I didn’t hear from my strange conversation partner for several weeks, though I became obsessed with the ideas he had left me. “A dream in exchange for truth!” he had told me. Yet, how I treasured my dreams. Everything is perfect, I always say the right thing, I always get what I want. And I never tire of my dreams … I can rehearse it, tweak it, fine tune it, improve it, vary it, and the end result is all the same.

True, as I had told him, there is someone I was dying to see and speak to again. However, the dream was so perfect, and flesh and blood so ordinary, I always hesitated. Whenever we were together, it was like the infinite hotel … endless shuffling and reshuffling, but everything the same in the end. Simply never-ending variations of the same conflicts, gripes, misunderstandings, and pain. Was there no escape? Yet the Tibetan monk had dared to love even though he, of all people, knew better. Look what it got him … he spurned Nirvana and the calm life of the Boddhisattva for an illusory goddess. How bad off could he be to come to me for advice?

“Whoa, kid, back off,” the voice suddenly intruded out of the void, “forget everything I told you.”

“How can you give me back my dreams instead of the truth? Just who or what are you anyhow.”

“I told you, already. Call me the Hyperborean, since I know the secret entrance to Hyperborea.”

“Ok, Hyper, is that where you are now?”

“No, I’m on the planet Thule, prohibited from another human incarnation while I pay my penance for loving an earth girl.”

“Isn’t falling in love its own penance?”

“You’re wise beyond your years, kid, but a life of nectar and ambrosia has its own shortcomings.”

“Well, I have a lot of free time at night lately, so tell me a bit about Thule and how you are working out your salvation.”

“It’s really been an adjustment for me. The males have two penises.”

“Cool. That must make it very convenient for threesomes.”

“You would think, but nothing is ever as good as it sounds. Few males have the emotional stamina to deal with one woman, never mind two at a time. But there is more to it. Only one of the penises is biologically active for reproduction, the other is made solely for pleasure.”

“Wow! How did that come about?”

“A few centuries ago, a scientist was trying to develop the perfect woman, though his experiments were inconclusive. On the way home one night, he got hit by a bus as he was distracted by a hot Slavic woman crossing the street.”

“A good scientist is ever observant.”

“Unfortunately, he left behind two quite different formulations with no further instructions.”

“Are you serious? You mean there are two types of perfect women?”

“He thought so. One formulation created a type of woman suitable as a wife and mother, while the other created the ultimate mistress. At the age of puberty, every female on Thule has to choose one or the other formulation.”

“Sounds complicated. How do you fit into all this?”

“It’s actually less complicated on earth, where women are a mix of the two, and it takes a lifetime of trial and error trying to get the correct balance. Alas, for me, this is all impossible, since I am committed to celibacy. I’m actually living the life of a chodpa.”

“That’s one heck of a penance … two penises both going to waste.”

“I can’t look at it that way. There’s something more I gotta tell you. There’s a third penis, a psychic one located at the top of the forehead. That’s the one I have to awaken, so I can get back to earth.”

“Hmm … so every guy on Thule is a dick-head! But seriously, are you insinuating there is a third type of woman?”

“Yes, there is, and that is why I am here. She is my soul-sister, my âme-soeur with whom I would share a deep spiritual connection, exchange poetry, discuss philosophy, and experience the profoundest depths of unconditional love. That love would awaken the third penis and initiate the circulation of the Shakti energy leading to final enlightenment.”

“So it sounds like you are on your way to peace?”

“Ha, ha. You can’t be serious. I haven’t found her … I’m much more likely to find a snark!”

“Tell me more … I’m totally confused, yet enchanted.”

“Can’t do it now, son. Have to get back to the cemetery where I spend my nights … the ghouls need someone to spook. Besides some kids planted some weed last spring behind the gravestone of the scientist … I’ve got some that should be dried perfectly by now.”