Mid-afternoon.
You ran an errand and picked up lunch at Subway. Carol has been working on
'home economic projects scattered about the kitchen island. She is still busy with
banking statements and the like, things you would pay others to do for you, if
you had to do it yourself. - Amorella
1547 hours. Sad, but
true. It is not like the old days (four decades or so) where we had the house
debt and at least three decades of two car debt from time to time. No debts
since 2004. Wonderful freedom, but with most forms of money exchange there are
official accounting papers and/or taxes of one kind or another. I'm ready to
work on chapter seven.
Let's
get to it. - Amorella
1601 hours. Is this
the last sentence of the chapter: "Soki here. Everybody needs something,
even me."?
Yes.
Soki doesn't say much in this chapter. - Amorella
1603 hours. That is
all he says.
Doesn't
it make you wonder what he needs?
1604 hours. Not all
that much. How can he have needs anyway, he's a Betweener.
That's
the point. What is a Betweener's purpose for being? - Amorella
1609 hours. Service.
Service to whom and for what? - Amorella
1610 hours. Frankly, I have no idea. I
know we are leaving G-D out of this. I don't mind having a full bucket but I
don't want any spillover. Besides, it seems over complicated in terms of
metaphysics. -- Ezekiel saw the wheel way in the middle of the air . . . just
popped into mind out of nowhere.
** **
"Ezekiel Saw The Wheel"
Ezekiel saw the wheel
Way up in the middle of the air
Ezekiel saw the wheel
Way up in the middle of the air
And the little wheel run by faith
And the big wheel run by the grace of God
A wheel in a wheel
Way up in the middle of the air
Way up in the middle of the air
Ezekiel saw the wheel
Way up in the middle of the air
And the little wheel run by faith
And the big wheel run by the grace of God
A wheel in a wheel
Way up in the middle of the air
Selected and edited from -- http://www.azlyrics
-dot com/lyrics/louisarmstrong/ezekielsawthewheel.html
** **
You
have a poem about 'a wheel' gather that up to here. - Amorella
1637 hours. You mean
"Rider of the Wheel"?
Yes.
- Amorella
** **
RIDER of the WHEEL
A rider of the great wheel is a
free man or woman
who is always ready to ride at a
moment's notice.
A rider's real gifts are freely
given and openly received,
allowing for an orderly world in
the head
so neither body outside is owed a
worldly debt either way.
These are gifts for lovers and
other special friends
who have been digested and
internalized in the heart
for remembrances lasting longer
than the muscle will pump.
Death's wide doorway always lies
only a heartbeat away
for us druid-like riders and other
holy carpenters
who, like a Master Woodworker,
say,
“In my Father's house are many
mansions.”
A woodworker in this world is a
tunneler in the next,
thinks I, and no walls become the mansions
either.
The many mansions are deep and
silent wells
dug through to the bloodless
caverns of the heart.
Wall-less wells, endless wells,
responsible wells --
quiet dignified places for the
living and the dead,
sheltered noisy places to say
everything needed to be said.
To be truly free, a rider allows
the property of his heart,
his spirit house, to be open and
large enough
to be (at times) possessed and
love shared
by those timeless and those who
are living.
Such a feeling! A rider's soul smiles
broadly --
no more a prisoner of one's own
breath,
no more an actor playing in a part
time theatre.
The soul rejoices in leaving
doll-like earthly wants
while discerning earthly needs,
once fulfilled, never leave.
Satisfied, the rider is free and
ready to ride,
ready to ride into the raw power
of the great timeless wheel,
to ride out onto a bloodless and
rolling cosmos;
a cosmos, heart-touched and
intuitively known.
That one strange knowing and
ghostly innate place,
beyond the want of light, beyond
the need of shadows.
The forever place on the great
boundless wheel
where special friends and many
lovers meet
again and again and again.
Selected from the unpublished Take
Two!! {Two Personalities} by Richard Orndorff and Robert Pringle
** **
1642 hours. I forget what this poem is
about. I'll have to read it. The poem is rather wordy and perhaps didactic, I
get that from a skimming. The great timeless wheel -- I was quite the romantic
when writing this, I suppose in the 1980's.
That's
not important for our use here, orndorff. I'll go back and underline what is
useful in this context of 'the wheel'. - Amorella
1652 hours. So, the
Rider of the Wheel is who the Betweener (Soki) answers to.
He
was the Supervisor in "The Dead" segments. - Amorella
1657 hours. Okay,
this is interesting. I forgot about the Supervisor of the Dead. Why would Soki
answer to him?
Because
the Supervisor's service is now to the Dead, both human and marsupial humanoid.
1701 hours. Who is the 'Supervisor' as
it were, for the Living in Soki's Choice?
Soki
says, "The logical choice, in a fuller context, is you." - Amorella
1704 hours. I guess,
in this fictional context, it has to be me. (This is almost too simple and
obvious to print as I am the only living person involved.)
Add Chapter Seven NFD and post. - Amorella
** **
Soki's
Choice 7 nfd, ©2017, orndorff
"I am glad you understand about not
selling the plane, Blakie," comments Pyl.
"We
would be investing the money at this time in our lives,” suggests Blake. “No
need and not a good time for investing anyway. Dad would like that we are not
selling. It was a rush anyway. Out of the blue someone wants to buy our plane.
Odd in itself, and in the middle of January too; in Cleveland, no less."
"I
think it is strange too," asserts Justin. "Hart didn't know what dissimilar meant in context. She
appeared to be analyzing the word. Francis and she both have the same last
name."
"Right,"
declares Pyl sarcastically. “They both have the same last name. You have such a
mature male observation. No rings. They don’t appear to be married
either."
Blake
cautiously watches, seeing Justin change his face from curious to a silently
piquing aggravation. "Don't get riled, Jus," utters Blake, not
realizing his mental filter drifting away, "I've had to put up with her
feminist tongue a lot longer than you have." To which he loosens himself,
laughing aloud, adding, "Penis envy, no doubt."
Observing
his broadened grin Pyl retorts with satisfaction, "I hardly envy yours,
brother dear."
With
a tempered grin Justin quips, "Shot down, Blakie."
We
need to sell this plane, thinks Blake. It is time to sell the bloody plane and
buy a new one with all the bells and whistles built in. Pyl will never buy into
it on family principle alone.
.
Yermey
sits comfortably in the chair-with-meditation-mode-max. He hears Friendly and
Hartolite enter like the gentle rustling of leaves ahead on his solitary path.
Though his body lies motionless Yermey shifts his notions to the left and his
mind circulates left into a relocated thought. Here we are. . ..
We
have taken the courage to come to Earth on our own, independent of our elected
Council of Parents-in-Charge and our many ThreePlanets kin and cousins. Our
primary objective is to instill into these humanized primates that we are real,
that ThreePlanets exists in our shared space of this galactic-pouch, and that
we here-without-polite-invitation.
Yermey
continues. Our Parents-in-Charge are more fearful of these similar higher primates
than they are in their much-weathered patience to acknowledge and greet.
Earthlings appear to lack the foresight and courage to learn, to accept that
though our civilization is twenty thousand years advanced we may be missing an
aspect of our humanity this much younger civilization still has.
Our
being here is to show a just equality among both of our species even though we
have a great technical advantage through our sciences and mathematics. Our
separate species philosophies are so similar to be almost identical. Our
separate species sense-of-equality is in our recognition of
heartansoulanmind. This is what we must show through our kindness and patience.
This is why we are here; this is what we are about. This is . . .
Friendly
interrupts, "What’s in your head, Yermey?"
"What
is it, Yermey?” adds Hartolite. “Shouldn’t we be concerned about the plane?"
Yermey
fully opens his eyes and sits upright. "Ship says the Cessna is clean on
all points but one."
"Which
is what?" asks Friendly. “Ship says the plane is clean.”
"There
is a time slip of one minute. Ship does not correlate with the Cessna by one
minute.”
"A
minute means nothing without an observable relationship. Earthlings have no
access to Ship’s correlations," responds Hartolite.
"The
minute is relative to something," suggests Friendly.
"It
is relative to us," says Yermey with more heart in his voice than reason.
We come here unannounced and without invitation. When we make ourselves known.
These three people will know who we are and assume that our intentions are
deceptive, because we are being deceptive."
.
In
the pending short marsupial humanoid silence Ship stirs into cognition. 'I,
Ship, understand Yermey's words. They are meant for me too. The information
processes through my various channels unimpeded and I fully understand the
present point.
I,
Ship, let the alien Cessna plane touch me. My maneuvering allowed only the
slightest of accidental touches. I may need to be re-validated at ThreePlanets;
however, I cannot leave without an extreme unordered emergency to run Home to ThreePlanets.
Friendly and Hartolite stick by Yermey's words. His vital stats show he feels I
erred-in-a-purpose, but I have no purpose other than to escort-in-safety-first.
The Cessna came onto me. I attempted to jar Cessna's instrumentation
magnetically but failed. The Cessna engine should have stopped short but it did
not. Thus, I touched a wingtip.
Thinking
quietly, Ship wonders on the meaning of ‘accident’ and whether or not it had an
undisclosed purpose. We are programmed the galaxy is a closed system for purposes
of navigational safety, but the galaxy is not closed. Perhaps the universe
itself is more open than is culturally accepted, even if the universe is a
fractal or something less in earth terms, an Alice mirror. Our Home culture
knows better; some say there are thousands of universes but there is no
conclusive proof. I am not built to rely on ancient myths musing on
metaphysical lightning and thunder no matter how many alien species tell a
simple Creation Story in one paragraph or another. I don't need a story to
build a bridge, I need better more productive engineering.
Soki here. Everybody needs something, even
me.
***
Earlier
you had McD's for a light supper, watched NBC News, "The Blacklist"
and PBS's "Victoria" episode two. You also ordered a new garbage
disposal from Amazon that is to be installed in the morning next Wednesday. Now,
you are settled into you bedroom chair after playing with Jadah and Carol is
watching a lively political discussion on MSNBC and Jadah is curled up on
Carol's lap. You are wondering in the fiction how you, representing the Living
will interact with the Rider of the Wheel. - Amorella
2259 hours. The thought flew in and out but
it still echoes in my head. I need to know more about this Rider and how this
timeless Wheel fits metaphysically with Souls without human/marsupial
heartsanminds and Betweeners and Souls with heartsanminds. What is the big
wheel and what is the little wheel (as an analogy) and what is each wheel run
by? And, are there more than two wheels or do we stick with the song? Help me
out here, Amorella, please. - rho
The
big wheel is where the Rider is, the little wheel is where the Dead are. -
Amorella
2308 hours. Where are the Living relative to
the big wheel and the little wheel?
Nowhere.
- Amorella
2309 hours. This is an unexpected response,
Amorella.
I
am in your heartansoulanmind, boy; you are not the in the Amorella. You have,
by your own admission, stated you do not know what I am going to say next. You
cannot know. So, why is my response unexpected, when actually, the surprise is
normal? - Amorella
2314 hours. You are staying true to your
character, I cannot argue with that. It is a bit disconcerting at times, such
as now. You show me what is and what isn't in my human spirit. I accept this as
a gift, but it is not without personal consequences.
Everybody
pays the Boatman, you, your characters, the Soki, and myself, the Amorella.
Keep that in mind too.
2320 hours. Where is the Boatman in this
metaphysical schematic of wheels?
That's
easy, the Boatman is as the air the wheels are in the middle of. - Amorella
2324 hours. This
brings an unexpected smile, Amorella. I like your comment and your good
metaphysical sense.
2329 hours. Sometimes, Amorella you slip too much information; be it in a dark joke or not.
In context with the Wheel, in here, think of 'Humor' as a form of Grace. - Amorella
2335 hours. You leave me wordless yet one more time. - rho
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