Mid-morning.
This is what is running through your mind presently: “Welcome to Halloween nine
days late.” Your heart: “We’ll get through this.” Your soul: “Life is
interesting, life is always interesting.” Post. – Amorella
You
attempted a nap but listened quietly to Hindu chants on Pandora instead. Your
lower back is in low arthritic morning pain, enough to get you thinking on
doing some exercises later today. – Amorella
1043 hours. I didn’t sleep consistently last night – up and
down listening to the election results. Most of the time a line from The
Princess Bride rolled up into my mind: “Inconceivable” – not so obviously,
the man was electable. Beginning a book with themes on basic humanity seems incongruous
with the times that are a-changing . . ..
1211
hours. I edited most of the grammatical/spelling errors from the document: ‘Soki’s
Character Development from Stuck Chapters’ and was looking to do an automatic
summary analysis but it is not on this Home Office. I do have the old full Office
at home to work from though. I am not sure what is extremely important from
important.
Bill
is working on his computer, James is in their room still recuperating from a
relatively minor operation two weeks. He is back on active duty in south
Georgia next Monday. Carol and Linda are getting Subway sandwiches for lunch.
You are exasperated as well as conscious of you lack of details on Soki’s
character. You don’t know what is going to be useful and what is not, going
into Soki’s Choice. I now understand more clearly what the problem is.
Let’s go through your separate document. I will bold the most important aspects
and underline the lesser. Once we are into the book itself this will become
more intuitive. – Amorella
1225 hours. I am feeling better already.
You had lunch and are ready to work. –
Amorella
1329 hours. I’m ready.
1432 hours. Just completed the work on
Soki and the Chapters in Stuck – bold for very important and underlined for
important.
Add and post. – Amorella
**
**
Soki’s Character
Development by Chapter in Stuck
1
>Hello.
I, the Soki have some observations. These marsupials are presently
stuck in Ship of their own making. Living people touch death the moment of birth,
and they are stuck in their own self-being. The individual has herorhis own
voice, and as such, herorhis own stage appears to stand relatively taller than
the neighbors. In here, theatre is a rule the living share. I have
discovered that the dead individual also has a voice and rules of theatre too.
The dead have rules that end up being played in a metaphysical court with the
privacy curtain closed.
What
are the rules for a genuine non-being, a floater like me? Presently, I have
only a vague notion. <
2
>This
is Soki. Blake won’t tell you he thinks people are mostly hot air, but
he does. ‘Life’s a scientific experiment and people are the lab rats,’ fits
Blake’s commentary to a tee. Justin thinks he knows what it is to be dead
because he once napped in an open grave not a closed one. Justin Burroughs uses
the dead and their remaining artifacts to make a living. ‘We’re all prostitutes
to money or power,’ is Justin’s rationalization. I don’t think either Blake or
Justin is very original. Pyl hates her original nickname. Her father gave her a
pretty name, Philly, as in ‘my silly Philly,’ which she thought was funny.
Besides, she loved her dad’s laugh when he called her Philly. Brother Blake
though, could only say Pyl when he was young. Mom and Dad thought Blake was
cute when he began calling her Pyl, as in ‘Pyl is a little pill.’ Pyl stuck,
and she has never forgiven Blake for something he doesn’t remember. Inside, Pyl
doesn’t like her brother, but consciously she thinks she loves him because,
well, he’s her big brother. Besides, her parents insisted the two like each
other enough to get along while growing up. Soki smiled. People spend too much
time on stage before checking its construction underneath.
I mention these points of view, because
when communicating with the dead, I can
better see into the living. In here, many a dead person thinks sheorhe has to
define a sense of justice sheorhe can ‘live’ with to defend one’s self before
the Court. The first questions may center on ‘how am I innocent?’ and ‘what
am I really guilty of?’ A good, honest response doesn’t come so easily. Fortunately,
the dead have plenty of time to spend on life’s reconstruction. Of course,
if those living spend too much time on the construction of the stage they are
singing and dancing on, I suppose they will miss much of the drama life
presents. When I feel like chuckling, I think of it as a typical win-win
situation.
The living characters, both marsupial
and human, don’t have the time or inclination to dwell on their after-lives.
Why should they? ‘Being alive is the most important thing. When I’m dead I’ll
have time to think about being dead,’ that’s what many of the characters in
here think.
Meanwhile, the dead usually end up
considering five aspects of the following questions to make a judgment about
their individual once-upon-a-time lives. One, ‘what do I now know?’ Two, ‘what
did I not know when I was alive?’ Three, ‘what was impossible for me to predict
and know when I was alive?’ Four, ‘what can I forgive myself for? And, five,
‘what can I never forgive myself for?’
To the living, these questions have a
tone of serious business, but in here when you are dead, you spiritually
survive by developing a sense of humor and wit to counter the morbidity of the
situation. Those living know more about life than I would ever care to
know. I find life and death ridiculously
bizarre. To be honest, I just want to go home, but I have no memory of what
home is. So, like Trexer the tall marsupial, I am trying to find my
bearings.
Friendly thinks I am swimming in her
head like a fish. She thinks I am a creation of her writing imagination. I
don’t believe Friendly is stupid, but she is wrong in her thinking that I am
imagination. I have a sense of
self-being, but I remember nothing of before. I have a sense of being torn as I
came into this universe. I was shoved or pushed. I was not pulled or drug here.
Now I float like a balloon, I do not swim like a fish. I float, but I do not
eat, sleep or dream. That’s what I feel currently. Being conscious is interesting, is it not? Blake thinks the
unconscious is even more interesting. Pyl is not interested, and Justin is not
sure what he thinks. Too much thinking
makes Jack a dull boy, that’s what I, the Soki, think. <
3
>Soki, here. Almost everyone likes a
pleasant surprise. Justin and Rabbi Jabal are secretly deliberating the worth
of the sealed urn. I’ve been walking among the dead, and like the urn; many of
the dead are sealed too. Who owns what? I recently read in the newspapers that
some want to declare Jerusalem, a Holy site, decreeing no one owns the city but
God. Each side in the dispute can save face, no matter what the politics or the
religion. The dead don’t know what to think about owning things because those
who did no longer do. From what I’ve observed, life is a tough row to plow.
Mice or men, you better get out of the way. Eventually, the living get plowed
under too. The dead think this is funny. Theatre complicates life, and
people shout from the stage, ‘You! Do this! You, do that!’ Talking heads are
everywhere. Living people take in air before speaking. The dead don’t
breathe. It’s no wonder the dead don’t talk. <
4
>This is Soki. You see how it
is. Friendly and Fargo showed up too late back in nineteen eighty-eight. Marsupial
spiritual ministers had made a mistake in calculation. I know how it is to err. An error caused me to be here. I am sure of
it. I envision myself as a detached, floating head, a typically sketched
Roswell-like alien, you know, with the large egg-like eyes and small mouth.
Oddly,
I think of myself as one-dimensional. However, I did develop a two-inch long,
one-fourth inch wide red welt on my right cheek entering your universe. The
facial wound is as it was some earth years ago. And, I do have a small mouth,
but it is not for breathing, talking, or food intake. People smile with
pleasure after the partaking of a rewarding, delicious meal, but I don’t eat. I have nothing to chew on,
nothing to digest. Something hit me about seeing those dead dogs on the beach
though. I thought the earth was supposed to be a dog eat dog world. Why would a dog give up its recently given
independent life to follow a human being? I suppose it was for food and
shelter. But dogs can survive without humans. Wild dogs still do. <
5
>Soki
here. The dead, unlike the living, do nothing. Once, while floating near a
country road on earth, I saw an old cemetery, and out of the corner of my eye I
watched a mass of spiritual bodies raise themselves as an upward wind, like a
deeply exhaling breath from the earth herself. Yellow streaks of incorporeal
light rose to treetop level; a giant ethereal wave it was. Shortly, the
unworldly light returned, inhaled into the earth, soaking into the ground in
milliseconds. Mistakes happen in life, and some appear irresolvable.
Furthermore,
I now feel that my being here is a mistake. Perhaps I wasn’t pushed into this
universe but sucked in instead. I heard someone once ask ‘do mistakes
happen to the dead?’ I haven’t observed any. I have seen unusual things like
the earth appearing to breathe on its own, but appearances can be deceiving in
either the world of the living or the dead.
The cemetery wind might not have been
spiritual at all. People have little notion of where the minute remains of
millions of years of decayed matter lie resting for the moment. Some people
want to be buried in one place or another. Others want their ashes scattered
about. A spiritual body may be asleep in thought and recovered memory, but
the old physical shelter, the once blood pumping body is eaten away and drifts
with the tumbleweed. It happens on the outer layer of dead skin on the
living every day. People leave body parts dotted about the world like it’s a
refuse dump. The world is a planetary cemetery surrounded by air. Minute
fractions of a person fall away and flakes gobbled up or buried right where
sheorhe stands, that’s how I see it. When
thinking of peoples’ self-images this is all rather humorous, especially since
I don’t flake. Unless, of course, some my remains are mixed in an inky black.
<
7
>Hello, this is Soki. During a recent discussion with one of the
dead, sheorhe said, “I do know we are related to the living.” Since I, the Soki,
have no relatives who are or were living, it seems an intrusive statement. It is difficult for me to think I arrived
here, out-of-the-blue, existing between the dead and the living.
8
>I sensed a symbiosis and the beginning of a true and weathered
friendship in Friendly’s memory. Similar, but in a lesser sense, symbiosis is also
a threaded suture between those who are living and those who are no longer.
Walking between visible and invisible worlds leads me on to new conclusions. I wonder if friendship’s nesting place in
the heart is also the place of The Connector. I have not seen
such an ethereal creature, but my sense of smell dictates something in
friendship pushes or pulls people toward one another. Friendships seem
to have a purpose beyond life’s physical constraints. The heart and the soul
may be masquerades, camouflage for a still secret kernel deeper within, a
kernel that has the ability to stretch an individual’s tenacity beyond the
bounds of life and death. Few living people have the time or inclination to
think on such things.
People have to work for the necessities.
People have to eat. The dead don’t work and are eaten away. I, the Soki, take my own nourishment
from observation, which is then written for me via Friendly. I cannot imagine
what this written leftover is dished out two dimensionally on a page. <
9
>Strange, I the Soki, never notice the smells, though the earth is right
here below me. I float about, usually a few feet to ten miles above it. The
dead do just fine without their five physical senses. I do too. Soki has senses or no senses??
Nearby, in the modern world, I see
children having a good time playing ball in the street. I’ll bet I’d look like
an old balloon man face to them. I have no string attached however, and
they would think me scarred and sad by my features. I am not sad though. Being conscious is interesting. When I visit the dead I do not see any
children. I wonder why that is. <
10
>This
is Soki. Like the stage manager
in that Wilder play, I stand between the lines of those waiting to enter or
exit. No one says much either way. People enter life, usually in a moment
of anguish. Living people eventually die, and the dead themselves pretty much
stay off stage. The living resurrect them in memory from time to time. I’m
smiling because I’m thinking of that short story called, The Monkey’s Paw.
Like people say from time to time, ‘you better watch what you wish for.’ That
reminds me of what the dead say about wishful thinking. Imagine your every
secret lifetime wish coming true in seconds. Think about that, and you have a
better idea of why, in here at least, the dead pretty much stay stone cold.
Those living are confused and mortified
enough. Look at Friendly. She is angry with herself and others because of
her present situation. The question is: ‘Did I do the right thing?’ What’s interesting is that the dead and the living both mull over the
same question. The deeper the mulling, the more the mind heaps
mischief. This tension and discord make mountains of theater. Stages set,
dramas ensue, and hearts grow explosive.
I enjoy floating outside these passionate
staging areas, where it is as a mild, mild day as I settle below the breeze.
White fluffy hearts are adrift above. One is shaped like a tree, another is
like a boulder, and yet another is shaped like a humpback whale - no, it appears
to be like old Captain Ahab’s whale. The whale-shaped heart is no doubt
Friendly’s - she’s probably thinking wishfully on her favorite captain - Fargo,
and how she wishes he should hunt the world for her. I wonder if Friendly
really read Moby Dick. Well, you can see how this wishful thinking is
from the inside out. To me it is funny and a bit sad at the same time. You
probably wish I would go away. <
11
>Hello again, this is Soki.
The dead stir nearby as I write through Friendly. The dead understand something I cannot. I do not see the connection
between the words ‘living and jest,’ thought the Soki, and he
floated up and on, toward the foothills ahead. Perhaps the dead can be as
sardonic as the living, he surmised, but what purpose would that serve? And, he
wondered, ‘words have levels of meaning. Perhaps the dead, like words, are
shuffled about from one level of meaning to another. I think I’m on to
something here, but I am not sure what it is. It’s like dead people are
sentenced, but does that mean the dead were once active verbs when they were
alive, and now that they are dead, they are nothing but empty nouns that once
were?
This is ridiculous. People debate and
debate. I do not understand the purpose of arguing over matters that have no
objective conclusion. Sometimes I have seen people will a conclusion that
isn’t there. Even dead people do this. People are built to put their lives on
the line for something that does not, in reality, exist. The dead put their
hearts on the line, and sometimes everything works out for the better anyway.
Hearts
that are free cannot have a destiny. Yet, here I am. I do not remember
asking to be here in your universe. If anything I am an accident. Yet, I feel
strongly that I must observe and report my observations to you through
Friendly. Soki smiled. I have been among the living and the dead too
long. I must remember who I, the Soki, am. Who am I? I just
don’t see the forest for the trees. Maybe I’m just a hole in Friendly’s head.
Maybe that’s all there is to me. I don’t believe it though. <
12
>Soki here. Friendly’s main
love, Fargo, is out there somewhere. PrimeThree is working but not answering
the phone. Beyond that, Friendly has decided to be the explorer she is. ‘I
want to be the best I can be and to do the right thing,’ is a statement that
clothes Friendly’s heart, at least at the present.
I recently had a conversation with a
dead person; one who in life had been called Jack. He dressed in the same
statement as Friendly - wanting to be the best he could be by also doing the
right thing. Jack is dead because he made a quick decision not to run a
yellow-going-to-red light. Jack slammed on the brakes and came to a stop. The
man in the blue truck behind assumed Jack would run the light, and he couldn’t
stop until it was too late. The fellow’s truck hit Jack’s car and shoved it
into the path of a big rig that wasn’t moving fast. The front end of the semi
hit Jack’s door and Jack died because his head hit the knob on the radio. It
was written up as a freak accident. One quick decision can lead to a brand-new
adventure.
This
is an adventure for me too. Sometimes I’d just as soon be home. Perhaps the
dead know where I belong. I had to arrive here from somewhere. I, the Soki,
need a reason or purpose for existing here. Surely, the living and the dead can
appreciate the sentiment. <
13
>Soki, here. People wonder
from time to time about old friends and companions. Some relationships go
back a couple of generations. I’ve been meaning to ask the dead if they keep in
touch with those they knew in life, and if they do, how does the process work?
In life, of course, the genes do have a kind of memory that is passed on from
that originally genetic Adam and Eve. Beyond that, living people have to study,
learn, and memorize.
It
is interesting that people who are alive on earth today are dead on another
earth. It is difficult to believe something like that could be possible. People
do know of those in life, those who carry on year after year, but who are
mostly dead. I think habit and death have a connection, but I do not know what
it is. If I wander into death’s chambers, perhaps I can trace my way back to
the soul’s beginnings in these two species, the marsupials and the humans. I’d
much rather wander into a question than a period. A question always seems to
have more hope circling its conclusion. Don’t you think? <
14
>Hello, again. This is the Soki.
Watching people is interesting. People, living or dead, usually think they are
onto something. I remember talking to a dead man named Socrates. He was one
of those people who, when alive, enjoyed asking questions. Dead, he helps the
living today because his student, Plato, wrote a book. Later, Plato’s student,
Aristotle, also wrote a book. When I read an old book I always think, ‘dead
person talking,’ and ask myself, ‘what would sheorhe think about life now,
after being dead?’ Then, sense I have this ability and little else, I try to
find and ask herorhim.
When
I first met the spiritual remnants of Socrates and told him what’s going on in
the world today, Socrates laughed as though he already knew, and said, “Who are
you, little fellow?” I was surprised he described me as small. <
15
>This is Soki. Curiosity
lends itself to experimentation, and I think a living individual is an
environment in context. Blake, for instance, has some personal perceptions to
check out. Blake, as an environmental event, can help determine the context of
his relative substance. Each person is
as his own revolving planet. But, what does each revolve around? Life? Death?
Imagination? God? Who knows?
To the living, the thinking may mean
one thing; and to the dead, it may mean another. People spin around in their
own orbits though; there is no question on that. Hearts spin around too. Some go
into orbit and others crash into the sea. Souls sit quietly. To date, I’ve
never seen a spinning soul. The only souls I’ve seen sit like Mr. Lincoln at
his memorial in Washington.
No matter. The dead walked on the earth
or elsewhere first, the dead are not
imagination. Those who are living exist only because the dead once existed.
I don’t think even old Socrates would question that. <
16
>This is the Soki. People
don’t need an outsider, like me, to tell them that life can be a dog eat dog
world. I have heard both the living and the dead debate the definition of
justice. In here, fair play is a focal
point for the dead to debate on. Spirits learn to speak in behalf of herorhis
own defense in a preliminary judgment before the Court. People find themselves
volleyed through someone else’s court their entire lives; so it seems fitting
that it would continue after death. In life, many people would like to be rid
of the lawyers. The humor, in here at least, is that each of the dead is
allowed to be herorhis own defense lawyer before the Bar. The best lawyers
in these after death cases aren’t worth a damn, which is the whole point I
suppose. Not so long ago I met the residual of a spirit, who people say was
treated unfairly in life. Here’s the lead-in to herorhis story.
I,
the Soki, was walking one of the many spirit roads the dead wander. I
was minding my own business, talking with Socrates actually, and I
inadvertently bumped into a troubled and discontented spirit. Sheorhe looked
down at me and said, ‘Who are you?’
I
do not remember how I responded, but I do remember being put out by the
question. The upset spirit continued, ‘You are only a two-year old,’ or,
something to that equivalent. I was upset because I am older than two, as any
fool can see. Anyway, as in a dream sequence, Socrates and I immediately faded
from that pastoral scene.
As
we reappeared directly in another countryside, I asked Socrates who it was that
said I was two years old. Socrates responded matter-of-factly, ‘I think that
was Jesus.’
I had read of Jesus, but we had
never met. If we did indeed meet, it was by accident, and I really wasn’t
paying much attention. Socrates had been asking questions, you see, and I was
listening. I suppose I should have apologized to Jesus for the blunder of
bumping into him, but I did not think of doing so at the time. I feel somewhat
bad now, but then the scene changed so quickly. I was so befuddled by the
moment that I forgot what questions Socrates and I were discussing so intently.
A moment beyond that and the spiritual road and Socrates disappeared. I was
left alone near what appeared to be a stone cabin beside a forest.
The spirit world has some
environmental manifestations of a living world - similar enough anyway that I
can use words for reference and description. Floating between two worlds is
disorienting. Even thought, as the ancient Greeks suspected, a human connection
exists between sleep and death. In here
the dead are sometimes representations of their individual life’s dreams and
nightmares. Walking along with Socrates, who is forever asking questions, is a
good example of what I am talking about. The nightmares are something else.
It’s no wonder some poor hearts curl up in their soul’s shell and wait it
out.
I, the Soki, do not think I
met Jesus of Nazareth. Even the Socrates I have talked with seems more a kernel
of Socrates not Socrates’ ghost. To one such as me, who is neither dead nor
alive, it is awkwardly discerning. I feel more comfortable in the Betweens.
When I see a spiritual kernel, sheorhe
is as a reflected form might appear in a quiet, mirror-like surface of water. I
must, as it were, touch the reflection to communicate with sheorhe. The
touching causes a ripple, as a small pebble being dropped into a calm pond. The spiritual or kernel image becomes
distorted. Thus, I must assume that what I observe is not necessarily the
reality, nor even a shadow of the reality. I do observe something though, a
sacred consciousness that is plain and simple. Other than Socrates as my
exception, the spirits have come to me randomly.
Why do I write through Friendly? What
use is an observation if no one else is aware? The marsupials have their own
dead who are not too far away actually. I can talk to them too, but since this
being written in English I’ll focus on the human side of the dead. The after death set up is much the same for
both species. Necessity rules the dead much as physics rules the living.
A reclusive North American woman poet
of the last century used to write about tunneling through minds. She’s been
dead awhile, and when I met and spoke with her, she responded indifferently.
Her use of the word ‘tunneling’ is appropriate here. In Amherst, when I
anchored at her gated gravesite, I noticed the pebbles people had placed on her
tombstone. Why would people place a
pebble on the tombstone? I picked one up and put it in my pocket, as it were.
That night, as I waited, Emily lay silently in her grave. I had the distinct
feeling she understood about such things as placing pebbles on tombstones, and
I would never come to understand such knowledge. <
17
>Hello,
the Soki, here. Pilots and engineers have a lot in common in this book.
Each controls herorhis situation as best as can be controlled. Avoiding a
misjudgment or accident is the best path to follow when possible. Planes fly
more safely, and machinery works more efficiently under these conditions.
Errors happen though. The history of NASA shows the example here.
Well-dedicated scientists and engineers work, yet mistakes occur and can be
costly. Better to err on the side of safety is the usual thinking. Most people
are naturally conservative when their own lives are in danger.
Friendly is no exception. She can
pretty much guarantee the plane won’t crash because she’s secretly rigged it
with a gravoline. ‘I’m going to kill two birds with one stone,’ that’s her
thinking. People like such control because it doesn’t happen often. I see
some humor in this - well-educated people, marsupial or human, always thinking
and planning for contingencies. <
18
>Hello, Soki here. I listen
to what the people in here think as well as what they say. Creating romance
and drama in life is evidently important to living creatures with
consciousness. Remembering romance and drama are what the dead plow through
every day. It would be really funny
- that after centuries of the preparation, of working through a life’s
affirmations and denials relative in one’s living, the dead person arrives at
Court prepared for herorhis defense and finds this sign on the door, ‘The Judge
Is Out, Please Wait.’ That could be one hell of a wait, I’ll tell you. <
19
>Hello,
this is Soki. Paths are crossing. From where I stand, I can follow the
paths up the hill but not down the other side. With freewill I don’t think
the ‘Beginning of Things’ was as pat as people would like to think. It seems to
me that if you have raw material and light a match, so to speak; nature will
take herorhis own course.
Human love also seems to fit into such
a pattern. A match is lit in raw material and there is no telling what will
happen. If the actors are acting, who is the audience? Even the dead don’t much
listen to the living. They have personal reflections to agree on and settle.
Many of the living and the dead think Angels are hovering about, but I’ve yet
to see one in my limited wanderings.
Some people say life is a mystery,
but I don’t think it is. I think it’s mostly fiction. The reader can think
what sheorhe wants to. I don’t care. People think what they want. People,
living or dead, develop intuitive plans for hope and consideration.
Freewill
is what it is. Freewill is no accident though, not from my perspective anyway.
When one person’s freewill crosses paths with another person’s freewill, events
happen. Earthlings can read histories and reflect on freewill at work. I think I’ll wander off and check some history
myself. I need to find a kind and talkative old soul, sit with herorhim for a
spell, and give a listen. <
20
>Soki here. People need to keep their
bearings like Karlina. No doubt about it.
I found Solfire, who is an old soul. Solfire likes to be referred
to as a she. We have been discussing the subtle differences between the living
and the dead. As a soul, when she is protecting a female heart, she usually
takes the aspects of a male. And, when she is assigned to a male heart, she
takes the aspects of a female. Sometimes, she has told me, she keeps herself as
the sex assigned because the heart is more comfortable. Solfire thinks sex has
more to do with comfort and orientation, at least in the metaphysical realms.
‘People sometimes think I am an Angel,’
whispered
Solfire, ‘but I am not. I am not built to judge
people. I am a being who protects hearts. The heart is not immortal,
not in this book at any rate. I carry the heart, the kernel of who a person
actually was and is, beyond the physical realms. Like the Soki, I don’t care what you think. My duty is to listen and
protect hearts, marsupial or human, it makes no difference to me.
Other souls and I have been around since
Adam. You would not believe the many hearts I have held, and the unbelievably
true stories I have witnessed. The stories the dead carry are the only
ones that make it safely to the other side.
The rest of life is, as it were, a busy silence as far as one’s heart is
concerned. Sometimes, for a variety of reasons, people forget the best of their
deepest emotions and wishes and loves. And, sometimes, people need to remember
the worst of their lives too, to keep a balanced perspective. How else can a
heart justly defend herorhis actions? Other souls and I keep a record so the
individual who does forget has a chance to remember life as it was, relative to
herorhis time and place in the universe. From in here, it makes sense.
How else would it be? You tell me. <
21
>Hello,
this is the Soki. Conscious creatures move worlds, or think they do,
no doubt about it. Only three survivors of the potential plague are now
alive, but it is clear that Friendly didn’t want to talk about it. Justin, Pyl
and Blake have a decision on the marsupials’ offer to take them home for a
visit. I can already tell that two of them, in their heart of hearts, don’t
want to go. They have the archeological dilemma that has yet to be resolved and
running away for a year brings about its own complications.
Rabbi Jabal would like to have the
other half of the urn and its contents returned, and he is assured by Karl that
it will be. Karl thinks Justin is being justifiably clever, but he is
apprehensive for him nevertheless.
PrimeThree has the problem with two
earths. Parentsincharge cannot locate the earth Friendly and Fargo first landed
on twelve years earlier. PrimeThree does not wish to invite the natives to
their home territory for the same reasons as before, potential plague. Some waste
their time arguing that homeplanets should have minded their own business and
stayed home in the first place. Other marsupials feel they have a moral
obligation to help protect the earthlings because Martin died inadvertently
while they technically had custody of him. Most don’t want the natives to
become extinct; but they don’t want to interfere either. And, many marsupials
think, ‘the natives do not need to know we exist. We will throw everything into
a quandary if we show up near earth with billions of natives looking on.’
***
The
dead, interesting enough, don’t give a hoot about any of this and continue to
move through their own renewed self-discovers. For example, I have seen
Martin. He realizes he is dead, but he is busy denying his lack of physical
self. Presently I can see him from this very spot. He is sitting in a spiritual
binding, and he won’t come out. Some of the dead sit in their own bindings for
years. The dead realize something is out beyond their covers, but many are
afraid to venture forth. Some are afraid Satan will be waiting, and some are
afraid of God. Then others, like Martin, are afraid of their own shade, so to
speak.
“The bindings you see may
be souls protecting hearts,” suggested Solfire.
“Can’t you tell?” asked Soki.
Solfire shakes her head. “Interestingly enough, not always. Some,
with a great deal of deceptive self-confidence, can will a soul-like structure
that will bind them for a great while.”
Far be it for me, the Soki, to know
how this works. Many of the dead I have talked with, in here at least, have the
same basic argument, which is this:
‘Before I can face The
Angel of God’s Eye directly,
I must first be able
to stand naked,
Revealing the deepest
kernel of my true heart.
To defend myself
before the Court
I must first attempt
to see my true self as I will be seen.’
That’s a point of view I can report. I don’t know whether it is true and
neither do the dead. Actually, I feel I have missed some
observations along the way, so I will continue observing and floating about
among the living and the dead.
I have a point of view, and I am
sure you readers have yours. You do your own observing. You’re old enough to
think and act for yourselves. You readers who have stuck through this book will
now close it and continue your own life adventures. Bully for you. Write your
own book.
Do you want to write one of the best
mysteries ever? Go into a private, mirrored room and close the door. Take off
your clothes and stand naked in front of a full-length mirror until you secretly
laugh. For most people it doesn’t take nearly as long to begin smiling as
you might think it would. While you’re at it look in that mirror and see
yourself as you were at five. Your smiling and being naked on the other side
of the mirror is quite humorous to me. Don’t worry about your privacy; I won’t
see anything you don’t already know.
Do you want to write one of the best
science-fiction works ever? Do the same, and stand naked in front of that
full length mirror, only this time observe very, very closely. Start anywhere
but end up staring deep into those miraculous dark-as-the-night pupils of
yours.
This
is the Soki, saying, ‘Good-bye for now.’ <
** **
1435 hours. This exercise has filled some
gaps, that’s for sure. Interesting. I had forgotten some of this detail such as
Solfire is an old soul who will converse with the Soki as well as with Socrates
from time to time. And, I forgot about seeing Jesus (in the story). These
things don’t have to be mentioned as such but they have to be allowable within
context with Soki’s Choice.
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