Asked to what he might attribute his
succès d'estime et succès populaire as
shamanistic spiritual giant, not to mention
probably the richest most belovèd chancellor
(as he’d been called) of wise advice for life which
had, by now, improved the views of everyone in every
quarter of the world, divesting them of every kind of strife –
he pondered for a minute and six seconds, twirled his flowing,
ever-elegantly untrimmed eyebrow hairs as if they bore the cares
and woes of which he had relieved so many friends and foes
throughout the decades of his holy work: he said, ‘well, it
amounts to this: the blessing of the gift that I’ve been
granted: my full lips.’ We took in what we could of
that intriguing cryptic message, and then asked
if he had any further tips. He said, ‘not really.’
Because we hadn’t given up our hope he
might say more, we tried to query him
again: ‘okay, so – ‘ But by then he
had arisen from his chair to go.
He warmly waved goodbye.
Our sigh was our reply.