The Dalai Alan

The Dalai Alan looked benignly over his subjects - most in ski caps and love beads. "I have greatly desired to bring you all together." His voice rang clearly over the great plaza and across the full mile crammed unhygienically with the adoring throng of his followers. Dressed in the trademark orange and saffron

Everyone ignored his unzippedness as he continued: "Today is the first day of the rest of your lives. It is a great day - a momentous day - a spectacular day of enlightenment!" He paused dramatically to scratch his nose, well, the inside of his nose at least - actually, it did look more like he was picking his nose, and many of the assembled shifted uncomfortably at the thought of that.

A few, though, took the nose-picking as a revelation, and felt a wave of relief. All these oppressive years, each one thought, (or something of this sort), of fake disgust, parental slapping away of hands, of going ewww! when you really didn't mean it. For these few of the slightly more enlightened, Alan's small gesture promised liberation. It was a confirmation of what they knew already, and had known since their infant days - a piece of that knowledge that is ones immortal inheritance but somehow dies when memory's grip takes hold - that nose picking is both right and natural - and to deny oneself the experience is to live in a grey, dry world.

Sid stood transfixed. His heart, his mind, his - soul - felt as if it were on fire. In this one small gesture, Sid had received at last the message he'd been searching for all his life. The word, the phrase that began to form in his consciousness was "Snot Cadet." Instantly, he start paddling motions with his arms in moves that were quickly coined "snot dancing" The throngs seethed with it within minutes. Alan held his arms and hands out wide in guidance and approval, as though to lend power to the celebration.

Journalists on the side rushed to phone booths in concert and began dialing, "Get me New York operator!", "Los Angeles 5-9311", "Stop the presses!"

In all this euphoria of revelation, one person was ignored. At the center of the outward wave, Alan himself felt empty now, strangely hollow. As enlightenment moved from him toward the masses, he was drained somewhat. Ennui began to take hold. It was always this way. Dread would soon follow, he felt sure.

Then it happened. He began to disappear. First his hand, then his other hand, then the strands of hair that would fall across his face during his long orations became transparent and faded from his peripheral vision. As his jade pendant and Polarfleece robe fell to the floor of the balcony, the last sight his eyes took in from this world filled him with profound sadness.

The crowd just kept on cheering and chanting. They didn't notice he was gone.