mint soap and high-grade weed.
Stepping back to look Lewis over, he smiles slyly and tugs at his own white beard. âI see I inspired a new look!â
âOh, uh, yeah,â Lewis says to humor him, touching his own beard reflexively. He remains silent to give Bishop a chance to explain his presence in a tent in the yard but Bishop just grins goofily, his head cocked to one side, hands open in elfin coyness.
Lewis gives in: âSo what the hell are you doing out here in the yard, Bishop?â
â
Abiding near the Goddess
, of course!â Bishop declares, lifting his Tevas in a vague goat dance step.
âWho, Abby?â For thereâs a good chance Bishop means Gaia; thereâs a good chance Bishop means any number of things.
âWell, I use the term âGoddess,ââ Bishop says, making air quotes, âas a way to call forth the highest dimension of her consciousness.â He waits for Lewis to indicate his comprehension.
âOK,â Lewis says provisionally.
âGood!â Bishop says as if Lewis has taken the first step in a Socratic dialogue. âAnd I see
my being out here
and having this relation
to
her as bringing
her
to
embody
that âDivine Feminine.â But itâs also a
circuit
âbetween usâa symbiosis! The God in me, the Goddess in her, in a
circuit
.â Bishop pauses to give this time to sink in then says, âPretty fantastic, right?â
âItâs fantastic, all right,â Lewis agrees, deadpan, but if he detects the irony Bishop elects to overlook it.
âAlso,â Bishops says, âitâs just
so clear
from various indicators that weâre living on the threshold of
an enormous collective shift
. Just fucking e
nor
mous, Lewis! All the usual forms and norms are being cast off and transfigured as we speak, left and right, left and right, my man!â He makes the gestures of someone tossing flowers from a basket. âWeâre in the
midst
of that. And what a blessing to be incarnated as these ones at this juncture! OK, but which leaves us where on a daily basis? Weâre just
out here
doing whatâs before us to do!
Thatâs
where it leaves us. And boy am I feeling just as joyful as hell about
that
. I mean, look around, my friend!â
Lewis glances compliantly around at the weeds and tent and Tibetan prayer flags, the hammock. He wonders whether this âweâ of Bishopâs includes a certain sleep-eater named Donald.
Bishop snaps his fingers. âGave up my apartment and all the useless crap that went with it. If you donât use it at least once in three months, it should be tossed out.â
Lewis strokes the side of the tent, toes one of the stakes holding down a corner. âSo this is a long-haul sort of commitment?â
âOh, yeah. Oh, absolutely.â Lips pursed, Bishop surveys the terrain. âWhy not? I really think Iâm good year-round, though Iâll probably convert to a yurt sort of structure come fall,â Bishop says. âDid you know you can have a Mongolian yurt
delivered
? Here, to this very spot?â He points to the street. âA truck pulls up with a yurt tied to the flatbed with cables.â He mimes a guiding-in with straight arms. âThey untether the thing and convey on a forklift to the desired coordinates and
boom
.â He makes a stiff-armed gesture to demonstrate the setting down of a yurt.
âHow long have you been out here?â Lewis asks.
âTomorrow will be dayââ Bishop consults his wrist but has no watch. âTwenty-nine or so.â He gives a thumbs-up then his smile vanishes and he says, âWell, itâs not a free base, itâs a salt!â Now Lewis notices the tiny Bluetooth device clipped to Bishopâs left ear.
âWhat do you get?â Bishop asks the air above Lewisâs shoulder. âCall me
right back
, okay?â
Bishop meets Lewisâs eye and shakes his head in