Notes & 1st draft of scene 3, chapter 6

        You woke up with conjunctivitis is both eyes and have an appointment in less than an hour. Carol wanted to go on a walk but it will have to be postponed. The weather is nicer however. You are ready to go. More later, dude. – Amorella.

         Late afternoon, home from an excellent lunch at Longhorn Steak House after a trip to the doctor’s, prescription fill and other errands.

         After dusk and you and Carol spent time watching last week’s Flashpoint and Christie’s Perot titled “Cat among the Pigeons” on PBS. Tomorrow night the annual summer block party is at the street’s end of your front yard as it has been for the last two years. The chairs have to be cleaned and Carol has a dish to make for the festivities. The games are played next door in the King’s front yard. Works out well as you have the best street shade in the whole of the Lakeside subdivision and the King’s have a large flat front yard conducive for gaming. Out of about a hundred families only fifteen to twenty show up, but in any case it is an enjoyable evening with burgers and brats and picnic dishes of varied cultural tastes.

         Bedtime and you finished scene three. Add it as it is a better day than it began. – Amorella.

Scene 3

         Salamon also awakes early and finds himself stretched between the two ladies Kassandra and her long time friend Agathia.It is a puzzle how I arrived in this seemingly favorable position, he thought while not moving for he did not wish to disturb neither the lady on his right or his left. He stared up into the early morning sky still awash with a multitude of starlight as the full moon appeared to set down almost at the top of the rocky hill if the western distance.

         In youth of life, thought Salamon, this would have been a grander adventure but in Elysium we are as three rather empty shells at slight touch on a beach – three colorfully naked heartsansoulsanminds flowing through each of our spiritual shells, which when entered appear empty and spent. It is no wonder at night we are mostly at rest either singularly or comfortably together.

         I think, continued Salamon, that I would not exist without the touch of these other two. We are quite simply as an atomic glue together, as one, unglued to others we are lost fragment of air whether we know it or not. Only in us, a multitude of Dead, is there the sufficiency of ghostly atmosphere for a god or goddess to take a breathe.

         We do not know the inner themes of our now natural environment. I think rationally that the gods need air to survive but what if they are as fish and too much of us Dead will drown the immortality out of them. It is possible. Thinking among the Dead makes many more possibilities than the Living might hope to conjure by reason or imagination alone. How will the Living think to grow once we return in mass or small gatherings and whisper to them how it is on this side of the River Styx? In a darker thought he added, even, as it were, on both sides of the River Styx?

         Is it all I wonder, for a sense of definition and place of our species as and atmosphere. How will it be once each cultural nakedly touches the other as I touch these sleeping airy ladies? For the Living to breathe us in and out of their raw lungs what would we be? Invisible? A warm or cool front? What is the other mix that adds the clouds and weather for the sport of gods and goddesses alike? How is it when the mighty Zeus and one of his lovelies pant in such a spiritual passion? Are we sucked in and out without a conscious thought? Blown from one set of godly lungs into another?

         I await politely and patiently for these my friends, these ladies to awaken from their slumber and secret dreams. What will today bring that others have not? I think the Dead are not set to rise up together no matter what the calling. We live in hope alone for another breath of fresh Earth air. It will never happen. To sleep in peace, it too will never happen. The Nature that holds us here is so weighted as to not let us go together or alone. It will come to mischief. There is not a perfect god or goddess among the entire pantheon. It is no wonder the base soul itself must remain eternally vigilant. The heart must have means to wall itself up and the mind must have the lids to close to either the darkness or the light. Such as it is to be dead and naked between to shirtless women. Each, Agathia and Kassandra, is a bookend to myself only by position on the bed. Yet, not doubt, either of these beautiful and mysterious women’s pages would be better read books than those dreamed and read by myself. We Dead are held as much by our secret answers as we are by our public questions. That is the fact of so much mindly air.