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  Then Marcel asked: Is Mr. Vanderpump a Tai Chi master?

  Klaus Vanderpump is a genius who doesn’t take himself seriously. You may ask him anything.

  Marcel turned to the giant chameleon: Mr. Vanderpump, who are you?

  Like all things, said the master’s associate, I am nothing.

  Is nothing code for everything questioned Marcel?

  Yes replied the Chameleon.

  The master then said: The work you did with William Bill Billy Dick O’Brien was impressive. Now, consider the question: What are we?

  Seeking a Needle in the River Bottom, the master continued: While Klaus and I are gone, please work on Patting the High Horse.

  When the two masters returned, Socrates asked: So what are we?

  Grounded, Straddling the Tiger, Marcel replied: We are spiritual beings having a physical experience.

  Suddenly, Socrates Jones spun into a seven star form within the form.

  Klaus Vanderpump, who had an impressive tongue, said to Marcel: Socrates and I were invited to a party on the other side of the island. Would you like to join us?

  Moving into Repulsing the Monkey and with deep gratitude, Marcel replied Yes.

  So, said Madame Sosostris, have you made your decision?

  Decision?

  I will be leaving soon; will you be joining me?

  Of course I will. I want nothing more than to join you.

  Brilliant, she said as a baritone gong sounded through her home.

  Will you get that?

  Certainly Madame, I said, and opened the door.

  Klaus, Socrates, Marcel! So good to see you.

  She embraced them and, in that moment, I heard what I can only describe as An Eternal Yes. It resounded through the fabric of space/ time. Three times three times three dimensions; we could all hear it and see it and then it happened, it unfurled and came together: Horace and Juvenal, the Archivists of Culture, Fabius Raoul Fabius, Bop Kabballa, Shakespeare’s sister, Gaius Lucillius and Henry St. John, all of them and all the others moving freely through these dimensions of space and time: Max and Laroy, Dr. Steadman Sophie, Rue Morgan, The Pinkertons and Plutocats, the Bubble Gum Smackers, Human Bubbles and a man named Horst . . . Cocorocho-the-Turd –and-his-Attornies, Dr. Benway , Viktor Frankl; they were all present, and Socrates was right. There is no there, for they were all here: Tina Byrd, Epicurus, Zarathustra. In that moment I realized that reality is tapestry, a rainbow carpet unfolding for Boethius, Cicerone, Paracelsus and Bubba, Suzie Smith, Dwight, The Beadsman, All Forces of Balance, and the dearly beloved Baby Gorilla Waiters.

  In that moment we came together on some cosmic launch pad, Exodus and Reditus about to explode. But an orgasm of epic proportion? A Big Bang to begin all creation? It would have seemed incredible had it been suggested by anyone other than the ubiquitous Madame Sosostris.

  Thaght! Thaght!