She had such a knack for turning the humblest of tasks into the holiest, that my time in the brig flew by, ever so quickly. A staunch believer in hard work, she made it all seem like play. And in her ability to find the most extraordinary things in the humdrum realities of everyday life, she never ceased to amaze me.

Once, when I balked at having to clean a particularly dirty toilet bowl, she convinced me in her own magical way, through the use of imagery, that is, to look at it as a fish bowl in need of a little cleaning. Having conned me into jumping into the task at hand, she took me on an underwater tour of one of the most beautiful lagoons I had ever seen. There, in the womb of my being, did she give me my first glimpse of the new awareness that’d been taking shape, over the past seven months. As I scrubbed away at the sides of the bowl, in the service of my fellow man, she conscientiously scoured the quarters of this little objection of mine for any fecal matter which might get in the way of a healthy birth, down the road, of an awareness of the greater objection I had to military service.

“I see your conscience has not yet developed,“ she complained, “to the extent that you can distinguish service to your fellow man from military service, as the latter still so overshadows the former with its self-serving brand of selflessness. And I see your objections to meeting the real needs of your fellow man as very small, indeed, when compared to the objections I have raised to your service in the military of the rich and powerful elite that runs your country, without any regard, whatsoever, for the vast number of lives it has squandered away on the most ambitious effort, ever undertaken by man, to satisfy the insatiable appetite of the god, he has made out of his self.“

Then God spoke these words (from deep within my being): “I am the Lord your God; you shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth below, or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I the Lord am a jealous God, punishing children for the iniquity of their parents, to the third and fourth generation of those who reject me, but showing steadfast love to the thousandth generation of those who love me and keep my commandments.“ Ex. 20:1–6.

“In other words,“ explained my soul, “must you become Who You Really Are, and no other person. You must never make anything more out of your self, whether in thought, word, or deed, than what you really are. And at all costs, you must never inflate another person’s view of himself nor emulate such false images of one’s true Self, for it takes many generations to work out the damage—the confusion ’n’ hurt—one inflicts upon himself and his offspring when he chooses not to live out Who He Really Is. Instead, you must stand out as a beacon to him who has yet to find his way back home to Who He Really Is.“

Through her did I find greater joy in doing the little things in life that needed to be done. How quickly I learned, that it made little difference, whether I did these things for my Self or for another, because deep down inside ourselves, she informed me, we are all one and the same person, in spite of our differences.

“These differences have been created,“ she went on to say, “to give you some idea of the breadth and depth of the one who inhabits you. Only it’s the little things you do for each other, which help to mend the terrible rifts these differences seem to foster, for in your shortsightedness of the whole picture, you-all tend to dwell on the qualities of the lesser or more adversarial image of man than on those of the greater or more Christlike. Real differences, like real individuals, tend to promote a unity of purpose that is impossible to beat, only because the visions of those who bear these differences meld with the one vision for all.

“As Cain overshadowed Able, so does the lesser man, the greater. Stalked by his animalistic past, man really has no other choice but to take the high road,“ concluded my soul, “if ever he wishes to escape the terrible fate of his ancestors or the unparalleled mass extinction of his own species, a self-inflicted punishment worthy of the crime of having despoiled this paradise, you call earth.

“Come now,“ she added. “Let us not tarry here too long with matters which do not concern us, for the day is drawing near when you will be asked again, to choose between me ’n’ the Great Gray Whore.“

“What’re you doin’?“ I asked her, as she bent down over my footlocker and began rummaging around through its contents as if she were looking for some long lost treasure of mine.

“I’ve come to help you sort through your feelings,“ she replied.

Suddenly, I felt as if I’d returned to Treasure Island, only this time, to seek out some hidden truth about myself.

“That’s it!“ she exclaimed. “You’ve been exiled here, on the isle of your Self, to begin living out your true vocation in life.“

“What’re you talkin’ about?“ I asked her.

“Don’t ya see,“ she exclaimed, “that you’re bein’ called by the Most High to serve out the rest of your enlistment, here, in the brig.“

“Why I can’t do that,“ I insisted, even though deep down I felt more at home, here, than I had anywhere else since coming on active duty.

“Look!“ she exclaimed as she held up the little treasure chest she’d pulled from my locker. “Here’s where your heart doeth lie. It is my gift to you, my beloved. From this moment on, you shall always know what you feel, for you now possess your own heart which belongs not to you, but rather to all those with whom you share its contents or infinite wisdom. It shall be the cause of all your pain and, at the same time, the source of all your joy. It’ll allow you to search the depths of your being without the fear of being overcome by its contents as was your father who, in his weakness, succumbed to the madness of trying to live out the vision of others rather than the one with which he had been entrusted at birth. Use it wisely, my beloved, and it will serve you well—unwisely, and it’ll become a Pandora’s box.“

And so did my asking her, what she was doing, help me to see that I’d been living out the vision of another, instead of my own, when she had asked me, in the past, what I was doing.

Before she could hand me the box, it slipped from her hands and fell to the floor, causing the lid to fly open and release its contents. In a brilliant flash of light, did the Spirit of Love, boxed up within my chest, all these years, burst forth and shower down upon the badlands of my being, where still reigned the Prince of Beasts. And as this wasteland began to bear fruit again, I struggled to accept that part of my nature whose appetite for sex I still held in contempt.

That night I dreamed I had finally found the door to heaven, when the lid to Jinny’s box flew open to reveal all the love Instinct had imprisoned there within my chest. As I worked my way back ’n’ forth through the maze of feelings which’d overtaken me as I penetrated this narrow gate, I came to the conclusion that sexual intercourse is a well-orchestrated ruse, Nature uses to propel a facsimile of one’s self deep into the womb of one’s imagination, to create a whole new awareness or amalgam of self and soul in the flesh. Simply put, I had no idea, before now, that I could ever have found heaven on earth, much less within the very thing I feared most.

“I believe you ’n’ I are the ones who should take a hike,“ concluded my mentor, “so these two can spend some much needed time together, getting to know each other a little better.“

“You’re right,“ agreed Michael, as the two of them disappeared, leaving me alone with my soul, really, for the first time since I met her.

As I sat there poking around in the fire of my heart’s desires, with a stick, I grew uncomfortable with the feelings I had stirred up. Fearful of letting the beast in me take over, I jabbed the stick, quickly, in ’n’ out of the coals, before plunging it all the way into the fire and letting go of it. Immediately I climaxed, without having ejaculated.

O how wonderful it was! Gone was the fire that burned between us. Gone, too, were the two of us, for in our place stood, for an instant, an invincible being of neither sex, before it returned to its former glory.

And O how she did radiate with the beauty of that little amalgam of her and me.

“What happened?“ I asked with a grin.

“You have just experienced at-one-ment with me,“ she replied with that roguish little smile of hers.

Just then, the bubble burst. And I knew, immediately, that I was in trouble again with the Navy.

“You’re on report, Dury,“ shouted some PO, as he disappeared up the ladder before I could even identify him.

“For what?“ I shouted back, to no avail, for I had absolutely no idea of why I’d been written up again.

Expecting my soul to have already disappeared from the mirror, I was surprised, when I turned around, to find her standing there, glowing with the radiance of the new life taking shape within her womb. Instead of chiding her for having gotten me into trouble with the Navy again, I simply smiled at her, for it’d just dawned on me how she was trying to help me get out of the Navy. Whenever she enticed me to cross the line between this world and the next, I literally left the Navy behind, as if it really didn’t exist, to embrace the reality of Who I Am.

“I am Who Am,“ muttered I to my self, in my confusion over the true nature of this unnamed god.

“Yes,“ reaffirmed my soul, “and that’s exactly what your shipmates and their kin saw walking among them on the pier, the day you returned to the isle of your Self.“

“I wish I could’ve seen what they saw,“ I groaned.

“O but you have,“ she exclaimed, “when you beheld the exquisite beauty of that unnamed aspect of your greater Self, that is, of you ’n’ me, I’ve been struggling so hard, over the past six months, to carry to full term for you in my womb.“

“I’m sorry I haven’t been more helpful,“ I confessed.

“When I realized how afraid you were, of assuming responsibility for the consequences of your own actions,“ interjected my soul, “I took the advice of my father and backed off for awhile, or at least until those times when your desire for unity with me overcame your fear.“

Having been charged again, for failing to appear at my appointed place of duty, and for having been derelict in the performance of my duties, was I dragged before the Captain, several days later, with the added charge of having failed to shave that morning, for a real shotgun wedding of sorts. Finding my self surrounded, for the first time ever at a Captain’s mast, by my soul, Michael, and her father, I stood there, before the High Priest and his entourage, dressed as the White Knight.

“Do you, Mr. Drury, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?“ asked the High Priest.

“I do,“ I replied out of guilt.

“And do you, woman, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?“ he asked my soul.

“I do,“ replied she out of her love for me.

“Then I pronounce you both man and wife,“ proclaimed the High Priest, rather methodically, as he sent us on our way, with his blessings, to the Naval Station Brig at Pearl Harbor for thirty days of correctional custody, and all for the paltry sum of half a month’s pay.

With that, did my soul grab hold of my hand, to lead me out of the pit of despair.

“Where’ve you been?“ I chided her, as I caught sight of her in the light at the end of the tunnel.

“I’ve been down in the dumps with you,“ she insisted, “scrounging around for clues to the nature of our being.“

“Why haven’t I seen you before now?“ I persisted.

“You were so infatuated with Despair,“ she replied, “you couldn’t take your eyes off her. Until my father started feeding you insight into some of the old myths that’d been relegated to the trash heap, you were hopelessly lost to her. That’s why.“

“We now know,“ interjected my mentor, “that your real identity lies just beyond our grasp, somewhere between the inner ’n’ outer circumstances of your life, waiting to reveal itself to you the instant these two seemingly irreconcilable realities come to the same realization. For it is written, my son, as the Word became flesh, so must the flesh become Word, and the two of them, one, before the identity of the Original Being is revealed. In other words, must you give flesh to your thoughts, and thought to your feelings, to gain insight into Who You Really Are.“

Though I was being led to believe that I could stand up to the Navy and prevail, I had some reservations as to whether or not I could ever beat the devil at his own game, since, in the past, I had overcome Instinct on only the rarest of occasions. Why I felt as if I were hopelessly locked into a body, that wasn’t mine, and into a whole way of life over which I had absolutely no control.

“You can do it,“ insisted the White Knight from out across the void, “but only if you step into my shoes.“

“How can I do that in reality?“ asked I of my own shadow.

“Love me,“ came back he in a way that almost verged on the unholy. “That’s all you have to do.“

“Would learning to love this aspect of my Self truly solve the problem of evil in my life?“ I wondered to my self. “Or would it only exacerbate the problem? Don’t I love my Self, as I ought to? And if not, how can I learn to love something about which I know so little?“

“You know,“ insisted my shadow as he loomed up over me, larger than life, to embrace the nothingness of the ego that now stood naked before him. “See, how easily I penetrate your facade.“

And as I penetrated to the very core of my being, I ran smack dab into my soul.

“What child is this,“ burst in some heavenly chorus from deep within my being, “who laid to rest, on Jinny’s lap is sleeping? Whom angels greet with anthems sweet, while shepherds watch are keeping?“

“She loves me above all else,“ interjected the White Knight.

With that, did I realize how much more than anything else in the whole world I needed the love of my soul, for it was, ultimately, the only key to heaven I had.

While my life deconstructed itself, right before my eyes, I grasped hold of a whole new way of life, more beautiful than I’d ever imagined. As I clung to her, I was confronted by yet another image. For I was being given the choice now, to become Who I Really Am, if I so desired.

And as I danced out onto a stage with her, in the performance of my life, I was left standing there alone in front of a huge stone arch, in the top of which was carved the figure of an angel who had just begun to break free of his imprisonment in the stone, like some prehistoric creature from a fossilized egg. Seeing how this arch represented the dome of my skull, or my own thickheadedness in other words, I turned just in time to see a vapor sneak in through the back door to the mind of God, like a sigh of relief from His mouth. As this evacuation of the truth, from the void, animated my shadow, I watched it slowly raise its sultry self up from the ground of my being, like a phoenix from its own ashes, only to give rise to the haunting specter of the White Knight, towards whom I surprisingly enough showed no fear, this time. Not until he had removed his helmet did I recognize him as a mirror image of myself.

“Who am I?“ asked I of this image of myself.

“You are a sentinel for the house of Uncle Sam,“ he replied, rather matter-of-factly.

“Tell me then,“ I begged to know, “am I to play the part of a sailor after all?“

“Nay,“ said he, “for the house of Uncle Sam is in need of a very different kind of sentinel, one who can interpret for him, correctly, the signs of the times, or pull forth from this Trojan horse, the thoughts of God.“

“How much deeper must I go before I find them?“ inquired I of the White Knight, as this figure of speech put its arm around my shoulders, to welcome me back home.

“Why past your own egocentric view of the world,“ proclaimed the White Knight.

“How can I ever see that far?“ asked I of my host.

“Why through the eyes of the sentinel who stands guard at the gate to the mind of God,“ replied he who did dwell there.

“How does it feel to be standing here?“ rang out the voice of he who had just stepped into my shoes.

“Darn good!“ belted out I in unison with the voices of some heavenly chorus from somewhere deep within my being.

“As often as you’ve stood here, in the past, looking into your own puss, how could you have missed me?“ questioned he this inability of mine to see past its most prominent feature without his help.

“I saw nothing until you showed up there just a few moments ago,“ I insisted on what I experientially knew to be true.

“In the end,“ he concluded, “will your wealth be measured in terms of the richness of the images you find buried here.“

And O how much richer are we, when someone takes the time to unearth this treasure trove of Wisdom, for all the world to see.

“She’s but one of the many faces of the collective soul of mankind,“ replied my soul, “just as I am but the one face of your own soul, or that aspect of the collective soul which lives in you. While I am She and you are She as you are me and we are three persons in one, She’s the mother of all the living, the Tree of Life, just as I am her daughter and you are my betrothed, the one who binds us altogether into one person.“

Just then, I beheld a most wondrous sight, a vision from on high. Peering through a hole in the clouds, which still enshrouded my mind in ignorance of heavenly matters, I saw the Virgin Mary standing triumphant over the serpent, in her bare feet and against the backdrop of a full moon. With the passing of this image, I saw the Holy Spirit fluttering in midair above the bald head of a very rotund, oriental monk who sat atop some dark, indistinguishable force of evil, in the lotus position and without a stitch of clothing on his body. As this image faded, I saw Michael the Archangel standing over the dragon of ignorance, with his sword ever trained upon the belly of the beast, lest it belch out another lie and engulf him in a firestorm of misunderstanding. In the final scene, I watched as the swirling mass of confusion, contained within a gold ring, divided itself into two amorphous forms which rapidly evolved, right before my eyes, into a man and a woman, in a speeded-up version of the creation or evolution of mankind.

Ecstatic, I asked my soul what this meant.

“You’ve just seen the Tree of Life in her true form—the triumph of Wisdom over Instinct, a pure, unadulterated reflection of the image of God,“ she explained. “You have seen how this Holy Spirit enlightens he who turns inward, to strip himself of all pretense and quash the greatest of all evils, ignorance. And you have seen how vigilant you must be, in the struggle to keep your self from falling for the images, which arise from the body, to engage you on an unconscious level. Only you have yet to see where you stand on the ladder of your own evolution towards full personhood, for both the masculine and feminine sides of your personality remain so underdeveloped, that you still demonize them.“

Getting back to the job at hand, I asked my soul why the collective aspect of herself had appeared as an adulteress in the fantasy I’d seen prior to this one.

“That image,“ she responded, “reflects man’s brief fling with these two opposites, and his loss of soul, for the way he must go lies hidden yet, somewhere between these two extremes.“

“Your situation is no different,“ she added, “for you too must find a way to deal with the red menace, or animal passions this brief fling with Uncle Sam has stirred up in you.“

“What is this vision quest of which you speak?“ I asked.

“It is the search for the insight, one needs, to find his way down the path intended for him alone,“ he explained. “It is the chivalrous enterprise upon which any knight, worth his salt, must embark if ever he wishes to heal what ails him. It is the trek back to Paradise where lie hidden the contents of one’s soul, the grail from which one must drink if ever he wishes to transform the beast, that burdens him, into a gallant white steed.“

“Where do I go from here?“ I inquired.

“To Hong Kong,“ he replied.

“Hong Kong!“ I exclaimed. “The way you were talking, I thought you were preparing me for another vision.“

“Remember, my son,“ had he reminded me, “Life comes from within and without. Obviously, She awaits you in Hong Kong; otherwise, She would not have asked you to meet her there.“

With that, did he race off with my thoughts, leaving me behind, as usual, to wonder what lie ahead.

As we pulled into Hong Kong, that day, I was struck by the image of a child nestled snugly in the warmth ’n’ security of its mother’s bosom, as she lay there on her side at the water’s edge, contemplating its future in view of the Red menace pressing at her backside for an end to their estrangement. Stranger bedfellows had I never seen. Yet, I saw this child as a beacon of hope for their reconciliation, if only it could wean itself from its mother’s side of the story, to investigate its father’s version of their affair, for the Red Knight ’n’ Lady Liberty had once loved each other dearly, in that land before time, the psyche of mankind.

As the story goes, the trouble between them started sometime before the birth of Hope, when Lady Liberty jilted the Red Knight for Uncle Sam without a word of warning. Destroyed by this sudden loss of soul, the Red Knight went off on the rest of the world, like some half-crazed animal, attacking everything for which she stood. Thus did he become known as the Red Menace.

Rankled by the shortcomings of Uncle Sam, she soon saw the folly in this choice too. After a brief honeymoon, in which he showed an unwillingness to defend her honor against the Red Knight except in those instances when it suited his purposes, she took off for parts unknown with the only piece of the Red Knight left her. Before I could get a closer look at this wondrous little amalgam of her ’n’ the Red Knight, she disappeared again, with the child.

Frustrated because I could not go ashore to seek her out, I was informed by my soul, that the whole image was just too nascent to grasp yet.

Boy did I shrink back when this Jimmy Dean look-alike hopped into bed with me, in response to the call that’d gone out to him from my own rod. As he tried to fill my head up with some strange idea about how he needed to have sex with me because he couldn’t get it all out with the scantily clad succubus, I shoved the bugger out of my bed before he could cornhole me. Over ’n’ over, was I forced to deal with this demon in the very same manner, as he repeatedly fought his way back up onto my bunk, to f— with me.

Having retreated to the mezzanine level of my mind, in the hopes of finding a more civilized way of dealing with this demon, I was surprised to see the change that’d come over him, as he took on the form of his much larger, though heterosexual counterpart. At this intermediate level, did I catch a glimpse too, of the two individuals hiding out there, presumably, to observe the events about to unfold, from a more objective point of view. After I’d shoved my opponent in the chest, with my foot, as he attempted to climb over the guardrail that stood between us, I wondered if I had hurt him. Looking over the side, to ease my conscience, I saw the cat land upright on his feet. Over ’n’ over, was I forced to repeat this scene until I grabbed hold of a two-by-four, out of desperation, and whopped the beast upside the head. Having only succeeded in encouraging him to take a less dangerous approach, that is, to come up the stairs instead, did I resort to hurling cans of government peanut butter, to hold him at bay. As two other dark shadowy figures entered the picture on his behalf, I told them, in no uncertain terms, to stay out of this fight since it didn’t involve them—advice which, much to my surprise, they heeded. Having reduced my opponent to some grunting ’n’ groaning, half-crazed animal, I found my self walking down a street with none other than Michael and my mentor dressed in suits like two bodyguards. I immediately recognized them as the two observers, I’d seen earlier in the dream. Just then, I spied my opponent, approaching me from across the street, in the form of some huge, dark and menacing figure dressed in black. Fearing what he might do to me in spite of the added protection I’d taken on, I smiled, nervously, and extended my hand in a gesture of reconciliation, it looked as if he were going to receive, until he pulled his hand back in contempt.

“Nah,“ he growled, “there’s still too much bad blood between us to ever get along.“ With that, did he turn ’n’ disappear down the street.

“I must be losing my mind,“ I cried out, in response to the little musical charade that kept playing in my head. “I mean, one day I’m flying high, and the next, I’m wallowing around in my own shit, like some goddamn animal. I don’t get it! Just once, I wish someone, outside myself, could see what I’m going through. Even then, I’m not so sure I’d be any better-off, for they’d probably think I was nuts.“

Until I have gotten my self into a heap of shit or fallen flat on my face again, I never know if it’s “me“ who is getting in the way or not. In choosing to live out the dream instead of its meaning, I delude my self into thinking I know the way, when I don’t. And even though I may disagree with my soul, I always wind up doing exactly what she wants me to do, for it seems she must be obeyed, one way or the other. Either I act upon the truth I find hidden within the dream; or I’m sucked down below the belt, to live out the dream, like an animal. O that I could live out the rest of my life in tune with my Self!

Having spurned my soul’s suggestion to resist the Navy, was I confined to a body which, like any stubborn mule, refused to be pushed beyond the limits of its imagination. In my inability to drag my ass any further than the head or mess decks, I quickly found my self at odds again with the Navy when I failed to appear, one morning, at my appointed place of duty. Actually, I had gone by the head, I’d been assigned to, only to discover I was out of scouring powder. Like a dumb ass, I made the mistake of leaving my station without first having asked for permission to go ’n’ get what I needed. And to make matters worse, I followed my ass right smack dab into a conversation with a fellow jackass down in the compartment, only to forget why I’d gone down there in the first place. Having, as usual, been assigned to clean the head by myself, had I unwittingly responded to the greater need my brother, the ass, had for companionship. With no other explanation for my behavior than that, was I put on report. In the struggle to meet the demands of my being, thus did I learn the ins ’n’ outs of the art of passive resistance, that is, who to resist and who not to.