The beet is the most intense of vegetables. The radish, admittedly, is more feverish, but the fire of the radish is a cold fire, the fire of discontent not of passion. Tomatoes are lusty enough, yet there runs through tomatoes an undercurrent of frivolity. Beets are deadly serious. Slavic peoples get their physical characteristics from potatoes, their smoldering inquietude from radishes, their seriousness from beets. The beet is the melancholy vegetable, the one most willing to suffer. You can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip…The beet is the murderer returned to the scene of the crime. The beet is what happens when the cherry finishes with the carrot. The beet is the ancient ancestor of the autumn moon, bearded, buried, all but fossilized; the dark green sails of the grounded moon-boat stitched with veins of primordial plasma; the kite string that once connected the moon to the Earth now a muddy whisker drilling desperately for rubies.The beet was Rasputin’s favorite vegetable. You could see it in his eyes.
We did everything adults would do. What went wrong?
Juggling boiz like watermelons.
"It is your Vision Quest. This old mountain has drawn my ancestors here for centuries to begin their journey in search of the Great Mystery. Just like it called you when you were just a boy."
My breath caught in my throat, his words suffocating me.
“The Great Mystery?” I somehow managed to mumble between shallow breaths.
“Who am I: The great mystery that confronts us all sooner or later, and it looks to me like your time has come.”
“So you do believe?” I asked plaintively, my voice returning to the unsteady tenor of puberty.
“Yes, I believe. There are those that think the Vision Quest can only be revealed to a man. But the truth is, it can only be seen with the eyes of a child.”
My eyes began to blur with tears, my throat to tighten.
“I haven‘t seen the world like that for a very long time.”
“But your dream,” John urged gently. “Your dream is the gods conspiring to give you freedom, just like the elders sang that night in the Sundance ceremony:
When worlds collide there sounds a tolling
A call to rise and seize the moment
The gods conspire to give us freedom
When worlds collide the journey has begun
"What are you saying?" I challenged him, pushing back from the precipice of dread I felt drawing near.
“Your search for the sacred gift has already started.”