THE MAGIC SHOES: 5) THE CATERPILLAR
Meltdown Monday Madness
And suddenly I find myself sitting upon a mushroom facing a caterpillar wearing spectacles.
“Who are you?” asks the Caterpillar.
I realize I’m now in an earlier part of Lewis Carroll’s iconic story.
“Who me?” I say. “As opposed to Alice?”
“Alice? Oh, yes.” The Caterpillar sighs before taking a long draw from its hookah and blows circles of smoke into the air. “She’s been and gone. I don’t usually have this much excitement in one day. Nor am I a fan of excitement. Nor do I care for surprises or visitors. And so I ask again: Who are you?”
Although I would have preferred to return to Cecil Court, I find myself at ease with my surroundings despite the Caterpillar’s snooty indifference, perhaps growing into a Wonderland frame of mind.
And so I reply: “I am the product of my ever-changing consciousness since birth.”
“What do you mean by that?” the Caterpillar sternly demands.
“I mean, it all boils down to precisely who I am this moment, not before, because our imagery of the past is rife with false memories and stories constructed mostly by our self-righteous egos, you see.”
“No.” The Caterpillar glares at me. “I don’t see.”
“That’s because it is somewhat of a mystery who I am, or how I got here or anywhere before here. It’s probably as simple as DNA’s relentless drive to replicate itself. Or it could be its obsession with reproducing itself once the universe granted us the gift of consciousness after emerging from the recycled stardust of ancient celestial explosions.”
“You!” bellows the Caterpillar. “Who are you?”
“Look,” I say. “I got thrown into this place—Wonderland—first by birth and just recently by some kind of magic portal. A German philosopher, Martin Heidegger, calls it thrownness. Essentially, it means getting thrown into a particular place and time not of my choosing.”
“I see,” says the Caterpillar. “Do you know where you are?”
“Of course.”
“Where?
“Here.”
“Why?” snorts the Caterpillar.
“Why not?”
“Where is it you are going?”
I glance down at my shoes before returning the Caterpillar’s gaze. “I’m on a journey.”
“A journey to where?”
I scratch my head. “Wherever.”
“No specific destination?” questions the Caterpillar.
“The destination,” I say, “is the same for everyone—it’s the journey that counts.”
“But what is it you want from me?” huffs the Caterpillar.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you here!?”
“I have to be somewhere.” I’m starting to enjoying the arrogant Caterpillar’s frustration. “Why not here?”
“WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR!?” the Caterpillar cries.
“Silence and solitude.”
“Granted,” says the Caterpillar, sliding off the mushroom into the dewy grass.
I watch as it silently twists and turns through the blades, leaving a trail of slimy goo in its wake. I am left to, well, silence and solitude.
I notice that the book Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland now sits atop the mushroom vacated by the Caterpillar. “Little wonder Alice found this place curiouser and curiouser,” I add.
This time, I’m careful to open the book at its every end, page 157.
“…how she would keep… the simple loving part of her childhood; and how she would gather about her other little children and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago; and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days.”
The rest of the page is blank and… in the blink of an eye… I am back in Cecil Court, standing in the same the shop I was in before I got teleported to Wonderland.