r e m e m b e r i n g

4 We set up camp inside the largest of the dwellings, what Ed imagined was a meeting hall of some type. The ceiling was high above us, curving into a dome like all the other buildings, about 24 feet above our heads. The inside walls were inscribed with runes that were not unappealing to the eye, yet indecipherable. There did not seem to be an alphabet, as we know it. The words, if that is what they were, formed a single shape; much like Japanese in its written form, or Egyptian. Ed was right about them though, they could not have been carved by any primitive culture of South America that is known to humankind. The cuts were too clean, too trim. From the area, I could sense a lingering presence distinctly different from what I have experienced as human emanations. Areas that have been inhabited by humans have a sort of earthy, rhythmic resonance, which I would compare to the warm familiar pulse of the womb. The fading signals dispersed around this place, infused into the walls and the ground, reminded me of ice. It was stiff, almost wooden, and gave the feeling that I was standing on a frozen lake. I felt the cold surface, but I could only imagine what lies beneath it. It would take some time, but I could learn more about the place with concentrated mental probing. Miguel seemed to notice the subtle change in frequency as well. When we entered the cathedral like building his thoughts swam uncontrollably to thoughts of isolation and abandonment. His subconscious was urging him to leave the place that was so unprecedented, so alien to his previous experience. I cannot say that I blamed him. If I were not here for a good reason, I probably would not stay. "Professor Guevara, what exactly are we doing here?" Miguel said, somewhat hesitantly. He was eyeing the walls and looking at the doorway every few seconds, as if some unseen danger lurked just beyond the threshold. "Miguel my boy, we're hopefully going to solve a puzzle that has had me stumped for longer than you have been alive. What do you make of these characters on the walls?" After a stern once over, Miguel turned to him and said, "They appear to be hieroglyphs of some type. I cannot make any of them out though. They remind me of Celtic runes, yet there isn't any way that could be true." “Yes that is about as far as I got with them as well.” “Ed, I don’t think they were made by humans. In fact, I don’t think humans ever lived here,” I interrupted. He was surprised at this. His face was contorted in shock, like somebody pulled a rabbit out of his ear. In a skeptical tone he asked, “What makes you say that Elias?” “Well, I cannot sense anything human about this place. I haven’t told you, but I am what you might call a psychic, though I would not use that word at all.” “What? Such things are not possible my friend. If you are a psychic then I am the Pope.” “I assure you, that most people are not exactly in tune with what is and isn’t possible. I could demonstrate, if that would be to your liking?” “I would very much like to see,” said Miguel. I could tell he wanted it to be true, because it would affirm his belief in certain metaphysical phenomena that he had witnessed in the past. Later, I discovered that when he was 12, he stumbled on to a stranger levitating over a river near his family’s home. Ever since that day, he has questioned whether his eyes had deceived him, or if such things were possible. Eduardo indicated me to get on with it. I could easily sense his incredulity. “Ok. Now Ed, I want you to think of something that occurred during your childhood. Something that I could not possibly know. Perhaps the name of a pet or your earliest memory.” When the words left my lips, Ed had begun shuffling through his mind, searching for something deeply entrenched. It took me little time to ascend to the second tier of awareness. I was concentrating on Ed’s thoughts, waiting quietly for him to decide on something that fit the situation. His thoughts raced through his earliest memories. Through the years spent on his father’s small farm in northern Argentina, helping with the planting and the harvest. Watching the sunrise while his mother made breakfast. He settled on a scene of darkness and shadows, the day he had discovered a rat in the woodshed, eating grain from a torn sack. He was eight then, and remembered the shed as a cathedral of wood and metal. Instead of just revealing that I could read his thoughts, I decided to speak to his mind, just to jostle him a bit. I wonder how long that rat has been there, getting fat off your family's grain. His face, which had previously only indicated disbelief, lit up with surprise. “Why Elias, this is incredible! How is it that you can do this,” he erupted. “I have learned the technique, that is all. You are just as capable of using your own innate talents. Everything that I do is within the realm of human ability.” I sounded like Master. That did not take me by surprise. Miguel just sat there waiting for some confirmation. He saw his friend react to something unheard, but he was still waiting. "But how did you learn to do it?" Ed said. He was not going to let this go. "Ed, I know less about it than you think. Now let's get back to more pressing matters. This place does not have the appearance of a human settlement, and I can't pick up any human vibrations, aside from those we are emitting right now. So, I can conclude that this place was not built by humans." It might be a shock to just say that I felt an alien presence, so I left that part unsaid. Nevertheless, there was no denying that this place was an enigma indeed. That night, Ed and Miguel would not let me alone. They pressed me with questions about my talents, and how I managed to sharpen them. They asked if I could tell the future, or witness events in far off places. It grew annoying after a time, and it took all of my patience to answer their questions. Tarahmun, this is one of the reasons that your gifts are meant to be kept a secret. I wasn't sure if it was Master communicating with me, or my own recollection of his words. Either way, I should listen. * * * * * * That night, while Miguel and Eduardo were sleeping, I explored the city. Though there were plenty of buildings, I could find no evidence of habitation. No discarded tools or fire pits. No skeletal remains or empty baskets. The place was a ghost town, devoid of all it once sheltered. Aside from the cathedral and the obelisk, there weren't any other buildings that stood out. Every house was built with the same blueprint, and I could find nothing distinctive about any of them. Even the characters on the wall were the same. So I decided to rest and wait out the answers. On the walk back to the cathedral, I saw an ethereal form floating near the top of the obelisk. It was slightly luminescent, glowing like a distant candle. The shape was humanoid, but unlike anything I had seen before. Where legs should be there was none, only a wispy line of haze. The arms were long and looked extremely delicate, and the rest of the body had the same alien characteristic. The head was large and drooped behind the torso, extending well below the shoulders. I stopped walking and stared at the apparition. When you are a child spirits and imaginary ghosts frighten you. Your father or mother will comfort you and tell you they do not exist. You might believe them, or you might not. Master told me of the spirit world, and its strong link with our own. He told me of devas and nature spirits, that have existed prior to humankind. He told me of the divine consciousness, which exists in everything, and is intertwined with every spirit. He gave me information, but it is no substitute for experience. I didn't know what I was looking at. It could be a deva, or something else. A closer inspection seemed the wisest course of action. The ascension to the second tier of consciousness came fluidly as I thought about it, and I was ready to study the being. It floated in place, undisturbed by my activity. It was definitely a spirit unattached to a mortal form. In it, I could sense the same energy that was diffused among the city, only it was intense and focused. The icy wooden feeling was replaced with a glacier of intent and meaning. It has been here for millennia keeping watch over the abandoned settlement. It is an ancient being, residing here since its body decomposed into its base parts. In its spirit form, it is waiting. Waiting for the time of the meeting. It noticed me and the probing almost immediately after I started, and it sent a glimmer of recognition my way. Then it vanished into oblivion, or at least from my perceptual range. I knew that it was waiting for me, waiting for the solstice, waiting for its people to return. Its purpose was to unite me with its kind. I was meant to be here. His kind had known that one like myself would come, and they had left his spirit here to guard the gate. I knew that the obelisk was really a sophisticated communications device, left behind for me to use. They were waiting for me to activate it. They were waiting to take me away. To what I did not know. * * * * * * Sitting there, next to the obelisk, I was in a state of deep meditation. I was searching for the spirit, trying to establish some form of contact. Probing the countryside, I couldn't sense the being or any evidence of its existence. I knew it had been there. There could be no other explanation; I was sane, I was not hallucinating, and I was not misled. It occurred to me that it was intentionally hiding its presence. Perhaps to study me, or to avoid me. There was much about the situation that I didn't understand, but I felt no malevolence or ill intent. Whatever I had seen, it had not been waiting for centuries just to take my life. Could it have summoned me here? Was its voice the one who started me on this path? I could speculate all day, but there is no way to know. Somehow, I must contact this entity and get the answers. Having never contacted a spirit, I was at a loss as to how I should proceed. The being seemed capable of avoiding me regardless of how much energy I devoted to the search, and I was an amateur in this concern anyway. Relaxing even further, focusing my awareness, I pushed myself to the edge of my abilities. Around me swelled the perceivable universe. I became aware of all the energy changing forms in the area. I could sense the air currents, the heat of my companions, the plants converting free flowing energy into sugars, and the other subtle nuances of the physical world. I was far beyond perception, as I standardly knew it. I didn't watch things happen, or feel them happening. I made them happen.The capacity for vision to convey information pales in comparison to the plethora of sensation that one obtain when they are properly receptive. As I sat, it became clear that I would have to let it come to me. No other approach would work with such a being. It was waiting for me to come to terms with my situation, for me to realize my inadequacy. I could feel this line of thinking held a grain of truth. I could feel the conduits of my mind lighting up with the realization. If I was to communicate with It, I would have to take the weaker position. I would have to once again become the student. How foolish, to think I was done learning. That I was ready for what lay ahead of me. To learn is to be alive, or so Master said. You/Learn/Tarahmun. The thought came from that part of my mind that usually held Master’s wisdom. It was not him though. When he spoke, I always heard his voice, his words. This was different. It was not a verbalization, but a sequence of thoughts. It made sense, but it was not cohesive. I knew it to be foreign in nature, because never have I addressed myself as Tarahmun. You are the spirit, I thought. Yes. Why do you conceal yourself? It took a few moments for me to receive a response. I got the feeling that I should open my eyes, so I did. About a meter in front of me shimmered into being the specter I had seen before. Now that I was closer, I could make out more detail. The blue fire that was its body reminded me of frozen lightning. It lit up the area, casting everything into hues of pale blue. The outline was blurry and shifting, but it gave the overall impression of an alien squid. I could find no eyes on the figure, however. Its entire form swayed, as if it were moving with an underwater current. Being so close to an entity that’s only physical manifestation was phosphorescent energy sent streams of adrenaline flowing throughout my body. That sight will forever be imprinted as one of my most pleasureable memories. What should I address you as? Not/Important. Very well. You have been waiting for me. Why? To/Prepare/You. What for? /Change. What does that mean? You/Will/Carry/God. As the thought floated through my mind, I was wordless. Questions flew around my head. How could one carry God? Is such a thing possible? I believed that all life is the vessel of Eternal Divine Oneness, what certain people would call 'God', but this idea shook me. In order for me to carry God, there would have to be a physical form of God. While such a theme has been written into every mythology I have ever heard of, I always figured it to be an expression of Eternal Divine Oneness, not to be taken literally. Perhaps there is some miscommunication going on. He is, after all, an alien. Maybe we have different concepts of what constitutes divinity. Well, even if we don't fully understand each other, it wouldn’t hurt to gain some alien wisdom. What must I learn? Little. You/Wise. You/Need/Sleep. Why? Easy/Teach/When/Sleep. Very well. I shall sleep. It would be best if you did not show yourself to the others. I do not think they are ready. Yes/Humans/Fearful. At least it was aware of certain details of human existence. I stood up, walked over to our camp, and lay down on my sleeping bag. I fell asleep quickly, with the assistance of a meditation technique Master taught me, and soon after my brain went on stand-by. But, that didn't last long. I was motionless, lying on the ground. And, within moments, images and words began to flash through my brain at speeds that felt like the flesh was going to explode right out of my skull. I couldn't register the meaning behind the words; it was all proceeding so rapidly. I have experienced insomnia, and other wanderrings of the mind. This was something wholly different. Nothing I had experienced compared to this sensation. I felt as if I were sitting in a cinema watching a film, while time was being accelerated to an incredible velocity. I was that man from ‘A Clockwork Orange’, being forced to watch as time went into overdrive, and the minutes grew shorter. The pictures flew through my mind; being caught by collections of neurons in the single instant they were visible. My subconscious mind was storing everything I was being shown, but I could not connect the data in any meaningful way. After what seemed like eons, the procession stopped, and I was able to get the mental rest I needed. Slipping into the depths of sleep, I heard music. It reverberated within me. My eyes, my ears, and my feet; all of them vibrate to the rhythym. It is pleasant, a distant sonata, something I have never heard before. It dripped with emotion, climbing to crescendos of exaltation and bottoming out with somber bridges and intonations of sorrow.

3 When the students began to collect their things and depart, he walked over to me and we exchanged greetings and pleasantries. His name was Eduardo Guevara III, and he seemed to know the reason I had come. He sat down next to me on a velvet couch, and the conversation begun. “I have been waiting on you for a while now my friend. I have been dreaming of this day for so long, I can’t help but suspect that I dream right now." He paused, and scratched his beard. "About thirty years ago, I was hiking in a remote stretch of hills skirting the eastern peaks of the Andes, and I discovered a ruin that was unlike anything I had seen or heard of. After a careful analysis I determined it was not built by any of the people that previously inhabited the area. The architecture was unlike anything else on the continent. The buildings did not look to be made of natural rock, and they were not assembled with any technology available to the Mayans, Incas, or Aztecs. The glyphs on the walls could not have been carved, for they were perfectly etched, and not of any alphabet I know of. I have dedicated my time to illuminating many of the mysteries surrounding the enigmatic peoples that have lived here. After forty years of field work and research I was still unable to explain who built that city and for what reason. The frustration gnawed at me, and I dwelled in a dark place for many years. One day, about two weeks ago, a vision came to me as I walked the steppes. There was a man’s face, your face my friend,” his smile grew larger and he looked at me, “and with it came a voice, ethereal and distant. ‘He will help you solve the puzzle, and he will set you free’ it said; and then there was nothing but the face. I tried to speak with it, to learn something more, but since then I have yet to hear anything else from this distinctive voice. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before.” I let it all sink in, and sat quietly for a few seconds without speaking. So this voice is engineering the fates of many. I was living in some synchronistic dream world, and the pieces were falling into places after many years of culmination. Ever a wonder, this universe. Eduardo looked at me with expectation. I could tell in his mind’s eye he was once again young, reliving the days when the lust for knowledge had driven him mad and he had a world of possibilities in front of him. “So, we find ourselves dancing to a tune that we cannot hear aye? I too was visited by a vision, probably the same time you had yours. It was of this valley you speak of. In it I received the name of the place, which was called the Valley of M’artenoir by its inhabitants. I saw a pillar in the middle of a stone circle, which emits a blinding light at the fall equinox,” at this statement his joy increased, if that were possible. “With the vision came the voice and it told me that the salvation of humanity rested upon me. That I was to be there at the appointed time, and eternal bliss would be my reward. This is all happening so quickly Ed. I have seen and done many things that most would find unbelievable, and I thought I had a grasp on what was occurring around me. But, the times are a changing, it seems. A few weeks ago I was living in a cave, and now I am on a path that is obscured by the mists of time.” I sat silent for a minute, lost in thought. Ed offered me a beer which I declined. “It would seem Ed that we have been chosen for a very important task. For some reason or another, it was we who were contacted and it is we who must heed the call. I don’t know about you, but I intend to discover what is so important at this site. What do you make of all this?” “Well, I imagine I was chosen because I am the only one who knows of the valley‘s location. I have kept it a secret from my colleagues all these years, because of my foolish pride. I cannot speculate why you were chosen, but I’m sure that you know the reason why.” He was right. I knew my mental abilities were strong, but I had no inkling that I was one of the only man living who was capable of carrying out the wishes of this strange voice. Though how could I be anything else? Perhaps that is why Master Ramm took such an interest in me, and taught me everything that he knew. He told me that I had great things inside me, just waiting to be set free; he must have seen what I now suspect. “Yes I suppose I do. What do you say? Will you take me to this valley? Will you join my pilgrimage?” The words hung in the air for a few moments, and his answer did not surprise me. “Of course my friend. It would be an honor, and besides, I have been waiting for answers too long to give up now.” We had less than two weeks to reach the valley, and I still didn’t know what was to happen when we arrived. I decided to meditate on this new development. I arranged a meeting with him the following Tuesday afternoon, to plan our trip, and I bid him a good day. He walked me out and gave me directions to a hotel upon my request. Afterwards he shook my hand with more enthusiasm than I would have thought possible. One did not need true-sight to see his elation. I liked Ed and we had become fast friends. After reading him I knew he was a good man, living how he wanted to, and harming nobody in the process. I left the building and walked around the campus for a time. The scenery reminded me of my college days, and I relived the four years in the time it took me to wander off campus. Though I walked through the city streets towards the hotel, I was not really there. I was taking a look at everything that led up to this past month. All the days spent sharpening my skills and looking ahead to the future. Here I was in the future that I had idealized, and it was not what I had seen in those days long gone. I had thought of going back to the States, with all the wisdom of the East, and changing the country. Bringing understanding of the Way to all my wayward kin, and helping to restore the equilibrium mankind had disrupted. Or I would go to New Zealand and raise a family. But in either fantasy nothing like this ever happened. Well, at least I had something to look forward to. The chance to bring about the salvation of mankind was not given to everyone, and I was grateful for the opportunity. Though the disembodied voice made me somewhat apprehensive, I was sure that I was making the right decision. Throughout my life the unknowns have always weighed heavily on my mind, and this was no different. If it had been my master’s voice that brought this mission to me, I would not question it. But, this new voice was a mystery to me. I walked the streets in the direction of the hotel, feeling hungry. For food, for answers, and for reassurance. I hadn’t eaten anything since the previous evening, and the noises coming from my stomach reminded me. I arrived in front of the hotel, which stood out from the other buildings that I had seen. The walls were not filthy, the doors were made of glass, and it was not adversely affected by the gloom. The doorman opened the door, and I was inside. The floors were marble and the place was decorated with paintings and sculptures, none of which were very good. Just the sort of art you expect to see in a hotel; completely uninspired and bland, art for the sake of money. I walked up to the counter, spoke to the hostess, and got a room. The bellhop was visibly disappointed that his services were not required, and I walked past the elevator to the stairs. I preferred stairs, because when I was younger I was stuck in an elevator with a soldier and a nun for fourteen hours. Not a pleasant experience. I arrived on the fourth floor after a few minutes of walking, found room No. 420, and entered my temporary home. It was sparsely furnished, having only a bed, a table set, and a television. After putting my knapsack down, I called room service, and ordered a garden salad, sushi, and four bottles of water. It was then that I remembered I hadn’t called my father yet. I picked up the phone and dialed his New York office. “Hello, Mr. Wilson’s office, how can I help you?” a perky female voice said after it rang three times. “Hi Pamela, can I speak to my dad please?” “My name isn’t Pamela, sir. And Mr. Wilson is in a meeting right now, can I take a message?” “Sure. Tell him that Elias called, and that he can reach me at the [hotel] in [Chilean port city]. Room number 420. Thanks a lot,” and I hung up before hearing her response. Knowing my dad, he’ll call back in a few minutes, the imaginary meeting an excuse to practice his putting in the office. I sat in silence for a short time, absorbed in thought. Since I received the summons, I have relived the vision many times, looking for details I had missed the first time around. I decided more reviewing was necessary. I started to meditate, relaxing my body and mind, feeling the fluid nature of my cellular awareness give way to stillness. I concentrated on the memory, the time, and my location when I was contacted. The scene unfolded slowly before me; the crumbling avenues arranged in a concentric circle, the standing stones which I knew served as conduits for planetary energy, and the main obelisk that dominated the landscape of the city. There were no animals living in the area, and the plants were thriving in the high energy atmosphere. Knowing what to look for, I could tell the dwellings were not constructed so much as formed. The small buildings were dome shaped, and had oddly shaped doorways. There was no evidence of irrigation or a water supply of any kind, and there were no fire pits. My search was interrupted by a distant ringing noise I knew to be the telephone. So I receded from my state of concentration and was once again conscious of the world around me. I walked over to the table and picked up the receiver. "Hi Dad," I said, knowing it was him. "Elias? How did you know it was me," he asked, in a shocked tone. He knew that I had gifts, but he was always surprised when I used them. "I would think after this long you would know the answer to that question Dad. Besides, nobody else knows I'm here. How has everything been going?" "Oh, you know. The same old things; running the business, dealing with the market and the shareholders. I've got a new girlfriend, she's great. Looks like Madonna, but prettier. Aside from that not much. What about you? I haven't heard from you in almost a year, I was beginning to think you had been killed or something. Why didn't you call me?" The question I knew I was going to hear. Took a little longer than I expected to hear it though. “Well, I was living in the wilderness until about two weeks ago. I told you that I was going to be away from civilization for a long time. Anyway, I lived off the land and I was content to continue like that. Very recently I was visited by a vision, and I was told to come here. I have learned much Father, since we last spoke. Oh and thanks for not canceling my credit card. It would have been difficult for me to get here without it.” "Oh it's not that big of a deal son. You hardly use it anyway. How long are you going to be in Chile? I would like to visit you, lay eyes on my little boy for a change." "Well, I'm probably going to be here for a few more weeks. I planned on going to this ruin pretty soon; I have things to find out there. If you wanted to come down I would be fine with it. Are you sure you're not too busy up there?" "Pshhh, nothing is more important to me right now than seeing you. The company will be fine without me for a few days. I'm so happy right now, you don't even know son. I'll be on the next flight to Chile. I'll give you a call when I arrive. I love you son." "I love you too Dad." And with that I hung up the phone. Talking to my dad always made me feel better, and this was no exception. There are very few people I ever got really close to, and my father was one of them. Ever since I was little his voice just soothed the problems of the world away. Well, at least when the problems were small ones. Like getting rejected by a girl or bullied at school. I don’t think any amount of talking could erode the memory of the megalithic problems that face the world at this point. It was my duty to shoulder some of the weight forced on the people, even though I was not to blame. It was the responsibility of all Enlightened Ones to alleviate the burdens placed on the collective unconscious, to make life livable on this crazy sphere. So I was taught, and so I would teach, if ever I get the opportunity. My food arrived, after a few minutes of silent contemplation. The bellhop wheeled in the cart, which had my meal atop it. I thanked him in Spanish, gave him a dollar tip, which he was quite pleased to receive, and he left me to eat. The salad was satisfactory, containing everything I would expect: romaine lettuce, zucchini, tomatoes, and every dressing I could ask for on the side. The sushi, however, did not look very appetizing. I ate all of it, despite my reluctance, and drank one of the water bottles. After the light meal, I meditated for another two hours, trying to understand this situation I found myself in. I recalled something Master Ramm said when I first met him. “Everyone travels a path to heaven that is for them alone; the destination may be the same, but it is the journey that is important.” I had a few options, but only one path seemed worthwhile; the one I was traveling. Thinking of what could happen or what might have is an inherent waste of time. This is happening, and so it will be. Where my journey was to take me I couldn't tell, but I was certain that it would be worth finding out. * * * * * * We had reached the mountain trail that led to the Valley after only three hours of hiking. We made a fine troupe; Eduardo brought up the rear, leading our pack mule along the rocky terrain. His research assistant, Miguel Vila Lobos, walked ahead of him, and I was leading the procession. The path was not clear, but I knew where to go. I could read Ed’s mental impressions, and knew when I was straying from the path. It was beautiful country and the air was thin and crisp. It was very cold at this altitude, but I had deadened my nerves and was reasonably comfortable. Ed and Miguel, however, were feeling frosty despite their thick wool coats and insulating layers of cloth. I was wearing a parka I had bought upon Ed’s insistence before we left the city, but I didn’t really need it. The peaks of the Andes blocked the light from the setting sun, and cast us into a twilight world of muted colors and fading sunlight. Shrubbery of many varieties grew out of the rocky outcroppings and brushed against my clothes, releasing their pollens and seeds with the motion. I had been silent for most of the journey, listening to the wildlife, and thinking of what awaited us. Eduardo and Miguel spoke occasionally, and the silences were interrupted by Miguel singing songs of romance and loss. He had a resonant and pleasant voice that reminded me of David Bowie. Things were going quite well, and we had two days to set up camp before the equinox. I was in high spirits, and my companions were also feeling cheerful. Miguel was a fine specimen of the collegiate community of South America. He had been working with Ed for three years, and the two were great friends. He was a grad student with a bachelor’s degree in ancient cultures, who worked exclusively with Ed on various projects, and I could tell he had nothing but respect for his mentor. He was two years older than me, but it didn't show. He had the face and demeanor of a boy, and was quite happy to be chosen for this 'research project', as Ed described it. I walked ahead while recalling the day I was reunited with my father. When I told him of the summons I had received, he was less than encouraging. I wasn't going to talk about it at all, but he had a way of getting things out of me. We were having lunch in some restaurant near my hotel, and we were making small talk. Reminiscing about days gone by, and the good times we had while I was growing up. I always loathed this type of conversation and the utter lack of substance, but I indulged him. We never really had anything in common to talk about since I found my true self, and it seemed to make him happy to remember those carefree days. When I told him that a voice told me to come here, he wanted me to go see a psychiatrist in New York. "You’re hearing voices? That doesn't sound too good Elias. I've heard of people hearing voices, and then they do some really strange things. You might have brain damage. When was your last CAT scan?" "I don't think I've ever had one." I tried to assure him that I was sane, but I wasn't so sure myself. He never really believed in my chosen way of life, but he was not overly critical either. Outwardly he appeared to respect my decisions, but the way he acted when I talked about my sojourn and spiritual renewal I could tell he was holding back his true feelings. They were easily readable now, bubbling over his unconditional love for me. He really thought there was something wrong with me, but I didn’t let that bother me. Shortly after the dinner that night he flew back to New York. I felt like there was something left unsaid. So I called him on the plane and told him that I loved him, even though he thought I suffered from some mental illness. Without undeniable proof I don’t think he’ll ever believe me, even though he wants to. When I reached the Valley's rim, I stopped and looked down on the buildings and dense foliage that I had seen so many times in my mind. They were barely visible in the twilight, but the moon was coming out and they were getting clearer and more distinct. The rays of light cast the scenery into shades of opalescence and dark shadows which accented the deserted appearance of the city. The buildings had the same rounded appearance that I remembered, and in the moonlight they looked like broken crocodile eggs strewn on swamp grass. Miguel reached the summit and stood next to me, looking upon the abandoned city for the first time. He didn’t seem all that impressed until he made a more judicious survey of the area. At that moment his attitude immediately changed. On his face was etched the wonder and curiosity that I could feel reverberating in his mind. Endless questions filled his thoughts, erupting into torrents of psychic energy. He knew instantly that this was a rare find, and that he was very lucky to have this opportunity. The Professor and the mule caught up to us, and Ed cast his eyes once again on the main subject of his research for the past three decades. He has devoted his every spare moment to ascertaining the origin of this unexplained metropolis, and he was now closer than ever to his goal. The exhilaration literally emanated from his body and soul, creating golden waves of elation that pulsed into the surrounding air. Towering in the center of the ruin was the obelisk that concentrated the electromagnetic energy that surrounds and flows through Earth. I knew of lay lines and vortices that collected and stored excess energy, but I have never encountered one that was this powerful. I could sense all around me the sheer magnitude of potential energy centered on the monolith, just waiting to be unleashed by someone who knew how. Many times Master took me to vortices of planetary energy, which the Hindus called prahna. We went in the forest, and walked for days to find a standing stone in a small clearing. The place was left unaffected by the passage of centuries. Even then, so early in my training, I could feel the prahna surrounding me and filling every space I could conceive. Master told me of the energy that originates in all beings, large and small. The prahna that we humans have is limited by our frail physical forms, but planets are giants that live for billions of years. Their size and age allows for much prahna to form in them. In planets the energy is vast and almost limitless. He told me that dragon lines, as the Chinese called them, are conduits for the Earth's prahna to flow, like our own arteries and veins. At certain points the conduits pool and collect, to form chakras on the Earth's surface. These are the vortices that ancient cultures have known of for millenia. It is at one such vortex that I stood in right now. I have seen one before, but the energy here was simply unfathomable. The plants were vigorous and hearty, and the area was very calming. Though I had seen this place before, I could not help feeling awed at the sight. Everything was intact and solid after centuries of neglect, and deep in the valley the river flowed southward, searching for the Pacific Ocean. The valley was deeper than I had recalled, but that must have been due to my aerial perspective. The animals and plants lived here, free from the tyranny of mankind. I could feel a sense of peace descend upon me, soothing the slight anxiety that I had been carrying since India. What was waiting for me here, in this secluded bowl of rock? I have never before experienced such a strong sense of purpose and meaning, but I didn't understand any of it. I was supposed to bring freedom and wisdom to my fellow man, but I didn't even know what I was meant to do. All of my concerns were swept away by the electricity of this place, and the tranquility that permeated my soul. "Here we are gentlemen. The Valley of M'artenoir," I said.

1 As the clouded skies manifested the pale orange luminance characteristic of dawn in the East, there was scarcely any activity in the forest surrounding the base of my mountain home. The evening dew still lay thick on the plants and grasses as I left the cave entrance. Always relishing the feeling of wet grass on bare feet, I was filled with a deep sense of contentment looking upon the lands green slopes, filled thickly with trees and flowering plants. Vividly I could recall the dream voyage of the previous evening, an adventure spent flying through the air and out into the void of space, witnessing the emptiness from which sprung all existence. On this day I awoke with the sun to follow the honey-guides to an easy breakfast before my morning meditations. So I hefted my knapsack and set out. My closest warm-blooded neighbors were a family of the yellow birds, and I had developed a symbiotic relationship with the tiny avians. On occasion we would share in the acquisition and ingestion of a morning bounty. I walked towards the small tree they made their home, and reached out with my thoughts to the birds. The mother was in caring for the young, but the father was not far off gathering small beetles for his family. I communicated empathetically my intention of a honey-run, he came flying toward me in short order, and we were off. The father guided me to a close beehive, barely a quarter mile away, and I proceeded to take care of the problem of the bees. After a few months of practice I discovered the best way to humanely evict the flying insects. The insect’s rather primitive brain is easily controlled by the mind influencing techniques I learned from Master last year. Adapting the techniques to insects took little effort, and was far less complicated an endeavor than influencing a mammal or bird. Though using them simultaneously on an entire beehive posed a challenge at first. I began the preliminary steps of meditation, regulating my breath and relaxing my being, and after a few short minutes I had ascended to the third tier of consciousness. I began extending my sphere of influence and gradually became aware of the inner workings of the beehive. I felt the gatherers buzzing through the entrance in arrival and departure, the queen laboring in her birthing chamber, the nursemaids feeding the larvae, and the workers toiling away at the myriad tasks of maintaining the nest. After I had become familiar with the rhythm of the hive, I reached out to one of the workers near the entrance and forced him to perceive a great threat to the colony. He enlisted a horde of his fellows in a counter-attack wave. When they surged out of the hive I flooded their senses with what I could only describe as white noise. Instantly they went into a sort of panicked circular flying pattern, as they struggled with the lack of an environment to interact with. Flying blind as they were the insects would strike me frequently, feeling like drops of torrential rain on my body. After the last of the bees had exited the nest, I cracked it open at a point of weakness, and filled one of my baby food jars with the sticky golden honey. Then I extracted the royal jelly and poured it into another jar. I made it a point to leave the bird a sizeable portion of honey, but the royal jelly was all for me. It didn’t bother me that I was robbing the bees, quite literally, blind, for they would survive. I made it a point not to burgle the same hive more than twice a fortnight. I gave the bird a few minutes to extract as much honey as he could, while maintaining my concentration on the insects. After he had made a couple of trips to his nest, I began to flood the bees with a sense of well being and happiness. When enough of them had ceased to maneuver in ridiculous patterns, I granted them once again the use of their senses. They went back to their normal routine and I went about mine. I bid farewell to my partner in crime and began to walk aimlessly while eating my pilfered breakfast. The honey and jelly made a fine topping on the crackers that were my only permanent foodstuff. My waterskin was nearly empty, so I started searching for familiar territory. Near my cave, not more than a mile away, ran a beautifully clear stream fed by an icy spring. I made my way towards it, taking in all the sights and sounds of my surroundings. The early morning sun shown green filtered through the canopy stretching above me, and the forest began to vibrate with the comings and goings of its inhabitants. As I walked to the stream I felt the energy of this place, the absolute majesty which culminated after eons of life and the struggle for survival. The flies and mosquitoes flitted about in their elaborate waltzes, while the fish and birds attempted to make meals of the tiny dancers. All around me the cacophony of existence could be heard in abundance. The local simians howled to announce their territory and the rodents scurried about in unseen corners searching for nuts and berries safe to eat. I was in high spirits as I reached the creek, and filled my skin with the sparkling liquid of life. I felt a pang of regret when I thought of the millions of souls who knew nothing of the joys and pleasures one could experience in the wild lands of our ancestry. I began to strip off my light clothing, first my moccasins and then the blue jeans that I would never relinquish despite my disdain for other such modern contrivances. The shirt was last, for I wore no undergarments. I always found them to be completely unnecessary, and have not worn a pair for nearly eight years. I placed my garments in a pile near the bank and had a refreshing dip in the clear shallows. The chilly water did not pose a great discomfort, as I was by now very capable of controlling my reception of nerve impulses. I could feel the pebbly bottom, both smooth and bumpy under my feet. I carried no soap or other cleaning substances, instead relying on the pure water for that end. It has been a long time since I have washed my hair, and it has grown matted and no doubt wild looking. But such things mattered little to me. My personal appearance couldn’t affect me negatively, considering I haven’t so much as smelled another human in nearly three months. At times I would long for the verbal interaction and communion with another person, and during those times I would remind myself of the general ignorance purveyed by such beings. It pains me to recall that I was once one of those multitudes of uncaring automatons concerned only with my personal wealth and happiness. I quickly banished the negative connotation that came along with that line of thinking, and started to float down the crystalline river. I began to near my meditation rock, which was a little ways downriver. It sat motionless and distinct near the middle of the river, smooth and nearly flat on the top. It must have weighed several tons, because it was a massive bit of granite and limestone. I had no way of accurately measuring the boulder, but it couldn’t be smaller than twelve feet across, and the river was nearly ten feet deep at places. Quite a hefty stone. I have been coming to this spot to meditate for nearly a month, since I discovered its picturesque beauty. I have been steadily infusing my thought patterns into the area, and I have come to realize that I am not the first person to meditate on this precious stone. Through my probing into the past I have learned that it was placed here by a long forgotten prince of India, whose name has been lost to most of history. The stone originally came from the bedrock under the tree which Buddha was said to have sat under for most of his life. Since being placed here this stone has been the stage for the ascension to enlightenment of many a yogi. Now I made it mine, and I found great pleasure in that fact. Still naked, I sat cross-legged on the gray surface of the hulking pebble. I relaxed my body and mind, and after twenty minutes I was pulled into the ethers I knew as being the current limit of my ability. I was aware of every signal and movement flitting about me. I was able to feel the water flowing beneath me. I sensed the wilderness all about me alive with electromagnetism, that magical aspect of reality that allows the existence of life. I began to reach further into myself, looking for the answers I knew to be there. By now all conscious thoughts had cease to flow, and I was aware of the thoughts of others being received by my being. I could sense the radio and micro waves surging about one another carrying their information, waiting only for someone to receive it. I could hear the sound carried by a wave if I attuned myself to it, and I started listening to some news station broadcasting from New Delhi. They spoke of mounting international tensions, the further deforestation of the South American rainforests, and the growing overpopulation of Asia as a whole. Such things weighed heavily on me, so I retreated from the airwaves. I fell inward and stayed for an indeterminable amount of time, seeing only brilliant light and hearing nothing. Then something erupted within me in a tumult of sensation and meaning. I could see an emerald valley nestled amongst sheer cliff faces, and a silver river falling from one of the slopes into a basin on the valley floor. An impressive city must have stood there once, with sloping avenues and simple houses, but now only ruined remnants remained. The sun was setting behind one of the mountains, and a single ray of light struck a seemingly ordinary obelisk set in the center of the city. Suddenly a fiercely bright light shone from the pillar, paling even the brilliance of the sun, and washed over me in a wave of iridescent fury. Despite the seeming danger from such happenings, I felt a sense of belonging that far surpassed the strength of anything I’ve felt before or since. The shock of such a thing entering into my shielded thoughts pulled me out of my meditations. But this was not an escape. Suddenly I was barraged by a hail of thoughts. The Valley of M’artenior. The fall equinox. Destiny. Freedom for mankind. Eternal truth and wisdom. The implications were fairly clear to me. I was to be at this Valley of M’artenior during the fall equinox. I had no idea what was to happen, but had I felt the urgency of the summons I might have guessed what sort of life changing events were to take place. 2 Though I have had many premonitions and lucid dreams, this powerful invasion of my psyche was unlike anything I have experienced before, and it jarred me quite a bit. The images lingered in my third eye for many minutes as I tried to make sense of it all. My goal was laid out clearly before me, and yet the reasons remained a mystery to me. A part of my mind, no doubt the left hemisphere, attempted to disregard this occurrence. It was merely an aberration, a delusion, brought about by many years of altering my mind via chemical and metaphysical means. I was losing my grip on reality. Just as the waves lap quietly on the shores, I heard my Master’s voice from the right: Maybe your right young one. Maybe you have lost hold of reality. But then, what is reality? Maybes were a large discussion point with him. Even after his death he still teaches me. Ahh and what is death? He had his own way of being wise. And I loved him for it. If I were in your position, I would heed the call. It's not everyone who gets this honor. It wasn’t very often that he spoke in my thoughts, but it was always during a period of great importance, so I took the hint and began planning my journey. I was not sure where this Valley was located, but I felt instinct pointing me towards South America. No doubt those mountains I saw were some remote part of the Andes, which would explain my subconscious feelings regarding South America. Or maybe it was the deforestation. It has been more than three years since I have set foot out of India, and I wondered if it was safe to travel anymore. Often during my years of isolation I have listened to broadcasts which made me feel uneasy about air travel and the complications involved nowadays. I felt it best to charter a boat to take me to South America. I much preferred sea travel. Ever since I was a boy the ocean has represented one of the great unknowns of life, and I have always been drawn to those depths of darkest cerulean. I recall the many times my father and I would go sailing on his yacht; to the Bahamas, to Jamaica, to Tonga, and southern Indonesia. I count myself very fortunate for having those experiences. I would have to discover the location of this Valley of M’artenoir, which seemed the most daunting of all necessities. I suppose that I could speak to an archaeological authority on South America, describe the place to him, and perhaps get a point in the right direction. Or I could astral project and discover the location on my own. Such a thing would tax the limits of my capabilities, and I would have to take great caution not to get marooned. Master Ramm told me stories of astral travelers becoming trapped in the ethereal plane, floating forever in that limbo above and beyond our own universe doomed to spend eternity watching time pass and the world wither. Unable to communicate with the material, and forced to see existence from the vantage of infinity. While such a prospect didn’t seem at all unappealing, my master’s glow seemed to grow truly dim and insubstantial when describing their fates, and he rarely allowed such feelings to permeate his aura. I felt as if it were not something I wished to have happen to me. So I would elect astral projection as a last resort, and only in close proximity to feasible locations of the ancient city. Money wasn’t much of an issue; I count myself fortunate for that. My father is a stock market Guru, just as surely as Master Ramm is a spiritual one. He isn’t a religious man, so I suppose he has to have something to give him the release. I also count myself fortunate he has never seen fit for me to manufacture my own means in this consumer society. I know that I could easily find a researching position in just about any country, but the fact is I don’t really want a career in physics at this point. I could not limit myself to doing assigned projects for defense contracts and questionable companies. I wouldn't want to go back to school either. I believe I am doing more for mankind in my own way than any white-collar researcher is. Speaking of my father, I should probably call him when I get to town, seeing as I haven’t spoken to him since I entered into this hermitage. Can it really have been a year since I last spoke to him? It seems like such a long time when I think about it, but I have been so content here that I barely noticed its passing. I wonder if he is concerned with my lack of communication, I can’t remember telling him I would call frequently, but then I feel that maybe I should have anyway. Time is the master of us all, so I have heard it said, but the seasonal changes warrant little concern for me, as I have not a family to care for or a permanent dwelling to protect. I had no crops to tend and no animals to take care of. The rainy season brings me a sense of great joy, in fact, and I meditate as the downpour strikes my naked flesh. With these thoughts just leaving my mind, I stood up and began the walk upstream to my clothes and temporary home. I skirted the edge of the brook, so as not to soak my already dry body. It must have been an hour at least since I had set out for my meditation stone, and I was thinking of the timeframe which I had to arrive at this Valley of M’artenoir. I had roughly four weeks to reach my destination, and as of yet I didn’t even have a solid location to call my destination. But my master always told me to have faith in the universe, and to travel the path that lies ahead. And so I will. Looking at the tropical bliss that surrounded me, I felt a bit of regret. I was finally to leave the place I have called home for nearly three years. The memories came rushing back; the many months learning under Master Ramm, the days spent sitting under trees and helping the people with their problems, the lessons he taught me regarding the essence of spirituality, and the pain and loss I felt when I discovered he had died in his sleep. The weeks of wandering the country with no direction or goal, sleeping in filthy alleys that smelled of urine and death. Drinking only spirits and eating next to nothing. It was a dream that pulled me from that path of self-destruction. Every mentor I’ve ever had was there, and they were all looking at me with such disappointment I could not help but weep. My physics professor Albert Trenton, my high school English teacher Mr. Wehner, my father, Mahareshi Ramm and a host of other personal heroes that would no doubt belong to fellow members of my generation. They just stared at me with the same eyes they would use to view a dead animal lying on the roadside. And then in unison, in a voice that I didn’t recognize, they bade me go to a place of great power; to live in isolation until I was ready to be alive once again. When I awoke I set out at once in the darkness into the jungle [outside someplace] for a home that presented me with enough energy to be deemed powerful, and have strayed very little from the area since. I found my cave and the stone, and I was content. After my mind had lost the taint of whiskey I was once again ready to participate in this life. Could it be that I was sent to this place by a dream, so that I may become able to receive such a summons? Sitting atop the stone which was imbued with such power by the previous Masters, could I have been in intended recipient of the call? I can’t help but think that my whole life has been leading up to that moment an hour ago. All my years of toil and conditioning had build up to that one instant. I felt that life had a purpose for me, and that there would be great rewards waiting for me at the end of my mission. I arrived at my clothes to discover they were being inspected by a young [oldworldape], and I shooed my distant cousin away. I then soaked my clothes in the river and squeezed the water out after a few minutes of submersion. I hung them over a branch near my cave to dry, and I entered my home. Gathering my few possessions in my knapsack, getting dressed for travel, and cleaning out my cave for a future occupant took a very short time. I was very fond of my hat, which I made out of reeds and weaved in a unique fashion. And my boots were ideal for the long walk ahead of me to the village on the river, where I would acquire a boat ride to the nearest port city. From there a ship to the western coast of South America. How great it will be to feel the sea breeze on my face, and live the life of a sailor once again. Sailing always put me in a place of great concentration, even at a young age. I would scan the horizon, and see nothing but rolling waves. It brought me great calm, and the waves of energy flowed through me just as they did the sea. I felt insignificant compared to the vast emptiness of the ocean, until I learned what lay beyond this planet earth, and what lay in my own mind. Ever since the ocean offers little concern for me, and even if some accident would befall me, I would never perish at sea. At least not anymore. I would signal some whales, and they would assist me. The master explained it in great detail. He said the whales were inclined to help one who could speak to them in their minds. He also said they like to be met with respect, and that the whales were making music before we could walk upright. I felt bad for the whales, even before I realized they were sentient. I have read many articles of whale cancer, and the high concentrations of manmade toxins in the cetaceans. I wondered what the whales would say to me, or would they even feel fit to answer? Surely my ilk has not been kind to the fellows over the past millennia, but I didn’t exactly feel responsible. I didn’t know what lay before me, but I did know that any hardship was worth the prize of eternal bliss. I also didn’t know that the journey to the Valley of M’artenoir would only be the start of a much longer one. * * * * * * The sea was choppy and rough on this, the seventh day of our voyage. The peaceful façade the ocean had presented during the first few days had shattered and now we were in for some dicey weather. The sea breeze was salty yet not unpleasant, and my thoughts lingered on the events of the last week. I arrived in [Indian port city] after a long trek through the jungle, and I was met with looks reserved solely for the Untouchables. I couldn’t much blame my fellow humans for their prejudice; for I know I have made my fair share of snap judgments. So I decided first to stay the night in a hotel and make myself more appealing. The woman at the counter made her best effort to smile and be polite, but the look in her eyes made it clear that she was disgusted with my appearance. My unkempt hair and beard must have made me look like a caveman, and I’m sure I didn’t smell too evolved either. But she gave me a room, after I paid up front, and I went to make myself more presentable. I had to call room service for a decent razor and scissors, but after that everything went smoothly. I decided to go and buy new clothes and provisions for the trip to South America in the morning, and fell asleep with all the speed of a man who hasn’t slept in a bed since the dawn of time. After waking up I made my way to the open air market that has existed in every port city since the days of yore. Clean-shaven and well rested, I elicited smiles from the girls I passed in the street and resentment from the men. To them I was just another American who came over to embrace a culture he knows nothing about. I found a tailor, bought three warm weather outfits, two for cold weather, and socks. I had forgotten how great a new pair of socks can feel, it has been so long since I have worn any. The tailor was a friendly man, all smiles and an aura of absolute warmth. I found everything I needed in the market and set out for the docks. You can go anywhere in the world and yet the port district of every city you encounter will be basically the same. The ships, the sailors, and the whores all playing their parts well. All were present and accounted for. I found a rundown tavern and entered with the confidence necessary not to be mistaken for an easy mark. While any attempt at robbing or mugging me would surely fail, I felt it best to let them know I wasn’t a fool. The bar was densely populated with seamen of every race, creed, and age. I sat in-between a large Russian man, and an Asian man with an eye patch. After some small talk and a few drinks I found out the Russian was from a cargo ship specializing in produce from South America. I gave my thanks to the gods of fate, and inquired as to his captain’s policy on passengers. He named a price that I could easily discern was at least double what the captain charged. So I asked if I could speak to his captain. He arranged a meeting and after short negotiations with a short man who spoke broken English, I had chartered my passage on the great ship ‘Persephone Rising’. She was a hulking mass of steel and iron, designed to take the largest ocean swells with a rolling gait. Constructed nearly sixty years before I was born, she was an old girl. She belonged to the Soviet Union before its degeneration, and was quite an impressive vessel. We were due to shove off in half a week and I spent the rest of the time enjoying the city. Eating the foods I have grown to love, watching the street performers, and seeing all there was to see. There is something to be said of the energy that permeates cities in Asia. They are unlike the cities in America, in that the people are not in a rush to get where they are going. The people interact with one another here, and it gave me great enjoyment to observe the animated discussions and watch the children laughing while playing their whimsical games. The ships crew was polite enough, though they seemed to have a certain aversion to me. I could hardly read these crusty sailors, for they were unnaturally guarded against outsiders, but I had limited success with the ships cook. He said that the crew disliked me because they disliked all of the passengers they have ever had. It was simply a matter of association. But I took it in stride, for I didn’t really need friends on a Russian cargo vessel. My money would make sure I got to South America unharmed. At one point a drunken third mate attempted to fight with me over an accidental collision in the ships bowels. I sensed his violent intent exploding into action behind me, and I turned around and jabbed my knuckles into his exposed windpipe in one swift movement. He fell to the floor gasping for air, and I left him to his humiliation. It really pains me to have to resort to such means to defend myself from harm. Ironic that I cause myself pain by not allowing myself to be hurt. I assume that the third mate told his fellows of my superhuman reaction time, for I did not receive any more trouble for the duration of the trip. I spent the [time it takes to sail from India to South America] of free time I had much the same as I would any other day of any other year. I meditated for a few hours a day, I ate sparingly, and I spent the rest of my time contemplating the great mysteries and viewing the wonders that are presented to me. I might as well have been alone on the ship, for I had little contact with the crew or captain. Although I did have the sky to keep me company. The night sky when viewed from the oceans is one of the most beautiful things you can hope to see. The stars are bright as fireflies hovering over a black lake, and the moon seems to outshine everything but the sun. One can easily see the many falling objects entering the Earth’s atmosphere, and the dazzling trails of fire they leave in their wake. It makes me think of my ancestors, who no doubt looked up at the same sky with the same sense of awe. The people who live in the shadows of skyscrapers hardly ever see the masterpiece that is the heavens. I did happen to see a pod of whales while off of starboard one evening, and it filled me with admiration for the tenacious cetaceans. Surely it would be better for them to stay in the somewhat isolated arctic waters, where there is little to no human interference, and yet they continue to travel there ancestral migration routes. So I began to center myself, and concentrate on the inner stillness that comes with years of meditation. I felt around for the eldest of the humpbacks, and found the venerable matriarch of the clan. I focused on the ideas I wished to convey, and with great respect I filled her mind with the thoughts. Salutations my ocean dwelling friend. Who addresses me? I felt her query. It is I, a humble man who seeks the wisdom of the deep. Ahhh a man. Many migrations have come and gone since I have felt the presence of a gifted one. What is it you ask of me? I seek to know everything that I can, and all that you can tell me. Do you know what our purpose is on this planet? Your purpose is unknown to me, though I sense great things in store for you my tiny friend. We of the People have spent many millennia trying to accelerate the evolution of our kind. To transmute our consciousness into the infinite. Yes it is much the same with my People, except we have strayed further and further from the path. We seek personal gain over the welfare of the planet and our fellow creatures. What do you know of mankind and our history? My mother told me, just as I tell my children, that the humans are a very recent addition to the planet. Our songs maintain that you appeared from nothing and took over the land. We have sung many songs of the trials presented to us by the humans, and each ends with hope. There is little that we know of your history, though we know much about you. You sought to harvest our fathers and mothers for energy, and take our food for your own. You have driven the ocean into a state of turmoil and desolation. You have become more and more dangerous as the moons grow and die. Many of my kind suffer from maladies that did not exist before you came about. Your broadcasts drive some of us to madness and the long death of suffocation on the beaches. It has caused many of my brothers to give up hope. But I have seen in my minds eye the end of mankind. Over time the world will be restored to its former glory, and we shall once again rule the seas. I was aware that we caused you great harm, but I didn’t quite realize the extent to which our actions have altered the oceans. It saddens me greatly to know such things, and I wish there were something that I could do to end your plight. But, I am just one man. Surely I could do something about the misery brought on the whales by my brothers. I know not what I could do, but I shall reflect on it in my meditations from now on. I do not blame you, just as I would not blame one of my own for something that is out of his control. You’re too young to be responsible. But there is something that you can do. Try to live your life as you see fit, not as others dictate. You are wise for a human. What is your name? I should like to give it to the next child born to my family. My father gave me the name Elias. My Master gave me the name [Tarahmun]. Whichever you prefer. Well farewell whale-friend Elias [Tarahmun], the wise human. May the currents carry you to your destiny swiftly and without fail. I will sing songs of you to all my brethren. Goodbye my friend. But what is your name? I am called Grandmother. Farewell Grandmother. And with that I broke contact with the mighty mammal, and the pod set off on the trail their ancestors blazed many years ago. As they were leaving I could hear their song, it was heartrending and exultant at the same time. I could still hear it when I laid down to sleep. * * * * * * We arrived on the western coast of Chile, and docked in the port of [insert Chilean port]. The dock was a slab of concrete at least a quarter mile long, it dwarfed the aged cargo hunker and was reminded once again of man’s intrusion into the ocean. The captain took the second half of his fare and bid me good day. And I was once again on the continent of South America, in the land of ancient civilizations and Western exploitation. I have been here once before, my father and I took a vacation in Peru after I graduated from high school. It was a splendid couple of weeks, and I learned a lot about myself in the highlands and mountains. I left the landing stage and found myself in a metropolis that was in no way favorable to the senses. The air smelled noxious due to pollution and it was absurdly loud. A haze lay over the city, glowing orangey and obscuring the distances, and I felt sad for the people who spent their lives there. The few people I encountered were disinterested in everything, though the people in cars seemed animated enough. I knew enough Spanish to get around, and I could always read the surface thoughts of another in dire straits. So I discovered a university in short order and found an archaeologist who has dedicated his life to the ruins and mysteries of the Andes. At the time his secretary said that he was teaching a class, so I thanked her, inquired as to the location of the class, and I sat in on his lecture. The room was small, and there was no wasted space. It gave an overall sense of being crowded, yet there were plenty of places to sit. There were couches with fabric covers of varied colors, and stools along a counter on the north wall, where the windows were located. The room had many shelves and each was filled with papers, books, oddities, gewgaws, and bits of clay pottery, drawings and all types of things you would expect to see in a museum. Towards the south end of the room I could see an aging man writing on a chalkboard, talking halfheartedly in Spanish to a small gathering of young men and women, no more than six in all, who sat in a semi circle of small chairs around the fellow. He was quite preoccupied with his lecture, which illuminated some obscure ritual of the Inca people, and didn’t notice me come in and sit near the rear of the group on a small armchair. He turned around to answer a question solicited by a young fellow with a ponytail, and his eyes found mine. At first he looked at me as an invader, and he opened his mouth to pose some question about my identity. But he stopped. His aura changed at that point, from pale and reserved yellow to a brighter, friendlier amber glow. He seemed to recognize me and smiled knowingly. Then he continued where he left off answering the boys query and finished the lecture.

They say, that to be a successful author, one must convey the experience of the story. They also say, to write about what you know.  And so, it is with pleasure that I introduce this next writing. Tis my first attempt at a tale based around me, and my actual life. Normally, I like to write about the Fantasy Me, the one that is capable of anything. 
They say that better writers write in third person. They seem to say a lot of things. I never really cared for third or first person overmuch. They are equally cherished by myself. And, so it is, I have decided to write this one in first person.  With all events being seen through the eyes of Josh Ware, our protagonist, amateur musician, and incorrigible futurist.

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(Break)
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Like most days, the TV in the living room was the first thing to flood my hearing. Douche Face had the volume unnecessarily high. It was 10 in the AM, but I still needed 6 more hours of sleep to reach my standard of 10 hours a night. Normally I would roll over and try to deal with it, or listen to some music and drown it out. Today was a different day however. Madre mentioned something about an Earth Day festival in the park next to a zoo; she spoke of free food, free drinks, and musical performances. I was interested in a change in my Sunday morning routine, so I decided on attendance.
I could get into the minute by minute transcription of what followed my awakening, or I could tell the story. Entering the living room/main part of the household, I discover that there is a potato pancake breakfast awaiting me. I was enthused, as it was take out from the breakfast joint up the street, which makes particularly delicious potato pancakes.
Eating it, I also discovered, that despite the previous plans, Douche Face would be joining Madre, sister and I on our Earth Day Pilgrimage to the distant zoo. Maybe you would like a brief description of 'la Familia'?
 My mother has 2 children; my little sister and I. My father ditched my pregger teenage Madre, and so I was a bastard child. After my 9th winter, Madre meets Douche Face. Douche Face fucks Madre, and then there is a second child. Madre deals with Douche Face for awhile, but he leaves soon after Meadow, my baby sister, comes along. After 2 years or so of excommunication, Douche Face gets back in the mix.
Let that sit for about 5 years, and then you have our current situation. Douche Face and Madre are unhappy together, Meadow is a slightly annoying 8 year old child, and I am a fresh adult living at the ancient homestead. There are many problems that could be gone into, but it's not exactly relevant. All that you need to know is we're not a cheerful family.
So we are off to Earth Day at the Parkzoo. Promises of free stuff, and an afternoon of musak. I decided, upon advice from Madre, to bring my acoustic. Perchance I would have a use for it, to woo girls perhaps, or make money. In reality all that bringing my guitar did was associate myself with the image of a musician. It happens that I am a musician, but the idea is the same. And I would say, that in that, I was successful. More than 6 people asked me if I was going to be playing. Each one received a similar reply.
"I'd like to, but I'm not scheduled."
The car ride was a long and arduous journey that I survived, barely, with the assistance of my cd player. It is much easier to cling to hope, when one is listening to a Nick Drake album. Pink Moon indeed.
Drifting down the concrete rivers and the asphalt tributaries, I began to puzzle over my brother's lust for development. It has always been in my nature to wish improvement, but my brother's take things to a horrible end. I can say nothing good about a culture that glorifies celebrities. Nor would I say anything good regarding a culture that thirsts for the blood of infidels and turns a blind third eye to the use of entheogens. They talk of religion, but do they really know anything?
To harbor outdated views on anything is a recipe for extinction. How is it that such ancient ideas and mindsets manage to stay around, even when they have become obsolete? The glory of true perception is the changes that occur over time, streamlining the personality and the mental self. Its part of being a sentient being. As for prayer, I encourage it. With the use of the homo-superior brain one can achieve many things. 
We arrived at the Earth Day, after approximately 1 hour of driving. It was a wholly disappointing Earth Day. An Earth Day with tables and booths, with a low ratio of consumer to vendor. They sold things for dogs, supposedly 'green' treats and whatnots. I saw more than one muzzled dog. The balance was had like in all things. There were a few interesting people, but aside from them it was boring.
So I lugged my guitar around, with its handy back straps. The case is functional and wonderful. Padded handles and detachable straps make it the best I've ever had.
I talked to many. I met an author, named Michael something. He seemed like an alright fellow, and from what I read in his book he's basically a children's writer. Lots of illustrations that I remember vaguely as being adequate. I spoke with him for a moment, regarding copywriting material and my novel.
There was Jo, the wonderful woman who runs the hemp shop. She was kind enough to give me salted hemp seed, a great thing to eat. The taste lingers on the lips, and stirs in you an urge for more. A full Dixie cup will last you more than 30 minutes.
There was Copper, the genius alter ego that stood out just as I do, amongst the standard festival goers. He is a musician carpenter master worker, specializing in everything. More about him later, as we did chill for a lengthy time. Then there was Clint, a dreadlocked fellow Jesus archetype, whom I met only briefly. He indeed looked the part, but we didn't chat enough for a full analysis. I just mooched of his Indo Chinese Durian fruit. Very delicious, and apparantly inexpensive.
The music being played ranged from listenable to irritating. A standout player would have to be the Didgeridoo man, whose name I cannot remember. He had an assortment of the large wooden flutes, which included a PVC pipe from Home Depot. Another fine set was the one allotted to a band I would come to know as BleuGravy. It would be hard to find a better 2 guitar act than these guys, at least on a local level. Aaron and Dillon were their names I believe. They played a Bright Eyes song that I also play, which cemented our connection. It is a force of habit to enthuse over quality performances, and I usually make it a point to clap and talk to the guys after they play. Especially at small venues, where the crowd is weak; such as this Earth Day celebration. The guys were quality also in other departments, and I joined some email list of theirs. It also a force of habit to suggest jamming, with just about every musician that I meet. They expressed mild interest, but I doubt it will happen. Most aren't genuinely into it anyway. 
There was a Christian band playing when I showed up. I have heard plenty, but none like this. It was headed by adults whilst children filled the support ranks. Moderate tunes, but the lyrics were centered on Christian worship. I can't imagine being a fan of Christian music. Too much recitation of the negative kind.
I was standing around the hemp booth, speaking with Jo about those random nothings that fill one's head when speaking to an attractive member of the opposite sex, when the man whom I would know as Copper came over to buy a stash jar. We started chatting about this disappointing Earth Day. It turns out that Copper had been to the last 3 celebrations, and they were all better than this one. More people showed up, more people brought instruments, and more people were kind. We were early in our conversation when my new friend sprung the art upon me. We were talking about motivation and focus, and he decided to grace me with a performance of a spoken word piece called 'The Focus'. To say that I was impressed would be a gross understatement. He gave me a peek into the soul of creation, of art, and of genius. After expressing my appreciation for the wonderful poem, we exchanged numbers. Since that day I haven't yet seen Copper, but we did talk briefly about this drum circle I was supposed to attend. I regret every week that goes by without jamming with Copper. In him I saw what I could be, and it was good.
After milling around for a few hours, I migrated with my good friend Copper's crew to the other part of the park, where we could jam and get intoxicated in peace. So across a parking lot we strut. Copper was on a bitchen bicycle, which was completely outfit for travel purposes. It had a wagon that was easily capable of toting large weights of cargo, which at the time included his son. There were about 9 of us in total, children included. Some persons whose names I can't recall made up the rest of the troupe. We arrived at their usual spot, which was a picnic table right next to a small creek. Upon sitting we were graced with the smoking of a joint and the songs of Copper. Both were enjoyable.
Soon afterwards though, the family meant to go Northway, so I had to cut my chill time with the gang short. Not an entirely bad situation, for the next destination was my brother's house.
It had been a long time since I had seen Fiffer, and we made good use of our time. Playing videogames and chatting it up about things unrecallable. As is usual with my brother, a large portion of our time was devoted to flying, so, my head was getting the works most of the time. I got to see some people that have been missed. Such as Mike, a grand acquaintance [my favorite term to describe someone who I have had a brief friendship with], and Tiffany, one of my longest running romantic interests. It was a typical situation. Fif and I were sitting around, when Mike called, and brought the whole crew of 8 over. With Mike was Sierra [his girlfriend], Greg [another grand acquaintance], and Frank [a friend from the olde days]. Later we were graced by Tiffany, Grant [a fellow I met before, that I wouldn't call my friend {though I'm sure we would become friends with enough time and chill sessions}], and 2 annoying fat chicks whose names I can't remember. It was a good group, though it was a bit cramped in the small room. Well, a short time into the board meeting, the room degraded into the many fractured conversations that I know everyone is familiar with. I reacted to this situation the way that I always do. I played guitar.
In recent months, I have developed a finger picking style that is most pleasing to the ear. So while my friends were waxing idiotic, I went through my sequences. I played some songs that I wrote, minus the lyrics of course [the key to being a good musician is being able to play background music], and had some fun. I didn't get very far into my repertoire when they started to notice the sounds. The first one to say something was Frank Ellis, who was also the only one not high.
 "Next time I smoke I want music just like this playing."
I've noticed that for every 1 person that says something positive about my music, there are 2 or 3 that don't say anything at all. It's either because they don't like it, or they just don't want to say anything. I respect that. In my younger days I was somewhat shy, and I can understand their position. They don't want to put themselves out there, which for some people is the most painful part of voicing your opinion. It is much easier to say nothing at all.
After a little while, people started leaving. It was a Sunday night, and the kids had school in the morning. So they filed out, first the second group, then the first. This left Fif and I to our videogames and conversations. The only thing that I regret about that night was not rising to give the standard goodbye hug to Tiffany. The full body contact is always great, and that's one of the reasons the females enjoy my hugs so much. But, that wouldn't be the first time sitting on my ass cost me pleasure.

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(Break)
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The next morning I woke to cannabis and a wait. I was to wait until Fiffer's mom picked him up from school, and then I would be going to Moon Lake. There are some things that you should probably know about the Lake. It's an area notorious for its lowlifes, scum, and cheap rent. That being said, I spent about 2 years there, and made lots of friends. I still find myself going back there sometimes, despite my vow to never return. My plan was to meet up with Dan, the brother of an exgirlfriend. We met when I was dating his little sister, and ever since we have had a loose friendship. Dan has an amateur recording studio, so I planned on laying down some tracks.
Well, when I got to the Lake, Dan was still at school. So I went to the Zilla househole to wait some more, but they too were not home.
So I went to the Bar. It has a name, but I never saw fit to call it anything but the Bar. It is a place that I have gone many times, despite being under the drinking age. It is always good for meeting people, and seeing old friends.
I walked through the door quickly, as always, and headed straight for the bathroom. It is my habit to go straight to the bathroom of every bar I enter. It is strange, but it's what I do. I like to wash my face periodically, and even take a piss once in a while. I had barely gotten through the door when I was spotted by a drunken man, who instantly recognized our kinship. I may have mentioned it before, but it can never be said too many times. A guitar is the ultimate friendship creator or conversation starter. So we talked about guitars, I let him try out my classical [which he didn't like, he's into steel strings], and he played a few Clapton songs. This man would be one of the two Dennis' I met and jammed with that day. And he was by far the more serious one. Dennis 2, or Cool Dennis, is an easy going guy with a crack problem, but he's still better than Serious Dennis. Serious Dennis likes to hit people in the head with pipes for ignoring him, and threaten people with violence. But he does have the passion that makes a good musician.
My sole purpose for being there was to kill time, so that's what I did. I sat and flapped gums with the locals for about an hour, and it was halfway decent. I recognized Rob, a man I have known for years, playing a game of pool in the corner. I hadn't seen him in quite sometime, so we caught up as best as two self respecting acquaintances can.
"How ya been doing," Rob sighed.
"Pretty good man," says I," what about you?"
"You know, the usual. Taking care of my kids, getting drunk, and dealing with my woman."
I did know. The whole time I have known Rob I don't think anything has changed. Every time I see him he's had a beer, but I can't say I blame him. His wife is pretty intolerable.
Having wasted about an hour and a half, I figured it was time to check up on the Zillas. Usually those two don't spend too much time away from home. So I began the 9 minute trek to their house. Many times I have walked there, from many starting points. I have had more than my share of afternoons in the lair of the Zillas, and this day would add one more. Jake and Rachel Zilla are good friends, but they represent a different life, a different time. I meant to never return, but I continue to find myself drawn to their lair.
I arrived and found them home, up to nothing as usual. Camille was there, with her beau, Jake Zilla. That's another thing. It is sometimes uncomfortable to chill with an ex and her new thing. It sort of helps that it's Jake though. It doesn't bother me as much, because he's my portly young protégé. Fif and I took him under our wings years ago, and we contributed greatly to his ascension into Stonerhood.
Then there is the matter of Rachzillatron. Talking to Rachel is an easy thing indeed, as she is ever constant. We can always find something to discuss, though most of it is unimportant. I can't blame her for that though; it's hard to find meaningful conversations. She told me how she broke up with her boyfriend because he was an ass. It happens.
I used the phone to call up Danno and make sure everything was gravy. Twas. So I bid farewell to the ghosts of my past and departed. Barely a minute out of the house, I come across the double Dennis' driving to Serious Dennis' house. He invited me in for jamming and joint smoking, and as you know such an invitation you cannot decline, even if you have a prior engagement. When I entered his home, Dennis offered me a beer. Another thing that cannot be declined.
I tuned up the guitars as I drank, and we began playing. Serious Dennis is in possession of a masterfully crafted Gibson 12-string. I have heard 12-strings before, but this one was different. It purred. We played a couple of songs that Serious Dennis knew, and I learned that all you need to know is chords. I could easily keep up with Serious Dennis, and Cool Dennis was right up there with us. It wasn't much for personal expression, but the 3 of us sounded good. The joint came and went, and we played still. After playing a few songs and avoiding one potential violent situation, I decided it was time to leave. Busch beer is good, but it does bad things to people. I caught a ride with Cool Dennis to Dan's and then it began.
I walked into Dan's expecting to record a couple of songs, and chill out for awhile. What I got was different. Greeting me were Dan, Luis [another ex of Camille], and Jeremiah. I did not allow myself to appear disappointed. I did tell Dan some jamming partners would be cool, but I didn't expect this. I have played with Jeremiah before, and his style of playing is particularly hostile to my rhythm playing. He is a good guitarist, but he hasn't gotten to the point where he can mesh with people on the fly. I remember when I was in that position, and it wasn't fun. Luis is an alright bass player, and Dan can play the drums adequately, but the entire session was unequivocally lame.
They tried to play along to a song I had written, but it didn't go to well. They couldn't seem to find the groove, and it's not entirely their fault. I wrote the song to be acoustic only. But such a thing wouldn't discourage a skilled player. Shame that I wasn't with good players. It lasted about an hour, and the whole time I hid my dissatisfaction. I don't think that was the right thing to do given the circumstances, but I'm a nice guy. I don't like to make people feel bad, especially struggling musicians. I guess that comes from the fact that I was and am still a struggling musician, though I have gotten much better this past year.

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Well, that is how it goes. When I bring my guitar with me I can usually expect good times to follow. I haven't had many negative experiences with my gitbox, and if I have they are not significant enough to remember. All in all, I would say that my guitar has brought me more joy than anything else I have ever purchased [barring drugs of course].
I was given an electric guitar starting kit for Christmas when I was 12 and that is what started it. I look back on that year with regret, because I didn't appreciate the gift, and because I never applied myself to learn. It's discouraging when you don't have a teacher, and even more discouraging when you watch a Hendrix DVD. I lent the Squire Strat to a friend, and forgot about it. Then, when I was 14, a couple of friends and I wanted to start a band up. I was still sore on my lack of guitar talent, so I decided I would play bass.
After getting the bass starter kit, and learning some things, we began practicing and jamming together. It was a sophomoric effort, but we were young and enthusiastic. I left the band fairly early, due to certain issues. I couldn't make it to practices enough, and I was living sort of far away. The band is still together though, with 2 of the original members.
I kept up with the bass though, and I developed some skill. Soon I was playing songs and even composing a few of my own. I started high school, and got a girlfriend, which sort of took away from my playtime, but I practiced everyday. After about a year of bass, I started playing guitar on the side. Eventually I put down the bass, and embraced the love and tradition that is the acoustic guitar. Go forward in time 3 years and we have my current situation.
I am a multitalented human, discovering my unlimited potential. Everyday is a new test of my physical, mental, and metaphysical strength. I practice for pleasure, because it relaxes me. But also, I practice for the future. For a time when people will pay me to play. Wherever, whenever. I am always at the ready, to entertain, or mystify. Some have called me a minstrel, and some have called me a loser. Different times and different strokes. I would call myself a human being.

1
As usual, Henry Fleck was watching the clock, waiting for the hour of 5 to show itself. The work days seemed longer each year, and his misery deepened every day. He only worked for his children's sake. They needed to eat, and he was the only one who could put food on the table. If they were grown or dead he wouldn't work at all. His wife Beatrice was a louse who latched on to him right after high school. She hadn't worked a day in her life, but she had no problem spending Henry's money on fashionable shoes and the latest installment of Vogue.
These thoughts swam through Henry's head, just as they did everyday near quitting time. And after the clock struck 5 he would be out the door, ducking his boss and trying to get on the road before traffic on the 405 got too bad. Rushing to pick up the KFC and get home to his family. The same thing Monday through Friday.
His home was little better than the office in which he worked. He sat on the couch and watched the VCR clock during the commercial breaks, waiting for 10 o'clock, so he could lay his head down and make his nightly escape. He avoided his wife, trying to pass the day without getting yelled at. His only breaks from the drudgery of his daily life involved his two boys.
They would throw the football around in the backyard, watch TV, and he would help them with their homework if they needed it. He was a loving father, but he was still an empty shell of a man.
His life was spent perpetually looking ahead. To the wonders of teenage life, to the mystery of adulthood, and finally to the predictable malaise of retirement. Nothing ever worked out quite right for Henry Fleck.
He never really enjoyed himself, and he couldn't remember the last time he had a real good time. In fact, his kids were the only thing that meant anything to him on this whole ball of dust. His wife could starve, his boss could fire him, he could lose his house; but as long as he had his boys he wouldn't bat an eyelash.
Jason was 8, and still thought girls were gross. Greg was 14, and was trying his damnedest to finger-fuck the next door neighbor‘s daughter. The inevitable stages of boyhood would continue even after Henry’s bones had turned to dust. Henry lived vicariously through his boys, and they were the happiest kids on the block. He took them to hockey games, and they cheered when the players fought on the ice. He took them to Six Flags, and they flew across tracks of metal strapped on to little carts. He took them deep-sea fishing, skiing, mountain climbing, hiking, and to the movies. They had 3 albums filled with photos,
Henry was planning their next trip, to the Catskill Mountains, when he walked through the front door of his split level suburban home. His wife’s car was gone. Thank God, Henry thought. Probably getting her nails done or shopping for a new dress. He went to the bathroom and relieved himself. His afternoon bowel movements were routine, like almost everything else about his life. Henry sat on the porcelain throne, and picked up his current bathroom book, ‘12 Easy Steps to More Money!’. Beatrice had bought it for him last Christmas, and he was finally getting around to reading it. The truth was that he had run out of anything worth reading.
Step 1: Confidence! What absolute crapola, Henry thought. Just like every other self help book, full of encouraging garbage, meant to reaffirm a pleasant outlook on life. Well, the jokes on them. The glass has been empty for 17 years now.

* * * * *

The living room floor was made of particle board, stained to look like acceptable wood. It felt like wood, it looked like wood, but it was not wood. It was made of plant fiber, that is true. But not wood. Just like Henry. He looked like a man, and felt like one. But he was not a man. A man would not allow himself to be bullied into a life of toil and false promises. A man would make his own mind, and do what he wished. A man would not slave away for an ungrateful wife sucking corporate cock 5 days a week.
Just as the flooring was a composite of base parts, so too was Henry. He could be compared, perhaps favorably, to many other men. He could do some of the same things as well as many men. He could type and run Outlook EX. He had an E-mail address and a laptop computer. But these things do not a man make. A man is forged out of triumph over hardship, the overcoming of obstacles. It takes experience to be a man. Age and experience.
Henry is the particle board of men. He served the same function that a man would, but he was not yet a man. He always took the easy way. Working at the same company for over a decade. Marrying the first girl to have sex with him. Eating fast food for dinner every night. Watching TV before bed.
If Henry were to witness a bar room brawl, which is unlikely because he always drank at home, he would move to the safest corner. Away from the rush of sensation that reaffirms the living of their virtue and divinity.
To be fair, the blame does not rest solely on Henry. As a child he read the newspaper everyday, and still does. Doing so instilled within him a fear of danger, a fear of death. Reading of the brutal murders and political appointments daily ruined life for him. Much of his mind was consumed with the problems of others; intangible things that affected him minimally at best. The vice president of a charitable foundation caught embezzling funds meant to bring clean water to children in Africa, a man sentenced to death row for multiple rape-murders, and the Annual Rose Competition all weighed heavily on his mind.
So it is fairly redundant to say that Henry is a coward. Something less than a true human being. Humans are meant to grow, change from day to day, year to year. Progress as inhabitants of this often contradictory multiverse. But Henry has never experienced such growth or expansion. His life and personality were both stagnant and boring. Henry was convinced that he would be stuck in his daily routine forever.

2
On a seemingly average day, Henry was on his way out of the office for his 45 minute lunch break. Usually he got take out from one of the nearby restaurants. Today he decided to eat in at a diner that he passed everyday on his way to work. He had always thought of eating there, but until this day he had come up with some excuse not to. The Total Package Diner was the penultimate 24 hour diner. It had creaky bar stools, booths made of plastic and off-white tables that made a mockery of eggshells.
He took a seat at the bar, and waited for the waitress to come over. She took his order of coffee and a club sandwich with little words wasted between them. She gave it to the cook, poured Henry's coffee, and went to the cash register to sit and read a magazine. Henry couldn't make out the title, but it was clearly a woman's magazine. There was a picture of some celebrity with a huge smile and unattainable features.
Henry had always had a special kind of hatred for those publications. His mother read them throughout his childhood, and he hated it when she used some bit of useless knowledge they gave her. Either it was some tip on how to more effectively use make-up, or it was something even more pointless. Not to mention the awkwardness that came over him when he thought of his mother using the sex tips. Now his wife read them, and it seemed that he would never escape their presence. Even here, in a rundown diner on the side of the highway, he wasn't rid of them.
Henry sat and tasted his coffee, which was insanely hot. He never liked the taste of coffee, but it was the proper thing to drink. It gave him the energy he needed to complete his day.
There was only two other people in the diner. A trucker driver on the far side of the bar, and what looked to be a crazy man chatting him up. The trucker just sat and listened; not really reacting or adding anything to the conversation, if that's what it was. The madman spoke in such a way as to be unintelligible at a range of 24 feet. He seemed animated, and the speech must have been stirring something inside, something passionate.
He looked like a biker crossed with a mountain man. The gray hair on his head deceived you, for he was not old. His beard still held the dark color of youth, and his eyes were covered by dark sunglasses. His feet were covered in army boots, and he wore layers of clothing that were far too cumbersome for this mild weather. His jacket was made of black leather, and it was so old and dirty it was gray, like his hair. Very dark and frightening, at least to Henry.
After a rare period of silence, the man looked east and got his first look of Henry. To the man, Henry proved a more appealing conversational target than the weary trucker. So he sidled over Henry-way, and sat next to him. “How are we doing today Necktie? I thought your kind was locked up till dinner time?”
Now to Henry, this sort of talk was mildly offensive. Certainly what he said was entirely factual, but nonetheless it was wholly unpalatable for Henry and his meme. He didn’t appreciate the candor of this madman, but he was unable to get rid of him without becoming embarrassed.
“I’m fine thank you. And yourself?”
“Well Necktie, I could be doing a lot better, you know what I mean?”
“Eeeyyyaaaah I do.” Henry chose the elongation of a single syllable word to express his derision. David was very familiar with this tactic and chose to ignore it out of habit.
“To cut to the proverbial chase Jack, we need to talk,” David said with the smoothness innate to the insane and the brilliant.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve got a lot to think about. For instance, the price of gasoline has gone up, costing you more of that precious credit. Meanwhile, your unhappiness tears away the levels of restraint you have in place, causing you to think more and more of unimportant things, like the past and how things could be. And in the near future, great disaster will befall you and your loved ones. Things will happen that you have no control over, and it will leave you a broken man.”
To Henry this man was just another drug addict getting jollies from pestering a sane person. He didn’t think that perhaps it was best to take this stranger seriously. David minded not at all if Henry took him seriously or not.
“So I guess no response to that, aye Necktie? Well, if you want to chat later you‘ll be able to find me. Oh, and I usually charge for the fortune telling. But in your case it doesn’t seem to be fair. Bye bye now Necktie.” With that David stalked out of the diner, waving goodbye to the waitress and throwing a shaker of salt at the trucker. It hit him in the shoulder, and he turned around to see Henry sitting and trying to look innocent. Henry’s club sandwich came and he ate it unceremoniously.
Today was just another day, just another lunch, just another Tuesday for Henry Fleck. By suppertime however, Henry would have changed his mind about today.

3
The wall clocks small arms indicated 29 minutes had passed, so Henry paid the bill and left for the office. He got his car into the 4th story of the parking garage, and sat on the hood to take a breather. His encounter with David didn't shake him up too much. He lived in the city, and was used to crazy people. As he sat on his car, he began to think about what David said.
Could his family really be in danger? There wasn't a thing that could have frightened Henry more. The thought of something bad happening to his children ate away at his rationality and his body began to respond to the imaginary stress. His palms got sweaty, and his chest became constricted with tension. He was falling apart on the hood of his Honda.
Time to go to work Henry, pull yourself together.
Henry had enough time to sit for a few minutes and compose himself. Although he spent most of his work day alone, he still needed the appearance of a calm demeanor. Henry was one of the top middle management goons in his company. He was basically a secretary type for the vice president of the Mason Argo Company's construction branch. He maintains the connections between Gerald Covington and the level directors of the Tokyo office. All day he sat, waiting to receive phone calls and dial his own scheduled ones. A life spent in waiting. He regularly had other office folks meandering into his office with invoices and memos, number sheets and files. Henry spent much of his time scrawling on dead trees.
He got to the lobby elevator without an incident, and pressed the up bottom. While he was waiting for a ding, a woman stood next to him. She was also waiting for a ding, which would bring her one step closer to a job. She was hoping to be a secretary, or an assistant, and she was desperate for work. It showed in her eyes. She stood, but not still. She swayed about like a rope hanging from the gallows. Her every movement made Henry even more nervous. Like everyone else in polite society, he tried not to take interest in strangers. But, Henry was not a master of self control.
He looked over at the woman, who was about five feet to his right. When he noticed that she was looking his way, he made it look like he was checking the time on the lobby wall. She knew that he was looking her over. She wore a gray pant suit, and heels that gave her a few extra inches of height, which she needed. She had short hair in the style of a female news anchor, cropped to curl just above the shoulder. It had the pigment of burnt sienna, and looked incredibly soft. He was captured by her beauty. She had a pleasant face, but at the moment it was marred by stress and anxiety. After she caught him looking her way, he wouldn't chance another snafu.
So he just stood there, staring at the elevator doors, first from the outside, then from the inside. They didn’t exchange words, civil greetings or otherwise. It was clear that they were both uncomfortable, but neither took any of the steps necessary to remedy the situation. This scene played itself out several thousand times a minute across the United States, and very few people ever say hello or smile. People aren’t very good when they leave their comfort zones.
Henry got off on his floor, and thanked his God that it was all over. The woman was on her way up to some advertising firm or law office, never to bother him again. It wasn’t often that Henry was placed into predicaments such as this, but he always handled it the same. With complete inaction. So it is that Henry handles most problems in his life, by doing nothing.
He managed make it to his office without suffering any more personal humiliation. Henry's face was still red from the elevator ordeal when his secretary came in to his office with a message from his wife. Apparently Beatrice was not going to be able to pick the boys up from school, so they were going to ride the bus home. Not an entirely unexpected situation. Greg was a fine young man, and always did a decent job watching his little brother. There was no cause for concern.
The rest of Henry's work day was routine. He sat in his chair, received a few phone calls, and drank sake. He always got free sake. It was one thing about his job that Henry actually enjoyed.
His day was nearly finished, when he got a call from Beatrice. She said that she wasn't going to get home until late, because her bridge club was taking a trip to an Indian casino. This was strange, because Henry hadn't heard anything about a bridge club before. But, he wasn't going to call her out on something so trivial. Henry chose his battles with the utmost care.
Henry was not a man to let strange occurrences come between him and his day plan. He left the office, got in his car, and began the descent to street level. The traffic was thick as usual, but Henry had grown used to it. He was waved in by an elderly man in a pickup truck and took his place in the long line of cars. The work van in front of him had a bumper sticker on it that read "Keep on Truckin'" in large friendly print.

4
The ride home was uneventful as always. It was stop and go most of the way, giving Henry lots of time to mull things over. He arrived home to find the living room deserted. Strange. Greg and Jason should be sitting around watching TV or playing videogames. He began to search the rest of the house. The bedrooms were empty, as were the bathrooms. The backyard held no children, and neither did the basement.
They weren't here at all. Panic exploded in his head, spreading its chaotic chemical signals, causing his heart to race uncontrollably. Something was wrong. Henry walked to the kitchen, picked up the phone, and dialed his wife’s number. It went straight to her voicemail. Why does she even have a cell phone if she’s not going to have it on or answer it!
Henry could not control himself. He was sweating profusely, calling every number he could think of. Greg’s best friends house, the school, the police. Nobody knew where his kids were, and the police couldn’t report them missing yet. Something must have happened. Something bad. He knew of no reason that his children should not be home, and, coupled with the ominous clairvoyance of one David Huxley, these events took on a significance that could not be ignored.
Henry was not a man of action. He had a date book, appointments, and a schedule. He was the last man do to anything impulsive. But now, it seemed, Henry’s hand was being forced. He knew this. He also knew, that it was his time...
His time to act.
So he went to his car, and started it up. He searched the block, then the neighborhood, then the town. He drove down avenues he hadn’t seen in years. He passed hookers and homeless on the streets, trying to scrape out a life in the mire. He saw an adult book store, a prison, and a college, all on the same street. He flew around town, desperately searching for his offspring. Every minute that passed during the hunt, Henry got more dejected. He scanned the sidewalks and streets for anything that would lead him to Greg and Jason. He saw nothing but the filthy streets and gutters of a town whose name he couldn't remember. Henry grew numb from the chemicals being pumped through his system.
As the search dragged on, he began to calm down a bit, to think rationally. Things weren't as bad as they seemed. Greg and Jason were probably at home right now waiting for him. They must have gone to the store, or a friend's house. This was crazy, driving around town for no reason. They have to be safe. They have to be...
Of course they're safe, he thought. Everything is going to be alright.
As you know, whenever someone is repeating that mantra, things aren't alright. It is a simple way to trick the brain, but it's ultimately ineffective. One can pray and hope till their eyes bled, but its not going to change anything. Henry was not one to pray, but he was praying now. He was praying for the safety of his kids; for the safety of all kids, lest he appear selfish in the eyes of God. Henry wasn't devout. In fact, one could say he paid lip service to the Catholic Church. Right now though, Henry was a believer. He believed in a God that wouldn't let bad things happen to good people. He believed in a God that punished the wicked and rewarded the righteous. He believed in a God that didn't exist.
The whole drive home he sat in a tense silence. The only thing he heard was his engine, and the sound of air rushing past him. It was easier this way. Without noises to distract him he was simply a driver moving towards his destination. There was no urgency, no tragedy, and no crisis. He allowed his mind to go blank, and it gave him the strength to continue. Without his incessant mind chatter, he could look at things from a detached point of view.
He knew that the only logical course of action would be to wait patiently at home for his wife and children. All the running around had solved nothing. In fact, it had made everything worse. He might have seen Greg and Jason by now, coming through the front door, or walking through the back one. He had failed his offspring somehow, and there was little he could do to change that. The guilt climbed up his legs and settled in his stomach. There it settled for the night.

5
It was later that evening, when Henry returned, that he discovered everyone where they were supposed to be. His sons were watching TV, and his wife was talking on the phone in the backyard. To absorb these images after hours of a frantic stress induced energy high would cause some to collapse, others to cry in desperate joy, and yet others to go completely insane. Henry, like certain others are want to do, did not react at all. He shambled around the house, and eventually made his way to the bedroom for sweet escape.
Greg tried to talk to his father, but received no answers to his questions. He asked where his father had been. He asked why he was so sweaty. Henry didn't appear to hear him. He just stared at Greg, with eyes unblinking. Greg was a bright kid, and he knew when things were amiss.
Earlier his father had come home, and walked right by them, yelling their names. When they answered he didn't hear. When they touched him he didn't feel. He couldn't hear Jason crying. Greg had been puzzled by his father's behavior, but dismissed it out of turn. Now that he was back though, Greg wasn't sure if everything was alright. But, being a respectable young Christian man, he wasn't going to question his father.

* * * * * *

David Huxley had been following Henry the rest of the day, and watched as the seeds of doubt he had sown took root. It was a good life being a crazy man. He took every opportunity to shake up the Normals, and he had a damn good time doing it. Its not that David is mean spirited, or malicious. He just delights in the elaborate dances of human emotion. And this waltz was utterly perfect.
Henry had taken every step exactly as he should have, the panic shutting down his mind, giving rise to the perfection of unconscious thought. He had followed the blueprint laid in his brain, and this is what intrigues David. That hardwiring in all of us, that takes over when all other means of cognition have failed. Where does it come from? Why does it exist? Is it a result of genetic memory or the inherent link between all of our minds?
Maybe a better question would be, why do we exist?
The answer is simple. We live to create, to pass on our memories, our genetics, and to give life to that which is lifeless; but mostly we live to fuck.

       This is a short story I wrote a few months ago.

Please read and tell your friends to read as well!

I would also like it if anyone would be willing to write a review/blurb about this.

I could use printed praise.


-------------------
 Everything had changed. The people that I knew weren't the same, the places that I went varied, and the things that I did were quite unpredictable. In bars and brothels I would stay, until I was no longer welcome, and in forests and alleys I would sleep in peace without worry. The people would look at me with eyes that were dead, and I would stare back with a visage of grudging acceptance. I drank in the plethora of experience that presented themselves to me with much gluttony.
        I was born, and I will continue to live until I die. There isn't a thing that would have me leave this reality sooner. The heavens are too wonderful, the colors too vivid, and the electromagnetism too pleasant. The women are too beautiful and the thoughts are too satisfying.
        That is what I tell the people, when they ask how can I live with myself. Surely you haven't done much to positively affect the world, they say. But what do they know. The world is merely a shared hallucination of the collective mind. And it creates a bleak one indeed, if fragments of my true self are hinting at my insignificance. But such things don't concern me overmuch, for the thoughts come and go.
        When I was young I my parents called me Joey. And so I was Joey. Completely separate from Tom and Nick down the street, and having no connection with Linda and Gertrude from Quebec. Since then I have realized some things. And now I am called God. At least that is what I call myself. When I am asked my name I like to make something up, or recall a really good name that I have heard before. I'll be Brad J. Howell the architect from Chicago, or maybe Buckminster Fuller (which most people don't recognize. Surprising, huh?). I have tried to identify with myself, but alkaloids and personal experience have seen to it that I have no false notions of individuality.
        I have traveled this planet in search of the perfect situation, but I have yet to find one. Time is a foolish idea to be certain, merely a tool used for the benefit of more foolish ideas. You can live outside of time and experience any moment at a whim. It's not easy, but it's worth it. At least that's what my friend in the asylum said, a great fellow named Kilgore Trout.
        I have met many interesting people, and they all seem to show me some quality about myself that I have yet to discover. In Tibet I learned that reality is truly flexible, and in Chile I learned that I could kill. In the Caribbean I learned that the best way to fish is with a spear, and in Darfur I learned that I am fragile.
        I have spent more than a quarter of my life dreaming, and I think that's what got me through the harder times. Adolescence was particularly difficult. For then I couldn't control the dreams, and sometimes they were more of a cage than my waking life. But at this moment I can do anything I wish while dreaming, and it is quite marvelous. I have realized that dreaming an action and actually carrying out the action while awake are the same thing to the brain. So I rectify all of my personal failures in my dreams.
        I have made love to goddesses and flown through the atmosphere unaided by technology. I have swum under the waves and vanquished serpent kings who plundered the nations of peaceful otters. There isn't a cliff I haven't jumped off of or a valley I have not seen. I have been a storm trooper captain leading the charge, and a mother of three. The facts may decay in my mind, but the imprint is there and it affects every decision I make.
        Once I was a worrying homo sapien like you. I had a job, a girlfriend, a mortgage, a 2004 Chevy Suburban, four credit cards, a power lawnmower, a 2-car garage, and all the kitchen appliances that you could possibly have. I had convinced myself that these things were important, and I was a slave to them all. But one day something happened to change all of that. And with this narrative I hope to explain the experience, so that others might unlock their full potential.

* * * * * *

It was a Monday that will never be forgotten. I woke up at half past five to the alarm clock radio playing They Might Be Giants, and I was instantly ready to start the morning ritual. Breakfast came first, and was composed of a poptart and coffee. Then a shower and all the standard bathroom activities. The face shaving followed the tooth brushing, and I had it all arranged in a timetable. A quick combing of the hair and I was ready to put my clothes on. Underwear, socks, pants, shirt, tie, jacket, and shoes were placed on taking no more than four minutes and forty eight seconds. I picked up my briefcase, gave Rebecca the morning departure kiss and was out the door.
        Outside I got in my SUV and started my morning commute. It took about twenty eight minutes to get to the bank where I spent forty hours a week. I was a manager and it was my job to make sure that everything went smoothly. I would open new accounts, service existing ones, deal with any complaints, and replace the toilet paper in the restroom; all of which amounts to dealing with unruly assholes. I had been sitting in my small and sparsely decorated office for an hour, when I heard a gunshot echo from the lobby.
        I realized we were once again being robbed, so I did the thing that every bank manager does. I sat patiently and waited for the thieves. Sometimes they were guys who knew the trade, and actually thought about bothering me to open the safe. More often however they were just small time crooks looking for an easy score, and would be gone within five minutes. So I began to hum the song I woke up to, 'Am I Awake?'.
        I was in the third verse when a man clad in black and wearing a masquerade mask burst into my office, screaming obscenities and waving a pistol at my face. This man must be the muscle, I thought to myself. His gun probably isn't even loaded. Oh well, I didn't want to take that chance, so I did as he said and began the walk to the second floor where the vault was. I had it opened before the guy was done describing the countless sexual encounters he claimed to have had with my mother, and he waved me inside, indicating I was to start carrying the money down the stairs.
        I began to oblige, but I didn't get the chance to comply, because we were startled by another gunshot from the lobby. He went to see what was going on, and found his partner lying on the floor with a puddle of blood reaching outward. There was appeared to be an Abercrombie & Fitch model standing over him brandishing a pilfered pistol, with a frightened look in his eyes. The scene erupted into violence once again when the living thief opened fire upon the would be hero. The sirens began to wail in the distance as the authorities hurried to be worthy of their pay, and the thief realized he had no way out. He was trapped.
        So he did the only rational thing someone in his situation would do.
        He panicked.
        He shot two prone bank patrons, and rushed back to the vault. I was still standing in the threshold of the vault, and when he saw me he began yelling again. I was hardly listening, more intent on my thoughts. When were those police going to get in here? There are four bodies lying in my lobby and I've got to get them out.
        When I didn't reply to some question or other, he shot me three times in the chest. As I slumped to the floor I saw him take his own life, with one shot to the head. Quick and painless, the bastard. I was in a world of agonizing hoarfrost, growing colder as the red rivers ran their course out of my body. I was unable to stay conscious, and everything disappeared, fading into brilliant light...
        And suddenly I awoke, bolting upright in surprise. What a crazy dream. I felt like everything was as it should be, yet the room seemed entirely too still. Things weren't what they appeared to be. I must be losing my mind. The calendar on the wall read Saturday, which meant no work for me. I decided to spend the day out, and drive around town. I got in my car, despite the fact that I had quite an aversion for the thing at this point. I began to feel sick the moment I got into it. But I managed to start the car without vomiting more than three times. Maybe I should see a doctor. I tried to pull out of the driveway and start the trip, but the car stalled when I met the street. And it wouldn't start after that.
        So I felt it better to walk. You see I was quite incensed to go into town. I needed to feel the city's energy and bask in the neon glow. Maybe get some drinks, buy some peyote, whatever I came across. It had been more than eight months since I actually hit the town. I have spent the last half a year shopping at Wal-Mart and fucking my sex-addict girlfriend. I began to question my sanity, but in a different fashion than usual. Surely I have been stuck in doldrums of the mind. Not depression, just a lack of any feeling beyond the contentment brought about by having all of my physical needs met and all the luxury that modern life has to offer.
        The thought of doing something new excited me, and I was in high spirits as I walked down the sidewalk. I realized the neighborhood I inhabited was terribly oppressive; pastel colored houses with matching mailboxes lined the street, the manicured lawns differed little from one another, and the few people I saw pretended not to see me as I walked in front of their houses. The blinds were closed on all the windows cementing the attitude of total hostility. The sky seemed to heighten the gloom, as the overcast clouds permitted little sunlight to illuminate the bleak landscape.
        The walk into the city was not a long one, yet it was decidedly unpleasant. Everyone I laid eyes on had misery etched in their frame, and much more than imaginary loads weighed them down. Their faces were masks of granite and I could detect no emotion in their lifeless eyes. Whenever I would meet the gaze of these beasts of burden, they quickly looked away and pretended there was no such encounter of our souls. It was not long before I began to hate this people, these lifeless drones living a life of toil for the benefit of society. Their appearance, and the glossed-over eyes with which they viewed the world, stirred something deep inside of me. Their outlines were vague and indistinct, blending into the gray of the city and becoming one with the drab background. I have lived my whole life here, and yet never before have I truly seen my fellow slaves for what they truly were.
Everyone looked gray, the life and vibrance drained from them. But I saw a fellow some yards ahead, who stood in stark contrast to the drab surroundings.
        He was an older man, dressed in nothing but a bathrobe and slippers. What was left of his hair was wispy and waved in some faint breeze that I couldn't feel. His eyes were beacons of azure iridescence that dominated his face and seemed to see everything. He saw me, another aberration among the meek, and began to lessen the gap between us. His eyes never left mine during his journey, and consequently he disturbed the flow of human traffic. People reacted as you would expect, either with little verbal guffaws, or with no action at all. It was obvious by his demeanor he didn't give a damn either way.
He stood in front of me, a half smile slanting the left side of his face, which seemed to express his surprise and delight to find another human being. "Hullo my brother! Good luck to you on this, the eve of your day. We have much time and very little to discuss. What should I call you friend?"
        I hesitated to answer. He was clearly in the same situation as I, separated, or perhaps elevated, from the normal fabric of the universe. We both stood out among the sheople, focused and separate from the scene, existing in stark contrast to the established order of the ant colony we found ourselves in. While everything else around me was gray and hazy, he and I were in brilliant detail. With everything happening as it was I figured the world I had come to know was long gone, and I had better get to understanding this one. "My name is Joseph. You can call me anything you wish. Shall we find a pleasant place to sit and talk?"
"Ah my boy, I can tell that yours will be an easy trip indeed. My name is Isaac", I heard him say. An easy trip? What is going on here? I could read no malice from him, and indeed feared no violence from this old man. I decided to play along, and we began to walk northward.
        "So few of our fellow humans ever bring themselves above the limits that are set for them. You and I, my boy, are something quite different. I bet you are a wise one indeed, to be here at such a young age. Of course you are wondering where, or more appropriately what, we are, yes?" He spoke clearly, with an accent that I couldn't place. He spoke with his hands, which waved in circles while we walked, and I was barely perceptive of the words he used. And yet I knew what he was trying to say.
        I nodded, queing him to continue with his speech.
        "We have been separated from the corporeal reality we have come to know and love. Our bodies weren't able to support our consciousness for some reason or another. Our souls have risen above limitations imposed by the physical state, and we survive only by willing it so. The unrealized potential stored within you was released, and you have become a navigator of this cosmic dream world. All things exist as you will them to, and all of this is housed in your mind. All of these people are creations of your mind, and so am I. But that doesn't make anything less real. It is a common misconception among the mortals that each person is different and we all have an aspect of originality and creativity that sets us apart from the rest. But I have come to learn differently. You see we all have access to a greater mind which holds all the secrets of the universe. Some of us have limited ability to communicate with the Unimind, and others are born with a natural affinity for psychic capability and have nearly unlimited access to the information stored there. The Unimind has been around since the first life form, and we are all adding our lives to the collective memory of this eternal apparition. Is it not a common occurrence to relive memories of a past life, or receive the thoughts of others? These both result from a greater link to the Unimind, which not all humans have. The whole purpose of being alive is to become one with reality, and rejoin the collective consciousness we have isolated ourselves from. Right now we inhabit yet another of the many buffer zones you must cross to reach the path's end. It is a weird plane this one. As I have come to understand it, the souls on this level of existence collectively maintain and alter the fabric of this universe. I have found that our brains are in communication constantly, due to some electromagnetic interaction and the properties of information at the quantum level, we manifest this illusion from what we remember from our life on the material plane. The average person will disregard the transcendence they are offered, and maintain that nothing ever happened. It is the collective illusions of the Normals that keep this place so mundane. It is puzzling stuff. I can't say that I fully understand it myself. I have been here for a long time, but I don't keep track of the years. I stay to be a sort of welcoming wagon for the newcomers. There are many who have progressed further than I, but I am not envious. I don't think I'm ready to give up on my comrades just yet." He said it all with the confident tone of a priest or college professor, so he clearly regarded all of this as truth.
        "You see I take it upon myself to accelerate the pace at which my brethren adapt to this kind of life. Most are skeptical when they first hear this, and think me quite insane. They just continue their life as if nothing has changed; going straight home to tell a friend about this crazy hobo they met. Others accept it and attain enlightenment. I am hoping that you will adjust to this great change. The path to bliss is different for everyone, but we all reach paradise in the end. So I leave you now to travel your path, and find what it is we are all searching for."
        And, with that he left me. He didn't walk away, or leave in any discernable fashion. He just wasn't there after he finished talking. So here I was, standing in front of a barred pawn shop, his words echoing in my mind. Or what I guessed was my mind. If what he said is true, every part of me is an illusion adopted by the supreme consciousness. And my soul is merely a vehicle for the universe to experience itself. So I am an extension of the universe. Everyone I encounter is just another accessory to the entirety of reality. These thoughts carried with them tidal waves of sensation, rolling across the ocean of my being and enveloping everything that I ever knew.
        I decided to continue walking in the direction he had led me. The trek carried me past street signs that were blank and shops that were closed. The city was wholly unappealing now; I could see every great human tragedy, and those benefiting from it. The cars were red blood cells that carried the precious oxygen of humanity to all the dependent organs of this giant creature I found myself in, keeping the Juggernaut alive and growing. Even after the body is dead the soul is tortured by an eternity of depressing desk jobs and faceless corporate greed. I wanted to leave right then, but I didn't know the way out. I couldn't read the sun because of the titans that surrounded me, and I was entirely lost in this Byzantine maze of misery and toil, cursed to be aware but not alive.
        Do I want to live in a world without any real essence? A world that moves in the empty space where my brain used to be. Furthermore, did I have a choice? Was I really dead? I couldn't tell. Everything felt normal, like it always had.
        I was not seeing things clearly. I would probably need the company of the fairer sex to get through the hard times. It's sort of funny; the drive to procreate stays with you, even though the act no longer has a purpose. Here I am in the afterlife thinking of sex. As I wandered the sidewalk in a haze of doubt, I saw flash of blue light up ahead.
Where before there was nothing, a figure stood, whose presence seemed to illuminate the air around it. She was dressed in what appeared to be a toga, and it sparked memories of my frat days at Cornell. If I told you she was beautiful or becoming, I would be lying. She seemed to represent everything that could be attractive in this or any dimension. But of course she would. She was creating her own image.
        In her eyes I once again beheld the great mysteries of life. I could see the birth of planets amid fields of rubble. I could see the fiery deaths of stars, exploding into bursts of photons and gamma waves that travel the paths of eternity, waiting for something to run into. And they had run into me.
        I stopped where I stood; staring at what was no doubt just another figment. But the knowledge did little to bring my attention away from her mind numbing magnificence. She turned her head and looked at me, her mouth parted as if to speak, but no sounds past her exquisite lips. Normally I would be surprised such a vixen would take more than a second glance at me, much less stare at me. In this new place, however, understanding came easy. Realizing how pointless it was to stand and stare while infinite possibilities lay before me, I walked over to her.
       "Do you do that often? Spontaneously materialize, I mean." I felt like a grade school kid talking to a girl I was crushing on.
        "That's a hard question to answer. I go where I am taken, and I do what needs to be done. This teleportation thing is not new, but I had no intention of arriving here. I gather I am needed. So Handsome, what can I do for you?" Handsome? Suddenly the city was not so depressing.
        "Wow you think I'm handsome? Well, I'm new to this place, and I'm trying to understand all this," I said as I spread my arms to indicate the periphery. "I met a man who told me strange things; he said that I am here to become one with existence. And something about a Unimind?" When I said this she looked amused and smiled.
        "Yes that would be Isaac; he spends most of his energy helping newbies, like you. I remember when he gave me the speech, about the Unimind and all that. I was quite frightened. One minute I was walking across the street, normal as always, and then I turned to see a car barreling towards me. Next thing I knew I was laying in my bed," while she spoke of her death her eyes took in everything at once, and her face revealed not a hint of sadness. She seemed unconcerned that her life had been ended by some reckless driver.
        "I figured it was a nightmare, but things were different, strange. I ran into Isaac when I was on my way to work, and he explained everything. I didn't really take him seriously, but I found out later he was right, for the most part. I admit I had trouble dealing with it at first, but you get used to it. Now I spend my time exploring and comparing notes with other Spectranauts."
        "Spectranaut? Is that like an astronaut? Or a cosmonaut?" I asked.
        "There is some relation yes. You see whereas astronauts and cosmonauts explore space, we spectranauts explore the ethereal plane. It is the pinnacle of human ability to be a spectranaut, and you should count yourself fortunate to have this opportunity. Most people have no inclination to be true explorers. They just continue their lives here, too frightened of change to contemplate their new situation. As humans we have a limited perceptual range and do not see the giant tapestry of existence for what it truly is. Much is lost to us. Even here, in this place that is purely mental, it takes some effort to alter the filters we have in place. It is easier than on the material plane however, because we don't actually see through our eyes or hear through our ears. It's all directly interpreted by the consciousness," she said, with no measure of hubris. She seemed to have no prevailing emotion at all, aside from the contentment that permeates her every action.
        "So that would make me a spectranaut, right?"
        "Yes. We generally have gatherings, but not everyone attends."
        "What do you talk about? Can you tell me everything that you know so far?" I said. I wasn't expecting instant comprehension, but it would have been nice to have a general idea what is going on.
        "It would be somewhat reckless to just hand you everything it took me months to learn. Might shock you into depression or something worse. You might get knocked back to earth," she laughed at that thought. Her laughter was musical, entirely more pleasing than Schubert ever could be. "The best advice I could give you is to test the limits of everything you see around you. Find out for yourself what is going on. The first steps are always the hardest here. I good first goal would be flight. It took me a few weeks to get the hang of it. See how fast you can get it."
        Here I could fly?! I have been dreaming of that since childhood; to be able to ride the swells unaided and see the earth from the perspective of the eagle has always been my highest aspiration. To move unrestricted from place to place, to my hearts content, visiting the foreign shores I have only read about in magazines.
        "Are you serious? I could fly?"
        "I most certainly am, and you most certainly could. Would you care for a demonstration?" she clearly derived pleasure from my ignorance and enthusiasm.
I nodded like the happy child I was. With that she rose from the ground, not like a bird would take off, but as a balloon floats upward and moves with the air currents. She was as calm and collected as before, as she willed herself higher and higher. I stood flabbergasted. I could really fly. She reached about 200 feet, and then hovered for a moment. Then she dove unexpectedly, taking sweeping turns and carving the air as she spun, like a jet at low speeds. Arms outstretched in front of her, she looked like Superman, only she wasn't a speeding bullet. She flitted in and out of view, sometimes obscured by buildings, high above me.
        She landed next to me, exactly where she was standing a few moments before, and made a flourishing 'Voila!' gesture.
        I could not have been more pleased. I golf-clapped slowly, in absolute amazement. It was really possible. "Could you teach me?" I said, hoping that she would.
        "Hmmm. Nope, sorry," she seemed to care little, and consequently her apology was hollow. "You'll have to learn on your own, like everyone else. I think it's about time I continue on my way. You're starting to bug the hell outta me."
        And with that she gave me a dismissive and patronizing wave, and flew away. I tried to hate her for ignoring me and my troubles, but I couldn't bring myself to.
I knew I would do the same in her position.
        Oh well. It looked like I would have to do everything for myself here. Not too different than the previous life, but more disappointing I suppose. I always thought the afterlife was supposed to be a cake walk. How could I let Christianity lull me into a false sense of security? If I ever do go back to Earth I am going to put that and other philosophies in there place. Let people know that you have to work for happiness, in every incarnation of life and existence.
        I decided to flex my mental muscles a bit, and distanced myself from sensory perception. I concentrated on my body, and I perceived the fluid nature of my composition. I delved further into myself, seeking the immaterial. Searching for the lack of physical sensation that was my true consciousness.
        I found a distant ripple of psychic activity deep within my 'head'. I was aware of my deep-seated belief in the physical constraints that held me in place. The idea of gravity that kept me rooted to the ground, and all the structural portions of reality that had been ingrained into my psyche. I did not know what I could do to manipulate those beliefs, or what I was supposed to do in this situation. There was nothing in my life that prepared me for this.
        I tried willing myself to float, hoping for absolute simplicity. I opened my eyes to see if I was getting any results, but alas, there was nothing. I tried viewing myself as a balloon, riding the ebb and flow of the winds. And still nothing. I focused on everything that I was, and I tried to make it all weightless. I was not a construct of matter, and I had no weight. I continued this mantra for a few minutes, and found my imaginary form breaking free from the chains of indoctrinated belief.
        I opened my eyes to witness the ground receding below me. I was levitating, and without much difficulty. I was rising and the sensations were wonderful. I wasn't an itinerant hominid bound to a planet any longer. I could see over the buildings that towered over me moments before, and the sky seemed like the most natural of homes. I was a being in my own element, reveling in the hedonism of the sky.
Though I was floating, I couldn't really control where I was going. I assumed it came with practice. So I entered that state of mind that allowed for my rapid advancement, and began another mantra. I am in total control of my movements. I willed myself to stop my ascension and hover where I was.
        I found that my orders were obeyed by my 'body', and I was floating over a mile above the city I had previously thought the limits of my world.
Where there any limits?
        Moving forward, I thought it best to explore this panoramic landscape. Below me stretched the entirety of my current world. The view was not encouraging. All around the city there was nothing but empty plains, gray places drained of any imitation or semblance of life. The city seemed the only structure within miles. In fact, as I looked further outward, there was only hazy smoke evident in every direction that started about 3 miles from the city's end.
        Quite discouraging, indeed.
        I tried moving past these walls of opalescent haze, but to no avail. I just stopped when I came within arm's length. No amount of repetitious chanting could move me past the barriers.
        Apparantly, I was limited to this until I found the greater potential within myself. Isaac's talk of self-made realities came back to me, and I was envious of those who could manifest such a thing. All in due time.
        I thought of the great speed with which I conquered the barrier that was my belief-system. If it took my female friend weeks to learn to fly, I must be on some sort of fast track. An express route to enlightenment. Funny.
It was time to buckle down, and step up. If I could learn to fly in five minutes what could I do in five hours? Or five days?

* * * * * *

        In the sky I found my true home. I could stay in the sky forever, and nothing bad would happen. I didn't need food or water, and consequently I never had to piss or shit. I didn't sleep either. There was no need. I spent all my time trying to strengthen my links to the Unimind, as the old fellow suggested.
        The knowledge of the links came easy, but supporting them was a different matter. At first it was difficult to distinguish the electrical impulses that originated in my brain from the ones that are transmitted from the collective unconscious. Gradually I was able to see my thoughts as the illusion that they were. Even they came from the collective unconscious, transmitted to my very flesh in some intricate process of communication completely unknown to me.
        It is the knowledge of the communication that is important I suppose. There is no need to suppress any thought process, no matter how trivial. Everything has its place, but it won't do to get caught up in a single thought too long. I let them float by like so much flotsam, taking no lasting interest in any particular one. They are to be observed, but not pursued. This I learned early and it made things easier.

* * * * * *

        There wasn't any reliable way to track time in this place. There were no calendars or clocks to mark its passage. I didn't mind much, because time mattered little here. The sun never rose, and the moon never showed itself. This world was cast in perpetual twilight, without any heavenly bodies to capture the imagination.
        I didn't know how long I had been floating above the city, meditating and adapting my thinking. It didn't seem important though. I was learning more every instant, and I have beheld magnificent sights that words could never describe. The vistas of my consciousness stretched before me; never fully explored, some discovery or revelation just over the horizon.
        The spiritual growth allowed by this place is seemingly endless. I was once an ignorant monotheist, believing in a God who does what He wishes, changing the lives of His creations at a whim. With every passing moment I gained more insight into the nature of reality and its architect. I have learned that all of physical existence is a vessel for God to experience the wonders of life. He grows in the plants, He courses through my veins, and He fuels the fusion reactions of stars. He is everywhere and everything. He lives to love, and experience the depths of emotion. There is such love in Him, that every other emotion seems insignificant in comparison.
        With this perspective comes a torrent of understanding. There is no right or wrong, good or bad. Every state is one of godliness, and every act is holy. We are all vehicles for the ultimate love that is God.
        I feel I must clarify a bit. When I use the word 'God', I don't mean any one god or incarnation of Him. All previous notions of a Hebrew God, and His descendants in the Christian and Muslim faiths, are inherently flawed by close-mindedness. I use the term 'God' to illustrate the wonder and majesty of the universe. This all powerful force behind the cosmos, which has driven evolution and the complication of reality to its current height. This joy of life and experience, and this exaltation that is existence. We are all manifestations of God energy, basking in the cosmic pulses of life and love. There is much that I still do not know, but with my current understanding I don't think any leaps of faith will be required.
I feel that with this one truth all of the mysteries of life will unfold accordingly and without effort. All things are Great and Wonderful. The sensation of holiness washed over my being, encompassing my astral body and charging me with such energy that I was no longer in phase with my surroundings. The illusions of my current world faded away, just as the illusions of the previous one had.
        I was adrift in a sea of brilliance, which had no beginning or end. All around me shone the light of a billion stars, and I could see nothing else. I had no body, or the holographic mental image of one. I was pure consciousness, without delusions or doubts. I had reached a state that I heard about before. One of the other spectranauts, Wilbur, told me of thoughts that will bring you above and beyond all previous illusory landscapes. He told me that he had been there, but he was not ready for it. The pure and endless love that was the place brought him to a state of emotional upheaval, and he couldn't take it. He came back to the ghost of life that we lived in Limbo-City.
        I could feel my ties to that place, the strength of which was lessening every second. This love was not too much for me, I could handle it. With time. Though the sheer magnitude would take some getting used to.
        I tried to think about my current environment, but all thoughts seemed trite. I was here, in the place that has been my destination since birth, and I was happy with that.
I was One with God, the universe, and everything.
        All lines of thought brought me nothing new, so I will bask in the glory that is eternity. Sensing the presence that is I, one with all. Safe and secure in the knowledge that my journey was complete, and I was finally at peace.

        Bliss...

        Love...

        Peace...


* * * * * *

        A distant spark seemed to make its way slowly to me, drawing closer with what seemed like hesitance. I could sense its presence moving towards me from the outer realms of Paradise. The closer it came the faster it moved, and the distance lessened exponentially, becoming none at all. And then I felt it.


        Pain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


        Pain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


        Pain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


        The pulses came in waves, each more intense than the one before, jolts of fiery sensation screaming across my soul. Waves of dynamite exploded in my chest. I could feel my legs and arms again, fingers and toes. I begin to feel all the familiar aches and stress points that I had forgotten. I could feel the weight on my neck, and my shoulders. I could feel my head, and I opened my eyes.
        Before me lay the second floor of the 41st National Bank building. Exactly as it was, but now there was a small crowd gathered around me. Towering above were the faces of two paramedics and a police officer. I was lying in a lake of my own blood. I could not make any sense of the situation. One second, I was united with the Holiest of Holies, and the next I was back in what appears to be my body.
        What would posses these people to be so selfish?
        They hoisted me on the stretcher and rolled me to the waiting ambulance, and set off for the nearest hospital at full speed, sirens a-wailing and lights a-flashing. As we flew through traffic, one of the paramedics started to patch me up. When he had done all that he could, he tried to talk to me. He was young, only in his 20's. Probably trying to save the world, too...
        "Sir, are you okay?"
        The question hung in the air for a few seconds, and the paramedic sat waiting for an answer. I didn't know what to say to him. I looked around, and decided to answer.
        "Yeah, I am doing great kid. You got a smoke?"
        He considered for an instant, and apparently thought I was deserving of the poison.
        "Yeah hold on," he fumbled in his jacket pocket, and presented me with a lighter and a clove cigarette. "You're one lucky guy; I've never seen anyone come back after being dead for that long."
        "Lucky, huh?" I lit up the smoke and had a couple drags. "You wouldn't think that if you were me."
        "Why not?"
        Could I tell him of the things I had seen? That I had been united with God. That I was God. That I hated him for bringing me back. Did he know that due to his actions I would never be happy with my life again? I was lying prone in a pool of my blood, in a body that no longer felt like home. Trapped in the shell of my human form, doomed to live once again in the material world. The pain of my wounds had gone, but the ache I felt would continue forever. I was back in Hell, forced to duke it out with the devils of fate once again.

* * * * * *

        That is the tale of my rapid ascension to divinity, and the subsequent fall back to manhood. Some would say it was merely a hallucination brought about by a near death experience. Some would say that I am as mad as the Hatter. But I know what happened. I was there. I am confident that the insights gained during my journey are sound and true.
I have kept fairly quiet about my experience since then, but I think that, armed with the knowledge of the realm that awaits us, others will have an advantage in the twilight of Limbo. So I choose to share the knowledge with my brethren. I can already hear the skepticism, the unfavorable reviews, and the trucks coming to take me to the funny farm.             They will classify me as crazy, but I know the truth.
        It is far more insane to believe in the 'concrete truths' and 'knowns' of this life. Surely nobody who discovered anything great and truly groundbreaking is considered sane by the delusional masses. There are those who stand to gain mightily by the ignorant populace slaving away for the goals of 'humanity'. They silenced Galileo with threats of violence and death, but I wont be cowed by such things. I do wish to be united with my true self, after all.
So let them kill me, it wont bother me.