He looked like Carlin's estranged brother: thinning hair pulled back into a ponytail, dangling earrings swinging around a scruffy beard, face worn by weather/nicotine/controlled substances, unmarked black tee tucked into worn jeans, shoes in the comfortably worn-in middle years of remarkably well-built lives. He used to teach high school. He wants to write a book. He was adopted at birth.
Or so THEY say.
Reality: although he looks like one of us, his DNA is alien. He comes from another galaxy. Maybe another dimension (I didn't have the conversational opportunity to discern which).
What does one say?
I have to respect someone whose name is Zen, a truncated version of the title bestowed at his creation. Just like I have to respect someone who spent a career teaching in public high schools.
"Feel that tingle in your crown chakra? That's me. And if I took off my earrings [the male and female deities of an Amazonian tribe, worn left and right, respectively, to balance the energies] you'd get a spike like a sunspot. No shit."
What's odd is that this guy is a low-key persona who works his ass off at menial tasks to help shoddily-managed musical tours succeed. And he says he is not of this world as casually as someone would say, "I'm from Cleveland" or any other sort of well-known but uncharged location; Tulsa, Austin, anywhere on either seaboard, anywhere from the depth of the midwest, far west, north, carries a stigma, but "I am not of this place" carries the weight of "I tied my shoes this morning."
I couldn't help but accept it as his existential reality and move on. Really, what would Miss Manners say to such a person--"From my perspective, you are delusional"?
Besides, if he is right about THEM and their cover up, is it worth arguing with a trans-dimensional/galactic entity about his earthly entrapment?
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