Introduction to Fonging for the Soul

By Erasmus Caffery

She came to me in a fantastic, glowing dream; an angel with golden wings and silver slippers. She hovered effortlessly as if supported by an invisible cloud, and angelic music meandered through my senses. Shining yellow hair glimmered in the midnight light, and sky blue eyes pierced my consciousness.

My subconscious thoughts wondered, "Am I going to heaven?"

I tried to find the answer in her face as I struggled to awaken.

This heavenly apparition beamed the most sultry yet holy smile I have ever witnessed. I blushed, yet felt like I was in a sublime state of grace.

"You," she pointed a gentle finger at me, "shall be granted the ancient gift of fonging." There was that smile again. "This had been a pretty sweet dream until you said that. What the heck is fonging, and why is it a gift?" I reclined in my mind with arms clasped behind my head.

"Hey, wake up! This is an opportunity you wouldn't believe!" She crossed her arms and scowled her face.

"Sorry, angel girl. I just don't follow." I felt bad now; maybe I should be more receptive to this dream.

She must have understood my repentance, and the smile returned to her cherubic countenance. "That's more like it." She fluttered her wings a bit and shook off some fairy dust (or something); the cloud of otherworldly energy floated around the room and landed on my bed.

Softly, she whispered, "You are to receive the greatest treasure of the gods. Fonging has been too long absent from your world. It teaches peace, by unveiling primal healing sounds to humans. Tapping into this energy reveals the authentic power of humor."

She continued. "Fonging shows that hilarity is sacred, no less so than love. Humor among your species helps achieve great perspective on life and the cosmos. This ancient art can teach important virtues, such as humility, patience, acceptance, forgiveness, and unity. Fonging also reminds humans that they shouldn't take life too seriously."

She stood up straight in the air, closed her eyes, and prayed her hands. "You are the chosen one, Erasmus. I will now tell you how to fong. You must learn this holy ritual and share it with your fellow humans."

I was skeptical at best, but what else did I have to do in my sleep?"

"Do this as you shall remember it from me: Take the rack from thy oven, and retrieve two strings from thy shoes." She opened one eye and checked to see if I was listening.

My eyebrows raised up, as in 'Say what?'

She shook her head. "I knew this wasn't going to be easy," she mumbled to herself. She became very agitated, flapping her wings uncontrollably, and jutting her hands onto her hips. "Look, you must believe me; I'm an angel, you're a human. You've got to work with me here!"

My subconscious was awake now, and feeling sheepish. She certainly seemed like an angel, and I was pretty sure I was human.

"Okay, Okay. I got it. What was it, an oven rack? And shoestrings?" I shook my cerebrum and thought. "And they would be important, why?"

That wild smile returned to her face, and she nodded approvingly. "That's more like it." She crossed her arms briefly as if a proud parent, then clasped her hands prayerfully in front of her again and closed her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she continued, "With thy oven rack and the strings of thy shoes, tie one end of each of the strings around a corner of the oven rack; simple knots are fine. Now, the oven rack should be dangling down, held up by the two strings, which ye shall hold in thy fingers." She peeked one eye open again to see if I was following.

"I think I understand." An oven rack being held up by shoestrings; visualize, visualize, I told myself.

"Most excellent! So, now, wrap the other end of each string around the index finger of each hand; this is getting exciting," she said.

"I guess," I mentally replied, and conjured up the image in my mind somewhere.

"Hear me well, now, anointed one, and please stick thy fingers in thy ears, but not in someone else's ears," she chided, "at least, not yet."

I was downright puzzled. "Are you certain of this last command, oh angelic one? And what is this anointed stuff, are we going to get kinky in this dream?"

She frowned, you know, the way only angels can frown, and shook her head without a modicum of approval. "Yes, I am certain of this command, and we are definitely not going to get kinky in this dream!" She seemed appalled, and huffed, "Really, … fonging, … kinky. You humans."

"I'm sorry, but I'm asleep, remember. My conscious mind is not in control; all that Freudian stuff comes out in your dreams, right?"

"Humans, I swear. Lord, Give me strength," she implored gazing heavenward. She continued, "Do you have any friends?"

This was a little easier. "Of course, can I fong with them?"

"Actually, you will want a friend to fong you!"

My mind's eyes widened; I was going to get fonged! Yikes! "Do I have to turn over or something?"

"No," she replied matter-of-factly, "but you do have to lean forward just a tad, so the oven rack doesn't bang into your stomach. Tilt over slightly from the waist, and let the rack hang from the strings around your fingers, which are now in your ears. Got it?"

The scary thing was, this was beginning to make some sense. "Okay, now what?"

"Calleth your friends, the ones you said you had; either male or female, it mattereth not. Beckon them play a melody on the rack with various small implements, like wooden salad tongs and plastic kitchen spoons, and musical heaven shall be yours."

All of a sudden, the most beautiful music I have ever heard exploded in my ears. My entire spirit was brought to aural fulfillment in little more than an instant, a holy instant. It sounds like, I couldn't think, what does this sound like? Like, … like, … mating whales? Or maybe the sound of whirled peas?

Now, I, Erasmus, and the mystical guides the angel sent to assist me, will teach you the ancient art of fonging.