Late morning. You are sitting in the shade; facing
southeast overlooking a Muddy Creek branch in the far north parking lot at Pine
Hill Lakes Park while Carol is doing her walk. You talked to Amy about next
weekend and set the DVR for some children's shows this week as Kim and the boys
will be down Monday and into Friday of next week. You are concerned about
missing the reunion picnic this week but don't feel you can afford to go this
year. - Amorella
I think I would be uncomfortable as we
have stuff to do today and throughout the week. I do try to make it to the bi-monthly
suppers. Part of the problem is standing and/or sitting for that length of time
with my arthritis acting up as it has. Carol and I talked about going to a
well-known outdoor historical play in northeast Ohio with her sister Linda next
month and it is the same problem, uncomfortable seating. She may go but I will
not. It was bad enough when we were waiting at Kim's and I had a collapsible (card
table) chair to sit on. My bones ached (an expression) for a couple of days
after. This is all overridden by my preoccupation with being both honest and
polite at the same time. This alone makes me uncomfortable. I am tired now and
I haven't done my exercises yet, nor have I read the Sunday paper for that
matter. I don't like to have Carol come over to the park by herself. She has
her phone as I do my own, but again, I am more comfortable waiting here. I
enjoy the scenery, especially sitting in the shade.
Why did you write "an expression"
in after your "bones ached"? - Amorella
I wrote "an expression" because
bones themselves don't ache. Here comes Carol. (1047)
Surprise, surprise. You had a Father's Day
lunch at Outback, Carol had fire-cooked salmon and you the six-ounce sirloin,
both with sides and you shared a salad and dessert. Then you came home and
worked in the yard and you are doubly relaxed because Carol has the new car and
a few other major items for the year already budgeted and taken care of. -
Amorella
Carol is something else indeed. It is
the same each year but we have some major items. The thing is with the car back
in 2005 when we bought the last Accord she began her savings for a new one in
ten years. She even still wants to look at the new Avalon, another surprise
(along with the Accord also). With gas prices currently at $3.99 a gallon she
has not given up on the hybrid. Cool beans, as sister Cathy used to say in her
much younger days. Time to get this three-chapter business prepped. (1434)
****** ******
Readers may download and
read for free for now, but once the books are published this will be illegal. -
Amorella
Note: Some discrepancies below may not be
presently correctable on this posting. Sorry. - rho
Summaries
are at the conclusion of the final chapter.
Great Merlyn's Ghost, Vol. I (16.17.18)
© 2001-2013 Richard H. Orndorff
Chapter Sixteen
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 16
Merlyn sat comfortably on the green meadow grass
under his favorite Oak in his sanctuary. The Scottish bluebells were in his
left in his peripheral vision and the stone stage ruins, north, directly ahead,
the white daisies beyond and the white foxglove and red poppy at his right
peripheral. This is a very pleasant day in my home of homes, the once great
druid thought. The grass is green as is the felt on billiard table in my mind.
I am the solid yellow in this thought and I am sitting next to the larger cue
ball in the center table. This is a reflection on ancient Elysium and its
rules. I still hear the Supervisor in
a voice hardly a whisper. HeranHis Being is shout enough. This is what he once
said to me, and only a whisper once is what needed be.
"This
is the Supervisor. Elysium, the
ancient Greek Place of the Dead, works on what is presently known in science.
The connection between the Dead and the Living is in the mind’s perception. The
Living help cultivate the Dead through their self-learning and through
expanding the dimensions of human experience.
Everyone contributes through self-education, what one learns in and from
life is taken with the Dead. The human mind, if you will, serves as a
serendipitous taxi service. The Dead, of course, are out of time; therefore
have a more easily develop theory, which they inversely pass on to the Living.
The River Styx is the conduit, for whatever the river is in actuality, it is a
Form that carries a current of new ideas and concepts both to the Living from
the Dead and from the Dead to the Living.
The Dead understand
the air of Elysium is as their genetic Eve Mother’s eyes. She is at the heart
of the heartsansoulsanminds of the elected ten thousand. Orders are few and far
between, but when deeply heartfelt by Mother commands are intuitively
understood. Most children of all ages understand this process, though it is
more easily communicated among the Dead.
All
Eve’s children recognize a truth when they feel it from the inside out. Feeling
is not declaring however, and in here, true translation from one sense to
another is not so easily accomplished no matter how heartfelt the feeling may
be.
To
absolve a few questions between the two social terms, the elite and the
proletariat, for instance, I’ll say each individual is judged equally, but how
the person lived is, in part, up to how the person chose to live her-or-his
common life under the circumstances she-or-he lived. Souls built for humanities
protection are similarly constructed. Hearts and minds are also distinct
qualities.
The
only roost an individual controls is herorhis own. This sharpens the sense of
Free Will. The Dead have no fear of other people. Among the Dead,
Marsupialese-humanoid or Homo sapiens, exists the nature to grow, to mature
within the individual heart and mind and the grandness of the species as a
whole. This is a necessity not a rule.
While
I, the Supervisor, am observing an
individual heartansoulanmind, herorhis soul experiences the fact of being
observed. This experience may cause a teeter-totter of heart and mind in the
deepest of once unconscious levels within the individual who is living only
through herorhis heartansoulanmind, or if you will, through herorhis human
spirit. This is how it is.
This
experience, in a mixed play with Free Will, may result in subtle changes in
one's sense of personal contemplation. Free Will, however, is not affected by
these possible subtle changes. Contemplation is one thing; human attitudes and
behaviors are another.
The
general cultural virtues and vices of your species are simplified and separated
into various qualities which are noted in an alphabetical order: Abstinence,
Avarice, Chastity, Diligence, Envy, Gluttony, Humility, Kindness, Liberality,
Lust, Patience, Pride, Sloth and Wrath.
The
Marsupial humanoids and the Homo sapiens and other species with like spiritual
attributes are not to be toyed with. I wish all naturally gifted species such
as yours well, as well you understand.
"I
do understand," said Merlyn as if he were speaking to a Presence that may
or may not be. I am watched and even read, thought Merlyn. By whom I am not
sure. I am not even half an ounce in weight. I could be sucked in and out of a
living lung and never know the difference. Being itself is beyond definition.
Yet I am, I exist.
***
The Brothers 16
The brothers pulled up beside
to the neatly white clapboarded and brown-trimmed Once-a-Church Book Store,
climbed out of Richard's red GTI and walked over to the austere entrance below
the copper clad roof of the bell tower. Once inside they made their way between
mazes of mostly neat book filled rows and intermixes of interesting cubbyholes
and wall fixtures to the back of the first floor.
Coming up the back corner they
spotted two dark green overstuffed chairs midst a chaos of book cover colors
which gave the simple framed backdrop walls the appearance of large abstract
art forms stacked in various sized three-dimensional rectangular blocks of
color. The two sat down haphazardly into the puffed chairs before perusing
through nearby book sections then to the second floor and returning to the
corner area on their own. Richard arrived first.
While other customers bustled
about Richard grumbled to himself, "Other than my kindly Marsupial
humanoids helping us out, God’s promise to Sarah and Abraham is the only hope I
can come up."
He sat a few more minutes then
spied a Hebrew Bible in English on the nearby table and thumbed through Genesis
until he found Chapter 22:15 which reads, “And the angel of
the LORD called unto Abraham a second time out of heaven, (16) and said: 'By
Myself have I sworn, saith the LORD, because thou hast done this thing, and
hast not withheld thy son, thine only son, (17) that in blessing I will bless
thee, and in multiplying I will multiply thy seed as the stars of the heaven,
and as the sand which is upon the seashore; and thy seed shall possess the gate
of his enemies; (18) and in thy seed shall all the nations of the earth be
blessed; because thou hast hearkened to My voice.'” All nations, thought Richard,
this is pretty inclusive, but how do I keep the
religion out of it?
Robert
came over from the nearby bookstand, “What did you find?” he asked.
“I
found an old Hebrew-English Bible on the table, a 1917 edition, and I have the
reference of God’s promise to Abraham in Genesis.”
"Don't
bring in any miracles," commented Robert, "the book is fiction enough
as it is. What do you think human beings would human beings do knowing they had
help from God?"
"Then
I'll have to leave it to my marsupials," said Richard, who then paused and
continued, "I agree wholeheartedly. I have to leave God out of this; no
religion," he thought, "and no politics."
"It
is only reasonable," continued Robert, "you bring in God and Free
Will disappears. You can't have both in the same operating room. He showed his
brother a book, "I found this 1930's edition of Ezra Pound's works, I'm
going to get it."
Richard
responded, "I can't leave politics out. Surely the rebellions were both
political."
"There's
politics in King Arthur's Court too. So, you're stuck with politics, noted
Robert, "And, what about the Druids and the Christians? You can't go
deleting their religions either." He glanced at his poetry book,
"This is $9.95, not bad. I thought your Marsupials have a religion
also."
"Mom
always said to stay away from religion and politics."
"You're
stuck, my man. Are you going to get the book? I'm ready to go."
"Might
as well." He pushed himself up. "Old Bibles are rather classy in any
case."
"Some
are worth a penny or two," remarked Robert.
They
paid for the books and to the car heading silently back to Riverton. "What
are you going to do about the religion and politics?"
"I
don't know. I don't want this to become like the Left Behind series."
"What
about Earth Abides and I Am Legend?"
"Well,
see, it's been done. You've got The Stand and The Plague.
And, in my original Braided Dreams I had a twin Earth almost
wiped out. The apocalypse has been done to death."
They
rode in the mutual appreciation of silence and upon pulling in the driveway
Cyndi came out the side door, waited for Richard to lower the window and said,
"I'm going to pick up Connie. Rob do you want a ride?" He responded
affirmatively then said, "Dickie has a problem related to religion and
politics in his book, what do you think he ought to do?"
He
was hardly out the door when Cyndi replied, "Ignore them both. That's what
most people do today anyway. People are too busy to put up with the crazies in
either one."
"There
you go, bro. Listen to your woman. Avoid both like they were a plague."
Shortly
Richard was left in silence. Bible in hand he decided to sit on the front porch
in the sunshine before going in the house.
***
Grandma’s Story 16
Queen Saraid, King Conaire II
and young Prince Corbred were walking along a forest path, happy to be alone
for a change, when the king saw a strange mushroom on the right side of the
path. It was ivory with brown spokes like those of a Roman chariot, the spokes
of our enemy. “What is this?” he asked.
“Shall I pull it for a
snack?” replied the queen.
“No, no. This may be an
omen.” The king glanced up. “Where is Corbred?”
“Oh, he is fine. I saw him
walk on ahead, but he will not go far without me.”
King Conaire II stood with a
slight concern and scrutinized the trail. “I don’t see him.”
“That little boy,” critiqued
Saraid. “He has never run off before. He is usually tugging on my dress.”
Meanwhile little Corbred was
on a trail of his own. I’m not afraid of anything, thought Corbred to himself.
The fox is a menace and I will chase him until he tires and bring him home by
his tail. Everyone will see how marvelous I am.
Corbred’s eyes focused on the tail end of the fox.
The boy did not realize it was an animal path not a people path.
“The boy’s your
responsibility,” noted the king in his clearly royal voice.
“Yes, m’lord,” replied the
queen with no further comment.
"The mushroom was a bad
omen. I think the Faeries are behind this, said the King nervously thinking of
Faeries as they are in the real world.
“What can we do?” asked Queen
Saraid. “Will the Faeries want to bargain for our son?” Or worse, she wondered,
steal his soul?
Corbred heard a great horned
owl hoot once near the top of the old tree. “Who,” said the owl.
Corbred, not sure what he had
heard answered, “Prince Corbred”
“Who,” replied the owl.
“I am Corbred, and I want my
mother.”
The old owl didn’t like the
annoying and screeching sounds of the boy and he flew off.
Exhausted from the hunt the
boy lay on the worn animal trail and into a deep sleep. He had a dream encased
in sharp teeth. Here is little lost Corbred’s dream:
“Hello, little
boy, this is your Grandmother. What sharp front teeth you have. I will have one
of those.” She reached in his mouth and pulled it out.
When Corbred awoke his left
front tooth was missing.
Suddenly in late mid-morning
he heard his mother’s voice and turned towards her in a run. “Corbred!” she
exclaimed, “I knew I would find you.”
“I was hunting a fox, Mother,
See, there is its den.”
“How
did you know to find me here?”
“This
was the only animal trail we hadn’t yet search.”
“I
didn’t notice,” he said, “I kept my eyes on the red tail because I knew the
fox’s head was at the other end.”
“You
sound just like your uncle,” laughed his mother. “What happened to your tooth?”
she asked. “I didn’t know it was loose.”
“Grandmother
came by in the night and took it out.”
“Grandmother?
Your grandmothers are dead, Corbred. You know that.”
“Well
someone took it,” he said indigently.
She
sighed then she politely said, “He’ll say a faery took your tooth.”
Suddenly
Corbred turned white as a sheet. “Faeries take your soul, not your teeth,” he
replied. “I never thought of the faeries in my dream. I thought of
Grandmother.”
“Don’t
bother with it, son,” she said, “It’s just old men’s talk.”
“What’s
the matter, Corbred?” said the queen. "See, the main trail is right over
here.”
“My
front tooth left an opening in my mouth, Mother, and it is making me faery
afraid.”
She
laughed softly and motherly, “Don’t worry, you are safe.”
Corbred
thought to keep his mouth shut so no one could see the gap in his teeth. People
might mind the Faerie's gap. Immediately he thought, A lost tooth is better than a lost soul.
That is what got him to
thinking, putting tooth and soul together in the same sentence. He was never
the same boy after. As he matured he became known as Corbred the Silent.
Deep
in Corbred's mind a mushroom-thought had grown from my soul resides in the gap
between my teeth to my soul has drilled between my mind and skull bone. If I
speak my soul will fly from my head to freedom.
Grandma
chuckled and slid like a soul sliding between the toes of her nearest reader.
She nestles there still, between the billions of toes whenever they touch the
bare earth.
***
Diplomatic Pouch 16
Arriving
at the room a little late Justine and Hartolite are already seated and
semi-relaxed but Justin suddenly focused at the figurine sitting on the drink
stand to Hartolite's right. He asked, "What is that on the table?"
"The
finger-cup-with-a-top? It is filled with sacred water from home."
"It
looks empty. I thought it was a vase to put a single flower in, except it is
not quite tall enough."
She
smiled contentedly, "When I am homesick I put it in my pouch when I go to
sleep. It is comforting."
"Pardon?"
"I
put it in my pouch for comfort. She picked it up and quickly handed it to
him."
He
took it with self-consciousness, "It's soft. I thought it was glass."
A nasty thought hit and he tried to dismiss it. His cheeks reddened.
Hartolite
showed an immediate concern, "Are you embarrassed? I'm sorry if I
embarrassed you. What is embarrassing? I mean, if I may ask. I will try to
rectify it."
"No,
no." He looked for a place to put the object. "I'll set it down
here." He was in the process of putting the relic down and observed
Hartolite about to stand.
Hartolite
quickly stood and reached for it like he was about to spill the contents and
said, "I'll take it."
Justin
clumsily re-sat. "I'm sorry. I was afraid I might break it. Do you call it
a relic or a sacred object?"
She
looked puzzled after setting the object where it was. "We call it
"the finger-cup-with-a-top".
"But
you mentioned the sacred water?"
"Sacred
means something we care about."
"Sacred
mean Holy or Blessed."
"I'm
sorry. Your language is understood but the meanings are arbitrary. Why would
you bless water? And, doesn't holy mean sanctified or religious? How can water
be sanctified when it is a natural substance?"
Justin
broadened a smile near laughter, "We sanctify it. A priest or a rabbi
sanctifies it with holy rites."
"That
doesn't seem the orthodox thing to do with water. It is already in natural
existence. It seems you are trying to make it into something that it is not. No
offence intended, Mr. Justin."
"Call
me Justin, Hartolite."
"That
would be rude. It would be impolite for us foreigners to be presumptuous.
Earthlings are all titled that's what we are taught."
"We
are more equal than titled, that's what we believe, that is what are laws
say."
"Saying
and being are two different things."
"See,"
brightened Justin, "We agree on that."
"I
am happy that you consider us equal. May I ask you an equal question?"
"Is
having sex fun?"
"Do
you mean foreplay or intercourse?"
Hartolite
laughed as casually as he had ever yet seen her, "No, I meant 'Isn't sex
fun?'"
Justin
laughed at the thought but was immediately anxious, which under the
circumstances made him even more anxious. He finally and quietly said,
"Our species thinks so, but, uh, affairs are not looked highly upon in our
culture."
"Then
why are there so many?"
"I
don't know." What about your culture? Our social rules are complicated.
How do you dispense justice?"
"That's
an easy question. We have three judges then after the hearing the pronounce the
person not guilty or guilty."
"No
jury?"
"Why
would you want to complicate the justice?"
"It
is like your supreme court only it is an equal court," said Hartolite
matter-of-factly. Then a quick change of subject, "Since we are equal
would you like to see my pouch?"
"Isn't
that a bit intimate?"
"No.
We women are built to share our pouches." She stood and dropped her outer
pants slowly. "See, here it is." I would never show my pouch to a
primate at home. He might attack me."
Justin
stood politely and curiosity took charge. He became medical doctor-like,
"There is a brownish ridge like an old scar."
"You
can touch it."
He
did. "It is rubbery."
You
can put your hand in if you like. Our men always put their hand in the pouch
whenever they can. Usually when we are alone in the apartment as we are
now."
"It
is soft and slightly moist. My goodness. This is very calming, very pleasurable
- I feel like I have just been given a full body massage."
"That's
why the men like it. It is the same for us women too. When I put my hand in my
pouch or in Friendly's pouch we become very relaxed, like we were crawlbabes in a sleep."
Justin
slowly pulled his right hand out and politely stepped back while she adjusted
her outer pants. "I don't know what to say."
"Neither
do our men. Isn't that funny?"
Both
laughed together and more intimately than before. Hartolite was sure this was a
good sign that the two species were indeed equal just as Justin had said.
***
Chapter Seventeen
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 17
The
observer changes what is observed, thought Merlyn as sat facing south toward
the meadow of ragged robin and white foxglove from the stage ruins in his
sanctuary. He groused, "I am watched and even read." How does this
entanglement in spirit change me?
I
can only read my own mind through it as a measuring device. I measure the human
heart through my own first, and I measure my soul through my intuition of the
conditional aspects of what others and myself consider the soul to be. These
are as rays of light filtered through a deepened, dark-bottomed water-like
consciousness, which rises or sinks as an alter ego, a presence of my own
making forever without a mirrored reflection.
This
presence is also an observer but separate and unlike myself -- a parallel and
unequal self -- a natural doppelganger of spirit, this is the non-shadowed
presence. This is a sensory experience, a human experience, be the spirit
encased in living matter or no. Nothing is observed; however, the lingering
awareness of 'a separate being' in heartansoulanmind exists nevertheless.
Merlyn
fell into a memory of Plutarch, whom he met at the Academy of Athens when
Plutarch was in a parallel and entangled memory. Plutarch was stand with his
friend Senecio and their discussion was on how long consciousness would last
after death.
"Excuse
me," uttered Merlyn, "Did I overhear that one of you is Plutarch of
Chaeronea, the once senior priest at Delphi?"
"I
am," commented the Greek on the right. "And you are?"
"Merlyn,
a man interested in the arts, living some six hundred years after yourself and
your friend, Senecio, I presume."
"Yes,
I am," responded Senecio somewhat interested, "And you are which
Merlyn?"
"Merlyn,
a Scottish bard of the seventh century."
"I
know of you Merlyn," noted Plutarch. "You are interested in
Pythia."
"And,
yourself," divulged Merlyn. "I see we are engaged through channeled
memories."
"Astute
of you."
"I
would like to meet Pythia."
Plutarch
smiled confidently, "Why, Merlyn?"
Merlyn
spoke distinctly and clearly, "Pythia in a tranced mind."
In
a manner echoing Merlyn's, Plutarch asserted, "We two have a similar
interest at heart."
"Dead,
does she still make pronouncements?"
"An
oracle needs not Delphi or any other place. Besides, what is more sacred than
Elysium?"
Merlyn
observed Senecio smiling then nodding politely before fading like worn colors
in a rainbow and an old thought wandered into sight, 'perhaps Avalon is more
sacred than Elysium'.
"Senecio
and I will talk later, Merlyn."
Merlyn
turned to his left to see an attending fair and vibrant female physique
personify from air. I am reminded of the sword thrust only this graceful fresh
hand grasps the blade and pull rather than push from the hilt.
"Xaire,
Pythia, how kind of you to join us," commented the now world-weary
Plutarch in the land of the ancient Greek Dead.
She
appears Celtic rather than Greek, thought Merlyn. Coal black hair falling near,
parsing her wide-open green eyes slanting his direction as thin theatre
curtains. 'What a wonderfully well looking woman you were in life' flew into
his mind as he bowed slightly and said, "I am Merlyn, a sage of Caledonia,
old Scotland."
"I
know your name," commented Pythia.
"Yet
I am not yet born to physically die and move on."
She
noted, "Yet here you are, and we three talk together as though we three
are livingandead at once."
"We
speak through our heartsanminds," recited Merlyn confidently, "not
our souls as you think."
"The
soul is first," disciplined Plutarch, "our souls gathered for this
meeting."
"Souls
do not display purpose," revealed Merlyn unapologetically. He asked,
"I cannot foresee the future and am looking for a clue as to how the
Second Rebellion will help or hinder the future Living?"
While
seemingly speaking from her soul, Pythia remarked, "I see your many eyes,
Merlyn."
Merlyn's
hand rose gently and he touched her left cheek without caution saying, "I
have only the two eyes I had in life."
Plutarch
grumbled, "You cannot be alive and dead both at once. This is a dangerous
illusion Merlyn. This meeting is in a fact, unconstructible."
Pythia
gathered her face into Plutarch and reasoned, "I know what Merlyn wishes
and you may speak my response to him."
"The
lumpiness under a bushy tops hold the dusty desert to the ground, Merlyn,"
said Plutarch in feminine voice, "While the small wind-made dry furrowing
arteries blast free from below the bushy tops."
"A
riddle for the Living, not for me," declared Merlyn with a grin.
Coiling
within mind Pythia whispered to the inner heart of her oldest of friends
Plutarch, "This man walks with eyes in the soles of his feet, and I swear
that upon the touch of his finger on my cheek I felt a tear."
***
The Brothers 17
Robert and Richard sat on a bench with a back with
their eyes towards the Park Lake Major; Lake Minor is just out of sight to the
west. The large roofed picnic table area sits to the northeast between the two
lakes in Riverton's favorite park with two lakes, a stream and surrounding
woods. Flowers, mowed grass, a Kid's Play Area and meadowland for birds and
other critters. They focused on the great blue heron fishing near the west
bank. He stood solidly patient with a closed wingspan, more than six feet open
winged. Yellow beaked with black plumes running the neckline.
A
wingspan of more than six feet, thought Robert, that's about my height; it is a
magnificently solid feathered bird standing in its natural habitat.
"We
used to come here as kids; almost more fun than the cemetery," commented
Richard.
"I
remember coming here with the girls our senior year -- old Riverton High, Class of 1960." He thought, now
it's a refurbished honors elementary school.
"I
was dating Connie," said Richard.
"And,
I, Cyndi." Robert smiled in the pause. "Here we are seventy; a long
road since seventeen." Both laughed.
"How
did it come to this? You a retired surgeon and me a retired professor, who
would have thought."
"We
were both in Air Force ROTC at John Knox. We were going to make it a career,”
said Robert.
Richard
added, "And the girls were both at Case Western Reserve for nursing
degrees our sophomore year.
Robert
continued to focus on the heron, quiet and patient, like myself he thought.
Suddenly
the great blue let out a discordant screeching.
"He
sounds like a dinosaur in an old movie."
"Unmerciful,"
said Rob. "Why the squawk?" They watched the wings rise as if they
were going to pull his five-pound body out of the water with a single flap.
"It
is an intentional acts of will. He stands wings down in place."
It
is an existential act. We raised our wings once and it kept the girls and us
together," declared Richard.
"We
four were always attracted to one another," injected Robert. "Look,
the heron is back stalking a fish."
"You
failed the ROTC physical in the Spring and in the Fall the Cuban Missile Crises
loomed."
"It
was our junior year. We thought we going to die in a nuclear holocaust brought
on by arrogance and accident."
"That
was an existential world drama if there ever was one," expressed Robert.
"We thought we were going to die. If the Russian ship did not stop a news
report said we would see the beginning of a war few would survive."
"I
remember that if the missiles were fired from Cuba we would have about twenty
minutes. We both wanted to call the girls but the frat house phone was
busy," said Richard. He chuckled dark humouredly. "I was taking World
Drama from Dr. C that semester. It was either Ionesco’s "The Chairs" or Beckett's Waiting
for Godot. In any case the class focus was the Theatre of the Absurd during
those days."
Robert
responded, "The missile crisis was absurdly real."
Richard
nodded, "Just like that blue heron, a fish just jumped, he focused, caught
and swallowed him down. Reflex to survive." He paused, "Maybe all
that intelligence and patience was the same; the chips were down and humanity
had a reflex to survive the moment."
"Another
kind of reflex could have brought a nuclear holocaust," reckoned Robert.
"I
willed my way through graduate school; and you through medical school. That was
real drama."
Robert
stayed matter-of-fact, "We married our high school sweethearts. We became
who we are, fathers; as did Connie and Cyndi who became registered nurses and
then mothers."
In
quiet honesty Richard asked, "What
real difference did it make as to which one each married whom?"
"I'm
sure Connie and Cyndi know. They made the choice as to who was marrying whom
not us. You do know that don't you Richie?"
"I
guess. I don't really like to think on it. The girls used their free will; to
each, marriage was an existential act, but for us marriage was a kind of
indifference." Caught in the embarrassment, both laughed nervously.
"It
is like they were the identical twins, not us," quipped Rob unexpectedly.
"Very
bizarre." Both laughed. Richie shook his head, "Never thought of it
like that. Hey, we both loved both girls equally. I don't think it really made
any difference."
"And
still do."
"Very
odd. Sometimes life almost doesn't seem real does it? I mean here we are,
seventy years old sitting on a park bench watching the birds."
"It's
real enough, bro. Wait until we get home." Both laughed knowingly.
***
Grandma's Story 17
This chapter’s story setting
is in three hundred and five and is in the Roman town of Durolevum, Britannia
now called Canterbury, England.
We are visiting a couple as they were in their memorable
fifties. At fifty, Copia Minor is a tiny woman with red and streaks of gray
hair.
One
of the favorite places to Copia Minor and Lethargus was the Roman temple built
on the southwest side of the city. This temple was designed smaller but
appeared similar to the Supreme Court Building in Washington.
Empty, the temple appeared as
a mausoleum in search of an occupant. It became the couple's privately shared
memorial, a playroom for their two lost young children who had accidently drown
in the Rhine. Lethargus and Copia Minor had placed the private toys and
memories of the children on the empty temple floor where they believed their
children played together once again.
One day Copia said, “I do
believe they have gone on. I don’t see them anymore.”
“I never saw them,” said
Lethargus. “I knew you did. That was enough for me.”
“The children were here
yesterday. Today they are not.”
Lethargus sighed, “That is
the way it was on the Rhine.”
“How could our children's
spirits leave the temple?” asked Copia.
“How did they arrive here in
the first place?” asked Lethargus.
“Perhaps they returned to our
hearts,” suggested Copia.
“Our hearts are no place for
young children to be. We will die one day, then where will they go?”
“Use your glass, Lethargus.
Put them under glass.”
“Glass is not to be used for
such spiritual matters.”
“Why?”
“The soul may be trapped
forever beneath its transparency.”
“Use a special glass,
Lethargus,” she pleaded softly. “I know they are hiding somewhere.”
“You said they were gone only
moments ago.”
“I was wrong. The children
are hiding,” she pleaded. “We need to put their young souls in the special
bottle that we can carry with us.”
Copia was suddenly afraid her children's spirits had
slid through the cracks in the temple floor. She heard her heart pleading,
"Vipsania and Germanicus, please come out of hiding. Come be with your
mother." She thought, the children think I am
playing a game with them.
Copia
waited and waited. Lethargus did not return as quickly as she expected him to.
He is always a busy man. Deep inside
Copia Minor is thinking the worst; my
children have seeped between the cracks and are sliding into the Underworld by
themselves. A good parent should be there with them to help them along the way.
She was beside herself as to what to do.
This
is when I, Grandma, showed myself at the door of the temple and I quietly said,
“Copia, can I be of any assistance?
“Momma,”
replied Copia, “Momma, I can’t find my children? Shut the door, Momma. Please
shut the door. I do not know what I’m going to do without my two lovely
children. I promised them one of us would always be there for them. I thought
they’d like it better in the temple here than in the Rhine River.
The
children talk to me, and I can see them. Lethargus doesn’t see them, but he
knows I can. It gives him comfort to know that. I have never lied to him in my
life, Momma. He is a good man. He is a good husband. We fell in love at the
temple on the Rhine, Momma. This is a smaller temple but our hearts are in here
Momma, and our children. I just hope I can still save them.” Suddenly a storm
of reality blew in. “Momma? You’re dead.”
“
Copia Minor, you are confused. I am a traveler taking old Watling Street to
Londinium, and I stopped in for a few moments of solitude. I am always on one
side of the road or another.”
In
an aroused suspicion Copia asked, “How do you know my name?”
“I
know everybody’s name, child.”
A
chill rolled up Copia’s narrow spine, ‘you are Death,’ she thought. ‘Death
looks exactly my mother.’
“I
am not Death, Copia, I am yourself.”
“Am
I mad?” questioned Copia aloud; then she saw Lethargus in memory's doorway and
with a blink Grandma disappeared into the landscape like the children of all
children who unknowingly recite this little poem:
Mirror, mirror, wall of mirror
Who am I and why am I here?
I see my body
head to toe
But where oh
where is the self to know?
I need to view
it without regret
Though I don’t
know how it is quite yet,
The mirror can’t
see where I reside,
The mirror can’t
see the me inside.
***
Diplomatic Pouch 17
Dusk, the same day. Friendly sits in a chair at the
dark walnut round table. The others quickly adjust to a seat. Friendly looks to
her immediate left and sees Blake, and Yermey sits in the chair beyond. To
Friendly's immediate right is Justin with Hartolite sitting beyond. To Yermey's
left and Hartolite's right sits Pyl who is closest to facing Friendly directly.
"Where's
Ship?" asked Friendly, and Yermey pulled, what appeared to be a small
translucent marble, from his right trouser pocket and placed it near the center
of the table.
Blake
and the others watched as the white as paper round marble lifted slightly and
adjusted to the exact table center equidistance from the surrounding people. It
rose to the average height and size of the sitting humanoid species and took
the outer shape of a globular mirrored through electronic tricks, thought Blake
each person appears to be looking at Ship's iconic face directly.
"I
am ready, Captain Friendly," said Ship intuitively.
She
spoke more formally, "Thank you. In a few minutes Ship-O-My-Mothers."
'Polite
form in flight,' reckoned Ship. He replied. "Ready when you are, Captain
Friendly, crew and honored guests."
Why
don't you call Ship 'SOMM' thought Justin, or SOMM 10, a name of some kind.
Ship is so machine-like.
Too
polite, reasoned Blake. I think this may be a set up. He smiled politely at
Hartolite who returned a similar expression.
We
hardly know you people, thought Pyl. We were in casual conversation and I was
feeling good but when this Ship Machine speaks I get goose bumps on my shoulder
blades. She glanced at her husband. Look at me Justin. Help me out here.
Looking
across at Justin then scanning the table, Yermey grinned like he was
comfortably sitting in the middle of a joke. He commented, "The point of
this little production is for your entertainment, nothing more. We want you to
feel at ease on board, but perhaps we should play a game of cards or dominoes
with some refreshments."
"We can do that," continued Friendly in an attempt
to be more casual. "Then you three can get a good night's sleep and
tomorrow we can go for a short ride."
Blake's
eyes lit and excitement measured his voice. "You are going to take us
around the world as if we were in the space station. That would be awesome. Do
you have windows we can look out of? I don't even know how high we are."
"We
could be setting on the Moon as far as we know," echoed Justin and
grinned, "Where do you think we are, Pyl?"
"Good
idea," said Hartolite. "A guessing game. Where do you think we
are?"
"Each
guess, then we'll show you," laughed Friendly. "I'm sure you are all
wondering."
"This
could be like a Mission Impossible. We could be sitting in a warehouse
somewhere on Earth," said Blake.
"Or,
on the Moon," added Justin secretly hoping it was so.
"I
think we are hovering at eighty to ninety thousand feet," said Pyl. She
couldn't help smiling with the others. "Where are we Captain
Friendly?"
"Good
call," responded Friendly. "We are in Earth atmosphere at seventy
thousand feet, hovering over Cleveland, Ohio. Straight down are your local Rock
and Roll Museum and the Great Lakes Science Center."
Yermey
added, "It sounds like the two men would like a short ride with the window
shades up. We have them down because we are in Blackanot. We cannot be detected
by Earth built electronics or human sight."
"Besides,
we thought it might be disorienting to have them up," explained Hartolite.
"We would be happy to give you a short ride."
"You
already have us nearly out of the atmosphere and I never felt a thing,"
said Pyl.
"You
and Blake are experienced pilots, but Justin is not. He does not enjoy flying
like you two do," said Friendly matter-of-factly.
"Is
this true, Justin?" asked Pyl. She observed his small sheepish grin.
"It is. Why didn't you tell us?"
"I'm
fine. Friendly is right though, I do get apprehensive. I trust you and Blake
but I don't trust the plane. Things can go wrong. Planes do crash and sometimes
the reasons are not clear."
Ship
added, "You are safer up here with us than you are on your own
planet."
"Let's
go to the dark side of the moon for some sight-seeing said Friendly.
By
the time the shades were filtered for the best of human eye viewing they found
themselves silently witnessing the dark side. Smiles stood all around and no
one uttered a word.
***
Chapter
Eighteen
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 18
Vivacious
and uncommonly fourteen, I am young in years but half a divine moonth along in
years rather than days, deliberated a brooding lipped Vivian. I am as a babe
though unslaughterable and ready for the capturing this grandfatherly-aged
Merlyn, this great Bard and Druid of our Caledonia. Her thin soft white linen
robe draped suggestively tight or loose where welcome for a visual shadowy
enrichment the dark triangle outlined below and subtle fresh fruit-sized
bosoms, taut nippled to further enhance Merlyn's questing imagination. Glancing
down her breasts tingled of the goosiest of small bumps, each as a firm faery
stem ready to flower.
Happily
glad, trooping seelings, the blessed faeries, conjure me a-musing . . .
wondrously and sprite-like they, a piloerection of tiny hairs about to shoot a
feminine succulents for capturing love's quick aroma in my elderly Master
Druid's most deserving nostrils.
I,
a druidess spectacular, swell in mind, shape-shifting my supple young heart to
sway to the natural craving of our two druidic souls to reunite from Beyond and
to intertwine in the ancient and naked ways. As a tune in intuitive grace we
shall be one and invisible but for the subtlest sighs of a gentle breeze at
play among the highest leaves of the Oak.
Bay
tree laurels, like reason, are not for this momentary crowning. Pray today, no
victors here but for Merlyn's nearby plowing of my wholesome wet earth. A
virginal seeding most uncommon in this generation is not so much a soulful
clutching as the outreach of hot passion from my soulanheart.
It
is this enraptured youthful wish of mistaking mind for heart that leads young
Vivian into the gravest error, an accident of unforeseen and unpredictable
circumstance. Faeries, Vivian should have known, have greater trooping smiles
in a spiritedness bordering on lasciviousness compounded by obsession rather
than love-in-reason which in this earthly reality all living consciously are
bound.
She
stands, a young lady by the lake, ready to walk up and out the forest path exit
ready to greet the man she has known for lifetimes but never once on earth.
Merlyn,
likewise, stands a pace or two from the forest path entrance like a physics experiment ready for quantum
entanglement, Merlyn's soul instilled in heartansoulanmind has no need of
memory. Merlyn feels his recent dreams are manifestations of Divine Justice
whether he thinks it so or not.
In
an earlier time, in life, I was sitting on a recently fallen log minding my own
business wondering how I would think as the second common element, air.
Everyone knows how it is to be made of earth and neither fire or water would be
so fully comfortable for the burning up or running off. Air; there is nothing
so intimate, long lasting and invisible. What I could be and do? He smiled
contented, knowing intuitively that to be naked and running the woods invisibly
clothed in Air the most free and natural of Aristotle's four. The breathe of
God will be my Heaven. That was my wish in those days when I measured
thirty-six years.
Waiting
for the white dressed druidess by the lake Merlyn brushed the back of his head
as if an ant had fallen from a tree leaf and was taking flight. My virginity
contains naturally cultivated creative powers and one day I will know what it
is to be invisible. On that day I shall become the sovereign's Arch Druid's
master.
In
the interval Merlyn glanced through himself to see the billiard table clean and
empty of balls and he wondered if it is fair and just that reasonable cause and
effect appeared to be eluding him. How can it be that when I think on my first
meeting with Vivian there are no balls on the slate? This is how it is in
heartansoulanmind?
I
am thirty-six and a virgin and this would-be-druidess is fourteen and not. We
are about to meet for the first time. I see her stealthily walking through the
woods two arms outstretched from the lake's touch. She knows I see her for more
than she is, a true druidess in the making. He glanced down and saw two goose
feathers, one pointed towards her and the other pointed towards him.
This is a sign. How can it be we share
the same pinion feathers when they point quill point opposite and are goose
feathers untouched? Is this event to be calligraphic as our two minds meet?
Mind to heart and heart to soul -- this is the practice for full sharing.
Open-minded I am and I am ready for almost anything but losing my self-discipline
to the material world.
***
The Brothers 18
The two couples sat on the front porch across from
Central Ohio's John Knox Cemetery. Connie and Cyndi sitting on the wood stained
gliding swing chair for two and Robert and Richard were sitting in sturdier
charcoal black chairs one on either side of the porch glider.
Robert
and Richard had just adjusted themselves on the warm but cloudy day. Robert
spoke first, "Where are we going for supper?"
"Let's
go uptown for a change, I'm tired of the chains," commented Cyndi.
"That's
a good idea, how about Jimmy John's?" added Connie.
"And
we could have ice cream for desert," said Cyndi in retort.
"That
was quick. Sounds settled then," commented Robert shaking his head with
the hint of a grin. "What did you want to do, Richie?" he added with
a hint of sarcasm.
He
grumbled, "Like it would make a difference." Noting the sharp looks
from both women, he mimicked his brother's dry grin. "Where did you want
to eat, Robbie?"
He
shrugged his shoulders, "Hey, Jimmy John's is fine with me."
"Why
do you two not speak up? Why didn't you suggest where you wanted to go,
Richie?" asked Cyndi.
"Why
didn't you ask a minute or so ago?" His shuffled face explained he had
made his point.
"We
can't read your mind, Richie," said Connie with some irritation.
"We
can just let them scramble up some baked beans and hot dogs for
themselves," reinforced Cyndi.
"Mind
reading would be illegal because of privacy laws," quipped Richard.
Both tightened their lips and jaws. "Let's go to
the kitchen, Connie." Both left without another word.
Richard
felt a tinge of guilt for instigating the squabble, thinking, 'I'll pay for
this incident later,' but said, “How’s your cemetery poem coming?”
“I
haven’t been working on it, but I have another I’ve dressed up.”
“Let’s
see it.”
Robert
left the porch for a few moments then returned. “I had it in the folder under
the car seat along with a few others I like to work on from time to time.”
“Like
where do you work?”
“Sometimes
when I am out for a short drive I will go down to the park, sometimes just a
parking lot, or park under an old shade tree down the street. I can dig out a
poem and see if the setting helps change my attitude towards the words. Here’s
the poem.”
Richard
read Robert’s poem intently, recognizing his own parallel patterned thinking
while reading.
**
TRANSPLANT WAITING ROOM, CHIIDREN'S
HOSPITAL
Parents
pace among the scarred tables,
settle
anxiously into shell craters,
stare
about for tonic comfort.
New
magazines paint the litter of butchery:
more
reminding of a holocaust
with
one picture, a girl,
middle
of a row, gently smiling
at
a sweet, treasured thought
lost
to the ashen grass of Auschwitz;
it
was the Christians, at Chatila--
broken
rooms, stray dogs lapping
blood
from pools, furnishings line
the
roads, the gray remains compose;
children
sled, tumble, cane to rest
in
the red snow of Sarajevo;
good
intentions stick to poles,
grim
advertisements for aid.
Western
Art in gilded frames haunts the walls:
still
life with ripe fruit; poppies
bleeding
a hillside; myths of Primavera
down
the bright corridors of morning;
yet
in one scene, parents perhaps,
bending
the will to stoop,
glean
the fields at evening --
they
could be Arab women
sorting
clothes at Kasserine Pass,
or
thin fathers picking rice
among
the limbs near Camranh Bay, or
Parents,
bent at the bed of human future,
who
have sent the organ-gathering troops
to
scour the farms of combat,
and
who have willingly bowed
toward
the any-price of child salvation.
**
“I’m
not sure what to say about this. It leaves me organizing thoughts and
speechless at the same time.”
Robert
gave him a sardonic look, saying, “That’s really quite a helpful criticism,
Richie.”
Richard
returned with, “Sarcasm is a slice and dice scalpel, Robbie boy.”
“I
got the pun, Dickie.”
Richard
retorted slowly and more seriously, “That’s the problem with words sometimes,
you think they mean one thing in context, and it turns out they mean something
else again.”
“That’s
what was good about being a surgeon,” said Robert. “I was in and out, and the
body being operated on was never my own.”
Richard
had a twinkle in his eye, “You can’t cut your thoughts, like it or not, the
brain just keeps on working and producing.”
“These brains of ours will stop one of these days,
then where will we be, bro?” said Robert, who almost always slammed in the last
word.
Rob's
content with having the last word, sighed Richard, and frankly I can't think of
anything else to say. We need the girls out here to liven things up.
***
Grandma's Story 18
This
is Grandma. Bloodlines were important to the Royals of Europe and to their
national identities of politics and power. This legendary bloodline traces to
Pharamond, King of Westphalia, who died in four hundred and thirty. King
Pharamond is about to declare his love to Argotta Genebald of the East Franks.
Grandma
took a moment to get a wink in. I'm in your bones. Ain’t nothing ever been
thought that Grandma don’t already know about -- love, for instance. In here
though there are many kinds of love. But don’t you be fooled none. Love's a
thin, thin line, and you don’t have to put your finger on it to know when it’s
available. This is particularly true when you are a king and a potential queen
as these two are.
Here we are in a forest
clearing. Princess Argotta of the East Franks sits on the trunk of a large
fallen walnut tree and faces east. King Pharamond wishes to sit beside her, but
under the circumstance, he sits on a smaller oak log facing her.
Pharamond thinks (in this
time of muddled and muddy politics and religion) -- I am attracted to all that
I see -- beauty, but not beyond compare. Argotta sits as a friend, a lover, and
a mother; yet most important, as I muse she sits a princess. First, I must tell
her I love her, and second, I must ask for her hand in marriage, a marriage
already secretly approved of.
Should I wait until he
speaks, thinks Princess Argotta? It seems only polite to do so. I don’t know
why he wants me to be his walking companion in this forest? He has not made any
advancement for which I am grateful. I appear to be the handle of the sword.
The king is the point and he is sharply double edged. I am no flat of the blade
though. I can exchange a blade handle easily enough. Harmonies exist in a
marriage of royal metal. Odd to have such a quick thrusted thought to feel. I should
a shield for his silence, but now, strangely, I do not care for one. I usually
feel the need to speak. It is the job of a Princess to speak her mind. Others
need to know what to do. I am built to instruct.
“We haven’t seen the owl
today,” said King Pharamond.
“No, we haven’t milord.”
“You
are beautiful when your cheeks are red, my Princess Argotta,” disclosed the
king.
She
smiled pleasantly while as she looking to Pharamond. She said, “M’king, did you
know I am skilled in the art of blacksmithing?”
Pharamond
laughed from of the unexpected, “I did not, m’Lady. I had no idea. Where did
you learn the arts?”
“My
father, the king. He is skilled in the old arts.”
“I
did not know.” . . . along with what other secrets, he thought.
She
stood, straight and ancestrally proud, “Yes, when he discovered I was
interested in the arts he taught me. I have created a sword with my own hands,
milord,”
“I
did not know,” smiled Pharamond more warmly. “And, your father, he is of the
old ways? I consider him a follower of the Bishop of Rome.”
“That
he is, and so am I. We do not agree with the Visigoth tribes to the south. We
accept Jesus as God. I understand the Visigoth question this.”
“True,”
said the king. “Some people have doubts.”
Without
thinking or even flinching, Argotta immediately replied, “It is not a fact,
milord.”
Pharamond was taken back momentarily
confused, “What do you mean, my Princess Argotta?”
The
king's unusual tone took Argotta by complete surprise. Her eyes darted side to
side and appeared to roll back because the tone came so quickly, she answered,
“You cannot doubt a fact, milord.”
The
king replied in relief. “You are skilled in the academics also, I see.”
“Of
course, milord. What would you expect of a princess?”
King
Pharamond blurted, “I would like you to be my queen, if you so desire it also.
You will always be free to verbally respond to me as a man would respond,
Princess Argotta. In public and in private.”
“This
is not the Catholic way, milord.”
“In
private we each are not the Catholics we are in public. This I can see. We have
more in common than I suspected.”
“We
do, milord,” answered Argotta as took a step towards the king. She knelt
automatically and drew her right hand forth as if it held an invisible and magic
sword, “You may kiss my hand, King Pharamond.”
Old
Grandma knows which way it goes
Along the
path petal-filled with rose;
Hand in
hand from solitary Eden left
The
ancient story of Eve and Adam bereft.
***
Diplomatic Pouch 18
"Who
would have ever thought?" uttered Blake Williams quietly.
"Never
in a million years," declared Justin.
"What
does this mean?" asked Pyl.
Justin
quickly rebutted, "Why does it have to mean something, Pyl? Jeez. We are
here just witnessed seeing the dark side of the Moon live."
"There
is a purpose. What do they want from us?" whispered Pyl.
Yermey
seemed to pop up from nowhere, "You ask a good question, Pyl
Burroughs."
"Here
it comes," mumbled Justin unthinkingly.
"What's
that?" smiled Yermey.
Blake
grinned sardonically, "He means Pyl will be direct. She is always direct.
Yermey
chuckled, put his hand on Blake's shoulder and said, "Let's go in here and
sit for a minute. We can talk this out."
The
relatively non-descript empty room had two chairs and a couch roll up into
place for sitting while the ceiling and upper walls created a soft lighting.
Blake enjoyed Yermey's light brotherly touch and said, "All it needs is a
fire lit fireplace to appear from the far wall."
Yermey
laughed softly, saying, "No fireplaces here but I could arrange for one in
your room."
"No,
that's fine."
Pyl
sat on the couch with Justin fitting in beside her, "I don't know what's
fine, Blake. We don't know what this is really about but I assume we are going
to be used by these people."
Justin
realized Pyl hardly knew he was there and comforting is not what she needed. He
off-handedly fell into her mold of feeling, "Pyl's right, Blake. We need
to know more before we get cozy with these people."
"I
appreciate your honesty; really, we all do. Cozy
is not a word I know well. We want you to feel safe and secure. First, we
respect your species. This is the reason we came here. The greater ThreePlanets
family is not happy we have arrived here, and even less so for inviting you
onboard as guests."
Jokingly
Blake mouthed, "Good cop, bad cop."
I
think Friendly might be able to better explain. "I am neither a good cop
or a bad cop. We would like, if you three accept, to have you teach us more
about your culture from a more personal standpoint. We want . . . "
"I
understand you would like some help," interrupted Friendly. "It is
not often Yermey asks anyone for help.
In
the course of the conversation something stuck out to Blake that would change
his life, Yermey had said, "the machinery allows us to see who we really
are," to which Friendly countered, "it helps us to analysis are
private agendas in advance of action."
"What
do you think, Blake?" asked Pyl, "Are we ready for this?"
He
looked up, "Ready for what?"
"Ready
to help," replied Justin. "Do we want to help these people help
themselves to our ways?"
Confused,
Blake smiled sheepishly, "I think I am missing something here."
"This
is important to us, to have you be our ambassadors of sorts,"
"We
have come all this way," reinforced Hartolite.
Blake
showing his embarrassment, "I didn't even notice you were here."
"You
were someplace else, Blake. We need you on this."
Trying
to recollect where he'd been he asked, "Can you fill me in. I was stuck
with Yermey's comment about my 'good cop bad cop'. He said that he was neither,
and it struck me as quite funny. There is a lot of territory between what I
initially said without much thought and his quick and honest reply.
"We
four are the rebellious ones by being here on our own, that is our trip was and
is not officially sanctioned. We cannot come out and say 'Hello, we are
official representatives from ThreePlanets."
"Why
have you not used SETI?" asked Pyl. "It seems to me this would be a
natural first place to communicate."
"We
prefer one on one," answered Yermey, "because we are trying to avoid
the cleverness and bullshit. We don't have time for nonsense."
"You
live five hundred years," responded Blake. "I smell some bullshit
right there."
"I don't have time," declared
Yermey bluntly, "because I have lived five hundred years already."
Blake
caught the look in Yermey's eyes; no question, he thought these people are
human. "We have something basic in common then," he surmised.
"Our
Parents-in-Charge use machinery to deal with Earth if it is forced upon
them," said Friendly.
"Communication
machinery, not as sophisticated as Ship," added Hartolite. "We have
no weaponry. We need none. When we think 'run' or Ship thinks 'run' we do. We
are very fast plus invisible when need be."
Surprisingly
even to Pyl, she commented, "We have too many machines on our planet. We
are willing to listen to what you would have us do. We want to remain
friendly."
"Good
one," smiled Yermey.
***
Summaries of Chapters 16, 17 and 18:
The Dead 16.17.18
The Supervisor and Merlyn
talk on Elysium and Mother and the balance of heartansoulanmind/being. Merlyn
meets Plutarch and Pythia - (future) "While the small wind-made dry
furrowing arteries blast free from below the bushy tops". Virgin Merlyn
(36) remembers his first meeting with non-virgin Vivian (14).
The Brothers 16.17.18
R and R in the old church
bookstore and Rich finds old Hebrew-English Bible. Rob says to keep religion
out of books. R and R sitting in car at Lake Major Park. Blue heron - youth of
Cuban Missile Crisis. Loving the girls equally. R and R with C and C on porch.
quibbling with Connie and Cyndi. Rob's poem on "Transplant Waiting Room"
points. Ends with R and R both being sarcastic to each other.
Grandma's Story 16.17.18
Story 16
Queen Saraid and King
Conaire II of Ireland have son Prince Corbred who runs off after a fox, gets
lost and an owl helps him home but he is missing a tooth and fears the faery
and the old Druid and fears the loss of his soul because of the 'gap'.
Story 17
Copia Minor lost her
children, in the Rhine early in life. Lethargus now helps her believe her
children's spirits are under the floor of a Roman temple in Durolevum, now
Canterbury. Is she mad? (though Dead). 'Reflection' on Mirror and body but
without 'self' - (i.e. possibility of what can happen when Dead?)
Story 18
Pharamond and Argotta of
the Franks - wants to marry her - Phar. says Argot. will be free to speak her
mind in public and private. She says it is not the Catholic way. In these times
AD 430 there were rebellion against the Catholic. Her father was skilled in the
old art (Druidic) of blacksmithing and she had made her own sword. Wedding of
royal metals. Is she pro or con the Catholic religion of the times?
Diplomatic Pouch 16.17.18
Justin
and Hartolite talk about what is sacred. She asks him to put his hand in her
pouch, which he does and learns how it is for marsupial humanoid men. Friendly
speaks with the group at the round table; Ship in the middle as a globular
mirror; friendly banter with Ship at seventy thousand feet above Cleveland.
Let's go to the dark side of the Moon. Pyl is direct and wants to know what the
marsupial humanoids want of them. Pyl discovers, as do the others, that these
people are genuinely human, that Yermey is old and concerned about the time he
has left. The Earthlings decide to help.
****** ******
Late mid-afternoon. You posted the chapters
and summaries and are now waiting for Carol to pick up essentials at
Tylersville Road Krogers. Someone pulled in with a 1964 red Truimph and you
chatted with another former owner about his 1969 Triumph. You have a photo from
the late sixties of you and Carol standing in front of Steve Gardner's younger
brother's (Larry) car, at late sixties British racing green Triumph with the
tan top down. - Amorella
1625 hours. We are home. I love old cars like that.
It was a good time to be young even for all the world's faults (poverty, war
and nukes) of the age.
Don't forget the Four Horsemen of Biblical
fame. - Amorella
The following
material is selected and edited from Wikipedia Offline:
** **
The Four
Horsemen of the Apocalypse are described in the last book of the New
Testament of the Bible called the Book of Revelation of Jesus Christ to Saint
John the Evangelist. The chapter tells of a "'book'/'scroll' in God's
right hand that is sealed with seven seals".
The Lamb of God /Lion of Judah (Jesus
Christ) opens the first four of the seven seals, which summons forth four beings
that ride out on white, red, black, and pale horses. Although some interpretations
differ, the four riders are commonly seen as symbolizing Conquest, War, Famine
and Death, respectively.
The Christian apocalyptic vision
is that the four horsemen are to set a divine apocalypse upon the world as of
the Last Judgment.
White Horse
I watched as
the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the four
living creatures say in a voice like thunder, "Come and see!" I
looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was
given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on. — NIV
Due to the above passage (the
most common translation into English), the White rider is referred to as Conquest
(not Pestilence, see below). The name could also be construed as
"Victory," per the translation found in the Jerusalem Bible (the
Greek words are derived from the verb , to conquer or vanquish). He carries a
bow, and wears a victor's crown.
The exact nature and morality of
the apocalyptic white rider is less clear. He has been argued to represent
either evil or righteousness by multiple sources.
As evil
The other three horsemen
represent evil, destructive forces, and given the unified way in which all four
are introduced and described, it may be most likely that the first horseman is
correspondingly evil.
Art work, which shows the
horsemen as a group, such as the famous woodcut by Albrect Durer, suggests an
interpretation where all four horsemen represent different aspects of the same
tribulation.
The first horseman is often
associated with military conquest. One interpretation, which was held by
evangelist Billy Graham — casts the rider of the white horse as the Antichrist,
or a representation of false prophets, citing differences between the white
horse in Revelation 6 and Jesus on the white Horse in Revelation 19. In
Revelation 19 Jesus has many crowns, but in Revelation 6 the rider has just
one.
As righteous
Irenaeus, an influential Christian theologian of the 2nd century, was
among the first to interpret this horseman as Christ himself, his white horse
representing the successful spread of the gospel.
Various scholars have since
supported this theory, citing the later appearance, in Revelation 19, of Christ
mounted on a white horse, appearing as The Word of God. Furthermore, earlier in
the New Testament, the Book of Mark indicates that the advance of the gospel
may indeed precede and foretell the apocalypse. The color white also tends to
represent righteousness in the Bible, and Christ is in other instances
portrayed as a conqueror.
However, opposing interpretations
argue that the first of the four horsemen is probably not the horseman of
Revelation 19. They are described in significantly different ways, and Christ's
role as the Lamb who opens the seven seals makes it unlikely that he would also
be one of the forces released by the seals.
Besides Christ, the horseman
could represent the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit was understood to have come
upon the Apostles at Pentecost after Jesus' departure from Earth. The
appearance of the Lamb in Revelation 5 shows the triumphant arrival of Jesus in
heaven, and the white horseman could represent the sending of the Holy Spirit
by Jesus and the advance of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Red Horse
When the Lamb
opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, "Come and
see!" Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given
power to take peace from the earth and to make men slay each other. To him was
given a large sword. — NIV
The rider of the second horse is
often taken to represent War or mass slaughter. His horse's color is red (πυρρός,
from, fire). In some translations, the color is specifically a
"fiery" red. This color, as well as the rider's possession of a great
sword, suggests blood that is to be spilled.
The second horseman may represent
civil war as opposed to the war of conquest that the first horseman is
sometimes said to bring. Other commentators have suggested it might also
represent persecution of Christians.
Black Horse
When the Lamb
opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, "Come and
see!" I looked, and there before me was a black horse! Its rider was
holding a pair of scales in his hand. Then I heard what sounded like a voice
among the four living creatures, saying, "A quart of wheat for a day's
wages, and three quarts of barley for a day's wages, and do not damage the oil
and the wine!" — NIV
The third horseman rides a black
horse and is generally understood as Famine. The horseman carries a pair of
balances or weighing scales, indicating the way that bread would have been
weighed during a famine.
The indicated price of grain is
about ten times normal, with an entire day's wages (a denarius) buying enough
wheat for only one person, or enough of the less nutritious barley for three,
so that workers would struggle to feed their families.
Of the four horsemen, the black
horse and its rider are the only ones whose appearance is accompanied by a
vocal pronunciation. John hears a voice, unidentified but coming from among the
four living creatures, that speaks of the prices of wheat and barley, also saying
"and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine."
This suggests that the black
horse's famine is to drive up the price of grain but leave oil and wine
supplies unaffected (though out of reach of the ordinary worker). One
explanation for this is that grain crops would have been more naturally
susceptible to famine years or locust plagues than olive trees and grapevines,
which root more deeply.
The statement might also suggest
a continuing abundance of luxuries for the wealthy while staples such as bread are
scarce, though not totally depleted; such selective scarcity may result from
injustice and the deliberate production of luxury crops for the wealthy over
grain, as would have happened during the time Revelation was written.
Alternatively, the preservation of oil and wine could symbolize the
preservation of the Christian faithful, who used oil and wine in their
sacraments.
Pale or Green Horse
When the Lamb
opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say,
"Come and see!" I looked and there before me was a pale horse! Its
rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were
given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and
by the wild beasts of the earth. — NIV
The fourth and final horseman is
named Death. Of all the riders, he is the only one to whom the text itself
explicitly gives a name. Unlike the other three, he is not described carrying a
weapon/object, instead he is followed by Hades. However, illustrations commonly
depict him carrying a scythe (like the Grim Reaper), sword, or other implement.
The color of Death's horse is
written as khlōros () in the original Koine Greek, which can mean either
green/greenish-yellow or pale/pallid. The color is often translated as
"pale", though "ashen", "pale green" and
"yellowish green" are other possible interpretations (the Greek word
is the root of "chlorophyll" and "chlorine").
Based on uses of the word in
ancient Greek medical literature, several scholars suggest that the color
reflects the sickly pallor of a corpse. In some modern artistic depictions, the
horse is given a distinct green color.
The verse beginning "they
were given power over a fourth of the earth" is generally taken as
referring to Death and Hades, although some commentators see it as applying to
all four horsemen.
Interpretations (the majority of this section is deleted)
Some equate the four horsemen
with the angels of the four winds. (See Michael, Gabriel, Raphael and Uriel,
angels often associated with four cardinal directions)
Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death
This interpretation replaces
Conquest with Pestilence (i.e., infectious disease), and is generally espoused
by those unfamiliar with the actual Bible texts, which describe the Four
Horsemen.
Though it is apocryphal, this
interpretation remains most commonly used as the basis for popular culture's
uses of the Four Horsemen concept, including the famous woodcut by Albrecht
Durer.
The origins of the name
"Pestilence" as a distinct Horseman are unclear, though certain Bible
versions, such as the Jerusalem Bible and the New International Version do
mention plague in connection with the Pale — rather than the White—horse.
Other Biblical references
Zechariah also sees colored horses, although in the first case
there are only three colors (red, dappled, and white), and in the second there
are teams of horses pulling chariots: red, then black, then white, and finally
dappled.
They are referred to as "the four spirits of the heavens,
which go forth from standing before the Lord of all the earth."
Zechariah's horses differ from Revelation's in that their colors do not seem to
indicate or symbolize anything about their characters; also, the horses in
Zechariah act as patrollers, not as agents of destruction or judgment.
Selected and edited from Wikipedia Offline - Four Horsemen of the
Apocalypse
** **
You copied and pasted the whole of the
Wikipedia article but for our intents and purposes I will assist selecting and
editing. - Amorella
1635 hours. I am surprised you even
brought this material to light here. I thought we were avoiding Biblical
references.
Not all, boy. We have a couple of biblical
quotes in the book already. Why do you insist on attempting to capitalize
'biblical'?
It always seems inappropriate to me. I
most always capitalize it, but I never took off for it in class. Usually I
would circle the 'b' and drop a question mark beside it. (There is a
grammatical thought I have not had for at least ten or eleven years.)
I am digging this material from inside your
head, boy. I don't even have a head. When you were twelve or so and joining the
Presbyterian Church you used to be concerned about the possible Christian end
of the world. - Amorella
Before my twenties I decided (for me,
and to each their own) that the end of the world is the end of our own world,
that is, as those born into it. Everyone dies so the end of the world is coming
for everyone one body or more at a time. Anyway, since I no longer consider it
a valid theory even as conjecture. So, how do you want to use this?
Back in your college days you used to joke
that Christians might indeed disappear but not in that mythical way. Some
religions have disappeared while others have not. You conjured up some dark
joke such as the concept comes true but not like anyone might think. The story
is a trick, a misinterpretation, and you go on about how MacBeth was cleverly
fooled by the witches and in the process misinterpreted their prophecies.
1713
hours. That sound about right -- a Twilight Zone story.
Since Great Merlyn's Ghost is indeed a ghost
story I am dropping in a reference or so to the "Four Horsemen"
towards the conclusion of each volume. - Amorella
Ha! Each segment represents a Horseman
of the Apocalypse. This reminds me of an Ingrid Bergman film but I forget which
one; maybe The Seventh Seal. I expected a simpler article in Wikipedia,
a paragraph at most. I do have a lot of 'stuff' in my head somewhere but I need
a line thrown in from Wikipedia to gather it to my senses.
When
we first met more formally in the 1980's this subject would have terrified you.
- Amorella
That's
because I thought you were more real than not; now I think you are more
imagination than not.
There's a quick bit of honesty. Let's get
this Wikipedia article whipped into shape, boy; then you can post it. -
Amorella
I thought this would wait until
tomorrow. (1726)
You thought wrong, young man. - Amorella
1735 hours. You, Amorella, deleted
most of the "Interpretations section" in the article, which is fine
with me. The article is a more interesting read than I thought it would be. I
broke the paragraphs into smaller segments so that I might more easily read and
understand the points.
It
is dinnertime and you have about a half hour until the nightly national news.
Post. - Amorella
1803 hours. I still don't get where
this is going.
Later, dude. Post. - Amorella
No comments:
Post a Comment