Mid-morning. You are at Pine Hill Lakes
Park; Carol is walking. You are working on Brothers Seventeen.
0850 hours. It is supposed to be warm. I have more mulch to put out this
morning. Perhaps I can have it all out in the evening.
0959
hours. We are home and have been working in the yard. I have most of the mulch
bags scattered where they will be opened – two are in the cart for small jobs.
Once I clean up the area the Honda can go back where it belongs, under cover. It
is really warming up. I’ll finish raking the areas later this evening and that
chore will be done.
You did complete Brothers Seventeen, so it
hasn’t been a wasted day, huh? – Amorella
1004 hours. I have an attitude problem. I don’t need to be reminded. I
never much was for physical work though I did do it and still do. It becomes
more difficult – the cart with four bags about got away from me going down the
hill; I was whaling my arms like a banshee to keep my balance as I dropped the
cart to a stop at the bottom. This is not a big hill. When these events happen
it gives me pause and I become more cautious because I am always apprehensive
about falling up or down stairs or whatever. Carol had to coax me off the cane
because of it. Also, she has caught me trying to walk toes first or
flat-footed. I know better but it happens. I hear this “heel to toe, heel to
toe,” and realize I am not practicing what is normal. It also bothers me
because I think of David and Marsha giving him instructions. It is not
impossible that I could get Parkinson’s or MS – I don’t dwell on it, but to say
it isn’t in the back of my mind would be dishonest. I am not complaining. I
don’t like to even think about this stuff.
You
will be leaving for lunch shortly. Post your notes. - Amorella
** **
On 5/12/2014 10:24 PM, orndorff wrote:
Doug,
I am wondering
if in real life that if there is consciousness after physical death, that
it could be held in a shared thought oriented quantum entanglement, that
is, that the Place of the Dead is really in two places at once - in the Beyond
(a part of the Before matter) and somewhere not within space and time but
'connected' to it. -- Just a concept. What do you think, at least for a
fiction? -- In some ways a side view to the Thunder myth and its extensions
being suggested within the story as of late.
What I really
like about these articles is that someone is connecting 'photon' energy to
thought. We have discussed this ourselves. No matter what the 'real' outcome I
find this really intriguing. Have a good night!
Dick
**
Dick,
Your thoughts are
plausible in that Einstein tells us that the past, present and future all exist
simultaneously. Quantum entanglement and the conservation of knowledge also add
to the possibility. The only question I have is once you're dead can you have any
new thoughts?
Doug
-----Original
Message-----
On 5/13/2014 1:07 PM, orndorff wrote:
Another good question! I really appreciate your input. More later.
Thanks, Doug! I appreciate
the input. Wow! You bring up an excellent
question. We are heading for lunch and shopping shortly. I'll get back to you
after I see what Amorella says about it.
Doug,
I will explain
this later today, but it is built into the story though not in detail otherwise
there would be no growth after. For instance, in chapter seventeen Merlyn
learns things from those who have been dead long before himself. I am glad you
brought up the question. - Amorella
Now, in real
life, it is a very good question. No one really knows, but it can be reasoned
out as being plausible because if a human were to survive physical death her or
his attributes would include curiosity as it is part of a definition of what a
human being is in life. Why would such attributes be less in spiritual
qualities of the individual than what she or he had in living? What good would
there be to 'going on' in the first place? In here, spiritual growth would be a
natural happenstance of living. - Amorella
**
Sent: Tue, 13 May 2014 2:16 pm
Subject: Re: here's
something interesting. - brains and lightning discharge
Dick and Amorella,
I agree but death
could be like watching a movie. No new endings etc. Only what was recorded
exists. Nothing more! That would be a great disappointment and could be a
definition of hell.
Doug
**
Sent: Tue, 13 May 2014
2:30 pm
Subject: Entropy
Dick
Entropy by physical law always increases
with time. However knowledge
reduces entropy and lowers it. So where
does knowledge come from and how
does it reduce chaos and disorder? Could
death be a form of knowledge?
Doug
** **
You
are waiting at Macy’s south lot while Carol looks for a wedding present for
young neighbor Ben, Tim and Amy’s oldest. You had good lunch at Potbelly’s in
Kenwood, the first time you have been there for awhile. Work on Grandma’s
Story, we’ll go over Doug’s question later.
1450 hours. Fine with me.
You
watched “Blacklist”, “NBC News”, “Castle”, and “Bones” and had a snack supper
of carrots and non-fat cottage cheese and a piece of bakery bread and peanut
butter and raisins and an apple along the way. – Amorella
2207 hours. I finished Chapter Seventeen.
Add and post. – Amorella
***
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.
I,
Merlyn, have this little ditty above memorized to the point it sets stemmed in
letters out of which each four-leafed chapter dreams grow to clover size. I
knead the dreams into a word stream of music for the heart and soul and mind
with hope that when read, these stories cast a light into those living with an
imagination that casts no shadow.
The
Dead 17
The
observer modifies what is observed, thinks Merlyn while sitting cross-legged
facing south toward the meadow of ragged robin and white foxglove over the
stage ruins. He grouses, "I am watched. How does this entanglement change
my ever-present state?”
I
can only read my own mind through it as a measuring device. I first measure the
human heart, and I measure my intuitive soul. These are as rays of filtered
light through a deepened, water-like consciousness that rises or sinks
tide-like and when alone, as now, I am without a mirrorable reflection.
This
presence of soul is also an observer but unlike myself -- a near-parallel and
near-equal self -- a natural doppelganger of shadowless spirit. This is a
sensory experience, a human experience, be this spirit encased in living matter
or no. The lingering awareness of 'a separate being' in heartansoulanmind
exists nevertheless. How is this to be Here and There both at once, all in an
undefined though merited thought?
*
Merlyn
falls into a memory of Plutarch, whom he met at the Academy of Athens when
Plutarch was in also in parallel and entangled memory. Plutarch stands with his
friend Senecio and their discussion is on how long consciousness will last
after death.
"Excuse
me," utters Merlyn, "Did I overhear that one of you is Plutarch of
Chaeronea, the once senior priest at Delphi?"
"I
am," comments the Greek on the right. "And you are?"
"Merlyn,
a man interested in the arts, living some six hundred years after yourself and
this is your friend, Senecio, I presume."
"Yes,
I am," responds Senecio somewhat surprised, "And you are which
Merlyn?"
"Merlyn,
a Scottish bard of the seventh century."
"I
know of you Merlyn," notes Plutarch. "You are interested in
Pythia."
"And,
yourself?,” divulges Merlyn. "I see we are engaged through channeled
memories."
"Astute
of you."
"I
would like to meet Pythia,” announces Merlyn.
Plutarch
smiles confidently, "Why?"
Merlyn
speaks distinctly and clearly as always, "I want to meet Pythia in a
tranced mind."
In
a manner echoing Merlyn's, Plutarch asserts, "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
observes Senecio smiling then nodding politely before fading like worn colors
in a rainbow. An ornery insight wanders into Merlyn’s sight and he suggests,
'Perhaps, Senecio, Avalon is more sacred than Elysium'.
“Perhaps,”
he responds, “Senecio and I will talk later, Merlyn."
Merlyn
turns to his left to see an attending fair and vibrant female physique
personify from nothing. I am reminded of a sword once thrust onto this graceful
fresh hand that grasps the blade which would rather push first before being
pulled from the scabbord.”
Plutarch
smiles wearily and declares, ”Xaire, Pythia, how kind of you to join me.”
Pythia
appears Celtic rather than Greek, realizes Merlyn. Coal black hair falling
near, parsing her wide-open green eyes slanting his direction as sheer theatre
curtains. 'What a wonderfully well looking woman you were in life' flew into
his mind as he bowed slightly and saying, "I am Merlyn, a sage of
Caledonia, old Scotland."
"I
know your name," responds Pythia.
“Here
I am, not yet physically born to die and move on. Yet, here I am.”
She
notes, "Yet here you are, and we three talk together as though we three
are livingandead at once."
"We
speak through our heartsanminds," recites Merlyn confidently, "not
our souls as you think."
"The
soul is first," disciplines Plutarch, "our souls gathered for this
meeting."
"Souls
do not display purpose," reveals Merlyn unapologetically. He asks, "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 remarks, "I see your many eyes,
Merlyn."
Merlyn's
hand rises gently and without the slightest caution he touches her left cheek
while saying, "I have only the two common eyes I had in life."
Plutarch
replies, "You cannot be alive and dead both at once. This is a dangerous
illusion Merlyn. This meeting is in a fact not constructible as is."
Pythia
gathers her face into Plutarch reasoning, "I know what Merlyn wishes and
you may speak my response to him."
Thus,
Plutarch in an immediate gaze, says in a feminine voice, ”The lumpiness under a
bushy tops hold the dusty desert to the ground, Merlyn, while the small
wind-made dry furrowing arteries blast free from below the bushy tops."
"A
riddle for the Living, not for me," declares Merlyn with a grin.
Coiling
within mind Pythia whispers to the inner heart of her oldest of old friends
Plutarch, “Right or wrong on his vision of the soul, this man walks with eyes
in the soles of his feet, and I swear that upon the touch of his fingerless
finger on my cheek I felt a tear."
The
Brothers 17
Robert and Richard sit on a bench with their eyes towards
College Park’s Lake Major; Lake Minor is to the west and just out of sight. The
large roofed picnic table area sits to the northeast between the two small
lakes in Riverton's favorite park also a stream and surrounding woods as well
as flowers, mowed grass, a Kid's Play Area and meadowland for birds and other
critters. Just the sort of modern area Merlyn would enjoy. They focus on the
great blue heron fishing near the west bank. He stands patiently with a closed
wingspan, a yellow beak and black plumes running the neckline.
A
wingspan of more than six feet, references Robert, about my height; it is a
magnificent, a solid feathered bird standing in its natural habitat.
"We
used to come here as kids; almost more fun than the cemetery," comments
Richard.
"I
remember coming here with the girls our senior year -- old Riverton High, Class of 1960.” says Robert thinking,
now it's a refurbished honors elementary school.
"I
was dating Connie then," says Richard.
"And,
I, Cyndi." Robert smiles. "Here we are seventy; a long road since
seventeen." Both laugh.
"How
did it come to this? You a retired surgeon and me a retired teacher, who would
have thought."
“Back
then we were both in Air Force ROTC at John Knox. We were going to make it a
career,” comments Robert.
Richard
adds, "And the girls were both at Case Western Reserve for nursing degrees
our sophomore year. It was rough with them being gone.
Robert
continues to focus on the heron, who is quiet and retrospective like myself.
Suddenly
the great blue lets out a discordant screeching.
Richard
in delight says, ”He sounds like a dinosaur in an old movie."
“Unmercifully
so," replies Rob. "Why the squawk?" They watch the wings rise as
if they were going to pull his five-pound body out of the water with a single
flap then they refold.
Robert
comments, ”It is an intentional acts of will. He stands down wings in
place."
“It
is an existential act. We raised our wings once and it kept the girls and us
together," declares Richard.
"We
four were always attracted to one another," injects Robert. "Look,
the heron is back to 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 or accident."
"That
was an existential world drama if there ever was one," expresses 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," says Richard. He chuckles darkly humoured. "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
responds, "The missile crisis was absurdly real."
Richard
nods, "Just like that blue heron, a fish just jumped, he focuses, catches
and swallows it down. Reflex to survive." He pauses, "Maybe all that
intelligence and patience os 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," reckons Robert.
“Maybe in another worldly dimension it did.”
Ignoring
the comment Richard says, ”I willed my way through graduate school; and you
through medical school. That was real drama."
Robert
stays matter-of-fact, "We married our high school sweethearts. We became
who we are, fathers; and Connie and Cyndi mothers who continued their careers
as registered nurses."
In
quiet honesty Richard asks, "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 who 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 the dual marriage ceremony
was a kind of indifference." Caught in the embarrassment, both nervously
laugh in secret.
"It
is like they were the identical twins, not us," quips Rob unexpectedly.
"Very
bizarre." Both laugh. Richie shakes his head, "Never thought of it
like that. Hey, we both loved both girls equally. I don't think it really makes
any difference."
Robert
adds, ”And we do love them still."
"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. We could be
dead.”
"It's
real enough, bro. Wait until we get home to our significant other." Both
laugh aloud knowingly.
Grandma's
Story 17
This
chapter’s story setting is in the year three hundred and five and we are in the
Roman town of Durolevum, Britannia, present day Canterbury, England. We are
visiting a couple who have dealt with a tragedy. At fifty, Copia Minor is a
tiny woman with red and streaks of gray hair. Lethargus is dark haired though
with streaks of white, he is taller and has more of a Roman look than Copia
Minor.
One
of Copia Minor and Lethargus favorite places in Durolevum is the Roman temple
built on the southwest side of the city. This temple is similar in design to
the modern day Supreme Court Building in Washington,D.C.
Empty,
the temple appears as a mausoleum in search of occupants. It became the
couple's privately shared memorial, an imaginary playroom for their two lost
young children who had accidently drown in the Rhine some years earlier.
Lethargus and Copia Minor secretly placed some of the children’s toys for
memories of the children in the southwest temple floor where they believe their
children may come and play together once again.
One
day Copia says, “I do believe they have gone on. I don’t see them anymore.”
“I
never saw them,” replies Lethargus. “I know you did. That was enough for me.”
“The
children were here yesterday. Today they are not.”
Lethargus
sighs, “That is the way it was on the Rhine.”
“How
could our children's spirits leave the temple?” asks Copia.
“How
did they arrive here in the first place?” asks Lethargus politely.
“Perhaps
they returned to our hearts,” suggests 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.”
She
pleads softly. “Use a special glass, Lethargus, I know they are hiding
somewhere.”
“I
will go look for something,” he replies, “but you said they were gone only
moments ago.”
“I
was wrong. The children are hiding,” she pleads. “We need to put their young
souls in the special bottle that we can carry with us.”
Copia
is suddenly afraid her children’s spirits had slide through the cracks in the
temple floor. She hears her heart speaking, “Vipsania and Germanicus, please
come out of hiding. Come be with your mother.” She quickly thinks the children
believe I am playing a game with them.
Copia
waits and waits. 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.
*
I,
Grandma enter the story in disguise, showing myself at the door of the temple I
quietly asks, “Copia, can I be of any assistance?
“Momma,”
replies Copia, “Momma, I can’t find my children? Shut the door, Momma. Please
shut the door. They may get out of the temple. 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. We 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. Who are you?”
“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 old Watling or another.”
In
an aroused Copia asks, “How do you know my name?”
“I
know everybody’s name, child.”
A
chill rolled up Copia’s narrow spine, ‘you are Death,’ she thinks, ‘Death looks
exactly my mother.’
“I
am not Death, Copia, I am yourself.”
“Am
I mad?” questions Copia aloud; then she sees Lethargus in memory's doorway and
with a blink Grandma disappeared into the street. In the silence Copia Minor
hears this little poem Vipsania and Germanicus are reciting:
Mirror, mirror, wall of mirror
Who are we, and why are we here?
We see our bodies
head to toe
But where oh where is
the self to know?
We each need to view
a self without regret
Though I don’t know
how self is quite yet,
The mirror can’t see
where I resides,
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?" asks Friendly, and Yermey pulls what appears to be a small
translucent marble from his right trouser pocket and places it near the center
of the table.
Blake
and the others watch as the white-as-paper round marble lifts slightly and
adjusts to the exact table center equidistance from the surrounding people. It
rises to the average height and size of the sitting humanoid species and takes
the outer shape of a globular mirrored through holographic tricks, thinks
Blake. Each person appears to be looking at Ship's iconic face directly.
"I
am ready, Captain Friendly," says Ship intuitively.
Friendly
speaks more formally, "Thank you. In a few minutes
Ship-O-My-Mothers."
'Polite
form in flight,' reckons Ship. He replies. "Ready when you are, Captain
Friendly, crew and honored guests."
Why
don't you call Ship 'SOMM' wonders Justin, or SOMM 10, a name of some kind.
Ship is so generic.
Too
polite, reasons Blake quietly. I think this may be a set up. He smiles politely
at Hartolite who returned a like expression.
We
hardly know you people, considers 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 glances at her husband. ‘Eyeball me Justin,’ she directs silently,
‘Help me out here.’
Yermey,
looking across at Justin scans the table, He grins like he is sitting
comfortably in the middle of a joke. He comments, "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 instead."
"We can do that," says Friendly casually,
"then you three can get a good night's sleep and tomorrow we can go for a
short ride."
Blake's
eyes light and excitement measures in his voice. "You are going to take us
around the world as if we were in the space station. That would be awesome. I
don't even know how high we are."
"We
could be on the Moon as far as we know," echoes Justin and grins,
"Where do you think we are, Pyl?"
"Good
idea," says Hartolite. "A guessing game. Where do you think we
are?"
"Each
guess, then we'll show you," laughs 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," comments Blake.
"Or,
really on the Moon," adds Justin secretly hoping it is so.
"I
think we are hovering at eighty to ninety-thousand feet," says Pyl. She
couldn't help smiling with the others. "Where are we Captain
Friendly?"
"Good
call," responds Friendly. "We are in Earth atmosphere at
seventy-thousand feet, hovering over Cleveland, Ohio. Straight down are your
Rock and Roll Museum and the Great Lakes Science Center."
Yermey
adds, "It sounds like the two men would like a short ride with the window
shades up. Shades are down because we are in Blackanot. We cannot be detected
by Earth built electronics or outside human sight."
"Besides,
we thought it might be disorienting to have them up," explains 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,"
says Pyl.
"You
and Blake are experienced pilots, but Justin is not. He does not enjoy flying
like you two do," comments Friendly matter-of-factly.
"Is
this true, Justin?" asks Pyl. She observed his small sheepish grin.
"It is. Why didn't you tell us you are afraid of flying?"
"I'm
fine,” reasons Justin. “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
adds, "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, declares Friendly.
By
the time the shades are filtered for the best of human eye viewing they find
themselves silently witnessing the dark side. Smiles all around and no one
utters a word. What can anyone say in such a quick, quiet and comfortable human
experience?
***
This
is Amorella speaking on today’s Doug and Dick notes in order. These books are
fiction but the intent is to stir the intellect and imagination. Quantum
mechanics is not end and all of things, give yourself another couple of
centuries of observation. It seems reasonable that on one level or another the
past, present and future appear to exist simultaneously. But as Doug puts the
question: “Once you’re dead can you have any new thoughts?”
If
one assumes the human spirit exists at all and yet it has no physical
attributes itself, that is it only radiates from the physical body, then it
would not continue after physical death. One would have no thoughts whatsoever.
However, while in life one can be witness to the growth or seeming death of
one’s spirit. If the spirit continues on and contains aspects of an individual’s
heart and mind, then it would seem reasonable that the spirit continues to
mature or withers away. What new thoughts would it acquire without
communication to other spirits? As long as it is an individual or even a
collective entity and the spirit can make observations of its surroundings,
something could be learned by those observations. At least in these books this
is so. In another book perhaps the spirit is but memory alone in which one can
review her or his life experiences. Something could be learned from these
studies. – Amorella
In
here knowledge comes from self-awareness, and in this self-awareness one learns
how to survive her or his environment. If one has a continued self-awareness
after physical death then she or he can gain the knowledge how to survive the
condition of living as it were without a physical body. In here, a spirit may
eventually wither away or it may join a collective of spirits to better
survive. These spirits may eventually be absorbed like water into some other form
or forms. I, Amorella, could write such stories as this that would fit in
context with the Merlyn books. These stories would also have to fit within
context of the Thunder Myths. The Thunder Myths are an important framework for
all my stories.
2251 hours. This appears strange to me because I have only
consciously known of the Thunder Myth for about a month or so.
The human heart and soul and mind are framed
to survive in the physical world for a limited time. Knowledge and wisdom must
also be framed in order for the mind and heart and soul to grasp and survive.
The framework may appear to be arbitrary, but surviving physics even for a time
is not arbitrary it is necessity. This is how I, the Amorella, view existence.
Imaginary or not, I must remain consistent for the writer and the reader to create an
understanding from these stories and blog.
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