You both got up about an hour early
preparing for daylight savings time kicking in tomorrow night.
0757
hours. This is thinking from the 1950's but I think DST did in drive in movies
and boosted golf in the process.
What can I say to that? - Amorella
Nothing. At least the sun is out this morning, a very
pleasant change indeed. I need to kick in with Pouch 13 then I am ready to move
on to Dead 14.
First though, you are thinking about a nap
then doing your exercises. - Amorella
What can I say?
Later, dude. - Amorella
1223
hours. I didn't make much change but it flows better, I can make further
changes if needed on the audio draft.
You are having a regular picnic lunch at Pine Hill Lakes
Park, far north lot, the car aimed to the southwest and a hill, stream valley,
naked trees and snow. The water in Muddy Creek looks clear and it is running
fast from the snowmelt. This could be anywhere, but it is in Mason, Ohio. -
Amorella
We have lived in Mason since 1975, Silverton
(Cincinnati, on Montgomery Road south of Kenwood) three years before that). Who
would have thought a little farm town could grow so fast, but it has. It has
had good city growth planning along the way too. Wide roads where they need to
be and most all the traffic lights are controlled for the best real time light
changes via the traffic cameras at each light. It is amazing what a difference
this makes. I-71 is two miles away and I-75 is no more than three miles from
where we live. We don't want to move and probably won't until older age and
practicality take over, then on to Westerville or Worthington more likely,
northern Franklin County or southern Delaware County. That's how it looks at
present.
Carol is on page 52 of a new book, American
Wife, by Cincinnati native Elizabeth Curtis Sittenfeld. The book is fiction
though loosely based on the life of the President's wife, Laura Bush. Let's go
to the audio, I'm in here for help if needed, boy. - Amorella
You
are home after the park, a stop at the bank and Kroger's on Tylersville. You
finished the audio draft on chapter two and did the preliminaries for chapter
three. Drop in audio chapter two. It is not a final draft but better than the
previous.
***
Chapter Two [AudioDraft] © 2013 rho
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 chapter dream grows. Merlyn kneads his dreams for those with an
imagination that casts no shadow.
The Dead 2
Merlyn
sat alone on his heartansoulanmind-made stone on a fine Spring-like
heartansoulanmind-made meadow just this side of the mysteriously dark forest. I
witnessed much, he surmised, in having been living and dead in Anno Domini 670.
That is the seventh century according to what we were taught by the Church. I
suppose AD 670 was somewhere around my birth or death. I do not really care to
remember as dates are of little importance.
As
Druids we learned Celtic, Greek and Latin. We memorized vast tracks of folklore
and wisdom. This is what the Celtic society expected, and this is what we did.
He noticed, rather unexpectedly, the white cue ball materializes on his
nineteenth century mind created billiard table on the heartansoulanmind built
stone ruin of a stage in the meadow.
I
would rather enjoy these Scottish trees and the flowering meadow. He observed
the table and ball dissolve as a wispy white cloud’s in an early morning mist.
Out
of the corner of mind's eye Merlyn witnessed a dissimilar spirit appear from
behind the nearby giant oak.
You
did not hear the cue ball tap one of your more solid thoughts, asked the Supervisor
of the Dead.
'I
did not. I thought I was alone.'
'I,
your Supervisor, put the solid burnt orange in the far right pocket.'
''What
unconscious thought did you just put away?'
'The
Boatman,' evoked the Supervisor.
Merlyn
smiled in surprise and with more childhood energy than he realized, he
responded, 'I don't have to pay the Boatman?'
'You
pay, boy,' snapped at Merlyn's tabled mind. 'Everybody pays the Boatman, even
me, the Supervisor of the Dead.'
Merlyn
muttered, 'In Sophia's ancient Greek day the pearly white Gate of Heaven rested
on the far side of her rubescent River Styx.'
'The
Styx is where you are,' commented the Supervisor dryly. 'This River you
speak of has many cultural names.'
Another
ferry, another boatman flashed in Merlyn. Captain Lamar. I can return to Earth
by the ferry once I find the real Captain Lamar? The Lamar in question whispered to Merlyn’s heart. Merlyn’s
mind registered 'Richard?” in the solid yellow 1 ball resting near the far left
corner pocket. Merlyn’s mind grumbled, 'Who is this Richard, Greystone?'
Glevema
whisked herself out from his left fourth finger's nail and this time as a tiny
naked winged faery princess. Glevema unknowingly to Merlyn, commanded, 'Prick
this fingerless finger.'
'Whoa,'
whispered Merlyn suddenly thinking of his first love, Vivian. She, Vivian,
suddenly kissed and then slowly sucked down his now solidly fleshed fourth left
finger. Merlyn smilingly knows this finger doesn't really exist in the Land of
the Dead. Even as skeletal bone, thought Merlyn, this finger, here and now,
does not exist in the very real world of the early twenty-first century. Yet,
in spirit, I am in one or many times and places sat once. I need always focus
to survive any circumstance in which I find myself enclosed.
This
is the Nature of the Dead. Merlyn in a brighter awareness noticed the eight
ball now setting alone on the very center of the green-felted mind-slate. I
have no other balls, shuttered Merlyn, not even a cue ball to knock this
mother-in-the-meadow of an eight ball off center.
The
Supervisor being wise in forethought, dimpled as SheanHe sat on the fully
leafed gigantic oak limb hanging taut and strong, high above a young-spirited
Merlyn fully meadowed in his now vibrant passionate engine charging heartansoulanmind.
Merlyn said, “This, my human spirit, runs on a deeper gravitational energy than
love. I am hot in substance and now fully married as iron is to make steel.”
The
Supervisor of the Dead surmised the scene, ‘Merlyn is as wound as any alarm
clock in the world of consciousness. Let him ring only when Necessity or the Boatman
demands it.’
The Brothers 2
“I
see we are at your house again today. What are you watching?” asked Robert.
Richard not stirring from his
comfortable easy chair, said, “An old National Geographic rerun on DNA.
A genetics researcher named Wells is showing that we men are all genetic sons
of a man who lived fifty-six thousand years ago in East Africa.”
Rob frowned slightly, “So what
else is new?” He sat next to a tall brass stick lamp their parents had bought a
year before they died. "Turn us males and females upside down anywhere in
the world and we look enough alike; I don’t need DNA evidence to show me that.”
“That’s true,” smirked Richard.
“But it's interesting that by sailing the oceans those early sailors moved the
brotherhood around the known world fairly quickly. Our genetic Eve existed
about one hundred and fifty thousand years ago or so. It is almost a hundred
thousand years between the genetic parents of everyone who is now alive.” While
speaking he glanced out the front window of their old white painted wood frame
house built for five thousand dollars by their grandfather in 1903. We sit
across from College Cemetery; he ruminated, half a block west of the corners of
Walnut and Knox. My eyes bridge the dead everyday just as they did when we were
kids using the cemetery as a playground whenever it was prudent.
“Men are faster than women,
that’s the difference in the hundred thousand years,” chuckled Rob. “You got
anything to read? Where’s your latest Harper’s?”
“I hid it before you got here.”
“I give you my poetry mags in
short order.” complained Rob. “By the way, what did you think of my latest
poem? You’ve had it for a week.”
“Hey, what’d you think of my
first chapter?” snapped Richard. “You’ve had it for almost a day now.”
Restless, Robert headed to the
refrigerator, “Where’s the high test Coke?"
“In the back on the right side
second shelf from the top.” Where it always is.
“Golf's on ESPN,” said Rob coming
into the room.
“You got it,” said Richard as he
pushed the remote.
“Where’s Lady?”
Richard spoke lazily in empathy
with their pet, “She’s sleeping on the living room couch. When Cyndi's gone
Lady heads for the couch. She can see the driveway and when Cyndi drives in,
off she goes.”
While watching a terrific putt by
Mark Wilson both snickered imperiously as the golfing crowd clapped
rewardingly. Robert asked again, “Where's Lady? Wake the old girl up for me.”
“Lady!”
shouted Richard, “Come here, girl!” A commercial later, Richard shouted again,
“Lady!” Still she slept. “She’s got junk in her ears again,” said Richard
brooding on how, Rob’s fox terrier named Jack is always obedient. He added,
"Cockers have ear problems.”
“So
do you,” parried Rob.
“Damn
dog,” grumbled Richard as he rolled out of the couch.
Robert
heard the growl then another “Damn!” He got up too late to see the comedy.
“What happened?” he asked impatiently waiting for an echo of humor.
“She
bit me on the hand. Look at this!”
“I
see the marks but she didn’t draw blood. You must have startled her, Dickie. He
looked down seeing Lady cowered under the coffee table. “Come on out, girl.
It’s okay,” coaxed Rob in a soft voice. Lady crept out with her ears down. My
Jack would never bite me, thought Rob. His slight smirk made it clear to
Richard what his brother was thinking.
Robert
pulled up Lady’s right ear. “You’re right. Look at the wax and crude in here.
Get some tweezers and swabs,” then he added, “and scissors, she’s got hair
tangles in there. I’ll clean this out.” Rob gently petted her, “It’ll be okay
girl. You are such a pretty Lady. Pretty Lady,” he continued, stroking the
venerable tan and white cocker spaniel until Richard arrived with the small box
of ear cleaning material.
The
aging cocker soon found herself with cleaned ears and quickly leaped up on Rob
for a wonderland of a belly scratch.
Richard hit the remote during the next commercial and caught the tail
end of a broadcast asking for donations."
“Everyone
wants a donation,” said Robert.
“I
agree,” responded Richard as he flipped the channel back to ESPN. “I'm tired of
all of it, charity, religion, politics - all of it."
Rob
added, “Our two dogs have a better life than either of us.”
“True,”
said Richard as he reached and stroked Lady, “but she cares for us as only a
mother might.”
Rob
responded on cue, “We have to take care of ourselves. Nothing's free.” He
groused, “It's a miracle our species has survived this long.”
That’s
true, considered Richard. The fifties and sixties, how did we survive that? No
one our age thought we would live to be thirty and here we are seventy this
year. “And, the world is worse now than it was then.”
“No,”
argued Robert, “it was worse with the arsenal the Soviets and Americans had
pointed at one another.”
“One
day some crazy group will explode a nuclear weapon somewhere in the remote
Pacific and then say they have another, that's all it would take, even if they
didn't have another.”
“Why
didn’t Truman do that?” said Robert. “Why couldn’t we have dropped the bomb
near Japan so the power would not be hidden from the general population?”
“War
is not humane,” commented Richard.
Robert
countered, “But it’s human enough.”
“War dogs take care of their
own,” noted Richard.
“War dogs hardly ever bite the
hand that feeds them,” snickered Robert.
“Remember
Rob," jibed Richard as he stuck his right forefinger in the air, "a
bone in the hand is worth more meat in the bush. Cheer up, things are bound to
get worse." Both laughed.
Grandma’s Story 2
Grandma traces Homo sapiens’
genetic Eve’s DNA through various shamans or storytellers because they
understand Merlyn's use of trancephysics, though not by that name. Trancephysics
is a vehicle Merlyn uses to slide his spirit through the heart of Captain
Lamar, the heart that is in reality the heart of Richard Greystone, the younger
brother of Robert.
One might consider trancephysics
a retro-quantum entanglement in modern times because a quantum meadow of
reality coupled with a heavy mist of Chaos theory presents a thin faery-like
wall of separation when both exist in a natural embrace or so it seems. Quantum
and Chaos theories graduated like everyone else living from the last century to
the present one where the Living exists. There are earlier time-tested
qualities of heart and soul and mind than the one Merlyn livingandead is
presenting. Sir Phillip Sydney, a tolerable Elizabethan poet from a few hundred
years back created a quiet two philosophical lines about it in his poem,
"Arcadia”.
My
truelove hath my heart, and I have his,
By
just exchange one for the other given:
Merlyn
deadanliving intuitively sides with the poet though he appreciates the modern
sciences. Anyone who has ever been deeply in love like Merlyn has experienced
nearly the same inwardly event as the poet Sir Phillip Sydney so eloquently
describes in those two lines above. One doesn't need a degree in physics to
understand how one’s humanity may snare one human being into the entanglement
of another. Merlyn feels however that his trancephysics is beyond the deepest
love’s qualities. This is Merlyn’s heartansoulanmind that slides annoyingly
within the human spirit of Richard Greystone.
Define
the human heart, the soul, and the human mind. Is the human heart and soul and
mind science or philosophy? What is the entanglement within a single human
spirit? How and why does it work? How do any two human spirits come to share an
intangible bond without being conscious of this experience as it happens? This
unconsciously connected ‘invisible bond’ is an undeniable human experience that
may remain forever wordless but nevertheless mutually understood between two
people who may rarely meet when living. This is how it is between Merlyn the seventh
century Bard and Richard Graystone.
Stranger
experiences than this happen within the broader human experience. People have
family stories hesitantly told because the stories are beyond belief. Below is
one of those stories, noted Grandma with the flashing wink of her darkly
piercing left eye. This story is told by a descendent of the cave man caught in
the ice in Merlyn’s first chapter installment.
The shaman, Panagiotakis, from
the ancient middle eastern region of the world once told his audience they
could be among the Stars and here on Earth at the same time. His favorite
grandchild, Glevema, asked the pertinent question, “How can this be,
Grandfather, that a person can be here on Earth and out among the Stars at the
same time?” Ironically enough, Glevema had to physically die before she could
more fully began to understand her grandfather’s earlier response to the only
real question she ever asked of him. After finding herself consciously both
deadanliving at the same time she discovered other heartsansoulsanminds at the
Place of the Dead.
Glevema soon realized these other
human-like spirits with heartsansoulsanminds appeared as she did deadanliving,
had been physically similar to human beings on Earth. One of the most
noticeable differences between her and the other women was the spiritualization
or manifestation, if you will, of a pouch in the lower belly. As Glevema was
the first of humankind to find a way to the Place of the Dead she was allowed
to stay, but once a few human spirits made their way to this Place she was
allowed to form an Earth oriented Place of the Dead. She and the few other
human spirits moved on, as it were across a divide that may have been miniscule
or huge. No one knew. 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. On Earth out of necessity of
physical survival each groveled with the other on how it is to behave in an
orderly way for the species to survive better, so that each generation might
grow better, behave better, learn more, and live more comfortably within the
framework of Earth’s nature, which they assumed was not that much different
from their own nature. That’s how it was in those early days in the Place of
the Dead.
A direct female descendant of the
drowned granddaughter, Glevema, traveled from what is now northern Italy to
Spain. This was about ten thousand years ago, and within the next thousand
years of generations, she had found herself on the British Isles with a trading
people from the Continent now called Basques. A few had settled on in lower
western Scotland. As the families grew, some moved on to Ireland. Others
drifted to Wales and England. More than five thousand years later, a shaman
appeared who had some tall tales centered on Mother Earth, the Sun, the Moon,
the Stars, and the Nature of human beings.
This particular shaman spent much
of his time walking the woods and daydreaming north of England’s Salisbury
Plain. The shaman dreamed a new story. He was five when he first had the dream
but when he awoke, it wasn’t there. The next night he dreamed the event again
and thought about it for the next fifteen years. The vision settled in on a
rebellion in the Place of the Dead. This is what he told the tribe:
“The cold, icy fingers of the
Dead feel their way back to our Mother Earth. The Dead do not have to go all
the way to the Stars in Heaven or even to the Moon. The Dead are within us.
He related this to others and said,
“If you cremate the Dead, their bones will be blackened like the night. They
will not have to see their bodies rotting and the animals won’t dig them up,
and the quicker they will be a part of Mother again, and best of all, they will
have no icy cold fingers reaching out to us the Living.” He continued, “You can
close the gate to burial place with stones. Stones don’t move so easily as the
spirits do.”
The stones never move themselves,
but some people claimed that they could sense the stone moving within, as if
something living was trapped in the stone. People have a spirit and so do
stones. Stones can appear dead on the outside but be living on the inside.
People can appear living on the outside and be dead on the inside. Stone and
people have that in common.
Grandma snickered. “Stones, a few of them, are like
bones,” she said, “line them up just right and they lie right in front of you,
that’s the truth of it.”
Grandma glanced beyond the gloomy
sky above. “I got me a chant, she added, to take us from a past to a future.
Grandma rushes from past to future, just like lovers young and old are about to
embrace.
From two venerable human hearts
created to sing
Return this story to where other
passions ring
The well-known druidess and druid
will do
In a similar spirit body that
dresses you.
Within a corridor where stirring
memories show
Vivien and Merlyn on Charon’s
ferry flow
This time when Grandma chants and
hums,
A marching future stage this way
drums.
Diplomatic Pouch 2
The
next morning Blake rambled down the stairs to find Pyl and Justin sitting at
the table with toast and a cup of coffee and the Cleveland Plain Dealer.
"Morning," he murmured. Glancing out the large back kitchen window
and added, "Looks like quite a few dog walkers out at the park."
"Joggers
were out earlier," commented Justin, and with the slightest of sarcasm he
continued, "Just another wonderful day in the neighborhood."
"Right."
Pym
put down the editorial page and said, "Are you really willing to sell the
plane?"
"The
offer is much more than its worth."
"Why
is that?" said Justin. "Pyl and I were talking about this
earlier."
Blake
walked to the cupboard for a mug, the refrigerator for skim milk, and the
pantry from instant cocoa mix. "The woman said, ‘tops at two hundred,’"
He quickly tore the package open and added "Odd that she brought up her
top price rather than low-balling. I will say that." He nuked the mixed
milk and powdered cocoa.
Pyl
commented, "Justin thinks the woman has a mixed Boston and Brooklyn accent.
I agree that it's unusual, maybe English is a second language."
Blake
laughed, "Or she's from down in the hills and worked to rid herself of
that hill twang. Business people don't like that slow Appalachian tone even if
the grammar is correct." He surprised himself by siding with the woman but
he hated the injustice that sometimes comes from not speaking correctly."
He sat facing the window in his chair at the kitchen table.
His
sister tweaked, "You've taken a liking to her sudden friendliness, huh,
Blakey."
Justin
quickly added, "Sell the plane and gain a businessman’s wife, is that the
plan, old man."
"Then
we'd have the plane back," joked Pyl; afterwards thinking that wouldn't be
a bad idea.
"Don't
you too have to go to work today?"
"We
took the day off."
"If
you stayed in Daddy's business like I did you wouldn't have to be going into
work at all," said Blake dryly, while hopefully wishing they would help
run the company. 'We live in the
family house together. We might as well all be working at the same place mostly
from here,' is what he wanted to say, but didn’t have the heart to.
Midmorning.
Ship hovers well above the air traffic and well below any orbiting satellites.
Lake Erie is straight down. Friendly sits around a handsomely dark p2wooded
table-from-the-floor with Hartolite and Yermey. They are drinking a
good-for-you yummy twistanshake and nibbling on p1green-forest-nuttleberry
treats. All three sit bare breasted in colorful boxershort loungers relaxed on
comfortchairs down so their clean bare feet with well trimmed toe nails are
firmly snuggled in the greenest plushest living blades of grass this side of
HomePlanetsThree. Ship's floor is a living piece of bio-diverse machinery from
his outer hull to his antigravobars pulse that allows these three perspicacious
marsupial humanoids to serve as Ship's heart, Ship's humanity heart, but not
Ship's mind which mostly is his own.
The
worst that can happen is Ship will run naked to HomePlanetsThree with for his
living bioheart crew attached. When it comes to fight-or-flight the marsupial
humanoids have always had some place to run for their own survival and safety.
They have not had to stand-an-fight event for over twenty thousand earth years.
Cultural social consciousness is the necessity that sees to that.
"Do
you think he'll take your offer?" asked the fit and ready-for-another-swim
Hartolite.
Yermey
stated, "I'm more interested in why Ship allowed the Cessna wingtip's
touch. Ship had to know the plane was close and he chose to do little about
it."
With
gazed eyes narrowing Captain Friendly commented, "Ship allowed a touch not
a collision. I too wonder about this. For now though we need to go with what
is. Unknowingly this woman named Pill has scientific evidence of our existence,
and there may be microscopic evidence attached the plane, traces of blackenot
tissue for instance. I think it would be easier to buy the plane and allow them
to make a healthy profit in the process. Besides, an electromagnetic anomaly
may have allowed the plane to tap Ship. Godofamily only knows stranger things
have happened in this galaxy.
"What
do we do?" questioned Hartolite. "Ship is autonomous as we came here
on our own orders, not from ParentsinCharge."
"We
came to save this species of primates from a most abominably deathly plague,"
whispered Friendly in an unconventionally commanding tone.
"We
cannot know this plague is for certain," calmed Yermey in an impish smile.
"It is highly probable though, highly probable." This he quietly reasoned
is because otherwise I would not have volunteered for this surreptitious
expedition.
3737 words
***
1623
hours. I am ready for a break but I think I can easily get chapter three
completed tonight.
Even though it will take more CD's let's
make one CD per chapter. It will be easier for your aunt and uncle. And, we
will have to find a way to simplify a marking code, as both are legally blind. Post.
- Amorella
After
supper, the last of the chicken soup, and the news and last night's
"Person of Interest" Carol is working on her email and you have time
to finish the audio draft of chapter three.
2020
hours. Yes, I have Grandma.3 and Pouch.3 to listen to and make corrections. I'm
sure there are more but each time I find fewer and fewer. Tomorrow we take a
break during late morning to see the film, Quartet, at AMC Westchester,
which until last month was the Rave Theatre. I assume it is a character study,
but we'll see. Lunch after. Craig and Alta will be here Tuesday for lunch. We are
excited to see them.
***
Chapter
Three © rho [audio draft]
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 chapter dream grows. Merlyn kneads his dreams for those with an
imagination that casts no shadow.
The Dead 3
The
livingandead Merlyn stepped onto the slab of non-granite where he stationed his
non-sitting stone, or throne, as he likes to call it; the esoteric mind-home he
created for the etherial domain of his earthly spirit.
In
HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither each spirit is allowed a private sanctuary of
herorhis own rightful choosing. This is the primary reason the
marsupial-humanoids chose to call this Place of the Dead, where Merlyn
eventually found himself after physical death, HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither.
The
Dead are not so empirical with the naming-of-things; at least one is no more
empirical than one's own heartansoulanmind is. The spirit, the humanity,
attempts to keep a balance of the once (while living) unconsciousness and
which, while dead, is consciousness. The human spirit decides and judges the
just worthiness of herorhis otherwise fragile and unearthly habitat. The
gravity, the passion by which one's self-worth and dignity holds the spiritual
track. One track is the recent unconscious mind made conscious after physical
death, and the other track is the conscious mind one had in life. This is what
the human spirit rides upon, at least this is the way, I, Merlyn the old
Scottish bard sees it.
Knowing
one's self never has a deeper meaning when deadanliving. Balancing one's real
self with who one was in life is not an easy matter. Many of the Dead,
marsupial humanoids or earthlings remain silent for a long time for good
reason; learning who one is before learning who the other Dead are. These are a
few of the rules that apply. The similarity with the Living, the real world is
that nothing is free. Each pays the Boatman, no matter who she and/or he
was in life.
To
the North of Merlyn's roughshod though comfortable wooden hut Merlyn sits on
his smoothed stone chair. This throne rests on a well-laid granite slab to the
immediate right of the large tall and stately oak. Merlyn glances north into
the spiritual configuration of a securely woven cloth-like matrix to better
dress the energetic and passionate cocoon of Merlyn's heartansoulanmind.
To
the northeast of his throne lie the moss-blotched two-foot high flagstone front
stage ruins on which he had first magically danced as a child. Around and
beyond the stage are a continuation of Scottish meadow grass and flowers.
Flower of color, a brush of bluebells and ox eyed white daisies to the left and
a caress of white foxglove and red poppies to the stage ruin's right. To the
further north a large stand of Scottish Pine grows grandly tall on a higher
rising sloop.
On
Merlyn's nearer right as he views north is a great bald granite dome. Skirting
the granite mountain is a fence of purple heather. Watching the yellow sunrise
over such a large and handsome dome of graveyard created stone is a continual
reminder to Merlyn of how close in thought the physical universe lies. Merlyn
thinks, 'this was once an unscalable scene by human and marsupial humanoid
alike.'
The
southern aspect of Merlyn's domain lies in a valley of thick oak forest
scattered with hazel bushes and stands of birch. Further into southwest of
Merlyn's druidic domain are two wild apple trees with red melancholy thistles
scattered about, both a delight to Merlyn’s heart and mind.
To
the West not far from the hut and nearby granite slab on which Merlyn sits, he
can see the slowly moving river slightly camouflaged by well-leafed young trees
and bushes. Merlyn has one-man tanned leather and stick framed Celtic boat, a
curragh, resting on the bank. On the other side of the fishable stream tall and
more majestic oak stand.
Quite
satisfied with his ancient earthy projected surroundings, Merlyn glanced up
beyond the blue and sun to see the faint outline of his basic chess-squared
spirit threaded his imagination and reasoning. It is here where Merlyn flashed
on the reality of his entangled presence in the heartansoulanmind of present
day Richard Greystone.
Glancing
down at the seeming reality of the stage ruins, Merlyn snickered slightly and
thought of the Boatman who ultimately held his holistic awareness of
metaphysics and physics at bay. He grumbled, "My life will continue in
chapters." An astute Voice breathed into Merlyn's ghostly ear, "You
pay the Boatman just like everyone else, boy. No exceptions."
With
that a fellow spirit appeared in his staged ruins. "Hello, Merlyn,"
said this human spirit who was once raised ancient Greek, "this is Sophia
your friend and leader of the First Rebellion of the Dead."
Sophia
begins to walk towards Merlyn and stubs her right big toe on a stone nearly buried in the meadow
grass. She bends down to see what it is, and puzzled, she picks up a black
marble ball from beneath the rotted board side of the stage ruin.
Surprised
at this uncalled-for scene Merlyn noted, ‘Sophia just stumbled onto that mother
of an 8 ball in my mind.’ In a second thought he concludes, ‘No need of mirrors
in this Place of the Dead, no need at all.’
The Brothers 3
The
next day Richard walked up the steps and down the hall to Robert’s present
study.
“This
room is like our old club house as kids. No women allowed,” announced Richard.
Both
laughed, and Robert added, “And to think, we both had girls.”
“Just
as well,” responded his brother.
“I
got rid of the ragged flowers on Mom and Dad’s graves this morning?”
Robert
replied, “I'll tell Connie as Memorial Day is coming up.”
“I
still like walking Lady through the cemetery in the morning.”
“Just
like Papa used to do,” chuckled Robert. “And, Dad too. I sometimes walk Jack
down to the cemetery but we usually go to the park and along the river below
the cemetery instead."
Smiling
with restored energy Richard sat across from his father's old work desk. “We
used to explored the cemetery, its mausoleum and the river valley as kids.”
“Fun
times,” declared Robert.
“You
know," asserted Richard, "People still say it's haunted on the west
side of the Mausoleum where the old trail leads to the woods down the hill.”
Robert
sighed, “Dad never said, but Mom thought it was haunted too. It was an old
story about seeing people walking who weren’t there. I have a poem about it
somewhere."
"Published?"
"It was, some years ago in
our own Riverton Historical Society bulletin," responded Robert.
"Mom always believed in
ghosts but Dad never did."
In a sadder than expected tone,
Richard said, "I don't think Dad ever believed in anything."
"Not in our lifetime anyway.
What are the girls up to?"
"They are getting ready to
go shopping."
"Why did I even ask?"
moaned Robert.
"I got the car if you want
to head over to the used book store."
Perked, he asked, "The one
that used to be a church?"
"Why not, we haven't been
over there for a while."
"You know I'm looking for an
old copy of Ferlinghetti’s "Coney Island of the Mind".
"When Cyndi and I were in
Frisco last year we stopped at Ferlinghetti’s City Lights bookstore. They had a
republication of his classic Coney Island of the Mind."
Robert comment ranked with
caustic tone, "I used to have a signed first edition, but I can't find
it.”
"Julie probably borrowed it
to show her classes. Her favorite Ferlinghetti’s "Coney Island of the Mind
# 5", is my favorite too."
"I can't believe she has a
popular unit on fifties Beat poetry," Robert paused, "she didn't have
to take my signed copy though."
"Maybe she didn’t. Give her
a call. Do you want to go to books or not?"
Robert mumbled, "Old books
are one of the few things we have in common these days. Let's go."
A few minutes later the house was
quieter by two and Connie and Cyndi were still sitting at the kitchen table
drinking tea with an opened recent House and Garden and a like themed iPad app
or two.
"It
is hard to believe the boys just turned seventy," whispered Cyndi.
"We're
not far behind."
"They
been going to that used bookstore for at least forty years."
"Was
it ever a church in our lifetime?"
"I
imagine it was. That’s the closest place the boys will go to a church setting.
They always seem to come back with an old book or two."
"Julie
usually borrows the poetry to show her classes."
Connie,
still whispering, commented, "Robbie always wanted Julie to go into
medicine, to be a surgeon like himself."
"You
wanted her to be a cardiovascular nurse like we are."
"She
didn't want either so we directed her into case management nursing and she
didn't want that either."
"Julie
always wanted to be a teacher like Richard."
"Does
she still call him Uncle Dickie?" giggled Cyndi.
"That
was always Robbie's doing." Both laughed.
"What
kind of countertop do you really want?"
Exasperated,
Cyndi stated, "Richard says he doesn't care. He says that, but whatever we
end up with he won't like it."
"They
are both stubborn and single-minded. We knew that when we married them. Both
hide themselves in each other -- personality quirk of identicals, I
suppose."
“How
in the world did we ever decide who was going to marry whom?”
“I
think we flipped for it,” said Cyndi. Both laughed independently, one never
knew who was going to stop first. This is one of the small differences in being
close sisters and not being identical twins like Robert and Richard. At least
this is what they always believed to be true, the two sisters were never quite
as fully in tune with each other as the boys were.
Grandma’s Story 3
A young woman by the name of
Qwinta stands staring at a multi-shaded orange maple leaf. The orange hue is the
complex of the photosynthesis of carbohydrates using the energy of sunlight.
Qwinta is within sight of a body of water that some eight thousand years from
her time on Earth will be identified as Lake Champlain in the supposedly united
state of Vermont.
Eight
thousand years ago Qwinta imagines the orange hue of the beautiful autumn maple
leaf to be that of the ghostly kneeling Princess, a royal canoeist in an
artfully decorated regal dugout. To touch this enchanting maple leaf Princess
Qwinta more earnestly imagines . . .
.
. . The maple wood paddle the Princess is using and I, the Quinta, become as
one-in-mind . . . I am the paddle’s head, its grip. I am the head; the
shaft-and-blade become two . . .
. . . The royal hand on the grip, my
head, becomes one with the drop and swirl movement of the paddle through the
water. When the paddle is lifted from the water, a ripple ensues. The ripple is
a wave with a reflected orange in the Maple leaf . . .
.
. . The very spirit of the one
whose hand dips like a paddle into the River of the Dead also lifts up and
leaves a ripple as it passes from one side of the profound and ethereal current
to the other side. The swirling spirit, the sculling spirit also manifests
itself into the maple tree reflected water is swirled into this lone maple leaf
as the paddle rises . . .
.
. . I, Qwinta, a Princess spirit and mind, am the causal connection between the
Living and the Dead just as the maple tree, paddle and canoe, are the one; the
only causal connection between the sun, the color and this fallen maple leaf.
Grandma all wonderfully black,
full bosomed, and full hipped, is colorfully costumed in Caribbean Island dress
sashays around, and she says, “There isn’t a reason on this Earth for people to
be touched by Perfection. Since I dance in the physical sciences of the
universe, I don’t see any reason to be touched. Matter and the spirit each have
their own interests.”
Grandma matter sometimes settles
in earthquakes as a reminder of what she is when there is an immediate
connection with the Living and the Dead. Get in Grandma's way and pay. That is
a rule. Human species, be they marsupial or primate, have the imagination and
the reason to do good if they wish, but it is a human equation. I operate by
Necessity and you have the necessity to operate.
Grandma
beamed and redressed in dark-bottomed clouds with sunlight and she rained big
drops, “Physics has a framework and the interior of human and marsupial skulls
will shine quite nicely within it."
Muddy waters may run full and fast
And show a future from this
woman's past,
This story of light leafs from
orange and sun
Allowed by Nature's
photosynthesized mask.
Thus from old Grandma’s waves of
rain and maple leaf
another imagination might spring.
Diplomatic Pouch 3
After
the three had a lunch of ham and cheese sandwiches with a side of chips Pyl
took leave to check the yard for sticks blown from trees, as it is another
pleasant Cleveland day in January. "How is the company, Blake?" asked
Justin as they headed to the comfortable couch and two high back chairs in the
Bose media room. Once Blake adjusted the smooth jazz to play in the background
and they were comfortably relaxed. Blake talked as the CEO of Electronic Communication
Software.
"You
know Dad and an electrical engineer friend started in a small empty office
space that had been a used book store downtown near Fenn College."
Justin
smiled, "Who would have thought Fenn College would become Cleveland
State."
"Dad
took some classes there in the early sixties but moved to Case Western-Reserve.
We've lived in this area for fifty years. Pyl and I grew up in the three-story
off West Fairmount in Cleveland Heights."
"Pyl
asks me to drive by every time we come up. I love that big screened side
porch."
"Dad
had it screened. He reconditioned the old electric motors himself. We used it
full time most of the summer. Anyway, in the late seventies he thought about
putting chips into the radar detector business following the tenets of Cincinnati
Microwave, but he moved more
heavily into software and built the electronics around it.”
Justin
shook his head positively and both sat chilling on a George Benson's guitar
piece.
Pyl
strolled in from the back yard. "I love that big old sugar maple, look,
it’s January and I found a beautiful orange leaf down in the bushes." She
gave it to Justin and sat down beside him.
"I'm
thinking about getting that maple cut down, Pyl, it's getting old; and, it’s
the highest tree out back. If we get a terrible wind it could fall on the house,"
said Blake too perfectly serious.
Justin
glanced at the rising anger in Pyl’s face and turned up the Walter Beasley sax
rendition of "Do You Wanna Dance," as he took a slow sip of his Coke
thinking on how Blake throws the bait and Pyl almost always picks it up. It's no wonder we don't live this close
to home, he thought.
On
Ship, after a shared communial lunch the three continued sharing. Hartolite
whispered, “Do you need a little more action, Yermey? She noted his typically
quiet smile as his right hand slowly slid into her silky smooth warm pouch. She
sighed in the companionship.
His
words stumbled, "It's been five years since I've this dressed this far
down." Probably be five more years after this little meetanmatch, he
thought. Whenever the women have big decisions to make a hot itch comes over
them and there is not a man alive who can satisfy it. My right hand rests in
dreamland. Such is a male’s only real pleasure.
Friendly
leaned up from his stomach and giggled, "It's been ten years if it's been
a day since we’ve seen you in this position." Hartolite echoed the
snicker.
Yermey
unslid his hand-in-pouch and abruptly sat and climbed out of bedfromthewall. He
grumbled as he walked to the wall, pulled out fresh overalls from the chute and
one at a time he lazily dropped his legs into them, pulled them up and felt the
cloth quickly adjusted to his size and unwrinkled. A general distain arose from
his mind, 'the women pop us in those pouches when we are tiny crawlers and
never let us go. We men grow up expected to put a hand in a pouch at soon we
see a woman's seductive glance. Alas, when little crawlers we cannot survive
without a crawl-shinny into a pouch. His heart murmured, ‘Such is biological
fate.’ Yermey turned to the bedfromthewall; His soul adjusted with, ‘the women
are gone and without even a polite word of thanks. It is just as well.’ He
gathered his three positions and conferenced them for deeper introspection
later.
In
such a moment Yermey turned too moody philosophizing on the ancient marsupial
humanoid children’s stories. I don’t believe the myths of our clergy, he
thought - ancient fableizing hint at untellable truths. There is a close
connection between our two species’ Concept-of-Godofamily; such as our Fall-from-Grace
before creation of the galaxy. These HighPrimates have their similar story.
Yermey
thought, Friendly is always upbeat and positive. I would never move her to
gloom. Hartolite is one good handsome cuddlanbabe. When I imagine resting my
hand in her pouch almost every night I go right to sleep. Imagination is so
much easier than the complications of inanout experience. We would just as soon
do our life’s series of services-for-the-species: imagining more comfortable
educational and entertaining settings for our-family-of-selves and the safest,
most efficient and easily manipulative devices possible to obtain and sustain
our species’ goals for living full consciously, humanely and well for
ourselves, our immediate families-in-time and our ThreePlanetCommunity.
Meanwhile,
Hartolite and Friendly had come to a mutual conclusion. Captain Friendly softly
declared, “We buy the Williams’ plane tomorrow or leave them four hundred
thousand and take it. I want done with this. Then we must create the best, most
efficiently way to directly contact this HighPrimate species. The shock will do
them well," concluded Friendly, but Hartolite’s facial expression made
Friendly quickly ask, “Hartolite, is it ‘do them well’ or ‘do them good’”?
***
2101
hours. I feel good that three chapters are better clarified. I am still not
sure about using the names of real universities. I don't believe I did in the
first three books. I need to resolve this before making CD's.
If the college or university becomes an
intricate part of the plot of a section, create the name. If it is a part of
the setting only, don't worry about it. - Amorella
That sounds good, Amorella. Thank you.
Small matters and consistencies and
inconsistencies will have to be dealt with after the book chapters are
completed. Carol is coming up to read. Take a break. If you like we can begin
work on Dead 14. Post. - Amorella
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