on their fridge anyway.
And no, Siddhartha, they will not free themselves from the shackles of their sensations; they will instead loosen their inhibitions around stuffed crust pizza.
And no, Zoroaster, they will not think and do good things; they will instead hope others do good things, via thoughts and prayers.
And no, Moses, they will not obey the one true God; they will only obey their trainer.
And no, Socrates, they will not exercise their sense of logic; for the news will tell them what to think.
For you see, gentlemen, happiness is not contingent on release nor rectification nor restraint nor ritual nor reason, it is contingent on one thing alone: the ability to buy said happiness. For in a society without shame or social cachet of any sort, the only thing one can rely on is coin to represent themselves and their interests.
And yea, this is a good world, because one never needs to think; this is a good world, because one never needs to empathize; this is a good world, because one never needs to worry; this is a good world, because one never needs to doubt; so long as one is able to pay. And the reason why Chinese, Indians, Iranians, Jews and Greeks tolerate this godless land and its stupid people is because even an entirely bankrupt and nihilistic view of living is somehow still better than a fucking caste system.
Wow, Massasoit Sr. said, and us too, right?
Andy said nothing.
After tending the land, keeping it safe and pure, we’ll have even greater blessings, right?
Andy still said nothing.
Andy and Gary lamented what a waste of time this all was, for the ten years were nearly up and they were nowhere near Ithaca. The grouch, distraught, wandered into the woods.
An American woman took pity on him and presented him a lotus. The grouch bit into the lotus; it was as sweet as honey. His limbs then dropped, his eyelids fell, and his knees buckled, and when his form collapsed he felt no pain, though he anticipated the worst, and he drowsed deeply and peacefully on the grass. He dreamt he was in the arms of the woman, he dreamt he was in a wide lush meadow, he dreamt the sky was blue and the sun was dispelled of all clouds, he dreamt he lived a hundred years in that woman’s arms, Pocahontas Sr’s arms, and that they did not need anything in particular to be merry, they required no land, they required no children, they argued not over inheritances, they argued nothing over legacy, they were simply there, together, present on that meadow, time did not enter into it, eating flowers as sweet as honey, and when death came they were not displeased, it was just death. For this is true happiness: getting really, really high.
Homer, too, was despondent and rolled off the ship, weary of the long adventure, for it had won him neither fame nor women. He noticed, overlooking the shore, a slender girl with soft golden curls strumming the lyre skillfully, its notes spilling beside a beautiful voice. He approached the woman; the woman, indeed, was a man; it was the musician Orpheus, who accompanied the Argonauts, for the reason that a musician needs to take any gig they can get, even if amongst sweaty men; they discussed; Orpheus’s eyes brightened; he showed Homer a new world; very soon Homer was in Orpheus’s arms, learning to play his lyre, while looking adoringly through his arms.
Andy and Gary grabbed Homer and the grouch and took them onboard. They had just recalled where they were, and how it is they could get out of there. They headed to the only known extradimensional portal on Earth, the Bermuda Triangle.
© 2025 Jay Lee