“Have you ever paraded a frog-chief in front of a Pontiac plant?” I asked a friend.
“No, I don’t believe I have,” he said. ”Have you?”
“Not yet,” I answered, “but I want to. I need to.”
I didn’t understand, at first, this intense desire, so I decided to follow the thought. I imagined a frog-chief, dressed in chief-like regalia, being led to a local Pontiac plant, where cars of every color and size — all, of course, made by Pontiac — were lined up for all to see. The Frog-Chief seemed totally unimpressed as his big, jewel-like eyes fell upon these slick-looking vehicles, as if he instinctively knew of the hazards of the car culture without being directly informed of them.
The workers at the plant came out to greet him, and gave him detailed explanations of each car, highlighting their selling points like the most aggressive car salesmen. Still, the Frog-Chief seemed wholly unimpressed. He said nothing, barely acknowledging the lengthy sales pitches. This baffled the workers, as it baffles so many technocrats to see someone who is not awed or impressed by technology. ”I prefer my method of travel,” the Frog-Chief finally said. ”It’s natural, fun, good exercise, and not as detrimental to the environment or other living beings.” He demonstrated the most perfectly executed leaps that any frog had ever made, one after another with expert aim and regal gestures. All the workers at the Pontiac plant, jealous of the Frog-Chief’s winsome chivalry, started leaping just like him, perfectly executed leaps which took them further and further away from the Pontiac plant until it was abandoned forever.
I often wish we would follow the Frog-Chief, and leap back towards simplicity, harmony, joy, and naturalness. What’s stopping us?