Mid-morning. You have just finished walking in the woods at Pine Hill Park. Carol is still walking the lakes and beyond. Your knees and butt feel a bit better after the walk, but during, not so good.
About twenty minutes or so – walking down the hill and back to the roofed tables, then back to the stream and bridge, then over to a bench, then up the thirty some steps to the car. I used to do this short walk in five to ten minutes, now it takes twenty (with two stops to sit a minute or so). At least it is off the path and up and down hill. Still enjoyable, especially to stop at the bridge, stand, and listen to the water gurgling down the hill. Just like I was at Old Man’s Cave in southeast Ohio or down in West Virginia. Very pleasant. They are have foot race and bike races in and surrounding the park and downtown Mason this morning. Runners and bikers out (and distant speaker system going) adds to the warming, humidity-rising, atmosphere. Here comes Carol up the hill topped with a straw hat.
Next stop, McD’s for a late morning drink and snack. Fully packed because of a sale on frappes. You are waiting in the car as the traffic goes by.
These are the way the days go in retirement, the hours frittered away on one cause or another. There are worse occupations than retirement. I don’t mind and I think, neither does Carol. Masterpiece Theatre is on tonight, and that is always something to look forward to. (There’s that pesky preposition, but Churchill took care of that piece of grammar, but ol’ Miss Harley never paid Winston any mind). Next stop, Kroger’s before heading home, meat for sandwiches, bananas, etc. as we have eaten up or wasted away a bit more than half of this week’s two hundred dollar allowance already.
You are not too happy with the program you set up for audio because by shutting the computer down, even saved, distractions are made in the print and it has to be gone over once again before the oral drafting.
I should have just done it but didn’t. That’s twice now this has happened. I like reading Twain and his wordy cadence though, he’s getting back into my head after a long dry spell. He reads more honest than some. I like the fellow. I think his daughter in her twenties that died was named Sally Clemens. Her death was quite a blow to her father, no doubt mother and whole family. Clemens went on how millions of people got born and died and not much at all came from it yet it kept happening. Rather depressing to think on (as evidently Sally did from time to time. Hard to fathom reason or purpose in such numbers other than the usual intimate and hopefully mutual pleasures just before conception. A lot of genes out for a return of a little pleasure, and here we are, still at it. The rest is mostly fiction that allows us some dignity, some continued emotional intimacy and reasonable discourse while we are here. The general Heaven or Hell conclusion just adds to the bothersomeness tagging along like an afterthought of a mother and father’s one time dalliance in the bedroom or elsewhere. The mind has fun when a little of Twain is fictionally standing by the wings.
Enough self entertainment, orndorff. Close this thing up for a while and think more quietly. Later, old man. – Amorella.
Arrived home, put the groceries away and seeing my earphones I checked the computer one more time. I had forgot to check the internal output and found it was on mute. I have no idea why. In any case, started it up and the sound with earphones works fine. So, I am set to go. Amazing, almost a miracle that it still works, but I know better, I had checked input but not output. I would have never hit the mute switch on purpose. Who knows. I’m just happy it works so I can audio proofread in comfort and complete privacy.
I thought you had checked the output also, orndorff. I do not remember it on mute either. A glitch somewhere along the line or in the software system. Good thing you left those earphones out from last night. Later, dude. Post. Amorella.
This afternoon you have been thinking about ‘presences’ as used in your stories as well as what you consider ‘real’ observed ‘presences’ from time to time in your life.
A real ‘presence’ or ‘encounter’ is as noted, looking up and sensing someone in the doorway when no one is, or sensing someone or something else ‘conscious’ in the room beside one’s self, perhaps sitting on the end of the bed. I attribute this phenomenon as an ‘echo’ of my own consciousness. What else could it be? This phenomenon has been observed and witness by enough people in the world that I assume there is something to it. The point though is that it is directed from outside the brain. A sensory event is directed from outside to inside. It is not the same as a figment of imagination rising up out of the unconscious mind. The eye first looks for something beyond the body, or the head turns towards a ‘presence’ as if in acknowledgement of its possible reality. Nothing is seen, yet there is a lingering that something indeed existed ‘there’ momentarily before moving on or disappearing.
I have several encounters similarly marked in the fictional stories. I am more comfortable keeping or surrounding the ‘event’ or ‘presence’ with fiction. I suppose this is a self-confession of sorts, but sometimes I just want to get at what this ‘event’ or ‘presence’ really is, how it really fits into the natural world of which we are made up and live in. I look for the words. ‘Directed consciousness’ is that a word? Perhaps “projected consciousness’ is a better word choice. Words, nouns really, are not fully specific, such as the word ‘dog’ or ‘cat’. Specificities are needed. This is where I am in my head presently.
This stems from a poem my old friend Doug G. sent me this morning, a poem from one of my favorite poets. Here it is:
A Thought Went Up My Mind To-day
Emily Dickinson
A thought went up my mind to-day
That I have had before,
But did not finish,--some way back,
I could not fix the year,
Nor where it went, nor why it came
The second time to me,
Nor definitely what it was,
Have I the art to say.
But somewhere in my soul, I know
I've met the thing before;
It just reminded me--'t was all--
And came my way no more.
**
The difference for me is that it has come my way again, once in a while for perhaps five or six times in my life. These fictions Amorella writes are in some ways an aspect of those unusual ‘Natural’ encounters or presences or events.
That sums the focus fairly directly. I, Amorella, agree with your assessment. You still allow for some sort of neurological malfunction from time to time, a glitch, if you will. You may think, from time to time, as you are presently, on why this rational makes you more comfortable. For me, the gallows humor is ever present in your self-honesty. Post. – Amorella.
Here is your audio draft of scenes four, five, and six of chapter five:
Chapter 5, Scene 4 (audio revision)
Late morning of the seventh day and Thales and Mario are sitting at a small wooden table in Mario’s private quarters. Both had just finished their normal chit-chat before getting down to the business of the moment, What contingencies should be made for what they may discover is on the other side of the River Styx? We assume a First Cause created this Place of the Dead, this place bordering on the River Styx. A momentary sub-question relating to this is: What does Justice say about what the original First Cause might be? Nature or a God?
Thales said, “We ought to begin with First Cause and work our way up to what may be on the other side of the Styx.”
Thales said, “We ought to begin with First Cause and work our way up to what may be on the other side of the Styx.”
“The philosopher, Anaximander, said that the First Cause was an element he called Boundlessness, a nature that is first immortal and also unborn.”
Mario countered, “Anaximenes the philosopher said air was the First Cause and that everything that exists evaporated from this air, that the stars that surround the Earth are like floating fiery leaves, that the sun circles around the Earth and not under it.”
Thinking this was going to be a short discussion, Thales replied, “Both Anaximander and Anaximenes appear to think the First Cause is natural element or event. As such we should be able to reason from what we know of Living and of Death that what is probable on the other side of the Styx.”
Mario smiled slyly and added, “But your namesake and their teacher, Thales of Miletus, is reported to have said that the soul is the cause of movement. He thought the lodestone or magnet had a soul because it causes iron to move. Some say this logic jumps to the concept that everything is full of gods.”
Thales smirked, “Thus supposedly the aphorism attributed to Thales of Miletus, ‘What is the divine? That which has no origin and no end,’ at least according to Diogenes Laertius.” He went on to say, “A god then has no origin and no end. This does not make sense. Everything has a beginning. It is observed in nature, but alas, Living or Dead, we each began in the middle of things. We cannot envision what was before us or what will come after us, we can only know that something was before us and that something will follow us. We exist. We are the evidence to support this.”
“How are these concepts supported by our human sense of Justice as a virtue?” asked Mario. “We are here in Elysium where the where the heartsansoulsanminds of the good and virtuous are selected to be after the death of the body. Does this mean that those who are not so good and not so virtuous are outside Elysium on the other side of the River Styx? Why is the river here if not to give a place of selection?”
“Why is the Earth where it is, Mario? And the stars where they are? If you are looking to add Justice to this argument, this discussion will never end.”
“If the discussion of Justice never ends does this mean it may never have had a beginning? If so, then perhaps, the god of all gods is not Zeus or the Supervisor or anyone else, perhaps the god is Justice,” admonished Mario.
“If Justice is a god, then what of the other three classical virtues, Temperance, Prudence and Fortitude, not to mention Humility, Hope, Faith and Charity. Do we have four virtuous gods in charge or seven? Who is the top god, the lord and master of the virtues?” charged Thales.
Self-discipline ordered Mario to silence while he thought it out first. He noted there was no smugness in Thales’s face. No pride. Thales was waiting for a response for the question he did not have an answer to. He had blurted out his last comment, it had just rolled out, and mostly from anger. He sat self-aware of his shortcomings in this discussion and he had forgotten why the discussion had begun in the first place. Finally Mario muttered in defeat, “I would have thought we would have learned more by being Dead.”
Scene 5
I don’t know what Sophia wants to see me about, thought Cassandra. I was going to have lunch with Agathia. She glanced into the front window of the Mikroikia from across Eleusis and saw Salaman was about to leave. As she had not been seen she turned and walked the other way already angry at herself for having done that. Where am I going? She stopped, waited momentarily then retraced her steps and crossed the street without hesitation.
Once inside she spotted Sophia who, looking towards the entrance, stood. The two women headed to the small back room where they found the old chairs and table. After the hello’s each sat with a memory assembled glass of favorite wine and sat back savoring the taste.
This simple pleasure of relaxation was so habitual that neither considered the other to be empty handed. None of the Dead appeared to consider it at all. After all, it was the company and the illusion of ambience and memory of good tastes that was important in sharing a meal. Most refreshment sharing is a personal subjective reality based on gustatory and amicable pleasures. That is the usual social element at the table, but not this one.
“I already had a lunch set up, Sophia. What is this about?”
“It is not about lunch. You can see Agathia later. I need to know where you stand on searching for the other Dead among us?”
“It is not about lunch. You can see Agathia later. I need to know where you stand on searching for the other Dead among us?”
“It is hard to imagine other people, foreigners would want to be here in the first place. Even with loved ones involved, this is not their culture,” said Cassandra without hesitation.
“You don’t feel love brings a stronger attachment than culture?”
“You don’t feel love brings a stronger attachment than culture?”
“I was not thinking about it in that way. It is hard to say which is stronger love or hate.”
“Hate takes a toll in all the vices.”
“Hate takes a toll in all the vices.”
“Hate is hate, Sophia. That is all there is to it.”
“What about Envy?”
“What about Envy?”
“There is nothing for anyone to be envious of in Elysium. We are comfortable here, just as the Dead of another tribe or culture is comfortable where they are.” Cassandra paused, glancing at the door to see if others had been invited. “Greed and Pride are not normal occurrences here. Though I think men are more prideful than women, even Here.”
“I tend to agree. Men are more lustful too, they demand a particular dominance in their thinking among men as well as women.”
“They are closer to the lower animals, less civil.”
So, then, thought Sophia. Perhaps if there are foreign Dead somewhere in Elysium, it is more likely that they are women. She stated, “Men are more hateful than women.”
“I don’t think so, but they are fuller of Pride. At least they show themselves to be. Even in Elysium you can see it. Mario, for instance, enjoys his station as second in command, but somewhere within him he would just as soon be in your position.”
“I had not thought that, Cassandra. I do not really think of him as second. He is an equal partner.”
“
“
That’s how many women think, Sophia. They make themselves equal to men and believe it is true, and believe men think it is true also. If most men had their druthers, they would say they are equal to women, and a little more than equal when push comes to shove. Even here in Elysium.”
Sophia’s only comment was, “We are tolerated.”
“Foreigners could be tolerated too,” said Cassandra on a positive note. “I take that as a sign other Dead could be among us, although in privacy, only with specific friends and family.”
“Everyone has herorhis own privacy space. I have always thought it for our individual selves. We need to rest from others, even Here. We need to be alone to think and to grow within.”
“Then, Greeks in love, romantically or in friendship, may harbor foreign guests from time to time. No one would ever know.”
Cassandra laughed at the thought with the realization that neither she nor Sophia was or never had been tied to any foreigner to the point they would be allowed into their privacy chambers. And, she suddenly realized more time had gone by than she thought. It was like we were discussing these foreigners in slow motion.
Suddenly, Thales walked through the doorway, said “Hello,” and looked for a chair.
“Where is Mario,” asked Sophia without surprise.
“Where is Mario,” asked Sophia without surprise.
“He stopped at the bar. Aeneas had come in a half a block ahead of us.”
“He is not invited to this meeting, Thales.”
“He is not invited to this meeting, Thales.”
“Oh.” He thought with some anger and embarrassment, why then did you have the meeting here rather than in your private quarters? “Well," he said, "we thought he was and said something to him.”
“Why did he not come in then, with you?”
“Aeneas was about to explain something to Mario. I just decided to come on in, as it appeared private.” Thales paused awkwardly then smiled politely and said, “I’ll go retrieve some extra chairs.”
Momentarily he came back with one chair for himself. “The women have disappeared. I don’t know whether they just walked out or what.”
Scene 6
Beneath the great limbed tree in the center of the stone circles the three, Mother and Aeneas and Mario, sat cross-legged in the grass at midday.
“It is always strange sitting beneath a tree with no shade,” continued Aeneas.
Mother smiled. “It has been like this since the day I arrived. No sun, a few clouds, as on a fair day in April, and no rain. The basics are here otherwise.”
“What did you call this Place when you first arrived?” asked Mario politely.
“Continuity.”
“That’s a strange word.”
“I didn’t know I was dead. Here I was in a strange but familiar landscape. It was daylight but I thought I had just missed the sun. That night the familiar stars were out, all but the north one. Then I remembered the old shaman’s story. I laughed to myself and pointed to where the north star should be and said, ‘Earth is there. I am Here.’”
“It must have been a very comforting thought,” noted Aeneas.
“It was. I had my sense of humor which made up for the loneliness. Then I set out a search of the territory. I assumed there would be scattered tribes but found none.”
“When did you realize you were dead?” asked Aeneas.
“It took me a while. I was busy exploring. I felt alive because the other people had accepted me.” This has been a long time, thought Mother. People don’t ask me such questions anymore. I used to hate telling these stories over and over. Now everyone is busy with one another. I am family but feel remote. Then she added, probably by my own choice.
“The other people, the people with no nipples?”
“Yes. In those days I thought about them from time to time and eventually it dawned on me that they were out among the stars too, just as I was. When others began to arrive, I knew some personally but others were strangers though we spoke the same language.” She laughed comfortably and more casually than usual, “They asked where they were and I told them they were in continuation, that their bodies were dead, then I told them the old shaman’s story about being Here and There.”
“Is the shaman here?” asked Aeneas.
“Yes, he is.”
“What did he think about the other people, those with no nipples?”
“He didn’t understand what I was talking about. He never did. Finally, I stopped the discussion and he seemed the happier for it.”
Mario asked, “What is his name?”
“Panagiotakis is his formal name but he has most always gone by Takis.”
“Where can he be found?”
She smiled thinking he was like her first son. “That is a good question, Aeneas. No one knows. He likes to live alone so that is what he does. He can generally be found in the territory of Arcadia Forest.”
Mario was suddenly struck with an idea. “He may be our key Aeneas. He is one of the oldest Here.”
Mother shrugged, “Elysium is not on my shoulders, it was Here first. Takis may know something.”
Mother shrugged, “Elysium is not on my shoulders, it was Here first. Takis may know something.”
“Elysium was Here because Takis said it was,” replied Aeneas.
“That is true,” replied Mother.
“That is true,” replied Mother.
Coincidence, thought Mario. “Mother, we will look into this and what we were talking about earlier.”
“Yes,” concurred Aeneas. “I think this is a connection among the Dead that the others have not considered.”
Mother ordered, “Keep the plan as it is. Continue with the bridge as it gives a focus people can see. Those who newly arrive may be able to help on our search for foreign Dead among our culture, our Elysium.”
***
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