(Jared's) Adventures in Auto Repair
My vehicle was having problems. I was concerned. Off I went.
I drove many miles, looking for a place that felt right. Shops here and there I passed, each one promising in its own way but not, I felt, the correct choice. And then I found it, almost by accident. Blindly, as it were, and stumbled forward into the evening sun. A silhoette only, but I could feel its presence, a palpable benevolence and center of auto wisdom.
As I opened the door my nostrils were assailed by exotic incenses and a haze covered the room. A small boy stood in the swirling mists and asked my name, and my purpose, in a voice of purity and innocence. When he had learned of my problem, he went then behind a curtain. I heard nothing for a few moments.
Then he reemerged to just outside the curtain and held it up, gesturing inside with a low bow.
I knew before I passed the threshhold it was holy ground, and took off my shoes. Placed them slowly on the floor outside.
And stepped inside.
And there was sitting a wise woman. She was aged and bent, and adorned with strange charms and jewelry. In a low voice she slowly explained what I was to do. I listened intently - how could I not? For my attention was only on her from the first I entered the room, and first saw her.
All this she told me without rising. She did not need to. And at the end she bid me farewell with sparing words.
I could not but feel this was correct. That she be sparing with me - what is my candle, to hold beside the wisdom of the ancients, and one who communes with the Great Vehicle?
So I gathered the things I needed. I ventured into the forests and the valleys, the sleeping jungle and the permafrosted Arctic, and found them. Strange and wonderful things whose essence would be cheapened to represent here in mere "words" I found, and put them in my satchel. It was their magic that would combine in the alchemist's mortar and pestle, and in the crucible, and give life to my ailing car.
When I returned to her with these things, she beat a dead chicken against the side of my exposed engine block. I experienced my first moment of doubt - what if that chicken isn't dead enough? Or too dead? What if something is wrong with my car, and the smeared gizzards dripping on the radiator can give none of their essence to it, because it is malfunctioning as it is? What if my timing belt slipping fucks the whole thing up?
But my concerns were quickly laid to rest, as the vehicle suddenly, and without warning, sprang joyously to roaring life.
I thanked her as best as I could. But what is my thanks? It was small and irrelevant by comparison - it was a penny to a millionaire. I went my way gratefully, and unheard.
This is all true.
I drove many miles, looking for a place that felt right. Shops here and there I passed, each one promising in its own way but not, I felt, the correct choice. And then I found it, almost by accident. Blindly, as it were, and stumbled forward into the evening sun. A silhoette only, but I could feel its presence, a palpable benevolence and center of auto wisdom.
As I opened the door my nostrils were assailed by exotic incenses and a haze covered the room. A small boy stood in the swirling mists and asked my name, and my purpose, in a voice of purity and innocence. When he had learned of my problem, he went then behind a curtain. I heard nothing for a few moments.
Then he reemerged to just outside the curtain and held it up, gesturing inside with a low bow.
I knew before I passed the threshhold it was holy ground, and took off my shoes. Placed them slowly on the floor outside.
And stepped inside.
And there was sitting a wise woman. She was aged and bent, and adorned with strange charms and jewelry. In a low voice she slowly explained what I was to do. I listened intently - how could I not? For my attention was only on her from the first I entered the room, and first saw her.
All this she told me without rising. She did not need to. And at the end she bid me farewell with sparing words.
I could not but feel this was correct. That she be sparing with me - what is my candle, to hold beside the wisdom of the ancients, and one who communes with the Great Vehicle?
So I gathered the things I needed. I ventured into the forests and the valleys, the sleeping jungle and the permafrosted Arctic, and found them. Strange and wonderful things whose essence would be cheapened to represent here in mere "words" I found, and put them in my satchel. It was their magic that would combine in the alchemist's mortar and pestle, and in the crucible, and give life to my ailing car.
When I returned to her with these things, she beat a dead chicken against the side of my exposed engine block. I experienced my first moment of doubt - what if that chicken isn't dead enough? Or too dead? What if something is wrong with my car, and the smeared gizzards dripping on the radiator can give none of their essence to it, because it is malfunctioning as it is? What if my timing belt slipping fucks the whole thing up?
But my concerns were quickly laid to rest, as the vehicle suddenly, and without warning, sprang joyously to roaring life.
I thanked her as best as I could. But what is my thanks? It was small and irrelevant by comparison - it was a penny to a millionaire. I went my way gratefully, and unheard.
This is all true.