ourselves anointed with the awesome power of an imagined faith.
After a good long while, I found myself exhausted. After a dip in the
ocean to cool myself off, I emerged dripping wet and went back in the
bar. I felt as if I had finally read some incredible book that everyone
had been talking about for years, and discovered that it was every bit
as fantastic as they had insisted. This was the way it felt to be in love
with life, because you loved yourself and the people around you.
What an amazing perspective! After a great slumber, my heart had
temporarily opened in a massive yawn of awakening, and breathed in
the rapture of the world. If only there was a way to keep it open all
the time. I decided that that would have to be my paramount goal: to
try to find the doorstop that would hold that gate permanently ajar.
On my way back to the club, I was pounced on by a flying lama.
He was soaked to the skin with the sweat of reckless abandon, and
couldn’t stop telling me over and over how good he felt.
“Geez, if I could just feel like this every day!” Oscar screamed
and shook his head, spraying drops of perspiration. I could feel the
heat pouring from his body. “I just love everyone so much! And it’s
like I don’t even care if they don’t like me—my feelings are totally and
unprecedentedly unselfish! I wish real life could be more like this.
This is the first time I can remember that I actually liked myself!”
“Why don’t you like yourself Oz?” I asked.
He looked confused. “Why don’t I whatmyself?”
“Here, lets go outside where we can talk,” I said, leading him
outside. We found a couple of abandoned chairs on the sand and sat
down.
I repeated, “Why don’t you like yourself? You’re sogreat…”
“Thanks. But no one else ever likes me much. I’ve never really
had any good friends, and before I came to Samrin I was largely a
failure with women. I guess I just figure that I’m lacking something,
and if everyone else feels that I’m shit, I must be shit.”
“But what about all your devoted followers?” I said, “They would
gladly lick the lint from between your toes if you asked them to.”
“Yeah, all that rubbish about my followers. Don’t you see, Jake?
They don’t like me—they like Ozzy Lama. I’m no prophet or guru, I’m
Oscar Turnbull, an underdeveloped flea who wanted nothing more in
life than to receive a little love and attention. Oscar Turnbull, who
previously couldn’t get a woman if he paid for her. Who disguised
himself as a leader so that he could use the feathers in his followers’
BIG AMERICAN BREAKFAST
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