Mid-morning. A dark, cloudy wet morning with more rain on the way. You were up earlier, played with the cat for the better part of a half hour, breakfast and the paper. As you don’t have your old laptop you will have to work via the built in reading voice on your new machine.
Mid-afternoon. You drove to Kenwood for a late lunch at Potbelly’s and are now in the usual handicap parking place on the south side of the Macy’s lot as Carol shops.
I used to be embarrassed by my blue and white handicap sticker but I find it useful, particularly in the winter. I never dreamed the doctor would give me one for arthritis but I asked and he did so we take advantage of it. No one ever says anything, mostly because when I get out of the car I use my cane for stability as much as anything else. You fall once in a while or trip going up the steps or your right knee collapses for no reason at all and you concern yourself more than if those things did not periodically happen.
I have set up the working chapters for audio-editing. This time, as I am not audio-copying I will do it on the fly. Making changes as I go along.
You are now over at Pine Hill City Park having finished a short walk down and up hill, enjoying the natural sites in process. Carol is still on her roundabout trail, though you can now see her coming. Later dude.- Amorella.
You are home and ready again to work on the audio-editing, which so far today has not happened. Supper, then the national news. Whatever you get done, post.
Dusk, and I have the first three scenes of chapter six revised. It is amazing what the ear catches that the eye does not. The words are better, more clearly written scenes, but perfection in words is not worth the energy or even the imagination.
Chapter Six
Scene 1
Merlyn stood, looking out the one-way mirrored window in his privacy shelter ruminating on yesterday’s events. Two of his favorite pets sat near him, one, a small red fox he had nurtured and tamed in life, and the other a black and white Egyptian short haired cat who had taken a liking to Merlyn and decided he needed the company, so the cat became Merlyn’s companion for little more than shelter and food. This was the price both paid for the special services of kindness and affection. Merlyn has secret names for each of these animals and intends to keep it that way. Not so private were the moves of the game as he looked away from the window to the chessboard on the simple table by the bed.
Move 16 W. Queen’s Rook to Bishop 1 Black Pawn to Queen 3
Move 17 W. Pawn to Queen’s Rook 3 Black Knight to Bishop 3
Move 18 W. Queen to Queen 3 Black Knight to Queen 1
Scene 2
Morning, the eighth day. Mario stirs and rises from his bed a dead man. The upper corner of the northwest wall holds an immediate attraction. The corner lines, thought Mario, the perpendicular line from floor corner to the ceiling, to where the right and left ceiling horizontals meet. I think I came in Elysium from a corner. Perhaps a part of me was always dead. The Living do not have the time to be conscious or even unconscious of being dead. Somewhere though, in the corner of our minds, we have always been dead. Mario suddenly smiled at the silliness of it. Minds don’t have corners. Without physics there are no lines. Before life, before the living, what did we relate to? Here we are at the mercy of each other’s accepted shared reality. Personal identity demands a certain acceptance in order that we survive. We appear to be built to fit into a setting larger than the concept of ourselves. A potential future must exist in order for us to fill it with our conscious selves. Otherwise, why would we, the Dead, continue to exist?
We still dream, so there is a discernable difference between our dreaming and our present reality. The virtues, the standards we observe appear to be just. The Dead from other cultures of the world of Earth must survive in the same definition, in the same just virtue. Else, the shamans could not have gathered to dance above the waters of the Styx.
I will ask Thales. We need to think of the Greater Place of All the Dead. We need to define the full setting of all earth’s Dead and create a geography that allows us to travel one into the other. The shaman know how to do it, or if they do not know they use secret lines of reality to move from one culture to another. Why do the Living exist at all? What is the purpose of physics and the universe when we only have the memory of it here?
So, Mario’s morning began. Thoughts lumbered – how to build a Justice where the Dead of all cultures may meet, and where we all can realistically return to meet and stir our living descendants.
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 at the top of the rocky hill just above the stone wall of the house.
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, before that is, we become as stone.
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, in multitude , is there such a ghostly atmosphere for a god or goddess to take a breath.
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?
Is it all I wonder, for a sense of definition and place of our species. How will it be once each, differently culturalled and naked touches the other, a foreigner, a dead stranger as I touch these sleeping spectral ladies? For the Living to breathe us in and out of their raw lungs what would we be? What is the mix that adds the weather, the wind and clouds for the sport of gods and goddesses alike? How is it when the mighty Zeus and one of his lovelies pant in such a bed of Olympic passion? Are we dead, like so much hot and ravaging air, sucked in and out of two sets of godly lungs without a conscious thought. The gods, panting horses in heat. Who would know? Not I.
I await politely and patiently for these my friends, these ladies to awaken from their slumber and secret dreams. What will today bring that other days 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 human 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 it is, to be dead and naked between two shirtless women. Each, Agathia and Kassandra, is a bookend to myself only by position on the bed. Yet, no doubt, either of these beautiful and mysterious women’s pages would be better read books, than those dreamed up and read by myself alone. We Dead are held as much by our secret answers as we are by our public questions. That is the fact.
*** ***
Post. – Amorella.
No comments:
Post a Comment