By Tom Robbins
Date: 30 December 1999

Amanda

It is dawn now. The perfumed curtains 
have been removed and from where I sit
typing I can look directly into Amanda's
sanctuary. She is packing. Her face is
flushed with that passionate serenity
that is evidently known only by those
who live outside of man's laws and
according to nature's.
  In my own head an odd new joy is
crowing.
  Amanda has just informed me that she
is pregnant again. At first I thought
she meant by me. I realize that it has
only been a few hours, but after all,
she is clairvoyant. But, no, alas, it
wasn't I. Presumably, it was the magician.
Although, it may have been Plucky Purcell.
Or one of the wayfaring black men who
stopped off at the roadside attraction.
Who knows?
   She is placing her belongings in an
old wicker suitcase. Many possessions will
be left behind. Without regret, I imagine.
She has just laid in some folded panties.
And some butterflies.
   She is not packing as would one who was
off to an institution or an execution. Or
who was returning to the family hearth.
She packs like one who is about to run
away with the whirlwind of life. She
just put in some gypsy toe-bells. And the
tsetse fly.
   As it has for days, a language of rain
babbles against the windows. It sounds fresh
and right to me now.
  ....Amanda is starting to come toward me now.
Coming to kiss me good-bye. In her face I notice
a terrible beauty. Like the terrible beauty of
nature itself. It reveals to me two facts. One:
she loves me deeply. Two: She is completely
indifferent as to whether she ever sees me
again. 
 Looking past her to her suitcase, I ascertain
that it is not yet full. Good. For she has 
promised to leave room in it for this 
manuscript. Reader. Let this be a signal
to you. If this manuscript has survived,
it will mean that Amanda has survived.
And if AMANDA is ALIVE...
And JESUS is DEAD..........
...........................
...........................
   Pine Cones on the Tent,
It's a cold, clear morning; the
sun has come over the canyon
wall, but you're still dozing
around, when something  hits the
tent. Open the flap and
the sun's in your face; the world
is ready. Let Amanda be your pine cone.