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August 18, 2004

the myth of the white rabbit

There once was a rabbit named Balsamic who lived long, long ago. He was the most virile rabbit in The Valley of One Hundred Meadows. He had enough strength and energy to rut with all the does of his meadow, and then begin again, without stopping. He would snatch bunches of clover while he rutted, for he was so ardent that he hated to stop even long enough to eat. Soon his fame spread throughout the valley, and does from all the other meadows came to his glade, hoping for an encounter with this most spectacular rabbit. He once rutted with 700 does in a 36 hour period. 630 of them became pregnant with an average litter size of 12.2. Each baby rabbit from those litters was healthy, well behaved and a joy to its mother.

One morning, as Balsamic slid lazily from the back of his 37th conquest of the day, he glimpsed a flash of something white across the stream that ran through the meadow. He paused to chew on a blade of succulent grass, and stared at the spot where he had seen this strange apparition. Perhaps he would not have bothered to satisfy his curiosity before continuing his rounds, had not this strange glimpse been infused with something evocatively feminine.

He hopped down stream to the place where rabbits of that region were accustomed to crossing, and, having gained the other side, proceeded north to the place where he had glimpsed the mysterious flash of white. There was nothing there but a strange and powerful scent lingering in the breeze. The scent was like grass and sunshine, security and seduction rolled into a smell which both comforted and provoked him. He began to sniff around, hoping to pick up the scent of her trail, when suddenly, in the corner of his eye, he glimpsed that for which he was searching.

She gazed at him tranquilly. It seemed to Balsamic that she had arrived without arriving; she was suddenly simply there. She nibbled a dandelion leaf, still watching him as he approached her. As he came near, he smoothly snipped a delicious flower, which he dropped on the grass before her. Then he paused and just looked at her. She was gorgeous; more beautiful than he could have imagined. Her young and healthy teats were full of the sweetest milk, although she had never yet borne a litter. They leaked upon the grass where she passed by, leaving the smell of infancy, and comfort and nourishment. Her fur was snowy white, and her nose was the most delicate shade of pink that Balsamic had ever seen. It was the first time he had ever been transfixed by the sight of anything.

He paused, unsure, for the moment, of what to say. Then his renowned instincts returned. He sniffed provocatively, and said softly, "Rut?"

She acted as if he had not spoken, and sniffed at the flower he had dropped.

Balsamic tried several times to evoke a response from her, and each attempt was gradually more extravagant. Finally he delivered his cartwheel-tail-chasing-snort-dig dance, the gist of which clearly implied "I'm very strong, and I wish to give you a litter. Together we shall create a mighty warren of rabbits, whose names will be uttered by predators only in dread and loathing."

Whereupon, having never been refused such an offer, he squared himself off and pounced. She dodged, and he tumbled into a tree-trunk, smacking his head against a root. Dazed and bewildered, he clawed at the tree for a moment or two, as if trying to determine which end of it was the end of the white rabbit upon which he had hooked his intentions.

A soft laugh sounded behind him, and his head cleared as he turned to look at its source. The white rabbit was nibbling the flower he had dropped, and was evidently amused. He pounced again, this time with more success, but she sloughed him off adroitly, and hopped away several feet. He lunged at her again, and suddenly she was off like a shot, with a speed that astonished him. Balsamic determined at that moment that he must have her, whatever the effort involved.

He chased her back to the stream where she cleared the water without using the stepping stones. Balsamic was awe-struck. She watched him from the opposite shore, but as soon as he started to cross, she turned and fled once again. He chased her through the woods and over the rocks into the next meadow, and the next, and the next. She ran into a cave. The light of day was swallowed up by a grey twilight which soon became as dark as jet. He would have been utterly lost were it not for her lovely scent which made his brain race and compelled him onward. The scent led him back into the sunlight where he blinked in blazing blindness. He had to follow the white rabbit by scent for several more minutes until his eyes became accustomed to daylight again.

When he began to see clearly again, he realized she had led him into a part of the valley where he had never been before. Although the barren terrain offered little shelter from owls he redoubled his pace and raced after the white rabbit. She bounded ahead toward a rocky outcropping which rose out of the dry soil of the plateau. She disappeared around a boulder.

When Balsamic rounded the boulder he was startled to see that the chase had ended, for the white rabbit had run into a little box canyon, and there was no way for her to escape. She was panting heavily, but despite the dust on her coat, Balsamic was struck yet again by her astonishing beauty.

He paused, gasping for breath, exhausted from the pursuit. After breathing heavily for a moment, he began moving toward her again, this time more slowly. Suddenly she spoke.

Her voice was clear, like the cool air of the morning in late spring. He felt his ears were starved for the sound of it, and devoured the words before he could comprehend them.

"Balsamic, stop."

He obeyed without even thinking about it.

"You must know who I am before you can give me a litter."

Balsamic panted for a moment before answering, "You are the white rabbit."

"I am the Womb of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. If you enter into me, you will be changed forever. Your desires will themselves be consumed. Sweetest clover will be like sand in your mouth. Clearest water will taste like dust. Your heart will be heavy, and your thoughts consumed by longing. You will pace for hours at night without sleeping, and of your suffering there will be no surcease. The darkness of midnight will chase the sun from the sky above you, and the coldness of midwinter will blast you in the springtime."

"But I will have you."

"You will have all that I am."

"I must have you."

She seemed unsure of what to say. "You are certain of that?"

"I must have you."

She was silent. Finally she moved toward him, smoothly closing the distance between them in a single hop. The smell of her reawoke his exhausted brain, and he joined her in a whirlwind of confused exultation. Every detail of her rose before his senses until he was utterly swamped and swept away. He was unaware of space or time. His brain was rushing with blood. There was a pounding in his ears, and sparks began to swim before his eyes. A fierce pain began a growling he felt rather than heard from his loins, which grew into a maelstrom of excruciating desire. The dull pounding in his ears grew and filled his head, and became an ocean of hunger pulverizing the fragile shores of his mind. He felt that somewhere deep inside him, a craze of tiny fractures had begun to groan outward, until every fiber of his body was screaming like a million ravens.

And then, for the first time in his life, he felt gladness. It rushed through him, soaking instantly into every crack and chasm of his infant soul, surging through him, and filling him with its weight, until he could no longer bear it. His throat began to ache, and his tongue writhed in his mouth.

Suddenly, in clear, plain English, he said, "Oh, my God!"

Balsamic and the white rabbit continued for days and weeks. After several months, the white rabbit began to bear litters, even while their amorous conjugation continued apace. The young were fed by the white rabbit's miraculous milk, and they moved away beyond the edges of The Valley Of One Hundred Meadows. Balsamic and the white rabbit's bodies began to fade away, nonetheless, their lovemaking continued.

Gradually their offspring began to change; their bodies altered in shape, and they became ever more intelligent. Eventually their children became many other races of beings, such as Australopithecus, Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon. A final race was borne after 10,000 million years. This race was called Homo Sapiens, and this race sprang full grown from the womb of the white rabbit. As they were born, the white rabbit reached the height of her arousal, and she exploded into a billion billion pieces. Her cry went up like the scream of a hare, both anguished and ecstatic. Her cry wrenched the hearts of the daughters of Homo Sapiens, and they rushed out of their dwellings into the night air. Each shard of her being, as it fell to earth, was lodged into the soul of a daughter of Homo Sapiens.

When this happened, Balsamic was astonished, and stricken with grief. He wept with longing for his beloved, and began desperately to seek her out in the world, but because she was lodged into the soul of every daughter of Homo Sapiens, he could always catch the scent of her, but he could never find her. He knew no comfort or pleasure or solace. Finally, in wretched grief he cast himself from the edge of the sky down upon a mountain top. He was shattered into a billion billion pieces with a sound like a mighty clap of thunder. The sons of Homo Sapiens were awakened by this noise, and they rushed out of their tents to see what was the matter. Each shard of Balsamic's tortured soul, as it fell to earth, was lodged into the soul of a son of Homo Sapiens. From that day to this, Balsamic continues his desperate search for the beloved white rabbit.

Posted by joel at August 18, 2004 12:23 AM

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Comments

Umm....

Posted by: John McAdams at August 18, 2004 02:51 AM

Please tell me you copied this from the ku'ran. Troubling.

Posted by: k_sra at August 18, 2004 10:03 AM

Well, on the one hand, I'm glad you took an idea and ran with it and didn't censor yourself. On the other hand, it reminds me of the poem A. put on the fridge. We're all grown ups, but we still aren't quite okay with the idea that we're all sexual beings. I am going to pretend this was written by someone I don't know and I am going to say , "wow, that was some strong stuff." Good on ya. My eyes are bleeding.

Posted by: honest + popular at August 18, 2004 02:45 PM

If Joel can write this, I feel like I can write anything. Took some stones to post this one, on chez Joel, no less.

Posted by: John McAdams at August 18, 2004 04:32 PM

Yeah, mellow is ROOOONED on chez j for today. (Good luck getting back to that, pal. ;) U R So Kul!) You still look like a young Orson Welles, though. So you've got that going for you. Which is nice.

Posted by: honest + popular at August 18, 2004 05:47 PM

I get it. I think I get it. Anyway I'll ask Alice when she's ten feet tall. BTW, where you have "together we shall create a mighty warden", you should have "together we shall create a mighty warren." Or maybe this is a myth about the beginnings of the prison system. (Some have called me Dr. Knife. I can't help myself. The white rabbit exploded and I can't help myself.) Your myth is definitely publishable if you can get it to the correct market.

Posted by: dabuheebly at August 28, 2004 08:31 AM

Thanks for the correction (warren, not warden). No idea what the correct market would be. Some seem to think I should send it to Larry Flint, but it'd be important to me to have this published as a myth and not as religious dogma.

Posted by: Joel at August 29, 2004 07:32 PM

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