Not My Tea Party? Not My Rabbits!
{Syd E. Wabbit ~ Michael Ricks}
Alice peered at the rather dapper rabbit before her and then promptly clamped her eyes shut and smacked herself soundly in the head three times.
“There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home,” Alice repeated silently in her head; she recalled this had helped Dorothy out of a jam a time or two, but then Dorothy had those damn ruby slippers. Alice reopened her eyes and saw the rabbit studying her with a knowing sympathetic look.
“Syd. E Wabbit at your service, ma’am. We’re late; we’re late, for a very irrelevant date. Mad M. Hatter wishes you to join him for tea; he states it is most important you attend.”
Alice caught the chuckle about to escape her lips as Syd E. earnestly lisped and whistled his way through his invitation, sensing the serious comportment of his demeanor.
“I’m sorry, but I rarely chase rabbits,” quipped Alice, hoping he would just disappear. She had enough troubles without having to explain silly rabbits and their tricks.
“Clock’s ticking,” replied the rabbit pointing judiciously to his rather large pocket watch. “Tick-tock, tick- tock.”
“Yeah, I know, and the mouse ran up the clock,” muttered Alice under her breath. “Well, since you are a rather persistent apparition, it appears I have no choice but to accept your Madam’s invitation.”
“That’s Mad M. With a capital M for Mundane, he’s a rather fundamental character in Wonderland affairs.”
“I see, then why does he request my attendance? I’m just a crazy girl chasing imaginary rabbits.”
“Perhaps only those willing to chase rabbits are likely to catch them?”
Syd E. Wabbit then thumped his right foot and the world around Alice became very small and dark until it disappeared altogether.
When Alice came to, she was seated at a small table neatly adorned with a silver tea service, numerous ornate china cups and copious trays of decorative tea cakes. At the head of the table sat a small robot with green top hat. His eager face scrutinized Alice through a golden monocle.
Around his shoulders was an orange feather boa, and she caught a glimpse of his platform boots mischievously twinkling with stardust beneath the table.
Mad M. extended a well manicured hand, “Thank you for accepting my invitation. We need to talk about your sense of reality.”
“I’ll drink to that!” Alice replied, gulping a strong hot shot of tea. “A talking rabbit, missing time and a tea party, all in one day, has definitely got me questioning my sanity.”
“Tea cake?” offered Mad M., displaying an enticing array of chocolates for Alice to choose from. “Now back to your mental state, this entire fear thing you’ve got going on? Not working out so well here for us here in Wonderland.
The whole lack of self-worth and depression thing? We would like you to work on that.”
“Fear and depression thing? What fear and depression thing?”
“The whole apocalyptic chickens coming home to roost thing — it’s counterproductive.”
“Oh, that! That’s just what we humans do — we bury our heads in the sand until there’s a crisis. The imminent demise of humanity as we know it is the catalyst to global change according to all the media outlets.
They say it’s time to muster a robust response, put boots on the ground, thread the needle, and silence all the chatter; terrorists are infiltrating systemically and globally on earth.
Fundamentalists come in all flavors; lone wolves prowl urban neighborhoods, serial killers and mass murderers are hunting for new targets, corporations are politically sponsored organized crime syndicates, widespread famine, pestilence, annihilation and extermination of the human species is inevitable. Everyone says so.”
“Well, that is certainly one way of looking at things; humans have most of us in Wonderland wondering though.”
“Isn’t that what Wonderland is for? Wondering?”
“Certainly, one is to wonder before one wanders. That’s why earth is just a part of the journey and not the destination.”
“I have to live there. You don’t even have to visit. You get to wonder, I get to deal with sub-Neanderthal simians blowing one another up. How do you reason with a species that fights to the death over temporal assets which mean nothing in the long-term game?
One could hide in their house; but now with Ebola, earthquakes, killer storms and super volcanoes, the whole planet is ready to erupt.”
“Fear is the real virus, the real killer. It kills the creative spirit and thus the heart of a being; dead hearts and minds get stuck on old ideas. Fight-or-flight closes the mind to alternative and proactive solutions that lead to lasting change. You humans forget you created this entire reality.
Every system, every idea, every belief, is a creation of your collective minds; you each have the power to change things and create a new reality. The choice is really up to each of you. It’s about what you choose to focus on.”
“Talk about out of touch with reality! Let’s just say I take your advice and I roar like a mouse in the face of a lion. Won’t I just get eaten? How do I just pretend like everything is unicorns and flowers while people are enduring such horror and hardship?
Perhaps your middle name is Mundane for a reason? No wonder you are irrelevant.”
“You accept there is no formula, no shortcut, no fast track to achieving world peace,” Mad. M. responded with the tone a parent takes with a small child when they anticipate the child cannot comprehend the simplicity of their message.
“Everyone is playing the game on different levels, simultaneously. Reality is not the same for everyone; if it was, life would be rather boring. Don’t lose your gift for curiosity — it’s what keeps you creative and alive. Visionaries change things, and everyone else? They just survive.
Necessity may be the mother of invention, but love is the spark that takes invention and transforms it into practical magic for the healing of humanity and the planet. It’s not what you do, but how you do it. The world has an abundance of horror; it needs more beauty and laughter.”
“But I am just a silly girl, I have no hat of magic tricks; they’ll just say I’m a dreamer.”
“Every vision starts with a dream.”
Alice had to admit that Mad M. had a valid point. Still, Alice could not shake her inner trepidation that Mad M.’s wisdom was the result of some optimistic programming application. Could anyone after all trust an amalgam with a possible 90-day warranty?
Mad M., sensing her uncertainty, replied: “Look, my neighbor? She’s a real tart. That woman spends all day worrying, scouring Wonderland for conspirators and shouting ‘Off with their heads’, while I calmly sit here drinking tea.
Sometimes we simply have to leave others to their own misery. I imagine some day she will see she is not getting the response she wants. Until then, I keep to my tea party and tend my own rabbits.”
“So it’s okay for me to spend my days creating art and poetry? I don’t have to solve all the world’s problems today?”
“Yes, you can spend your days creating art and poetry. No, you cannot solve all the world’s problems today even if you tried; but you can brighten someone’s day and make their journey more beautiful. Perhaps that is the real meaning of life?”
Perhaps Mad M. was mundane, but Alice could see now how his calm approach to chaos was fundamental. A clear head, a loving heart, and a good sense of humor had, after all, sustained Alice through many a misfortune.
Alice began to imagine all the unwritten poems and works of art yet to be created until she became quite dizzy with inspiration. Mad M. began to melt into the table and Alice felt as though she was shrinking until once again she lost consciousness.
Awakening with a start, Alice found she was safely tucked in her bed, the television blaring new warnings of homicidal air bags as she reached for the remote. A welcoming peaceful silence permeated the room as Alice grabbed her pen and a clean sheet of paper.
The clock on the nightstand stopped ticking, and for one moment Alice thought she could hear Mad M. in Wonderland, laughing in the distance: “Not your tea party? Not your rabbits!”
*****
{Create!}
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