Morning. You and Carol walked at the park,
you, one mile, and Carol, one and a half. – Your sister, Cathy, called
concerned with your health from talking to you when you were ill early Sunday. –
Amorella
1109
hours. Cathy said that I sounded garbled Sunday and somewhat incoherent when you
spoke to her; you told her, making a joke, that was pretty much normal but she
didn’t laugh so much. I guess that bothers me a bit. Tod’s father is 98 and he’s
still in the world I’m still a young guy. They are thinking on going to see him
(Clearwater, Florida) in November, about the time we are returning. Carol and
Cathy still laugh on the phone. I like that. They were both eighteen during
their freshman year at Otterbein. Who would have thought?
Mid-afternoon. You had a late lunch at Piada
Street Italian capped nearby with child portioned Graeter’s for dessert. Carol
is on page five of David Baldacci’s The Whole Truth and you are ready to
finish Chapter Ten here on the shaded far north lot of Pine Hill Lakes Park. –
Amorella
1502
hours. This is fine with me. It is another beautiful Fall day. Many students,
male and female, are out and about, running for whatever sport they are
presently in. Looks good to see all the healthy youth focused in part on the
sport of her or his choice. I remember junior and senior high focus on
individual and group physical/mental potentials. At my age the focus is still
on both potentials but from an entirely different perspective. We can all
relate to it.
You are home and had the flash of an idea
while sitting with Jadah on your chest. – uneasy, Blake checks the Earth date
at the end of Pouch 10 only to find it is 31 October 2015. – Amorella
1603
hours. A-ha! Look at the time, 1603, the year’s end for Elizabeth I.
Significance to me. I am working on the ‘Reel’ in the chapter and will certainly
have it completed today. [Elizabeth used to love to dance.]
We’ll drop Chapter Ten in the post this evening.
Time for a break, orndorff. Post. – Amorella
1607
hours. I am left with questions.
1613 hours. When I saw the time [1603] with the perforce of 31 October 2015, an exhilaration of fresh spirit rushed in and up through my spine. I was a-being-in-the-moment a place where being and non-being meet, a crossroads of transcendental transmigration of a soulful and connecting thought – it makes no difference what day it is, somewhere in this universe or another, every day is Halloween as far as the spirits are concerned, as far as the Dead are concerned.
Post. - Amorella
Post. - Amorella
Late afternoon. Carol is out helping a
neighbor on a community project, i.e. a pot of flowers for each new resident.
You took time to watch the second episode of Jay Leno’s Garage with the focus
on California cars. – Amorella
1743
hours. Leno’s Garage is a fun, lightly entertaining hour – this week the focus
was ‘California style’, last week was ‘muscle cars’. You don’t have to love
cars to enjoy the show, but you do have to like cars and their history.
What happened to all that Halloween exuberance
from the minute 1603 hour? – Amorella
1748
hours. Good question. The moment is gone but it was. I live in the real world
and I wanted to watch a car show, so I did. The ‘moment’ had a surreal–like feel,
something I can put to work in the chapter – an illustration of creative
intuitive centeredness or intuitive creative centeredness, one of the two is
probably more correct than the other, but it is not worth my bother. If I can
put the said intuition to use in Chapter Ten good; if not, then se la vie.
1900
hours. I have completed Chapter Ten, near final draft.
Indeed, you have. Near final it is. Add and
post. – Amorella
** **
TEN
Roundabout Reel
The Supervisor has a little saying:
Ring-a-ring
o'rosies
A
pocket full of posies
"A-tishoo!
A-tishoo!"
We
all fall down!
We
rise from clay
On
judgment day
Be
we dead or still alive.
The Dead 10
Wing-dancing spritely across leafy forest
Feather
bright birds sing along in a chorus,
Dead
trees' gray fingers will leaf out quite soon
Under
misty full light of magic May Moon.
.
Merlyn lies comfortably as a stone sarcophagus on the
top of the granite-like mountain separating him from the Earthling Dead. There
is a difference up here in my sanctuary from down by my hut and stream, he
thinks. There is a residual effect, an echo of sorts from life that may stay
awhile in one or more of the person’s most intimate surroundings. It is a place
that most of the Living at one time or another get the tincture of a haunting
when the ghostly spirit as it were, is no longer there or perhaps never was
there consciously. That’s my observation that has no more validity than I do.
Such a lace of humor to drape me this side of the River; a dark humor that
forever sparks my humanity to survive beyond physical death. Humor, to my
spirit, is everywhere, a delight like a spring valley of fresh flowerings. All
one has to do on either side of the River is to observe one’s surroundings.
With this, Merlyn flashes above his sleepy stone-like head to the Supervisor’s saying in parchment-woven
heartanmind:
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.
These
are the first words from the other side, and from our Supervisor’s gleaned intelligence,
no less. No tunnel or flash of light for me; nothing more than the presence of
words hanging in the dark – “We rise from clay, this judgment day.” And, the
surrounding dark strangely resounds in a chorus every so quietly, “Be we dead
and still alive.” The words haunt as an apparition might flow among the Living –
an invisible sheet of an undiscoverable yet understood reality. We are born
already dead, that’s how I see it. I do not know the words, the vocabulary to
grasp the sense. Life is but a moment where we have need of great calculation.
I see this now. Without time, the closet of the open soul speaks:
.
- I,
an open soul, am a fully immersed constant observing out three hundred and
sixty degrees Up and Down and All Around. I am a poetic breath without the air.
Open mouthed, I forage with kindness for a mutually beneficial sustenance
searching to shelter an unprotected heartanmind that I might learn more
examples of what life is. –
Turn.
Turn. Turn and Turn again.
-
Merlyn’s soul, Foretoken, asks, why
are you here?
- the once open soul, Venerable, answers, to learn. –
- What
else can be digested from Merlyn’s heartanmind? –
Another
Turn sets open and then it is closed for the better.
.
Merlyn
grumbles. What is this that moves my soul away from this place to another as another
soul flies down to nest – Here. I feel a surrounding movement where there is
none. I feel as a chess piece picked up and dropped on an adjacent square. I am
the same Druid piece I was and not a Bishop. I appear alone on this Board but I
know better. The Supervisor is about.
I am who I am – Merlyn a Master Druid and once Scottish Bard. I lie on the top
of granite mountain in my own sanctuary. I look down to the Dead and up to the
Living. Stone of the Spirit is my architecture. I am a common
heartansoulanmind. I am free to defy as are all other human-like spirits. I lie
here in balance with Up, Down, and All Around. I am and I am not, both at once.
Silence.
Humbly,
I exist without being. I have no voice, no sound, no spiritual sense at all
other than an invisible crosshair. Being without being. There is no beginning
or end to it. Naked consciousness aware. I defy my very self’s center to
remember what a Master Druid is.
.
Beware
Earthly air, whirling winds deceive
Beware
the claw-ripped Souls of Beltane's Eve.
The Brothers 10
Tonight
come the birds dressed wild and black
So
keep close your Soul, they'll be wanting to hack
.
Richard sits in his favorite stuffed jungle print
green chair staring out the front window at the naked trees. A dusting of snow
coats the ground but the crevices and crannies where the major limbs jutted out
from the tree trunks. We are comfortably retired. Writing takes up a good
amount of my time. I share my work with my brother and friends. I am content
with that. I have no regrets. He smiles, ‘If I knew I were going to die
tomorrow, tonight I would order a large Papa John pizza with the works.’
.
The next afternoon Connie and Cindy are each reading a different Dick
Francis novel, drinking green tea and having a homemade scone hot out of the
oven. Connie leans back in her chair, opened the basement door and shouts,
“What’s going on down there?”
“Nothing,” answers Richard still laughing, “We were taking about logical
fallacies.”
“Come on up, we just took some scones from the oven.”
The laughter subsided as the twins climb the steps. “What kind?”
“Blueberry.”
“They’re pretty good,” comments Cyndi. “I haven’t made these before.”
“Rob, what was so funny,” asks Connie.
“Richie has this crazy idea about his book. In order to keep it honest
he lets Merlyn come into the dream.”
“What dream is that?” questions Cyndi.
“She doesn’t read the books,” says Richard with a smile.
“I
don’t read your books either,” says Connie. In unison the comment, “We like our
mysteries.”
“Merlyn’s
dreaming four lucid dreams at the same time,” notes Robert eager to see where
the conversation will go.
“I
have had one or two lucid dream in my life,” says Cyndi. “They are in color
aren’t they?”
Richard
notes, “The focus of the dream is realistically detailed and the dreamer
realizing he is dreaming, enters the dream and attempts to control it.”
“You
can’t control your dreams. What would be the point of that?” questions Connie.
“We
were in one together once. We both had the same dream,” says Cyndi, “Don’t you
remember?”
“We
both dreamed we were fishing with Grandma in his boat and we both caught the
same fish.”
“It
was a four pound small mouth bass,” says Cindy.
Watching
Robert shrugging his shoulders, Richard comments, “I didn’t know that. Why
didn’t you ever tell us? That’s pretty cool.”
“How
old were you?” says Robert.
“I
was thirteen and she was fourteen.”
The
four laugh.
“If
Merlyn is dreaming the stories and you take Merlyn out, then you can’t have the
dreams. You have to have a dreamer to have a dream,” suggests Cyndi
matter-of-factly.
“I
know that,” snips Richard.
“Then
you have to leave Merlyn in,” responds Connie. “He’s in the first book too,
isn’t he?” Connie glances at Robert’s I-told-you-so look and adds, “If Merlyn
performs mental surgery to get into the dream, what is wrong with that? He must
have felt compelled to enter his dream. If I were going to enter a dream of my
own, I would want to do or change something. What are you having Merlyn do or
change?”
Richard
sits amazed afraid to smile, shake his head or even glance at Robert.
“And,
how does Merlyn get back out after he goes in?” asks Cyndi. “You have to give
the reader a reason as to why people do what they do. Otherwise, why put Merlyn
in the story in the first place?”
Connie
spies Richard’s wry grimace and comments, “We caught the fish. When we were in
our dreams we each caught a fish. We were in the twin dream to catch a fish.”
Cyndi
smiles in delight, saying, “It just happened to be the same one – the same
fish, the small mouth bass.”
Taking
advantage of the humor being presented, Connie adds, “We can be independent
when we are together, just like you two.”
“We
know,” comment Robert and Richard.
“And,
we are not even twins.”
“Really,
who would have guessed,” says her husband quickly while rolling his eyes up at
his brother.
.
A
little later when they are in the living room, Richard asks, “I didn’t know how
to dance around that conversation. What was it about?”
“I
think we were confused,” gleans Robert.
“What
did Merlyn having a lucid dream have to do with fish?”
“They
don’t care to know your books, Richie.”
“It’s
just as well.”
“Connie
brought up a good question though. Why would Merlyn want to change a dream?
Which chapter? Which segment?”
Richard
sits perplexed. “I wanted him to change something for the drama of it.”
“Dreams
should be what they are. If you consciously change them they are fraudulent.”
“Your
right, Rob. We have to keep this honest.”
.
And
fly it to Mounds where years seem a day
Across
the far green where Fairy lands lay.
Grandma's Story 10
Be
strong like the Oak near Celtic crossed stone
Think
deep in Druid’s sleep so Spirits can roam;
.
It is the afternoon of Mid-Summer’s Eve in 1307.
Mark’s mother, Lady Nelleke and Moira’s mother, Lady Anne are out pleasure
riding their Icelandic horses, a chestnut and a grey leaving their children
with the pretty maid servant, Margaret.
Fifteen
year old Mark Thomas Greystone is sitting on a veranda eyeing Margaret on her
hands and knees playing with seven year Moira of Kenilworth who is pretending
to be the faery queen.
“Put
Moira on the black colt,” suggests Mark.
“Why
bother,” replies Margaret. “Moira is afraid of horses. She had a fall once. The
pony is here to remind her that horses can be gentle.
While
radiating her young charm Moira, notes, “We are looking for a four-leaf clover.
Mark, do come and help us look.”
Mark
smiles, shakes his head sideways, and blows her a kiss.
Moira
sharply comments, “Margaret, Mark Thomas will not come help.”
“I
can get him to come down here,” winks Margaret.
“What
are you going to say?” asks Moira somewhat more innocently than she feels.
“Master
Mark,” declares Margaret teasingly, “Come down and help and if you find us a
four-leaf, we will each give you a kiss on the cheek.”
Moira
stands up with the four-leaf clover she had been eyeing for sometime. “I found
the magic clover,” she pronounces, “and she runs and gave it to surprised Mark
Thomas. “This is for you to choose who you would rather kiss, me or Margaret.”
Without
hesitation, Mark stood unthinkingly, then bent down and replies, “I choose to
kiss your hand, my Lady Moira.”
“Margaret,”
calls Mark Thomas with a wink at young Moira, “Would you care to join Lady
Moira, myself, and a my treasured four-leaf clover by walking the beautiful
black pony?”
“I
would, m’Lord,” grins Margaret, “should Lady Moira agree.”
With
all the smiles and warmth of the summer afternoon, what else could young Moira
do but please her pretending Lord Mark Thomas one more time.
Merlyn stirred mid-dream on Grandma’s hand,
The dead man’s mind was flatland scanned;
I remember, Merlyn thought, such a time as this,
A time in childhood in a young druid’s bliss.
.
We
are in the last week of June 1307, says Grandma. This narrative settles around
a private conversation between forty-four year old Lord David Montarran of
Stonebridge and his lovely wife, Lady Diana de Laque, who is all of sixteen.
This is his second marriage. His first wife, Lady Julia, died with child. Here
is a heartfelt conversation from
“You
have ancient sympathies for Scotland, Lord David, and so do I. We French and
Scots have remained close,” says Lady Diana.
“Aye,”
speaks David, “Longshanks will do them in. King Robert was excommunicated for
murder in a church. The kings should not be meddling in the Church’s affairs.
Both are corrupt.”
Lady
Diana smiles warmly.
“It
is old Celtic ways at work,” continues Lord David.
“The
Bishop says it is not good to doubt the faith, m’Lord,” scolds Diana.
Lord
David laughs, “I have my doubts.”
“M’Lord,”
inquires Lady Diana, “You are here. I have no doubts on that whatsoever.”
“You
are good for my soul, m’Lady,” answers old Lord David. “To have no doubts and
to be honest about it at the same time is a sure sign of youth.”
“Is
it the learning you have acquired in your lifetime that brings the doubts ?”
“By
the sweet saints, no, my lovely Diana. It is the errors.”
“The
Bishop says doubting is the Devil.”
“Errors
are not sins, m’Lady.”
“I
know the seven deadly sins, m’Lord David,” she notes.
“I’ll
put a king’s coin wager on it,” laughs Lord David, “but you have to balance
them with the seven virtues alongside.”
“Gambling.
You love your lighthearted gambling,” she chuckles.
He
rises from his chair and whispers, “You do my heart good, and I love you as I
have only loved one other.”
“You
do my young heart well too, m’Lord.”
Lord
David bends down saying aloud, “My heart is so entwined with yours that I cannot
tell your heart from my own.”
Grandma
grins. Lord David loves his second wife as much as he did his first. Such as it
is with two hearts exchange.
.
Love torn into equal pieces would seem a disaster;
Yet it makes the heart stronger and pumps the blood
faster.
.
Bring
Souls together, yet remain afar,
Make
fiery bright op’ning of the Oracle’s jar
Diplomatic
Pouch 10
Beware
Earthly air, whirling winds deceive,
Beware
the claw-ripped Souls of Beltane's Eve.
On
aid-Spring night where great stones lay rounded
In Fairy light from damp bark re-bounded.
.
Blake
Williams sits uncomfortably in an easy chair in the small workstation at the
StoneHouse site waiting for Friendly to return to the secret dig on Planet One
with medical information about Pyl and Justin. His mind ruminates on the event
an hour earlier. The two were at the northwest corner of StoneHouse dig at the
bottom of the ten-foot deep, three foot wide ditch between the ancient
foundation and the thin outer safety wall when a black and red squirrel-like
animal appeared to jump or fall into the dig, landed on Justin’s right
shoulder, bit him on the forearm as Justin attempted to knock him off. The
panicked rodent’s back claws dug into Justin’s wrist as it then jumped at Pyl
who quickly turned to knock the animal to the dirt floor. The small furry
animal bit her on the right forearm before falling onto the dirt floor. The
rodent ran ahead along the ditch floor where it was nerve stunned when Friendly
pulled a small pen-like instrument from her left sleeve side pocket.
Those
little rodents were trying to protect the purity and sanctity of Elderfelder
from us Earthlings, that’s what these marsupial humanoids are going to say,
thinks Blake quietly. The quick and furry little creatures remind me of
chipmunks more than rats. In packs they appear to have a selective wit to undo
whatever is done except in the stories of Elderfelder where they provide help.
It seems to me that this is a story to bring Nature into helping a baby who is
greatly handicapped. Stories are more powerful than facts. Besides, no one knew
the facts, that what seems reasonable to me. Surely these people know this
Elderfelder was mostly a story, and that it can be very much appreciated as
such, but there is a can of worms in opening the story into a possible or at
least a passable truth by having discovered the truth that a StoneHouse does
indeed exist. How does this fit with we humans being a part of this
archeological find? Why do they want us here? It would seem better if we were
not in any way associated with their find.
With
an easy gait Friendly walks into the sitting room. “Pyl and Justin will be
fine. They just need rest for a couple of days. We can better rest in familiar
territory, on Ship. We will return to him in a few hours.”
“That
puts my mind to rest,” replies Blake who then stands and begins to pace. “Why
did you want us to be a part of this archeological dig in the first place? It
seems to me it would have been better if we were not involved in recreating
your ancient mythology concerning Elderfelder.”
Friendly
decided to sit and face the music. “Elderfelder is a complicated legend. Many
people who would otherwise know better choose to believe it.” She smiles and
raises her arms out. “Ship and Nine? feel it is in our interest to have
Earthlings connected as a sort of ‘good luck’ – bringing a positive reinforcer
to the find. The problem is that now we may have a real Elderfelder, a babe
being kept alive even though she has little brain to speak of. This in itself
may raise the probability in peoples’ minds that the legend really was true, at
least parts of it, the Elderfelder was indeed a real person. Most people are
raised enjoying the legend as a story not as a fact. Things are further
complicated with the fact that two Earthlings have been attacked by those damn
rodents. Do you see the problem?”
“I
can certainly foresee one, possibly two or three,” responds Blake, who suddenly
feels the need to sit. After a few minutes of silence, he says, “Thank you for
telling me the truth straightforward.” He lets loose with a nervous laugh, “You
people are no different than us. Twenty thousand years further along – but you
are set up for all too natural human dilemma. How do you bring the past up to
the present so you can better deal with the future?”
Loosely
in contemplation Friendly rolls out, “We can provide facts. At least the facts
we have a present – about you Earthlings, StoneHouse and a young girl who is
like Elderfelder was once described more than twenty-five thousand years ago,
but people relate better to stories than to facts.”
“People
will draw connections, even the facts will become stories on their own,”
suggests Blake. “I have no idea what is best.”
Friendly
comments coolly, “I was not asking you what is best for us, Dr. Williams. I am
explaining our situation.”
Friendly’s
tone whispers into Blake's consciousness as the somber dance of now silent
Scottish bagpipers in a fog-laden valley. I have an uneasy feeling here, thinks
Blake, and he opens his Earth calendar to see the date back home – 31 October
2015.
.
Ghostly
priestess and priest on Celtic cross stand
Midst Fire and Water in Sky
and on Land
...
** **
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