Shelley and Book One

Amorella returns to the British Museum for this photograph. First, a word of explanation via Wikipedia.

“Ozymandias was another name for Ramesses the Great, Pharaoh of the nineteenth dynasty of ancient Egypt.[4]Ozymandias represents a transliteration into Greek of a part of Ramesses' throne name,User-maat-re Setep-en-re. The sonnet paraphrases the inscription on the base of the statue, given by Diodorus Siculus as "King of Kings am I, Osymandias. If anyone would know how great I am and where I lie, let him surpass one of my works."[5] Shelley's poem is often said to have been inspired by the arrival in London of a colossal statue of Ramesses II, acquired for the British Museum by the Italian adventurer Giovanni Belzoni in 1816. . . . It may have been [the statue’s] repute or news of its imminent arrival [to the museum] rather than [Shelley] seeing the statue itself which provided the inspiration.”

I wondered where Amorella was going to go today as Italy has been posted. I suspected a bit of simple nature in the United States. Thus, this is a surprise. I always took pleasure in teaching Shelley and Keats equally. Only a poem or two though as we had to move on in a survey course to the likes of William Blake whom I personally enjoy more than either of the two Romantic poets. 

I let orndorff interrupt here to show his lack of decorum. I thought he would be pleased by my inclusion from Wikipedia but that was not enough to satisfy his need to inject personal thoughts which were not requested here. 

This is indeed a major problem. I like to talk (and think and relate) and at school I loved lecturing, though even then I would interrupt myself and tell some little story or two along the way. The students usually didn’t mind but some could hardly stand my drifting off task for one inane  reason or another. I have this same problem here, with Amorella. I forget she is talking and begin talking myself. It is no wonder I have false starts on books. I move right in, taking over for Amorella, until I eventually realize it is just me. I can be as an old fart in a windsock.

Sorry, Amorella and to all the others I have impolitely interrupted in my lifetime. I was raised to be polite but obviously I slip. Too much built in arrogance. Too much ‘self’ orientation. This is probably the reason I haven’t decided what a human being is. It’s a wonder Amorella was able to produce a book a year for three years. I have to continually set myself aside and let her do her work. 

                                      “Ozymandias”

                            By Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land

Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown

And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.

And on the pedestal these words appear:

`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:

Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,

The lone and level sands stretch far away".

Some say the theme in Shelley’s poem can be reduced to the lines found in Proverbs 16:18. However, “Ozymandias” is not a translation. A likeness of Ozymandias remains in both the British and Cairo Egyptian Museum(s) (which also has Ramesses II’s mummified remains) and Shelley’s works remain in English literature. ‘Something remains in biography and history. Nothing, by definition, cannot remain.

Yes. I like the humor which seems reasonable at first glance anyway. The world changes. Geopolitical landscapes change with it. In Book One, in an alternate dimension, where almost everyone in the world dies within about twenty minutes, no Americans survive. One Brazilian, one South African, one European and an Australian are alive when the alien marsupials finally arrive, obviously too late to be of much help – four adults and a tiny baby (half South African and half European) actually. Two aliens discover the earthlings and help them survive. That is basically one of the subplots in a couple of sentences. It doesn’t seem like it should have taken so many words to say but it did. I suppose I thought of Shelley’s  “Ozymandias” when I was scribing that section. 

Do you remember what killed most everyone?

I’d have to re-read the book. No one was sure. Personally, at first I assumed it was the Wrath of G---D because the Marsupials had a prophet or two who thought it was going to happen in their planetary system but it didn’t, it happened in ours instead. I enjoyed the humor. Prophets picking up on the future and they get one from across the galaxy instead. 

Then, after I thought about it more I considered some terrible disease that destroys the heart, not the blood-pumper but the one that holds our humanity.I figured an Angel took our humanity back because we weren’t using it anyway, at least not for everyone equally, particularly the children of the world. Or, the heart of humanity just withered away from lack of use. The latter is more reasonable. Use it or lose it. That’s easy enough to remember. 

Besides, why send an Angel to do something we can do ourselves? Angel-sending would show a lack of efficiency. I cannot imagine G---D not being super efficient, the ECOLOGIST, so to speak. That is part of the satire in the story. You have to see the humor, otherwise parts of the story are just downright depressing.

Okay, orndorff. Enough for tonight. I do see the humor though, it is rather funny. Living people sometimes have a tendency to take themselves too seriously. The Dead in these stories are surrounded by self-effacing humor, otherwise, who is the joke going to be on? 

Stone Lions and Other Art (Photo/Theme: 20 November 09)

Amorella here at the Museo dell’ Opificio della Pietre Dure (Museum of Precious Stones) with remnants of the Medici workshop from 1588.

Carol found this museum after a last minute perusing of Rick Steve’s Florence Thursday night and we decided on relaxing Friday as we were leaving really early Saturday morning – an Air France flight to Paris to catch a late morning Delta flight to Cincinnati.

Carol found the ceramics wonderful, but again you discovered you were not to take photos with flash. You did though, so here is one more that captures some of what Carol loved about the place.

Again, there is an elegance of sort, not like the Greek architecture and design in Pompeii, but still elegance with a Florentine flourish.

The point is that this is art created by a human being with money donated by the Medici family. Art and beauty go together with the weaving of mind, eyes and hands in this case. Pompeii and Florence were produced by different cultures in different times but human beings today and tomorrow are still built to appreciate the value of art and science.

People, some, say the soul is seen in the human eye, but I say it is a reflection of the heart not the soul. The human soul is seen in the humanities and the sciences that express dignity surrounded by reason.

You the Living don’t have to agree, of course, but in here, in the books, the Dead agree not because they are directed to do so, but because they, as reasoning creatures, have no choice but to agree.

This is the line of thinking that leads to the rebellion of the first ten thousand in the Place of the Dead. They have Free Choice, but by Necessity it is reduced to walking in one direction. Fate has nothing to do with it.

This is a little too much, Amorella. Too heavy. You are forgetting to mention the dark humor between the lines. The ten thousand are fully conscious of their situation. Shoot, the Dead are more conscious of it than the Living. Such is the humor. What do the Dead have to fear? Nothing. This is a concept I would really like to get a grasp on.

You are wrong, orndorff. What the Dead have to fear is the lack of Reason and the lack of Dignity, that’s the way it will play out in the next three books. It is as simple as that. – Amorella.

Obviously, this is not resolved. However, the trip to Italy is nearly over and the last bit of Florentine art I have and Amorella has chosen to be shown is one more door, in this case, an interior one.

I chose this door because, to me, it is symbolic of a door into the human mind. One that is presently closed, just as this reflection of the trip has come to a close. Another week has gone by. It is Saturday night, and a week ago the Orndorff’s arrived home about seven hours ago. Just like that, the recent trip to Italy is over, on the other side of the door and another week has passed by. 

Il Duomo and Dante (Photo/Theme: 19 November 09)

Amorella here looking up into the interior of ‘Il Duomo’ which is the inspiration for St. Peters in Rome and the U. S. Capitol. Here is what Wikipedia has to say:

“The Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore is the cathedral church (Duomo) of Florence, Italy, begun in 1296 in the Gothic style to the design of Arnolfo di Cambio and completed structurally in 1436 with the dome engineered by Filippo Brunelleschi. . . .

The cathedral complex includes the Baptistery and Giotto's Campanile. The three buildings are part of the UNESCO World Heritage Site covering the historic centre of Florence. . . .  The basilica is one of Italy's largest churches, and until the modern era, the dome was the largest in the world. It remains the largest brick dome ever constructed.”

The photograph does not do the design and art justice, Amorella, but it took a couple of shots to get this one as all I did was hold my arm out with Carol’s camera (a Sony DSC-T90 Cyber-shot) flat in my palm and snapped.

Accordingly, the tower base was built before the dome could be constructed. Richard is impressed that the designers were confident enough that eventually the architectural problems of the dome could be conquered (as none like it had ever been built before).

I am still inspired by the confidence of those in charge. What a time to have been alive and working on such a project. It was a Renaissance of mind as well as art and science. We have had such times. Little is more wondrous in nature than the human mind, that is my feeling, but I do not know of course. We can do such wonderful things, one would be to help everyone grow into and live a more humane life. That is my dream.

It is already worked into the books, orndorff. The alien marsupial way of life.

It could not be in real life, Amorella. Fiction is what it is.

Where is that confidence that inspired you little more than a hundred words ago?

I am content to write fiction. I enjoy the concepts not the probabilities. Alas, my mind settles more in Platonic territory than that of Aristotle.

 I chose the next photo (Casa di Dante) because of your interest in Dante and particularly the Divine Comedy.

I was disappointed Dante’s house was a reconstruction, but still he lived in the area. We visited some of the places had also visited in his life. On one of these nearby streets he said his ‘hello’s’ to Beatrice. What a love story. (If interested check out:

fascinatinghistory.blogspot.com/2006/01/dante-and-beatrice.html)

In college, reading Dante’s imaginary and literary concepts of Hell, Purgatory and Heaven in the Divine Comedy was fascinating, as was Milton’s Paradise Lost, and Virgil’s The Aeneid. Those themes are fun and logically challenging to write about. The themes cover one of my favorite subjects – metaphysics.

So it is that you will enjoy scribing the next three books even more than the first three.

I cannot image such a thing, Amorella. My heart and soul are in those three books even though you wrote through my hands.

For me then, the challenge will be to create such a work that serves your purposes as well as my own.

What purposes could you possibly have, Amorella?

As your inner friend, one would be to show you what you are capable of.

You are kind to me, and I thank you with all my heart for what you have done through writing those books that I can put my own name on, but still, I cannot imagine.

You are a product of your own times, orndorff, not mine. – Amorella.

Sometimes you really make me question what a human being is.

Glad to finally see you put this in print, old man. 

On the Arno, Friends, and Book Four (Photo/Theme: 18 November 09)

Amorella standing on the top floor of the wonderful Uffico Museum looking down on the Arno River and the medieval Ponte Vecchio (Old Bridge). Richard is immediately reminded of the famous old store-sided London Bridge across the Thames to Southwark.

I was. That London Bridge burnt down. I am thankful the World War II German officer in charge did not destroy the bridge as he was ordered. Good for him and his sense of historical objects. 

Florence is a beautiful city and I was struck by how the sunlight penetrates and reflects. No wonder this was and still is as a Mecca for artists. One of my favorite pictures is the one to the left. It appears (to me) that we are standing in front of a painting, but there we are standing near the middle of the bridge looking downstream.

We traversed many of the museums and churches as many other first time tourists. Even so, for all we saw, this is one of my favorite most unforgettable views of the city.

Need I remind you this is not a travel journal orndorff. You dropped this photo in, it is not one I chose. (At least you are not apologizing for doing so.)

Like the first, this next picture is the one I chose. I did so because beyond museums and favorite views this shows three satisfied friends sitting after having a very good gelato down near the bridge. Ice cream is a favorite of the four who have been friends since college days.

Old friends are important. Richard is thinking about all those old friends he had growing up through high school and wonders if he should list them all. Then what about those from college days, his neighbors, the special colleagues from his teaching days, and his many former students, they are old friends in their own individual ways as far as he is concerned because he shared his life with them and they shared a part of their own with him.

Sometimes I think the Heaven in the books should be set up like Facebook, at least in principle. Sometimes I think Heaven is like that – that Facebook came about because the mechanics, the concepts, are from the invisible world.

I really don’t think the billions of Dead are as far away as people put them. In consciousness we are all in the same room, at least I would like it to be that way, and as such, why not? Fiction is a joy. Amorella conjured up HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither out of my head. Heaven is friends as far as I am concerned.

That’s the way it is in book four, The Rebellion orndorff. Friends want to go home, to go back to Earth to tell the Living how it is being Dead. The Dead want to share with the Living. How do you set up such a rebellious plan in the days of the first Ten Thousand Dead? Who do you negotiate with?

Traditionally speaking, they would negotiate with an Angel I suppose.

In the books orndorff, they negotiate with me. How’s that?

Whoa. That’s pretty heady stuff, Amorella. I remember some mention of this in either the notes or somewhere in the first three books or maybe even in the earlier false start of book four. I get on a roll in research and writing and run the fingers thinking you are writing and then eventually I just stop cold. It was not you at all, just me on a letter-lined roll, a kind of easy literary ecstasy across and down the page.

Writing is a process orndorff, you know that. All those post graduate hours at Miami University on the Ohio Writing Project – what you call a false start is but “percolating”. You need more conscious background for book four and this blog helps provide it. You feel better sharing because sharing makes you free, and I work when your mind is free. You have to write what you know, or in your case, what you intuitively feel. The unconscious works its way out between the lines. Change of plans, I will show the story, not Merlyn.

What use was there in having his character work its way back into life from the dreaming dead man he was? It took Merlyn three books to return as a living consciousness.

And, it will take you the next three books to become more conscious of the Dead, orndorff.

I see a dark humor brewing in this.

That is the plan, boy. The story of the rebellion is mine, but the humor is all your own. And, the joy will be to share it with your friends who are interested, only this time online, just as you did with the first three books. – Amorella. 

I don't want anyone reading this to feel obligated to read on. 

You are not asking your friends to read anything, orndorff. No one has to read it, but it will be online if one wishes to read, that's all. 

I can live with that.

Really now, who would have guessed. 

Food and the Fast Train (Photo/Theme: 17 November 09)

This is Amorella. Our fast train to Florence is pulling into line seven. First class on the electric bullet – smooth, quiet, and comfortable with speeds up to 198 miles per hour on the way. The last time the Orndorffs were on a train was in Peru:  Puno to Cuzco in 1972.

Excited when the train pulled up, and I was further delighted with the ride through the Tuscan countryside. I thought of my ancestral (DNA) mother of 17,000 years ago, who apparently lived in the area. Such connections are important within, even the very old ones. Biologically, we are who we are and who we once were a part of too. Our great-grandparents go a long way back. We share our ancient DNA like we share the air, unconsciously.

Once in Florence the driver who picked us up at the station and took us to our hotel proudly said (upon my asking about the construction of their modern trains), ‘It now takes four and a half hours to travel by rail [on Italian built trains] from Milan to Naples, it used to take eight.’

To your left is a photo of Tavola Calo a pleasant and quiet family restaurant suggested by the friendly staff at the Hotel Diana in Rome. The pastas and pizza were quite good and you chose a different menu each of the two days you suppered. Those are friends Craig and Alta standing behind the bicycle.

The four had a favorite nearby family restaurant in Florence too. Lunch at Mario’s, also twice (pictured below). Mario’s has been written up in Bon Appétit and is a lively place, full of humanity of all sizes, shapes and nationalities. It was busy and noisy, with good food and cheaper Cokes than the nearby surrounding Florence.

Most people don’t have a problem seeing a connection between spirituality and food, particularly when sharing it with friends and family. In the Merlyn’s Mind stories what most people think of Heaven is based on this same human quality, sharing one’s bounty with others. Not food perhaps, but conversation and friendship are still a part of the environment of the Dead. What else would one expect in a spiritually driven human orientation in consciousness?

What is amazing to me about this posting is the theme. In no way did I consider the ‘food’ theme would be posted on Thanksgiving. My main concern is always being able to walk off the plane after it has taken off, if anything was in the back of my mind that was it. Amorella notes the calendar and specific dates that I do not until I fall upon them. To end, I trust that those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving are having a good one, and a good day to everyone else too.     rho 

Keats’ Study and Bedroom (Photo/Theme: 16 November 09)

Amorella here at the last home of the poet, John Keats. The location is through the darkly painted door just to the right of the Spanish Steps in Rome and several flights up. Above the exterior door is a white marble plaque which reads:

Keats Shelley Memorial House

Acquired and Dedicated To The Memory

Of The Two Poets By Their Admirers

In England and America

Orndorff remembers four rooms, two in front and two in the back filled with books and varieties of small (some framed) remembrances of Keats, Shelley and/or Byron. The home was Keats’ though. If interested, give the place a Google.

I remember the narrow stairs, about four flights worth with literary and historical writings framed and pleasantly interspersed along the stair walls. Climbing those stairs was a very exciting and curious adventure.

I took two photos. The first was that of the library the memorial had set up. When I asked if it was okay to take photographs I was told by the young lady (from New York) in charge that I was not to use the flash. I tried to run through the new camera’s menu and I clumsily pushed a couple of buttons before taking one more shot, this one in the bedroom where John Keats’ died at age twenty-five. The flash went off anyway so that is the last one I took.

I was a bit surprised when Amorella wrote this as the particular theme for today’s posting: “I, Amorella, sensed the presence of Keats in the room where he died.”

Personally, I attempt to involve myself in the setting of a residence such as this, but I don’t remember tuning in a presence at the time. I have. Strongly so, sometimes. Even when I was young at four, five or six I would be in a room seemingly alone but ‘I quietly understood’ that I was not alone.

A non-material presence usually mentally projects itself as flat, running up the wall like an invisible window blind or folding itself down into four squares in the corner, to about the size of a penny or a dime only thinneranflatter, usually moving from or into the upper corner of a room. Shape is secondary to size and movement or no movement. Even if it appears ‘in an intuitive sense’ to be large it has never been larger than the wall in the room, that is unless it is already in ‘folds’ that I see as ‘conditionals’ more than anything else.

Of course I am really explaining the operation of my brain/mind intuitively (or imaginarily) in the action of such observation. The reasoning (weak or strong) has never varied in my lifetime as far as I can remember.

You think of a ‘presence’ as an ‘intuitively understood piece of non material substance’ – something that reflects a separate ‘consciousness’ not a mirrored one. In some ways, I am a product of that inner observation. A ‘presence’ in your mind is not necessarily a spirit or ghost, though you do see it as a separate ‘intelligent’ (a reasoning) ‘being’.

Looking at the photograph of Keats’ bed and death mask I detect a ‘centeredness’ projecting between the far edge of the bed and the table directly across from it. It is as if something hovers within the triangle of the end of the bed, the outer edge of the far table on the right, and the mask itself.

Amorella, I see nothing of the sort. In fact, the photo has only two dimensional qualities – that is, it is as flat as the computer screen. The picture appears as a wall painting to me, a small rectangle of painted tile. I do not see and did not sense a presence of the poet John Keats while in the room. It is one thing for me to have an over-active imagination, it is quite another for you to have one.

The room is where Keats died, the mask is circumstantial evidence of his death. The presence of Keats exists in the room.

Only in a causal sense, Amorella. It is unlike you to toy with reason. I do not see Keats other than in reference in the photograph. I do not see, sense, or have any intuitive understanding of the spirit of Keats in the room, then or now.

The picture that you took is as the death mask. You were in the room, now you are not. You are not present in the room yet the room is in your presence. I see this causal thought as a two-way street.

I do not.

You will find this is a difference between thinking while alive and thinking while dead.

Only if you write it in the remaining books as such, Amorella.

That is the point, orndorff. Consciousness and thought are not the same thing. Consciousness is as a room. Thought is the distance between two individual and causal conditionals within the room; otherwise, thought is as a telephone line unconnected to telephones.

I see a problem with using English here as it is too specific, too tree oriented rather than forest. Instead I will add (invent) words in the broken English of the Marsupials in the books. In reference to ‘consciousness and thought’ causalment (combination of a ‘causal conscious element’) will be as the telephone in your end analogy, and bridgenthought will be as a thought communicating something positive, reasonable, and/or meaningful from point A to point B.

Switch ‘causal conscious element’ to causal element in that the room is consciousness, it is already within the framework of consciousness.

Okay, a causal element (telephone at either end of the line) is a causalment. Bridgenthought (a thought of purposeful inner/intragalatic communication) stays as it is.

Good.

Greek Elegance At Pompeii (Photo/Theme: 15 November 09)

Amorella here in Reason’s Heart. Carol and Alta discovered the scene across from the house with historically famous walled art. Elegance. Buried in 79 CE and now resurrected. Design and architecture are, at times, reason without words.

This is one of the finest scenes of sublime elegance I have ever witnessed first-hand. A special thank you rests in my heart to wife/partner Carol and to long time friend Alta Brelsford for their sighting and direction to this spot.

You prefer this classical view to any you have seen in Italy or elsewhere and you find this surprising.

Viewing this Greek scene at Pompeii settles my mind into a sublime contentment and I am surprised by this.

Then, let this become your permanent desktop photograph when you write on this blog and the next three works in ‘experimental fiction’ as you like to call them.

My mind and fingertips become one with the machine.

Consciousness is nearly boundless, boy. – Amorella. 

The Coliseum and The Forum (Photo/Theme: 14 November 09)

Amorella here under the Roman Colosseum looking out into its one time interior seating shell. With a stone and brick interior and marble exterior it was something to behold. Below is from the United Nations of Roma Victrix History:

“The huge theater was originally built encompassing four floors. The first three had arched entrances, while the fourth floor utilized rectangular doorways. The floors each measured between 10,5-13,9 meters (32-42 feet) in height. The total height of the construction was approximately 48 meters (144 feet). The arena measured 79 x 45 meters (237-135 feet), and consisted of wood and sand. .
 . . 

The Colosseum had a total spectator capacity of 45,000-55,000. The Amphitheater is built of travertine outside, and of tufa and brick in the interior. The main pedestals were built of marble blocks weighing 5 metric tons (11,000 pound.) . . .  The total amount of marble needed for the construction measured approximately 100,000 cubic meters.

There were no less than 76 numbered entrances and 4 additional entrances reserved for the Emperor, other VIP's and the gladiators. The Colosseum was designed for easy crowd dispersal; the entire audience could exit the building in five minutes.” [From: www.unrv.com/culture/colosseum.php]

The size of the place impressed orndorff as much as anything else. Size sometimes has an exaggerated impact on initial human reaction.

People were entertained, and the number of human beings who died for entertainment purposes is unknown and leaves most people wondering.

Theatre is exaggeration as much as anything else. Spiritual qualities are no different in this regard, at least this is how I, Amorella, see it. How big is your spiritual coliseum, orndorff?

This is something I have not thought about, Amorella. Strangely, it is a very bothersome question.

That is a better response than I had anticipated. I like your use of ‘bothersome’. Deeper thought needed no doubt.

It hurts my head to think along lines I have not thought before. Spiritual theatre, in this above context, is understood. My books written by yours truly are no doubt a part of this anxiety. I am perplexed as to giving any moral justification other than the writing was a necessity for my well being and mental health. I had to get all those words out of my head.

Besides, the books were not written for entertainment other than for my own need to write. I obviously have an ego and an arrogance to go along with it. I don’t like thinking about it.

This brings up the other photo of the day, the pillars standing tall at the Forum. Pillars to support grandeur also can appear as bars. This poor building looks imprisoned.

Ah, imprisonment; such is one of the existential elements of life. A poor old architectural soul, naked in old age, imprisoned by its own designer.

What a word choice. Again, I had not anticipated your response.

Nothing deeply thought, Amorella. Just a bit of dark self humor.

First sight: Vatican City (Photo/Theme): 13 November 09)

Hello, this is Amorella at the first sight of the city state of the western Catholic Church. Orndorff is allowing me to present an out-of-mind flavor to their recent trip. I chose the pictures and the theme on the day the photos were taken. Now home and relaxed it is time for a reflection.

I thought that most everyone has seen the usual photographs, but of course this one was taken on the taxi run and we had just turned the corner so I took the shot on the ‘approach’. The alien perspective to Italy appeared natural as it was my first trip also.

As Amorella is really my inner spiritual writer/guide I open my mind to see what she has to say. Opening the mind to possibilities is about as spiritual a theme that I can imagine, so no more need be said by me.

In the rush of the taxi, I, Amorella, look at this architecture and see reason rising to a domed point/period with the flavor of a hat placed on a human head. With this, I am reminded of last year’s interview in the Vatican daily newspaper.

“The Director of the Vatican's Observatory, Fr. José Gabriel Funes, said in an interview with the Vatican daily, L'Osservatore Romano, that believing in the possible existence of extraterrestrial  life is not opposed to Catholic doctrine. . . .

The astronomer began the interview titled, "The Alien is my Brother," by saying that, "Astronomy has a profound human value. It is a science that opens the heart and the mind. It helps us to put our lives, our hopes, our problems in the right perspective. In this regard, and here I speak as a priest and a Jesuit, it is an apostolic instrument that can bring us closer to God", said Fr. Funes . . . .

When he was asked about the possibility of extraterrestrial life, the Director of the Vatican Observatory responded that "it is possible, even if until now, we have no proof. But certainly in such a big universe this hypothesis cannot be excluded."

Asked is he sees a contradiction between the Catholic faith and believing in aliens, he said, "I think there isn't (a contradiction). Just as there is a multiplicity of creatures over the earth, so there could be other beings, even intelligent (beings), created by God. This is not in contradiction with our faith, because we cannot establish limits to God's creative freedom . . .”

[From: www.catholicnewsagency.com/new.php?n=12628]

I am particularly fond of the humility touched upon in the adverbial clause at the conclusion of my selection. It serves to balance out the spiritual architecture. – Amorella. 

Phantom Ranch

This is a photo appropriate for the day before a Delta flight to Italy. A look at one of the natural wonders of the United States. Centered in the photo taken on the south rim is a small green patch at the bottom of the canyon. Orndorff thinks this green patch is where he and three others from his Westerville Class of 1960 hiked to, Phantom Ranch, which became a life altering event.

This graduation trip was the first automobile trip orndorff ever took without parents or other family in tow. Recently graduated George Mu., George Mi., and Gary Jackson (like many others, now gone but well-remembered) accompanied Richard in his father’s early ‘50’s green, brush-painted, steel-topped Willy’s (Jeep) Wagon. [Image near conclusion from Google]

The first morning atop Bright Angel Trail the boys had a good breakfast and started down the trail casually dressed in shorts and T-shirts or something similar, and tennis shoes. They walked down to the plateau above the Colorado River where the mules took the tourists. The signs warned to take the trail no further down towards the river, but these boys choose to ignore the sign as their primary goal was to reach Phantom Ranch.

Richard collapsed with heat exhaustion and lack of water on the trail. George Mi. lead the others down to the Colorado where they got water in a canteen and took it back to orndorff. Eventually the three trained him down to the river where he more or less revived. They started out for the top at Bright Angel Lodge before dusk, took turns watching for rattlesnakes, and otherwise slept on the dusty laden four foot ledge (the mules were not presently taking) about a hundred feet up from the river.

In the morning they continued crawling and walking slowly back to the plateau where the mules and their adventurous customers stopped for a picnic before heading back up the trail. About three or so they met people who generously gave up a small part of their lunch to the four grubby and worn appearing boys who had reached their misbegotten goal with not much preparation other than purpose.

After eleven that night the four had climbed the trail and again were rescued by those in the lodge who saw that they had hot showers and a healthy bite to eat before they headed to their camp to retire for the night before they headed on to points west in the morning.

Physically, I never fully recovered from the heat stroke, as I believe I mentioned in an earlier blog. It was the first ‘on our own’ adventure of my life. A wake up call to my world. We drove on to see the Pacific Ocean, a first for me. Who would have ever thought. Before conjuring up that trip in the spring of our senior year I would have bet my life I would have seen the Atlantic Ocean first. That was the real lesson of the trip.

Living in the world is not necessarily heading into the territory of the reasonable and the expected. Many turns of my life have come about out of complete surprise. I have tried to learn from each of those events. I am sure this sort of thing happens to everyone. Rarely, I think, does anyone find herorhimself leading the life sheorhe thought sheorhe was going to lead in high school.

Carol and I are ready for this next adventure and excited to be heading out tomorrow. I will be online when I can and putting in a post or two along the way providing my small travel netbook and the wireless age are up to task. Otherwise, I will be back on 22 November or thereabouts. The best to all my readers. I thank you kindly for keeping me company while reading alongside my mind.  Here’s a smile and a polite tip of the old black beret to one and all. 

Gulf Coast Sunset

This is Amorella. People on the Florida Gulf beaches sometimes applaud after witnessing the sun going down. Orndorff cut the people out of this photo desiring only to see sky and water. No enhancing in this photo.

I see a purity in the mix of color and texture. Tranquil setting. I am not sure why I cut Madeira beach and the people out.

Time to move on, an old photograph popped out of memory.

Yes. It is amazing what jumps into consciousness from out of nowhere.

Time for some learning here orndorff. The subject of the artistic photograph that is still lingering and putting you off guard is that rather erotic image of Marilyn Monroe on the desert dune. She was not on a beach such as this.

I was a college kid in the early sixties. I read Playboy. Heck, I sold Playboy at Gifford’s Bookstore next to William’s Grill in old uptown Westerville. We kept the magazine behind the counter. I still remember the price, $.75 + $.03 tax. Lots of college students. We almost always sold out. Surely nothing spiritual in this.

As the content of your books primary focus was on telling your personal fictional story to G---D or an Angel of G---D, then artistic nudity shouldn’t be a problem here.

I forgot about the nudity in the books. But then there were no pictures.

No, although you wanted sketches along the way like in the nineteenth century edition of Alice in Wonderland which your Grandmother Wilhelmina Bookman-Orndorff had.

I was going to ask my niece, Karen, if she would do the sketches but you said to only use words. I didn’t mind that much, still don’t. Words will do over a sketch or two.

You are conscious of trying to lead me a particular direction here.

Yes, I am. My mind froze. I don’t know what the direction is now. My mind closed down and you were no longer there.

I’m here to keep you an honest man, orndorff. That was your criteria. You wanted the novels to be an honest reflection of your inner self.

It was the only way I could think of to write a fiction that could be read by G---D. I guess that inwardly the books and this blog are equally honest, although I am not writing this to the deity.

This blog runs parallel with the Merlyn books and the three you have yet to scribe.

I don’t see any real purpose in the books or the blogs though, Amorella.

No, you do not. You cannot always see a purpose other than the personal relief you have actually acquired through all these words out of your inner self and hanging them on the line to dry, so to speak.

Their sentenced hangings allow me to remain free where it counts the most. One could not ask for a better reward. Ha! Still, gallows humor.

So, there you are orndorff. You wanted nothing, and still don’t, and you have your freedom.

I don’t think about these things, Amorella, but you are right. Freedom in the mind is definitely a spiritual thing.

And, for you, thinking existentially allows you a path to this ‘freedom of the mind’ of yours. Yesterday’s post question is now answered.

Thank you, Amorella. As usual, I did not see this coming. 

Mountain Springs Station, California

Amorella here atop a mountain gateway to San Diego from the California valley below. Orndorff wonders how the pioneers made it at all. His response to his friends has been:

“I would have remained in London or perhaps New York, no need to go any further west than that. Might travel up to Boston and down to Virginia, but no further. Back then, two centuries or so ago, that would have been it for me. No need to go further west than the east side of the Virginia and Pennsylvania mountains.”

Here is a photo from the eastern valley looking southwest upwards towards the station and points west. The rocky mountains look similar towards the northwest side of the freeway and straight ahead of course. 

Having never seen this area of California before February, 2009, the first thing I thought was: ‘Who dropped the boulders [as big as cars and bigger]?’

A scientist would immediately apologize for the above question but you are a storyteller first orndorff, no matter how you would like to refute it.

This isn’t fair, Amorella. It was my first thought, but I knew better I look at things objectively and scientific like. It was probably a volcanic eruption long ago that spewed forth such rocky matter and landed it in such a chaotic fashion. That is what we discussed in the car with our friends Craig and Alta who live in Tucson.

Did you say aloud, “Who dropped the rocks?”

I don’t know. I might have. But it would have been a joke if I did. Everyone would have known it was a joke. I could have said it. I might have if I thought it would get a laugh. I like to hear people laugh and I’ll say outlandish things sometimes (though they may be true) to hear people laugh.

I used to use humor in my lectures fairly regularly. Mostly to keep them from going to sleep. Some even enjoyed the lectures, at least they told me so privately at the end of class.

Do you miss your classes?

I miss being in the process of teaching. I suppose that is why I am doing this. Pretty sad. They were a captive audience. Existential circumstances had placed them in my classroom and I was my classroom due to existential circumstances. One does what sheorhe does under such a situation. I was there to teach. They were there to learn. So one goes about doing what one does. I loved what I did though. No one could have paid me any amount to love it more. Blogging does not have that same existential element. I am now free and so are my former students.

I am still a student. My classroom is the universe inside and outside of myself. I am stuck being alive. As such I have an immediacy of experience; self-learning requires the focus of thought and action; and I am committed to being a life long learner. Thus, self-learning is in an existential mode as far as I am concerned. In a sense, the classroom in my head continues, so I don’t miss it completely.

Others may not equate existentialism with having a spiritual value.

I don’t care. It does for me, although I cannot reason out the why.

Why don’t you think on that and I’ll ask you about it at another time.

Sounds good. I have the grass to mow anyway.