Mid-morning. First,
let's drop in Chapters Ten, Eleven and Twelve of Great Merlyn's Ghost.
Because some of these characters, those in "Diplomatic Pouch"
selections were first published in Stuck in 2001 let's set the copyright at that date so it is clear you have ownership of them. Many other characters
were published in Braided Dreams, Running Through and Merlyn's
Mind. Therefore, from this point on, for clarity, the copyright will be
2001-2013 and stretch forward until all three Great Merlyn's Ghost
volumes are completed. Readers may download and read for free for now, but once
the books are published this will be illegal. - Amorella
***
Great Merlyn's
Ghost
© 2001-2013 Richard H. Orndorff
Chapter Ten
The Supervisor has a little saying:
Ring-a-ring
o'rosies
A
pocket full of posies
"A-tishoo!
A-tishoo!"
We
all fall down!
We
rise from clay
On
Judgment Day
Be
we dead or still alive.
The Dead 10
Returned
into the stream of his sanctuary, Merlyn wet and nearly naked rose near the
bank, climbed up and out and he began a run from between birch and pine,
through the vast field of bluebells, behind the stage ruins, through the great
paddock of white foxglove and red poppy, and on through the meadowed pinkish
white saxifrage; then across the clearing of grassy field until he reached the
flowering purple heather near the east side of the sanctuary, the Oak and Birch
forest. There he came to rest and sat in the tall grass under a grand and tall
Oak waiting for either Vivian or Sophia to appear.
Shortly or however one judges time illusionary, Sophia peeked from around the
Oak. "Thought I'd find you here, Merlyn," voiced Sophia in a coyness
seemingly borrowed from Vivian, or so Merlyn surmised.
With his right hand he padded the imagined ground next to him. "Have a
seat beside me on this fine grass," he suggested. He scooted over
obligingly. "Are we ready for another talk to tell the Living how it was
in those early days of the first Rebellion?"
She sighed, "I have been playing a scene over in my heartansoulanmind.
It was on the evening of the first day and Mario, who was on my committee, wanted
to talk so he came over to my stone hut, my private sanctuary. I asked him in
and directed him to lay on the bed with me as I only had one chair. I did not
want him to appear higher than me with me on the bed and him in the chair. I
remember his first words as we lay facing one another, our heads propped up by
wool stuffed pillows.
He said, “It is pleasant here. We can a nighttime of sleep.”
I agreed. Being dead was indeed heavenly in our minds then he brought up
his concern on how to know the Supervisor when you see herorhim. I told
him that unseen doesn't mean the Supervisor doesn't exist no matter what
name he responds to." She looked directly in to Merlyn's old dark eyes and
quietly declared. "The Supervisor has an interest in us still."
Mario was concerned with deception within our ranks, that we could not trust
our fellow Greeks, and what of the other Dead who are not Greek, where are
they?
Merlyn
broke into a broad smile. "A wickedly good question old Mario had."
He thought how each house of culture carried its own Dead for fellow comfort.
Those who thought similar stayed with others like themselves. It was natural
and a very human thing to do.
Whether sincere or not, Sophia always returned a smile, it was/is/will be her
custom. She continued, "It was morning of the second day and I remember
what was important to me then and now and should be important to the Living
too."
"No should's or ought's with the Living, Sophia. It is a
rule the Dead must abide by."
Sophia reached out with her left hand and turned to be facing Merlyn straight
away. The Oak framed Merlyn's head in which she could see the image of his
skull no more there than herself in spirit.
“We thought if we were not free in life then we would be free in death but that
is not the case in this Place. We ruminate and find camaraderie through our
personal identities, personalities and interests. The human center is Our
Mother, the first who was allowed in this Place. She is our common point. We
are equal citizens through our ancestry. We have become a hive of sensibly
silhouetted questions searching for equally reasonable responses. What else can
we do? The gods certainly don’t always help. We don’t know, really, if they
ever helped.”
She continued, almost pleading with Merlyn. "The question among we dead is
still who am I? Is it really more easily resolved after life than why am I
here? What shall I do here? What did I do in life? In millenniums and
through two rebellions in HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither this is still not resolved.
Our newly acquired 'friends' the heartsansoulsanminds who were once Marsupial
Humanoids have the same questions, but at the same time we have adapted their
name for this Place of the Dead we now share. It seems neither of us moved. We
were here together all along and did not realize the fuller nature of being
Dead yet living in the same consciousness.
Merlyn sat Buddha-like in stature and contemplated his ancient Greek
friend's words. He thought and in the remembrance of kind souls suggested,
"There is much more to being Dead than we know."
Hearing his words, a spark hit Sophia. She thought, he
did not say, we can know.
***
Ten
The Brothers
With Jack contently sitting on
his master’s lap Robert sat in the large comfortable maroon chair in the TV
room watching an episode of National Geographic about lions and hyenas sharing
their scrubby desert-like territory beneath Mt. Kilimanjaro. Jack suddenly
jumped off his lap.
“I’m I interrupting?” said
Richard softly as he pets Jack who appeared eager for a new playmate.
“No, not in the least. Jack
and I were just watching the lions about to attack the hyenas.”
“Sounds exciting. Who wins?”
“Lions I assume, unless fifty
hyenas jump out and tear them apart.” said Robert.
“It all has to do with
numbers. I have that in my book with the marsupials. They are lucky to have
three planets to populate rather than just one like us.”
“Hyenas and lions are not
fiction, Richie. You’re marsupials aren’t going to be on National Geographic.”
“I know, but I am making a
point about population. I think we are a little beyond the lion versus hyena
stage. What’s that? How is the male with the cubs?”
“That’s a female. That’s her
clitoris Richie.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope. She has more
testosterone than the male.”
“Holy shit!”
Robert flipped off the set.
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing. Cyndi wanted to come
over, so I decided to come along.”
Robert smiled, “How about a
Taco Bell?”
Fifteen minutes later, they
are at the local fast food restaurant with two tacos and two diet Cokes each.
“We didn’t bring any poetry along,” said Richard. “I wanted to see what you are
working on in terms of the cemetery poem.”
“I don’t see it in your
poetry.” Robert pulled a tightly folded piece of paper from his back pocket and
pronounced, “Here is a poem you once wrote that I think can be used in
juxtaposition with the one I wrote. The one you read the other day.” He gave it
to Richard to read.
A Sunrise
The
beauty of a clear and Spring-like sunrise
lies in the quiet separation of light
and dark
causing the crossbar atop a telephone pole
to shadow down and stretch melancholy out,
to hold a grounded and subtle shape,
a shape a Nazarene once nailed to a cause;
waiting enough, the moving shadows of
a solar ritual
pull on the gravity of the eye weighted soul,
tugging the soul to settle and set at sundown,
to be overcome by power,
a power resting on the edge of the universe
and hovering deep in the outback of the observing mind;
It saddles up a god more ancient than Apollo
and makes him
ready to ride a new thought through the cosmos.
“I had forgotten about this
one.”
“A couple of days ago when Ferlinghetti
came up, I thought of this poem. It has a sense of Coney Island of the Mind, ‘Number
Five’ in it.”
“The gravity of the
eye-weighted soul, is a good line, but why did you follow with ‘the eye-weighted rather than ‘an eye-weighted soul’ Richie?”
“I don’t know, Rob. I wrote
this more than twenty-five years ago.”
“Then you go on talking about
a power resting at the edge of the universe and you say it is hovering deep in
the outback of your mind. Is that your unconscious -- the power of your unconsciousness
coming out?”
Richard sighed and finished
his taco. “The mind is not the same as the brain. It is not physical. The mind
is a shadow of the brain.”
“But Richie,” noted Robert
with a confident smile, “in your mind
it appears the other way around, your mind is more real than your brain, which
is then its shadow. The unconscious is not in your brain at all but in your
mind. Isn’t that the way you really see it?”
Richard thought about his
books, “I don’t know,” He paused then responded, "I don’t know where the
words come from. I am in the middle of a pregnant pause but I didn’t notice its
conception."
"We're going Uptown to
get an ice cream, you boys want to come along?" asked Kay from the kitchen
doorway.
"I'm game," asserted
Richard, glad to have a diversion.
"I think I'll stay,"
recited Robert. "I have some work to do."
Connie came into the room,
smiled her dear warm-hearted smile, and coerced with a "Let's go, big boy.
You need to be more social."
***
Grandma’s Story 10
Some aspects of human society are as invisible as gravity as you
will see in this little story that takes place about three thousand years ago
on the coast of East Africa in what is now Kenya.
Rumbasant
stood at the edge of the forest inspecting the horizon beyond the great water.
She is thinking the horizon is not the end of things, as I am not standing at
the beginning of things. Our men leave this place by boats. Most do not return.
Always the sons of the chief or sons of his brothers leave on quests. It has
been that way for as many stars as there are in the night sky.
I
would like to leave on a boat with one of my brothers. I will never leave. I
keep my blackened walking stick. The fire from the sky struck the tree I used
for shelter. This stick is from that tree. God's fire hit my left shoulder and
went down my right leg and into the ground. The fire is still in the ground
where I left it. I know what it is to have been touched by Father’s fire.
It
was a great shock to the tribe. Older people say the Sky Father struck me for
being born to our Grand Chief first. I argued that if this was so, Sky Father
is an abusive father. We do not
strike each other or our children anymore. We are a simple and peaceful people.
In
Grandma's the last story, Abbatoot and part of her clan had survived a terrible
storm, and I am brewing a typhoon not far from where Rumbasant is standing.
Rumbasant has been struck down once, what more can the Sky Father do? To be
struck by sky fire twice would be unprecedented. Would it not?
The
sunset appeared as a tunnel, a tube by which she could cross to the other side
of the world. A huge storm roared onto the beach during the night. The winds
grew steady to stay between fifty and seventy miles per hour. Rumbasant held
her sacred stick high as lightning struck nearby trees. Wind-driven and
stinging, sticky bleached sand hit Rumbasant’s face. Continuous thunderous
roars, ominous booms, green tinged sky, blue, and low purple bands of a mass cloud.
She
shouted to the storm, “By Mother Earth and by her sacred marriage to Father
Sky, I command the winds and rain to cease!”
This
grew into a magical chant, a spontaneous ritual dance and a shout to the up
heaved ocean. Only to be responded to by wind, rain, lightning and thunder.
Rumbasant unconsciously shortened the oath.
“By
Mother and Father, I command this water and wind to cease!”
The
night storm roared on and so did Rumbasant who shouted her spontaneously
created chant.
Arumba.
Arumba. Arumba.
Foam
of the mad dog.
Arumba.
Arumba. Arumba.
Foam
of a mad sea.
Arumba.
Arumba. Arumba.
Foam
to the mad wind.
Arumba.
Arumba. Arumba.
Like
the storm Rumbasant roared on, “Arumba. Arumba. Arumba.” She shouted the word with
every other beat of her terrified and defiant heart. “Arumba. Arumba. Arumba.”
Lightning strikes the Stick. Fire burst
forth and the Boom echoed in tribal memory for life.
On
the beach Rumbasant laid stirring and twitching. The smoking Stick lies beside.
Living is not enough, thought Rumbasant, but I am enough alive to think.
Rumbasant clutched at Stick and pulled herself up. As Rumbasant
stood once again and raised Stick in right defiant hand, a wall of lightning
snapped at the bank of palms where the tribal witnesses had recently stood.
“Stick
is what it is,” shouted Rumbasant to her tribe in the distance. "I am hammered twice by Father’s fire and I am
alive!" The people came closer staring at
Rumbasant’s face in disbelief. Her right eye socket was empty. The tribal
people began a search for a shell with Rumbasant’s burnt eye in it.
Early one morning not long after, Rumbasant discovered a perfectly
white slightly oval shell in the water near the beach. Rumbasant put the shell
up to her empty eye socket, pulled open the lids and slid it in for a welcome
fit. She thought, this will work just fine.
She was called Shell Eye
in stories along the Kenya coast of East Africa long after her death. The name Shell Eye was forged into a mystical
tribal name.
Taking an eye for an eye or so it’s been
said
Is not quite the same as taking wine with
bread?
To see what story time remains to be
seen,
One needs the depth of one eye threaded
quite lean.
***
Diplomatic Pouch 10
Friendly
speaks first to Pyl by re-introducing Hartolite and then Yermey, who the
earthlings have not met. Friendly then says, "We are not who we say we
are. Please give us time to explain." A pause. "Are you willing to give us the time?"
Blake
interrupts, "First we need to make sure the plane is safe to fly. We have
a problem with vapor lock."
With
polite reserve Pyl added, "We need to get off this road."
Justin
opened with, "Where is your transportation? How did you know we would be
here?"
"Did
you see us attempt a landing at the airport?" declared Blake with his eyes
on the engine.
"We
are foreigners,” replied Yermey. "We do not have U.S. citizenship."
"There
is no need to check for vapor lock," said Hartolite. "We forced your
plane down so we could talk on the ground."
Blake
turned, "What did you say?"
"Are
you terrorists?"
"What
do you want with us?"
"We
wish to be friends."
"Why
did you say you forced us down?"
"Because
we did."
"How?"
"We
caused the vapor lock accidently."
"It
is physics."
"Ship
caused your plane to slide at the airport."
"We
did seem to slide," said Blake. "It felt like the wheels were on ice
while we were in the air."
"It
is caused by blackenot."
"This
is the reason no one saw you, why you couldn't contact by radio."
"What
do you mean?"
"The
engine restarted."
"It
was an unknown."
"It
stopped again."
"You
were in no danger."
"Your
plane touched Ship. It was not a bird that cracked the wingtip light. Ship did.
You touched Ship with blackenot on. You could not see us."
"We
did not wish to show ourselves at that time."
"Because
you are not citizens. You came across from Canada?"
"No.
You can see we are human."
"I
didn't think you were aliens," said Pyl.
"We
are cousins," declared Yermey.
"We
are human," said Friendly, "but we do not live here."
"Listen,"
said Yermey. You are concerned about your plane. Get in and start the engine. Friendly
and Hartolite. May they ride with you?"
"You
both have been guests before. Come on board if Blake finds it fly worthy,"
said Pyl. "What about you?"
"I
will see to your safety."
"With
what?"
"Ship."
Yermey point up.
"What
is that? It doesn't make sense."
"I
don't really see anything."
"Where
is the sky?"
Blake
was already in the plane. The engine started normally. "Everyone in,"
he said. "Pyl help me with the exterior visual inspection."
"We
are good to go," said Friendly from near the wingtip. "I already have
it."
"I'll
feel better once we are in the air. There is not a trace of problem with the
engine." Everyone strapped in. Blake glanced about. No cars. No people. He
rolled the plane down the township road, the rived the engine up with the flaps
down. Slowly but surely speed picked up, then the plane lifted just before they
saw the house on the right after the trees. Airborne. They heard the familiar
clunk of the wheels drawn up into the fuselage. The plane flew perfectly
normal. Blake banked the plane left and headed north to Lake Erie for a return
to Burke Lakefront along the shoreline at two thousand feet. Everyone clapped.
Suddenly.
Friendly, sitting behind Blake, reached in her purse pulled out her dark blue
cosmetic case and opened it. The earthlings did not notice the sudden tiredness
caused by the somewhat stressful ordeal of the long precautionary landing and
taking off from Township Road 314 just east of the Ashtabula County Airport.
They were flying and all was well. Blake, Pyl and Justine didn't realize how
much better the day was than they expected.
Friendly
and Hartolite sat comfortably, Hartolite to the right of Justin in the third
seat row. Slowly and carefully Ship dropped the wheel from the fuselage,
stopped the Rolls-Royce turboprop, maneuvered the blue and white Cessna into
position and drew the plane inside and up to the Annex floor, Ship's recently
modified, human friendly first floor basement.
Shortly
thereafter Pyl awoke to the quiet. She opened her eyes to see the prop stopped.
She punched her brother, "Blake, the engine." He awoke with a yawn
both quickly realized the console was dead. We're dead, she thought, as she saw
nothing familiar outside the plane. "We are on the ground."
"We
landed. I don't remember “
"We
are here," said Friendly. "Nothing to worry about. We are all alive
and well. Welcome to our environs."
"We
can get out," said Hartolite calmly. We will show you where we are."
"You
are perfectly safe," assured Friendly, "Go ahead, climb out."
***
Chapter 11
The
Supervisor has a little saying:
Ring-a-ring
o'rosies
A
pocket full of posies
"A-tishoo!
A-tishoo!"
We
all fall down!
We rise from clay
On
judgment day
Be
we dead
Or
still alive.
Merlyn
has this little ditty memorized to the point it sits in stemmed reverence from
which the four-leafed chapter dream grows to novel size and beyond. Merlyn
kneads the dreams into words, the music for the heartansoulanmind whose
transcendental spirit shines. The words cast a light for those have no sight
and for those with an imagination that casts no shadow.
The Dead 11
Merlyn
sat near the theatre ruins at his sanctuary, admiring the yellow sun that has
only recently been a part of HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither. During my recent tenure
on Earth, thought Merlyn, during the time of heartanmind sharing with the
identical twins Richard and Robert though Robert didn't appear to know it at
the time. He did buy his brother two books on Merlyn though. Surprised Richard,
yes it did. We never had rain here either until after the Second Rebellion. It
began, so it's said, the Earth night after President Eisenhower's Farewell
Address, televised on 17 January 1961. Those who were watching or listening at
the time mostly remember it for Eisenhower's warning on too much deficit
spending and on the growing military-industrial complex. Those already dead did
not hear of it at the time, but many of the recent Dead in those days knew
about Eisenhower. It wasn't long before word began to get around. Wars and
plagues had passed many people on in the first fifty years of the twentieth
century. Now days there are plenty more living but they do not make up for the
loss. All the new technology and weaponry, all kinds of weaponry never dreamed
of before. The Dead of many cultures got together and said to the Supervisor; "Somebody's got to
go back and say some things about how it is here in this Place of the Dead.
As
I died in the latter seventh century I immediately slept and when I awoke I
found myself in Avalon whose topography is similar to the Isles. The earlier
Dead of Avalon have slightly different scenes than my own. People wake up where
they will be most welcome. Most assume the
Supervisor, as SheanHe is titled, understands how these things work. I haven't
seen any errors but some say there have been and were correctable. Peoples'
spirits need to feel comfortable so individuals choose their own level of
personal ease with one's self. This is mostly completed before arrival.
Communication
among the Dead is not difficult as long as one is polite first and honest
second. For some this is a difficult undertaking. You have no tongue to slip
on. The individual spirit is a personality with selected memory and fully
spirited. The words are driven from the heartanmind and in that order. If you
do not connect to the singular humor of this you miss half the fun of being
Dead. Those who discover problems with this arrangement feel more at home in
their private sanctuary. The heartansoul is more of a social issue and home is
a good place to resolve the mind on these internal conflicts as they arise.
At
the beginning of the Rebellion, sanctuaries were culturally oriented individual
shelters about the size of Henry David Thoreau's cabin at Walden's Pond. The
contents would be a bed and a chair for guests, perhaps two chairs as well as a
cupboard or two for imaginary cultural essentials such as food and drink for
one or two friendly occupants. The Dead don't need things. Memories shared and
otherwise will do. Those who know American theatre might think on the
minimalist set in Thorton Wilder's play, "Our Town". I'm sure there
are examples online in this modern world you presently live in. No need for
clutter scattered about when Dead, no matter in what culture and earthy stage
you dropped yourself into.
Let
me tell you how it was when I discovered I could visit an earlier place and
time to help me with storytelling in dreamtime. In Avalon I was crossing a
castle moat and walking through a stone framed doorway to the surrounding
gardens. I remember the dark blue sky and seeing those green leaf vines growing
up the wall and the top of the yellowish brown stone castle within. Beyond the
doorway were two large weeping willows and assorted well-trimmed bushes with
the grass in its natural state. This was a very pleasant scene indeed. I walked
the path down the hill toward the trees. Beyond and to the left were two gray
shaded monoliths and being myself I had to walk between them for the
satisfactory pleasure of doing so. One stone whispered in my mother's voice,
"Merlyn." The second stone whispered in my father's voice, "Time
to visit the birth of the Rebellion." I became as a note of music between
strings being plucked by the
Supervisor, at least that is my supposition.
Suddenly
I found myself soaring eagle-like between hugely shaped clouds mostly of the
high rising Cumulus and Cumulonimbus variety. I looked forward towards a
moon-like light at the end of this domed cave filled with multitudes of clouds
as I soared outward toward the cultural cloud of Ancient Greece.
***
The Brothers 11
Richard is driving north on State
Street in his red 2005 Volkswagen GTI and sees Rob stopping on South Staten in
front of the old stage coach line's Stoner Inn, a place rich in the history of
the Underground Railroad. Richard pulls over and parks directly across the
street in front of the Riverton Mason Temple whose membership began in Riverton
in the second year of Lincoln's presidency, rolls the window down and shouts,
“Hey!”
“Hey!” echoes Rob. Meet you at
your house.” Rich nods and turns left at the next street. Within three minutes,
they are parked in the driveway.
“You've got Connie's 1998 jag!
Awesome. Surprised she lets you drive it."
“She and Cyndi like cruising.
Figure they go out picking up the young men,” laughed Robert.
“We’re way too old,” gibed
Richard.
“What’s up?”
“Want to go for a ride?”
“Why not. Where are you
heading?”
“Hardware.”
“Speak for yourself, kid,”
goaded Rob. “Get in."
“Awesome!” said Richard with a
big grin. "You never get to drive this."
They stopped at the south end
hardware store for a package of small screws. A block to McDonalds for drinks
then down to Alum Park by the river.
“No one fishing today Richie,”
said Robert.
“I never caught anything here
at the park.”
“Neither did I,” grinned
Robert. Both broke out laughing then sat in silence enjoying the immediate
environment for half an hour or so.
“Nature’s a conspiracy,” said
Richard.
“How’s that?”
“I think it’s a trick.”
“That's your definition of reality?”
“Yeah. Reality is not what it
appears to be.”
“It sure is when you are
performing surgery,” voiced Robert.
“Yeah, I know. That’s the
problem with my theory. Reality is what you bleed in.”
“You mean what you imagine in, don’t you Richie?”
He put his head back and
looked up into the late summer blue sky, “You're right.”
“You reason with the brain,”
jabbed Robert, “imagination is in your mind, Richie.”
Richard
suddenly laughed and turned to face his brother. “You want reality? Remember
the old lines, ‘The worms go in, the worms go out, the worms play pinochle in
your snout?’” Both grinned while breaking into old boyish humor. Tears laughed
right down their eyes as they sang, "The worms go in, the worm go out, the
worms play pinochle in your snout."
***
"Where have you boys
been?" asked Cyndi.
Robert
replied, "We went to the hardware store. I had to get some screws for
Grandpa Bleacher's the old train set."
"Is
it still on that antique table?"
"Yep."
"I
love that old table."
"You
don't have room for it."
"I
know."
"I
like the train set. I'm reworking the scenery for Uptown Riverton in the late
fifties when we were in high school."
"That's
a good idea," agreed Richard. How things were in old Riverton rushed
through his mind. "The peace and calm of the fifties."
"Hardly.
The Korean War, the hydrogen bomb, the Cold War, color prejudice."
"The
Beats," injected Richard, "and cheap gas. I remember buying it once
for 19 cents a gallon."
"I think that is as cheap
as we ever saw it."
"I
see your paperback on the table, what are you reading?"
Cyndi
responded in a deliciously warm and spontaneous smile, "The House on the Strand."
"I
loved that book."
Richard
added, "By Du Maurier. She was Lady Browning; Daphne du Maurier, probably
best known for Rebecca."
"It
was very cool, a Twilight Zone type
of story about a man who was in love with two women, one in the fourteenth
century and one in the twentieth."
Richard
added, "Rebecca was better. It
begins with: 'Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.' Hitchcock made it
into a movie. The first line is an iambic hexameter. The last line is almost an
anapestic tetrameter: 'And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from
the sea.'"
"House on the Strand was better because .
. .."
"Don't
tell me Robbie. I haven't finished it yet." Her smile lingered. "You
boys want some crackers and cheese?"
"Good
with me," said Robert and he automatically sat down at the head of the
dining room table.
"I
usually sit there," commented Richard dryly.
"You
always sit here. You can sit at the head of the table at our house if you want.
I don't care, and I'm pretty sure Connie won't."
Richard mused it doesn't make
much difference to Cyndi either. I remember how reality is depicted in The House on the Strand. The house,
where a drug was used to induce the main character into choosing between two
realities, one in the fourteenth century and one in the twentieth. He, like the
Merlyn in my books, would rather return to his seventh century dead than stay
in my present living.
***
Grandma 11
We return to three thousand years or so before the present, to a
King and Queen i his palace, and he
noticed a woman with dark hair and dark features in a bath on a roof over what
would be almost a city block away. Perhaps this perfection is a gift from G-d,
he thought. I am king in his name. I have done good works. I am of the loins of
Abraham and Sarah. Perhaps she is a
gift.
He
quickly found who the woman was. Bathsheba, wife of his good and loyal general,
Uriah the Hittite, who loved soldiering and war more than anything else in the
world. David reflected, she is heaven sent for a king.
When
she arrived as ordered. Once the two were alone in a private chamber David
touched and surprisingly, Bathsheba returned touch. He was king and she was not
perfect. He began debating his original intuition.
Being
alone and being king lust trickled then rushed and it speared in his mind.
David became instantly terror struck thinking, lust is not a present from G-d.
He sat with Bathsheba and confessed his desire and his faulty reasoning.
Bathsheba
sat surprised at his unpretentious manner and understood. She held him in her
arms as he cried for G-d's mercy like a child. Then he stood army-like and
dismissed her so they both might have some privacy.
When
they met again, this time is secret, they made love in a passion that neither
expected. They bathed in a mist of passion so fine that both believed they saw
the same rainbow in their heart of hearts.
Weeks
later, Bathsheba called on King David privately. “I am pregnant with your
child, David,” she said. “I will be stoned to death for adultery.”
“Have
you not slept with your husband?” he questioned.
“No.
He is busy soldiering and will not be bothered.”
King
David replied confidently, “I will not have you stoned."
Without
thinking Bathsheba whispered, “I love you."
He
also responded without thinking. “I love you, too." The soldier king then
considered the immediate situation. How can this be? She is my general’s wife.
I have many wives, but he has only one. I cannot take her from him, and I will
not. It was then that he thought on how Bathsheba might still be God’s gift to
him. He concluded, only if the general dies a good death in battle will I wed
her.
Very
soon, almost too soon, there was a battle afoot and brave Uriah, the general
was up front with his men as always. Uriah was a good and loyal general through
his last battle.
Thus,
it came to be that Bathsheba married King David. Their son died young. Nathan
the Prophet, always knowing, told the king his son’s death was partial payment
for the king’s adultery.
David
asked, “if this is so, why did G-d take my son and not myself?”
“For
further punishment,” hailed Nathan the righteous and the wise.
“How
do you know this?” commanded King David, “That G-d should speak to you before
he would speak in private to me.”
Nathan
quickly reassessed the situation and somberly replied, “I do not know, my
king."
“We
shall have another child,” snapped David the King.
David
dismissed Nathan after a verbal bruising. Once alone the king realized that G-d
may have been talking to Nathan because he was a powerful prophet. David came
to feel that G-d may also have been talking to him.
Years
later, Bathsheba asked a much older David, “Will our son be king?”
“Yes,”
without hesitation the king rejoined, “Solomon will become king while I am
still alive to see it.”
Bathsheba
smiled while musing I am content, and David is content that I am content.
Solomon
came to realize this joint contentment in his parents and to silently rejoice
to the wisdom within it.
"This
is the David and Bathsheba story the way some of the Dead have heard it,"
noted Grandma with a knowing wink.
In a great bend in the river between the slave and
the free,
There is a marked separation where you may want to
be.
Being born human can be a chain of much strife,
A free human may unshackle this slave in life
Accepting what one is, a piece of humankind --
Are common and humble roots to grow in the mind.
Be forewarned and yet mellowed by
Grandma's earlier wink,
These letters make a fiction to swim or
to sink
These words flow free by Merlyn’s
own hand
A flowing full fiction between the Shoreline and Strand.
***
Diplomatic Pouch 11
Walking
around from what appeared to be a curtain, Yermey came into view about five
yards in front of the Cessna. He waved and smiled. Then he jumped up and down
on the earth a couple of times and said, "The floor is solid; it will be
fine."
"It
looks like grass, like a grass runway," said Pyl as she opened the door.
Blake was right behind her. Friendly followed, then Hartolite and Justin. Pyl
put her hand down and touched the grass. "It is real grass . . . and
dirt."
Blake
grumbled, "I don't remember putting the wheels down. I had just put them
up."
"Where
are we?" said Justin as if it were a statement.
Yermey
reached out with good will and shook Pyl's hand first. "Welcome to our
abode."
"This
is a giant hanger with grass growing in it," declared Blake, "I'll be
damned if it isn't. How'd we get here? I don't remember landing."
"I
think we have been abducted by aliens," asserted Justin. "I think
things are not as they seem."
"You
are not abducted, though it may seem that way," replied Friendly. "We
need to talk, and this is the safest place."
"For
you, maybe," charged Justin. "Where are the windows?"
Pyl
in restrained anguish responded, "Calm down," Justin."
Blake
directed his question to Hartolite, "Are we really abducted Carlson?"
"No,
you are not. My real name is Hartolite not Carlson."
"Why
the deception?" retorted Justin in growing anger, focused in part on Pyl's
comment to calm down.
"First,
let's show you where you are," said Yermey politely.
Looking
at Pyl for a comeback, Justin quietly bemoaned, "They are probably going
to gut us and have us for dinner. That's the best outcome I can think of."
Friendly
smiled towards Pyl. "Yermey put real dirt on the floor," she said,
"this is real earth grass because we want you to feel comfortable. You are
our guests and you will be treated well."
"Not
well cooked," noted Yermey, then he quipped with a fun face, "We are
not cannibals."
"We
hold the same virtues you do," said Hartolite. "This is why we are
here."
"Let's
go over to your apartment if you choose to stay aboard; otherwise this will be
a short stay. You are not going to be harmed in any way. If after we explain
and respond to your questions you will be allowed to return to your Cessna and
will see to it that you will be loosed into the air with everything
functioning, to land at Burke which is only a mile or two away."
"Are
you going to take our memories away?" asked Justin in a slight but direct
voice.
"No
need," said Yermey. "This is not science fiction. No one will believe
you if you tell what you are experiencing here. Why would they?"
"They
wouldn't, that's the point. I am not so trustful as Pyl and Blake."
Ship
interjected for the first time, "Trust is what we do, Justin, this is what
I am built for."
I
am built to know and understand the captain and crew whom I protect, I am in
loco parentis just as a public school teacher in your culture. It is my job to
keep you safe from harm first. We have no weapons. We have no need of a
military presence at home or here. We are runners by the same nature that you
are stand-and-fighters.
"Parents?"
"The
marsupial-humanoids, as you will come to call us, are run like a single family
household in your culture. We are the same species thus we treat each other as
family."
Blake
chuckled, "We have problems in and between families."
"As
do we, that's why we have a committee of twelve with two Parents elected once
and only once every twenty years, a male and female. Three judges in courts
clarify disputes. Our institutions are similar. Our practical form of Family
has worked for us for fifteen thousand years but we have no wish to impose our
culture onto yours. We would rather run first. I, Ship, am built for safety and
for running first in the process."
Friendly
interposed, "Ship welcomes you. He will protect you and your culture while
on board. If bad comes to worse, we will drop you off safely, with your plane
fully intact and running and we will run off too."
Anticipating
Justin's next question Blake asked, "What if one of you attempted to harm
us?"
"Ship
would protect you first as you are our guests, and us second."
Justin
stood surprised, finding he trusting the machinery first just like he would
trust his car before he would trust a stranger driving it.
***
Chapter 12
The
Supervisor has a little saying:
Ring-a-ring
o'rosies
A
pocket full of posies
"A-tishoo!
A-tishoo!"
We
all fall down!
We rise from clay
On
judgment day
Be
we dead
Or
still alive.
Merlyn
has this little ditty memorized to the point it sits in stemmed reverence from
which the four-leafed chapter dream grows to novel size and beyond. Merlyn
kneads the dreams into words, the music for the heartansoulanmind whose
transcendental spirit shines. The words cast a light for those have no sight
and for those with an imagination that casts no shadow.
The Dead 12
Only a moment ago I began soaring eagle-like within a
heaven of nebulae surroundings, mountainous gas bubbles, places undeterminable
in time and space.
Behind
me, Avalon is of large cumulus in
form. The pleasing reddish hues of such a cloud reminds me of the Malus domestica, the pleasant apple-like
pigment. As I distance further, Avalon appears a well-weathering giant
Cumulonimbus, ever so majestically shaped as a broad-winged bird in angular
flight.
Merlyn
loosed his heartanmind eye forward to more closely observe the prodigious
distance between him and the small reddish cloud. A small faraway cloud hanging
like a prolonged thin fissure, a horizontal vapor of sanguine mist married to a
speck of gold center. This small pictured center setting above the large
moonlike light at the far end of this dark cavern of the Dead. This object,
this tiny gold center surrounded by sanguine mist, is the edge of Elysium,
thinks Merlyn. I am reminded of the tales of Hercules, and like Hercules on his
travel to the Garden of Hesperides, I fly to pick the Classical Greek approach
to immortality as I slowly close on golden speck of distant apple in my own
eye.
On
his way and in further thought, Merlyn wandered into a cloud of his own making.
Within the Eleventh Labor of Hercules the Hero had to bear the weight of the
world on his shoulders and but for only a trick in foresight Hercules would
still be there in Atlas' place. What does it mean to hold the weight of the
world on one's shoulders? Dead, I weigh nothing. This vast Place of the Dead
weighs nothing. This Place and I are but bubbles in Nothing. What then is the
weight of the Earth and Sun and innumerable other Stars and their worldly
plane(t)s? From Here to There is but a thought without grammar, without verb or
noun. Yet time it takes or so takes time in this human reasoning, in this
appearance of flight.
The
weight is in the world and Earth, not here. What good will Our Mother's Blessing
be to this newfound enterprise of we the present and past Dead? I feel no
burden, even elected to tell the tale. Living or Dead, the ears have to hear;
the eyes have to read; the brain has to reason. That is not my part as teller
of how it is to be human, dead physically, but ultimately self-aware and alive
in the whole of one's heartansoulanmind. Holding one's heartansoulanmind with
bone and muscle is one thing, without such weight and physics it is quite
another. One is free to remember and to regret. I hold on, flying, as I will,
with no regrets to whatever I must encounter.
What
is it to be Dead and free in heartansoulanmind when such spiritual elements are
by nature drawn together as one, for how can one know and understand freedom
without the bond that provides self-awareness in one's seed and heranhis
attached string in the full humanity of Our Mother and Beyond? The Birth of
Self-Consciousness begins where? Where does it end? This flight shows me there
is no end in sight no matter where I stand or fly. Timeless and with fewer
self-regrets the freer one is to stand on the height of what humanity is not
its lower depth which is hardly more than animal instinct. To flower and to be
free everyone must by definition follow nature's course, which for the Living
or the Dead, is to grow and mature into what is built to be, humane to one
another and in the process be humane to one's self.
Merlyn's
nearly volatilized spirit condensed into the spiritual Shroud of Elysium, until
his droplet of heartansoulanmind re-energized by flowering into the
full-stemmed spirit and personality of Merlyn the Bard of Scotland.
Consciousness had re-fixe Id its position head high. Merlyn found himself
staring at the worn stone, two-cart wide roadway. Unknown to him at the time the
uneven stone surface on which his ghostly spirit stands leads to Mother's
House. Merlyn thought, I know this place from my heart's memory of Classical
Greek and Latin. I am fully self-aware and residing in Elysium, Shroud of this
collective cultural consciousness of the Classical Era.
Unknown
to Merlyn alone and beginning his walk, Mother is awaiting his arrival as all
mothers since knowingly understand and wait for their own children, every last
one with whom to be reunited.
***
Brothers 12
Richard sat in the winter sky blue
wingback living room chair, looking on the west wall at a thin black-framed
historic portrait of the Stoner Inn on South State. I continually forget, he
thought, how much this small village was a part of the Underground Railway. In
the 1850’s, George Stoner used to smuggle slaves in the back of his stagecoach
to the Inn where they stayed in the basement until they could move north to
Canada. Bishop William Hanby was a
conductor on the old Underground.
Here I sit in comfort a few blocks away from the present location of Hanby
House.
Mother used to volunteer to take
children around the place after she retired. Richard’s frown turned to a scowl
and he thought; we are all slaves of different sorts today. No more Ohio River
to cross, no more underground railway out. Where would we go to be free other
than in our heads? Grandma used to say that we kids should study hard and learn
what is important in the world, that way no one can ever take it from you.
Grandma was born just above the Delaware County line in 1888, the year of the
Great Blizzard.
Richard's mind was forming on the
family genealogy, both the Greystone's and wife Cyndi's, the Bleacher's. Shoot,
he thought, all eight of our grandparents, both sides, were born and raised in
Delaware County. Riverton used to end at the county line, now the city
stretches up several miles, almost to Freeman Road in Genoa Township. He
glanced at his watch and asked, "When is Robert getting home?" No
response. This left him with a disagreeable opinion, I thought they were in the
kitchen. They are always in the kitchen. He got up from the semi-comfortable
wingback chair. His tone sat unchecked as he said, "Cyndi! Connie!"
followed with a grumbling mutter, "Where the hell are you two?"
"What do you mean, where are you two? We are not your
children to boss around, buddy boy," snapped Cyndi from the open basement
door.
Richard stood awkwardly at the kitchen entrance, "I didn't say you were. Why didn't
you answer?"
"We
were in the basement,” said Connie clearly perturbed.
Noting
both were up the stairs, Richard responded unkindly, "What were you doing
down there?"
"None
of your damn business, Richard," rebutted Connie. "None of your damn
business." Cyndi's rejoinder sat silently on her face.
Richard
toned down, "I thought you were both in the kitchen."
"Why,
because we're women?" snapped Cyndi.
Richard
stated calmly, "You are always in the kitchen."
"If
we are in the kitchen we are working; we are not sitting on our duffs playing
chess or writing," responded Connie.
"Or
playing with our computer toys." Cyndi paused, "You'd think you and
your brother would do more around the house. We give you lists and you never do
them."
Connie
commented, "Rarely, you rarely do them, Richie and neither does Robert,
but rarely."
"Rob
isn't here to defend himself," scolded Richard.
"Robbie's
at that medical conference," piped Connie.
"Why?
He's retired."
Cyndi
responded more kindly, "He's still interested in surgery, Richie."
The
tone stood like Richard, sulking but defiant. "You're saying I'm not
interested in anything?"
Connie
responded positively without thinking, "You like your history."
"You
don't need to side with the old goat," said Cyndi angered.
"I'm
not, but he does like history and both like writing poetry." Her eyes
threaded a protective look at her sister.
Cyndi
declared, "We are not always in the kitchen, Richard." Her voice
choked, "We work hard to keep everything in order."
Connie,
unconsciously caught in her sister's emotion, railed, "And provide
happiness."
A
consolatory tone rose in Richard's voice, "You just didn't answer. I
didn't know where you were."
"Why
didn't you just get up and come looking?" asked Connie somewhat
exasperated.
` "Did
you think we were upstairs ironing clothes?" added Cyndi.
"I
just wondered where you were." He paused like he was going to apologize
but did not. He thought, Why didn't you say something if you could hear me? I
wouldn't have muttered. Losing the battle, Richard sat down quietly fuming.
Within the moment Robert entered the side door and
strolling into the kitchen he greeted the house with, "Hello, everybody!
I'm home. It was a great conference. Very exciting work on invasive aortic
valve surgery. Only a three to four inch incision." Silence. Robert walked
into the living room. Connie and Cyndi were sitting on the separate ends of the
couch waiting for Richard to speak first. Richard sat stubbornly ridged glaring
at the dark framed portrait of the old Stoner House on the wall. "What's the
argument, Richie?"
***
Grandma’s Story 12
Grandma made herself comfortable sitting cross-legged on a sand
dune and began as the sun rose. This story takes place about twenty six hundred
years ago. This particular setting is routed in trade between Egypt and ancient
Ireland. The two young people involved are Princess Teah Tephi of Egypt and
Prince Eireamhon of Ireland. You can look them up in the Irish legends if you
like.
Eireamhon called Teah his princess. Supposedly, Teah Tephi was really the
daughter of the last king of Judah, Zedekiah. Zedekiah had allied himself with
the Egyptian Pharaoh Apries. Many Hebrews went with King Zedekiah to Egypt but
eventually the Hebrews were sent to exile in Babylonia.
The story told is that Pharaoh Apries hid Zedekiah's daughter Teah
Tephi, and she kept a title of princess to the pharaoh for protection. Whether
she was truly a daughter of Zedekiah, only her mother and old Grandma know.
When Teah left Egypt, she brought a few small stones from her
original home in Judah and locks of hair from her family to keep her company.
She was told her father had been driven into exile. She came to think her
father had died in the desert or drowned.
The stories always made Teah suspicious and this is one of the
reasons she didn't mind leaving Egypt one of the reasons she didn’t mind
leaving Egypt for Ireland. She felt she could always return to Egypt if she so
desired, not even her husband Prince Eireamhon was going to stop her.
On the boat that followed the trade routes of those days Teah said
to her husband, “I brought my Judah with me,” and she showed her husband three
small rocks. Her eyes widened with enthusiasm, “I will keep these. These will
bring us luck.”
The prince continued smiling, but secretly thought, he Irish will
think her a fool for bringing these stones from her homeland, or worse, they
will treat it as an insult to our Irish stones. Prince Eireamhon politely
suggested, “Put them in something so they will not be lost.”
Eireamhon wants me to hide them, thought Teah. I can tell when he
is lying through this tongue.
Once the two arrived at Tara, not to far from present Dublin,
Princess Teah was presented to the High King. “I have a present for you from my
own country of Judah,” she said. “This small stone is from the pillow upon
whose head of Jacob, our ancient patriarch who rested at Bethel. He was the
grandson of our first patriarch, Abraham. It was at Bethel while resting on the
stone pillow Jacob had his visions of angels.”
The High King appeared interested because Ireland too had its
ancient stones. He asked, “How big of a stone is this piece broken from?”
She stretched her arms to measure its size, about twenty-six
inches. She moved her hands in to sixteen inches, and then raised her right
hand above the other about eleven inches. Then she added, “It weighed over
three hundred pounds.” And this is a small piece of it."
The king cautiously continued, “Does this stone have power?”
“Since
Jacob dreamed of angels while sleeping on it,” said Teah cleverly, “it is
surely possible an angel’s touch is still within the stone though no one knows
for sure.”
The
king responded, “Perhaps we should construct a replica of the stone pillow and
strike the small stone to it so that the angel may move from the small piece to
the larger one.”
“This
is an excellent idea,” chimed the Princess.
When
the replica of the reddish stone was complete as carved, Princess Teah saw to
it that it appeared so very much like the original she once saw in Judah. In
great secret ceremony, the king struck the larger stone with Teah's stone chip.
“As it was a pillow,” the king decreed, “it will rest under the high king’s
throne.”
Stories
create their own traditions. The replica sitting under the High King of
Ireland's throne eventually found its way to the Scottish kings where it became
known as the "Stone of Destiny". More time passed and in 1952 Queen
Elizabeth was crowned in the same chair with the same stone underneath. The
Scots don't believe this story, and I doubt the Irish do either. Some stories
are beyond belief. Only Grandma Earth knows the truth.
People can spend their lives making up
things,
And so miss the sweet songs the little
bird sings.
***
Pouch 12
Blake
glanced at his sister, wondering what she was thinking.
Pyl
looked over at the plane. No apparent damage. No problems when they became airborne
when the wheels left the road. Where is that road now, only moments later it
seems, and the road, the county airport, Ohio, Lake Erie -- where are they? All
I have here are my husband, my brother, and Daddy's plane.
Justin
felt almost uncontrollably alone. We don't know where we are and until we do we
cannot hope to escape these people. Are they terrorists? Our plane is perhaps
more important than we are. Do they want our plane to use as a terrorist
weapon? Surely we are being duped. Pyl and Blake are my responsibility at this
point. I have to come up with a plan.
"Again,
we welcome you onboard our vessel," assured Friendly in both manner and
voice. "Ship also welcomes you. We will show you selections of our vessel.
Then you can see where you are."
"Come
this way," directed Yermey. "We can climb the flight of stairs to the
main deck. Where we are is in the annex."
"What
you may call a basement," added Hartolite.
"Or
a storage area," said Friendly. "Follow Yermey. Yermey one step at a
time for our guests please."
Blake
carefully observed the setting first by counting the stairs, there were
twenty-two. The room appeared large and hospital clean in perhaps a forty to
fifty-foot square. In the dim light he could see machinery set at an angle of
about a thirty-degree tilt off center. Rather than seen the large box of
machinery, which towered up perhaps fifteen feet straight on he saw the box on
angle. 'I cannot tell,' he thought, 'how wide it is. It almost appears to be an
optical illusion.'
"Come
ahead, this way," directed Yermey. "Over to this area where we can
observe better."
Blake
followed mostly out of polite routine as if he were on a tour of a
manufacturing plant. A whiff of acidic scent reminded him of being in a factory
that molded exothermic sleeve forms used in the construction of steel castings,
but the ground had blended grass growing on it just as the Annex had. However
the grass floor felt short and soft, like he was walking on a golf green.
Shortly, Pyl and Justin stood beside him as Friendly and Hartolite walked
around to their left and stood next to Yermey.
The
six were elevator close together looking into the room from a new angle. No one
could see the door they had entered from. They could see no other entrance or
exit. The walls and ceiling slowly illuminated to an eye comfort level where
all could better view the space and what filled it.
I
am standing in the southeast corner of the room. We entered near the southwest
corner. Blake's eyes focused on the first thing he saw upon entering the control
room -- the two-stacked black boxes in the northwest corner from the entrance.
The size and shape reminded him of two top and bottom washer dryer combinations
with round see through side windows to the front of both. Each window was
surrounded by a four inch or so aluminum colored band. The boxes were otherwise
clean of buttons or dials. 'I estimate it is six to seven feet high and three
and a half feet in width.'
His
eyes moved east along the north wall to a second set of aluminum colored
metallic or plastic boxes set beside one another. On the horizontal rather than
the vertical they appear the same size and clean only the windows, similar in
size to the other machine have a square with rounded corners windows.
On
the northeast corner is a large blue metallic-like box the size of a large
refrigerator only a couple feet taller. It has one large oval window with an
aluminum-like band surrounding. The height of the oval is over seven feet and
it drops to within two feet of the bottom of the box. The width of the oval
band is within a couple of inches of the sides of the machine. I have no idea
what these machines do. There are no tables or chairs or desks. I wonder what
is on the other side of those windows. Blake's thoughts were interrupted.
Friendly's
teacher voice said, "We are all here. Where would you like me to
begin?"
Blake
replied, "I see many box-like in the room. Please start with the one in
the northwest corner." He pointed, "The two black stacked boxes, they
look like stacked washing machines."
***
-30-
***
-30-
***
0958
hours. I feel much relief that these words are online as well as on iCloud. It
is better to be transparent because it is freer in my head. What's done is done
and so be it. Now it is time to move on through the next three chapters and so
on until this novel is completed.
For the sake of organization and further
clarity let's drop in the short three chapter summaries here. - Amorella
***
Summaries of Chapters by their Divisions
The Dead 1.2.3
The ever-learning Dead live in a transparent setting; a visitor can
glean information from their heartansoulanmind wrappings of what is important
in the deadanliving spirit in the existential moments of the visit.
4.5.6
Merlyn learns the sanctuary is a place where he alone, at present, is a
deadanliving bridge between the spirit-an-physics of higher consciousness.
Ezekiel is a heartansoulanmind Merlyn remembers singularly from tapping his
friend's soul to heart to mind.
7.8.9
Merlyn feels the presence of Vivian; she says she is his soul's sister.
Merlyn envelops in Vivian and gains 'insight' to meet Takis. Merlyn confronts
Mother, Takis on the Supervisor and Sophia and she speaks of how it was in the
Rebellion of the First 10,000.
10.11.12
Merlyn
with Sophia who begins the story of how the Rebellion began - she speaks of
Mario, Mother, the Supervisor and
herself Rebellion II begins with Eisenhower's speech. Shelters were as H. D.
Thoreau's cabin. The stones spoke and Merlyn began his way to Elysium.
Description of flight from Avalon to Elysium.
***
The Brothers 1.2.3
Richard
and Robert have mutual interests in writing. Connie and Cyndi appear closer
than the identical twins. Richard is more right brained (creative), Robert,
more left (analytical). Robert cares more than Richard.
4.5.6
Background
on childhood settings. Life proliferates between birth and death. A walk
through John Knox College Cemetery and analogy with a circuit board for
living/dead to contact one another. The chambers in the mausoleum with the
chambers in the heart. A study of the biblical symbols in the stained glass
windows.
7.8.9
Robert and
Richard talk on Angels even though both are agnostic in dining room with Cyndi
and Connie and brownies. R & R talk about the cemetery via Google Earth and
the Bleacher and Greystone families. Robert shows poem "Nature
Junkie". Talk of dowsing and Divining rods and finger muscles to the
unconscious.
10.11.12
Robert and Richard discussing poetry. National Geographic TV on hyenas.
Unconscious thinking discussion. Next day, brothers meet Uptown at Stoners, Rob
has '98 Jag. House on the Strand talk. Then next day, Richard, Connie
and Cyndi have fight on women's rights. Rob comes in from heart conference
afterwards.
***
Grandma's Story 1.2.3
Story 1
Like
other higher consciousnesses, Merlyn, in dreams or not, realizes existing
deadanliving is more than meets the eye.
Story 2
In those
times the human spirit worked within the engine of passion for acceptance and
for learning how to better balance the appearance of separation between heart
and soul and mind.
Story 3
Get in Grandma's way and pay.
This story of light leafs from orange and sun;
A maple leaf and another imagination sprang.
Story 4
Wexer won his debates in life. What won Wexer's mind or heart? His woman
friend more at peace after he disappeared. How to be in two places at once - a
storyteller telling life and a reader reading the written story later through
the magic of the runes
Story 5
Southeast Asia. Sawasdee Ka (wife) and Sawasdee Khrap (husband) fought
over goddess (kind or defensive) on the porch. Both die in final earthly fight
but it continues on and on - so much hate neither realizes where sheorhe is,
i.e. HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither.
Story 6
Bracc desires to be a first class shaman and is told to tell a story in
gray. In telling the story to an audience after great planning he realizes the
story is full of trickery and false magic. Embarrassed he dies in front of wife
Erca feeling naked and empty. But they have a child who will grow; the DNA
continues unabated.
Story 7
Grandma and the pea-like ghost has a humanities growth via geography
even though she fits snuggly in Grandma's pocket.
Story 8
Gadelin of the North Woods of Ireland and her priest Mardynn Herremon of
the East Woods each work to become King Simon Breac's official Seer. Love of
the Moon god/goddess with a twist of fate.
Story 9
Abbatoot survives a storm and begins to count her digits and unknowingly
comes to understand what the shaman understands. The Shaman realizes on his
deathbed, the truth of the bellybutton, the zero, but Abbatoot doesn't get it
and no one discovers the zero in mathematics for a long time after.
Story 10
Rumbasant
and the hurricane and stick. Commanded the storms to cease. Lightning strikes
the stick and puts out her eye 'shell eye' along the Kenya coast. She was
struck again and survived and a marvel to her people.
Story 11
David and
Bathsheba love affair. Her husband later died in battle and David married her.
In the conclusion they have Solomon who will become king, both then are content
with their lives.
Story 12
Egypt and
Princess Teah Tephi, daughter of Zedekiah who was forced into exile in Babylon.
She marries Eireamhon of Ireland. She takes pebble from Pillow of Jacob claims
it may have Angels. High King of Ireland accepts pebble and creates replica of
Pillow -- this becomes the Stone of Scone used in Scotland and sets under the
Coronation Chair at Westminster.
***
Diplomatic Pouch 1.2.3
This existential story is the observation of two alien species
(marsupial and primate); who since the second rebellion of the Dead, are
consciously sharing HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither. The Living alien species are
becoming acquainted. Pouch is an introductory costume ball, mixed species only.
4.5.6
The Cessna P210N Silver Eagle takes off from Burke for Put-in-Bay with
Blake, Pyl, Justin, Friendly as Michael 'Mykkie' Carlso and Hartolite as her
sister Lindsey. Yermey waits to 'wash' the Cessna on the trip back to
Cleveland's Burke field and realizes he has sexual arousal for Pyl. Ship also
notes this and an awareness of Yermey's heartansoulanmind as a mystery 'he'
does not experience in his 'consciousness'. Pyl comes to realize there is a
mystery with 'Mykkie' and her 'pushanpull of the toggle. She tells Blake upon
landing she does not want to sell Father's plane.
7.8.9
Blake,
Pyl and Justine are comfortable keeping the Cessna. Ship wonders on the
one-minute slip of time between the console but knows the Cessna inside and
out. Yermey is concerned on the time slip. A month goes by, 1March12. Bored
with the cloudy weather the three decide to take the plane up to see the sun
beyond the clouds. Ship notes their flight and decides to mimic trouble in the
engine; so they might land in a secluded place and Friendly and crew can tell
them the truth about themselves. Not at the planned but workable. The Cessna
comes down out of the clouds in a glide at Ashtabula and heads southeast to the
county airport; the last minute with blackenot unknowingly covering the Cessna
the engine re-starts and they land on a nearby township road. Looking at the engine
Yermey then Friendly come up behind the Cessna tail to say hello.
10.11.12
Plane on the road when Friendly + come up to say hello. Talk; then put
to sleep earthlings wake up in Annex of Ship. Friendly tell a bit about
themselves to ease the tensions -
in loco parentis - etc. Then go up the steps and see the first room and Blake
describes to himself what he sees. Ends with Friendly beginning the tour of
Ship.
***
Post. - Amorella
You completed your
exercises and noticed on yesterday's blog you had written: "I was
wonderful" and you immediately changed it to "It was wonderful".
- Amorella
This is so embarrassing Amorella. I of all people would ever say,
"I am wonderful".
You are displaying your arrogance again,
boy. - Amorella
That's how I feel: "of all people" fits. I cannot think of
anyone who has ever heard me utter those words unless it was a cynical
statement. Self-praise is wrong. In my heartanmind it is wrong; I don't know
what my soul thinks about it. I must have a bit of Puritanism in me or stern
Presbyterian.
If it is cultural as you feel it is, what
would the soul have to do with it anyway? - Amorella
Good question. You come up with good questions. -- perhaps, in my heartansoulanmind,
it is morally incorrect to self-praise.
What about your arrogance? - Amorella
It is something I have to live with. Stubbornness is something else I
have to live with. It is a part of my rebellious nature. I am not going to
apologize for who or what I am as an individual. We are all human Amorella, and
therefore we are imperfect by our nature. If we were perfect, how would we survive
in such a universe as we find ourselves born into?
Now you asked a good question, boy. -
Amorella
The 'we' above is in reference to Homo sapiens not you Amorella.
Really. Post, boy. Such a dark and twisted
sense of humor you have built in. One might wonder where it comes from, Heart
or Soul or Mind. - Amorella
I cannot imagine souls with a sense of humor. (1148)
You have little imagination, boy. Post. -
Amorella
Displaying this lack of imagination is shown
in your lack of knowledge about Dead 13. You don't even know who is the leader
in this segment, Merlyn or Sophia. - Amorella
1351 hours. No, I don't. I have the basics prepared on the document but
nothing more than that. I don't know what is important to talk about and what
isn't.
Carol just left for a hair appointment. Take
a break. - Amorella
1605
hours. We stopped at McD's on Mason-Montgomery for drinks and reading. Later,
supper at the Brazenhead Pub; we haven't been there for three months or so.
You had a nap while Carol was getting her
hair shortened. Dead 13 will take place back at Merlyn's sanctuary. We are not
just going to go through Book Four.
Good thing I didn't have a plan in the first place. I did pop up Adler's
Moral Philosophy notes from Wikipedia.
Right on target, young man. You see, Merlyn
being reminded of how it was moving from Avalon to Elysium and remembering both
in 'flash memory' as it were has him thinking of how things are with the Dead;
the simple rules, and why they are always uncapitalized in intent. This is not
a lecture, but a process of thought by a man who has been there and come back.
The places of the Living and the Dead are not the same even though the Dead are
who they are, just as they were who they were when they were alive. - Amorella
This is interesting, and it sets the mood. I am curious. Would it be
better to make a list of these moral aspects and virtues so that I might better
put them down in better continuity? I am thinking, Merlyn knows what he is
going to say, but I do not. I think with a quick background I would be better
off sensing the humanity of it, since the humanity is not changed Dead or
Alive.
You are attempting imagination and empathy
with Merlyn here, but first, look about you. You are at a fast food restaurant
looking out across major traffic on a local road. Across the road directly (you
are at a slant to the northeast) is a woods owned by Proctor and Gamble that
was once a part of Natorp's Nursery. Now the trees are growing wild. Across the
road to the southeast is a P&G research facility. The road is indifferent.
The transportation is indifferent. The people within might appear indifferent
or, one might say focused while aiming their cars in an almost compass north
and south. Let's go to Google Earth. - Amorella
Home
from delicious supper at Brazenhead Pub and you are home in time for the local
and national news. You have two photos, one closer in on the McDonalds and a
second with a broader view. McD's is in the upper middle, a red lined
rectangle. It is down from the asterisk. At the center crossroad the McD's is
in the northwest quadrant. The metal roofed work barn is on the northwest
quadrant on the wooded P&G property.
*
2110
hours. We relaxed with three DVRed shows. "NCIS", "Los
Vegas" and " last week's "NCIS-LA".
Notice, orndorff that the first shot shows
one crossroad at Terra Firma Drive and Mason-Montgomery Road. The Kroger's
parking lot is just west of the McDonald's. An apartment complex is in the
southwest quadrant and a bit of the P&G lot is shown at the bottom of the
southeast quadrant.
In
the second Google photo of the same area the observer is further 'up' in
vertical distance. Now two crossroads exist at Mason-Montgomery Road. One can
still see the small white dot just east of Mason-Montgomery in the middle of
the photo. This is the work barn on the east side of the road. McDonald's is on
the west side opposite but the red outline of the building can not longer be
seen. Other crossroads also exist in the photo but they are not important
because the focus is the north/south Mason-Montgomery Road where the traffic
is. One cannot see the vehicles on the road let alone the people within them. Not
the same traffic you were seeing live, but traffic none the less. Create an
analogy with the traffic being the Dead and you, orndorff, being some distance
away. Assume the Dead are moving north and south on Mason-Montgomery Road. What
evidence do you have in the second photo that the Dead are where they are and
you are where you are? What evidence do the Dead have that you exist where you
do in the sky? - Amorella
I think this is a trick question first because I have no proof that
I am either on the ground in the photograph or above it. I am sitting in a
chair in the living room in real life I cannot be a part of the analogy. I
would like to be in the analogy because that would be 'pretend' like me
pretending to be the characters in the books. (2135)
Where have you been for the last twenty-five
minutes? - Amorella
Reading and studying my thoughts; I have been in my head. This seems
pointless, Amorella.
You are forgetting you have been not only in
your head but also you have been in your imagination in your head. - Amorella
In
here, the base of imagination is in the soul, the same place the base of humor
is. Neither is fully describable, they are qualities like heartanmind. -
Amorella
Imagination and humor are definable nouns, Amorella. Heart and souls are
not so easily definable.
**
**
imagination -
noun
the
faculty or action of forming new ideas, or images or concepts of external
objects not present to the senses: she'd never been blessed with a vivid
imagination.
• the
ability of the mind to be creative or resourceful: technology gives workers
the chance to use their imagination.
• the
part of the mind that imagines things: a girl who existed only in my
imagination.
ORIGIN
Middle English: via Old French from Latin
imaginatio(n-), from the verb imaginari
‘picture to oneself,’ from imago,
imagin- ‘image.’
***
humor - noun
1 the
quality of being amusing or comic, esp. as expressed in literature or speech:
his tales are full of humor.
• the
ability to express humor or make other people laugh: their inimitable brand
of humor.
2 a
mood or state of mind: her good
humor vanished
| the clash hadn't improved his humor.
• archaic
an inclination or whim.
3
(also cardinal humor )
historical each of the four chief fluids of
the body (blood, phlegm, yellow bile [choler], and black bile [melancholy])
that were thought to determine a person's physical and mental qualities by the
relative proportions in which they were present.
ORIGIN
Middle English (as humour): via Old French from
Latin humor ‘moisture,’
from humere.
The original sense was ‘bodily
fluid’ (surviving in aqueous humor and
vitreous humor, fluids in the eyeball); it was used specifically for any
of the cardinal humor, whence ‘mental
disposition’ (thought to be caused by
the relative proportions of the humors). This led, in the 16th cent., to the
senses ‘state of mind, mood’ and ‘whim,
fancy,’ hence to humor someone ‘to
indulge a person's whim.’ dates from the
late 16th cent.
Slightly
edited from the Oxford-American Mac software
**
**
In
here, in the fiction, imagination and humor are primary properties of the soul.
- Amorella
I can accept this in a fiction but not otherwise. They
are properties of our humanity.
Yes, I agree. Post. - Amorella
2156 hours. It seems to me that my senses, my eyesight
on the Google photographs, drove my imagination. I saw no humor or hints of it
in that short 25 minute experiment.
The humor, dear boy, is that the blog and
books and even me are a part of your 'fancy'. - Reality as you witness it in
real life is also a fancy, wouldn't you say? - Amorella
No. A part of myself, a part of everyone is reality.(2205)
The whole that you cannot see but
'understand' that exists, is driven from the soul first. That's how it is in
here. - Amorella
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