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.

“What’s your name, puke,“ hissed the badgerer, as he rounded the corner of his desk to invade my space.

“Drury,“ I replied with the meekness of one who sincerely hoped that physical abuse was not a part of his repertoire of intimidation.

“Drury, sir,“ he screamed as he got right up in my face.

“I can’t hear you,“ he snarled with a glare meant to maximize the effect he was obviously having on me.

“Drury, sir,“ I finally muttered, unwillingly.

“Are you a pussy, Dury?“ he screamed into my face, after I’d failed to respond to him with any balls.

Acting as if he’d just seen my soul, did he suddenly turn and walk his puffed-up, young self back around to the front of his desk, to take a look at my confinement papers. “Well, what have we here,“ sneered the badger within him, “some pussy-ass f–kup?“

“What kind of pussy-ass name is Eodor,“ growled the beast within him, in an effort to live up to its namesake.

“Sir Eodor is my father’s name,“ I replied with the pride of the eldest son and subsequent heir to the family coat of arms.

“I thought it was your mother’s name,“ snarled some smart-ass corporal who had yet to earn his badge as a full-fledged badgerer.

“You think you’re really somethin’, don’t ya Dury, better than the rest of us,“ yelled out the sergeant from across his desk, after having obviously been deeply disturbed by my tone of voice. “Well in my eyes, mister, you ain’t nothin’ but a goddamn puke. Ya got that, Dury.“

Having failed to elicit any response from me, to get my goad in other words, he ordered me to empty out the contents of my pockets, which, of course, I did in all haste. Scarfing up what little money I had, he then placed it in a manila envelope and asked me to sign the damn thing, to verify that he’d written down the correct amount on the outside of the envelope.

“Get this f–kin’ puke outta my sight, before I get any sicker than I already am,“ he commanded.

Looking into the red beady eyes of this poor dumb brute, before I was taken to my new quarters, I caught a glimpse of his own suppressed humanity, hidden deep within his being in some dark, dank ’n’ dirty cell. Immediately, I recognized this humanity of his as my own and raced off to embrace it. In the compassion I felt, that day, for this poor wretched creature, was I liberated from my fear and taken aback by my humanity—or missing link—to a place in Paradise where lay the profane and the holy, side by side, like the lion and the lamb in Isaiah.

“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.“

Under great duress was Consciousness born again and again, always with the hope He’d, one day, overthrow the evil reign of Instinct. Despite all the attempts on His life, down through the ages, Consciousness grew in strength under the nurturing care of the heart, for she knew this child alone was her only hope for salvation. Not till He came of age, with the birth of Christ, did He attempt to take on this Goliath, face to face, in a fight to death.

During the early rounds of this god-awful fight, Consciousness had gained the upper hand over Instinct. Then, in a sudden blow to the head, He suffered a right cross that sent Him reeling. Stumbling over His own words, He fell to the earth, where He died in the arms of His Mother.

Having apparently lost the fight with Instinct, was He laid to rest in a tomb within the earth. For unbeknownst to us, He had returned to the womb of His Mother so that we might understand the meaning of His words to Nicodemus—that one must be born of the Spirit to enter the Kingdom. While Wisdom labored for three dark days to give birth to a newborn Son, Consciousness finally realized His goal, the creation of the first human being ever made in His own likeness.

In spite of all the scrutiny of the history of Consciousness, that has taken place down through the ages, we have yet to see through the devilish trick Instinct played on us. Like Adam ’n’ Eve, we find it difficult to wake up from the Big Sleep—to walk through our dreams and visions, the very myths we live by, with the understanding and awareness of Consciousness. In our choice to sleepwalk through life, we remain oblivious to the myths that have driven us since time immemorial. Even when we are awakened to our dreams, we find ourselves incapable of penetrating Wisdom’s images, to free the seeds of truth, Consciousness deposited there, long ago, in safekeeping for us.

We see Consciousness as the enemy. As we enlist in the struggle to protect the life of our old mentor, turned traitor, we give up our lives for a mere shadow of what is. We seek the death of God instead of enlightenment. In our relentless persecution of the truth, we fool our selves into believing we have killed Consciousness, for in our blindness, we fail to see the death of Instinct in the crucifixion of Consciousness.

No longer free to pluck the truth from the images of Wisdom, like an apple from a tree, we’ve been cursed to toil by the sweat of our brows, to unearth the truth from the ground of our beings. From among thorns ’n’ thistles, the lies and misconceptions that surround the truth, must we now struggle to raise our level of consciousness. Like Nicodemus, must we learn to make the incestuous return to the womb of the mother of all images. So too must we learn to leave the body in spirit if, like Jesus, we want to enter the realm of the imagination to free the seeds of truth being held captive yet, by Instinct. Only, we must leave Instinct behind, to suffer and die on the cross, alone.

Fearing that this new drive for consciousness might lead to his own destruction, Instinct decided to seize it for himself, for he now longed to see the naked beauty of Wisdom with the all-seeing eye of the Creator. Since the man and the woman had just ripened to full sexual maturity, he filled their bodies with desire. As he conjured up the usual imagery for this right of passage, he learned they had received instructions, from higher up, not to indulge such fantasies. Using their one weakness, the separation of the head from the heart, he captured the heart and hid her from the head in a cloud of images. With the heart now emotionally bound to an image out there in Nature, Instinct proceeded to capture the attention of the head with a plausible explanation of the events about to unfold. Thus did Instinct convince the head to encounter the image of this woman out there in Nature rather than within himself as God had instructed. With the fall of the head, Instinct easily took control of their bodies, the ultimate source of consciousness.

In his unwillingness to set Truth free from Her bondage to the images of the material world, Instinct unwittingly participated in the conception of consciousness. Fortunately, he never realized that Wisdom can be freed from Her imprisonment in Nature, whether we act upon Her images in body or in spirit. He failed to recognize the inexplicable bond between the head and the heart, that the head must not only penetrate the heart to free Wisdom, but also give himself up completely to her in order to free consciousness from the clutches of Instinct.

He took advantage of the heart’s desire for unity with the head by filling the head with his own insatiable desire for unconscious unity with Wisdom. Having filled the head with images of the truth, he drove the head to make an unwise choice, one lacking feeling. After convincing the head he could have Wisdom if only he’d penetrate Her image, Instinct tricked the heart into believing she could have Consciousness if only she’d allow His image to fill her with what she thought she lacked, the seeds of truth. Thus did he drive the heart to make an unreasonable choice, one lacking thought. Instinct’d played upon the head’s desire for wisdom, and the heart’s, for enlightenment, to keep them from conceiving consciousness. Only he failed.

With the conception of consciousness was Instinct fired from his post as guide supreme. For his transgression was he banished from Paradise to assume the lowest form of life in all creation. Thus did he create hell on earth, enmity between himself and the heart.

We have been born solely for the benefit of each other, for the purpose of raising every individual, or aspect of the body of mankind, from our animal roots, to create a whole new branch on the evolutionary tree of life. To create this new species of truly human beings, we must give ourselves completely, not only to each other, but to every aspect of creation, like the leaves on a great tree. So do we, as we die to our selves year after year, make the greatest contribution toward resurrecting the image of God still trapped in the wood of the tree.

Only, I saw my life in the Navy as a step back into the nightmarish prehistory of mankind, where the still invisible image of God lay hidden within unconscious life forms. Since these life forms bore little resemblance to the Creator, many of them were scrapped in a supreme effort to create a being made entirely in the image ’n’ likeness of the Original Being. And so did God, with the evolution of our species, elect to turn the task over to us, to complete. In our inability to let go of our animal heritage, did we fall from the evolutionary tree, to a level of existence that lay beneath our true dignity.

With the development of our capacity to think, were we freed from a purely instinctive response to the images of the imagination. Whereas our ancestors had been programmed to unconsciously mimic what they saw in the images that cropped up to guide them, we took the first conscious step in the creation of the image ’n’ likeness of God in the flesh. As the beneficiaries of millions of years of evolution, did we stumble upon the means to become aware of ourselves.

Out of the void, that has occupied the head since time immemorial, did we catch wind, one day, of a whisper on the breath of a gentle breeze. As the wind spoke to us, we sensed that a momentous change was about to take place in our bodies. We’d been reprogrammed. No longer were we to take the images of the imagination, literally.

As Adam, was I overcome by an instinctive desire to penetrate the hole which had opened up before me. Sucked into the spiritual vacuum of the void that now stood between me ’n’ the truth, did I fall victim to a rapidly unfolding stream of images. There was I confronted by the unfathomable wisdom of my heart, in the guise of a naked woman. When my rod extended itself out from my body, like a serpent, its head from a tree, I lost my head—this newly won ability of mine to choose the real thing over its image. Out of ignorance, did I mistake the act of procreation for that of creating consciousness. I was bamboozled by Instinct into believing I would become all knowing, like the Creator, if I tasted the fruit of a sexual encounter with this image of God. Ignoring the admonition to avoid taking these images literally, did I cave into the gentle persuasion of the woman of my dreams. Thrusting my self into this fantasy, I gave my self up to her completely. As I came, I saw heaven penetrate the earth and sow the seeds for the creation of a whole new species of animal, one made in the image and likeness of God. On the Eve of my humanity, in the arms of a real flesh ’n’ blood woman, did I wake up to my own naked truth—that I had just participated in the conception of consciousness.

Confronted by the still invisible image of God, I realized my mistake. Immediately, I blamed the woman who then laid the blame on Instinct, for it was he who had filled our bodies with the desire to become as one again, like God. As half a man, had I lost my head over the very heart, she had just deferred to the wrongheaded views of Instinct. And so did I learn that Instinct could no longer be trusted.

With that, I realized the mass is about the transformation of our animal natures into human nature—the image into the likeness of God.

Through the priest, do we offer our bodies to God via the bread, so that we may literally be transformed into full human beings, the body of Christ. So too, do we imitate the priest (Abraham) whenever we sacrifice, on the roughly hewn altars of our daily lives, those animalistic tendencies which no longer befit us as human beings. Only when we see the handwriting on the altar, and embrace the holographic prescription etched there, in place of the sin offering, can we truly give up such animalistic behavior.

Blinded by our materialistic myopia, we’re unable to see Christ in the bread—the full human being within our bodies. Like some of our animal brethren, have we been endowed with a sixth sense, the ability to imagine—to see a mental image of something not present to the senses or never before wholly perceived in reality. Through the power of our imaginations, or symbolic perception, can we perceive the true nature of reality—the ultimate meaning of our existence.

For we’ve been called upon, by God, to wake up to our real fate—to drink from a cup that will not pass until we’ve sweat blood, or shed from our bodies, like crushed grapes, the wine of Dionysus. Ever driven by this intoxicating potion to behave like an animal instead of the human being we’re slowly becoming, must we empty ourselves of this poison, and humbly drink from this bitter cup the antidote, human blood. As the wine, which has been transformed into His blood, goes to our heads and fills our hearts, we’re momentarily elevated to human stature. So do we, in that one brief moment, taste the sweetness of our true destiny, the fullness of our humanity.

“Why?“ I shouted across the void, to no avail.

Left with no other recourse, I sat down, that evening, to write Mary a letter, for I felt as if God had abandoned me. Or was it I who had abandoned God? As I crumbled under the weight of my new role as a sentinel for the house of Uncle Sam, I succumbed to yet another depression, a black hole of such magnitude, I was squeezed till there was nothing left of me. For was it not I who had to die? Yet I could tell Mary only so much, for fear of losing her or flaring up her thyroid condition—a role I found so stifling, at times, I could’ve screamed, for it was all such a sham, a cover-up for what, I knew not.

“O where are you when I need you?“ I screamed out in anguish, over the condition of my soul, again to no avail.

I soon realized that I hadn’t abandoned God. I just didn’t know myself well enough to get a handle on Who I Am from one moment to the next, much less from day to day or even from week to week, as it took a whole lot more energy, than I’d ever imagined, for my faculties to raise these little revelations to the surface—energy that was not always available to them, especially if I were being forced to do other things with my time, things which had little or no bearing upon my depression. And while I found little to console me in these thoughts, I found even less in Mary’s response to my impassioned plea for help.

Dear Butch,

What’re you trying to do—give me a heart attack? I was so happy when I came home from work and found your letter waiting for me. When I learned you’d pulled back into Pearl Harbor, I almost fainted. I had no idea you were due back in Hawaii so soon. I was so happy for you, I could’ve cried. It was all such a pleasant surprise.

Now to the next matter—please, Butch, don’t let yourself get so depressed. Find something to occupy your mind so you won’t get this way. If nothing else, roam the beaches for me, so that you can tell me all about Hawaii. There, you’ll find so much to write about (Hint! Hint!) you won’t have time to get depressed.

I was quite upset when I learned you hadn’t received the cake or my letters. But I’ll make it up to you when you get home. Okay?

Thanks so much, Butch, for the great pictures of you, as they let me see a little more of who you really are.

Since you know how nervous I am, I hope you’ll at least let me know when you’re coming home so that my heart won’t fail me when I find you standing at my door. Really, Butch, I’m dying to know when I’ll get to see you again. Please tell me. Okay?

Take care now, and get home soon.

Love,
Mary

While I wished she could have met me when the ship pulled into Pearl Harbor, as did the wives of Greg ’n’ Harold, to share the splendor of this paradise with me in person rather than via the mail, I see now, just how disastrous that would have been. For I would only have gotten lost in a relationship I was no more prepared to enter than I had been, the Navy. In my need to return to the womb of the Great Mother, to find out Who I Really Am, I wound up in the same boat as the other guys on the ship. As much as I wanted to physically penetrate the womb, I was forced instead, to make the return to the fertile world of my own imagination where, as an inexperienced spelunker, I often got lost in the pit of despair when I couldn’t find anything to paint. And so there I was, stuck in dry dock with a skeleton crew, while the ship underwent some much-needed repairs after her stormy affair with Typhon, the father of chimera.