Mid-morning. You had breakfast and enjoyed
the Saturday Cincinnati Enquirer more than usual. Presently you are waiting on
Mary Lou and will be off to the local Regal theatre by ten-thirty. You received
a note from BookBaby and responded immediately saying you would have everything
in by Tuesday. Later, dude. – Amorella
1004 hours. We heard from a former student and traveling companion,
Vicki J., at Sao Paulo. We responded and hope to hear from her soon.
Post. – Amorella
You
saw the film Lucy then had lunch at a
packed Cracker Barrel probably because of Kings Island or the three-day jazz
festival in downtown Cincinnati. – Amorella
After
Mary Lou left you drove over to Barnes & Noble at the Streets of Westchester off I-75 then stopped for a
Graeter’s and Kroger’s on Tylersville on the way home. You had a light supper
watched the news and a couple DVRed programs, “Suits” being one. You then
completed chapter twenty-one and are ready to post it. – Amorella
2301 hours. I have completed the ebook chapter drafts now I
have to see that the format remains consistent throughout (and of course
continue to look for uncaught errors). I have not had time to firm my thought
on the film “Lucy” other than to say I was surprised to see parallels in
concepts with these Merlyn books. I was odd to see. I would hope this is
positive but one never knows, not in real life, only in fiction do I feel I have
some control on the final outcome.
*** ***
©2014 GMG.One - Richard H. Orndorff
Chapter Nineteen
Criteria
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 19
I
am open-minded and ready, thinks Merlyn in present day. More than twelve
hundred earth years have passed since this endlessly unexpected druidic union
with Vivian occurred.
Oily
muscular memories stay slipperier-and-faster-and-slippery still, and a little
wiser and the great ghost Merlyn smiles, in hard-bodied memories of Vivian. An
unexpected fusion, a we that was neither here nor there, stays drawn
into hurricane thoughts funneling waterspout narrow and tense; a wonderment in
his imagination bordering on the Reality that birthed a multitude of universes.
Words can only do so much where words and numbers do not exist.
Muscle-like
contraction and expansion – we two lovers flow, greasing the wheels of
unseen undetermined spirits – the forces of nature that stir the universes grow
an invisible life, a life that gives birth and dies and rises again in the
simplest of the four elements - water. A slippery spiritual water
invisible to the periodic table. Such things this mind grasps in whirlwind of
heart into soul and soul into heart, with no truth other than nothing else
comes to mind.
*
I
am grass, believes Vivian in tied heart’s memory, to be laid out upon and loved
like Mother Earth herself. A clover sprouts to wait upon the honeybee while I
await in anticipation of Merlyn's metaphoric plow. Why is this? In memory I am
fleshy, furrowed and ready. Old Merlyn drives me down; though what magic is
this; he is not made ready for young and hot thoughts too many years beyond
adolescent youth. Am I earthy, and more than worthy enough for Merlyn’s taut
ship to slide into my imperfectly dark harbor.
*
Why
the excitement, thinks Merlyn. She focuses on my wants but I wonder on this
woman's needs. In a body full of hands she reaches for intimacy. She'll not
embrace in my physical self this way. I know the sensitivity of these many
small muscular controls manhood thrives on. To be stiff is not to be anointed
and controlled. She will not have me naked today were she to run her wet lips
over the bone of my contention nuzzled as it were between a passion and
abrasion where raw heart wears searing on soul’s wall.
I
will not abandon my duty to self; to resist these natural sexual powers
beckoning when I, a small kernel of nature with will of my own chose to be a
conduit not a bridge to be walked upon and over by kings and queens. Jackals
are as eager as this young druidess, to open and close the windows to my
spiritual order. Vivian works on brain, bone; muscle and nerves; feeding flesh
to flesh to heat this mind I have turned about – I am soul first, then heart,
then mind. If I cannot penetrate her soul first then she stirs my will in the
wrong pot.
Strongly souled and nakedly walled Merlyn challenges his
heart to bind and cement the wholeness of his inner nature into Vivian's
metaphysical frame. Merlyn lay intertwined with the grass. Earth, Air, fire and
water are beyond the world of counting the moments. O, such is ever unforgotten
memory shared again and again at times without a beginning or conclusion in
There and Here at once.
*
Sudden
in eclipsing memory, Vivian realizes
her hands pinning Merlyn's arms to the ground with his muscles in tense
distraction until he stone stone, a flat sleeping piece of granite with her
atop as a gravestone. She releases
her hands' pressure. Merlyn lies a moss-bound boulder on the grass and she
becomes as air.
*
Merlyn's
soul grabs from his heart's memory the following classic Greek line, "I,
Anaximenes of Miletus, say, 'Just as our soul, being air, holds us together,
so do breath and air encompass the whole world.'"
Caught
off guard Vivian freezes her ghostly eyes in his sight and with a lightning
tongue strikes, "Great Merlyn has no soul of his own, thus he has no
heart."
"I
share yours my fair Vivian," shouts a thunderous Merlyn and awaits her to
bolt in response. A conclusion or beginning. The ghost of Merlyn noses awake to
the reality of the odor of burning flesh – Vivian’s and his own.
***
The Brothers 19
Robert
turns right on Grove passes John Knox College on the right and drives his Lexus
left on West Walnut and left into his brother's driveway. Not much going on in
our town he thinks. We are practically surrounded by Columbus. Cincinnati banks
the Ohio and Cleveland beaches Erie, but nothing stops Columbus from gobbling
the rest of the state. Leaving the car Robert
smiles seeing Lady’s long eyelashes dusting the diamond-shaped windowpanes. I
should have walked Jack; the dogs enjoy each other’s company. We could have
taken them a walk in the cemetery like grandpa and dad did with their dogs? Rob
saunters to the side door, gives a quick knock and enters.
“I’m
upstairs,” shouts Richard.
“It’s
been a few days,” responds Rob while climbing the steps. “What have you been up
to?”
“Not
much.
“Going
by the Hanby House I was thinking about the abolitionists and the Underground
Railway. The town’s pretty much lost its old identity; it's not the small town
we grew up in.”
“Yeah.
Who knew, Robby? Do you want a beer?”
“I’ll
take the beer.” He rubs his chin, “Remember when we had beards?”
Richard
chuckles, “We looked like a young Smith Brothers?”
“Can
you still get their cough drops? I haven’t seen them in years.”
“I
don’t know.”
Robert
asks, “What’s the matter with your old radio?”
“Nothing,”
replied Richard. “I was thinking about fixing the on/off button, but the real
button is a pulled plug.
Rob
smirks, "One is a button on the set the other dangles like a tail.”
“The
tail is the power supply,” says Richard.”
“The
heart’s our power supply, Richie. We've got nothing to plug in.” Both laugh.
"We aren't robots."
"Rossum's Universal Robots"
comments Richard, "that's where the word was first used." He
continues, “Human beings have passion, that's as important as the heart, don't
you think?”
Robert
chuckles. “We are nothing but self-reflective biochemical mass.”
“I
agree completely," comments Richard.
“No
high tech machines are we. We are self-starters born in a puddle of biochemical
wattage,” continues Rob.
“Okay,”
says Richard. “Here’s the thing though, why do we feel connected to the
cosmos?”
Robert
answers, “It is the essence of what we are. It is built into psyches.”
“And
in our genes.”
“Our
genes are our psyches, Richie. It’s only bio-chemical makeup.”
Richard
quips, “We are genetically predisposed."
Without
the slightest hint of doubt, Robert
responds, “We are pre-programmed to have our doubts.”
“We
are our own genes, doubts and all.”
Rob
adds, “As are our wives’ own genes.”
Richard
pauses then comments, “We are mostly poor mirrored duplicates in the species
Homo sapiens.” For a short moment he stared at the unplugged radio then, “We
human beings are more analogous with the radio and television than the
computer. We are social centers, or at least it used to be. Earth is our gathering
place, as home's hearth, villages, towns and cities used to be.”
Robert
kept to his track, "We are but weeds, Richie. Nothing more. Yesterday we
were looking at the foliage in the back yard and Connie said we ought to get
rid of the honeysuckle because it isn't a native. I replied, "We aren't
native to this land either."
"That
doesn't make us weeds though," counters Richard.
"I
think it does, Dickie. We act like we are weeds. We take over what is really
native in the world and manipulate it to our own liking."
"We
are native too, as far as the world is concerned."
"So
are weeds by any other name," snaps Robert.
Robert
spies the wireless router on the floor below the window. “Why do you have your
router on the floor?”
“So
people can’t pick up the signal so easily.”
“You
got it secured?”
“Of
course Rob,” sighs Richard.
Robert
smiles, “What did we ever do without the Internet?”
Richard
adds, “Or our cell phones.”
“Long
ago, human beings only had their dreams,” says Robert.
"In
our youth we had our imagination and our games.”
Robert
adds somberly, "We played cause and effect with all the observational
errors."
"We
still do," responds Richard.
Robert's
natural smile with a hint of a smirk rose to the occasion, "So do our
sister-in-laws.”
"We
love them both, but they are as good a reason as any to go down and get those
beers." Richard had the last word. Both chuckle.
***
Grandma’s Story
19
“This particular family story continues through the
conclusion of this book and the first three chapters of Great Merlyn’s Ghost Volume Two.
Genetic solidification and spiritual continuity is the focus,” says Grandma. “Here
is one of the main characters, a woman, about to speak to a stranger and her
life will be changed forever. Most know how this is when a person falls into
someone else’s life and the world for both is no longer the same. This woman is
no exception.”
“Greetings, sir.
I mean you no harm. My name is Criterios. I am from Athens to attend the
festival at Santiago de Compostela. Are you of the Roman Church?"
Renaldo opens his
eyes from a night's rest in the woods, stands and replies, “I am a monk also
traveling to the Way of Saint James. The brother of our Christ has his bones
revered on the site.”
Upon seeing his books
on a nearby stump Criterios politely asks, "What are your talents?"
“I have worked
setting and leading blue stained glass into several Church windows. I have also
carved simple oak crosses for sharing with the poor.”
Surprised, Criterios
responds, “With your books I assumed you were a scholar?
Renaldo momentarily
stares into the glowing embers somberly and utters, "People in this
country hold their philosophies private."
Criterios points to
Renaldo's two leather bound books, smiles broadly and states, “I see you have
Aristotle. You are a student of the world like myself. I am learned also.”
Renaldo mirrors her
smile saying, “I always have my two friends Aristotle and Pythagoras with me.”
He pauses, "But say, though your clothes define you otherwise, I see you
have woman's eyes. You say you are Greek, how so are you here?"
Her surprise shifts,
“My honest name is Criteria. In this clothing I appeared manly enough. I am disguised as a man for my own
protection. I was schooled in the philosophies in Athens."
Gleaning, he comments
quietly, "Clever enough," and continues his observation. This woman has brown eyebrows, a solid
nose, slender, distinct cheekbones, and a sharp angular chin. She could easily
pass for a Frank. Her body appears adolescent male and her cleverness alone
shows her as student of the world.
Criteria
says, ”Our family is well known, thus I travel under the name Criterios.”
Renaldo’s
follows with a simple question, “Whose family are you?”
“I
am Ostrogoth and I am a convert to Arian Christianity. My father is a cousin of
Pepin and his son Charles. My great grandfather’s cousin was a trader with the
Romans. Father wanted another son but got me instead.”
“Ostrogoth,”
he says in surprise. “I am Visigoth. So many members of my family have died of
natural causes. We thought it a curse for my father to have supported the
Aryanism among the Visigoths. I decided to become a priest in the Roman Church
to help relieve our family of the curse.”
Criteria
comments as if she already knows this man. “Here we are on the same path,
heading to the bones of St. James the Elder, the brother of Jesus.”
He
stands in the revelation of the moment. “You think like my grandfather and
father.”
"We need to get
on our way to the Way of St. James Festival in Santiago de Compostela,” she
replies.
The two quietly
continue for two miles on the open and nearly empty road towards the city that
sits on the western coast of northern Spain. She studies Renaldo along the way
Renaldo has a Roman
nose, evaluates Criteria, and bushy thick black eyebrows to counter the goatee
on his chin. He has brunet hair and high Frankish brow that fits with the gray
eyes of artistic intelligence. His face is rounder than first appears, and that
right eye squints thinner than the left yet at times he shows a warrior's face
not that of an acetic.
For
the first time Renaldo’s books become secondary. This woman is real and like
myself, he thinks. He asks, "How long will you be in Santiago?”
"When
we arrive where the Apostle, Saint James the Greater is said to be buried my
pilgrimage will be complete. From Santiago I will travel east to the fishing
village of Morus where I will be leaving by boat for Rome.” Criteria adds
matter-of-factly, would you like to escort me to Rome?
Together are woven three divisions in one
Today, a Past, and a Future is spun.
One by one through Chapter Twenty-one to deliver
A slow march of freeing words from across the River.
Words delivered by Ferryboat Captain, Leo Lamar
From the Dead of humanity tilting the Living ajar.
Filtering through humankind like a somber dew
Through a body of friendship, is Grandma to you.
From smiling Grandma's white teeth and dark gums
Merlyn's mind to a future this way comes.
***
Diplomatic Pouch 19
After
a leisurely return from the dark side of the Moon to Earth, Ship has planted
itself seventy-thousand feet directly above the Cleveland, Ohio Rock and Roll
Museum and Great Lakes Science Center for the night.
Comfortably
positioned each around the walnut table as before, Blake thinks, I find it odd
that Pyl and Justin choose not to sit together. Justin sits next to Hartolite
and Yermey sits next to Pyl.
Smiling
warmly Yermey says, "I am sure you have many questions. We can take a few
before bedtime."
Blake
begins, "Earlier, Yermey, you said machinery allows us to see who we
really are. I think you were referring to Ship's abilities to keep each of us
on board equally comfortable and safe. As we are each sitting in the same
chairs as before, each of us is sitting next to a marsupial humanoid."
Friendly
interrupts, "This is my idea not Ship's – I want us to become closer as a
group, not as two groups of humanoids."
Pyl
reinforces with, "We are all humanoids Blake."
Yermey
adds politely, "Go on, Blake, let’s settle on your question."
"How
can machinery see us as we really are when we don't know who we are? At least
we humans don't. I don't think we have a clue as to who we are."
"I
don't think Yermey means that, Blake," lightly chastises Pyl. She turns,
looking directly at Yermey, “Blake is talking about who we are in terms of our
inner selves, our hearts and souls. We see ourselves as a mystery sometimes.
I'm sure you must feel the same."
Yermey
appears momentarily puzzled while Friendly and Hartolite stare waiting for a
typical response expected by Yermey. However, no marsupial humanoid in the last
four hundred years would have ever thought to ask Yermey such a question so
directly.
A
couple of seconds pass before Yermey stumbles out with a, "Pardon?"
He adjusts his mischievous smile saying, "Or is it Please in your
fair city of Cleveland?"
Pyl
is momentarily more distracted by the twinkle in his eye than the smile. She
respectfully declares,
" Some Cincinnatians say please. It is due to the city's
early German heritage."
Yermey
replies, "Bitte; as in a request."
Friendly
notes Blake and Justin glancing at one another in surprise. She quickly adds,
"We know several languages and Ship has translation/transcribers of all of
them on your planet if we need. We prefer English in this circumstance."
Pyl
gives a little nervous laugh, commenting, "It is relaxing to me to see you
are not perfect, Mr. Yermey." She then continues, "You mixed up the
cities."
Yermey's
smile shifted slightly. "I did not expect the conversation to move to, as
you say, 'hearts and souls’ but I can respond to how our ThreePlanets culture
views these term words."
Blake
interrupts, "Yermey, can your machinery detect a person's soul? If so, how
is this possible?"
"Define
soul first,” adds Pyl, “Mr. Yermey if you would. We have few term words
for something that has never been proven to exist."
"Like
God," adds Justine. "These words are mostly indefinable by their
nature."
"What
is their nature?” comments Yermey with reserve. “How do you see God and soul as
alike; and, if they are, why do you have the two words when one ought to
do?"
"If
I may," says Hartolite. "In our language your word, God is written as
it sounds, "Godofamily, CreatorofAllThingsanBeyond." It is one word,
but like in German sometimes, the word and meaning are strung together whereas
in English you might hyphenate them."
"God
of Family," notes Pyl. "Does that mean you have a Family God?"
Yermey
unintentionally gives Pyl eye contact while thinking; this Earth-woman has a
pleasing voice. He says, "No, it means we think of God as a part of our
family in that She provided a pouch, the universe, as a place to live."
"That's
interesting," replies Pyl. "Most earthlings think of God as a
male."
Yermey
inadvertently becomes his usual self and rather haughtily comments, "The
male does not have a pouch you see."
Pyl
gives him an eye normally reserved for her brother and quips, "I don't
see, Mr. Yermey. Would you like to show me you don't have a pouch?"
Awkwardness
descended so quickly that one might have thought she or he had heard an
embarrassed Ship quietly shuffle out of the room.
Justin
comes to Pyl's aid. "Perhaps we should leave God and/or God of Family out
of the conversation for now."
“I
think I am ready for bed," proposes Blake and the others quickly agree.
***
Chapter Twenty
Happenstance
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 20
Merlyn
awakens standing amongst the white foxglove and red poppy just east of his
early stage ruins. His eyes focus first on his mind's pillar, the giant Oak and
on to the boulder and beyond to his hut. His eyes that are not slowly move to
beyond the hut, the heather, the narrow woods and rest on six tall blades of
grass by the river. Six, and a realization begins . . . Vivian.
A
billiard table rises from a short muscled contraction in a long fingered oak
root pointing his way. In a relatively quick blink the felted table green
appear empty save for a solid green ball number 6
directly in front of the far left corner pocket. With no cue ball present
Merlyn’s curiosity sweeps across the green and merging lightning quick on the
far cue spot as a solidifying yellow 1 ball, of equally size and weight rests
on green. I am drawn to the 1 ball on the far cue spot. I must have scratched
the cue ball but it doesn't appear pocketed. I am ready for anything but losing
my Vivian to nothing but dusty bones in the material world.
"You
have only my soul to hold onto, Merlyn," coaches Vivian from afar.
"The
soul is a mystery," he gripes. "I have only heart and mind to grasp
you with."
“This
is not enough to hold me Merlyn,” her distant voice replies.
A
yellow and green ball, considers Merlyn, and yet who is the green? He picks up
the cue and its soft leather-like tip kisses the yellow gently towards the
green 6. Now we are close enough for
conversation. He says, "I am the one, Merlyn. Who might you be?"
“I
am Bracc's ancient ghost, cornered, green with envy, and ready for the
pocket."
"The
cue's been scratched,” responds Merlyn with necessity to the rules.
"I
am stuck still, and in all honesty embarrassed that I died in a resort of
trickery, to convince the Living, that I could speak to the Dead."
"But
you are the Dead speaking in this, my fabled dream mind, Bracc. That is
Grandma’s story not my own,” announces Merlyn.
“Alas,
I am done in,” mumbles Bracc.
"You
are on not in anywhere Bracc. There is no trickery here."
"I
am but a poor soul caught, trapped, holed up near a pocket."
Merlyn
quick-wittedly remarks, "The economics of the soul have nothing to do with
pockets of poverty, I assure you my fellow shaman. You need to turn about like
those other balls once racked by other ghostly fellows with similarly endowed
round balls. This flat green is but a painting, man."
Bracc responds, "As is your yellow, Merlyn."
Merlyn
shifts thought, "Two solids and a scratched cue, do you see meaning in
this transient vision?"
"My
wonder is why I am here at all,” says Bracc.
"I
dreamt you, Bracc; rather Grandma brought you up to me.”
"As
a lesson?"
"I
think so, but you are here as a cross-segmentation of dreamlands — a
pollination of sorts.
Bracc-the-green-ball
whispers, "The faeries have captured us both?"
"No
faeries, here, Bracc, unless you find a faeryland in your soul,” states Merlyn
directly.
“The
faeries are in me mind and heart but not me soul."
"How
do you know this?" asks a surprised and somewhat disjointed Merlyn.
"Because
faeries came about after creation not before," replies Bracc earnestly.
"Tricks came after."
I
thought hearts did the traveling, surmises Merlyn. It appears there may be more
to a soul than armor. He questions, "What do you know of the soul,
Bracc?"
Merlyn
is asking a once-misguided shaman about the soul? How can this be? "I know it is lonely, Merlyn,"
rolls from Bracc’s heartanmind. “Beyond this, I know next to nothing,
Merlyn."
"Whose
voice was first then? I thought it Vivian’s.”
"My own. I know it is not from
heartanmind, and that is as honest an answer as I can give." Bracc pauses.
"I have learned to be an honest man since my capture."
"Who
captured you?" asked Merlyn.
"I
do not know. I found myself in a sealed solid walled place. It had a seam like
a door might, a seam of hope I suppose."
"Did
you not try it?"
"Not
for several thousand years I reckon, but when I did it opened and I was free. I
do not know who held me or freed me, but it happened just as speaking to you
has happened. Avalon is an enchanted place. I am learning many things even
now."
“This
is my sanctuary not Avalon. Your heartanmind is learning what?” asks Merlyn.
"How
the soul teaches. That is what it seems."
We
are but entanglements of personality, conjures Merlyn in the moment. The human
spirit of soul and heart and mind dances a threesome within the Living and the
Dead. If matter can be in a bit quantum entanglement, a piece of Bracc, then
what of me in basement of the dream and being of no matter? Thought alone,
first, before the plowing of words and their immediate considerations. Faeries
to berries and berries to fruit with a thunder to toot lead to a Lightning
yellow balled; first and foremost the bolt is carried through the soul of
Vivian who else then would be green with envy but myself?
***
The Brothers 20
Robert
says to Connie, "It looks like a day of rain. Let's go to a movie."
She
nods in agreement, replying, "I'll have to wash my hair. I'll call Cyndi
first to see if they want to go. What do you want to see?"
"Quartet"
is re-playing at the Drexel on Main, We all enjoyed the film; let's go see it
again."
*
Late
morning and the four are sitting in the northwest corner of Ernie and Pat’s
Grill, Uptown Riverton, looking through the varied sheets of rain across State
Street to the perky front window of Patricia's Flowers pressing on the staid
white marbled Citizen's Bank. The two sisters are finishing their classic
salads, mixed fruit cups and sharing a side of sweet potato fries while Robert
has finished his an Italian Combo and Richard his Cuban Panini. Both are
nibbling on their remaining sides of barbeque chips while waiting on Connie and
Cyndi. Each had unsweetened ice tea with lemon with Richard sipping on his
second glass of Coke Zero.
Richard
asks, "Anyone for a Graeter's ice cream?"
After
the movie," suggests Cyndi, "we can hardly finish our salads."
"That's
because you ate the sweet potato fries first."
"And,
you didn't even share them with us," declares Robert.
"You
could have ordered your own," quips Connie smiling.
"It is hard to believe that Dustin Hoffman is
directing. He was born in 1937," notes Cyndi to Robert.
Smirking
contentiously at his wife's remark, Rob quickly grins at Cyndi, "Not when
you think back on The Graduate, Hoffman looked pretty young in those
days."
Richard
chuckles and adds, "We were young back in 1967."
"You
were a quarter century," comments Connie and now we are all moving on to
three-quarters of a century."
Richard
continues, "Speaking of three-quarters of a century, how old is Maggie
Smith? She plays the grand lady Jean Horton in Quartet, and the old
Dowager of Grantham in Downton Abbey."
Cyndi
corrects, "She is the Countess of Grantham."
"Whatever.
How old is Maggie?"
"She
was born 28 December 1934," says Robert glancing at his iPhone.
Connie
comments, "Maggie puts her heart and soul into her work. She is a wonderful
actress." All ardently agreed.
Richard asks, "I can understand her heart,
Connie, but how does Dame Maggie put soul into her work? How does anyone put
the soul into anything?"
She
responds, ”It's her enthusiasm, Richard, her passion."
Cyndi
quickly follows with, “It’s her quintessence."
Robert
checks his iPhone, “Quintessence, mostly I get references to the song,
the music. I looked up 'phrase - heart and soul' and it is still reference to
the music." He pauses to tap in more letters. "There is "Brevity
is the soul of wit,' and 'wearing one's heart on his sleeve', but that is not
what we are talking about here."
"Love
powers the heart," affirms Connie, "but what powers the soul?"
"Passion
powers the soul," states Robert as if it were a fact.
"We
need a definition first," claims Richard.
"No,
let's use a thesaurus, responds Robert checking his iPhone. "Here, I have
it. 'Spirit, Embodiment or Quintessence’. Cyndi's right with
quintessence."
"What's
the difference between one's spirit and a ghost?" questions Connie
cynically.
Richard
is readying a sarcastic response when Cyndi swiftly connects the two,
"Like the Holy Spirit and the Holy Ghost."
"We
have argued this before," says Richard, "but let's say I agree with
you that you have a soul. Let's say the soul is without mass but that it has an
energy and it carries information."
"What
kind of information?" asks Robert.
"Let's
say it is electromagnetic in some bazaar quantum mechanical way."
"Richard,"
responds Cyndi, "let's don't follow Alice down that old rabbit hole."
"No,
seriously, I mean like light and radio waves can carry information. This
physics can store a human self-awareness and memory. The soul is a natural
entity rather than something supernatural?
Rob
adds, "Scientists can read our thoughts with signatures of the signals
generated by firing neurons. Whether this can be worked into a container or
soul I don't know."
"I
don't think of a person's heart and soul and the physics of light in the same
breath," comments Cyndi dryly.
“The
soul is supposed to be our spirit,” adds Connie. “It’s our inner self, it
doesn’t have to be supernatural.”
Richard
responds, “We’ll never define the soul scientifically then?”
“It’s
intangible, Richie,” declares Cyndi.
Richard
comments, “In my fiction, it’s a shell.”
“So
are you, Richie,” toys Connie.
“Dickie’s
a shell-game,” laughs Robert. They all chuckled light-heartedly.
“This
universe is just another stage,” pipes Richard. “We are all a piece of
entertainment.”
“For
whom?” asks Robert, “the Dead in your story or the audience in the cemetery?”
Grandma's Story
20
Fifteen years have
gone by and Criteria and Renaldo have never consummated their relationship or
married. They are partners, story gatherers. In their travels, Criteria took
Renaldo to Rome, Athens, Jerusalem and Cairo.
Criteria feels almost
all narratives are derived from one original story, just as she senses all
people are descendants of an Adam and Eve. Renaldo thinks the accounts are
spawned by one’s spiritual nature. He doesn’t agree with Criteria that a Master
First Story existed. He parallels with Pythagoras who noted some numbers are
special and thus held sacred and that, likewise, some stories are special and
sacred. The two continually discuss these issues but never argue because each
secretly fears offending the other to the point it would destroy their now much
extended soul-felt friendship.
Presently, the two, on
horseback, are on the road from Rome to the Abbey of Saint Maurice and from the
abbey they were to head north to Notre Dame du Clarier, the Cathedral of Sion
in Valais.
"The Bishops of
Sion and of the Abbey of Saint Maurice are rumored of creating a
speculation," says Criteria amusingly, “I wonder what this is about?”
“A sin, no doubt,”
mirrors Renaldo's chuckles. “If there is a good story, a sin is involved.” He
had been assessing the founding his own story that is about their surviving the
previous night’s quite unusual tornado, but he can’t conjure a sin to have
carried it in the wind.
Reading
his face Criteria declares, “In last night's cyclonic tempest, God could have
taken our bodies and souls.”
Renaldo
responds, “I thought that. Aristotle, Pythagoras and Plato made allowances for
the soul's survival -- a method by which the soul may travel from one body to
another.”
Criteria
jokes, “Metatempsycosis, modernized ideas from the Gnostics but not Rome.”
Renaldo
abruptly states, “The Church says the body is resurrected, that the body is not
separate from the soul.”
“Pythagoras
said the body was divided from the soul and that the soul could transmigrate
from one body to another." Criteria takes pause then, “I like Pythagoras
because he sometimes taught to an all woman audience, one of the philosophical
monastic orders was all women and they held their property in common.”
“We
hold our property in common too, Criteria,” adds Renaldo in laughter. “We are a
monastic order of two.” They climb off their horses for a night’s rest and take
out their bedding for under the stars. Later.
“We
are,” she says and snuggled in close, affectionately confirms, “We are one in
our hearts.”
Renaldo
warmly kisses her forehead, "and our souls." They quickly fall asleep
in each other’s arms.
Criteria
stirs at dawn, “Renaldo, are you awake?”
“I
was thinking about the soul and perhaps it is possible that an angel would hold
of them if we both had died," comments the obviously awake Renaldo.
Interested,
Criteria sits up. “How, pray tell, do you come to that conclusion?”
Smiling
contentedly he says, “Because an angel holds each of us in his hand?”
After
bread and fresh water they climbed on the horses and continued north on the
road from Rome to St. Maurice.
That
evening after a meal of stewed goat meat and onions at the White Cross Inn the
Frankish leader, Comets del Acqs III, interrupted them. His coat of arms
clearly visible from a chain, he asks, “Good pilgrims, do you mind if I sit?”
Both
stood in politeness, “Kind Lord, of course not, replies Renaldo. “We heard you
were staying at the inn. It is an honor, sire.”
“You
are a legend, sire,” professes Criteria, “as were your great, great grandfather
and great, great grandmother, King Pharamond and Queen Argotta.
Comets
del Acqs eyes her carefully and comments, “I think you are a princess in
disguise.”
Criteria
set a standard aristocratic smile, saying in Greek, “I am but a simple pilgrim,
kind sir.”
“And,
you are a scholarly one who knows her native language,” Comets replies. “I know
your father and one of your brothers.”
Renaldo
gently interrupts, “Kind Lord, do you have a story for our scribing? I am sure
Rome would enjoy the story from an illustrious a Lord as yourself.”
He
sat amused. Criteria and Renaldo listen. “I have a story. My grandfather had a
daughter, Viviane of Avallon del Acqs. My great, great aunt married Prince
Taliesin, the Arch Druid.”
“Blasphemy
in Rome, sire,” responds Renaldo while assessing the titled name, Viviane.
Comet
replies bluntly, “But not with the Franks, pilgrim. This is not Rome.”
Criteria
touches Comets del Acqs sleeve. “Indeed, Sir, it is not."
“You
are, Criteria, your father’s ever roaming daughter who is guided and protected
by the monk, Renaldo, that I can see, and shall get word to your father as
such.” He points, “I see that Pythagoras rests on the extra chair.”
“Plato
and Aristotle too,” adds Renaldo who wonders in silence, who is this Viviane?
Criteria
quickly remarks, “Renaldo is right, Plato, Aristotle and Pythagoras -- our two
Greek columns and a pyramid.” She observes Comet del Acqs now boisterous grin
and quietly gives thanks.
***
Diplomatic Pouch
20
Morning,
Blake lies in bed mulling his thoughts. These people know no more than we on
such metaphysical things though they are twenty thousand years ahead of us in
their knowledge, society and technology. These people are no wiser than we;
otherwise they wouldn't have stumbled around in our initial meetings. Friendly,
Hartolite and even Yermey appear polite, kind and mannerly. We can be polite,
kind and mannerly also. They are no better than we are when it comes to knowing
who we are and why we are here. You would think they would have learned
something about hearts and souls, at least given them more criteria. You would
have thought that machinery like Ship would have a soul by now. We think we are
that close, but the artificial intelligence is just like we are but less
heart-bound. No, that might not be true. Ship appears to have a heart for we
humanoids.
Once
up and a short time later Blake knocks on Pyl and Justine's door. Within
minutes the three were walking the hall to breakfast. No sooner than they were
settled with coffee, tea, milk, juice and bowls of cereal that Hartolite and
Friendly entered into the room with Yermey following.
Blake
quickly draws conclusion that Pyl is attracted to Yermey for his mind and for
no other reason. Blake also realizes that Justin shows hint of any jealousy so
Blake dismissed that dark thought. With a lull in conversation Blake asks
Friendly, "Last night we were talking about the soul. I am interested in
your concept; do you people think of the soul as intellectual and emotional
charged as we think of the mind and the heart?"
Friendly
smiles graciously, "These matters are perhaps easier to speak on in the
freshness of morning.” She glances at her comrades and says, “we think of the
soul as remaining neutral and immortal though not the same as Godofamily is
immortal."
Hartolite
adds. "Our species and your own have similar thoughts on souls, hearts and
minds. Each thinks of them separately and having no material weight and
seemingly taken up no space within our physical selves. That is if you consider
the mind to be a spiritual-like place beyond the thought processes of the
brain."
"We
discern the spirit, the heartansoulanmind to be in our friends also; just as you
do," reinforces Hartolite, “each is in our individual selves but it is
also spiritually communal, at least that’s our culture’s view.”
Blake
comments somewhat in dismay, "You are some twenty-thousand years ahead of
us and you are no further along? Last night, Yermey said that you have
machinery that can detect a person's soul."
"This
is easier to do in our home language and loses something in translation. Our
machinery cannot quantify the soul.”
“We
would never think to weigh your heartansoulanmind,” mutters Yermey in the
dullness of the presentation. "It is madness to think on such a
point."
Pyl
touches Yermey's hand with compassion, "It is madness; this is not
how we three imagine the soul. We don't find the mind or even the soul as
nearly as mysterious as the human heart." Her sentence ended with a softly
humane smile.
"That
is another subject," comments Justin. “First, what can we say about the
soul that we all agree with?
"We
can say," declares Yermey, "that the heartansoulanmind is
immortal."
Justin comments, "You continue to say heart and soul
and mind like it is one word."
"We
look at it as if it were one so when speaking in English it flows as one
word," responds Friendly ever so reserved and polite in this subject area.
Justin
thinks, Yermey make one’s heart and soul and mind sound like a trinity. With
energetic curiosity Justin asks, "How did you come by this three words in
one?"
Friendly
reasons, "I think it is our physical pouches that make the initial
differences in our species, that is, our pouches provide a genuine difference
on how we view the world." She glances to Yermey to continue.
Yermey
says, "Early on we were just like you. We had our families of hunters and
gatherers, our tribes and our separate territories."
"Particularly
when we felt we were stuck on a single planet," interrupts Hartolite.
"Yes,"
replies Yermey with eyes on Hartolite, "when we were on a single
planet." He paused with wide eyes and open thought and remarks,
"Growing pouched is a community. We are heartansoulanmind first. Growing
pouched is as much psychological as it is physical in our species. Our small
groups evolved from the pouch concept. This group evolves into our species as a
family unit. We are connected physically through sharing, just as our individual
heartsanminds share an individual soul, an immortal shell," Yermey pauses
to gather himself from talking too fast, "to us, the shell is but an
extension of the pouch, you see."
Being
open, frank and a bit irritated with Yermey’s somewhat dogmatic style and
mixing logic, Pyl looks Yermey in the eye and says, "I have a womb, not a
pouch. What's that worth to you Yermey?”
***
Chapter
Twenty-one
Translucence
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 21
In
short order Merlyn rolls his spectral eyes back into his spectral head to
discover he is about to have a discussion with Glevema and Panagiotakis right
in his own sanctuary.
Within
from the door way to his hut Merlyn sees the oak billiard table rise from the
stone boulder just as he had risen from the stony sleep of the Dead. Merlyn
moves, gaining confidence as he glances down from the height of the giant oak
to the table below to see two balls, each on a cue mark, and an oak cue stick
lying on the table green near the white cue ball and on the other cue mark the
black 8 ball.
Merlyn
blinks. I am the stick, Takis is the cue ball and Mother is the 8 ball. The
pockets shift. One pocket connects to the heart, another to the soul, and a
third to the mind; the other three are random existential nightmares. My cue
tip needs to strike old Takis and send him to lightly kiss Mother Glevema and
send her towards the far right corner, estimates Merlyn.
Before
I ask my question I must strike with the cue ball and drive her into the most focused
heartansoulanmind corner of the moment. I can only hope to drive Mother into
heart's unforeseen pocket for a truthfully honest response.
Semi-conscious of the timing Merlyn strikes the cue ball,
which, as the physics would have it, taps the 8 ball a bit further and harder
to the left side of the ball than he anticipated.
The
white ball rolls to the left and almost scratches in the far corner pocket, and
in Merlyn's mind the 8 ball unfolds an almost unlikely destined path to the
left corner pocket and drops in. 'Not good,' concludes Merlyn, 'A faery's
trick,' adds his struck heart.
His
understood questions on the Second Rebellion drill into Mother's soul and into
his heart instead. "I should have stopped with Takis," conjures
Merlyn, "I should have let the cue ball run the table."
Mother
asks, "Do you think I did not see through your tactics of using my
grandfather to kiss and soften my soul?"
"I
was aiming at your heart, dear Mother of all mothers. I see I missed my
mark."
The
soul tends to show an armor of indifference, thinks Mother Glevema while
considering a response to Merlyn's initial question. "Nuclear
weaponry," declares Mother, and all those dead from political conflicts
and two major wars during the first half of the twentieth century.”
She
continues, “Even my first friends among the Dead, the marsupial humanoid Dead,
pleaded for a short-ordered Second Rebellion to address the parental anxieties
of both species for their living children."
"The
Living do not know about the marsupial humanoids other than my fictional
stories, Mother. How do I turn this into story form?"
"You
were sorted out, Merlyn. I assume you are up to the job," replies Mother
rather huffily. "Once the marsupial humanoids actually landed on Earth and
tragically died in secret attempt to present themselves in July, 1947; their
Dead decided it was time to re-introduce themselves to me, Mother Glevema.
The
reasonableness of Eisenhower’s Farewell Speech became the trigger -- the
madness of a world of industrial-military complexes would eventually create a
horrific global social circumstance in which humanity both collectively and
individually would have no choice but to shut itself off soulanmind-wise,
Merlyn.
This
is something you can certainly understand and sell to the Living; individual
and collective humanity is essentially becoming a closed camp within, the
breadth of the human heart struck with the cryptic thought that work alone can
make you free." She pauses to let this sink in, and adds, "Merlyn,
how would we many Dead grow and flourish under such heartless conditions of
power and consequence?
Subdued
or not, a reckoning will come, ruminates Merlyn, as surely as I, one of
the Dead, walk with or without consequence among these presently Living.
Even
I, Merlyn, do not know how or why this came to be. But who really knows the
how's and why's of any rebellions or wars. Freedom, what is freedom without the
fullness in one's heartansoulanmind? How does one even define freedom without
the full scope of one’s heartansoulanmind? Human reality has to be defined by
something within first, thinks Merlyn. If the Dead do not know the definition
how can the Living ever know it?
***
The Brothers 21
Richard
and Robert sit in the morning shade on a bench in Riverton watching people and
traffic move through the busy Uptown intersection of State and College. Richard
always liked this corner from where he could see one of his favorite boyhood
places, the weathered State Movie Theatre marquee once grandly lit. Robert never
was the movie fan, fancies Richard.
Richard
considers; Rob's boyhood took in bound textbook-like words to carve a life
based on what human reality is, the physical body. Richard liked the
adventurous photographs in Life as much as words of daring and
diversion. Rob became a cardiothoracic surgeon and I became a professor of
literature. We still live in our hometown, but identically twin bodies do not
identical twin minds make.
He
glances across the street waiting to view Cyndi and Connie emerge from
Schneider's Bakery with four small cups of coffee and four fresh and tasty
white cream-filled doughnuts topped with a layer of chocolate icing. He says,
"Let's move on to something else, Rob, I'm tired of talking about money.”
Interrupted
from his focus on the marquee, Rob taps his brother's shoulder, replying,
"Talking and thinking are two different things, Dickie." In clear and
exact memory Rob has been focusing on his recently completed poem:
*
L I L L I A
N G
I S H
News:
senseless beyond the deadline,
prisoner
to a here and now,
reports
any hearsay, the current heresies.
She:
its quick legend in catchwords,
memorable
as a persistent comet is memorable,
Old
light of whom reaches us years later.
She
is Beatrice: graceful frames of spirit;
comet
to fixed star; sister to star
forms
through whom travelers know --
earth
as Diana, child of wild things,
gathering
broken blossoms with voice of arms
in
the first light a chaste lover brings;
fire
as Athena, eyes flashing with battle-charm,
holds
our souls, fragile as daylight, through the night,
breaking
the dark air of harm;
water
as Venus, love's strong voice of light,
laughing
with the long hair of waves gently bearing
the
sea-worn swells of doubt from every lover's eyes;
air
as Mary, sensuous truth as heroine,
whose
dark lips of pure fire melt that elemental
cold
of pretense in the frightened soul of hope.
Child
to woman to spirit of silent grace,
from
way down east rising with the northern sun,
always
new, the unforgettable faces of Lillian Gish.
•
Richard
asks, "What are you thinking about?"
"Lillian
Gish. The marquee got me thinking about her." He stops. "The girls
have been in the bakery for sixteen minutes."
"She
was famous in the silent movies. What about Lillian Gish? She's dead isn't
she?"
"The
poem is about her unforgettable faces on film. She died in 1993, Dickie."
He points, "Here they come. The restaurant's not open yet. Let's meet them
at the tables across the street."
As
Richard looks at the traffic and the people moving on State Street. A thought
flashes into consciousness – how it might it be to be an existential
heartansoulanmind walking across the street alone. "To be the most basic
form of consciousness," rushes from tongue into Robert’s ears.
"What's
that?" asks Robert.
"I
am thinking on minimal consciousness, if there is such an animal,"
acknowledges Richard.
"We
hoped no less in the operating room," chuckles Rob continuing, "A
minimal animal – you want a jellyfish," as they cross West College with
the light he adds, "I'm ready for coffee with cream and a cream-filled
doughnut."
The
most basic form of spiritual consciousness is human consciousness,
continues Richard in mind. Let's say this minimal consciousness is in a quantum
state not unlike a quantum bit in a computer. The classical bit is stored as a
1 or a 0 but a quantum bit is stored as a 0 and 1 event at the same time.
This
is similar to the condition of Schrödinger's
Cat in quantum mechanics. This spiritual consciousness both exists and does not
exist at the same time. A human being can feel or sense the
heartansoulanmind existing. It is like being on stage or being off stage. One
may never completely know where the theatre is or what the discovery of the
humor of the joke is.
This
then is the grammar of the heartansoulanmind, it is not necessarily the words
in a linear string; it may be where it is not, between the lines. Now, what
would be the form of an existential heartansoulanmind and how would it function?
How do I say this aloud?
"We got you two the cream-filled doughnuts you
like," says Connie.
"They
only had three," comments Cyndi light-heartedly. “So I am taking jelly.”
***
Grandma's Story
21
Surprised,
Criteria and Renaldo find Merlyn leading them from the main road to an unobserved
grassy path where they walk the horses in an awkward quietness for most of the
afternoon. Coming upon a rise Merlyn comments, "This travel has been for
the comfort of the Lady. We are about to enter the grounds of the Stones where
I have royal guests.”
Ever
so politely Criteria questions, "How did you guess my royalty,
Merlyn?"
“The
voice, m’Lady, "undresses the disguise. I know these things, as did my
predecessor Taliesin-the-Bard.”
“I
cannot tell where you are from Merlyn,” says Criteria in a flirtatious mood.
“I
set my dialect to match your own m’Lady, it is a part of my stock and trade.”
In
undisguised resentment Renaldo interrupts, “We are here, Sir, on behalf of Rome
to transcribe and collect stories for the Bishop.”
"I
am not one for titles, Renaldo," quips Merlyn. "My interest here is
building blood. You see the three ladies standing by the pond. They are of the
House of Avallon, you two shall meet these sisters first."
Hesitantly
Criteria declares, "My uncle was King in Greece. However, my work
is common within the Church of Rome."
"Royal
blood rises or falls together," comments Merlyn thinking, shortly we will
be done with this business.
Should
I begin with Holy Island or Merlyn, considers Criteria upon approaching the
three royals with Merlyn at her side.
Queen,
Igraine, smiling and extending her hand says in kindly tone, "I am glad
Merlyn invited you, Prince Criterion of Greece."
Having
forgot who she really was, Criteria stands momentarily startled.
"Please
meet my sisters, Morgause and Viviane."
"Did
you ever meet the Bishop of Rome, himself, Prince Criterion?" asks
Morgause.
She
shows her ring, "You are a charming threesome," comments Criteria,
"I am sure we share royal blood and are thus cousins. First though, you
need know this is but a disguise for Rome and safer travel. No one knows of my
womanhood save Renaldo my priestly companion, and Merlyn, of course."
Upon
the further introduction Queen Igraine modestly whispers, "Your secret is
frozen within us. What secret is it in being a man that you the woman now
know?"
First,
the laughter then quiet talk as Merlyn asks the five into the great house for
further discussion.
In
due time Morgause comments, “we are envious of our sister, but it is our
husbands’ fault not hers. The men do not have the ambitions we three have.”
“You
work within Columba’s league,” suggests Criteria, “to direct the druids to
accept Jesus, a worker of wood, as himself a druid master.”
“We
work within the Celtic church. We are women of the old ways because of our
mother. We did not always get along with her, and we do not get along with each
other. This meeting is mostly theatre for the gentry.”
Deciding
she could put her trust in them, Criteria says, “Merlyn told me he has a plan.”
“Merlyn
always has a plan,” laughs Viviane. “He said the spirits will be here with us
when he tells his story.”
Criteria
responds, “He didn’t tell me he had a story to tell, she abruptly adds it seems,
“You work within Columba’s league against Rome.”
“We
are Greek also,” replies Igraine in quick surprise to her younger sister
comment on Merlyn and the spirits. Traditions says “Our bloodline flows from
Abraham and Sarah up through Paris, son of Priam of Troy on up through the
Franks.”
“You
must have Greek blood through Princess Argotta,” comments Criteria. “We are cousins,
but the Church secretly feels you have a story of another notable bloodline.”
Morgause
notes, “We have the blood of Joseph of Arimathea.”
"And,"
adds Viviane with Merlyn at her side, "perhaps James, the brother of
Jesus."
Queen
Igraine coldly eyed Merlyn while adding sarcastically, “We use the Dead as they
use us."
Suddenly
standing as stone among these few, Merlyn, his prophetic eyes rolled into the top
of his head speaks an unscheduled prescient words he could not say life but now
come to be said aloud in Death’s dream.
Grandma has the gift of gab,
For Merlyn to send this private confab;
The Dead speak short; the Dead speak true,
A fiction, my earthy children, is set in you.
***
Diplomatic Pouch
21
Thursday,
14 June 2012. Blake, Pyl and Justin will shortly leave in marsupial humanoid’s Ship
for a flight through the Milky Way Galaxy to ThreePlanets with Friendly,
Hartolite and Yermey. The Earthlings plan to be away from Earth for a year.
Pyl
Williams-Burroughs sits quietly in the kitchen with a glass of milk and
a favorite last Jennifer cookie from the nearby On the Rise Bakery ruminating
on the day. Our friends and fellow colleagues believe we have taken leaves for
university research jobs with the University of Sao Paulo, Brazil for this next
year. Our houses are rented as of July 1.
I
am ready. I go with my husband and brother so I am not alone. I am quite
compatible with Hartolite and Friendly; they are strong woman companions. I
cannot imagine how this will be. We have only to be ourselves and to live
honestly, something we three have attempted to do our entire lives. Strangely,
if it were not for what I have witnessed with Ship I don't know if I
would have the trust and feel the security that this adventure can be pulled
off and that we will all be the better for it.
Justin
Wayne Burroughs sits on the toilet in the upstairs bathroom. The room is dark.
He sees the reflective floor light from under the closed door. I cannot believe
we are doing this, he thinks. I cannot believe that we will witness the history
of an alien human-like culture. Inwardly we are essentially the same species
with individual hearts and souls and minds. We believe in a similar God, free
will and hold corresponding philosophies. Socially and economically we hold to
quite different ideologies, but we desire similar cultural outcomes.
We
three are family. What adventures will we have? What will we experience? I cannot
wait. Ship is the comfort. Normally flying makes me anxious, but Ship
solidifies my outlook. He allows me to feel secure. Even at this hour, I have
no real fears of travel, none that I would have from traveling around the Earth
in today’s world.
Blake
Williams sits on an old oak chair in his basement workspace thinking how it is
going to be. This will be the most interesting year of my life. I will get to
work with Yermey, one of their greatest minds. I want to know his questions as
much as I do his answers. Yermey speaks of the heartansoulanmind as a reality
but I see mostly illusion.
I
wonder what the most important values people really hold true; that is, what is
the practice not the preaching? Sometimes I think their species may be better
than we are, but in my heart I don’t believe it. They have been around twenty
thousand years longer in their social and technological experience.
They
each still have to decide Kant’s basic questions: What can I know? What shall I
do? What shall I hope for? And, what is it to be [marsupial] human being?
It
is easier to trust machinery than it is people. Ship will keep us safe.
A machine run culture can be made secure, stable and more just. We love our
machines large and small on Earth. Ship is just an offshoot. I cannot wait to
see what these people have at disposal on their own planets. Blake stands and
walks up the stairs without looking back, sees Pyl and says, "Are you
ready?"
She
stands confident and smiling. "I am."
Blake
shouts up the stairs, "Justin, are you ready?"
The
toilet flushes. Justin opened the door and replies "I'm ready as I'll ever
be."
Both
Pyl and Justin hear a considerable calm in Blake’s words, "Let's go
then."
The
two followed Blake out the back door that Blake turns to lock. The three look up
in surprise to the design of their familiar front porch gently floating to the
ground. Each walks on admiring the Victorian-like craftsmanship. No ship is
seen. The porch lifts up into a dark opened door some thirty feet above the
roof of the house. Once inside the door is quietly sealed. Ship says,
"Time for a social nightcap.”
Friendly,
Hartolite and Yermey enter the room and Friendly greets the three keenly
anticipating Earthlings with a wonderfully veracious smile, and says,
"Welcome aboard. Relax. We will soon be underway.”
***
The End of Volume One
Of Great
Merlyn’s Ghost
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