My Grandfather was a healer. People would come from all around and knock on my Grandparent’s door. Grandmother would answer and tear them a new one. Mocking them and telling them Grandfather was a fake and a phony. All along in fact, it was my Grandmother who was the Master.
“People are stupid and lazy. They want a magic pill,” she’d say. “Healing is an incomprehensible contradictory journey that will shatter your mind. There is no cure. It’s about seeing truly, you were never sick. The universe is fucking perfect!” Then she’s laugh and offer me her cigar.
Anyway, Grandmother was complete and utter love, yet she would mock these seekers that would come to the door. The real pure ones would see through her words and threats immediately and fall at her feet. She would take them in and it was all very simple. Others would come back or hang around her as much as they could. They didn’t know what was going on but they loved her and needed to be around her. The dipshits and hardheads that persisted in trying to find Grandfather (The Master!) were unable to see her obvious truth because they were lost looking for some perfect god. “They just want god to love them, but not the devil.” So, she’d season them with some ridiculous errand or a series of tasks. Once they proved themselves or she got tired of em she’d send em up the mountain. The mountain was an epic 3-day hike through some of the most beautiful country in the world. It was also quite dangerous. When the poor bastards finally got to the top of the mountain where Grandfather’s cave was, there was a sign that read, “Out to Lunch”. Grandfather, had died long ago in the war.