It was ten days ago. Ten long, thoughtful days ago. I had been wanting the adventure – no, adventure is not the right word. The experience – yes, I had been wanting the experience for a long time. Still, how could I know just what awaited me?
My wife, though not one of us, went with me. She bravely sat at my side throughout the whole thing. We arrived early. We stayed for the full event. She knew some of the people, I did not.
Second by second the time ticked by. Each participant spoke the words they had come to say. Some scientific, some of personal history, some of nature, some of death, and more. The range of topics was limited only by the number of participants present. No, not even that number was the limit as some covered more than a single subject.
The subject of death: that was mine. We were to speak words recently assembled, but my words were from nearly four decades ago. I had brought with me words written a long time ago because I did not know what the rules were. But I did not hide it. In fact, the very words themselves revealed the time lapse. I am not ashamed. The words were good. The story they told was not.
Even though she is not one of us, Margaret was also required to speak some words. She asked me to recommend some of my words for her to speak. I did. She spoke them. She did well.
And then we were required to prove our ability by putting together words that related to a subject that was announced just before we started the creation of the new sentences and paragraphs. Although it may not be the intent of our host, this procedure would prove that the words we were soon to speak were truly structured by none other than ourselves. After all, who could say that the words I spoke on death were arranged by me? I could, but who else?
And so we did. It was scary. It is my habit to arrange words and rearrange them and often do that repeatedly before I consider them worthy of presenting to others. Even then I am not always so sure. But I did as required. I put together words about – toothpaste. And, even though she is not one of us, my wife did so also. And she did well.
The task was enabled by a chemical supplement: a product originating in the equatorial territory of the Americas. The product is made from a bean which comes from a pod which grows on a tree. The bean is fermented and roasted and further processed until it becomes the thick pellet we were given. It’s powers are nothing less than magical. All at the event were able to produce sentences that met the requirements of our host. For me, I am sure it was the cacao bean that made the difference.
So was the experience what I expected? No, not quite. I had anticipated true critiques of the word packages provided by each of us. That was not provided. In a way it was a relief. I was prepared for negative feedback on my words, but I’m not so sure I could reciprocate. And that would not be fair.
The group comes together on a regular schedule. The next time is four days from now. Will I be there? No, I will not. I’ll not stay away because of my concern stated in the previous paragraph. As it happens, I’ll be traveling to another state on the day of the meeting.
Will I assemble with these people in the future? Yes. After all, while I am required to sit through whatever words they wish to speak, regardless of my interest, or lack of interest, in the subject, this provides a reciprocal advantage. They must listen to whatever I choose to speak of, regardless of their interest, or lack of interest. In other words, I have what all writers want: a captive audience.
