Little Bird Told Me

By John F. Rhodes

"Little Bird Told Me" is a hippie novel that gets its title from parts in the book where an American Indian named "Little Bird" helps bring a hippie couple to enlightenment. The women member of the couple utters a cliche' about her new-found enlightenment by saying, "A Little Bird Told Me" To say anything definite about the plot would be giving it away, but it contains a little bit of everything. It is a highly psychological, mystical, surrealistic plot that involves a young hippie couple who reach enlightenment. It involves their tragedy and triumph. There is kidnapping, mental illness, psychedelia, folk-rock, radicals and liberals, good hippies, a hippie terrorist, amateur telescope makers, ecological power companies, gurus, enlightenment, and many other things. This book will also be produced in serial podcast form aroundFebruary 2007 at: http://littlebirdtoldme.podomatic.com and will be sold at http://www.audible.com and on iTunes , at a modest price, which I hope compassionate people will gladly buy. Stay tuned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 27, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467093293

John F. Rhodes

I am John Rhodes, poet/novelist. I have been writing for about ten years and this will be my second book. My first book was a poetry book called, "Spirits of Bondage and Inherent Transcendence". You can hear and see me read my poems on my poetry podcast called: "Mystic Babylon" at http://mysticbabylon.podomatic.com  . You can also hear/see all the poets from the open mikes of San Francisco on it.                     My second book: Little Bird Told Me is loosely based on life experiences of mine but altered to fit the description of a fiction book.

Book preview

Chapter One

Leaving Home

Feeling at their last, bigoted straw, Steven Colt, Sr., and his wife, Lydia, were assessing whether to kick their son, Steve, out of the house for his drug habit and his chronic scholastic underachievement. The young man’s inability to apply himself in school was caused by his general confusion and bewilderment about how to manage his education. With an undetected learning disability and no fitting mentorship, there was little to be done to ensure his success. Steve’s efforts were significant, but without proper guidance they brought him no due success in school. Even worse, he did not learn how to relate to students or teachers.

Colt and his wife were opinionated, yet vague, when explaining their agenda to their Steve. They had all but decided that he would have to leave, but wanted to give him a few last chances to redeem himself, as if he were the dark horse in a race and might yet win back their favor if he ran the course well.

So, Steve naïvely attempted to patch up his relationship with his parents. He wanted to raise their spiritual sensitivity by taking them to see a favorite guru of his who had arrived from India to visit their town. The Guru was, as most gurus are, a pacifist and had even known Mahatma Gandhi. However, both of these facts were contrary to his parents’ mindset, and the only thing Steve’s plan achieved was to further irritate them.

During one hot, oppressive afternoon, as they all sat in the living room discussing the prospect of hearing the Guru speak, Steve’s father said, We’ll listen to this Guru of yours talk. But I’ll tell you now, there’s no need for us to learn about these vain, pagan habits and idolatrous ceremonies. I don’t think it will help, but we’ll go along with it. As he spoke, a globule of spit flew from his lips and landed on the toe of Steve’s left shoe.

Steve said ardently, Pacifism is never a vain pastime and the gods of India, like Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva, are fantastically surreal and interesting. It’s not just idol worship, but true religion!

You are an elaborate dreamer with fanciful thoughts; your concepts are all wrong! I don’t know why you believe in pacifism! Lydia asserted, stomping her foot as if to smother Steve’s passion for innovation.

Steve felt stifled and inadequate. He worried, and not for the first time, that perhaps he was being irrational and the worry made him go pale. He swallowed past the hollowness in his throat and declared, The fruits of pacifist revolution will change the world!

Bah! Revolution, insurrection! barked his father, which killed the conversation altogether.

Time passed, and the day arrived when the family planned to see the Guru. Steve’s heart lurched, as the hope that his parents once again would accept him into the fold swelled within his breast. Steve grew impatient as he waited to leave. Trying not to sound presumptuous, he carefully said, The Guru will start speaking in an hour. Shouldn’t we, maybe, leave soon?

As if he were announcing the burning of Rome, Colt said, We’re not going. We decided that anybody who preaches pacifism the way this Guru does must lack tenacity.

Brazen with sudden rage, Steve shouted, "You never address my feelings! Can’t you compromise? You say that the worship of Indian gods seems like idol ceremonies. Well, you are dull ceremony! You must learn from other people’s ways!"

Your generation needs to be censured! Colt interjected. You shouldn’t knock the ruling order! You are nothing but a pacifist Machiavelli rag doll! The only way you have is drugs!

Trying to comfort his ego, Steve searched for a term in his unsophisticated mind to define his parents’ rejection. Isn’t this called pretentious and pigheaded? he wondered to himself.

This dead-end relationship continued in a very constricted manner for Steve during his last days at home. Because he was doing poorly in school, Steve’s attachment to his parents was very strained. They seemed to enjoy crushing his self-esteem when he did not meet their expectations. Steve was not sturdy enough to fight back, so he collapsed under the pressure. His parents’ derisive campaign caused him to believe that if he didn’t jump when they said jump, he would never get anything from them.

It was his last year of high school after being held back two years. School was almost out and he was graduating in a few weeks. He was somewhat relieved about it, because it seemed as if he would graduate before getting kicked out of his house. However, his father and his teachers continued to loom over him like mythical monsters. Their menacing presence caused Steve to cower, making him still more educationally dysfunctional. Although he was competent enough to succeed and graduate, he barely got by because nobody understood and helped him. He was smart, but introverted. Unaware of any lurking neurosis, he responded to pressure much like an oppressed little clown, not only with his teachers, but with girlfriends and classmates.

He suffered an unrecognized psychic or learning disability, through which only someone who cared could help him. Additionally, he had incomplete social and educational relationships, being that he had no teachers or friends who took notice of his problem.

One day, just before he was to graduate — and gripped by the fear that he would soon be put out of the house — he lashed out and called his math teacher an ogre. Because the school had no counselors, he was sent to the principal. Steve was incapable of processing or understanding the significance of his blunder. He understood only that he had been taunted by this superior.

Steve walked in the principal’s office and sat down.

Why did you call your teacher an ogre, Steve? probed the principal.

Steve responded with a jumble of words. There’s a conflict between Mr. Olsen and me — and possibly with other students, too. He treats us like kids, and we fight back with fantasies about him being like an ogre or a monster. He’s like some sort of fairy tale person who thinks he has absolute power over everything. He’s a real control freak.

Having hit his stride, Steve paused for breath and plowed on. It’s not just him. Most of the teachers are like that. None of them help us. They’re like big blocks of ignorance that stand in our way. I don’t understand why they don’t treat us like real people who have purposeful imaginations and ideals. And they treat me like I’m the village idiot. It’s way out of line.

I think the teacher believes you’re capable of more than you’ve shown and he’s trying to discipline you to excel. He’s not tyrannical or an ogre, he just expects more of you, explained the principal. If you don’t watch out, you won’t be able to continue through school. With all the reprimands you’ve gotten, you still could be expelled before you graduate. Even with just a week or so to go. You’ve been in here far too often. If I find you in here again, I might have to hold you back another year.

Mr. Olsen makes me feel inadequate, guilty, and cagey. Maybe I would do better if I had a counselor, muttered Steve, near tears.

Having covered this ground with Steve before, the principal sighed. You know we don’t have a counselor. Don’t challenge me or you’ll find yourself in more trouble. Now, go on back to class.

Steve liked to spend much of his time engaging in some sort of private activity. He often went hiking when he felt lost and unable to deal with his emotions, or when he felt helpless and didn’t know why. He also liked to smoke pot during such times, which often made him still more depressed. It was a Catch-22: he smoked pot because he was depressed, which then made him feel withdrawn and paranoid, so he smoked more pot.

One day, his friend Charlie, who was studying psychology, accompanied Steve on one of his hikes. At one time, Steve had shared a close affinity with Charlie. But when Charlie had begun his university studies, their relationship had grown distant. It hadn’t been long before Charlie became Charles — the final act that had transformed Charlie, and their friendship, forever.

Charles no longer seemed to share anything with Steve, including what he had learned from his courses. Steve felt Charles had been keeping all of his newfound knowledge a secret, speaking only in generic terms as if Steve were too obtuse to understand. But Steve was far from obtuse and desperately wanted to understand.

While walking together, Steve tried to sustain conversation with his friend. Charles appeared to be an agreeable shadow of his old self, but beneath he was cold and aloof. He maintained a distance that made it impossible for friendly osmosis to exist between them, as it once had. He was an immovable façade, thought Steve, though somewhat quaint — like a character in an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.

When Steve tried to explain that he might have to leave home, his friend’s demeanor made him feel paranoid and guilty, like a stray cat kicked out of its shelter. I don’t know what I’m going to do if my parents kick me out of the house, he said. It’s like they think I have instant karma. Right now, you would never know how paranoid I am. But it’s all I can do to deal with this mountain path we’re walking on, let alone to deal with my parents and everything else. What should I do?

Maybe you have a real mental problem and should see a doctor, Charles said with an edge of disdain, as if Steve were just a pawn in a private game of knowledge and condescension. You seem to have broken some sort of covenant. I’m speaking allegorically, of course, about an unwritten contract between you and your parents and society. It’s something you’ll have to learn to deal with. You also have a pact with those street people, those drug dealers. It’s like walking down a dark alleyway and not along the straight-and-narrow. You’re making too many concessions with the wrong people.

Although Charles had attempted to be sympathetic — a rare thing in itself, these days — his analytical demeanor grated on Steve’s nerves. Many years ago, Charles had been sort of hip, but he had turned cold and diagnostic. Where he had once been kind and sympathetic, Charles now regarded Steve as if he were a specimen under a microscope. Charles gave no quarter, only harsh analysis and glancing eye contact.

Unfortunately, because of his limited sense of self and lack of insight, Steve was unable to comprehend that he was split down the middle by spiritual austerity and material impracticality. He seemed spiritually aloof, unaware of how his behavior alienated those around him. Yet, at the same time, he was controlled by material forces and by the attitudes of people he did not understand. He was incapable of learning from others and he could not explain his spirituality in practical terms.

Because he felt so intimidated by the people in his life — especially Charles — he failed to see the many things he needed to confront and resolve, if he were to walk the straight-and-narrow path toward compromise, and spiritual and material success. Burdened by a deep depression, he was essentially stumbling up that mountain, rather than walking.

Steve felt crushed by the block that controlled his mind and he declared to Charles, I don’t think I’ve really broken any pact or agreement. I’m doing just fine. At least I don’t deal drugs. I think I’m dealing with reality just fine. Even as he spoke, however, Steve flinched as the lies escaped his lips.

Charles gave him a level look and said nothing.

They continued climbing and the silence stretched between them, widening the breach that already existed. To break the silence, each made perfunctory quips to the other, like Beautiful view, or Let’s take a breather. But the damage was done — irreparably so — and neither was able to speak openly to the other.

At home, the situation continued unrelentingly bad. Steve’s small ego was constantly assaulted by his parents’ demands to change. He walked around in a funk of adolescent self-pity, convincing himself that all adults were petty, materialistic egotists who imposed unrealistic demands upon him.

To make matters worse, Steve was arrested for marijuana possession. It was only a small amount, but the police got very serious about it. When Colt and Lydia bailed him out of jail, his father smoldered with a rage that made Steve feel like it was the dawn of the Apocalypse. As they drove home, Colt ranted at him for what Steve regarded as a petty crime.

When they gathered around the dinner table that evening, it was some minutes before anyone spoke. Silverware clinked against porcelain, and the sounds of mastication hung in the air like lead weights. It was some minutes before Lydia glanced at her husband and broke the silence. Why didn’t you say Grace, dear? Is the meatloaf that bad?

Colt’s brows came together in a grimace of distaste as he grumbled around a mouthful of food, We don’t have anything to be thankful for with this misfit in our family. He jerked his head in Steve’s direction, and Steve looked down at his plate. That freak son of ours puts such a bad taste in my mouth it makes your godforsaken meatloaf taste like a filet mignon.

Colt flung down his napkin. As he left the table, he threw a scathing look at his son. The sight of you makes me sick.

Steve sat on the hard, wooden chair with his head bowed, feeling his heart thud in the thick hollowness of his chest. A familiar desperation crept in, crushing what thin sense of self he still possessed. Against his better reasoning, he wondered whether his father might kill him, even though he was sure Colt wouldn’t, and couldn’t, do such a thing.

Steve lived in a world that felt cold and full of pretentious friends who hid their real feelings. He had a beautiful girlfriend, Virginia, who flirted with other men. She led Steve to believe she loved him, but their relationship was bereft of any closeness beyond youthful, physical abandonment and sensual pleasure, which Steve always stopped just short of sex.

She liked to taunt him. Once, she’d kissed another man to the point of groping each other, while Steve helplessly looked on, wringing his hands. He’d hoped it was just Virginia’s impetuousness that had sent her behavior over the edge. He was a naïve cavalier; she, a spoiled prima donna.

Virginia often mocked him and made a fool of him in front of other people. One day, she abusively teased him during a class they shared. The day’s lecture raised the issue of Genesis versus evolution.

Steve raised his hand and hypothesized, "Sometimes, I wonder whether we haven’t actually escaped from a simple, primal consciousness. Because the larger percentage of society suffers a deficiency of natural intuition, they are detached from even a caveman’s understanding of his environment. We sadly wallow in our own untouchability, spoiled by the gifts of humanity. The gift of the ape is instinct and intuition, and the gift of humanity in the image of God is being able to bless and be blessed.

"Maybe the Tree of Knowledge gave to Adam and Eve the concept of our link to the ape, which is our basest form of being. In contrast, spirituality is built upon transcending our human condition. But to do that, one must understand one’s lowest desires, too.

Why would we want to prove that we’re just apes in a static, unenlightened state? For some reason, since we think we understand good and evil and suffer an inferior existence, we believe that gives us the right to condescend to the meek and that we are made of miracles alone. We don’t seem to possess the knowledge of a collective awareness, or God, whether we view ourselves as humans, or as apes.

It was then that Virginia snidely said, OK, you spiritually undernourished gorilla, cut to the chase!

The class laughed, hard. Steve sat down at his desk, fighting the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

On Easter Sunday, Steve and Virginia sat with his parents discussing destruction. His older brother, Brian, was home from college over Easter break and had brought his friend, Noah, to visit. His parents wanted him to go to a prayer meeting where they always preached about the End Times. This form of Christianity emotionally choked young Steve, causing him to feel overwhelmed and frustrated by people with whom he did not share common beliefs and ideals.

Why should we talk about destruction on the day that Christ was resurrected? Or when rabbits and eggs are the thing of the day? Or to listen to a preacher who has no remorse for his own sinning, as if he is protected from anarchy by his religious mantle?

There will be no one safe when the Apocalypse comes! his father shouted. People will be leery of those who are dear to them. The horse will bolt. God will declare that all people are candidates to receive His wrath, and the rabbit will be on the run!

Steve furrowed his brow, uncertain what his father meant. He thought of his own rabbits living in a cage in the backyard, and imagined a god, swollen and red with fury, chasing them down for their sins. "You’ve heard of the Buddha meditating in the Deer