Up with the cat at dawn. Breakfast and the paper. On line you thought the Merriam-Webster’s Word of the Day a good one. Here it is with one of your first favorite poets.
The Word of the Day for March 27 is:
esemplastic -- adjective: shaping or having the power to shape disparate things into a unified whole
Example sentence:
"The prison walls of self had closed entirely round him; he was walled
completely by the esemplastic power of his imagination -- he had learned by now
to project mechanically, before the world, an acceptable counterfeit of
himself...." (Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward, Angel)
Did you know?
"Unusual and new-coined words are, doubtless, an evil; but vagueness, confusion,
and imperfect conveyance of our thoughts, are a far greater," wrote English poet
Samuel Taylor Coleridge in Biographia Literaria, 1817. True to form, in that
same work, he assembled "esemplastic" by melding the Greek phrase "es hen,"
meaning "into one," with "plastic" to fulfill his need for a word that
accurately described the imagination's ability to shape disparate experiences
into a unified whole (e.g., the poet's imaginative ability to communicate a
variety of images, sensations, emotions, and experiences in the unifying
framework of a poem). The verb "intensify" was another word that Coleridge was
compelled to mint while writing Biographia. Coinages found in his other writings
include "clerisy" and "psychosomatic," among others. From: Merriam-Webster’s.
**
I really like this word, I don’t think I have seen it before, though I have read selections of Biographia Literaria, I did not read the whole work. I wouldn’t consciously remember anyway. The word has a nice ring to it, one that fits its meaning. This Word of the Day also reminds me that I am not nearly as good a writer as Thomas Wolfe, such an exquisite sentence. Some people are born writers. I was just born. No complaints though. I don’t know how one could attempt to think without words or pictures.
Today I will work on the audio-drafting. Once I get back into it, it is a fun diverse project from writing soundless but for the slight taps on the keyboard.
About time for supper and the nightly news. You have done some work today but not as much as you planned. You did get the new Time read but were somewhat disappointed in what it has to say about Health Care. The same for the new Nation but there was an article on privacy and the lack of it. The author gave examples, particularly with the many cameras in public London. You thought of Orwell and how it might have been in his latter days living in a double (I think) on a fairly quiet street in London’s Notting Hill district.
I used to teach a series of books, usually the sophomore year if they were good students – Animal Farm, 1984 and Brave New World, usually I followed it with some sort of propaganda unit. All three were major personal concerns for the majority of students during my thirty-seven year career. Teachers work on different things today. Before those books I’m sure literature and history teachers had their pet books for students to dig into. Keeping busy is important in retirement, otherwise you might just sit back, stare at the wall or ceiling, and feel used up and useless. I am so happy I have found something to do. I am happy and thankful for having a wife, friends and family, and Amorella. Sometimes I just have to admit it.
Speaking of which, why don’t you post what you have done on the audio-drafting of chapter four, then relax with the news and the DVR.
Scene 3
Even from their backs, I know these ladies thought Merlyn -- Clotho, the spinner; Lacheis, the measurer; and Atropos, the cutter of the thread.
The huddled old women turn toward Merlyn and become a single esemplastic entity, Clotho encased in a womanly beautiful Necessity. She spoke first, “Hello Merlyn.”
Merlyn observed his situation and said, “Our human lifeline is thin and golden.”
Necessity replied, “This is where you exist."
Merlyn smiled for the first time dead and said, “Elysium is a thin line indeed.”
Necessity in Clotho cautioned, “Invisible is the line Merlyn, the golden color is as sunlight.”
“The light becomes a condition of the tenses -- is, was, and shall be.”
"How perceptive young Merlyn."
Dear Lady Necessity, “I understand human Reason is stuck in a Grammar’s fold.”
She then commented, “Light closes time to a singular.”
“As a Queen on this Board I Merlyn, can run these squares of thought and light.”
While gaining the semblance of sunlight herself, Clotho as Necessity chastened, “Your declaration, not mine.”
“Thought and Light dance in my mind as I once danced with Mother Earth,” uttered Merlyn. I am becoming a personification, a basic poetic element, a stretch of reasonable imagination, yet I have full consciousness of my heartansoulanmind. He paused in thought, grammar without time will take some getting used to. A thinking board in square light, at least it is a full measured universe in size and scope. To see what was and perhaps to see what may be.
Clotho’s voice alone and within, “In your dreams, Merlyn, only in your braiding dead man’s dreams.”
"I thought in the concept of will be but the concept may be, came instead." “
A new voice says, “Merlyn, welcome.” “
I must have swum here,” replied Merlyn. “Are you who I think?”
“I am Arthur.”
“Where am I?”
“In Avalon, where else? You will enjoy this Place of the Dead where things are born again. It is the Fortunate Isles, like home but with contentment and peace.”
Merlyn, displaced in mind, considered his new, most delicate, most important charge. This light of dreamland is far wider and grander than I had imagined. A tree, a reality, with more roots in thought and branches in light than there are dreamers to have created it. This game of chess lay well beyond Arthur and Avalon and the Greek heroes of Elysium. I continue to dance a quite thin line indeed. I have suddenly come to an understanding, and find myself, Merlyn the Bard, knowing absolutely nothing. What a pickle to find myself in. With nothing to stand on, I find myself a float, a bobber cork on a fish line, that’s what it feels like, to be tugged at from below or pulled from above.
Clotho, the spinner glanced forward to Avalon to see where Merlyn had entered, and back to Elysium to the Rebellion’s start. She transposed herself once again twice more, becoming Lacheis and Atropos who will be ready to cut the thin, sun-yellow line if needed and to leave it dangling, or to tie a knot in another sun-golden line of thought and light, for good or ill, it will happen or not. Merlyn holds the designing knot with odds so lean that only the long slender fading fingers of Necessity can hope to tie and bind it.
In the median between Olympus and Earth, on the opposite side of the Styx and bridge-building, sit twin gods on a rock, looking north across the great river, watching the temple gate being built block by block.
Artemis speaks first, “I feel somewhat angelic here, sadly viewing the Dead at work on a cause to help their children, their descendants. I am caught by their sense of healing a rift. The temple dedicated to Asclepius is a nice touch.”
Apollo smirked, “Two-faced or four, you cannot help humankind as I can.”
She said, “I hunt for the goodness in their nature.”
Sarcasm rolled, ”Good luck with that, dear sister.” “
Why are you so upset with my sympathies, do you not see their plight.”
“Attempting the impossible. These creatures have tried before. They are useless.”
Artemis frowned at his logic, “But they survive physical death, they are immortal as are we.”
He added, “It is a form of self-deception, this place, Elysium.”
She smiled through his weaknesses, “Are we not real?”
“Of course we are,” he said stubbornly, “We gods were here first.” Apollo then commented, “They follow us.” And, in a moment, “I look across this vast separation and see no bridge.”
Artemis thought, my brother is mistaken, they came from Earth, they did not follow us from Olympus. She said, “Perhaps the bridge is not in a prophecy.”
He belittled, “Too many desires, too many deceptions. The species do not have the will.”
She chastised, “Human beings were once alive. We have never been.” “No need for a god to be born of a woman.”
She interrupted, “Why is it their necessity?”
She interrupted, “Why is it their necessity?”
Apollo mumbled defeat, “I do not know. I do know I am the Spirit of Truth, I am the messenger from the gods to humankind, from almighty Zeus himself. I sense no communiqué coming here to the Dead. Nor a directive to the Living either. If an epistle is bolted I will grab and read it to anyone who will listen.”
Artemis glared at her younger brother. “You announce without understanding. They, even the best of humanity, received your notices garbled or in mistranslation. The human mind is not built to hear a god directly.”
In cocksure expression he said, “It shows how little these prophecies are necessary.”
Artemis mirrored her brother’s earlier smirk and pulled from her quiver a sharpened arrow to drive her question home by then asking, “What then is your worship’s worth to the ache or joy of humanity, brother dearest?”
Scene 4
Mario sat in contemplation on a simple wooden chair on the dry bank of the River Styx following the stone block construction of the temple gate in the distance. I wonder why it is that dead, we still find time for sleep? What makes sleep a necessity Here? The old myths have not been fully correct, suppose we get to the other side of the Styx and find more Dead, perhaps Egyptians.
No one seems to ask where the other Dead are, those of other cultures. Birds of a feather flock together. No birds here though except the ones we see through our life’s memory. Suddenly the thought, Mother must know. Mother must know where the other Dead are. I will go see her myself.
Scene 5
This is the Supervisor. No one else will do here. While Mario ventures his way up Eleusis Street to Mother’s home I will show a little spirited adventure myself. Readers may wonder on the framework for these four novels with two beyond. In the twenty-first century people like to know where they are coming from and where they are going. As these books are bound in document, so is all life and potential life bound.
First, picture, if you would, a well of reflective glass on all sides round, boundless without top and bottom. A glowing filament of unorthodox thought and light shaped as a well rooted, tall trunked, heavily branched tree with a full leafed canopy sets centered within the interior glassy parchment giving an outwardly distanced appearance of a strange surrealistic lantern anchored by unimaginable Angelic-like Reason and Passion, both cemented and solidified by shear enthusiastic Will.
The gigantic wood-like root system feeds from the otherwise empty appearing well. Nourishment flows from roots to leaves and from leaves back to roots. When a leaf can no longer support itself, it dies. If many leaves on the branch die, the branch dies. The trunk, or the filament center, does not flicker. The trunk and branches are made up of dimensional layers based on the number of representative rings accumulated through the increase of the tree and subsequent branch diameters.
Put into an earthly proportion, this tree has a trunk some six feet thick and the massive lower branches of more than one and a half foot in diameter begin with the branch’s collar built within the trunk at four feet up. The branching is spacious but entanglement occurs when some branches find their way to naturally graft from a lower limb to a higher one and still produce smaller upward and outward growing branches. The height of the canopy of well proportioned branches is some forty feet.
Standing under this giant bushy tree and looking up one can observe one particular limb of some two inches in diameter growing from a massive bottom limb bend outwardly naturally and then back in, grafting into a higher trunk produced limb some six inches thick. It has the appearance of a long handle on a bus or train which one might use to steady herorhimself and pull herorhimself onto the vehicle.
Standing under this giant bushy tree and looking up one can observe one particular limb of some two inches in diameter growing from a massive bottom limb bend outwardly naturally and then back in, grafting into a higher trunk produced limb some six inches thick. It has the appearance of a long handle on a bus or train which one might use to steady herorhimself and pull herorhimself onto the vehicle.
Towards the middle of this oddly grafted branch is a smaller one two feet long and thin with three small but growing leaves fanned out on its tip. It could be snapped from the grafted branch without much thought, but it would not be wise to do, if it could be done at all. It is true the tiny branched leaves would hardly be noticed if missing, but these leaves are noticed like delicate flowers, and observed they are, as is each leaf on this particular filament of a tree shaped with and by thought and light.
One of the three fanned leaves on the twig, the one on the right, is the universe as you know it, but from the outside as I see it. Each leaf is a universe, a direct connection with woody appearing branches and large tall trunk and a deep and wide root system. Permanent Time is built in the growth of the tree, otherwise, time is relative.
A tree leaf can have a reflection (mirror image) or a bilateral symmetry, two halves, a right and left. And, in these books at least, a universe can have a similar dispensation. Much of this comes to play in examples scattered throughout the connected series of six books. Now, back to the story at hand, part of which is understanding the reasoning roots and relativity in light of these heartsansoulsanminded Dead.
Scene 6
Athena found Zeus sitting on the bottom of white marble steps beneath his throne chair. With determination always emanating from her plum-tainted irises, she followed Zeus; eyes and sat down beside him. “You called.”
“Something is not right. Look straight up. See. A microscopic piece of the sky navel is missing.” Athena stood as if to give the area a more singular inspection. “I agree,” she said. “A piece is missing.”
Zeus asked in confidence, “How can this be?”
Zeus asked in confidence, “How can this be?”
Athena was struck by his sudden honesty as she plied the information into her multi-dimensional mind. “No lesser god or goddess would have reason to make a mischief of this sort.”
“That is my thinking. We are a self-surviving family, a pantheon that serves these Greek and like thinking humans well.”
She asked, “Could your parents, Cronus and Rhea have escaped Tartarus?”
She asked, “Could your parents, Cronus and Rhea have escaped Tartarus?”
“Hades says not. He would have known,” disclosed Zeus.
“They were rightly cast off.”
He smiled warmly at his daughter, “Rebellions are sometimes needed. I had no choice if I were going to represent law and wisdom.”
And so much more, thought Athena in a twist of humor. She said, “Nyx must be responsible. She is the daughter of Chaos.”
“The goddess of Night? She is one of the most ancient to stir from Creation. Her children were Sleep (Hypnos) and Retribution (Nemesis) as well as Death (Thanatos).”
“True, three of her children indeed,” agreed Athena.“Death. This may be the reason. With their attempt at rebellion in Elysium.” “Retribution. Night wants retribution.”
“True, three of her children indeed,” agreed Athena.“Death. This may be the reason. With their attempt at rebellion in Elysium.” “Retribution. Night wants retribution.”
“This is sound thinking.”
“It is a hypothesis, Zeus. You will need proof to remain just.”
“It is a hypothesis, Zeus. You will need proof to remain just.”
“If the Dead return to Earth, to the Living, Night will be out of balance with the Earth.”
“Night is a sister of the Earth (Gaia).”
“Night is a sister of the Earth (Gaia).”
“Alas, we are all family. We are created and worn by incestal tragedy,” said Zeus in dismay. Athena replied sympathetically, “From one, many. Our Creation was a Necessity, Zeus.”
“Chaos was first. What could have come before the first?”
“Nothing. Chaos was nothing,” injected Athena.
“Nothing. Chaos was nothing,” injected Athena.
“It is not reasonable,” said Zeus. “Chaos had to have a parent, a Creator.” “We are Immortals. Perhaps we are the Parent of Chaos.”
“I am held up a tree here. Common.” “My Lord, Father, you are Master here. You lead the original rebellion and won so that Olympus might exist.”
“Could a mightier god than I exist?” “It is not wise to think on such things, Father Zeus. Ease your mighty mind.”
“Our immediate problem is Night and her children. Why would they need a piece of immortal sky navel gold?”
“I cannot imagine beyond my own navel,” muttered Zeus as he watched his favorite daughter Athena fade into the Olympian air.
“I cannot imagine beyond my own navel,” muttered Zeus as he watched his favorite daughter Athena fade into the Olympian air.
Scene 7
Not much traffic appears on the short final leg of North Eleusis Street. Seven to nine flat stones of one to three foot dimensions lay in a somewhat patchy horizontal pattern across the street as it snakes up to a final curve to the right where it ends at the small formal garden ten feet from the massive stones in the circles.
Sophia, with long stringy auburn hair, is dressed in a modest white Greek toga with a long wide blue sash wrapped from the top of her right shoulder down to her left thigh and returning up across her back where it is attached to her right shoulder with a gold pin.
Kassandra walks with Sophia, sometimes up on the narrow sidewalk, sometimes on the quiet street depending on the nature of where her feet decide to carry her. Kassandra with dark black hair to her shoulders is dressed in comfortable white trousers while wearing green a low loosely tied vest that plays peek-a-boo with her still well formed Greek breasts. The two women continued ever consciously along and up the slight rise until coming out of the rocky road’s curve where it meets the cul-de-sac and two closer large bluestones at the outer ring.
Shortly the two are on the narrow path winding graciously through the stone ring to its center where the earthy path makes a circle around the great tree. Oddly, neither woman looks up but each continues with her eyes mainly focused on the path under the forty foot tall vast canopy of multi-sized straight and knurled limbs ending narrowly with multitudes of good-sized leaves, an unneeded umbrella for the rings. Some call the singular tree a large green bush or a green toadstool as it does have that an uncanny appearance, if viewed from the right angle and distance.
Sophia glances down at the ruggedly rooted base collar around the tree trunk. One to two inch sized roots gathering down into stony nooks and crannies as it the tree’s rooty hands had the power to grab and pulverize any of the bluestones, no matter what their size, if they so desired to. Wood a master of stone, it seemed an impossible scene but one is never sure when walking in such an unseemingly natural environment. It creates an awkwardness of thought so that the silent passer-by along the way has no idea as to who has power over whom.
Quickly approaching the northern side of the three circles of stone rings, the two women see the steps and grand porch that lead to the entrance of serene and seemingly austere one story Doric styled home of their singular mitochondrial Eve, known simply as Mother , in her company.”
The three classical columns stood parallel to one another along the long main hall to the courtyard. The large one story house had a big public reception room as well as a smaller one, plus two other large public rooms for use when needed, two dining rooms with tables, one public and one semi-private room, two front bedrooms and two large back rooms and three extra bedrooms on the other side of the courtyard. Each bedroom had a large boarded bed with legs covered with four or five layers of blankets. Two other small rooms nearby were for adequate storage of portable furniture, mostly various sized stools, chairs, divans and tables for public social comfort of her children.
This was a last minute invitation and Mother wants to talk as she greets Sophia and Kassandra. Upon entering the unembellished atrium and walking to the right around the impluvium, a shallow dry stone pool to catch the outmoded rainwater. Once beyond the atrium and just onto the main hall Mother quickly led them to the private chapel on the right.
This ascetic room was surprisingly unadorned of personal bust or any reference to the Greek Pantheon.
The walls are plain and a light chalky coat of antique white with a light blue trimmed marble floor. A table for ten sat in the center and the outer wall was half round and domed with a hole in the ceiling and a low round marble tub below to catch the non-existent rainwater. What surprised Sophia and Kassandra the most about the unused, hitherto unknown room was that it had something the rest of the home or any known home did not have, a ceiling graciously curved and arched.
The walls are plain and a light chalky coat of antique white with a light blue trimmed marble floor. A table for ten sat in the center and the outer wall was half round and domed with a hole in the ceiling and a low round marble tub below to catch the non-existent rainwater. What surprised Sophia and Kassandra the most about the unused, hitherto unknown room was that it had something the rest of the home or any known home did not have, a ceiling graciously curved and arched.
Mother pulled up a chair on the east side of the table and directed the two women to face her from the west side. The three sat politely and simultaneously.
Sophia glanced to her left and noted the entryway to the chapel had been silently closed. She had not realized the door existed. She suddenly realized that except for the ceiling this room was the size of an average privacy house each of the Dead was accustom to.
Mother lips pursed to within an second of a smile as she said, “Today I have substituted this table for my bed.”
Taken by the scene Kassandra unconsciously responded, “This is simply the most beautiful tomb I have ever seen.”
“I never sleep,” confessed Mother. She added, “Even in Elysium I do not have the time.” She paused. “I called you both here because earlier I had a surprise visit from Mario.”
“Mother, we did not know of this,” replied Sophia more anxiously than she wished.
“Mario had questions about the Dead who are not Greek. He demanded to know if I am the Mother of all living human beings, even the Egyptians and Persians and others far away who worship other gods.”
“It does seem strange that we see no references to any gods and goddesses in this room. Most of us have a totem of one kind or another that we have chiseled or carved or found somewhere about in a private place,” said Sophia.
“Mine is a simple wooden cross beneath my bed, my attempt to show attachment to the divine order of the four winds,” cited Kassandra.
“I did not know that, Kassandra,” said Sophia.
“It is private,” she quickly yet rather humbly replied.
“Why did you mention it then?” questioned Mother.
“It seemed important to do so. It is the truth whether it is private or not.”
Mother’s faced opened a genuine smile. “That is why I called you both here this afternoon, to talk about the truth.”
Scene 8
Evening. The two men stood patiently at Kassandra’s door waiting for her to open it.
“This is like life,” commented Salaman. “What is her problem? Why doesn’t she respond?”
Thales replied, “I agree. This is unlike her. Perhaps she fell into a deep sleep. If so, we will not be able to disturb her.”
“Why don’t we go back to the Mikroikia and see if Mario shows up,” suggested Salaman. “We haven’t seen him all day.”
“Nor Sophia. We must be missing something,” noted Thales. “This is very odd.”
“Maybe Mother called it off.”
The door suddenly opened outwardly. “I’m sorry. Come in. I need to fill you two in.”
“We could have met at the Mikroikia and had a good time waiting.”
Kassandra acted as though she didn’t hear him, and shut the door for privacy. She turned, attempted a smile, and said, “I have these two chairs and the bed. Who wants the bed?”
“I’ll take it,” said Salaman. “I just want to lie down.”
Thales winked at Kassandra and sarcastically commented, “This is what we Dead do best, lie down. What is on your mind, Kassandra?”
She adjusted the legs of the chair for her comfort. “Sophia and I were called to Mother’s this afternoon because Mario had gone to speak to her earlier.”
First, Thales shrugged, his hands suddenly went in the air, and he shot out, “It is over then.” His mind ran through the following thoughts. I knew it. This plan wasn’t going to work. Zeus has put an end to all this. I knew it was Zeus.
“Why weren’t we at least consulted?” asked Salaman indignantly. This was rigged by the women, he thought. They always want to control.
“Mother invited us into her private chamber. It is really a chapel.”
“No one has ever been to her privacy chamber.” Thales added, “I didn’t know she needed one.” Then he asked, “To what gods? Who are her favorites?”
Kassandra then whispered as if it were the darkest secret in all of Elysium, “She worships no gods or goddesses, no one in the Pantheon and none foreign either.”
Salaman, still in anger asked, “What did Mario stir up? He is the start of today’s event.”
“Start with Mario,” concurred Thales.
“I agree. He is the instigator. It was arrogant to confront Mother directly without confiding in us beforehand. What is this all about, Kassandra?”
She hesitated from the social awkwardness-of-an-earlier-moment, “Mother, uh.”
“Mother what?” asked Salaman abruptly. “You called for us to be here.”
“Just tell us,” said Thales calmly. “Otherwise, I can only imagine the worst.”
Kassandra resigned with a shrug of her shoulders, much as she did in her last moment of life, “Mario asked Mother where the Egyptian Dead are?” She paused, “I think Mother intuitively knew someone was going to ask her a question she could not honestly answer.
“We all have questions that can’t be answered, why should that bother her?”
She retorted, “Because everyone looks to Mother to give a decent answer Salaman.”
He responded, “I think most people assume the Egyptians are not worthy to be in Elysium. Why would their heroes want to come here anyway? Isn’t that right, Thales?”
“It would seem so. Though where do their heroes go?”
“Not to a good place,” rattled Salaman offensively.
“I think it is none of our business,” voiced Kassandra with calm, “but Mother told us something that no one but Sophia, Mario and myself now know.”
“What is that?”
“Thales, she said that before she came Here, to Elysium, she went someplace else, where there were other Dead. They invited her to stay but she wanted to make her nest here, so to speak, so she left. And, she -- ”
Salaman stood immediately and confronted the concept with, “Impossible. There is no other place for us Greeks.”
Kassandra chastised, “You don’t even know if Mother is Greek Salaman.”
“You don’t make sense woman.” He drooled on effusively, “What else would she be, Persian?”
Thales retorted, “No one asks questions such as this. We are all family, that is what is important here, and Mother is well, our Mother. She was here first. We followed her here through our own birth mothers I would imagine. It is reasonable to think this.”
Hands in the air and wide-eyed, Salaman barbed, “You are the reasonable one Thales? Thales the Dreamer is the reasonable one, Kassandra, what do you think of that?”
She replied, “Calm down, Salaman. What is wrong with you? Why are you ranting?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You claim our Mother isn’t Greek, and Thales here thinks the Persians or Egyptians or whoever else should have a Place for their Dead Heroes. Their heroes have been our enemies.”
“Fellow Greeks have also been our enemies. Now, Salaman, if you will, gather your thoughts,” admonished Thales.
Scene 9
Late into the night Aeneas sat near the window outside the café. Aranos, the old server stopped by the table and said, “Relaxing are you Aeneas?”
Aeneas, in a shy mood, nodded and responded, “I am, but I am also waiting on Thales and Mario. Mario said we would share a wine and be on our way.”
“Do not forget the bread and cheese,” laughed Aranos who was quickly settled at the table of the lonesome newcomer, inquiring on the best wines the stranger knew.
The two showed up shortly and suggested they meet in the back room. The smaller table was set up and they gathered around it, sat, and readied a good wine their minds were familiar with.
“What is this about?” asked Aeneas. “Why come back here?”
Thales declared, “We want to let you in on a new bit of knowledge.”
“We want your opinion," added Mario, who continued, “Today I asked Mother about the Egyptian Dead. I was thinking that this bridge we are building might find the Egyptian Dead on the other side.”
“She did not know, Aeneas,” said Thales. “Mother doesn’t know where the other Dead are.”
“Why did you expect her to?” asked Aeneas. “No one talks about it because we are here. Our friends our here as are many of our families. We do not know the Egyptian Dead. At least I don’t know any I would be friends with Here.”
Thales commented, “Do you not think it strange that Mother wouldn’t know who her mother was?”
“I thought she was our original Mother?”
“She still had to have a Mother, Aeneas,” quibbled Mario.
“If each culture has its own mother, someone has to be the mother of all the mothers.”
Aeneas interrupted, “But we aren’t family? Why is this important?”
“Suppose,” said Mario, “all of the tribes, the Persians, Egyptians, Indians, and even the Celts to the north are all the same.”
“What if they are. I mean. We have similar appearances. And like other creatures we may be the same in a general way, but. . . .”
“What if they are. I mean. We have similar appearances. And like other creatures we may be the same in a general way, but. . . .”
Thales interrupted, “We can all bear children through one another's cultural tribes.
“The point is this, Aeneas, if we could find the other Dead and tell them of our plan to return to Earth,” noted Mario, “they may have an incentive to join us.”
“No one has found any strangers in Elysium, that is other than newcomers. Once we know who they are, and who their families are, everyone fits in well enough,” responded Aeneas.
“That’s another point,” said Mario. “Mother said that before she came to Elysium to wait on her children to follow her, she found herself with others who were Dead who are different than us.”
“You mean by dress and tongue?”
“No, Aeneas. They have no breasts. Neither female or male exhibited nipples.”
“That is impossible,” he replied. “They must have cut them off, like the Amazons cut off one of their breasts for better aim and hunting.”
“No. That is just it,” said Thales. “There are other Dead who are similar to us but not us.”
Mario compounded, “Complete strangers, foreigners. People from unknown parts of Mother Earth.”
“What is the point? It appears to have made little difference. Besides, Mother may be storytelling.”
Mario said, “Let’s assume she is telling the truth. How did she get from one Place of the Dead to our own? She doesn’t know. I did find out she has never faded to her privacy chamber. We always end up in our own house.”
Thales ended the conversation, “Here’s something to sleep on, Aeneas, the gods don’t appear to have anything to do with this phenomenon. Mother has no references to the Pantheon in her house. None.”
“That is indeed strange.”
“We have no idea what may be on the other side of the River Styx.”
The three sat quietly drinking their shared favorite while also noting their recent words piled about the table. In life fear of the unknown might have engulfed them, but Dead, and among their own, the only unsettling was the rising rumble of more questions.
We know we are Greek is a statement understood by each. We know who are original Mother is. Another statement understood. Each with new questions piling into his mind saw the Styx rising along side.
Finally, with a sigh, Thales said, “We are brothers here. We will not be under-minded. We do have a gift besides our reason. We need to put our dreams to work. The people we have known in Life, some were from foreign lands. All those I have known had reason. We know madness when we see it. This is not madness. We need to search, for now in secret, to find if others who have known strangers as friends or who were once married to foreigners still secretly have contact with them in their present dreams."
He continued, "No one talks about these things. We go about our daily business. We attempt to maintain polite company within our culture here. We do not discuss our private dreams except with our closest friends. It is possible that if we did, we would discover something we do not realize about ourselves as a cultural tribe and as individuals. And, with this new knowledge we may find yet another way to make ourselves back to Earth to greet the Living with great joy.”
He continued, "No one talks about these things. We go about our daily business. We attempt to maintain polite company within our culture here. We do not discuss our private dreams except with our closest friends. It is possible that if we did, we would discover something we do not realize about ourselves as a cultural tribe and as individuals. And, with this new knowledge we may find yet another way to make ourselves back to Earth to greet the Living with great joy.”
Scene 10
Late night, about the same time the boys are at the Mikroikia, three spirited bodies are lying in the same bed, Salaman is in the middle, Sophia on his left and Kassandra on his right. The privacy place is Sophia’s. None has a stitch on and no one seems to care as a blanket and the darkness except for the starlight covers them. They wait, more or less quietly, to fall into a stone cold sleep. Whispers are all that is needed and whispers is all you can hear. Touching and holding hands is not out of the question or even questionable to these three. Each needs solace and personal comforting. Between each piece of dialogue there are usually a few seconds of silence, sometimes longer, depending upon the reader's imagination.
“I was so embarrassed.”
“Me to.”
“So you both faded away right in front of Mother?”
“Mother said, I do not fade in awkward social or private conditions.’”
“I was not sure what she met. If you are in private why would you fade away in the first place?”
“She brought up ‘awkward social conditions’ and I thought she was talking about herself in the present tense, while we were there, so I didn’t know what to do or say so I faded away. I should have just excused myself.”
“It would have been more polite had we both excused ourselves, but we didn’t.”
“What she must think of us. She is counting on us and we acted like novices.”
“I’m sure it isn’t that bad. I still can’t believe she may not be Greek. It never dawned on me that she would be anything else.”
“It was that awkward silence.”
“She is not royalty. She is not a queen.”
“All mothers are queens of their own house. We were her guests and we didn’t leave properly.”
“How does that work? I mean, it is similar to fainting, at least the way I remember fainting, and the next thing you know you are back in the comfort of your own personal chamber.”
“No one knows. It just happens. Not too often, thankfully.”
“What I wonder about is whether Mother set up that uncomfortable situation with intent or if it was accident?”
“Why, with intent?”
“I had the feeling there was more she wanted to say, but at the last minute changed her mind and just decided she wanted us out of there, and that was the quickest least awkward way for her.”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that at all.”
“If Mother isn’t Greek then what is she?”
“If she is the Mother of all humanity, then she must be quite old. Why is she with us and not with the Persians who are an older culture than us?”
“Or from India. I think they are even older.”
“Where are all the other Dead people?”
“I don’t think Mother knows. Mothers always have concerns about their children. It is no wonder she doesn’t sleep.”
“I didn’t know she doesn’t sleep. What does she do all night?”
“Maybe she secretly visits her other children in India or Africa.”
One by one there was a longer pause between questions. Most of them too heavy to answer. They held hands longer and snuggled closer. Both women ended up wrapped over the right or left leg of Salaman. Eventually they were so close, so intimate, that all they could do was close into a tight but comfortable group hug. They felt the shared warmth of bodies they did not have. It was a natural human warmth. Soon, each fell into a deep sleep and the three turned into a single piece of stone. No one realized this, of course, as it was a very rare event. If they were propped upright like three human beings solidified into a tree trunk they would have appeared a classically sculpted work of art.
Scene 11
The Supervisor rarely uses more energy than needed at any given moment. SheanHe is nearly the ultimate conscious creation in efficient thought and in processing the earliest appropriate response possible given HeranHis wide parameters. The enhanced filament, the tree of thought and light.
Light is as thought without a thinker therefore thought is first. Thought includes the processes of cognition, sentience, consciousness, ideas and imagination and also according to Wikipedia, light is a type of energy, a non-matter, which exhibits the properties of both waves and particles.
Cognition is a product of the thinking process; sentience is a sensation, a conscious awareness; consciousness is an awareness of self and facts of existence; ideas are formulated thoughts; and imagination is a mental image based on logic.
Energy is force times distance; non-matter is an absence of matter; waves are formulations; and particles are quantities. That’s how I, the Narrator, see it. These then are the properties of the tree of thought and light balanced by the middle lantern-like sleeve of surrounding thought.
Another definition of energy says it is the ability to do work. What then of negative energy which constitutes seventy-five percent of our universe? Depending on its angle, no work is done, no power is presented, even though it exists.
These are present hypotheses. Nevertheless, the energy in the formulation of the Tree of Thought and Light is based solely on Presence not Power.
Thought into light begins with the cognition of oscillating E and H fields in the birth of a photon that travels at the speed of light but the sentience of the photon’s clock speed runs at zero. The photon never ages no matter how long it takes to go from A to B.
For example a human being who is born totally blind may still develop sensations of the awareness of light through the sensitivity of one or more of the other four senses.
A never having seen light, totally blind person gaining a suntan on the beach can still sense the sun when it is not obscured by a cloud. This person can also sense the presence of sunlight, or the lack of sunlight at night, through the natural sounds (or the lack of sounds) of particular insects or birds.
A never having seen light, totally blind person gaining a suntan on the beach can still sense the sun when it is not obscured by a cloud. This person can also sense the presence of sunlight, or the lack of sunlight at night, through the natural sounds (or the lack of sounds) of particular insects or birds.
The human brain is a very impressive organ in terms of the amount of adaptively and compensation it can provide for the sake of an individual’s survival. The same is true for Impenetrable Thought, a singular seemingly supranatural-like process through which photons can be formed, rooted and released, at least in these books it is.
The point being, there is much more to Reality than meets the eye, the brain, and even the mind, be it embodied in the Living or the Dead.
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