You and Carol had breakfast with Jim and Jeanne S. at Bob Evans as they were heading home near Atlanta after a short stay in Columbus for Jeanne’s mother’s funeral. This was all unknown to you until Jim called last night. The funeral was not completely unexpected, but the ‘passing on’ happens. You are sad at the event but happy they called and breakfast with the Shumaker’s is always good.
I have been thinking that the conclusion of book six needs to be resolved without trickery, deception or mystery. Everything should be resolved with satisfaction so that when readers close the book they can say. “It is done. “And, hopefully, “Interesting read.”
Let’s see what comes about at that time, orndorff. I am open to your wishes and concerns as well as comfort levels. Relax, the ending is some time off. Post. – Amorella.
Late afternoon. Late lunch at Potbelly’s and you are sitting in the south lot outside of Macy’s at Kenwood about three miles north of where you first lived between Silverton and Kennedy Heights on the west side of Montgomery Road in Cincinnati in nineteen seventy-two.
Let’s go to chapter ten. (work time) Here are scenes eleven and twelve.
Scene Eleven
Athena sat as a ready stone-like stenographer while facing her father, the dark skinned Zeus. She smiled politely after a silence and said, “What do you wish to do?”
“What need I do? As you say, there will be division among the Dead. That will end this rebellion before it really begins.”
“It will be as always, father, the older Dead will split from the younger. They miss the old ways.”
Zeus slid in the thought, “These older Dead miss being closer to the gods than the younger.”
“An illusion,” smirked Athena.
Zeus muttered, “It makes little difference among the Dead just as it made little difference among the Living. Most of their reality is illusionary but they go about their business indifferent to whatever setting they happen to be in.”
“Survival.”
“To that they are not indifferent. It means little to the Dead,” uttered Zeus.
Athena snapped back, “You are wrong. The Dead fear loss of dignity. This is the reason they continue with the bridge building across the Styx.”
“Why so?”
She responded, “They enjoy the illusion the focus brings. Connecting with the other Dead.”
“The shamans broke that molded thinking long ago.”
Athena’s calm smile sat as a shield unnoticed to her father. She said, “These Dead do not trust their own kind.”
“Division will always be their downfall,” answered Zeus gruffly.
She sworded words at her father, “The Dead exist. They are our illusion too. A social contract exists within the species.”
Ignoring her tone he ordered one of his own, “Let’s do away with this contract.”
With deliberately control Athena responded, “It is by an indeterminable will over which we nor they have control.”
“Like our own existence?” countered Zeus as he thought, we compromise our own reality.
Not likely, voiced the air between the two Olympians.
Both god and goddess felt the Voice as it were a foundational element, an unknown, a mystery particle scratching the bottom of the Styx, imagination alone mispronounced it as a slight shiver in the god-mind.
Again, Zeus glanced at the ceiling to remember, a piece is still missing. And, he returned his eye to his warrior daughter discovering neither a particle nor wave reflected.
Good, ruminated Zeus in methodology, I digest best in and between my own imagination.
Scene Twelve
The Olympian evening sky sheeted in folds overhead hiding and shifting a silent secret light. Unconscious shade sowed down on two unwitting messengers to unknown predators with sight.
In a sudden unwilled apprehension, Aeneas probed beneath the right shoulder of Agathia’s loose toga as it were the only reality in all of Elysium.
Agathia rolled and turned with honest annoyance, “What is it, Aeneas, that you would have me do beyond the simplest of pleasures, whisper to Sophia that the belly I presently rest my ear on would rather dance above the surface of Styx with Takis than sleep in her uncompromising wisdom?”
***
I found myself toying with a mix of statement in voice. I suppose the above two scenes makes sense, but I do not see the greater context. What good is it to know Zeus suffers from the same delusions I myself may suffer from were I to glance into the proper mirror?
And, why would Aeneas drain a secret wish to be as Takis into the mouthy ears of Sophia’s friend, Agathia? I cannot think he would wish himself old-fashioned Dead with the likes of Takis when he can court Sophia herself out of mind alone. Such a handsome young man would give it up to appear more like his father Anchises than the figmental mold of his once believed mother, Aphrodite.
This appears as something I might make up in the spur of the moment than words gathered from my fanciful mistress’s voice Amorella.
Cynicism and muted anger are both displaced in these two scenes for no earthly reason, orndorff. Chew on that Achilles’ heel you think you might have, boy. I find your humanity more useful than you might well imagine. You desire an Angel to read this work one day so you’ll hide no secrets from me, boy. Do you imagine an Angel peering into a cloud of human mind? Clear the fog, man. We are doing this by the book, as if it were real. How else to create something from nearly nothing but an arrogant human hunch? Question what you will, but this book will make sense as do the first three books as long as your sense of self, like the air, stands defiantly between you and me. Post. – Amorella.
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