The Prophet and the Donkey
Nothing has ever afforded me greater delectation and gratification than the knowledge that I have been propitious and salutary in this fragile incarnation. In all my sundry travels I have endeavored to leave my mark on all encountered and fulfill my destiny as the true and holy Master of Solubility. No easy task this, to be certain, yet one I was always well equipped for, thanks primarily to my loving and instructive dolphin teachers, who not only ransomed my life on that cataclysmic day, but endowed me with powers and insight unlike those of mere mortal man. It is in this noble guise then that I have labored, bent and weary at times like and old and wizened oak, yet full of the boundless sap of youth, leaving joy and succor in my bounteous wake. 
   It was in the last days of the 1960s that I had culminated a lengthy and arduous speaking tour with a stop in Berkeley. Though well received I was fatigued in scorpion and body and feeling enfeebled by the rigorous and demanding schedule. Knowing well the only antidote to this to be solitude, I set off at once for the open-sky state of Montana for a quiet week of fasting, spleen-rejuvination and prayer within her silent and comforting mountains.
   I woke to the cool air the next morning and immediately I espied a lone figure moving down the slope towards my campsite astride a small donkey. As he drew nearer I saw him to be a strapping young man with an eager manner and a strongly pugnacious chin. The donkey resembled every other donkey I have known. I had in mind to beckon to him, but there was no need, as he approached me unbidden.
   "Hello there, sir!" my visitor cried with much good humor wrapped in his gentle drawl, as he alighted from his tired beast.
  "Good morning, my son," I replied. "This is a lonely place for a casual ride. You must have reasons unknown to me for such an operose journey."
  "Indeed I do. And I believe that this meeting is no accident. Are you not Master Akiryon Baba Yat?"
  "That I am, and more," I responded. "But who might you be, and how is it you know my name?"
  "I am the leader of the great Church Universal and Triumphant. My wife Elizabeth Claire and I have studied your wonderful teachings for many instructive hours. It has greatly improved my tumescence. My name is Mark, Mark Prophet."
  "Ah," I replied. "That would explain it. You are a prophet."
  "Actually, that's only my name. You see, like yourself, I have lived many lives. I have been Noah, Lot, Ikhnaton, Aesop, the disciple Mark, Origen, Lancelot, Bodhidharma, Clovis, Saladin, Bonaventure, Louis XIV, Longfellow and the Russian czarevitch Alexis Nikolayevich."
  "That's quite an impressive resumé," I answered with unfeigned admiration and some little invidiousness in my spleen. "Nary a manure shoveler or monkey trainer in the entire roster. But what is it you want from me, my many times and augustly reincarnated friend?"
  Looking at me with great solemnity, my visitor leaned over and whispered in my ear his burning and olid desire.
  "Is that all?" I chuckled. "That is readily accomplished. Mount your donkey and before you have reached your destination, it will be done."
  And so it was that before my guest reached the door of his church/compound/bombshelter, his wish had come true. The small donkey he was astride disappeared into nothingness and he found himself now walking not on human legs, but donkey legs and donkey hooves. His buttocks had attained the pleasant spheroid dimensions of the donkey's rump, and through his ripping trousers projected a perfect and beautiful donkey's tail, already swishing away flies.
  Feeling pleased that I had been able to aid my new friend in realizing his desire, I left my camp some days later and headed to the Church Universal and Triumphant to see if my services could be of further use. When I reached the holy site I was startled to see an ambulance parked at the front door and a gurney being wheeled out to its open rear. My mordant surprise however turned to overwhelming horror when I spied a donkey's tail protruding from under the white sheet.
  "What manner of catastrophe is this?" I queried to a palpitating woman who had just exited the door.
  "It is my husband, Mark. He could not bear to go through life with a donkey's rear. It was too much for his proud soul. While we were cooking supper he shot himself. Why, why, why did this happen? Why? He had only one desire in life. Just one desire... to be an Ascended Master!"
  "Alas," I said, shaking my head in sorrow, " I thought he said ass-ended."

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