Rastaman folk tales: Tale about the Unburnt Kush So, here is a banker. Like, a normal suite-and-tie banker, a workaholic anonymous who, in fact, doesn't enjoy his job! He doesn't like it at all! It makes him sick and crazy but he still works and works and works. It's because he wants to make such a fortune to never work again but to put it in into a good bank and live on annuity somewhere in countryside, far away from mundane vanity and sins - everybody wants that these times! Or, at least, all people say so - ask anybody, they'll tell you the same thing: to the countryside! To the solitude! Not to see, hear or remember all this life anymore, not to know people you don't like, to watch the stars and live gently - this is today's hot trend. Then, after ten years, they still have the same job, they even didn't take a vacation since then, but they are still dreaming the same dream: we just save little bit more and go to the countryside! Nevertheless, everything with their life is all clear and very sad. But why to weep - You Need to Work! Yep. But this banker I am talking about - once he got luck. He either won a jackpot, or made in his bank such a big deal of money that it definitely will be enough. Of course, he didn't move to the countryside - what a banker could do there? He bought a condo in a small town, moved there his clothes, books and stereo - but didn't take anything else, even T.V. He left all his worldly possessions to his wife (or whoever he had), everything including his car and brownstone, yes. He left to this small town, locked himself up in his condo and became TOTALLY HAPPY! Like, a for whole month he was totally happy, then for another month - well, just happy, then for two weeks he was just okay, then... it was also good, but not really much. Because he wanted to socialize with people, and locals - Well, locals. I wouldn't say that the locals were total jerks and assholes, not even total bastards, but, like, regular townsfolk. But what you can talk with them about if you do not watch the T.V.? Of course, there are definitely some positive people there - every town has some positive people, but they are either totally broken or drunk every morning or stoned so much that it is scary even to approach them. I should say that our banker smoked pot, too, but did it very quietly, so nobody will know - even his wife or whoever he had. Finally, he got a craving to smoke. He didn't want to buy from local pushers, because they gonna stalk him afterwards and everybody in the town will know he is a pothead. He didn't want to go to his old dealer in the big city - because, you know, if you come there just for a bag, you know... there is a dozen of reasons not to go there. But he still wants to smoke ganja. Once, he entered his condo building and felt a very familiar smell! He got up to his floor and saw an old man from the next door smoking on the stairs. According to the smell, he is smoking something r-really interesting! The banker, going by him, slowed down just a bit - just for a fraction of a second, but old man understood it right. He looked at the banker and asked: "Uhm?" The banker just nodded and almost instantly got a damn-great charge. Then, they came to old man's condo and rolled one more reefer. And, of course, smoked it up. Then, everything is alright, but the old man started a regular old folk's rant - like, how it was great in old times and how it sucks now, and more bull like that. Indeed, this old man isn't positive at all and so-o boring that he can break the groove even after the best weed. The banker asked him very carefully, trying not to offend: "Sorry, Mr. Bubba Joe, I really have to go, thank you very much, the weed was great - can you tell me where I can buy it?" Bubba Joe answered: "It is my weed, I grow it myself. So, neighbor, please feel free to drop by my place to sit together, smoke and chat about life." Poor guy even winced at the thought of this prospect. Of course, he didn't show it and kept the smile, but the old man understood it right. He told to the banker: "Neighbor, please feel free to tell, if something is wrong. I understand that you are not up to chat with me - I saw it for a long time, even though you didn't tell me that. I am not offended: you are young, I am old, what we can talk about? You know what? I'll give you an ounce of weed - you are a mature smoker and won't binge it up. It should last you out for a long time." So, he gave him an ounce of weed. The banker tried to reach his wallet, but the old man refused: "Please, no money, I am not selling weed. When you finish it up, just come again. Or, even better: take this blim of kush. It will not just last you out for a life, it will be even leftovers. But be careful with it, man, mind your mind!" Of course, the banker thanked him and whisked away to his hole. He rolled a joint, turned on music, filled a warm tub and did whatever they bankers do with the weed, I dunno - anyway, he made his day! After being straight-edge for such a long time, he smoked up the ounce in a week. Then, a whole week he looked at the blim - to smoke or not to smoke? And, finally, he smoked it. And - nothing. I mean, really nothing. Nothing is around - just darkness and warmth. He sees nothing, he hears nothing, and he feels such a joy and pleasure that there are no words to describe it. Whole eternity passed in this dark calm - well, not a real eternity, just a standard pothead eternity. Then, everything ended. He looked at the watch - only fifteen minutes passed! Wow! He rushed to the old man and asked: "Bubba Joe, I realize you do not sell the weed and I do respect your principles, but can you please make an exception for me? I really liked this blim and I would buy more stuff like that, at your price." Old man answered: "It is a pleasure to treat to a neighbor even for free, but I do not have any. You'd better look at your place." He told it THAT way that the banker immediately understood: "I'd better look at my place." He came home, looked in his stash - the blim is back there! The banker put it into the pipe, puff-puff - and he got fifteen minutes of eternity again; and again, and again, and again. Finally - no, he wasn't tired, the heaven can't be boring - he just got used to it. He thought: "Why I am always looking in front of me? Why don't look around?" He looked at the right - nothing. He looked at the left - and saw two yellow eyes. He asked it: "Who are you?" It answered: "I am a yelloweyer." He asked: "Why thou art here?" The yelloweyer answered: "For the same reason." So, little by little, the conversation started. It was so pleasant - nobody plays an attention whore, nobody passes away, all topics are interesting, all words are clear, all names are familiar - wow! It is THE conversation! Then, when the eternity ended, the banker puffed the blim again and continued the contact with the yelloweyer. Eventually, it became their custom - they meet and talk five or six times a day and they don't need anything else. It is good, indeed. Very good. But finally, the banker freaked out: "Why I feel so good? It is impossible that it is so good for nothing... It is not without purpose!" Once he asked the yelloweyer: "Dost thou knowest, why we are together?" The yelloweyer answered: "Because we enjoy each other, that's why." The banker replied: "But... why... Thou, for example... How didst thou getst here?" The yelloweyer answered: "Jah sent me." The banker asked: "Who is Jah?" The yelloweyer replied: "Well... Jah is such a good force which brings good people together." At this moment, the banker became really scared! "No way! How could some force, even a good one, mess up with my personal life and decide what's better for me?" He is totally freaked out. After that, he didn't touch his precious blim for a month. He decided to get a life: he tried to read books - but he didn't feel like reading, he tried to listen some music - but it flied around his ears, he even bought a T.V. and a DVD - he enjoyed only a couple of movies, then he became bored and sick of them and, finally, he gave up - he took the blim from the stash and smoked it again. The yelloweyer met him and asked: "Hi! Long time - no see... While thou wert out, I tried to read books and realized that the world's fiction is totally meaningless. The music is pointless, too - it flies around the ears, but it doesn't touch the soul. Then, I tried to watch some movies..." The banker interrupted him: "Listen, yelloweyer, probably, thou art me?" It answered: "No, pal, it is not possible. "Me is me, thou art thou" - remember this nursery rhyme? The banker told: "A-ha! Now I know for sure that thou art me, because my dad sang it to me when I was in a cradle." The yelloweyer answered gently: "It is still impossible, because... ME - is me for myself and thou for thyself, THOU - is me for thou and thou for me, HE - is Jah who brought us together, WE - are thou and me, YE - it is how to call jerks and bastards, and THEY - are all those jerks and bastards we are not interested in. That's how it is, bro." After that, the banker chickened out, as he never did before in his life. He hid the blim as far as possible, shaved himself, put his clothes on and went to his old dealer in the big city to buy some normal weed and return to the reality. He brought the weed home but decided to smoke it not in condo but on the stairs - just in case. So, he smokes it on the stairs... some neighbor goes by him and slows down just a bit - just for a fraction of a second, but... I hope you understood what happened next. Original Russian text: (c) HighDuke Ãà ñòà ìà Ãñêèå Ãà ðîäÃûå ñêà çêè :: Ñêà çêè è ïðî÷åå English translation: (c) juzy juzy: áúÃ÷úà ÿрþ ýõÑÂÿÃûøüыù úрþÿÃûь