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.

“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.

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.

As word trickled down through the chain of command that we were to be given the day off, at the discretion of the commanding officer of each division, word of a very different kind—that the rank and file of First Division had gone on strike—spread like wildfire through the crew. Ordered to report up topside for work, like jackasses had they sat down on their haunches, in the hangar bay, refusing to budge no matter how hard their cruel taskmasters tugged at the reigns of fear that bridled them. After learning that the members of every other division on the ship had been laid off for the day, except for those required to stand watch, they grew irate and demanded to know why they were being so mistreated.

Locked out by the officials of First Division, while they hammered out a face-saving agreement with those who had called this wildcat work stoppage, I stood in the passageway outside the door to the hangar bay, anxiously awaiting any news of the outcome of this exciting new development in the feudal relationship of the rank and file to the officialdom of His Majesty’s Navy. As the flood gates to my imagination burst open, I was inundated with the mutinous talk of a small coterie of disaffected seamen who’d gathered up topside, several months ago, to revel in the myth which had gripped the imaginations of these would-be mutineers. Why I was so captivated by my own thoughts of mutiny, I hardly noticed the XO as he whisked by, to rendezvous with the rabble in the hangar bay. In defiance, did I smile when he turned to glare at me in an accusatory manner before closing the door, as if I’d been the cause of this totally spontaneous event. As I saw it, I was no more responsible than he was, for the myth which’d grabbed the imaginations of this mutinous lot was much larger than either one of us. Sure, I preyed upon the disaffection of my shipmates, but only as a point of contention or means of getting back in touch with what I was really feeling. For I could not fathom what new life my soul’d give birth to, in the coming months. And as the only breed of new man…

Just then, I heard the door open. Looking up, I saw the XO emerge with his head hung low. And as he scurried past me, with his tail between his legs, I knew that we had prevailed.

As I zeroed in on Greg, to get the scoop on what had gone down, I learned that they had been told to keep their mouths shut about what had happened, unless they wanted to be charged with mutiny when they all got back to Hawaii. Fearing that I’d been misled by my perceptions of the XO as he emerged from the hangar bay, I asked Greg if they had not won any concessions from him.

“You bet,“ he replied with an exuberance that touched me deeply. “We got the motherf—er to not only give us the day off, but also guarantee us better treatment, in the future, from our immediate superiors.“

“See what can be done,“ I interjected, “when we ban together.“

“Yeah,“ responded Greg. “We can all be hauled away for mutiny, court-martialed and locked up for the rest of our lives in some godforsaken prison.“

“Are we not now serving time for our rebellion against the Highest Authority in the world?“ I asked.

“Maybe,“ he surmised. “At least I have the consolation of knowin’ that I’m gonna get outta here on good behavior in about a year.“

“Will the soul really be freed from its imprisonment in nature when one’s self is released from this indentured servitude to embrace a life of unbridled greed?“ I probed him more deeply. “I think not,“ I philosophically replied, “for such a life only further enslaves the soul to one’s self. How does one free himself then, from the chains he has forged in this life with his own hands? Unless he embraces the life that is his soul, I daresay he can never escape the hell he has created for himself.“

“To tell ya the truth,“ I replied, “I’ve been playin’ with myself.“

“I thought so,“ he grunted. “Only I hope you haven’t spilled any of that red lead down the side of the ship.“

With the Chinese coolies, we had hired to paint the hull of the ship from the main deck down to the water line, having just completed their task that afternoon, he didn’t trust me enough to let my work pass without further scrutiny, especially since the wire-mesh rail, surrounding the fantail, leaned out from the deck at about the same angle, the hull took off for the water—an unfortunate oversight on my part.

“I don’t understand,“ he sneered as he peered over the side, “how the hell you managed to spill so much goddamn paint down the side of the ship, unless you just don’t give a f—.“

“I thought I’d done a pretty good job,“ I responded, until I looked over the side and saw what a mess I’d made.

As the demon, Brute Force, rose up to take possession of his body, I stood there and watched with amazement, the transformation of this normally self-complacent Jekyll into the beastly Hyde. At the raising of the hair on the nape of my neck, I backed away, just in time for those who had gathered around, out of curiosity, to grab hold of him as the beast, he could no longer contain, lashed out at me.

“Lemme go,“ snarled the beast, as it struggled to break free of the last hold civilization had on him. “I’ll kill the motherf—er.“

Upon seeing just how hell-bent was the missing link, on spilling paint instead of blood, did my Neanderthal friend lash out at the more positive aspect of the Red Menace with all the fury of the negative side of this daimon in the rough. Having not yet evolved to the point of painting pictures on the interior side of his skull, whenever he saw red, was my caveman friend driven to live out the flip side of this urge to draw blood instead. Thus did he seek to destroy the only link he had to his own evolution.

Having raised quite a stink up topside, was I ordered below by the Officer of the Deck, in an attempt to defuse the situation before it really got out of hand. Spared the wrath of an angry lynch mob, I became a folk hero over night.

“I don’t know how you do it,“ exclaimed Marty. “This has got to be the best stunt you’ve ever pulled off. I mean you’ve got every motherf—in’ lifer on this ship steamin’, Dury, while the rest of us are laughin’ our asses off, at the crazy motherf—ers.“

“That’s what worries me,“ I responded. “This whole thing’s gotten blown way out of proportion. It was an accident, pure and simple.“

“Yeah, right,“ retorted a tittering Marty.

So did I teeter back and forth between conformity and revolt. If I veered from my destiny in the least bit, I’d be filled with desire for unity with whichever side of my personality I’d unwittingly abandoned. Until I walked again in the penumbra of the Original Being—that space between the perfect shadow and the full light of the imagination—I found no peace of mind.

Having completed her mission in Vietnam, the Davidson had pulled out to sea where, on the day of the white glove inspection, she encountered some rough going. While I worked hard to make it look as if I had finished cleaning the head to which I’d been assigned, she tossed me back ’n’ forth with the piss ’n’ shit she had belched up onto the deck from the mouth of the toilet someone had forgotten to flush. As the shit broke down into little turds which rolled back ’n’ forth across the deck, like marbles, the great gray whale couldn’t have helped me out any more than she did that day.

With the appearance of Chief Duggan, I knew the Captain and the XO were not far behind.

“Dury,“ meowed this pussycat of a slothful chief, as it peeped its head inside the door. “Is this compartment ready for inspection?“

“I suppose,“ mused the Cheshire cat in me, with a grin.

“Then get over here and present it for inspection,“ droned the slothful cat, “for you’re keeping the Captain waiting.“

Believing that this black sheep in disguise had rejoined the fold, the Captain stood outside the door staring down at his troublesome young ward, with the satisfied look of an old weasel upon his face.

“Ready, Sir,“ gleefully reported a very naughty little Cheshire cat.

“Mr. Drury, when you present a space to the Captain,“ sneered the primp little Victorian cat that usually accompanied the weasel on its excursions outside of officer’s country, “you salute the Captain smartly, and present the space by its number, as being ready for inspection.“

“I don’t think this space has a number,“ meowed the cat with a Cheshire grin.

As the primp little Victorian cat sprang back with the slothful one to look for the number that was obviously missing, why the pompous old weasel who had been standing silently by, until then, flew into a rage. “Just present the space as a head, Mr. Drury,“ sizzled a simmering weasel, “and let us get on with the goddamn inspection.“

“O Captain, my Captain,“ meowed the cat with a Cheshire grin, “thou mayest inspect thine own head, as suits thee, Sire.“ After a very disquieting salute—that started on the shores of this country, only to end up in Nazi Germany—did this most irreverent cat step aside, that the ole weasel might examine the contents of its own head. Looking to catch a glimpse of its haughty self in the mirror, was the Cheshire cat taken aback instead, by the sudden appearance of the white knight. As the great white horse reared up on its hind legs in approval, the cat reckoned it had just seen its own transformation.

Having lost his marbles at a young age, the Captain grew irate at the sight of the shit he now found rolling around inside his head. Having lost them again, only this time, to the white knight, did he go out of his head, muttering obscenities to himself and the XO. Why he was so beside himself, as he ’n’ the Victorian cat fled from the white knight, I’m not sure, to this day, if he ever pulled himself together, long enough to complete his inspection of the ship.

“I can see now,“ hissed a not so docile pussy cat of a slothful chief as it exited the Captain’s head, “that it was a mistake to think I could ever change you, Dury, for you’re no diamond in the rough.“

“No, Chief,“ I interjected, “I’m the stone which you, the builders of this way of life, have rejected. And like any stumbling block, I have yet to take on my true form. When I do, I will dazzle even your eyes.“

With that, did this pussycat of a slothful chief retreat down the passageway to lick its wounds.

Within moments, was I relieved of the duty of cleaning the head, and ordered below by Joe, to pass out laundry. Finally, I’d been relegated to the most innocuous position onboard the ship, which suited me just fine since I wanted little else to have to do for the Navy than clean the sleeping quarters of my shipmates or pass out their laundry. Besides, I found it to be much more amenable to meeting the great need my soul seemed to have for fraternizing with the other members of the crew around the real issues of the day, without the fear of being punished. Thus did I win my first real victory since going on the warpath again, against the Navy.

“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.