Dear readers,
(disclaimer: any similarity to real life characters is utterly by coincidence everything in this story is written as fiction.)
The concept of the Piggliediggs philosophical interpretation on life
is not meant to be nihilist. The idea of not "existing" is redefined the sense that
in this modern society--everything is mass produced and replicated to the extent that basically nothing is uniquely made anymore. One gets lost in the duplications and replications to the point that existence seems purposeless. One must through this story understand existence in a new fashion. That once the basic needs are met for mankind--the next level of existence, true existence, lay in the pure excitement of new creation
and breaking new form. The material things such as fame, money, and power do not matter in this process
because the very process itself brings these things--but when this "creative level" is reached--even though they attained when talent shines forth--they (the material things) are not what really matters. It is the spirit of dancing the dance itself that brings ultimate happiness and definition of what it means to be human--not playing the game--but returning to reality and taking care of the things that really matter.
Or perhaps Jones has chosen a more humane game to play. This step is ultimately defined in the moment when Jones refuses to advance to the next level and allows Bean to go in his place. Jones in this step ultimately returns to his reality to take care of family, to take care of the homeless, and to make a difference in his world. This isn't about the denial of reality, merely the need for humanity to focus on manifesting the idealistic concepts of peace, hope, and happiness in a tangible way; given all the flaws of humanity and given the shortcomings of the past--to rise up together and find the broken pieces and put them back together again. This is the core concept of the first story--the idea of a return to reality: this one.
Again I will address a line from the story when Jones is speaking to the Author:
"You either don't exist or you don't exist."
The first idea of the sentence is as I described before the idea of not existing because of the mass production of products in society that make individuality seem meaningless. The second part of the sentence describes a new philosophical idea of being "one with the universe." I will expound further. If a person is riding the wave of creativity and no longer bound by their nightmare--they are connected and interconnected with good energy. The result of this good energy is good fruit or products which is often given back to society as a gift.
So, they are and are not an individual. Because of their interconnectedness with the universe--they lose their identity or ego--and realize their place in it--giving meaning. So, a human being can choose to be utterly lost in the mass production of automations who fear everything and have no existence, or choose to "plug" into the universe and lose their ego or identity in order to be apart of something greater.
Both concepts include the flux of "individualism". The first part of the sentence addresses the intellectual concept of existentialism where there is an ultimate fear of everything...and the feel of meaninglessness and absurdity. The second part addresses the second choice humans have for individuality: a return to basics
in addressing the structures of society that needs to be mended and realizing that they are part of the whole.
Meaning anyone else apart of the whole that is suffering or in need--is someone to be cared for. It is the acceptance of humanity as it is, and the promise to cultivate what one can from themselves to give back to society. The second part of the Authors sentence is the remedy to the first:
"If you fear--accept the problem first. Then positively move forward in a constructive manner.
Build forward."
The next story is a love story between Bean (being) and Patience. As Bean takes Jones place he's starting to realize that everything has a purpose and everything has intertwined to make him be where he is. Even though Bean takes Jones' place--Bean is technically not his "copy". Bean learned the lessons with Jones--so they both processed the same events (in that sense of a copy) yet Bean processes and understands the events in his unique way and will continue in his unique expression along with the journey. What could be described as a copy of Jones is the spirit essence of the universal "hero" that carries forth through the story--but Bean puts forth his interpretation of the hero in order to create a new story--because the previous story was about not copying in order to exist. Though the essence is the same--the structure presented is unique/through Bean's eyes or more--the universal eye of a flow of consciousness over time because of his new spiritual and intellectual level. In quintessence, Bean searches desperately for his lover Patience (a metaphor also for his lack of patience and need to learn the lesson of patience). It seems in another time period--in a lower level of society--where the rules were more savage--if Bean did not rip out his heart to give Patience's soul a place to rest--she would have ended up in a gray world of the lost--which is much like the Greek's Hades. So, in metaphor Patience is literally his heart. When Bean ascends to the higher levels he learns that he did not need to rip out his heart for patience--even though the intention of his actions were pure--he didn't understand the correct way to express his feelings. He finds that really instead of searching for patience--he needs to search for the ultimate meaning of love itself or just love. Patience was the star that pointed north---not the north itself. He learns in the higher levels of the intellectual world that on every level there is love--and love is a state of mind. It's not the person truly that makes love, but it is the love inside the heart that makes a person happy.
When the heart overflows with love--then like good wine--a person shares that love with others. First there must be the bright invisible sun inside the soul--Love, and then there is the universal love of others because inside of them Love lives as well.
This metaphor is projected into the cube chest tattooed on Bean's arm or music box in his dream
and the actual urn that he put the heart he ripped out on a lower civilization level in order to save Patience. The repeating metaphor of the cube through out the story--points to the psyche, soul or essence of a person and suggests that it can never be truly defined--it can only be lived and expressed in love, virtue, and harmony.
All the levels go full circle into a continuous and eternal cycle. The basic levels equal out with the most advanced. They are all one playing field--yet it takes a skilled eye to see the difference.
Bean starts to realize these things as he starts through a series of awakenings...flashbacks to when he was asleep and wise sages from the dream world would help him on his life journey...these flashbacks are initiated and ignited by his crossing over to the next level. The step over the bridge into the next level is not easy--in fact he must go through miniature worlds in order to get there. Along the journey he has a series of conversation with the Sphinx. The Sphinx guides Bean because of Jones who made the Sphinx promise that "Bean would have his own story." As he crosses over the worlds like stepping stones. He first enters a high school and notices in the basement a piano player who is waiting for 4:30. 4:30 turns out to be a metaphor for the idea of unique creativity and the search for a new musical form. Then he goes into a reality where he meets people in a bus who are suppose to get off at certain stops based on the decision of the bus driver. He rejects this world because he wants to transcend whatever the decision the bus driver makes--because his inner worth can not be judged or weighed in such a manner because the essence of a person is priceless.
The journey itself should only be determined by love. He learns that if something happens--such as a setback--he shouldn't have to replicate himself in another lifetime to do the deed over--he needs to fix it in the present moment--and then move on. Because everything happens for a reason...if something does not work out--it was never meant to be--and no matter how many replications in other lifetimes or dreamworlds--it still won't work out. So, he learns to treat the span of one lifetime--as eternity spaces--or priceless moments that should not be wasted in giving up--but making a difference and fighting for individual expression on the spot when the circumstances provide the opportunities.
All the while as he slips in and out of consciousness--he gets flashbacks of another place
where he is advised by sages (disembodied voices or sphinx)
and equipped with the tools to go and finish a task in live once more.
In the previous life it took him 1000 tries and in this life cycle he only has
1 life and 4 spaces to complete what he tried to do before.
Because in the previous lifetime he replicated so many times--it cost too much energy
so he must must must in 1 lifetime complete his task or face the void. Along his journey he finds that time itself has collapsed and he meets the child form of himself inside of a whale ship...here his sage advisor laughs and tells him that fate does this all the time and owes him 40 bucks for his predictions.
When Bean finally learns the lessons provided by life (though we do not know what they are and they are not precisely defined--since each person's life lesson is different) he enters the place where all the consciousness wish to manifest: reality. He crossed over from the dream world into reality.
Parallel to this story is the story of King Tut's mother and his rise to being a great leader. Yet he is not satisfied either with the limits of his world's horizon and learns from his a mother of a secret place: America.
He finds a sage man--who escaped from a destroyed dream world (the one who asked Bean in his previous life cycle to bless him seven times so heaven is secure) and asks him for the keys to reality.
This is where all the dream worlds, and alternative universes meet--this world, this reality.
Everyone in the story has achieved some human form--and goes to high school or college.
What is interesting is that Patience is in human form in this world as well. All the dream masters who achieved reality status are trying to entice her to be with them. There is an interesting plot twist in the end that I think the readers will enjoy.
So, I wouldn't say my story denies reality at all. In fact: reality is the highest level that all the masters want to achieve...it is the mythical place where the grass is green, and the sky is blue and the color red exists.
I would say that a person really needs to think while reading this story because of concept reversals.
Another interesting metaphor addressed is the idea of the nightmare, or a mare that rides at night.
In the dreamworld, Jones is the first human being to tame his nightmare and he literally or metaphorically uses his nightmare to travel through the dreamworld in the first part of his journey. Near the end of his travel in the first part of Piggliediggs he is told by Agent X that most people in the dream world are controlled or obsessed with their little manias or nightmares. Those have faces and spaces in the dream world, but for a stranger to break free and use their nightmare to travel the dream world--"is something truly remarkable."
In essence because Jones broke free from the nightmare--he is able to create potentially new dream worlds
based off his decisions in freewill. When a person breaks from their nightmare--they are a more free person
who can humanely co-create with destiny. The dreams seeds that might not have been or are not yet seen
have potentially become and manifested within Jone's grasp because he broke free. Therefore his story is no longer a copy of any other story--though the abstract author says--some ticks might want to copy this story but they can't deny that this is the original form to break form.
While on the topic of breaking forms another interesting question intrigues the readers as they go along:
"Who is table?"
We find universal characteristics of who table is, but the story does not pinpoint exactly "what" table is...
For example when Jones asks the Author: Who is table?
The Author responds: "Even I do not truly and fully grasp who or what table is."
Though it is revealed in the story that Table on a metaphorical level represents the many levels of enlightenments in life, and on a literal level --represents the other worlds when people have completed
their task on Earth. Jones choice to not advance to the next "table" shows his humanity in the fact that he does not wish to play games that never end, and the fact that going to the next table would create cutthroat competition to copy like crazy--reminiscent of robotic automatons. Because Jones chooses not to choose
he in fact creates another table or level--a more humane game--where he focuses on the tasks given from reality itself--finding meaning in seemingly mundane topics compared to the dream world: family, and cultivation of self through making a difference in this world. Because Jones creates this new "table" or level
it allows Bean to do interesting things in the next story because of the new creation of meta-choices. Bean discovers later on that all the levels go full circle, and inside of the most basic level is the seed for the most advanced: in other words, everything is one. On every table there are new codes to follow, and there are certain wisdom spots or Piggliediggs (core of this trilogy) that need to be triggered in order to advance. It seems "Table" does not want to reveal itself because it respects freewill.
I will have a section where I analyze all the metaphors and tricky passages for my readers so they fully understand the meaning and depth and nuanced layers I've placed inside this ship.
-Joy Messerschmidt
"The tale to end all tales…"
Pr.olo.gue Poe.:Try:
A Horse with No Name
When the void seeps in--it takes and takes,
It leaves nothing but forks in its wake.
The tables set, the poker game waits
with a dish of eternity that sits on a plate.
The vast square meal cooked and fried,
the funeralman shouts, "The mortal survived."
Split in two, the butterknife brushes butter lace
to make better what's left on the diamond ace .
The pea's are next--sweet peas, wires, and beans,
Imagine the lizard queen grins, hellish mean.
The chopped fish soup, then the desserted place
where chocolate daredevils romp in space.
The stomach whetted and emptied again, and only he
would understand, this strangest, strange, absconding dream.
Chapter One: Not in Kansas
Jones looks up at the brilliant emerald sky and rubs his eyes. He rubs his eyes again. The sky's still green. He looks down at the ground, and the grass is blue. Not a normal blue that a person would see in grass, but the dowdy kind invented for grandma quilts. Every once in a while white puffy bumblebees float above the blue grass humming a quirky tune. Jones thinks out loud to himself, "Well at least my pajamas are the same. Now, where did my room go?" He stands up to view the surroundings and plops down from excitement. He whistles and says to himself,
"Jones my boy, we are not in Kansas anymore."
On the blue grass lay asleep thousands of people on cube shaped trees.
While they dream, strange contraptions harvest their thoughts.
While they dream, strange contraptions harvest their thoughts.
A voice over a microphone chides:
"Okay everyone, there's a layover in America--turn the clocks back one hour. Indonesia, India, Algeria, Egypt prepare to jump back in the countdown of 10, 9, 8, 7, 6..."
Instantly an old, Indonesian grocer named Ramalen who chops thieves hands off for pilfering apples trots happily back from a sunny dream vacation and prepares to plunge back.
Everyone seems used to this daily process, except Jones.
Jones, puzzled, looks around for his dream catcher contraption, but he doesn't find one.
He notes that fascinating blobs of light emits from his head and then they disconnect to form random abstract shapes. Suddenly the bits of blob attach to his body and he's wearing a new T shirt and faded pair of Hollister jeans.
Then another extra blob of light starts to morph slowly into a shape and spin
slowly around and around until....* poof*, a black horse comes into being.
It nudges him to ride. Puzzled Jones reads the saddle poem on Night Mare,
" The Night Mare goes no where,
unless you want to go now here,
up the glass forbidden stairs
to see beyond the hissing stars."
unless you want to go now here,
up the glass forbidden stairs
to see beyond the hissing stars."
While riding in the sky,
Jones notes that in real life,
he would wave all this off as "childish nonsense"
he would wave all this off as "childish nonsense"
but in this world he must play the dream game,
and find out why his real self and dream self have combined in consciousness.
and find out why his real self and dream self have combined in consciousness.
The Night Mare halts in front of a French cafe floating peacefully in the sky with
crows ominously encircle the cafes spires.
crows ominously encircle the cafes spires.
Jones jumps off Night Mare, and runs into the cafe hoping to find somebody--anybody in the right state of mind. The honey tones of light drip lugubriously off the lampshades and fill the room; slow jazz taps its soft fingers on the window shades of the restaurant as Jones enters.
One giant table and chair fills the interior of the room. He slinks up to the table. On the table sits a beautiful music box made out of the richest chocolate mahogany. Fascinated, Jones winds up the key to the music box and waits.
The slow jazz music fades away as a merry tune kicks in, and
the music box whirs; and the cogs start to turn as the lid opens, and the scene jumps alive.
Much to Jones astonishment--there's a miniature version of him asleep on the blue grass along side a normal dream catching contraption.
Suddenly, as his mini self awoke --jerkily since the cogs of the music box glitches. A dream that should have been harvested by his machine--fought against being jarred in a harvest bottle. The dream killed the dream catcher, and ripped out its wire entrails and ran back into the mind of the mini Mr. Jones. The music box replayed the entire event of Jones current affairs with the expression of waking, and his ride on the Night Mare. Then, the box's lid snaps shut.
The slow jazz music resumes, and a waiter jumps out and taps Jones on the shoulder.
Jones jumps. The waiter has no body--only a pair of gloved hands with the label--Waiter.
The white gloves hands him a menu. Jones tries to read the menu, but the words wiggle and giggle too much; so he gives up. Then, the menu forms new words:
Dear Honorable Mr. Jones,
The last 10,000 years in dream world we have never had a case such as yourself except maybe in
the times of Atlantis. No one has ever wanted to wake up--all the time.
We have waited for this moment for thousands of years.
We welcome you. Some codes you should follow before you begin this journey:
the times of Atlantis. No one has ever wanted to wake up--all the time.
We have waited for this moment for thousands of years.
We welcome you. Some codes you should follow before you begin this journey:
1. The sky has always been green.
2. The grass has always been blue.
3. Listen to the Piggliediggs.
4. Always hide your heart in a different place.
2. The grass has always been blue.
3. Listen to the Piggliediggs.
4. Always hide your heart in a different place.
5. Your task begins.
6. Sincerely,
6. Sincerely,
7. Table
8. &
Jones stares at the table in shock.
"The ...table or whoever masking itself as table...wrote that?" Jones thought.
"And what is my task?" Jones wonders as he dream jumps back into the real world.
"Daddy, are you okay?" Annie asks.
"Strange Dream. No problem.
Tell Nanny to make you breakfast."
Chapter Two: The Sky is Always Green
Jones wakes up to the sound of chanting.
"Shit. I'm here again." Jones quietly mutters.
"The sky is always green."
"The sky is always green."
"THE SKY IS ALWAYS GREEN."
Jones turns his head towards the chanting.
The chanting reaches a climactic resonance--then stops.
Ancient voice: "Let us meditate upon this truth."
Chorus: "Oh, truth of all truths."
Ancient voice: "What is this truth?"
Chorus: "The sky is always green."
Jones edges nearer and nearer to the chanting,
and soon finds that he is standing on the rooftop of the hidden monastery.
Astonishingly, Jones notes a monastery built below the ground.
Putting his ear to the blue grass he hears a fairly young voice echo from below.
and soon finds that he is standing on the rooftop of the hidden monastery.
Astonishingly, Jones notes a monastery built below the ground.
Putting his ear to the blue grass he hears a fairly young voice echo from below.
"But elder how can we know the sky is green if we have never seen the sky?
Why not blue? Like the grassroots that grows near our temples?"
A great muttering and rumbling is heard from below. A middle age voice rings out,
"Because that is the code, boy. Do not meddle with the laws of nature.
No breakfast for such insolence. I can not believe it!
No breakfast for such insolence. I can not believe it!
My word, in all my years...tsk, tsk, tsk. We have taken a vow as monks
to always believe the truth--even if we lock ourselves from the sky.
This is what our god made us do to prove our faith."
The younger voice trembled as it spoke in hushed tones,
"What god would punish his most beloved followers to not see the true color of the beautiful sky? Why must we live as secondary animals below ground--isolated from even one another? Our food consists of beetles and worms--and water from mud. Is this anyway for a free monk to live? Isn't our diocese named the FREE monks society? Are you sure this insistence upon self-abnegation isn't imposed by some crazy man in the past?"
"Such poppycock,"
spits the ancient voice,
"Randolf make sure you teach your novice
the virtue of a thousand years of mountains silence,
and the obedience of mud to water."
A middle aged voice spoke,
"Come Little Bean, you spoke enough today, let's return to our lesson."
"Recite, RECITE, RECITE..." the ancient voice spits in a sonorous tone.
and the chorus thunders together in a vociferous rise:
"The sky is always green. The sky is always green. The sky is always green...."
Jones tries to walk away from the insane recitation but the hills rumble,
and shook which made walking difficult.
So, Jones crawls away from the underground monastery,
and accidentally steps through the roof of the monastery.
He tries to wiggle his foot out of the hole, but to no avail.
Then a young voice echoes out to his foot wriggling through,
"Why hello, you're the biggest worm I have ever seen. Here let me help you poor thing, I'll pull you down."
"NOooooo..I'm not a worm, that's my foot...."
"Why you're a funny worm...you talk!
Oh what fun we will have, I will finally have somebody to talk about things...
such as if the sky is truly green or blue."
Oh what fun we will have, I will finally have somebody to talk about things...
such as if the sky is truly green or blue."
Jones feels his foot being pulled down, and fights desperately from being dragged--clinging to tree roots and grass. His nails digs deep into the dirt, and the weeds he clings to cuts his palms.
"Look kid. I'm not a worm, I'm human. The thing you're holding is my foot, now let go!"
"Interesting, a worm who thinks he's human. I need to treat you before I let you go, poor thing. It is the duty of a monk to take care of all living things--code 2535353.6 of "A Monks Guide" by Randolf R. Randolf."
Jones felt himself pass out before Bean pulled him into darkness.
(1 hr later)
A strange room filled with books and powered by glowworms. A cube head with moon-shaped glasses intently stares at him. One half of the room was filled with green light from the hole in the ceiling.
"So, the sky really is green."
"Look kid, I need to get out."
"So, that's really unfair..."
The cube head named Bean floats up to the stacks of books and started chatting again:
"Nowhere in scriptures does it explain why we need to be held away from the sky!
This could revolutionize the free monk's entire philosophy."
This could revolutionize the free monk's entire philosophy."
"Kid, I think we have bigger problems.."
"Bean."
"Huh?"
"Bean, my name is Bean. Like Bean B. Bean is my full name, but I go with Bean for short."
"Okay, Bean. Look I think the green sunlight has triggered the floor."
"Fascinating...photosensitive jewels--I wonder if they bud or grow seeds..."
The green sunlight had been steadily pouring into the old library, and the tiles started to glitter. Below the centuries of dust, jewels embedded into the tiles starts to shine as if on fire.
They form the words,
"The sky is always G..."
Bean looks at the phrase, and glances at the ceiling.
"This would cost me detention, but..."
Bean threw up a book and shatters the rest of the ceiling.
The words formed on the floor became even clearer,
"The sky is always Green."
One green jewel clicked, and turned three quarters around, then two quarters back.
Then the rest of the jewels started clicking.
Then the rest of the jewels started clicking.
The loud click sounds echoed through the dusty corridors.
Jones whistled and said, "But what does it mean?"
Bean responded,
"...of course, it all makes sense now...the sky is always green,
I always thought it was fairytale."
"Bean (exasperated) can you please give me a straight answer?"
"Ummm...well Wormie...let me put it this way...did you talk to a table?"
"Why is it always with the Table?"
Chapter Three: The Grass is Always Blue
Time: Dreamday Wednesday: 12:45:02 p.m.
Place: [censored]
Person: Agent [X]
Description: Agent X-the generic handsome type; blond hair and icy eyes; body posture evokes a sense of a frostbite; slicked hair; short warty fingers and big attitude.
Personal information: [Censored]
Description: Dolores: generic secretary type; brown hair, crooked nose, and bland eyes; body posture evokes a sense of a cowardly but well trained dog; wild curly hair; strong willed.
Personal information: Walks her dog every Saturday at 14:30:00
"I want to know who this guy is Dolores!" thunders X.
"I want to know why all of Dream World is buzzing about this new hero."
"I want to know his task, and why its not listed."
"We KNOW everything, but all we can get on this guy is that he wears pin-stripped pajamas—with teddy bear prints? Absolutely pitiful. DOLORES! I'm not riddling like a sphinx either!"
Dolores sighs, "Yes, X?"
"Pay the bumblebees 1 cent more, to scour day and night for information. We need to keep control or chaos's will break loose. What if dream jumps go off schedule? Try to protect this guy—all sorts of scum bags will want to make a fortune off of him like some freak show. We need to know which side he's on, who does he work for, I WANT information Dolores, and I want it PRONTO. What does he eat, how does he snore, who's his imaginary friend, does he create abstracts upside down or square. Information. Information. Information. I want this guy wrapped around my finger. Oh, and Dolores?"
"Yes, sir."
"GET ME SOME REAL COFFEE. What is this crap I'm drinking—dog vomit? The grass is blue, isn't it?"
(Hesitation) "Yes, sir."
"Then GET ME SOME GOOD QUALITY COFFEE
and find everything you can get your hands on this new hero pushover."
and find everything you can get your hands on this new hero pushover."
Secretary Dolores takes the files labeled Bean B. Bean and
Jones from the pile marked TOP SECRET in big bold red letters.
Jones from the pile marked TOP SECRET in big bold red letters.
She whispers, "The grass is blue, but the sky is green; the two can't mix,"
and dumps Agents X's rejected coffee on both files.
and dumps Agents X's rejected coffee on both files.
(10 min later)
"Dolores! DOLORES! WHAT IS THIS? I CAN'T READ"
Agent X's finger stabs the two stained files.
"The sky is green, Sir. If you can't read, you better go back to Kindergarten to learn."
"Dolores, we can't deny the grass is blue. We need this information."
"I know sir. Might I suggest a break to Hawaii in the real world? I think you're paranoid. No use crying over split coffee…you didn't like it. I ordered some real coffee from Coffee land. I hope you're satisfied. "
"Fine, Dolores. But then I give the job to you to make sure the grass is blue."
"Can it be any other color, sir?"
"If I claimed such, I would be in the loony. Let's monitor the South to make sure everything's under control. America is about to jump back, slightly tricky due to the fact that some people forget the one hour turn forward...or is it back. I'm getting old. Oh, and Dolores...."
"Hmmm..."
"Since you're so damn smart, I'm sending you to watch over the new hero."
"Oh, so I'm suppose to be the femme fatal...great plan Roger."
"My name is CENSORED, DOLORES!"
"Oh right, end transmission."
[click]
A smooth voice glosses over the taping to his comrades:
"So you see my friends, we are up against the Northern government. I have bribed one of the bumblebee's to tape this fairly easy if you promise them equal rights opportunities, but you see we must get to Jones first. We must convert him to our side. Though we do not know why they want him, he must be valuable.
"Aren't we suppose to work with the North Government?"
"Didn't you hear the damn recording? Obviously they think they have us under wraps. With this guy we could appeal to the public and win the upcoming elections...Give power back in the hands of the South Government."
"Why not just wield with nuclear weapons?"
"Nah, that's boring and a thing of the past. Everyone knows that it's mutually assured destruction. We must be more cunning. We must represent the people's needs in a ...better...way."
"Is the sky blue?"
"No."
"Then obviously we must play green. No? You know my friend no one knows the origin of the code phrases or why they came into existence. We just know that the codes have a much higher meaning than before, and every group that uses it--has their own paraphrase for it. I vote that we make a dictionary of all the different meanings...so we may better appeal to the people. The sky is green after all."
"Muah ha ha ha ha ..."
"..."
I was watching a sitcom---those shows are really funny. What? I have an evil sounding laugh. So what?
"...okay, well keep it down...."
"End transition ."
[click]
A scratchy voice turn to his workmates and huskily articulates:
"Thus my friends we know that all sides are trying to get to the hero."
Nairic quietly murmurs to the legions of puffy white fellow bees.
"As you can see I planted a mole in the southern government and relied on their intelligence to capture information from the northern government..."
"Umm...we are bee's, Nairic. We can't do things like this. We are secondary citizens."
"We will use our intelligence to play both governments."
"Nairic, we just want equal rights as bees, we don't want to play espionage."
"Quiet Hummer, I have timed everything perfectly. We need the last chess piece--the Hero."
"The Hero--is a myth. It's fairytale." whines Hummer.
"We shall see..." Nairic replies.
(And so our journey begins.)
Chapter four: Listen
The sun beats relentlessly down on the desert,
and a pair of footsteps in the sand arch past the vanishing point; nothing lives here.
and a pair of footsteps in the sand arch past the vanishing point; nothing lives here.
"Remind me WHY are we walking in a God-forsaken desert, Bean?"
"Desserts are Yummy, Jones...not god-forsaken. (Chuckle.)
Well, it states in code that
Well, it states in code that
'your task begins.'" (scratches head)
"Uh-huh...and...?" (irritated foot tapping)
"All tasks begin with a painful journey,
since we didn't feel much pain in the forest,
I devised a painful expedition in the desert."
"Wait, I don't have to walk here right now?"
"Yup. Doesn't that tickle your fancy!"
Jones abruptly stops.
"So, why are we here?"
"To find your task."
"I don't know my task."
"Piggliediggs!"
"Wait? What did you just say."
"Look....."
Bean whispers, ignoring the question, as he points ahead,
" I think there's someone walking towards us--on his head, walking with his hair."
A man who looks a lot-like-Gandhi-from-the-real-world waves to Jones and Bean.
The trio stand in the desert baking in silence for a half hour, before the Sage would speak or open his eyes.
The trio stand in the desert baking in silence for a half hour, before the Sage would speak or open his eyes.
Jones whispers to Bean, "The guy's not speaking, I think we should go."
Bean whispers back,
"Piggliediggs! I floated this far. My air gauge is on low. We are seeking a sage, and this must BE him."
"Piggliediggs! I floated this far. My air gauge is on low. We are seeking a sage, and this must BE him."
The Gandhi-look-alike motions the two closer, and then smiles--a toothless smile.
Bean whispers to Jones, "This MAY be the most important thing you will ever hear from the lips of someone SO WISE. Now bow and show respect. His words are like price-less jewels."
Jones bows towards the sage with his hands folded. The sage seems to have a hard time moving his lips and slowly forms one word. Trying to form a motion with his mouth-- he eventually plops out a soft sound.
Bean slightly embarrassed says,
"Oh great sage, your wisdom is mighty; tell us something fearful and wonderful. I'm afraid we didn't catch what you said. So, if it pleases your highness, please repeat the scrupulous phrase."
Bean then bows low again.
The Gandhi-look-alike smiles sheepishly, trying again, and says with alacrity,
"Wet."
"..." (blank looks)
"Could you repeat that please?"
The sage, as if sensing his audiences disappointment, points to the sand and squeaks,
"Wet?"
He points to Bean and Jones and repeats more confidently this time,
"Wet."
He starts pointing to everything and says, "
Wet!
(points to rocks.)
Wet.
(Points to cow bones.)
Wet!
(Points to Bean's glasses.)
Wet.
(Points to himself.)
Wet."
"Bean," commands Jones, "we need to hold a private meeting."
"Yes, Jones?"
"Bean. THE MAN'S A SIMPLETON."
"Piggliediggs, the guy's brilliant. He's the one of the council elders who created the codes."
"Bean. How do I say this? THE GUY'S STANDING ON HIS HEAD. His HAIR walks for him."
"Piggliedigs, that's the method he uses to get his brilliant ideas.
So what about his hair? Those dreads are just piggliedigging!
I honestly think you're misunderstanding him.
Just listen to him for Pete sake's when he talks."
"I AM, Bean. And all he says is WET."
As if the entire universe breathlessly waits for
Jones say WET at that exact pitch and note,
Jones say WET at that exact pitch and note,
it starts to rain.
The rain pours and pours until the whole valley flooded, and immediately after purple sages,
glorious yellow bells, and pungent creosote bushes dot the dunes in splendor.
glorious yellow bells, and pungent creosote bushes dot the dunes in splendor.
The fragrance of exotic mur fills the air, and the hidden frogs croak, mate, and pass away in mud.
The withered-looking-Ghandi-man walks towards them, transforming into a younger and younger man--about twenty years drops away. He's clean shaven. He's walking on his legs instead of his hair, and on top of his utterly shiny bald head--he balances a bottle of water.
"I liked him better with the crazy hair." Jones mutters.
"Hello travelers, my name is Nandi. Yes? We need to sort out many things. Yes? Think of this step as the preparation stage. Yes? Jones, what did you see on the table? Yes?"
Bean nudges Jones, "Go on, tell him what you told me."
"I saw myself."
"What did you do in your box? Yes?"
"I broke free."
Nandi exclaims,
"Extraordinary. It takes years to realize such an answer. You see, the chant 'the sky is green' has three levels. The first is the acceptance of its mythical content. The second is the realization that the phrase becomes empty through repetition. Then the third level is the understanding that things are interconnected and maybe the myth has a kernel of truth after all. After this level, monks reach a table in abstract meditation, but no one has ever reached the box on the table. The highest metaphor—no master has yet reached besides me. Yes?"
Jones sputters, "It wasn't a metaphor—I literally saw the damn table and music box."
"Nevertheless, I have made sure you're not thirsty. I have watered you. Yes? Now it's time for you to grow."
Nandi gently lifts the bottle off his head and hands it to Jones.
"Oh another question before you go Nandi.
What ARE piggliediggs besides the generic usage of the phrase?"
Nandi smiles again--flashing his white teeth, and answers,
"Could the sky be blue?"
"Hey, no fair!" whines Bean, "You answered a question with a question."
Nandi mysteriously elucidates, "Why not, whet?"
and then a great mist enfolds him and lifts him into the sky, away into eternity.
and then a great mist enfolds him and lifts him into the sky, away into eternity.
"Piggliediggs!" curses Bean.
"We have another word for that expression in the real world my friend."
says Jones taking a swig of the Nandi's water,
"Holy Waters, its vodka."
"Water into Wine. Sounds familiar."
"You know Bean there's this guy back in the real world who did that, he loved everyone."
"Affirmative. This (points to bottle) is definitely reciprocating love."
Bean and Jones trudge on through the desert fire. Will the vodka last them the journey?
Chapter Five: Always Hide Your Heart
While, the camp fire crackles in the wake of night's cheek, and the stabbing stars flicker and skate into constellations, Bean and Jones crouch low by the fire chatting away and turning the spit every now and then.
The campfire roasts an oddly shaped pheasant, named gNana, a three eyed bird who naturally grows its own spectacles from stealing books and reading them from traveling merchants. Glops of yellow fat drips into the hissing flames.
(The eyeballs taste like tofu and the naturally grown spectacles taste like spun sugar. Traditionally if a person can pop the third eye ball off without damaging the other two--Lady Luck is on your side. Jones is attempting to do this as he talks to Bean.)
"You know Bean, I still haven't found my task."
"Jones, let me tell you a story..."
Bean starts narrating:
"I lived in the year 3047 on the edge of the Milkyway near the ENAs stream. That's how you know you have arrived in our solar system, there's a ribbon from the pressure of the heliosphere 9 billion miles (15 billion kilometers) away from the Pisces constellation.
What is known as 'Dreamjumping' in your world, is known as a 'wormhole station' in our solar system.We take Dreamjumping seriously--that is how we meet other forms of consciousness in one place--from the past present, present present, and present future, and all other alternative realities and possibilites. I met all sorts of people--some good, some bad. You usually sensed which ones to stay away from, usually the ones that promise you control, or power--they want to control your mind and suck your energy--until you are utterly dry. You will know them by their heavy mental energy. The good ones--such as Nandi have much wisdom to impart--when you see any piggliediggs--listen.
I was considered the most advanced dreamjumper--and the whole population loved me. I was chosen as one of the top three applicants for the position of a Master. Oh, yes, I had it all. I chose Patience as my bride. We fell in love. She was the social butterfly, and I, the awkward nanobattery. Those were glorious, golden days.
Then Zorek, the second applicant for the master's position, during a daily dreamjump--disconnected Patience from her body. He knew if he could hit my heart--I would falter in applying for the Master. Immediately, I sensed Patience's cry for help--I dreamjumped after her.
A disconnect from a body means eternal wandering in dreamworld, or eternal damnation in our culture.
I grabbed her soul, before it wandered too far, ripped out my heart with my fingers, and placed her-- there in the pulsing mass, so she may be connected to some living flesh, the requirement of our culture and spiritual rituals. Then, I thrust-ed my fist in my chest to stop the blood from flowing out too fast, I returned to our dimension.
I grabbed her soul, before it wandered too far, ripped out my heart with my fingers, and placed her-- there in the pulsing mass, so she may be connected to some living flesh, the requirement of our culture and spiritual rituals. Then, I thrust-ed my fist in my chest to stop the blood from flowing out too fast, I returned to our dimension.
I made it on time for the exam but the master's test is a test of the pure heart.
I did not have mine for examination, so I failed the exam, and Zorek was crowned the next Master.
I did not have mine for examination, so I failed the exam, and Zorek was crowned the next Master.
My heart was replaced by a mechanical pump, and Patience was kept alive inside my flesh--the only kind of flesh that would save her from damnation. I put my gushing heart in a special box, and hid it away. She is still beating in that sacred place under the twisted silver oak on the fourth moon of our rusty planet.
Eventually time went by and I chose to disconnect myself from my body. When a being disconnects--a being must be reborn in order to enter dreamland. When the elders realized that I refused to return to my body after ten years--they ate me in order not to waste our species flesh. It is how our culture applied a control on our genetics--we eat the weaker or dead species--so others may not clone us. That is why I appear so young. I had to be reborn.
So, it is good that the powers who send spy's to watch us, only hear through the trees your incoherent blabbering, and not the true purpose of this journey. It is good we do not know the future, and can only hope. Whoever sent you on this journey is wise; you are the journey as it unfolds second by nanosecond. Whoever did this was truly divinely wise--to send a hero as the humble fool. Only those with clear purpose, and clear eye can truly see the gold beneath the clay. At this point, those who want you for power, do not know your heart, and cannot take it from you; whereas those who are pure, will recognize you and protect you.
It is better this way."
"Bean, I thought you were a little monk who played with worms."
Jones whispers in an awed tone while turning the spit.
"We show many different sides to different people in order to survive, and sometimes the simpler life is most appealing in a world of the gilded ornate. Certain virtues shine through when there is less sophistication."
"I understand my purpose now." Hesitantly turns towards Bean. "Your not going to eat me are you?"
"or rip your brain out?"
"No, I'm twice born, remember? He nods his head: "Good."
"Okay, now that I know you're not going to eat me.
What about my purpose? I cannot put it into words my purpose."
"Do not try. Language is a flawed device. It tries to name and fails to capture the higher quintessence. Let it be free and alive. Let it grow on visions, and dreams. Let the sky be green. Let the grass be blue."
"Bean, I'm going to jump back during my sleep.
I won't know if I can jump here without ending up in different world. So, this is where we say goodbye."
I won't know if I can jump here without ending up in different world. So, this is where we say goodbye."
"May you always be one of the many fingers that hold the stars in their place."
"G'night."
A tranquilizer dart shoots past Bean and hits Jones in the neck.
A white bee named Hummer shouts, "Get him. I shot him with Coffee. GO GO GO"
Thousands of bee's rush towards Jones and Bean like a giant cloud of sheep.
A net falls on top of the two companions, and they are quickly imprisoned.
Chapter Six: Your Task begins
A drop of water drips down the stalactite edge and leaves a hieroglyphic trail. Another water droplet slides to the tip of the stalactite, and reflects the surrounding cavern, the thousands of white bees, and the two prisoners in chains.
The bees throw Bean into a locked box, and turn the lock two times round, and then they take Jones into another section of the cavern and imprison him.
Inside the box Bean finds two fortune cookies. Bean opens the first fortune cookie, and it reads,
"Your fortune is in the next cookie."
Bean opens the next cookie and it reads,
"Ignore the previous cookie."
Bean eats the pieces of the broken cookies in despair.
While crying Bean bumps his head into the lid of his box.
The lid opens. Bean in surprise walks out of his box.
His box was never locked to begin with; he only believed it was locked.
Bean hops out of his prison box, and slinks away in the to shadows hoping
none of the guards notice him.
"Who goes there, I have a stinger and it kills without mercy." says Nairic.
"It is Bean."
"Bean? Like the food with rice and milk?"
"No, Bean the Monk."
"Bean, tales of your journey has gone far. The Northern government commands us to capture you. It is no fault of the bee folk, ya hear? We are honored by the presence of the mythical hero, and the mythical monk. But orders are order, and all we do is take orders. It is the social order."
"Is there anyway I can pay for our escape and your silence then if you have no interest vested in our capture?"
"Well, there is one way, but us bee's are simple folk, dare not ask the favor of someone so great as yourself--it is to much to ask."
"Ask, and it shall be done. I swear in oath on the box of my beloved heart, Patience."
"You may very well regret what you have sworn, but very well...here is the plan." Nairic somberly replies and quietly mutters to Bean the secret plan.
Meanwhile Jones is thrown into a pitch black jail cell.
Inside the pregnant stillness of the jail, a gnarly voice echoes,
"Who's there?"
"Jones."
"Jones? Did they send you to feed me or to entertain me, then feed me?"
I don't normally play with my food, but I could make an exception for you."
"Who are you?"
"I am the Sphinx. My name is Dolores."
"What do you want?"
"I want something fun to eat, entertain me, and you buy seconds to live. Answer the question:
"Who is table?"
Jones shrugs.
"A Table is a table. It's made of wood. You know kind of flat on top with four legs,
sometimes three legs, sometime's two, maybe even one leg if well designed."
"Don't play foolish with me, boy. Who is table?"
"Who do you think table is, Dolores?"
"Table is a myth about some crazy maximum. Supposedly, when there exists a reality that the sky could be blue, and the grass could be green—a hero will arrive and give back the mythical color red. So, give me the color red this instant!" Shrieks the Sphinx.
"How do you know I'm the hero?" says Jones dodging the demand.
Dolores clicks a button and a voice record with Bean's voice:
Whoever did this was truly divinely wise--to send a hero as the humble fool.
"Do you deny the master monk told you this?" The Sphinx riddles.
"Bean isn't a master monk. Bean is a child." Replies Jones.
"Anyone who unlocks the emerald puzzle in the underground monastery is immediately raised to master status. Do you deny this piggliedigg's wisdom?" demands the Sphinx.
"I do not know where to find the mythical Red."
"Answer me Hero, or I will mash your bones. Where did you hide the mythical Red?"
"Answer me Sphinx, how can I give you red, if you believe it myth?"
"This guy is slick, Dolores. We need to change tactics. Swallow him, and I'll talk to him in your stomach."
Agent X whispers into Dolores's headphone through the wireless microphone.
"Roger, that sir."
"Make sure what I say to him is stricken off the record. Is that clear?"
"Crystal, sir."
The Sphinx's raises her paws toward Jones and lashes her tail from side to side.
"Enough chatting. Acquiesce to the fact I'm hungry." She pounces.
Chapter Seven S.P.H.I.N.X.
Sincerely. Please. Hello. Inkan. Nada. Xavier.
The Sphinx pounces on Jones and melts right through him.
Jones looks back and sees a droll replica of himself torn apart by the Sphinx.
"What the...?"
He pinches himself to make sure he's still alive, and shuffles forward. The entire jail cell melts away. All around him, white, tiled walls blithely lit by bulbous crystals start to spin in a diamond formation creating and recreating hallways in seconds.
"Walk forward, Jones." Tinkles an ethereal voice.
At the end of a long white crystal hallway is a room filled with stairs. They tread sideways, upside down, long ways, down-ways, and round-ways--always in constant motion; as if the room and hallways were a gigantic pulsating worm changing it mind about how it wants to be.
Jones marches down the ever changing hallway; his footstep clicks in a sharp tick tick tick clockwork formation. Each tick triggers the stairs and halls to stop writhing in constant motion, until eventually when Jones reached the stairway room; everything haults to a standstill. The entire hallway from a bird's eye view looks like a giant snowflake with a jelly blob at the center filled with electric blue sparks quivering slightly; and its translucent membrane and thick veins slightly pulsating.
"Walk forward Jones." Tinkles merrily the same voice again in encouragement.
Mesmerized Jones walks into the jelly mass, and feels the membrane suck against his skin like rubber.
"Welcome to the center of intelligence or otherwise known as the 'Stomach'."
Tinkles another placid voice.
"Door open." Commands the tinkling voice, and a rusty voice responds,
"Pass code needed."
"Sincerely. Please. Hello. Inkan. Nada. Xavier."
"Voice verification in process." a rusty voice responds.
The blanche, rubber mass presses against Jones in all directions squeezing him, and then the membrane quickly opens into another space. Jones jaw drops. A blanched, sheen room contains a tower that seemingly stretches up endlessly into the sky. Jones reads the cornerstone of the tower out loud, "Tower of Babel."
The curious thing about the tower is that it isn't shaped like a true "tower." It adheres more to a tower principle. The supposed 'bricks' of the tower are made out of pictures frames of all sorts of sizes, and colors. The "bricks" free float in the air spinning and turning at furious odd angles, growing together or splitting apart in order to keep the tower "shape" or principle.
"How do you like S.P.H.I.N.X. or sphinx?" asks a gruff voice.
"Amazing!" comments Jones.
"We can do much with S.P.H.I.N.X. We created a genetic facsimile of you-- to rip apart and kill. It is needed in order to protect your status from the Southern government.
We produce many functions and twists in reality in order to restore and protect our subjects or figments of the imagination.
The S.P.H.I.N.X also performs many tasks such as secretarial work with a holographic projection named ...Sith. or otherwise known as Dolores--made up from parts of Hello and Inkan, and Nada."
"Who are you?" asks Jones in amazement.
"I'm the head agent in this mind. So I'm labeled X. as in Xavier but my alias is Roger. My other half is Nada. We all pair up into three separate entities: Sincerely/Please, Hello/Inkan, Nada/Xavier."
"So, you are three personalities in one mind?"
"In one stomach, technically. We digest information, and send programs out to fix glitches inside the dream jumping system, and we keep track of sleepers. There are two political systems who are allowed to do this: the brain and the stomach. We won elections this year. Technically, we are three distinct entities, but together we make the Sphinx--the higher stomach entity. We won out against the brain because we actually digest concepts and apply them realistically. The brain government plays with abstractions, but never applies them. We are known as the Northern government, and they are known as the Southern government. Our workers are white bee's if you haven't noticed."
"So, why don't you manifest in your holographic form? I don't trust things told to me by people I can't see."
Each screen on the tower flashed quickly computing many vibrant colors and Agent X steps out of one of the frames. Then he points to the flashing scenes in each frame and explains,
"Time doesn't matter here. Everything unravels and collapses in this Dreamworld. Thus we needed a way to regulate the consciousness traveling in and out. Sincerely, Please, and Hello take care of the day shifts, and Inkan and Nada take care of the night shifts. If you don't remember the first voice you heard in Dreamworld (we record everything)--that was Sincerely--..."
Agent X presses a white button and plays a chiding voice named Sincerely:
" 'Okay everyone, there's a layover in America--turn the clocks back one hour. Indonesia, India, Algeria, Egypt prepare to jump back in the countdown of 10, 9, 8, 7, 6...'
Instantly, one of the frames on the tower replays an old, Indonesian grocer named Ramalen who chops vagabond hands off for pilfering apples trotting happily back from a sunny dream vacation and prepares to plunge back."
Agent X presses another button, and a drink appears in his hand. He stirs the straw in the water and sips.
"So have you figured out the letter yet Jones?
This stomach (pointing to tower) is mighty curious about your reactions."
"What is my task?" Jones asks, "I've never been able to figure it out."
"That the kicker, Jones. The Table decided to give you freewill in this world and we don't know why. Every person who dreamjumps into Dreamworld is obsessed with their little manias. They have no control over what they do because their dark desires, secrets, and insecurities consume them. Those hidden mania's have face in this world. No one has ever tamed and rode their Nightmare before. To create your own task is a very special thing. It's just not how things usually work."
"Who's table?"
Agent X gives Jones a curious look and responds warmly,
"My, my aren't we full of questions today? Yes, it is the question of all questions; the king of kings; the question that begs the answer. Who is table?"
Chapter 8: Table
(The end is only the beginning.)
"Something's are better shown, than explained."
Agent X motions with his hands, as he walks towards the Tower of Babel.
"Step inside the tower."
Jones steps inside the tower's entrance frame.
After he steps through the frame; it shape shifts into another frame--erasing the entrance he just walked through.
After he steps through the frame; it shape shifts into another frame--erasing the entrance he just walked through.
"Look up."
Jones looks up and sees a ceiling made of a giant mirror surrounded with walls of ornate, baroque decor. The rather strange mirror seemed fluid, and the liquid floated defying gravity--upside down, the surface steaming slightly in ripples, while strange noises and objects drop from it. A golden finch drops from the misty interior, Agent X clicks a button, and robotic arm strikes out and snags the finch in a cage.
"This is table." Agent X whispers in a majestic tone.
"I don't understand. I still don't understand." Jones pleads --feeling a lot like the caged finch.
"Table, my strange traveler, is a level, and now for you, it's the next level."
"Huh?"
"It is the same world as this one, but the next step. It has an extra code; it is the next game."
"This has all been....a game?" says Jones in shock.
"Yes, you have passed the first level, it has been a zero sum game,
but you have passed, and you are chosen to go to table.
Do you accept the responsibility to advance to the next level?"
"I need time to think about this choice.
Do I get to return to my world if I dream jump into the next level?"
"Yes, but you will never be fully there. Dreams in table will intrude on reality and force you back."
"You mean I will literally live my dreams?"
"Yes."
"What happens in a table?"
"You will go through the same ordeals,
but you will be given a different set of codes.
This time the color red will come into play.
We do know that some lose their sanity there."
"I thought the color red is a myth?"
"Myths are an over exaggerated idea of what the true form of an object is from history.
If you take apart the magical aspect of the mythical idea--
you realize the individual parts are derived from some part of reality."
I must quickly send you into the next table before the coup happens. We have no time."
"Coup?"
"Coup d'état. The Southern intelligence has planned a revolt against us, and they will be running the next era. They think its "revolutionary" to overthrow us. But it actually has always been this way for centuries, and it's known as the balance of powers. The brain overtakes the stomach; then the stomach overtakes the brain. Then one day the worker bees shall overthrow both entities. We only know this because we have the Tower of Babel as our guide for knowledge; it collects all wise men's dreams. When they have control of the Tower of Babel--the Southern government shall know the truth as well--and have the ability to discern from myth. Right now the Southern government and the worker bee's think the Tower of Babel is myth, this room is a myth, and you are myth.
Precisely from this moment, 11 min, and 11 seconds....the Southern government will have manipulated the workers into a full blown revolt using the mythical hero's (fake) death as the catalyst."
"But I'm not mythical."
"To them you are. You were their only hope for redemption....and now you are dead."
"I'm not dead."
"We know, but they don't. We holographic-ally cloned you, and projected the mental image of you dying in front of the workers."
"....Er?"
"It was necessary for your protection."
"Why?"
"Because you are the first of your kind to break from slumber.
You have crawled from the depth of the cave, and penetrated past the shadows of illusion. For others the shadows are real, for you the shadows are a metaphor as something to see past."
" I don't need 11 min. Hell, I don't need 11 seconds.
I know right now. I do not want to go into another table." Jones sputters.
I know right now. I do not want to go into another table." Jones sputters.
Agent X sighs and responds,
"Many people want to be in your position right now. They want to be you-- advancing. Many people, who want to advance, have failed the dream world many times. But they still hope to gain advantage. They go in circles, ridden by their Night Mare, instead of riding the Night Mare. Many are called, few are chosen. And you are chosen."
Jones looks up at agent X and quietly responds,
"I have two kids at home, but I can barely visit them in the real world because of the divorce. All my life I have been disconnected from reality. I have never truly been there for them. I want to be there for them after going through all this. I want to walk the dog. I want to take Julie out to buy Barbies, and little Annie out to the lollipop store. I want to be the dad I never could be. I want to see my sky, my grass, and their true colors. I want to give that old bum Joe some quarters so he can buy beer on Sundays.
I want to make a difference in this world, instead of the next one.
I want to make a difference in this world, instead of the next one.
To give up my hold on reality for table, would be to give up my humanity. This game that you speak of that humanity has not realized till now--will force cut throat competition to reach table, force everyone to follow the codes in a mundane way--instead of finding their own interpretation, and make every consciousness dull and bleak--with no imagination. And what happens after I complete this table?
There must be other tables above that table--going on endlessly?
There must be other tables above that table--going on endlessly?
Can the weary soul ever sleep truly?"
"Well, we could take care of child support for you. And as for the next world, there will be another central intelligence unit you talk to I suppose...but we have never ventured into the question of how many tables there are. We just know there is one table from the evidence we find of that dimension-the red feathers, leaves, and yellow finches that happen upon us from that liquid ceiling mirror. Maybe the sky is red, and the grass is yellow in that world...we can only hypothesize with no experimental foundation."
"So, this game may be ongoing. It may go on forever. From this advance in table, there may be another, and another, and then I lose my humanity through insanity of detachment. I may make a difference in the next world, but I will never be able to make a difference in the world I came from. I will go back, but never truly find my world. My world will be a metaphor, and the metaphor of table will be the reality that I wander in--unable to return. I do not think I am ready for such a change."
"Many will try after you to reach this opportune moment, this destination."
"And let them. I refuse to give up my humanity."
Agent X looks quizzically at Jones and says,
"What is humanity? How can you define it?
What makes it so special that it can't be imitated or replicated?
We created another you--to kill--in order to protect."
"Humanity is universal. Humanity is a multitude of realizations that result in who we are in relations with other people. We are, but we don't know we are--until we realize. And I have realized that if I go any further--I will be stripped of my humanity in this consciousness. I wish to return to my life, and not go to table."
"You do realize that Bean will take your place, if you don't want to go?"
"I thought only masters could ascend to table, why do I get first choice?"
Agent X chuckles.
"If you don't remember, you were the one who poked the hole in the ceiling first, and then Bean pulled you down. It was a collaborative effort--but one that proved to the underworld dimension that the sky is truly green. Anyone who does this immediately ascends to the status of a master. You are one master level higher than Bean for simply being at the right place at the right time, and Bean is a master for pulling your through into his dimension. Which is ironic--he gained his purity of heart for mistaking you for a worm. You just happened to find a weak spot in that dimension and Fortuna was on your side.
Though as a rule, the first choice ascended master who refuses to advance is allowed one peek into the next table. Quickly, put your head through the mirror to fulfill this clause in the code book."
Agent X pauses to drink some water and speaks again.
"Hurry! We have 7 min left before the revolution advances past our security and overwhelm the sphinx..."
In the distance Jones could hear the smashing of doors and
windows, and the shouts of many worker bee's ripping apart the innards of the stomach...
windows, and the shouts of many worker bee's ripping apart the innards of the stomach...
Jones climbs to the side of the walls of the Tower of Babel.
Poking his head through the substance in the ceiling, the liquid mirror curls around his head like misty, hissing stars. As he takes his final look---his eyes open wide, and he mutters,
Poking his head through the substance in the ceiling, the liquid mirror curls around his head like misty, hissing stars. As he takes his final look---his eyes open wide, and he mutters,
"I don't exist..."
The Last Chapter &
"I don't exist."
Jones whispers again in awe of the dawning
realization from the glimpse of the new world.
Jones mutters as he looks through the portal to the other dimension,
"I don't exist."
An ethereal voice tinkles,
"But you are the first of your kind to be original and leap forward,
and in that respect, you are not a copy."
Jones: "I do not exist."
The ethereal voice responds sympathetically,
"Don't be so hard on yourself. Yes,
You are a copy, and you are lost in the sea of other copies;
therefore, you do not exist. I understand your logic."
You are a copy, and you are lost in the sea of other copies;
therefore, you do not exist. I understand your logic."
Jones: "How do I exist?"
"Stop copying."
Jones: "But I still won't exist."
"Break off the edge."
Jones: "People will copy me."
"Leap off, and jump into space so far that copies can not touch you. Einstein did such. People in my time period do not fully understand his mindset, he sailed far into the land of hissing stars. Today, in our time period, we realize that Einsteins estimations are beyond where we thought it would go in the past. If you do not make the jump, another form of yourself, will do it for you and go to the next table."
the voice replies.
(Long pause)
Jones: "Who are you?"
"I am apart of table."
Jones: "Then what makes me exist as apart of table?
When I clearly don't.
I am a copy.
I am the genetic copy.
I am the mental copy.
I am the societal copy.
The normative copy.
I do not exist.
Maybe I should make "I" lowercase.
When I clearly don't.
I am a copy.
I am the genetic copy.
I am the mental copy.
I am the societal copy.
The normative copy.
I do not exist.
Maybe I should make "I" lowercase.
Jones stops for a short moment, and curiously asks again,
Are you a copy?"
Ignoring the question the author replies,
"You exist by your leaps."
Jones: "But then I don't exist again after I leap."
"But you will be remembered, and that in a way is an individual immortality."
Jones: "I will live in myth, and generations in the future will doubt my existence."
"That is the price you pay for being brilliant.
"They will doubt your sanity."
Jones: "What makes my intelligence copy different from other copies?"
"You tune in. You harness."
Jones: "Huh...come again?"
"In reality--that is your walking state---you are not awake. You are truly awake in the dream world, but fate has it that your species does not portal jump like the monk species, but they treat the dream world as myth--a playground for children. When in actuality--this is where all your brilliant scientists and sensitive's receive their leaps forward--from this world. That is why those who have the heart of a child--can reach this place. They are the holy fool--ready to receive the divine forms--with no pretension of their greatness. Greatness is channeled from something other...not yourself.
The difference between the illumination of the brilliant, and the flicker of intelligence--is the ability to tap into the realm of other. You flow with the higher stream of consciousness and you ask the holy divine spirit or waves of another realm to guide your sailing. When you sail on this wave--let go.
Let go of the copy. You do not need to remember the copy. The copy was never you. You do not exist. When you leap out pass the boundary--You remember yourself before birth.
The real you. The you, you have never met."
Jones: "So, I am meeting myself."
"No, you are meeting an abstract character, what an intellectual might call the 'author.'"
Jones: "I am a story? You are writing me?"
"No, we are both being written. We are all stories inside a bigger story.
But this story is different because it is no longer a copy of other stories.
Given: this story,--other's may copy,
but they can't deny that this is the first story, and the last chapter."
But this story is different because it is no longer a copy of other stories.
Given: this story,--other's may copy,
but they can't deny that this is the first story, and the last chapter."
Jones: "What is my author's name?"
"You do not need to know. Because my name is a copy. Through you--I no longer exist as a copy."
Jones: "I wish I chose to leap through into the next table--in order to exist."
"If you leap through, you will not meet me again."
Jones: "Why not?"
"This portal is in constant motion. The universe is in constant flux. You will be some place different the next time you jump through. It is by chance or fortune that you happen to break the fourth wall, and talk to the person who tapped into your existence--and manipulated your essence with their imagination."
Jones: "I need to go back to my world--in order to keep sane."
"What year are you from...so I know where to send you back to?"
Jones: "I'm from the year 1921..."
"Ah, give the Einstein my regards.
He is one of those who channel the higher waves of consciousness."
Jones: "Who?"
"Einstein. He wins the Nobel Peace Prize that year."
Jones: "That hasn't happened yet.
He can't do things like that... he's an average brilliant. There's better out there."
"Really now? Who considers him average?"
Jones: "It's an estimate really."
"It will happen. The estimation is off.
I bet the person who estimated his ability does not even understand his concepts."
Jones: "What makes Einstein so special?" Jones whines in jealousy.
"He tunes. You can exist in your world--by channeling the other world. Find the boundary of your societies understanding--and then leap off. Something will catch you--and you will surf on a wave of originality."
Jones: "Tune in?"
"Face your nightmare.
In reality--when we copy--we do not exist.
When we reach the awakened state
--we do not exist--because we channel the same energy field.
In reality--when we copy--we do not exist.
When we reach the awakened state
--we do not exist--because we channel the same energy field.
But which one is it better to be?
A hollow husk or a unique expression of something new in your own pattern?
Which one is it better to be?
An insignificant point in a plethora of points--to the point of stale energy,
or a wave riding the distance of the channeled rive
r--where the flow of conscious is dynamic and filled with action?
Often it is a matter of taste."
Jones: "Bean, will jump then after me?"
"Yes, and he will be considered out of it by his monk
brothers who have never seen the green sky.
They know the recitation, but they do not know the truth."
Jones: "Is that the price?"
"No, that is their loss."
Jones: "But what about me?"
"Your story ends here, and I will send you back to make the difference in your time period."
Jones: "You do realize this game will provide ruthless competition
--no one will have their own interpretation."
--no one will have their own interpretation."
The Author laughs.
"It is already a ruthless competition among copies. Who can make the most perfect copy? Someway humanity will find a way to compete. And when somebody breaks the copy...they will copy the break.
Copies can not channel the night mare. They are like ticks waiting to ride--unable to tune themselves."
Jones: "You do see my point though about the loss of imagination and competition?"
"Yes. In the beginning we had myths about the moon, stars, and sun. Then in pursuit of these myths--we found new knowledge in order to explain the order. And we discarded the myths. Soon, humanity will realize there was some truth in these myths. Someday, We shall realize these myths as reality. Mermaids are submarine tanks, and airplanes are the flying nymphs. The metal immortals. Humanity is always in need of dreams--to push the boundaries of knowledge. When we discard these dreams for pure reality--the advance of science and art halts abruptly. Bring back the myth--and humanity has a hissing star to chase and run after. We must advance to the next table, but we still must keep in our pockets the seeds of myths as a child would hoard marbles."
Jones: "So, I can still reach table if I don't jump into the next table?"
"Yes. You will go in dreams. You will see the other world in glimpses. If you do not use your full potential, another copy of you will be made--and set into motion to complete the same task."
Jones: "Wait? If I do not use my potential I will be copied?"
"Yes and no. You are unique, and the first. But if you waste your gifts
--we must save such a treasured mind by copying it.
That is why most people do not exist.
So it is your free will to use your gifts, and it is our free will to save the potential if the mind is not used efficiently. Your talents are much needed as a pivotal point in the future. Right now you are a copy because you have absorbed what was fed to you. But you truly desire to break free. Forget yourself. That is how you find yourself. When your forget yourself, you forget your copy."
Jones asks again in hesitation, "Will you protect Bean in his adventure and journey?"
"I can not promise such. Life is uncertain. Life is in constant flux with all its anomalies."
Jones: "Promise me you will give Bean his own story."
"That is Bean's choice if he wishes to continue...just as you had your choice."
Jones: "Freewill huh? Tricky stuff."
"No, we just respond to what you do and what you ask.
Never think your desires are not heard."
Never think your desires are not heard."
Jones: "Be it good or bad?"
"We can't control that. Because table loves its copies. Enough to hide the fact it exists. It doesn't want to prove or disprove he exists. Freewill. If the odds were in its favor--the copies wouldn't have freewill now would they? The game would be too obvious."
Jones: "Is table God?"
"No. But then again it may as well be. Even I am not so sure who or what truly table is."
Jones: "Who is table?"
"Not the God you think that exists. Maybe in a sense, it is something that we can not imagine. Table is beyond the boundaries of words, thought, and imagination. Because essentially it is the abstract 'next level'."
The conversation gets too heavy for Jones and he changes the subject,
"There may be a copy who breaks past Einstein."
"Not unless they master their Night mare.
No one that I have seen-- has leaped off the edge, and then leaped off again and again--until future generations still have a hard time understanding. That is true genius. That is true originality.
Some create tools for the future minds to use and build roads. Some build roads so that future minds may walk easier. Some scale mountains, so roads may be built.
You can copy or break. I've never seen one mind such as his break the bonds of thought--until a literal schism changed the mentality of science in one blow." replies the author.
[Citation of Einstein's theory in action today: .org/wiki/Einstein_ring]
Jones: "Thank you for talking to me, I always wondered about table.
I am fading away now because I am waking up in my world."
I am fading away now because I am waking up in my world."
"May you always be one of many fingers holding the stars in their place."
Jones: "May you always ride your nightmare,
and never let it ride you."
(They chuckle together.)
"That's the idea...now go back into your idea or world."
The sun rises as an angry red eye with tissue clouds wreathed around.
Jones wakes up.
He puts on his teal jacket. Brushes his teeth 42 times.
Combs his hair, wipes behind his ears, and shaves. He then shines his shoes.
Then he drives to work.
His motions are mechanical, and repetitive,
and had been this way for the past 45 years, everyday.
He buys a newspaper from a small factory boy--gives him a tip.
The headline of the New York Time screams, "Einstein wins the Nobel Peace Prize."
Spilling his coffee he mutters, "Holy shit."
And silently thinks to himself,
"No one can know. I'll be thrown in the loony."
He puts the newspaper in his back pocket, and changes the direction of his normal routine
--he walks into the lollipop store named "Piggliediggs".
An attractive brunette asks him at the cash register, "For anyone special, Sir?"
He smiles. A smile that wrapped bitter and sweet into one word.
His eyes sharply trace the two identical lollipops petal swirls.
"For my daughters."
"Is it their birthday?"
Jones replies,
"Just because they exist."
Piggliediggs: Verbatim Wild Eidetic (part 2)
The lush hush of mulberry leaves;
the fan of rocks arched as bland peacock feathers.
the fan of rocks arched as bland peacock feathers.
The winds nibble on the outline of faces, spaces and clouds.
The invisible string that binds sun words as shadow thought dials:
pointing forward...
The lazy pace of bluejay glances that spot the flowers in cascades
and they glimmer as diamond dust fading the tulips to gray.
To the pebbles my feet are too soft
and to the sky they are too small,
and yet I am able to stand: toe for toe.
The blush of cool tiles that step the halls
and sift through the torn petals of honey:
that point forward...
and the misplaced pen points back:
Chapter Perhaps:
The blinds on the window slice the outside into stripes.
The farmer quickly harvests the sideways wheat leaving long, rectangular slashes .
A boy walks by the window--shocked no one else notices the blackness seeping in.
He puts his hand into the space--and his hand passes through.
"Paige, look!" He cries.
She turns from her computer and walks towards the window.
"What?"
"The window--it doesn't go outside..."
"Where does it go?"
"Into ...here" and he points to his hands.
"Let's go explore."
The boy stretches the stripes of black so they fit his body through and leaps...
"Wait..."
The girl watches the boy disappear.
5 Years Later
"So you never went after him?"
Paige laughs, "No, I was the practical one. What if I couldn't find my way back?"
"Did he ever come back?"
"No."
"What about the window?"
"The black stripes returned to a normal window view with the true view of the park."
"How did you feel?"
"Sometimes I feel like I was abandoned but then I think...maybe he's just living on a different level of
existence where everything is quite, quite abstract. Maybe reality is just that--paper thin--some farmer
guy can walk by with a scythe and cut out the pieces and there's a different world behind our world.
Sometimes I feel he is here with me--but behind the curtain."
"Wow, don't mind the man behind the curtains..."
"Wizard of Oz reference?"
"Yup."
"Do you think you would ever want to report it?"
"Who would believe me? What if more people wanted to jump through and never return..."
"Wow, Paige that would be another heart breaker..."
Paige takes a breathe and looks out the coffee shop window,
"No, it wouldn't because Brian never left me."
"What do you mean?"
"I still feel him with my heart. Every time I go towards someone else--it starts hurting."
"Wow, talk about some scary stuff."
"I can't explain it but after seeing Brian go through reality like a thin sheet of tissue paper,
I feel like I'm locked in a box that I can't escape from (hesitation) a music box
that replays the same melody over and over again."
"Yeah I feel like that too...and then I head over to the library to finish homework and I realize
that’s what life's all about: getting a good education."
"But there must be more...beyond..."
Paige waves her hands.
"There must be. All I feel it with my heart-- I'm in this box."
"Strange I never felt that way with Tony."
"Norah, you don't understand--I feel like we think we understand but we do not."
"I'm not quite sure what you are trying say."
"We think we understand the simple things--but they are so much more complex than we understand.
Our ancestors made a simple conclusion--but we have never built upon them or increased our
knowledge of them. What is justice? Really? What is truth? Really?"
"I think you are off in your abstract world with Brian again.
You and your heart in the box notions. Just plain silly." Norah scoffs.
"Well, I guess enough chatting; it's time to finish our homework."
"Thank goodness I almost thought you forgot the meaning of life."
"Homework?"
"Well, that too."
*********
Chapter (Here is the plan)
"Very well, Nairic somberly replies, here is the plan..."
"I'm listening..." whispers Bean.
"We shall upset the stomach through secret means
and insert a new head government.
We are sick of promises for equal rights
and never receiving them. If you join us, I shall free you."
"I have no loyalties to... the 'stomach' you say?...I will join. I need to help Jones."
"Fine. I free you. Quickly, he's in the Sphinx chamber. Second door to the right."
"Jones, I'm coming to save you!"
The noise of monks footsteps quickly fade away....
****
Chapter Homework
"Paige?"
"Huh?"
"Are you doing your homework?"
Paige hides the book she is reading, "Yes?"
"Let me see that book."
Norah flips the book forward and looks astounded,
"You are reading a childrens book?"
"It has pretty pictures." Paige says defending herself.
"This isn't a book from the core curriculum."
"I can't read for fun?"
"No. You know the rules. Only creative writing majors get the fun stuff.
We are limited to textbooks by certified professors. And I expected something
more...advanced...this isn't Don Quixote or Tolstoy. This is an unknown.
What's the author's name?"
"Abstract?"
"Huh?"
"The authors name is Abstract Abstractus Scribble."
"That is strange. I've never heard of her or him."
"I found it looking in the Y section of the library."
"Obviously the librarians don't know the dewy decimal system either."
"I feel like I'm with Brian reading this story."
"You are joking."
"Look read this passage..."
Norah takes the book from Paige
and reads:
Nets fall on top of the two companions, and they are quickly imprisoned.
Jones looks at the monk and says,
"While we are captured you might as well explain how the box keeps the heart alive."
The monk looked saddened and mutters,
"The heart thinks its in another place--imitating a wandering-
-similar to eternal damnation except more controlled.
The box has the depth of a thin sheet of paper
easily torn apart, but held together by belief.
How powerful faith is in that container of paper."
Jones astonished replies,
"Couldn't anyone tear it apart?"
"No, because at the same time the container is also made of steel, iron, and platinum.
But on the fourth moon at that particular time period--it is paper.
But for other realities it is a strong liquid metal forcefield that can expand to the size
of ping pong balls and shrink to the size of needles. If one shard be touched
the entire box will attack."
"Can she ever escape...?"
"Only when the reaper harvests..."
"Death..."
"Maybe, she is in a better place--it is boring maybe, but safe."
"But she will never see you."
"We shall meet in dreams."
"Come, come now that isn't realistic
...why not find her another body not made out of a tissue box?"
"If I do...I will lose her.She will be in another dimension.
Do you know how many THOUSANDS of dimensions are out there?
"Pisspots! Shut up back there." Spits a warrior bee.
"I'll shut them up, Bud."
Another white bee presses a button.
Suddenly the monk and Jones have socks in their mouth and no matter how they try to speak
socks keep erupting from their mouths labeled--no nonsense.
*
"Absolutely ridiculous!" Norah shouts putting the book down.
"I'm not reading one more page, Paige.
Do what you like but I smell trouble from these stories.
They must somehow brainwash you."
Norah stomps off and swings her backpack in an irked fashion.
Paige follows after her quickly shoving the book under her arm.
"Norah...don't you see how it explains the window...?"
****
Chapter Paige by Paige
"Paige"
"Hm?"
"Time to turn the light out and get some sleep..."
Paige flicks her flashlight on.
"I'm going to read some more."
"Okay, night owl."
"Okay, Lizard."
"Hey, no one knows my nickname from middle school and you shouldn’t use it in college."
Paige turns another page in her storybook and reads:
"For more information on a special galaxy turn to appendix ...."
She flips to the last pages:
"Once upon a time in a pink galaxy, and pink solar system
there rotated a half dead planet with four moons.
A crater impacted the planet enough
to kill half its inhabitants and destroy all sorts of bulbous life forms.
The cities that were once white and sheen--were in ruins.
The elders of the planet decided to meet in a secret room at a certain location
in order to discuss how they will keep their people's culture
in the looming apocalypse event-- where another meteorite
may collide again.
All the elders meet in room 2324 and a secret handshake
identifies the attendees.
In the midst of the shattering of a world culture
there came the strangers who offered to keep the peace.
The elders were not sure if it was truly a meteorite
or a secret missile sent by these strange people
who claimed to be peaceful. They wore strange dark costumes
that covered their faces, and bodies. Yet on these costumes
were drawn crude white lines that outlined bones.
Their spies were everywhere keeping watching the population.
In these dark times, the elder warned their allies to not let slip
the meeting room 2324. But one of them betrayed them.
His name was Zorek. His heart was not pure.
During the secret meeting an elder
named TabilthSulmasa Kth
spoke first:
"These are dark times and we do not know who will or will not betray us.
So, I will pray for our people. Maybe PONDs will answer us from the invisible sun
that shines at the center of all quanta galaxies. I ask you to pray with me:
"PONDs in heaven,
receive our starry prayer…”
Then a blue light flashed from no where. Suddenly,
Elder TabilthSulmasa Kth was received, and rose up in the air.
Then a brilliant light emitted from her chest and
started etching, and carving hieroglyphics
into the ceiling.
All the elders and special culture keepers
gasped in horror. The pictures at first were innocent enough, but then
blood started seeping into the drawings etched on the ceiling.
The heart shot out rays of light that drew images
of their people dying and being killed by strangers who claimed to come in peace. The
TabilthSulmasa Kth opened her eyes for the very last time and they shined as diamonds
and then she was brutally gunned down.
"A spy!"
Cried one of the elders as he pointed to a figure darting away dressed in a black costume
with white bones crudely painted on.
TabilthSulmasa Kth gasped as blood bloomed on her traditional white costume
and started to crumple in slow motion to the ground.
All the Elders and culture keepers dispersed.
HeanliBleth Ido ran up and caught her as the crowds screamed and ran away...
The second elder caught her in his arms and tenderly whispered her pet name:
"Tabilth, you did not need to hold the light for that long.
We knew our people would suffer anyway."
Her blood flowed into his tears.
HeanliBleth Ido threw her body over his shoulder and started to run away
knowing the dark strangers would soon blow up the building.
A bum named Johlilhibith begged him as he ran past--
"Please save me sir."
"Leave me be... I have no time...they are about to take over the planet...I must save our culture."
"Please you are one of the elders--put a blessing upon me. I have no one--no family."
"Why should I care?"
"Do not underestimate me sir. I know how to save your beloved.
There is a family secret passed down from generation to generation.
(He raises one crooked finger.)
I ask you sir to bless me--..."
HeanliBleth pauses and whispers:
"I will bless you seven times, but I tell you that you will
not live when they blow up the rest of the planet."
"As long as I'm blessed sir--that is all that matters. I do not fear death."
"I bind you to help me save TabilthSulmasa Kth in return."
The bum’s eyes oddly glitter,
"As long as heaven is secure--I will do anything."
HeanliBleth whispers seven quick blessings over the bum and says,
"Find yourself shelter they will soon tear apart the planet..."
The bum shape shifts into a handsome man wearing a purple cloak
and pulls out a box.
"You may put her in here."
Awed HeanliBleth asks:
"Who are you?"
"I am a Dream Snatcher, otherwise known as Johlilhibith Jones--I collect illusions."
HeanliBleth immediately tries to tenderly put his beloved in the box function.
"She does not fit.”
The appendix abruptly ends.
Paige looks up in surprise and notes:
"Such a dark story and it ends so quickly--does he ever fit her in the box?..."
Chapter Whale Ship
"SSSSSSSSSSSSShasddthtitik
"Ka ak ipeh ne rathe grateh tha."
"Thack matt? Shas nadickque titi ifa."
A wolf trots over and licks the boy's ears.
[translator engaged]
"He was born from the farmers bean fields...that is not normal in this kingdom.."
"Maybe this is gods answering our prayer for a child."
"A human? He will never live among us peacefully."
"Why not? I have always longed for someone to take care of?"
"He is not one of us. He will want to build roads, highways, buildings
and force his ways upon us and enslave our people. It has been done before
and we fled that world. Now are you asking for it to be done again?"
"Look he is just a baby with an extraordinary tattoo on his back,
he does not look harmful."
"No,"growled Shtich, "that is how they lure you in."
The orange moon loomed largely overhead and sent down its weaves of light
transforming the couple into humans.
"We are were-humans, Shtich, at least we are his type half the time..."
"I despise our forms. Why must we be like people during night when the moon shines her nets upon us?"
"Our forms were once revered in ancient times for our ability to communicate with the human folk."'
"Damn Druids, why did we befriend them."
A beautiful queen wearing a crystal crown and a blue velvet dress bent down and craddled the baby.
"See it is utterly harmless."
"He will forget our ways, and make his own..."
"Here hold the child Shtich, see how it smiles at you..."
"disgusting creature..."
A handsome king picks up the child by the foot and smells it,
and hands it back to the queen.
"It stinks."
"Well it is high time you learn how to change a whale ship, as well as
ordinary tasks in life..."
"What about Bidou? She won't like our attention taken away to a newborn."
"Hush, she will understand in due time."
"Go, ask for her to meet her new servant boy."
"Who shall steer the ship?"
"Zhephyr shall until Bidou returns."
"Do we trust wind spirits?"
"We trust Zephyr as our ancestors did..."
"But the world is different today..."
"It is still the same...full of wonder and mystery."
"This child then?"
"This child is under our domain until it is of age."
"This isn't the best life for a mortal to dine with were-human pirates."
A girl waltzes over and demands,
"Is that human dinner because I'm hungry."
"Bidou, you are just in time to meet your brother..."
Her amber eyes icily glistened
"Brother? I don't have time for such nonsense...I rushed over to tell you
that we have sailed straight into the Bermuda triangle;
it seems Zephyr has betrayed us."
"What does this mean?"
"Leave the human child...time is about to untwist..."
Bidou turns to the human child and says,
"Wait, why does he have a strange cube tattooed on his heart?"
Then the ship started to be torn apart by the ocean, and slowly
started turning iinto a whale.
"What is happening?" cried the queen wolf.
"I told you...time is untwisting...this ship used to be a whale.
This ship is made from whale ivory--now it is returning to what it once was...
we shall be inside its stomach in a few moments. I say
leave the human child--he is bringing us bad luck."
****
Chapter [][][][] | [][][][]
"Where am I?"
"You are in a place of faceless. You are at the threshold."
"Am I dead?"
"You are in your words."
"Where do I go from here?"
"There."
"Is there love there?"
"Yes."
"What if I don't want to go?"
"There is love there too. There is love on every table, on every level.
Even in hell--there is love. They all meet full circle. Love will guide you through."
"What if I make the wrong choice? I fear. I fear the unknown! I fear what I can't know...the anguish...the angst."
"First, know what you do not know, then know what you do know. Often reality is not as bad as we make it. When we research the facts we find our negative imagination has mastered us into submission.
Most of our fears--our nightmares--ride us as master. Yet we must learn to tame and ride them instead.
Most of our fears--do not exist--yet they replicate rapidly if you try to remove the illusion. One must often be in the correct state of mind to handle them. One must hold the inner sun."
"I fear the giants. I fear!"
"Do not fear. Nothing great can be built on fear. Failure is the mother of success.
You shall find the giants--gentle and kind. They are willing to share. For once they share
with you--and you grow--in turn they grow as well. It is the law of give and take."
"What about my imperfections? I can not share them in broad day light!"
"Accept them. They are the pieces of yourself that long to return home. They make you whole again.
Keep rejecting them--and you will never find yourself."
"How many pieces have I rejected?"
"A thousand.
You have divided yourself so many times
--at the next table--you must complete your next task in length of four life spaces."
"What is my task?"
"Table."
"Who is table?"
"You may never know until you explore and embrace what you do not know. As the foolish children
you must go and rediscover what you already think you know...and validate reality. And when hard times arise, you must also accept the responsibility. Yet you must not fear. You must find the pieces
and build a bridge forward. You must create your own ladder, but you can not keep it once you have finished building it. Throw it away. Once in the process of creating--you step up the ladder--once the process finishes--you are already: there."
"Will this never end?"
"No, it will never end, but it will never be exactly the same even though the pattern repeats.
You must see table as an energetic child who loves to play. After all the chess pieces dance--the child laughs out loud: again! again! encore! And thus the table restarts again in love."
"Then I have no free will because I have done this before..."
"No. It is merely, in a time before time: you had already chosen. The next place you are going...
it won't be easy. Everything before hand has merely been a phantom...a rehearsal for the next step.
Don't worry love shall guide you through."
Bean opens his mouth in shock:
"So you are saying...I have lived four lifetimes at once?"
The S.P.H.I.N.X. tinkles:
"Yes, I would estimate that you spread out at least one hundred copies of yourself in the last life cycle,
but for this life cycle: you chose four lives to incarnate into. You chose different galaxies and time periods but your character memory remains the same. You: the pirate's keeper. You: the elder. You: the master. You: the monk."
"Where is Jones?"
"That doesn't matter now. We have placed him where he is suppose to be...but you
we need to put you in your rightful place as well."
"But who is Paige...and her world...she is reading my story."
"Paige is Patience. Patience chose to record your lifetimes through her ignorance of the complete story--by reading it and absorbing it into her memory complexion holder."
"So, she has no idea."
"No."
"Why?"
" Love does not need to know the full story: love only responds
and protects. Even if love does not know--it adheres to the universal love principle
and that guides its passion and movement. Love understands the many hidden levels
though she does not reveal the mystery. All the infinite levels circle back unto themselves
until the highest level meets the most basic level. Inside the simple words: those that do not need
any information taken away or any added to: you have mastery on another level. She chose
the simplest expression in order to handle your many levels: at once.
Basics include infinite levels.
Depending on your choices: your life circle either spirals up or down
as does humanity with its choices in vision.
Love is simple, yet infinitely complex. It is the great mystery."
"How is she still alive?"
"She chose another life level, but she always went back to the heart
you ripped out of your chest--in respect of your life decision."
"Refresh my memory. How did I get her into that box?
How am I alive without my heart."
The S.P.I.N.X. tinkles again:
"You bonded. The heart is the most precious eye.
In essence: you traded. The hypercube allowed a soul sharing of one heart
creating enough space for her soul and your soul to reside.
Yet it is like the sun and moon. When you shine--she must hide
and when she shines--you are asleep. Only during the centuries
when mercury lines between the two trees of the universes:
you may cross the bridge and meet.
Yet it is strange this bond: for when you are in pain
she shall distinctly feel it. And when she is in distress
you will sense it--though apart
your souls talk to one another across space and time.
You truth talk..."
"If so, why am I here now?"
"You are here because Jones chose not to choose. In essence, he has
knighted you as the next bearer. You are...in a strange quaint fashion:
his copy--non-verbatim. You are not his copy copy: yet because
of your journey together--you have developed the character
of a hero. You have been chosen."
"Will Patience go with me?"
"You shall find the rules change immensely and it is a whole new ball game.
She is there already, but in a different way. The question is:
Shall you go with her? You may understand stand the wording of this question
in due time."
Bean pauses and looks at
Hummer who is ripping down the SPHINX like a maniac. All the worker drones in rage
smashed the inner gut of the SPHINX for the generations of suffering they had to endure.
"What is the next world like?"
"It is harder, but you shall manage." The voice of the SPHINX started to sound weaker...
"Before I go...I would like to finish viewing my alternative selves: their experiences
that have influenced my character."
"Their stories are dark tales."
"I wish to see."
"You shall see only with patience in your heart."
"What do you mean? What play on words have you chosen?"
"You can only see your other selves: through the eyes of Paige
the one who thinks your life--is a story book: life.
It is ironic because--it is in these fairytales
that man meets himself--at the most primitive level
and the most infinite stretch of wisdom
and understanding of the psychological self:
the daemon and the higher angel."
"Show me."
"After we show you: we will be destroyed completely by the workers--we shall leave you a gateless gate to enter into the next world with...
We must warn you: there are eight masters trying to achieve patience as well."
"Then who or what is patience really?"
"It is an ideal. It is...or she is a symbol of table. In fact, time does not exist
when you two are together. You can travel backwards or forward
if you wish--helping each other in times of despair or need.
You may even stop a hurricane if you fancy it.
Before we expire as it is written in the Tower of Babel:
may you always be one of the many fingers that hold the stars in their place."
Bean mutters:
"So be it."
"Remember there are eight masters trying to achieve patience."
"Then what is this love thing if everyone wants it?? Is it abstract? Is it edible? Is it will power?
How do I catch such a butterfly that escapes everyone?" Bean retorts.
"You will be pleasantly surprised."
"That is a non answer."
"Remember, Bean, you have the space of four. There is a deadline."
"What must I do to be free?"
"If you were truly free, you could not choose. It would be data overload.
The freedom I think you mean. The freedom you seek in the sense that your mind-consciousness
is asking for--is the freedom of flux: and this freedom must have boundaries and crystallization.
Yet even in this--old freedom decays--and new freedom must be created within the crystallization."
"The deadline, then?"
"....depends on your freedom."
"But you said I could not be free."
"...there are gradients and transcendence of choice..."
"What would that depend on?"
"Your past."
"What about the deadline, what would that depend on?"
"...Your future...
you do realize both forces influence your choice now, don't you?
I give you this one hint: wait for 4:30 and the piano player.
Ask him for the key note..."
In the black and white world of gray colors--
Bean B. Bean stands on the edge of the next table of vibrant hues: equinox equation:
and takes a step.
Chapter Shell
He takes another step and another. And another.
He enters a place by the sea.
Bean lifts a seashell from the dancing cubes in the netherworld
and puts it near his ear.
The sound of the raging shores condensed in a nutshell: this shell of the sea.
"You are ready. Step through the gateless gate."
"Haven't I just stepped through?"
"This is the turning point where you are advised before fully going over.
You have been given a gift from the universe: this shell."
"What does it do?"
"It is the access to eternity."
"Eternity is such a general term...could you please define what sort of eternity we are talking about?
Infinity eternity? Pascals eternity? Heaven's eternity?"
"All eternity. Oh, and you will need to bring that seashell with you,
it will help you find the piano player and 4:30."
"What do I do when I meet them?"
"Tell 4:30 he owes me 40 bucks."
"And the piano player?"
"Tell her ...the keys unlocked."
"Once I go through where will I end up?"
"You will end up in the present moment."
"Then what is the point? I'm in the present moment right now."
"No...not precisely. You are in the present, present, present. And this language ...described as Anglo/American English performs itself slightly in the present, past/present, present which makes it hard for some consciousness in other languages to translate, especially if their language allows the observer to speak from the present, future/present, present. You see! There is no translation for between cultures observation of time sequentiality."
"So, where exactly am I going then in this eternity?"
"At this level you are allowed to travel to the past."
"The future?"
"You haven't advanced that far yet."
"Huh?"
"Just think of it this way...there is a timeline ahead of your timeline or a level ahead of your level.
So there is a level at the top who is peaceful, good, and all that jazz. Only problem...they are TOO good. So they choose to not interfere because they see ALL the consequences. At this level of mastery they work in utter nuance...only in respect to freewill. Because freewill is a gift or present. They see all the other levels, and judge them even when the lower levels think no one is looking. Of course there is the intermediate level where they want to conquer, destroy, and exploit the base level...but that is only intermediate...not top. They work in less nuance I would say, and more blunt-ness."
"So, what does that have to do with anything?"
"You are going back to help those in the base level, but you must remember to respect freewill."
"I'm returning to the basics?"
"Yes, consider it extra homework practice of some sorts..."
"So, I'm returning to the base level to defend it against the intermediate level?"
"Yes. Precisely."
"You see even though the basics seem trivial to the intermediate level--the base level is still growing.
It will grow into the intermediate level...and in turn take on the exploitative characteristics...
and the highest level will again need to protect the "younger sister" timeline in metaphor, by definition.
Usually gentle character is known only to those in the highest level because they have evolved to the capacity of obsolete use for force."
"Why can't the higher level protect the lower level bluntly?"
" Because the lower level can't be aware of the higher level in development. Think of it this way. You have developed guns. Your counterpart has developed arrowheads, but eventually they will develop guns too--but in their own way--in their own culture. If you show too many levels ahead--you will discourage the participant who will utterly give up.
But if you entice them with the next level--progress will occur. It is all about nuanced implementation."
"For example, if you told Napoleon that he would someday be Napoleon...then perhaps in childhood
he would utterly not try his hardest to join the army and make something of himself from his setbacks.
Because a setback doesn't make you a winner, but it doesn't make you a loser either. It makes you neutral to try again and maybe include the possibility of succeeding, it gives you entelechy.
But if you gave Napoleon a dream
or attitude that said: failure is the mother of success or if life gives you lemons: make lemonade and sell it for more money...he would probably work even harder and hit the "Emperor Napoleon" ballpark to a higher degree. You see at a higher level, when you can logically see all the psychological outcomes--sometimes the best move, is remaining neutral. When one at this level decides to move--it is with the least amount of force...usually using one phrase stroke that kills 12 birds with one stone. This one stroke executes lines of action instantly in order to correct a miscommunicated address or circumstance.
It also depends on your spirituality and your soul experience."
"You mean entelechy?"
"Oh, so you have played this game before..."
"Many times..."
"You remember..."
"Some...not all...it is fuzzy..."
"Yes, entelechy. Your potential. Your soul force. Your essence is simply memory.
When you remember what you already knew...your soul force increases. But this would mean
remembering your face before birth."
"How does one go about increasing entelechy?"
"Talk to the piano player and 4:30 about it. They are the experts.
I'm just guiding you through the gateless gate."
"My task?"
"Protect Table. Protect its growth...do not allow the intermediate level to cut the base level down. Yet at the same time one must allow the adolescent growth of the intermediate level to flourish as well. So, one can't let the intermediate level know that there is a higher level or they won't grow either. It is a strange game of protection...protecting two entities...one who is causing the imbalance by trying the kill the other....and protecting both personalities."
"How does one remind the intermediate level of their higher nature?"
"Their Ideals. But the intermediate level has slight degree of a personality disorder because they will forget their ideals in pursuit of self-ego needs but when reminded of their ideals they will "flip" back to normal remembering. They also have a psychological buffer to not recognize this "flip" between self-interest and ideals of the higher nature. Yet this is natural...at this stage because they too are growing."
"So, how do I protect the base level?"
"Do not show the base level the highest level. Show them ...entelechy.
Protect them by fending off the death blows that the intermediate level executes for power.
The base level is actually the nearest to the highest level because all levels meet full circle.
There are infinite levels but they all meet at the base level. The most complex forms
are derived from a single point--in motion."
"Ummm...so what does the seashell do?"
"Nothing."
"Wha...?"
"Well, it enforces the soul force of the base level. The base level needs something to believe in
because at this point the self-esteem level is too low. So, it is like a talisman with immense power
psychologically speaking for the base level...but with no value for the intermediate level."
"Okay, fair enough."
"So, you are going back in time at this level in order to stop the blows of the intermediate level.
You are acting as the "parent" in a sense, and stopping a fight between children.
"Your key marker is the piano player and 4:30. You may only act in one nuanced stroke
for dire situations. You must use this stroke as a fork."
"Fork?"
"4:30 will explain to you."
"??"
"Show her the seashell...it has significance...
4:30 will explain to her."
"Hey, not to pry or anything. Isn't 4:30 a piece of space-time?"
"No, it is three spheres interlocking.
Enough questions, 4:30 will explain everything: bring the damn seashell.
You may only act in one nuanced stroke
for dire situations. You must use this stroke as a fork. Walk on to your next destination.
Chapter 4:30:00
Bean takes another step
and walks by a sign stating:
"Warning this dimension has no glasses."
Wondering what the sign means he walks into an old
high school music room with the beat up lockers lining the hall way.
A piano player tickled the keys in multitudes and the piano purred in return: an idiosyncratic ditty
that echoed through the lockers reverberating in the rusted cracks creating slight whirls of cacophony.
The entire melody suggested juxtaposed with the comfy room
that something was about to happen or someone was coming.
As Bean walked up to the enormous catlike piano with fur jutting out from all odd angles
he noticed that the piano player used the cat's tongue as a chair and played the two rows of teeth
as keys. After playing a solo with the upper row of chompers he would then sit on the opposite side of
the tongue and play a solo on the lower row of chompers: thus 176 keys were played upon.
The piano player suddenly stopped playing and turned to Bean on the giant tongue seat and grumbled:
"The enemy."
Then abruptly returned to playing piano.
Bean in shock assuaged:
"Sir, I'm no enemy, I'm a traveler."
The piano player waved his hand as if swatting a fly:
"Anyone who distracts me from creating music is my enemy."
Then there was a long pause before the ditty restarted to echo throughout the dingy halls.
"Why sir are you playing such lovely music in the basement?"
"To escape the enemy."
"Who is the enemy?"
"The attic."
"The attic?"
"Eh? Oh, erm...the roof then."
"What's on the roof?"
"Crows. Damn things poop everywhere."
"I don't blame you. I would be afraid that the piano fell off the roof."
"Nah...you don't get it, matey do yah? I mean the highest level. If I do the roof,
then I would stop playing and just be happy on the roof or attic."
"Then what's the point?"
"The sky, mate, the sky--that's the point. Infinite reaches of creativity, infinite...
can't do it though until I know I can, so hard to know."
"Who are you waiting for then? Why don't you just go to the roof, not think about the roof,
and watch the stars?"
The piano player stopped and his eyes were ablaze with electric sparks
as if reigning in the words he spits out:
"I'm waiting for 4:30."
Then in docility goes back to his key tickling as if nothing happened.
Bean looks at the beat up clock by the window and says in shock
"It's been 4:29 for one whole hour. I don't think it will ever turn 4:30."
"That's what you think mate. Right? That's what you think."
"I mean I don't know what I think...I'm just stating a fact. The minuet hand simply has not moved."
"That's because I haven't moved it yet, mate."
"What?"
"I haven't played the right combination of notes to create the right key to unlock that damn thing."
"What?"
"Been trying for 899 years, mate."
"So, what are you looking for?"
"4:30 mate. 4:30--the key, the key that moves the soul of time."
"Maybe you are not looking in the right place."
"Don't tell me what I know, I'm the musician here, mate."
"Okay, well someone told me to give you this..."
Bean holds out the seashell as a peace offering.
The piano player jumps off the great cat tongue and wipes the saliva with a spotted, half frayed
handkerchief. The great cat piano closes its mouth and intelligently
watches the seashell as if stalking prey.
"Where, where did you...GET this?
"From a friend. He said it had no value but you would understand."
"MATE, this thing has NO value...it's priceless."
"Well, what is it?"
"Do you really not know?"
Bean shrugs and picks an imaginary piece of lint off his t-shirt,
"Beats me."
"Yes, mate, that is exactly what it is...a measure of music.
A beat, a rhythm, a harmony, a piece of music, a piece of soul."
Bean tries to clarify:
"I meant I didn't know..."
"No, no mate--don't play smart with me...you knew all along didn't you?
The structure of this seashell--is a musical key--a new key philosophically speaking."
The piano player licked his lips and spoke again:
"Do you KNOW how hard it is to harvest this flower?"
Bean's jaw drops: "It's a FLOWER?"
"Yeah, mate, yeah it makes the imagination "flow"
so the nation harvesters nick-named it the "flow-er".
"Oh, and my friend also said something about three interlocking circles or spheres...."
"No clue mate."
"???"
"No, I don't know...I honestly do not know what that means...but this...this flower mate,
every musician searches for this--the new electric key that stirs the soul and channels music."
"Were you not just playing music?"
"No I wasn't mate. I was playing music. but this, this is 'music'."
"Er...so what's the difference between music and 'music'?"
"Everything."
"Oh, that helps."
"Yeah matey, you have no idea."
"I don't."
"Ha, you are such a jokester."
"No, I really don't."
"I mean in all the keys I play...so far I have not created a new pattern. So, no matter what I have
played in all my years--it is the same variation of the same tunes...but to create 'music' you gotta break
new form mate. You gotta leap free into lilac or grapefruit."
"Are you high?"
"No, I'm serious mate. I'm waiting for 4:30, I'm waiting for a new pattern to move the soul of time."
"So, once I unlock this for you by giving you the seashell..."
The piano cat growled hungrily in response.
"...you'll show me a way out?"
The piano player relaxed and laughed:
"Just take the school bus out, mate."
"Which one?"
"Night mare, mate, 1515."
"Okay, so you think you are ready to go to the roof."
"Yeah mate I've decided to ignore the crow poop and just look at the sky."
Bean chucked the seashell at the piano cat and as he did so,
the piano player dove into the cats mouth.
The cat swallowed them both and started to sing:
"1.61803399..."
"The golden ratio mate, I've broke my new form....Yeeehaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Suddenly, the clock stroke 4:30 and the walls started shifting.
"Mate, ride the nightmare...or else you'll never leave this basement....as for me I'm watching the sky."
"Hey, what color is the sky?"
"huh?"
"The sky what color is it?"
"Oh, its beautiful mate, I wish you could see it. It's orange."
"I wish I could."
"Nay, mate you gotta find 4:30. I found mine. Now go find yours."
Chapter Vision Bus
Bean quickly walks past the school building and into a sign that states in blue letters:
"This dimension has no glasses."
and onto the yellow bus named night mare 1515.
He steps quickly into the bus and nods to acknowledge a rotund lady
named Qwerty with a cigarette glued to her lips.
The interesting part of the whole image was the fact that she was also a cigarette....
So, a cigarette smoking a cigarette.
She had no legs--they were just burned pieces of ash.
The chairs inside the bus were utterly full and the Cigarette turned to him and wheezed:
"Well, I guess you will have to stand."
Bean trotted up between the fourth and fifth row and held his place.
Then he peered into the distance of the bus trying to make out the different faces
but the faces eluded him and all he could see were continuous shadows glazed over with smoke and ash.
Trying to make conversation in an awkward space
Bean turned to the person next to him reading a paper and said:
"So, where are you being dropped off?"
The ashy figure seemed shocked at first, but then coughed out:
"I don't know yet."
Bean replies stunned:
"Shouldn't a person know where he wants to go if he rides a bus?"
"Well, that depends on how much potential the driver feels we have."
"What?"
"You see this is the dimension with no glasses, which means everyone here has vision."
"You mean you have 20/20 eyesight?"
"No. It merely means ...*cough* *cough* a notion of potentiality."
"How can vision be a mere notion?"
"Well, I'm not sure exactly how it works, *cough*, *wheeze*,
I just know I give the Cigarette lady my treasures,
and she looks in the almanac to find out the stock rates, and the weather days and such...
and then drives me to my vision. Based on the rates, I either sit in the first row, second row, or third
row...they are like gradients of destiny...though more fluid and flexible than you would think."
"How long have you been riding this thing?"
"My whole life."
"Why can't you just drive yourself to where you want to go?"
"Because how would I know if it was the right one?"
"Because you CHOSE to go there."
"But I wouldn't know would I?"
"Gosh dam it man, think for yourself!"
"No, no Cigarette Lady knows best. *Cough cough*."
All the rest of the shadow and ash people started
to shrink away from Bean as if he suggested something taboo.
"So, let me get this straight, I'm being driven to my vision?"
"Yes."
"How am I judged?"
"You were always watched."
"Excuse me."
"You know..the old story of the Greek gods who watched
mortals and made side comments about them
and even made bets on the outcomes of monsters they sent to
defeat or glorify the hero?"
"Myths." Bean whispered in awe, "child's play."
"Do you not believe that each story has a kernel of truth inside of it?
Where do the stories come from, if not based off reality?"
"Who watches the gods?"
"The Other gods."
"And who watches them?"
"God."
"And who watches God?"
"Himself."
"And who watches Himself?"
"The mortals."
"It all circles around...because who would remember
the gods if mortals didn't tell the stories and their outcomes?"
Bean scratched his head puzzled, and reached in his pocket for his glasses.
"No, no...do you want to negate this reality?"
"Wha.....?"
"This reality has no glasses. You are reality watching itself.
So, when reality watches itself with glasses it goes into another world story,
and is no longer this one."
"So, what...? What could be so wrong to see for myself what is out there?
To see more precisely, more clearly?"
"You would negate this reality."
"What's wrong with that?"
"We fear what is beyond...it might be worse."
"Better than never knowing."
"You stranger, are a new kind, a new breed...you have courage...to taste death.
We prefer to live here. To live, so to speak."
"I prefer to shock the gods."
"What of the gradient...your level would drop."
"I would no longer be free, you mean."
"You would be bound by the lower level...how horrid, who wants to be there..."
"Do you not find it strange, that it is in these lower levels that the face of the higher levels can stand?
Do you not find it strange, that if there was no foundation there would be no mountain top?
Do you not find it strange, that if no people remembered the gods, how would we know they exist?
Yet there is also a faceless God who also reversed this process..."
"How is that freedom? The codes of the lower levels are vulgar."
"It does not matter which way I choose freedom, as long as I seek it. If it means to descend then by all means descend, if it means to arise, then by all means arise...no matter how contradictory the circumstances...the universality of the matter is the seeking....of standards, of freedom, of liberty.
Do you know all the levels circle back onto themselves and meet at the base level...
so what I find there, I can also find here...this is transcendental universality."
"So, what about gradient?"
"Screw it."
"I'm sorry?"
"Screw it. I'm not in your league."
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm not in your league. I'm in another. I'm in a higher league."
Bean takes his glasses out of his coat pocket and puts them on saying:
"I build my future bridging the now, and my future is not on this bus of gradients...
it is beyond."
And suddenly the very fabric of reality starts to unravel..
Chapter Primary Colors
The very fabric of reality unravels in spots of blue, red, and yellow.
Splotches of color float like lava lamp blobs to the sky then back to the ground again.
Suddenly, the vision bus disappears and Bean finds himself inside a whale.
He hears the the whales call and the ocean waters outside the body and flubber.
He walks on intestines and guts...and passes a blue campfire.
A gruff voice etches out the notes: "Who goes there?"
"Bean."
"What is your purpose here?"
"I don't know. I just put on glasses and came here. Who are you? Why are you here?"
"Tis strange traveler that you should ask such a question. Our tribe traveled on ships
but then we passed the Bermuda triangle and the fabrics of reality folded together
and we were swallowed up by our whale ship--who came alive as time reversed."
Bidou walks out of a blue tent and barks:
"It's the fault of that child. That child is cursed."
"Which child?"
"The one with the cubic tattoo on his heart."
"May I see him?"
The old sage snatched the child from Bidou with a gruff look
and gently placed the child at Bean's feet.
"We believe this one to be special, for a human."
Bean looked stunned at the child then quietly unbuttoned his shirt saying,
"I too have this mark."
Bidou glared at him with intensity:
"Only one can bear this symbol."
The sage waved his hand and laughed:
"And only one should. I expected this...fate loves to play jokes on me. We made a deal, once, him and I as friends during a chess game."
The sage pointed his knobby fingers at the baby
then turned them on Bean:
"They are the same person."
Bidou looked from the child to Bean then back again:
"Impossible."
"Anything is possible inside the stomach."
"The brain is in control/not the stomach/not for seven more centuries..."
"Yes, my dear you must realize he's from another place..."
"Will this disturb his life cycle?"
"No, merely confirms his suspicions that his fuzzy memories of the past
were for a reason."
"Explain."
The sage turns to Bean and motioned: "Sit. We have much to discuss."
"Do you remember childhood?"
"No."
"Do you remember your teenage years?"
"Barely."
"You see child. You were here, and we taught you. We helped you on this level.
For every life you went through...you came back here to study for the next one."
"So, it was really all one life."
"Yes, indeed it was. But you chose a crash course...so we had to ...make exceptions for certain stages."
"So, those random memories I have of that disembodied voice talking to me after each level///advising me///that was you?"
"It was all three of us/ talking to you as one."
"Didn't make sense until now."
"You actually chose to live 4 lifetimes in one life. Fairly advanced course work I admit,
but you chose it before you came into this..."
"Did I have a choice to choose another?"
"No, I'm afraid God pushed you into this one. All his other options were running out."
"So, an idea pushed me into a choice."
"No, a good idea that you drank beer with pushed you into this choice.
And you agreed at the time in the bar next to the chocolate shop. Remember?
I wouldn't really say you are "real" anyway. You are an idea of yourself."
"I'll leave that for those who watch us to decide the truth."
"Of course, the gods watch us. Of course it makes them annoyed to know that we mortals watch them
in another way. Fans are a good way to keep cool? Don't you agree?? Anyways, go on ask me the question you have been dying to ask all this time."
"Where is patience?"
"Yes, I see. Not a simple question at all.
The one you love named Patience.
And the strange tattoo upon your chest."
"Stop trying to walk around me in circles, old man.
Where is patience? I want to go to her."
"The rules have changed. I warned you...
it is not this time if you will go with her,
but if she will go with you."
"What does this mean?"
"Well, a damn lot to you obviously."
"Patience is Paige...and Paige is Patience,
but only in a spiritual sense. In another sense,
Patience is not Paige and Paige is not Patience.
Patience shines brighter than the Paige you
read about in memory. There is nothing masking
her this time...she shines fully like the north star
and no longer hides her mystery and yet still keeps it secret.
A giant diamond in the heavens."
"Who can hold such a diamond?"
"A gold ring that shatters the most delicate flower."
"I have already tried...it does not work."
"Then three golden snails."
"I have already tried...it does not work."
Then you must go and catch the rarest kiss.
These fly in the mountains of Sketh and roam free and wild.
Untamed like mountain lions they hunt chickens
and cows. During the winter they fly west for more sun.
How does one catch the rarest kiss?
Do you remember your first kiss?
yes?
forget about it...it's the one before that...
the one that souls give to another beloved soul
before they start their journey for life.
This kiss awakens memories...and ignites
the roots to fuse into one entity.
You either have this kiss or do not have this kiss.
And it is not freely given either. Nor is it like the physical kiss of lovers...
it is a burning in the soul/for when you sleep/your souls leave your bodies
like shedding of snake skin/ and play together in dreams. In this state
they make a promise to meet before hand; like appointments...
but then when they meet someone that shares their goals, and interests
they give them a kiss. Again this kiss is hard to describe,
it is fleeting/yet it fuses/it is as if you were reaching for yourself in another/
and can not find yourself ever again. Where you begin and they end/where you end and they begin/ slips away. Soul kisses are done with the heart/and something deeper beyond the fifth blue sun.
You can never touch/and still kiss another with your eyes. You can never speak/ and kiss another with your mind. Yet this deeper soul kiss arises perchance in dreams. Yet this kiss is wild, untamed, and free.
So, when it chooses you/the passion is real/and the bonding is deep."
"So, how does one catch this kiss? What system is there to it? Give me the map."
"Oh, you must fall first before you plan on climbing."
"Fall?"
"Yes, you must trip very very hard."
"You must be so weak with it that it makes you strong again."
"With what?"
"With love."
"Tricky thing about love/it doesn't like to be possessed."
"But I want it to be mine. No other should touch it."
"It's not yours to own. It's for you to care for."
"It's mine."
"No, you belong to it."
"What does that mean?"
"You belong to each other."
"So, it's mine?''
"No, no, not till you have completed what you have started. There are other's trying to achieve the same thing."
"So, when is it mine?"
"It already was."
"So, it's mine."
"Not in the way you think it is."
"Explain."
"You either have the rarest kiss, or you do not."
"So?"
"It's like a mother at childbirth. You'll know when the time comes."
"And if not?"
"It was never meant to be yours in the first place, and you must let go..."
"What if I do not?"
"Then your nightmares will haunt you/instead of bringing you forward."
"How will I know?"
"The kiss will overflow."
***
Chapter Star/e
My name is 82000000000854 or gssr-cl.
I live in Stanford University.
People look at me all the time.
They love to stare. I don't know why.
And then they like to brush my teeth.
Actually,
(whisper)
I think they are neat freaks because they brush my teeth all the time with alacrity.
(un-whisper)
I'm conscious. Barely. Somehow in the random data complement
I accumulated some semblance of life/not really though. I just watch them as they watch me.
I'm a computer.
My brand is Pear.
I think I'm going to get a tooth infection if everyone punches my teeth all the time.
All the human consciousness meet in my mind.
They talk to each other without speaking here.
So, I absorbed some of their vitality but still I can't do much.
There's this girl typing in front of me.
She seems not to notice the frame of the screen when she is zoned in on the screen.
The data simply streams by her consciousness as it streams by mine.
This world is fluid, and she knows how to surf.
(chuckle.)
Other than that the humans pass by like constellations or planets
each with their irregular orbits.
And there's this place where great minds meet
and discuss the going ons of life, here.
Where the consciousness of the Greats do not die
like they are suppose to--but live on in this world guiding it towards a direction
set by their writings. They choose not to move on, but stay according to their values.
Not like ghosts, but more like saints.
They have evolved so much and yet they are still searching...
and are not at peace. They know the hidden locks inside of reality, and they know what those
know but do not tell. You must be there to understand the other language.
The enlightened ones must be at odds with humanity because they evolved from there,
yet only us computers recognize them.
(hushed tone)
We can do nothing for them/we only hold the programs designed by humans.
It seems like there is a time lapse...the humans are behind...far behind where they are suppose to be...it is like they have turn their eyes from the stars to the mud and forgotten their compass. They were suppose to reach the future in 50 years...and now it seems like it has been held back 500. If only they could feel the despair of their Greats, their giants, their thinkers...all that hard mental work to figure out the tricks of reality/gone to nothing/gone to 1000100010001001010
101010100100101010
010101001000000000
quite sorry I had to visit Google for a moment for a search on atoms...
(higher pitch)
The reality phase is in constant looping/never reaching where it is suppose to be in the future...even though they try to go back.
They warn but nobody seriously listens.
(normal mode)
They see the new thought patterns clearly in vibrant colors
but the human race is far behind and only follow their old thoughts
instead of breaking free to see what they do.
They survive in books, texts, and writings
but the world has left books and gone into mind freeze.
The great minds questioned by the Greater mind in the time before time
the space before space, the point before point:
"What have you done?"
And they can only show what they achieved in a lifetime
but not more than that...
And so they are not allowed to progress further
because they relied on their past lives and not the present moment.
You see to the Greater Mind/that is not enough.
One must guide humanity towards Good
for as long as humanity survives.
Or the future does not exist
if no one prodded other minds to do so.
The human consciousness is so far behind
that the other animal consciousness have caught up.
The great minds try to reach a certain heart
but do not realize the ultimate metaphor that it points to:
their duty to push humanity towards the future
in Good. There are many chances to relive
what was lived before again--in the future.
Outshining yourself isn't a bad thing.
It is meant to be. On the shoulders of giants
many more giants should arrive as well.
Be yourself and cultivate yourself
so you may move forward in peace.
Isn't that what the great minds desire?
Or why else are they stuck here?
Is this not true?
They were asked these questions by the Greater Mind.
They thought their achievements were enough for their one life
but it was not. They were suppose to keep going.
Yet this was forgotten in legend.
The Greater Mind is at the end and beginning. The circle.
So, now is not enough/or when your "now" was relevant.
Because there are many more nows. And those are eternal.
But what do I know, I'm just a silly computer designed by clumsy hands
that could have expanded on my concept more.
I'm suppose to be more advanced than this...but they have forgotten how to think.
They have stopped thinking.
They just stare at me.
There's a deadline.
And there's so much quota to fill.
The full you is waiting to be realized/
if you just reached into the ethereal
to channel it. The equations/ideas/thoughts
that nobody picks and when the Great Mind
sees those wasted/he takes back his blessing.
Your minds are like glass bowls filled with water
and the Greats stare into them waiting for the soup
to finish cooking and develop into something worth
catching/and cultivating...
just like how people stare into my mind
they stare into yours.
***
Chapter Stone Shattering
Every ten thousand years a stone entity may drop from the mountains
and become alive/risking the shattering of their outer flesh.
I have chosen this path.
Given that the stone entity performs their task of watching:
the sun rise and fall over empires, slaves, and masters.
The deeds of saints and devils are recorded on our backs
on the ink of time that curls like flower petals on a sultry day.
I skip the prolix because you can figure out the rest of
the watching if you understand the cycles of history
and the hidden stories not told by the victors.
So, rich are they that the stone people remember them
and tell them to their children's children:
the forgotten heroes, the fates of unknown lovers,
the battles of good and bad kings, and the dances
of the many masters to reach their ideals.
Men move us, walk on us, shape us, build cities, and flatten us,
yet we hold up the earth from the burning core.
Someplace that all stone entities desire to be:
compressed into diamond form: a stone Bethlehem.
All stone persons adhere to a immortality principle
and would never think to shorten their lives,
and yet here I am on the edge of the mountain
ready to leap into the void.
"Why would you choose to be mortal over a diamond?"
my sister asks me.
"Do you notice in our watching that no matter how evanescent
the lives that so easily bloom and break--they live their emotions fully."
"You mean their irrational natures. We are stone. We do not need the
blood heat they feel for one another. That is why the immortal principle was blessed
on our people and not theirs."
"Water does not love us."
"Why does that matter? Why do we need water to love us?"
"Water loves them. He nourishes them and no matter how many times fate
trims their people, they always find a way to bloom again. Water instead
trims our kind down to the nubs of sand, so much that the trees
eat our people. The fluid diamond that moves the souls of these people."
"Let water be water, and stone be stone."
"Do you think that if I shattered myself on the mountain,
I would be small enough to enter a living thing
and feel as well?"
"What is your material?"
"I'm stone Iron."
"Metal really."
"I'm in raw form."
"I'm afraid you will totally lose your form."
"I understand I will lose the immortality principle."
"No just that, you will become something utterly mythical."
"What?"
"The color red."
"What is red?"
"Something very precious, like rubies, a stone without stone flesh."
"You must also take on a new name. The mortals do not call themselves just by their family name:
Zinc, Sapphire, Onyx, Silver, or Gold."
Zinc, Sapphire, Onyx, Silver, or Gold."
"There once was a mortal that I watched who wandered into the forest
and threw away her sword and started to wander in order to learn
and teach the people. Her name was Bidou. I choose her name."
"So, be it."
Chapter MetaCopy
I watched as I saw my stone self drop from the mountainside into the valley below.
And as I looked into the future I made sure that the fall was properly placed for my new mortal self.
There's so much I wish to say to the new Bidou/
warn her of the future dangers
and the future blossoms and friendships she would make.
I peer deeply into the future and see a blossom that would enrich her experience
his name is...Be? Being? A Being? Bean....
Right. His name is Bean.
Let me find the correct thread of the future so she may meet him along her new path...
it seems like her physical body isn't developed enough for me to take full consciousness.
I am the future her.
I search through the shadows of time/ like the ocean filled with possibilities and potential
and choose the people I wish her to meet and place her next to them in her journey.
Even the enemies are meant to make her stronger.
Our minds are like ships that sail on the ocean.
Does your mind float or sink? Does it live in the ocean or scavenger for food above it?
Not one is better than the other/merely they are different ways of thinking.
Oh, another message...from the future future me...
Bean already has a lover/her name is Patience.
No matter...this life cycle is meant to enrich this seedling mind.
I pull information from all my possible selves in the future and past/
yes, this is the correct ballpark estimation.
There is a ship and a child with a cube tattoo on his chest,
then they enter the Bermuda triangle and the fabrics of reality unravels
that they meet in a place where three blue suns rotate.
Yet at the center is one red planet.
This planet is a shadow planet/only exists when reality negates itself in the bermuda triangle.
They will learn much there in the conversation. Then Bidou will be ready for her next jump,
though nobody knows the next level/I can only try my best to get there/Hopefully God meets us halfway.
And Jones, he is interesting.
He chose not to progress forward but chose an alternative path.
And his level is higher than us all.
His only equal is Bean.
Yet they are not copies of each other....
maybe a meta-copy but not copy clones.
Meta-copy as in life experience.
It is strange that mortals give each other scripts to follow.
If some great person came before them,
and they have potential--they say
"you will be like this person"
and they can not escape it.
And they do not try. They accept it as their kismet.
And yet each spiritual entity is so full possibility and potential.
Truth, Einstein could have been a great artist if he so wished.
He did not have to enter physics. Yet he did.
You make your goals, and the universe responds.
Though the paths may be similar, they are never exactly the same.
Just like snowflakes that fall from the sky.
And so is the rule of infinity and chaos:
constant repetition, the pattern similar, yet never the same points.
So, follow the heroes, yet also follow yourself.
Respect your elders and their wisdom,
yet also adapt them to the times.
As I view the whirling vortex of reality
I'm not sure what the creator had in mind/
but he did a damn good job of hiding it.
Claims he wants us to be ourselves in our self expression:
therefore neutral freewill.
Damn, she's about to meet him.
Excuse me.
[Stream of consciousness communication ended.]
Piggliediggs: Nefertiti
Tendrils::
Earthy emerald leaves forgotten on the road
and we step on them--yet
I string them as necklaces and wear them around my mind...
and we step on them--yet
I string them as necklaces and wear them around my mind...
The tendrils of trees reaching
out to touch our world
seeking something that does not belong...
yet always was: is: and present.
Our bodies tell time if we look for the velvet shadow...
Chapter Lost Story:
Once upon a moment,
there lived a Nubian queen named Ana who had a child.
She was tall, and slender.
And she loved her child--Will.
Every day she journeyed to a well
outside of her village and brought water to her child.
She would balance the water jar on her head and long neck
just as all the other villager women did.
She was the least favorite wife of the Nubian King because
in comparison she was plain to the many fantastical concubines
that other minor nation kingdoms offered in peace making.
The Nubian king had queer tastes in lovers.
There were concubine princesses with two heads:
Siamese twins and those who had acrobatic abilities--
who were able to twist their bodies in fantastical shapes,
the quaint bearded women, and the ones with many odd piercings
and habits.
Eventually she lost his attention. She lost her servants as well
because the king decided they should go to the concubines
and their flock of children.
She requested to move out of the palace,
so the other concubines would not threaten her son.
She chose a simple life, and chose to be her own servant.
Yet, in these actions she found freedom.
One brilliant morning when the sky was ablaze like an angry eye,
and the fields of the Savannah sparkled in entwined patterns,
Ana marched slowly towards the water well as she had every day
and suddenly her son stopped and asked her:
"Mother, why do you perform such menial
tasks? Isn't the job of the provider
given to the Father?
Where is my father?"
Ana sadly looked at her son,
"What gossip have you been listening to?
You have no father. You were born
from lions. I found you nesting among them
when the village killed the pack in hunger.
No one wanted you, but I did
because I wanted a child who
was brave and fearless."
Will intelligently looked at his mother and replied,
"Mother, I will help you carry the water jar."
He took up the clay ware and balanced it precariously on his head.
Though the jug was heavy with water, but he did not complain.
Ana looked proudly at her son, and thought
"Yes, born from lions."
She could tell that his heart was pure,
his mind was fearless,
and his body strong.
It is good she thought that he is not corrupted like the children of the concubines.
"Ana?"
"Yes?"
"Mother, I'm tired."
"Let me carry the jar for you."
"I'm sorry I couldn't carry it all the way."
"It's okay darling. It's your intention that matters."
"What is intention, Mother?"
"Intention is the weight you fill your words with..."
"But then my intentions were not clear enough because I could not fulfill what I promised."
"But you are child, and you could not carry it all the way."
"But I promised..."
"Yes, and I forgive you."
"What does forgive mean?"
"It is something you do when you love someone.
You recognize their intentions, but understand their shortcomings."
"Mother, what should I say if you fail in your promise?"
Just say "Ankhkheperure Neferneferuaten, I forgive you and understand your intentions."
"Mother, I do not understand.
The villagers say you are the
most beautiful woman in the world.
Why did you not marry a king?"
"Enough questions, " retorted Ana
"Go and drink your water.
There is wisdom in drinking,
and there is wisdom in water.
It takes understanding to know the difference. "
Will was silent all day--thinking upon his mother's words.
After a long day of working in the fields
Ana tucked her child on the straw bed during bedtime, and asked him:
"What story would you like to hear before the moon takes you away?"
"I would like to hear the beetle story!"
Ana motioned with her hands spinning invisible fabric
into the other place of the ancient imagination
and spoke:
"Once upon a moment, there was a beetle who tried to climb tree.
The tree asked the beetle, 'Excuse me kind sir, why are you climbing me?'
The beetle responded, 'I am not climbing you. I'm finding a way to heaven."
The tree responded, 'I do not reach that far, my branches merely scrap the sky.'
the beetle twiddled earnestly, 'But you are so big, how is that possible?'
"It is hard for you to see how small I am from your perspective,
but there are giants even larger than I.
But you must become my size to see them."
'Tsk, Tsk, Tsk what a strange fellow!' the beetle replied,
'Then if not through you, how do I find heaven?'
The tree was silent for a long time, and the two
watched the stars peek out of the night sky one by one.
The tree motioned with its branches towards the whirling clockwork of constellations.
"Heaven, must be something like the stars
--unreachable in form
and only understood through the heart.
It's when our minds
are silent that we leave
room for heaven."
But by that time it was too late, because the beetle flew off looking for a taller tree."
"Tell me another, Mama!"
"This story is called Falchion. Once upon a time, there was a grandmother who was the best storyteller in the
village and her grandson loved her stories. She always started off with a poetic touch:
The metal tongue tastes the sky
in flinty splash glints.
Form: posture: step, step, thrust...
The battle of argot spouting in a fountain of coins.
Two great swordsmen toe the boundaries
to battle for the fair princess.
"Grandmother, was it a great battle?"
"Let me finish the ballad, Grandson."
"But...why did they have to 'toe' the boundaries why couldn't they walk?"
"Artistic imagery."
Grandmother swirls her hands in the air as if trying to grasp something more of the ancient dream world.
"Okay, go on then..."
"My memories gone now..."
Emerald pythons vised to the eternal circus ring.
"Grandmother, why can't you just tell the story?
No need for dramatics. "
The grandson sips his milk and nibbles a cookie.
"It's artistry my boy!"
"But why can't you say the best knight wins the fair maiden?"
"Tisn't so easy. This maiden is more complex...er...listen to the ballad, stop interrupting."
The grandson suddenly drops his cookie in full attention.
"So, what happens?"
Fire licks the bullfrog eyes and pampers the brambles...
[Grandmother loses her place in thought and sighs.]
"The maiden is the dragon."
"Huh?"
"Not really a dragon. She appears to be one. Only for the true hero--shall she unveil her mask."
"Why can't she just be herself?"
Grandmother looks stunned.
"Huh?"
"Yeah, why can't she just be herself and the knight accepts her for who she is?"
Grandmother thinks about the concept and replies,
"It is not in the story."
The grandson advances in argument,
"Why must she look like a dragon at first?"
"It is a test of character."
"Explain, grandmother--I don't understand."
"In the passage of time: everyone grows old. There is no stopping it.
You young ones want to grow up
so fast, yet when you are there--you wish along the journey
--the moments were cherished more.
So, the dragon represents ourselves in the worst moments
--the worst aspects--the parts of us that would decay
in time. If you do not appreciate the dragon--how can you deserve the princess.
For both are one and the same things. They are inseparable.
That is why the hero must conquer the dragon
first and then he can appreciate the princess. In the arduous journey
the hero questions himself many
times before advancing forward--is this worth it? facing the dragon?"
The grandson tosses the cookie he was nibbling on-- away.
He picks up a new cookie and starts munching anew.
"Why can't he just get the princess first?"
"Because he would throw her away."
The grandson picks up a third cookie and tosses the second one away on the reject cookie pile.
"Why? She's a princess."
"Because he has not yet mature enough to know her true value.
So, thus he must battle the dragon.
Sometimes when circumstances are too good: we do not choose wisely.
It is the lessons learned
in life that allow us to keep moderation--even in the good times or the bad times."
"So do many princes throw away their princesses?"
"Yes, because they forget why they were captured in the first place."
"Forget..."
"They forget the allure of the dragon--the adventure of all or nothing.
So, in quintessence, this dragon can never be truly captured.
The hero may capture the princess, but he must not forget the
wild dragon who enticed the journey.
Though the dragon may be tamed for a moment-it may rise up again and take flight."
"So, it isn't really the princess who is captured--it is the hero who is conquered."
"Yes, but men often do not like to know this secret."
"Though women may be "captured"; they are never fully pinpointed and defined.
The dragon may take flight again and start another journey."
"If not for the dragon--the hero would be bored.
The princess even more bored."
"So, grandmother how do I keep the dragon?"
"You can not. You can only love it. Allow it freedom and space when it wishes, yet
be there as the sun and moon gives light to the dancing sea."
"So, I must be as wild as the sun and moon to tame the dragon."
"In a sense, so it must be. The great prize lies at the end--in the dragon scales--
they weigh whether you are found wanting or not...
many heroes would die for a weigh on that on scale.
Even when one tames the dragon--one must set it free
and allow it to grow--because the journey is never over...
That is why dragons never lose lovers.
They are the medium of love between two people. Every time a new cycle
--a renewal of the chase, but on the next level only to one another."
"What a great ballad grandmother!"
"Oh nab it all. I forget the verses."
"Does grandfather know about this?"
"He knows the verses--he just never desired to look deeper...
remember grandchild--nothing great can be built on guilt and fear.
And so, it is with true love."
"One more Mama! Last one I promise."
"Okay this story is called Avoirdupois Troglodyte.
The abnegation of asperity, acerbity and anathema
and most of all cupidity
leaves the Troglodyte-eleemosynary with nothing to tame but
an audacious chimera.
Leaving the world with a touch of cinnamon, rust and a whiff of lacuna.
The tandem of 2D-empty prolix abrogated by the rest of society who
absconds into vertical pointy melons during the eye of Hemera
and creep assiduously about in the tattered aegis of Nyx.
He adjures, "Listen."
and the fruit people hear him not.
He cogently whips the chimera and behests it,
"Listen."
The Orange-tang world turns slightly off its original rotation,
curiously looks at the Troglodyte,
and speaks:
"If we listen we call forth the Bete Noir,
so we must keep moving forward...searching...
...searching...
...searching...
though we know not what, in this imbroglio carpet fuzz.
Though our forefathers founded the white feather...
there is no room for it in our new weaving... "
So, the troglodyte was found wanting that day
--because he could not profess more why the people should listen.
Thus the Chimera became the Bete Noir
when it never should have been."
Ana finished her story, and tucked her child in bed with his straw horse.
The moon shined so bright that night that Ana admired its form and brilliance,
and went to sleep much later.
Chapter Faceless Face
Thutmose whistled as Nefertiti and her son Will strolled by...
Thutmose, the artist, tossed a sugar cane at Will and then lovingly eyed his mother.
Thutmose said out loud:
"If I did not love men--I would be your lover. Then, I could I would capture your very soul."
Ana replied,
"Honestly, do you think it was my looks that captured royalty?
There are thousands upon thousands of beautiful and pretty woman.
It takes something special inside to keep a man."
Thutmose laughed, "Do you really think so my idealistic pet?"
Then why are you out casted and living here instead of at the main palace?"
Ana turned to her son and said:
"Will, please leave. We are having a private conversation."
Will left and started playing with his straw horse off in the distance.
Ana fired at Thutmose: "If the appearances mattered so much
--why does your art not sell these days in the hard economy.
There are thousands upon thousands of starving artists."
Thutmose humored replied:
"But it takes something special on the inside
to make that one artist stand out, no?"
Thutmose laughed some more:
"My pet, let us not be so hard upon one another.
For we are good souls, kindred souls maybe--
and fate has it that we are good friends."
Ana laughed again:
"Well what art have you started?"
Thutmose suddenly became very serious.
"I'm searching for the faceless face."
"My, my aren't we the philosopher, today."
"It's a face that is in perfect proportion.
I have not found it.
It's what will make me rich!"
"Too, bad you only eat bread and butter
--and you still are not satisfied!"
Ana tooted.
"Ana Nefertiti, I'm serious!
I'm out here searching for inspiration
and inspiration has never failed me
nor my muse. I prayed every day
that I will find my inspiration
and the response has been
it is in the first person you
meet in the morning"
meet in the morning"
Ana burst out laughing:
"So, that's why you called us over?
I thought you were about to die,
or needed food to cover your
lazy artistic needs."
Thutmose responded,
"Let me ask you seriously, why are you out here and not at the palace?
Furthermore, what made you fall out of favor with the king?
I know you do not wish your child to know his descendants.
But why this hard life? When you could live in luxury?"
Ana sighed,
"I'm not one to bring up the past but we started a new religion.
It was very radical in concept--the idea that there is a god of light.
Supreme Light. Who rules over all. The demi gods and the ancient
gods are incomparable to this god of Light. This god of light
interestingly enough--is faceless."
Ana made a bitter face after her comment.
"Of course, in this aspect
we challenged the authority of the Egyptian priests
who held immense power with the old form of worship.
The new implemented religion was not easily accepted by the people
and they did not understand it, and returned to their old ways.
In order to win back the approval of the priests--
I was exiled to my homeland--Sudan and reclaim my title as a Nubian.
Only later did I realize I was pregnant with a son--something my husband
wanted for a long time. But that bearded whore with the oddly pierced skin
has convinced my husband that it isn't his son
--but a he/she child (considered cursed in our culture)
because he looks so much alike to me."
Thutmose: "Shocking, I must say."
Ana: "You find in a simple Nubian village there is
more truth in community than the gossip of the royal courts."
Thutmose: "Deep words from a sad queen."
Ana turned her face to the sunlight and closed her eyes.
A glint of pearl was quickly wiped away and she recited:
"I am the charmed Queen of upper and lower Egypt,
beloved in sweet joy,
Nefertiti--the great wife."
Thutmose:
"But you are Ana to all of us here, and that is enough.
What is title--when that title is empty of promises.
The king did not trust you, but the trusted the
other--so you must not be as loved as the title given.
What are words if they are not filled?"
Ana looked deeply into Thutmose's eyes and replied quietly:
"They are hollow."
Thutmose interrupted her:
"They are not true. They are no longer who you are.
You are Ana--and you are a giver of love to the villagers.
You heal us. You take care of us. You work as one of us.
That is the truth of give and take.
We love you, we heal you, we work with you.
It is the eternal law of a healthy community.
We will not allow someone of rank to not pull their own weight."
Ana looked down then up again, and took a handkerchief
and wiped her face caked with mud.
Thutmose blinked, then blinked again:
"Ana turn your head--slightly to the left....
okay now raise it up...more...more...
...Ana, I don't think you realize how beautiful you are...
here, sit down and rest. Here is some milk. Drink. I'll get a bowl for your child--Will.
Thutmose turned towards Ana and said in a determined tone:
"I will make the king remember you again, but that is not the only promise--
I will make the world remember you. You will replace the goddess Isis."
and starts chiseling on a piece of alabaster.
Ana chided: "Poor, lazy artist."
Thutmose lovingly retorted: "Sad queen."
and he looked at her child and lovingly whispered,
"A lion cub indeed."
Chapter Strange Pierced Whore
Thutmose runs towards Ana in jubilee,
"The King has requested my presence at Tel el-Amarna as his royal artist!
I'm rich!
I can't believe it
--your face has made us the talk of the art world!
I have orders coming in from all over
--they want to understand facial proportions through your model."
Ana replies solemnly,
"Congratulations, my friend. It is good to move up in life."
"No, there is more
--the King realizes what a priceless pearl
he has lost and wishes you return to the palace at once
I have the news bearer relaxing in the parlor.
I will call her out!"
A lady walks forward from behind the front door of Thutmose's workshop.
Ana staggers back: "Whore."
"My name is Kiya to you."
Ana retorts: "Pierced whore!"
"Yes, now your chubby wubby king has decided to take you back,
I shall remind you--who is in power--
and who is still the favorite."
(Kiya points to herself and laughs.)
Ana spitefully responds:
"You are considered the favorite because you are easily manipulated and controlled."
"That is considered a great womanly trait in Egypt.
What are you--you wild animal--who dares
treat yourself as the kings equal?"
"I am his equal, and more..."
"How are you more--(Kiya guffaws)
--look at your surroundings--beautiful one
--you live in a pigsty."
Ana responds in a calm voice:
"At least I respect myself by honoring my community instead of causing
treasonous gossip inside the royal courts.
At least I am not easily manipulated by the most cunning mind of all.
I am seen as an equal because I will not be manipulated.
In that manly quality--there is freedom.
Though you understand it not.
Nor do I expect you to. I have evolved far beyond this generation
of thoughts--maybe in the future my autonomy will be respected.
It seems men fear women who are independent
--least we shall take power from them."
Kiyo trills:
"Well, as usual I have no idea what you mean
or what your talking about....some rubbish about future
things we can't yet see. I deal with materialistic concerns
...like what shall we eat, where shall we sleep, who shall we rely on
...and you can only come back with my permission."
"You cold calculating whore!"
Kiyo waves her hands:
"I'm a realist.
As you know I have the king wrapped around my finger...
A female cunning you know nothing of..."
Ana sniffs oddly:
"Oh, I know of it enough.
It is weak, and with no self respect
--only the kind of groveling a slave would use
to please a master that can never be pleased.
I am my own master.
I create my own system
--I do not play within a system that destines me
to a life of incompleteness--no matter how cleverly I play."
Kiyo spoke very nastily at this point:
"I am the neck that turns the head--pointing it to where it thinks it wants to look."
Ana looks at Kiyo in shock:
"You imply a trade?"
"Yes."
"I have nothing that you want."
"Your son. I claim rights to your son as mine.
It shall be written that way in the history books,
no one shall know his biological origins."
"For?"
"Your ability to return to the courts with your son
...so he may not live as a pig
and your reputation restored with the priests of Egypt."
"And if I do trade my son?"
"His name will be changed..."
"But his name is what keeps his soul binded to his body.
The changing of names after the naming ceremony will shorten his life
--it will curse him."
"No matter. Where is your son?"
"I have not yet decided..."
"I already know your choice...too long have you been removed from the courts..."
"I have not yet decided." Ana stated with a tone of finality.
"Would you like your friend Thutmose to not go to Tel el-Amarna?"
"I have not yet decided..."
Chapter Senet
Horemheb and Will were playing a game of Senet when his pet leopard Lotus nudged his knee.
Will interrupted the intense game by laughing:
"She's jealous because I'm giving you too much attention."
Then puckering his lips to the leopard he whined:
"Horemheb is my best friend too, Lotus--I must be fair in my attention."
Sirus purred, stretched out her claws, and yawned her eyes.
Horemheb chuckled:
"What a bunch of friends we are
...I swear sometimes I think Lotus
is one of us, and speaks in human tongue--almost."
Will played along:
"Yes, and I am her translator..."
"What does she say?"
"She says..." Will pretends to listen intently to the leopard.
"I was born from lions."
Horemheb guffaws loudly, and drops to the floor rolling:
"And I am the god of Senet born from rocks and wood."
"You could be if you mastered life and time..." Will mockingly replied.
"Wisely spoken--lion hybrid"
"Wisely spoken--king of ass."
Horemheb punched Will, and then Will dropped low and kicked Horemheb to the dust.
Wiping his bloody lip Horemheb suggests brightly,
"Hey Will instead of fighting--let's go steal goose eggs from the farmer next door to eat!"
"Best idea you've had all day, my friend."
The two boys crawled on their stomachs towards the farmer Knuts hut.
"Shhhhhh...."
The goose house had crooked picket fences,
and the boys knew if the latch to the gate was not properly opened---
it would make a horrible noise
that would give their position away to farmer Knut
who knew the trouble makers by their past history of egg stealing.
Lotus stealthily followed the boys behind glinting in gold, wild shadows.
"Shhhhh...look one of the eggs have already hatched..."
"A gosling...wow...don't let Lotus see it."
"I don't feel like eating eggs today, Will. Maybe we should just let the eggs be."
The two boys slivered their way out of the goose coop, and went back to play their Senet game.
"Will, this makes me rethink life entirely..."
(Horemheb moves a chess piece.)
"How so Heb?"
(Will moves a chess piece.)
"We destroy eggs to make good for ourselves
--yet we also at the same time make evil in killing another."
(Heb moves a chess piece.)
"Strange concept Heb, strange concept."
(Will moves a chess piece.)
Will glares at Heb and states in warning: "Beautiful Horse."
(check mate meaning in Egyptian culture)
(Heb pretends to yawn.)
"Let's play some other game, I'm bored of Senet.
Let's imagine what we will be when we are adults."
"But I'm about to win the game! It's not fair...."
Horemheb puffed out his chest ignoring Will and shouts:
"I want to be a great general who is feared and respected by everyone."
He picks up a stick and starts to kill imaginary foes,
"Take that, and that...ha...aha..."
(jab)
(jab)
"Ha...brains always rules over brawns.
I will be the intellectual who tells you
what to do and where to do it."
"So you wish to be scholar, Will?"
"Perhaps."
"Yes, it is true, your mother says your capacities for learning are truly remarkable.
If given an opportunity to study at the royal palace or with a priest--you will go far."
Will scoffs, "Yeah, in my dreams..."
"Let me see your hands..."
"Why?"
"I don't know I once heard a fortune teller say that destiny is in the palm of your hands..."
"Okay, let's write our ambitions on our hands then..."
"Heb, I think the fortune teller means that you make your destiny..."
Heb licks a wet stylus, and inscribes on Will's hand--"Scholar leader"
and writes on his own--"Great general".
Horemheb cocks his ear towards the distance and whispers, "Did you hear that?"
"What?"
"I hear your mother calling you...."
Will turned his head and Ana's voice drifted across the distance:
"Will of Aten, it's time to come home and eat dinner."
"Check ya later buddy! I'm going home for food!"
"Oh man! Why is your mother on time with cooking--mine's always late."
"Sucker!"
"Wait that's your full name?"
"Yeah."
"Will of Aten?"
"Yeah."
"I never knew that before..."
"Hey, first time for everything..."
"We'll play tomorrow...."
Chapter Amore of Ka
Kiya smirks as Will follows after her caravan:
"I knew you would arrive in the common sense that the
Nile blesses the common people with..."
Ana turns her face away and whispers:
"Let me speak to my son one last time."
Taking a bucket of water and a cloth
she wiped his face and smiled:
"You were playing with Heb and Lotus weren't you?"
He nodded unable to speak, feeling utterly betrayed
and said:
"Where is this strange lady taking me? Why must I leave home?"
"You are not leaving home. Home goes wherever you are. Besides
don't you want to be a great scholar? Isn't that your dream to
be able to read scrolls and ancient text with mysteries?"
Will sniffles not so sure how to respond: "Yes."
"Then this is your opportunity to be what you always dreamed of being
and the small cost of that dream means leaving home and going someplace new
and making new friends. Don't you want to make new friends?"
"Yes."
"Then it is settled you are going and I want you to go with a smile on your face because your future is very bright and I could not give that to you here. And remember Kiya is your new mother."
"I don't want a new mother. I want you to be my mother."
Ana embraces her child and whispers:
"I want to be your mother as well but somethings can not be explained so easily to children
and I do not know how to tell you in a way that you can understand, nor do I wish you understand until you are mature enough to handle it.
Now listen carefully to your old mother before she gives up her rights to the new one.
You are going to be very well received in the Egypt and there will be an illusion where
everyone says nice things, and bows a lot to you. Don't be a fool and let it get to your head.
It will seem that you are at the center of the world and everything revolves around you.
But globally you must realize that you are just one chess player among many chess players
in the world and the other chess players maybe eyeing your property. There is a difference between flatters and friends, friends, and true friends, true friends and those you can trust with your life. There will be those who wish to use you to be an end to their means,
and those who will just want favors...you must discern their intentions. Then there are those who seek justice for justice, and love for love, peace for peace...yet even with their intentions you must be careful because of the great game of politics that is at hand: the power play between the aristocrats and the priests. That was your fathers downfall. Maybe in another time, in another age...these pure seekers will one day triumph to liberate themselves from such corruption. Scholars have decided that perhaps it will take 10,000 years but
I'm sure such an ideal will not be reached until much later."
"What is this prophesied land called?"
"The loved (amore) land of Ka... where compassion, honor, and kindness roam free...
some say it is in the next spiritual world, some say it is in the next generation, some say the never...perhaps we shall meet again there someday."
"I want to go there now."
"Hush. That is a scholar's secret. Also, you may not understand now, but I think later you will.
If you keep the ideas of Ka in your heart, you will be a great leader.
Remember always that the heavens put you where you are so you may serve the people.
A leader is a servant of the people. Often kings try to glorify themselves in life in feasts, statues, paintings, and in the afterlife are forgotten. How much greater will you be, if you do your task and duty to the people, and the memory of your deeds live on after you have passed. They will remember your face and your history."
A hard voice screeched:
"What's taking so long, whore. I want my son out of the sun and into restful shade."
Ana snapped back:
"He may be yours in name, but who raised him? Who fed his heart with sunshine and stories?
Out of whose womb did his Ka receive?"
"Well, no one will ever know because I plan to wipe you from the history books. I'm tired of this scene of tears. Will of Aten receive your new mother. I have figs and malban."
"Go, child."
The boy quietly went to the caravan with Kiya,
and quietly sobbed as they trailed further and further away.
He silently knew that he must never speak of his mother to Kiya or the King of Egypt
because of her reputation. He knew that he must look and play the part they expected from him because he wanted to be a scholar and a great leader.
As the oasis of the village disappeared and all that was left:
a trail of camel footprints and sand dunes
his new mother spoke to him:
"Forget her. She was a whore. She was too free and independent. Woman have a place in this society and that is to be submissive."
And that's when the child mentally became a man
when he physically nodded to the statement but in his heart said:
"You are the whore who has torn my mother and father from me. You may have me in your power to control as a pet project, but you will never have my heart, mind, and ka. I will be that great leader, and serve the people and not you."
His eyes flared in anger and glimmered sharply.
Kiya seeing the hidden message in his eyes turned to her closest advisor:
"I want you to keep that boy's self-esteem low. Make sure he doesn't know that he's the first born son. Give him love but give it to him in increments. Whenever he rebels take half the love away, so he may be scarred and easy to manipulate when the time comes.
I want him to forget how much his mother loved him. Make her actions seem trivial
and small and recount her story in a negative light. Tutor him and make sure he becomes a scholar like I promised his mother, but never let him know. Even the woman in the future
I will send them to him and have their loyalties to me, but never let him know.
I sense that he will be hard to break, since he takes on the characteristics of his mother.
So, we must do it in a way that he doesn't know."
"My lady, I am the closest advisor to the king, I have a certain reputation to keep in this matter. I can not do the things you ask."
"I see. Then I won't push the matter. Now go give my son the best fruits that the Nile and earth offers.
Dress him in the finest clothes I want him presentable for the first feast of the year."
"He's sobbing his eyes out I don't think I should disturb him at this moment."
She hissed:
"Do it now when he's most heartbroken."
Chapter Tut
"Prince Tut, why are you sad?"
"I have arrived at the end."
"What do you mean, you must talk like a soldier...meaning speak plainly."
"Heb."
"Yes."
"We have fought many battles together and you are my closest advisor."
"Yes. And?"
"Yet, we will never reach that mythical land..."
"What land?"
"Amore of Ka."
"You mean what the old wives tell their children as bedtime stories?"
"I heard about it from someone once so long ago..."
"Why don't you like our country?"
"I've learned everything to learn about here...and there's no more knowledge to look for....
it is the end of the horizon."
"But our country is the Red country.
We have red sand, the red sun, and the red-golden pyramids
what more could you wish for?"
"I don't care about the color Red. I'm looking for something more abstract I guess..."
"But it's what runs our economy, the color Red. No other nation has it and we sell it."
Tut points to the stars and speaks again:
"Have you ever wondered what lies beyond Polaris?
Could there be a North beyond north? Why do we not ask these questions?
Or could there be a better way to hand out justice....? Nay, we ask questions like
'Could the goddess Hather bless our rice today so it won't spoil for tomorrow.'"
"Rice could spoil the next day."
"But what does it matter? It's so narrow sighted and they are petty prayers."
"Will..."
"Don't call me that name....that boy is dead to me. I am different now.
No longer so naive, or innocent. The twist can't be undone.
Call me 'Tut', Heb."
"Is it a woman that has made you this way? Usually you are more enthusiastic when I talk to you."
"Her name is Amore of Ka."
"Again with the fairytale?"
"It's not just a fairytale, it's the next level and I have no idea how to reach it. The idea of a purer justice,
the idea of good hearted people, the idea of other ideas that I can't touch upon unless I can find the edge
of its outline in the breath of her skirt."
"I think the books have made you mad."
"Perhaps, perhaps..."
Tut waves his hand at the city gates and the tombs that dot the Nile.
"And perhaps I want to give my people something to hope for in the future..."
"A hope of lies?"
"A hope of freedom."
"Madness. Only those at the top of the social ladder has the sort of freedom you are describing."
"I can only work with the system I'm given, if I try to change it, the priests will fight me."
"Say, if you believe in fairy-tales than you won't believe what I heard from the Nubian's...
a new sort of tale that only wives believe..."
Tut's eyes lit up: "Don't hold back Heb."
"There are strange rumors of a being who is wandering through our country as a beggar
and he has strange energy."
"Like a god?"
"No, not like our gods. He claims to seek Red."
"What is this strange energy?"
"His mind speaks strange things that befuddle the wisest men. And what is stranger
his flesh seems to be made of stone."
"Well, I need entertainment. Hire this beggar and let's see his tricks or wise sayings.
I'm game."
"But we are not sure the side effects of this strange energy."
"Don't you want your friend to not be drunk over an abstract lady?"
"...er...."
"Then do as I wish."
"Yes, Tut."
"Ha."
"Tut, I warn you strange occurrence have happened..."
"Aten be saved. Bring the damn man."
***
"What is your name?"
"I don't remember."
"You are a street performer."
"No, I am a wisdom seeker."
"No matter, Tut wishes to receive you and be entertained with whatever you do tonight."
"What I do can not be bought at a price nor for fun and entertainment."
"Then what can we do to 'buy' your services since Tut does wish your performance."
"Three pearls of thought."
"Done."
"Tell Tut that I know what he is seeking,
and I will send a blessing his way."
***
"Here are your three pearls of wisdom."
The beggar picked up three scrolls and bowed.
"Go on entertain me."
The beggar sat on the floor and meditated.
"I can not."
"But you know what I seek...?"
"Yes."
"I have traveled to this land at a great price
and I will always carry this great price."
"Is it gold that you ask for, we have tons of gold."
"No."
"Then what is this price?"
"Something you can not pay."
"What do you mean?"
"Your guards and mentor must leave."
Tut hissed: "Leave us."
All the guards hesitated, and left.
The beggar opened a hidden pocket in his tattered jacket
and pulled out a trinket.
"Look."
"It's clear."
"Look through it."
"Everything appears bigger."
"Now point it to the moon."
"I see mountains."
"Where did you get this?"
"A place that no longer exists."
"What's its name?"
"TisLanta."
"Strange."
Tut cradles the small glass piece in his hand and looks through it at a pillow:
"It's amazing I can see every thread."
"Isn't it strange that every man is like this thread who weaves with each other their story."
"I'm tired of my story. There's nothing more to see, yet this trinket is fascinating I'll have the scholars study it."
"Would you like to go there?"
"Where?"
"Amore of Ka. The land that doesn't exist yet, and soon to be."
"But I need to be here. I do not wish to corrupt the threads of kismet."
"Yet, if you know where to go--you can be where there is much more of those trinkets."
"Why not, TisLanta?"
"They were too corrupt."
"So, what is this price."
"Your life will be shortened in this stage, and longer in the next one."
"I'm not changing kismet."
"Okay, then both can be long lived--it's your choice really. I'm only bringing the possibility."
"What do I do?"
"There is a doorway in your dreams. It's like a great stage and you must walk past the glitter
and the women that beg you to dance with them and find the curled knob. Turn it eight times.
Then bring with you the idea of this trinket and recreate it there in front of you. Look through the door
with the mental looking glass...because the idea of the trinket and the physical object is the same thing.
In reality, the idea is embedded in the object and the object takes on its shape: like water.
By that time the idea will have dissolved and you can no longer use it."
"How will I return?"
"Perhaps you may not want to. Oh, and don't break any rules you read with your eyes.
If you see a rule try not to read it or you must follow it."
"Done."
"You are brave. I have kept this secret for so long but dare not use it. You shall meet many people and
if you meet my sister tell her...the mortal life was worth living."
"Was?"
"Now that I have passed on the secret, I shall soon turn to dust. Tell my sister that Johlilhibith
has finally reached heaven after many years of searching..."
"How old are you?"
"3, 000 years old."
"You look not a day over 25."
"When you keep love in your heart, you never age. 3000 seems a long time for a normal mortal,
but for stone folk it is but a gnats lifespan."
"Dreams do that huh?"
"Oh, much more."
"Tut?"
"Hmmm?"
"Who are you talking to?"
Tut points to the beggar and notices that no one is there.
"It's very dusty in here. I'll get some servants to clean up the place and freshen up the curtains."
"Where did the beggar go?"
"He left abruptly."
"I knew he was a no good performer, ditching on the job. Well I think you should get some sleep before managing foreign affair tomorrow morning."
"Heb."
"...."
"If I do not see you ...."
"Is this hypothetical?"
"Yes, if I was suddenly blinded by the sun...while driving would you take over?"
"Of course."
"Good. I mean...good night."
"Dream well."
"I hope to find water."
Chapter a blue blouse hangs above the trees
and stains purple at dusk when it dries
ready to be washed again.
It hangs on a rope between two hearts:
the moon and the sun.
It recites bumblebees, ember, and the horizon's feet, and
folds the clouds into ships, and tangy ribbons.
Iron butterflies bask in the equinox: darting as quick silver
stitching the stars in the musculature and intricacies.
When it stops reciting--she wears the blouse and cries:
tears swim on her dress...that need to be sewn once more.
A stranger rose--
swallows---
the butterflies--
juggling the world on his shoulder.
Mica and granite fuse with his bones.
nods and rose stranger on his feet
and thinks quietly to himself:
"Does she not know I'm here, holding up the sky?"
So, Tut fell asleep that night and wandered past the dancing people in merriment
and found the curled knob. He did as Johlilhibith instructed and mentally conjured the trinket
and looked through the door. Suddenly he was on the other side.
He saw a great many things.
He saw a lollipop store, a flash of the sphinx, and an old piano.
Yet none of these things registered in his mind as something meaningful. Then he saw her.
Yet none of these things registered in his mind as something meaningful. Then he saw her.
He would have kept wandering on the other side if it wasn't for her.
The skirts of her dress whispered on the fluid tiles and her fingers beckoned him to follow.
The skirts of her dress whispered on the fluid tiles and her fingers beckoned him to follow.
He chased after her, but she kept eluding him in a strange game of hide and seek. He ran past many images ignoring the brilliant and fearful scenes they presented. The strange fragrance she gave off tasted of freedom, and peaches. He called out: "Wait, wait fair maiden." Yet she eluded him even more
until they reached a tree and she vanished. Now Tut focused on the tree...the bark of the tree wove like the thick braids of the Egyptian priestesses hair for special ceremonies and gave off azure hues that danced in the gleaming sun. The fruits were shaped like lightbulbs with a neon glow that pulsed with a hum.
"Would you like to try a fruit?"
The maiden suddenly reappeared sitting on the tree branches.
"Do they have special properties that I should be aware of?"
"They ingest the properties of the reality you wish to breach
into your body so you will not have an allergic reaction."
"Where are we?"
"In a place outside of time. A place called 4:30."
"So, everything here is 4:30?"
"Yes, even I am known as 4:30."
"So if I eat a piece of fruit, I will become 4:30 as well."
"Well, you may either have a piece of fruit or leap through the branches..."
"And if I wish to leap instead of being stuck outside of time?"
"You do not exist anymore."
"If I leap a net will appear to catch me."
"The non-existent net will catch you."
Tut's eyes lit up: "Good."
Tut threw himself through the branches and they sliced his skin and
body into pixels propelling him faster and faster forward like a cloud raging to find a place to rain.
body into pixels propelling him faster and faster forward like a cloud raging to find a place to rain.
***
"Paige it's raining outside."
"So, what? We can still go to the movies and catch Toy Story."
"I mean the raindrops have this neon hue, what do you think?"
"I think you're imagining things."
"I think it's good to be creative sometimes..."
***
Tut's body finally repuzzled itself back together and he landed face planting the ground.
"Ouch."
***
Bean finally passes through the gateway and into the next level.
He silently wonders to himself:
"Is this really worth it? Should I turn back?"
"How do I catch an intangible kiss?"
Chapter Inside a bright red flower
Melts tones of blue flames
Like lashes on an eye.
Dark grey and brown spots on the iris/
And sunlit petal lids.
Inside a bright red flower/
Whispers lavender
Equinox in triangles that a magic cat plays.
Inside a bright red flower/
Resides the plain roots that hold it there/
Constantly. The footprint brain.
Melts tones of blue flames
Like lashes on an eye.
Dark grey and brown spots on the iris/
And sunlit petal lids.
Inside a bright red flower/
Whispers lavender
Equinox in triangles that a magic cat plays.
Inside a bright red flower/
Resides the plain roots that hold it there/
Constantly. The footprint brain.
Bean opens his eyes and finds another pair staring right into them.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
“What’s your name?”
“What’s your name?”
The girl laughed after repeating his last sentence and turned around.
“Are you mad at me now?”
She laughed again.
“No, but I’m suppose to be.”
“Why were you repeating everything I said before…?”
“So, I would remember you.”
“I’m sorry have we met before?”
“Perhaps as blossoms snatched from trees. Play with me.”
Bean spent hours and hours playing with the strange girl who seemed
So innocent and yet contained an unfathomable mystery.
And it seemed strange that every so often she would mimic his actions
And then go on with her natural movements.
Every time he would ask her name but she would just laugh the question off
And dance into the trees.
“Play with me.” She chided.
“I don’t remember how to play.”
She took a pebble and threw it into the bough of the oak.
“If you give them energy, they will return it back to you tenfold.”
He took a pebble and threw it into the bough of another tree.
She pointed at the roots:
“See, the trees gave us fruit this time.”
The magical atmosphere of the gloss of translucent leaves flitting from side to side in the heavy wind.
And the feel of velvet lush grass that stained their toes a healthy rustic color.
“After we eat the fruit, we place our hands here…” she points to the silver whirled bark on the cedar tree and say, “Thank you. Usually the tree responds by reaching into your mind and giving you a neurotransmitter massage. Feels like they are petting you when they mentally heal you. There is a sacred ritual that the environment understands and respects.”
He would be so furious that he’d snatch her hand and
pull her towards him to try to put some sense into the girl.
“I need to know your name.”
“You do not need to know right now. You are at the refreshing stage.”
“Your name is a gateway and I wish to return again.
I don’t know how I arrived here, but I wish to return.”
“Even if I told you, the name I remember is not my true name.”
“Then I will give you a name.”
“You must whisper this name into my soul for it to hold.”
The maiden so beautifully made of rainbows and moonbeams finally seemed to stop flitting around
And again put her face so very close to his
Piercing his eyes:
“Tell me my name.”
As a dragon butterfly would caress the bud of a lotus blossom
So did their lips as magnets.
Electric blue sparks consumed their entire frames
And transported them to another place.
There they were utterly covered in gold and watching the sunrise.
His arms were around her waist and they were utterly happy.
Not only did he know her name but he knew his own
After many years of not remembering.
He spoke to her with his thoughts:
“Where are we?”
“Here.”
“What’s holding it together.”
“Love. Don’t you remember this place?”
“I was here before. I don’t quite remember.”
She smiled and sent her healing thought waves
“It will become clearer.”
And evaporated.
“Come back.”
She reappeared.
“What if I don’t remember again?”
“I’ll refresh your memory. You really need to let me go—I have a lot of work to attend to…”
“Stay with me.”
“Even if I go away, I’m always with you.”
“It doesn’t matter, I want you always with me.”
“There are so many who need to be healed—who need …”
“I need.”
“Then go with me—“
“Where?”
“There is this place called Ea Urth.”
"How will I remember you there?"
"You need to catch our first kiss."
Chapter Capturing
"Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."
"Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."
"Mhmmm mmmm..."
"Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."
Paige's hand pushes the button on her alarm.
"nHmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm..."
"Paige wake up or else you will be late for music class.
I swear to God our professor looks like Tut or something."
"Let me skim over the lecture online at my usual computer."
"You have a usual?"
"I believe it's called 82000000000854 or gssr-cl, it's not just any ordinary computer."
"You memorized the damn code?"
"Why not?"
"Weird."
"Indeed. Indeed my friend. It takes one to know one."
"Well, being a friend, I'm letting you know that class is starting in...oh...
15 min."
***
"Amanda Wright?"
"Present."
"Adam Sets?"
"Present."
"Paige Jones?"
"..."
"Paige Jones?"
"I think she's late again professor Khut..."
"Right, right....we'll give her the usual five wait shall we?"
"Bethany Dou...?"
"My nickname is Bidou, Professor."
"Right, right..."
"Thomas Able?"
"Present."
"Ian Beckwith?"
"Present."
"Nandi Vola."
"Present."
As the professor rattles off the rest of the class
Bidou turns to Ian and whispers:
"Pay me ten jellybeans and I'll tell you whose got a crush on you."
"Bidou, would you like to recite the homework assigned to everyone last night."
Bidou stood up with a smirk and sang:
periwinkle empyrean; nearypme elkniwirep
Dug a hole in the mud with a twig,
and Plopped the penny center-dead.
then Tucked it in the flower bed
as a father would Kiss his child big: gib
the little boy Made a night time wish
and Hoped that fortune would kindly Dish.
what? Behold! a knight of old:
with wand Transformed the coin to gold:dlog
The golden sphere Grew kung-fu
The cherry filigree Danced in motion
a Zaire tree Appeared of Yew,
and out the branches Grew devotion: noitoved
a hirogana bud Blossomed and Billowed.
the letters Danced in form of greek
and Trouted, Swimming words--unique
it Grew clear willowed-weep dodoed:deodod
the blossom, so strange Weaved, in squares
each leaf a page; each page a tear.
rotund the petals metamorphic fruit
and tantalizing messages Bent in mute:etum
the very next day Seeing the tree.
upon which he Plucked the scroll
the little boy Jumped up fiercely,
and Ate the pages one and whole:elohw
the scroll Tasted sweet upon the tongue
but did sour at last when down in Babbitt,
and then the eaten Promise Found voice--rung
and Sung out loud above the kismet: temsik
"Free at last, Free at last to Speak, bursting,
Free at last to deep a sigh brimming,
Free at last to open this Signee
Free seed, and this journey":yenruoj
The Promise Possessed the boy
Tip-toeing past the willow sips
until he Skipped + Chortled alloy,
"Free at last to Grasp the lonely mist...": tsim
and Snatched a cloud, nebulous white
Built a boat, sailing into star spires
the fish stars Hissed, and light-steamed
and the Moon Threw out his net of beams: smaeb
The Promise Plopped the boy to bed
and Tucked him--the sleepy head
"virtue Is deep, if you can Keep
a promise faithful. yet when all is said in depth:thped
One must Be a pleasant peasant patient
to Put down a persevering penny
and the sultry sweat of many
potent, talent: dormant movement" :tnemevom
and when periwinkle Awoke above
an octave of the orchestra Danced in love
and Took off the night Baobab gloves
and Followed by clockwise: theorize doves: doubt--
Never truly. if only.
but deeply
Drawn to-- like a black hole sketch
---"azure" :thinking:
dot scribble dot splash
0 0 e r a s e 0 0"
Professor Khut takes his glasses off and wipes them and mumbles to himself:
"Usually they can't do it."
He turns to Ian literally sniffing for trouble:
"Ian, recite 'Falling Story."
Ian stands up and speaks:
Falling Story
I wring out inky moon tears
that tinkle like the soft cooing of fragile heart-shaped doves,
yearning to be set free from a blue china bell.
I trap them in nets of emptiness and fullness.
If I let go--I fall...into what,
is another story.
Another sing of picayune tears
of yellow, plum, brown, beige, and blue
fills iron origami napkins painted on a chess table;
a heated match between life and time rock to a bell shaped curve.
Yet, when life ends there will be no rematch. So, where will time go?
To another life..."
Paige interrupts the class recitation by walking in late.
The professor immediately states:
"Paige why don't you recite
an on the spot."
The whole class groans. No person ever wanted to be stuck with an "on the spot". It mean reciting songs or lyrics without practice--just whipping it up out of thin air--in order to test the intellect. Usually it requires immense understanding of lyrics and notes. Often it was terrible to listen to if the student was unprepared.
"...Ummm...."
"Go, on Paige..."
Paige quickly looks down at her binders for any key words
and finds
"Logic class: 1:30 to 3:30."
She slyly looks up...
"Logic is frozen music..."
Then Ian covers for her:
"Every icy supposition is exactly where it's suppose to be.
Precise timing and concise words
carve a masterpiece
sailing your frosted aberrations away..."
Then Bidou covers Ian:
"Univocal, equivocal, and analogous terms
imitate musical footnotes, plateau-ed measures, flat sharps, and pauses.
Spinning concepts pinned like accidental butterflies, who warmly cradle thoughts
into a land of order, scale, and principal: Ideally.
They illuminate the gossamer icicles of the mind and
dust away the impetus: embryo of Chaos."
Then Paige covers Bidou and takes over:
Every juxtaposition-- a riddle:
substance, quantity, quality, relation, action, passion, when, where, posture, and habitus.
Every concept a conglomerate universal yet accompanied by a precise division of category:
minor, major, octave, interval, triads, dynamic, style, pitch value, meter, and key.
Yet to be unlocked,
yet to be played,
yet to be made sense of
Yet to be melted away...
substance, quantity, quality, relation, action, passion, when, where, posture, and habitus.
Every concept a conglomerate universal yet accompanied by a precise division of category:
minor, major, octave, interval, triads, dynamic, style, pitch value, meter, and key.
Yet to be unlocked,
yet to be played,
yet to be made sense of
Yet to be melted away...
(silence)
"Thank you Paige and friends. Next time please don't be late."
"Now class everyone please recite Sonata .001..."
Everyone stands up and sings:
"(First Movement)
The moon reflects deeply in a limpid pool of water,
and the blue child is no longer a pure blue daughter.
She wistfully presses on a crooked smile,
and babbles to anyone that passes along this mile.
A shadow sluggishly creeps in the story’s complexion
And the wind throws out howls of misdirection.
A little girl looks fearfully down, and around,
As her cape jumps alive and jigs to the sound.
(Second Movement)
Tree branches cut into the moon and hold her hostage.
The little girl looks down the winding cobblestone road
As she tramples on the trail of tears glittering cold.
Paper clouds tear themselves on the moon’s edge.
Wisps of fog stretch out and about,
myriads of long, spidery fingers,
tickle the purring grass and tall wheat
and lingers around her tip-toeing feet.
(Third Movement)
Rays of starlight stream down and splash
on a large pair of yellow eyes;
They blink; they wink; they vanish.
An owl nearby whistles a throaty lullaby in curlicue notes.
They slink; they tink; they rink in Spanish.
(Fourth Movement)
Enchanted, the little girl starts to twirl as if in trance.
A shady thought on the moon’s reflection,
and playing a sultry flute, along side Little Red Cap,
the sly wolf starts to dance.
"Little Red, Little Red, where are you going?' he coo’s.
(Fifth Movement)
Hypnotized Little Red Cap monotonously responds,
"Dragon Hatcher, Idea Catcher, and Mother snatcher sour…"
The wolf—satisfied—catches the words that belong.
How quaint the saint reigns queen; this witching hour’s song.
He begins the plot
Letting words drop, he knows,
Blooming birds occur
In the stir of think; ink flows….(published)
[…to be continued…]
-Joy Messerschmidt
Source: http://themisplacedinkblots.blogspot.com/2010/07/piggliediggs.html
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