Breakfast and the paper while mid-morning. You glance at the upper corners of the room in front of you for no reason other than an expectation or a sign.
Very odd, I did, out of the blue. I expected something to catch my eye but it didn’t. Still too much imagination too loosely displayed. Good grief. I’m an old man. I shouldn’t have any imagination at all when I think about it. What is left to imagine? Cracks in the upper corners of the room? Doorways? Trap doors? Bugs? Mice? A cozy spider or two, I can see that. No other expectations. No surprises. There must be great arrogance and delusion in expecting a surprise out of nowhere. Delusion in particular. Sometimes, when one writes her or his mind out, this is what you get. I’m done for now.
Late morning. I have been thinking about a ‘familiar’. M-W says it is: “a spirit often embodied in an animal and held to attend and serve or guard a person.” I cannot imagine you, Amorella, as a familiar.
Do I not serve, orndorff?
You bring forth the story but serve?
Do you not remember the solving of the mystery of the grail?
“To serve others that you too might also be served,” something such as that. I forget. It had to do with the philosophy behind how the marsupial-humanoids ‘family system’ worked for ThreePlanets. I forget how that all came about. “Serve the children so the children will in turn serve you.” Service to one another, to and for the greater good of the species; that was the focus. Forgiving the greater debt was part of that philosophy. That was my answer, my solving of the mystery of the grail, at least in a fiction.
I cannot help to think of that while at the same time it seems demeaning for a spirit of whatever sort to serve someone such as myself. When I think of the imagination this entails in my mind, and the terrible arrogance to even open my mind to such a consideration, it is just not morally right in my mind. It is extremely arrogant and selfish.
Yet, the truth of it, here I am. I have served you three books and part of a fourth. To deny this service has been free, well, you know better. You pay, boy. We all pay the Piper. We both pay by my being here. You hang by your words while I hover. Sweet. – Amorella.
Such humor. Just at the right time. Thank you, Amorella.
Post. The mailman just arrived, relax. See what bills came in. Enjoy the day. – Amorella.
You are so funny.
Late lunch at Chipotle/Panera, now you are waiting for Carol at Kroger’s on Tylersville. Another exciting day.
It is exciting, Amorella. We can get about and do as we like. I appreciate the freedom if not the summer heat. I never know what Carol has planned. Besides the place is different today, a local radio station WEBN is setting up near the northeast side of with five or six stock racecars and balloons and snacks. I think the NASCAR summer season is about to start this coming weekend and it must be a promotion. In the old days they did these things to promote the saints and before that to promote one local god or another.
Mid-afternoon. You are at the Mr. Clean car wash across from P&G having Carol’s car ‘really’ renovated, as you do once a year, usually right after the Florida trip.
I thought I could focus in here but, alas, that is not happening. CNN is on talking about an earthquake near New Zealand and the heavy cheating on standardized tests by faculty and administration (going back ten years) in the Atlanta City Schools.
Later, you are in the far north of Pine Hill Park after finishing a chocolate/vanilla twister from Uptown. You and Carol are both surprised at the Mr. Clean twenty-five dollar special cleaning. The car looks ready to sell with a super finish on the paint and the interior quite handsome.
I have never spent this much for an auto wash before. Certainly worth the investment for a mechanically worthy 2003 Honda Accord Ex with 108,000 miles. We have had really good luck with this car, both Hondas. The 2005 Accord Ex (with 50,000 miles) only averages 24 m/g while this one 25 m/g but when you think of the lack of car expenses otherwise we have no complaints. It just feels good to have a cleaned up ready to go car that looks like it just came off the used car lot. The next car is bound to be a hybrid though no matter what we buy in a year or two.
Getting on time for supper, the local, then national news. You are rather satisfied with the day even though you haven’t done too much. Nothing wrong with taking a break, boy, even if you are well retired. Post, later dude. - Amorella
I would like to finish the Merlyn aspect of scene ten to then work on the conclusion of the scene. You said this was “going into the River Styx” at the end of yesterday’s posting. Do you mean Merlyn is going into the Styx?
No. Merlyn collapses into a bubble to become himself, that is, heartansoulanmind. Souls are non-dimensional and detachable without heartanmind.
Do you mean they are non-human?
As such, in such a setting as this.
In context -- the marsupial-humanoids souls – are the elements the same?
Souls are the same for either marsupial-humanoids or humans.
I did not realize that.
In a sense, this changes our nature, this aspect.
Yes, a subtle change. Hearts can share, minds can share and exchange. – Amorella.
Okay, within the context of the books, ‘touching souls’ what does that mean as in, how would non-humans touch?
One cannot know when one soul touches another except from within. The rest is poetry and romantic speculation.
Is this, the soul, a vehicle for communication among the Dead?
The messenger becomes the message. Let’s finish this selection of the scene so that tomorrow we can finish the scene and the chapter.
Continuation of scene ten:
I refocus on the
apeiron
. The shapes, the Orbs, fleshed out into imaginary eye sockets. Crystal without glass, without dimension. An oddly shaped human skull became the only understandable quality. A hallow mission, think I. Ovals and diamonds and horns aplenty, these are the skin wrapping this near formless skull.
“Merlyn,” whispered from the marginal blackness. “Merlyn is the antecedent, the dimensional substantiation.”
“Merlyn is? Who am I then?”
“I is not a Who. I is a What.”
“Merlyn is a noun not a pronoun.” Suddenly Merlyn’s mind thought “Dry is Wet.” And with that, Merlyn felt the inner rounds of his heart and his mind shuffling Top to Bottom and Bottom to Top near the lip, the circular edge of a large white hole pulling in the margins, all the dark shadows from untranscribed universes unimaginable.
***
Let’s copy scene ten to date, then post. Only the conclusion waits in a moment. – Amorella.
Scene 10, Chapter Seven (to date)
Ezekiel found himself walking the path back up to where he first sensed the fresh air from a small cave surrounded by rocky cliff, a soul surrounded by a pronounced amount of water in its breath. A thought suddenly hit him, ‘this River Jordan does not smell of water’. Is this then the retribution for my curses on Jerusalem and all Israel; the sweet smell of a soul awash in real water? No stone house for Ezekiel to slide into for personal comfort, only the ground, this new earth made of Heaven is my sanctuary. I ease myself as a precious drop of water in the desert and I sink beneath the sands, rocks and tropical earth of heaven to be enraptured, to be one with all. Once pumping blood, now I am but the rained of Heaven.
He climbed down to quickly find this small hole in the rough stony cliff above the Jordan. I have searched these banks for Elisha and yet have found only a few wandering strangers along the way. This place appears Heaven enough but for the few souls, none who know my name. I too am a stranger yet this is the Jordan and I am home, in the heart of this new Israel. A few white clouds above set moving slowly in blue sunless sky. No sun or shadow needed in the just and radiant Light of G-D. I walk in G-D’s justice, home in Israel and yet foreign to this new place where even the few the Dead rise from and fall into the earth of Heaven.
With little apprehension Ezekiel poked his nose into the hole and sniffed. No fresh air. He pulled away and put his finger on the rather indifferent rocky cliff. No moisture. ‘The water is right down there, six feet away and no moisture. It feels wet when hands and feet are placed in it, but it appears to dry rapidly. Here and gone in the blink of an eye. He turned to climb up to the path and he saw a stranger looking down at him. “Hello,” he said with a hesitant upturn of his lips. “We are all strangers here, at least the few of us I have witnessed.”
“You are no stranger to me, Ezekiel, even though we have never met,” replied Tiresias quietly.
Ezekiel blinked in the forming tears. The repercussion within was jarring and absolute. “Wait. Please. Do not leave me.” I have not heard my name uttered here in Heaven. I am blessed. What is there in the sound of one’s name by another voice? Friend or foe, I feel blessed. Ezekiel quickly arrived at the path. “In kindness please, how is it you know me?”
“I am not from here,” replied Tiresias almost timidly, while suddenly wondering what he was going to say. He had not expected to see tears running down the old prophet’s eyes. He thought, ‘I do not think this man realizes he is crying.’
Wet faced, Ezekiel responded, “Nor am I?”
“I am Tiresias.”
“You are Greek?”
“The others I have met did not know me, nor themselves upon questioning. None could remember their names. He pointed up, “The sky is blue but I say it is brown earth. We dead are buried and G-D is in his Heaven.
“We are dead, Ezekiel.” Tiresias paused in consideration,” then continued, “Our souls survive along the same river. You know this by the name Jordan and we Greeks know it by the name Styx.”
“I must cross the River Jordan to find family and friends who have passed before me.”
“This river appears as wide as our Styx,” noted Tiresias sympathetically. “It may be you will need to find a way to cross to the other side,” then he cautiously added, “boats cannot cross.”
“I have no body what need I of a boat?” responded an angry-minded Ezekiel abruptly.
***
Merlyn slid into the shamans’ shadow soul first, which was not his intent. As a nightly hollowness surrounded; ‘I am free,’ thought he.
In the surrounding pitch of darkness Merlyn, a-way, discerns a luminosity peaked. He easefully floated towards the flickering particle to see a tiny oval rainbow become engorged and circular – a rainbowing ball. ‘If I had hands I could pick up this pulsing globe and throw it,’ thought he who sudden thinks, ‘I have no hands?’
Kaleidoscoping shades of blue, green, red, purple, orange, yellow and the particular two small dancing white dots in the round. A multitude, no, eight trumpets in tones – (on the vertical) green to the top, blue to the bottom. A throbbing floating ball now twice my size twenty yards away motions and re-motions, what? Shapes of trumpets, diamonds and triangles – this so dressed floating ball rotates top to bottom, bottom to top. ‘What seizes my eyes? No lids, no balls,’ thinks he.
A center white dotted dance – two dotted lights. Night grooms the sphere machined in the spectrum. ‘Tis but a glint, a gleam off the tip of the brandished fierce Sword of God, but cool, no torrid radiant heat clothes me here. ‘I am soul boned and unburied. Nothing, yet I am risen to see such a thing unwitnessed; even by Zeus and his Pantheon. ‘I am below the Board on which I must stand and make my plays. How goes this? I know not even my own mind.’
This sphere of shapes and movement trumpet silently. ‘I am in the balls or tongue of Gabriel himself? Water works beneath this rainbow, interlacing. This is the meat of all matterless substance that touches we the Dead. What mechanism does not yield to the slow pumping throb of its own engine? My heart, were it here, would not pump so slow that time falls in an Angel’s shine in the starless and moonless night stretched boundless and away from this soul’s seed of what I, Merlyn, am and once was.’
This is Anaximander’s apeiron, the First Principle, thought Merlyn. I sense a stirring, a cascading Dry in a rush to be Wet. Cold and Hot do not yet exist – a matter unresolved. How is this Dry comes forth first when it has an opposing element in the universe? Could it be this ‘thing’ is not bound by Nature’s Rule? Even Plato’s “Forms” are bound by Reason, these patterned colors is a single structure I observe, and though it is bound in itself has no boundary in my soul’s eyeless sockets foreseen. Two shuffling dots. Top to bottom and a pass from bottom to top, it is as if time exists within the soul’s framework, were it my own, Merlyn’s soul, to believe or to deny. No Angel. No place this. One impossible interlacing with another impossible. An imprint in my soul where none can be.
The heart, fashion’s robust center. Passion would wet a whistle through the dry soul would it could. Dry Hearty Bone. Ezekiel. Passion and Will have not yet cloaked this soul, eyeless to blink, yet observe the silent trumpet raised to shout for any loose ears to hear. I exist only as a pronoun and cannot reconcile myself as one in three. The center only – soul – without heart and mind. There is no absolute Nature for any Consciousness of Being. Were I anything but I.
I refocus on the apeiron. The shapes, the orbs, fleshed out into imaginary eye sockets. Crystal without glass, without dimension. An oddly shaped human skull became the only understandable quality. A hallow mission, think I. Ovals and diamonds and horns aplenty, these are the skin wrapping this near formless skull.
“Merlyn,” whispered from the marginal blackness. “Merlyn is the antecedent, the dimensional substantiation.”
“Merlyn is? Who am I then?”
“I is not a Who. I is a What.”
“Merlyn is a noun not a pronoun.” Suddenly Merlyn’s mind consider the reality, “Dry is Wet.” And with that, Merlyn felt the inner rounds of his heart and his mind shuffling Top to Bottom and Bottom to Top near the lip, the circular edge of a large, nearly invisible, white hole pulling in the margins, all the dark shadows from untranscribed universes unimaginable.
***
(conclusion of chapter seven will follow)
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