Panning for Gold with Red Hot Style
“Hey Cornelius, I think I’ve found gold!” shouted the teenager from across the flowing stream. “Come and look!”
Cornelius Gastritis’s pensive mood was interrupted by one of his youth camp attendees. He had just finished his daily self-flogging ritual, oiling his biceps and meditating for twenty minutes to purge his inner demons, but suddenly his mentoring abilities were needed again back in the ‘real world’.
The gentle giant loved his youth work, taking groups of teenage boys out into the beautiful, but also potentially lethal, Australian Outback for their ‘Rites of Passage’ rituals. The cloud-free, vast blue skies and contrasting ochre and green aspects of this wilderness painted a spectacular backdrop for these would-be young men to learn about what it would take to become a ‘real man’.
Out in this isolated and rugged landscape, the boys were taught real men stuff, not the namby-pamby, daily grind, school stuff, like how to sell drugs to your mates without being caught by the Police (Drugs 101); or how to graffiti a school wall and include at least three spelling mistakes (Misspelt Art 101); or even how to bully the different kid (Multi-culturalism 101). Admittedly those inspirational and thought-provoking topics did prepare them for grown-up life in the suburbs and a life of quiet desperation, but Cornelius had always felt that today’s youngsters deserved something more in this ‘Lucky Country’.
No, to be more specific, Cornelius didn’t just ‘feel’ they deserved more. It was his life’s mission to inspire these adolescents to believe in something greater than an existence of: getting off your trolley at a rave party; slipping an E to the hot chick; becoming a teenage father; date nights at Maccas; dole bludging summers; tommy k on your meat pie at the footy; academically stretching on frenzied nights in front of the idiot box, such as learning the innermost thoughts of your TV idols on ‘Big Sister’ or ‘Married to a Toothless Dwarf on First Sight’, or the historically educational ‘Game of Drones’, all whilst munching your fast food with a tinny on the couch of your rented home where pets aren’t allowed because the back yard is still full of landmines from the previous tenants’ pooches.
Instead, in this sensational countryside, he taught them that it WAS possible to survive on orb spiders, red gum, water and tree slugs, with proper ‘yarning’ around a campfire, waiting for the billy to boil and singing unifying anthems, WITHOUT being able to upload it to ‘Tic-Tac’, or even verify that it had actually happened by posting it on Fudgebook.
He transformed them into real men with the ritual of making them dance barefoot on a blanket covered in bindi thorns, whilst they rubbed deep heat on their scrotum and sang ‘Kumbaya’ repeatedly from dawn til dusk. He taught them that algorithm-generated shares were pretty meaningless, and that real friendship was based on proper mateship and trust, not on how many ‘likes’ you got from ‘randoms’.
Big C had the boys panning for gold in this rippling stream, but it was really a metaphor for the true intention of helping them find their own ‘internal gold nuggets’, a code for a life of meaning, where they could fulfil their true potential and build up inner immunity against the real pandemic affecting the world – ‘the mediocrity virus’.
But suddenly, Cornelius’s plans were interrupted on that fateful day…
The Hour of Darkness
“Damn that Captain Yoda Canuck and his Superhero cronies!” said Count Nick Nefarious.
The evil villain was ranting to his new best buddy, Innakritik, who was paying a visit to the Count’s underground dungeon.
“I had him in my grasp, but they came and rescued him. He’s just too powerful, even when he leaves his desk, which admittedly is hardly ever.”
“Well why don’t we go after one of his team then? Pick him off when he’s vulnerable?” suggested his partner-in-crime.
“That’s brilliant!” said old Nick. “I happen to know that the team are dispersed around the world right now, and that Gastritis is alone in the Outback. As long as we don’t get him angry, he’ll be ripe for the picking.”
Hours later, the evil compatriots peaked from behind the gum trees, as they surreptitiously spied on the youth camp leader.
“We’ll get him when it’s darkest. That’s often when my tactics work best.” said Innakritik.
Later that night as the campfire embers glowed in the moonlight, the last of the boys had snuggled up in their swags and Camp Leader, Cornelius was left alone with his thoughts and his tin cup of lemon ant tea. He felt a call of nature and stumbled away from the camp to drain the dragon.
Innakritik had his own superpower, but it was a particularly nasty and dark one. As Cornelius gave welcome refreshment to the Outback spinifex, the evil tormentor focused his attention on our beloved hero.
“I’m taking over your thoughts” exclaimed the nasty pasty. “You are under my power. You know you’re not really good enough. They’re going to find out that you’re just winging it and you’ll be exposed as a fraud!”
Cornelius battled and resisted with all his might, but he wasn’t angry enough to burst out of his Anaconda shirt and grow into his alter ego superhero character.
“You will come with us, because you’re just not worthy!” said Innakritik to his latest victim of his fiendish arts.
Hours later, in old Nick’s overheated dungeon…
“We have your man Cornelius and you can only have him back if you surrender a million souls to my dark cause of ‘Creeping Mediocrity’. Forgive my ‘Corniness’, (laughs at his own demonic Dad joke) but if you don’t deliver them by tomorrow, you can kiss my devilish arse and know that for this Gastritis it will be terminal.”
On the other end of the Zoom call, Captain Yoda Canuck, who had just finished bathing in a sea of consciousness, remained typically unflustered.
“We’ll see about that old Nick. I might just introduce you to a new paradigm.”
Summoning the Superheroes
“Poor Cornelius is being tortured with the Devil’s ‘terror barrier’. We need to use the Power of the Many, once again.” said Yoda to his inner circle.
“We’re a bit tin on da ground at da minit” replied the Leaping Leprechaun. “What about Batman and Robin? Could dey help?”
Unfortunately, ex-Navy seal team leader, Lucy Poppins was visiting her friend, Agnete Von Schönkraut, AKA the ‘White Witch’, and they were both unavailable.
“What about Captain Australia? Isn’t he over dat way?”
Unfortunately, Maurice P. Balloon, AKA Captain Australia was dangling his corks in an Outback gorge with his new wife and right-hand woman, P.A. and general motivating force, Betsy Dubrovnik, AKA Salty Flats. They were either undercover or under the covers, but either way, they were off the radar.
“What about Van Solo? Couldn’t we get him to ‘Untrain’ old Nick and his mind-bending henchman.
Unfortunately, the highly respected Van Solo was on annual leave and was away studying how seagulls learnt the distinctions between flying and gliding with one of his many celebrity mates, Dicky Harris.
“Let’s remember that we’re all about developing a treasure trove of leaders in our Vault,” said Yoda. “I have some ideas”.
Learning Leadership
A short while later, a team of Superheroes in training had assembled on the road to Nick’s Dungeon. Wolfy Stoner, AKA ‘Wolfmann’ had been obliged to ask his class of meditation students to hold their breath for a day or so until he returned from the adventure. His presence on the taskforce was seen as a breath of fresh air.
He was assisted by a multi-talented lady, born Raven Vikingsson, AKA Mystic Vee, a businesswoman by day and a dancing Queen by night, who could assume many different forms, with an arsenal of herbal potions that could subdue an adversary.
The third member of the taskforce was Katie Rolo, AKA Joan Grey, a lady with telepathic and telekinetic powers. She had incredible, insightful abilities and could know what people were thinking even before they had thought it.
As the team approached the entrance to the Dungeon, the devilish duo heard them coming.
“Quick, use your powers of darkness on them!” said old Nick.
Innakritik furrowed his evil brow and directed his curse at Wolfmann.
“It’s a full moon” thought Wolfy. “I won’t be able to stop myself turning. I’m not good enough for zis mission!”
“Take a deep breath!” said Mystic Vee, as she shape-shifted into a respectable looking accountant.
“We’re from the ATO (Australian Tax Office).” she yelled, as she knocked on the dungeon’s door. “We’ve come to do an audit on your business, ‘Dirty Deals Done Dirt Cheap’. Please open up immediately and make your books available.”
She felt that previously she wouldn’t have been able to knock on the Devil’s door on her own but knowing that she had a powerful team with her, she felt inspired and self-confident.
“You didn’t make any false claims did you?” said Innakritik to old Nick, not realising that he was using his superpower on his own ally by planting the seed of doubt.
“I may have stretched the truth a teensy bit, but everybody does!” replied the Count with a forked tongue.
“I’m not worthy of being rescued,” whimpered the dejected Cornelius, who was tied up in his chair in front of a roaring fire.
Outside, Vee decided to really put the squeeze on. “You know that the Devil’s in the detail,” she exclaimed.
The Count was visibly shaken. Even the Devil’s more afraid of the Taxman than of death itself!
Wolfy took an extra deep breath and with a burning blast of hot air and Germanic efficiency, the dungeon door disintegrated into a million splinters.
“Quick, to the back passage!” yelled the Count, who had been known to use this line after rave parties on many occasions. But before the demonic duo could even think about escaping, Joanne Grey anticipated their thoughts and sent a wave of healing, heart-centred energy to the captive Cornelius.
Revitalised with Joan’s healing powers of self-belief, he realised that he didn’t even need to get angry to harness his superpower. He was no longer alone - the one had transmuted from the ‘me’ to the ‘we’ to the ‘us’.
Cornelius transformed into ‘the Bulk’. Summoning every reserve of his protein powder stores from the previous day’s diet supplements, his shirt began to split and the ropes that bound him were shredded. With one swipe of his muscular arm, he sent Innakritik hurtling into the fireplace.
“Burn Mofo!” yelled Cornelius ‘the Bulk’, using the vernacular he had learned from his little youth camp buddies. Alas, the wicked Count Nick made good his escape, inevitably to return and fight again another day, but the taskforce members had all earned their stripes. Innakritik had been sent down in flames, though even he had a habit of reincarnating in other forms.
“You just had to let the light in and believe in yourself again, from the heart.” concluded Joan.
The Moral of the Story
So how will you, the reader, respond when the Devil and his sidekick, the inner critic come calling on you?
Having a great team of NG superheroes behind you helps, but if they happen to be too busy in the sexy waters of the unchartered regions, what tools can you depend on?
You could try the superpowers of gratitude, self-reflection, meditation and journaling, but if you’re still in turmoil, do what they say on the game shows – phone a friend, and preferably a Noble Goldman friend, because they too have superpowers!
