Were we temples then, so constructed that each of us reflected the light of the fire which burns within, in ways as broadly similar and yet as uniquely different as were the Buddha and Christ? Was each of us a subtle variation of the truth burning to ignite the images that smolder within us and keep us apart? Had we been brought together, here, by our nuances, like the pieces of a great jigsaw puzzle, to get a clearer picture of Who We Really Are?

Unaware yet, of the nuances of truth that were driving me to act so instinctively, I suddenly became aware or mindful of the need I had to penetrate the void which enveloped my mind—that Mind of all minds—to see what It had in mind for me. Only I had to expend a lot of energy to escape the gravitational pull of all those earthly cares and concerns which weighed me down. At the point where I moved beyond my self, I entered the tunnel of vision, a wormhole of sorts, that took me within reach of the great light at the other end. Fearful yet, of my own enlightenment, I stepped back into the conversation Greg ’n’ I had been having with our cabby. Before the wormhole had pinched off, I looked back just in time to see the Buddha wink at me. At that point, I made a motion in favor of leaving the place, but not before I had conned our cabby into taking a picture of us, with my camera. As we stood facing the Buddha, this side of the event horizon, I looked back just in time to see the camera wink at me. With that, I realized I had just hopped from one singularity to another, only this time, in synchronicity with my psyche.

“Trust,“ he pleaded with heartfelt sincerity. “I make offer, no can refuse—no take American money, to end of day. What say?“

While we weren’t sure what to believe after our last experience, Greg and I both agreed that we had nothing to lose since we did not have to pay him until the end of the day.

“Trust,“ he reiterated with a nod, this time.

“Okay,“ Greg finally agreed.

With a grin that extended from ear to ear, he rushed to open the door of his cab, and bade us to have a seat. Only after he, himself, had gotten into the cab, did he ask us where we wanted to go.

As we struggled to communicate to our cabby, the desire we both shared to purchase a nice gift for that special someone back home, he pointed to the ring on his finger. “Eh?“ inquired our cabby.

“Jewelry!“ I exclaimed, in answer to the charade our hearts had played on us.

“Yes!“ rejoined Greg. “What an excellent idea!“

So did our cabby, with the unanimous approval of his fare, take off for parts unknown.

Suddenly, it struck me how much Life is like a game of charades, in which we’re forced to find the Word hidden within Her images, both real and imaginary, to avoid giving flesh to His nemesis, Instinct. In our inability to interpret the language of the body, are we driven to act instinctively, to live out what we see rather than what we hear. For we’ve never been taught how to listen to ourselves or seek the counsel of our own faculties. Lured by the attractiveness of Life’s images, we let the multitude, rather than the One Voice, interpret them for us, preferring to live as our animal ancestors have always lived, under the tyranny of Instinct. In our failure to realize that She must be obeyed, one way or the other, are we forced to live out the charade instead of the truth.

As I refocused my attention onto a more visible band of the spectrum of consciousness, I found my self getting out of the cab, with Greg, in front of a small jewelry store. Inside, I quickly honed in on a gold ring upon which was mounted a star sapphire. Trying it on my baby finger, I just knew it would fit Mary. When I asked the shopkeeper how much it cost, I balked at first.

“Twenty dollars,“ he finally said, “no lower.“

“That’s a bargain,“ piped up Greg. “You could never buy the same ring at that price, back in the States.“

“You think not?“ I asked, hesitatingly.

“I know,“ added Greg, “for gold’s much higher back in the States.“

“All right,“ I muttered as I reached into my pocket for the money. “I’ll take it.“

“I sure wish I could be there,“ I rambled on, “to see the expression on her face when she tears into this package and feasts her eyes on a ring—it’ll blow her mind.“

Greg just smiled, as if to say he agreed. Having selected a beautiful gold necklace for his wife, he proceeded to pay for it.

“Want good f—?“ one of them asked with an inviting smile.

“Only ten dollars,“ added the other with the same cute smile.

Caught off guard by their bluntness, Greg and I simply looked at each other and laughed in our embarrassment.

“While we appreciate your interest in us,“ I finally said, “we’re really not interested in what you have to offer.“

With that, we darted across the street, just to get away from them. But they were persistent. “Only five dollars,“ insisted the gal who had negotiated the last offer, as they raced to catch up with us.

Seeing how quickly they were gaining on us, we increased our gait, with the hope of losing them.

Thinking we were simply playing hard to get, our negotiator offered us a new price of only two dollars. Seeing us break into a trot, she even dropped the price down to a dollar. “Fifty cents,“ she shouted after us, as we took off running down the street at full gallop. Having made her final offer, she gave up on us and turned around, with her partner, to ply her trade elsewhere.

Saddened by the whole affair, I was sure the encounter hadn’t been a chance one. Whether or not it was anything more than a harbinger of things to come, I had no way of knowing yet, as the meaning of this troubling affair escaped my grasp.

As I sat down in the back of the launch, I stumbled upon an image of Mother Nature that sent shivers down my spine. For I had found her badly beaten body lying on the cold stone floor of a fantasy forged in hell. Unable to free her from the chains that fettered her to the floor of this fantasy, I stooped to wipe her badly bruised and battered face, but broke down crying instead. As she reached out to comfort me, of all things, I took hold of her terribly mangled fingers and, with great care, kissed them.

“Thank you, my son,“ she painfully uttered with the distortion that’d once been her mouth.

“Who has done this to thee, my lady, that I might avenge thee?“ I demanded to know.

“Why the beast you call Brute Force!“ she exclaimed.

“That cannot be,“ I retorted, “for I, myself, have seen his demise.“

“You have seen the demise of but a shadow of the collective beast,“ she reiterated with great pain, “which, like Cain, doeth yet terrorize those able to withstand the temptation to use brute force.

“To defeat the evil beast, once and for all, you must slay the great dragon with which he doeth sleep,“ she painstakingly added, “for nothing is more dangerous than sincere ignorance nor mightier than sincere truth—the double-edged sword set in stone, long ago, to keep it out of unscrupulous hands. In defense of the truth only, may you draw upon its incredible power.

“Heed the counsel of your guardian angel, Michael, my daughter, Jinny—the very soul of your being—and her father, Hewhay, whom you have affectionately adopted as your mentor,“ she concluded with a sigh too deep for words.

“Drawing upon this force again,“ continued my shadow, “you were shocked to see the force of truth come to life at the expense of the urge to use brute force, as if both images represented the same force, only from two very different perspectives—whether you’ve chosen heads or tails, to act consciously or unconsciously.“

“Having gotten to the heart of the matter,“ added my soul, “you not only relinquished the right to take another man’s life, but also broke the spell that’d bound you to the demon, Brute Force, when as a young child, you chased after the kid, next door, with a real butcher knife. Realizing that you could never completely rid yourself of the urge to use Brute Force, you cried out in dismay over the paradoxical nature of the force
behind this image.“

“Mobbed by your own angry thoughts,“ interjected my mentor, “for having misjudged your self, you were exonerated of all guilt when it was shown that you had, in deed, acted unconsciously. Unaware of just how much of your personality this primitive urge possessed, you were shown, in a very crude manner, exactly what Jesus meant when He told Nicodemus, ’You must be born from above’.“ (Jn. 3:7)

“When you chose to stand by the truth,“ added my shadow, “instead of giving in to the urge to use Brute Force, you finally pierced through the instinctive image which’d developed around the true nature of this urge, like the amniotic sac around an embryo. Until you realized that you’d been giving flesh to a mere shadow of the truth, you could
never have participated in the labor ’n’ delivery of the first of the three great truths to be borne by you in your lifetime.“

“Having gotten your hands bloodied, at the crowning moment of truth,“ continued my soul, “you panicked at the thought that something had gone terribly wrong. Boy, were you relieved when you saw the truth intact. As you laid claim to this new image of yourself, like any proud father, in your ecstasy were you carried aloft, that day, by many strange thoughts ’n’ feelings.“

“Prior to the birth of this new self-image,“ concluded my mentor, “you wavered for a moment, in the birth canal, where all new life hesitates before it is forced from the womb to give flesh to the good intentions it has embraced. Having brought to light more truth than you could deal with, you turned to your faculties through that tiny image of your self reflected in the eye of another, the speck you desire to remove from your neighbor’s eye. And so did you return from this near death experience to a body no longer dominated by Brute Force.“

Instantly, I found my self among the lost souls who manned the ship. As the sights and sounds of life onboard came crashing back into my awareness, I struggled, momentarily, to get my bearings. And as I made my way below, to hit the sack, I received my mentor’s blessing, “May the force of truth be with you, my son.“ With that did I collapse in a heap.

“Why it’s the handle off some old sword,“ I exclaimed. “What use could I possibly have for such a relic?“

As I took hold of it with my hand, I was startled by the sudden appearance of a blade of bluish-white light. Dropping it from my hand, like a hot potato, I caused the blade of light to disappear as quickly as it had appeared. Grasping hold of it again, I caused the bluish-white blade to reappear, exactly as it had before. This time, I held onto it. Instantly, I knew my task was not over yet, whereupon my soul smiled at me as she disappeared within the wink of an eye.

Left standing in the middle of some dark deserted street in that twilight zone between wakefulness ’n’ sleep, where the secrets of darkness are brought to light, I sensed that my opponent would not come out of hiding until I appeared more vulnerable. Having stuck the sword’s handle in my belt, I stood there for some time, turning round ’n’ round, looking about, before I finally felt safe enough to let go of the only real defense
I had.

“Be not afraid,“ boomed the One Voice from somewhere across the void, “for I have gone before you and will be with you through it all.“

Drawn to this one saloon, I had just raised my hand to open one of its swinging doors, when a drunken sailor came flying out, brushing my shoulder as he stumbled off with the whore he’d picked up inside. Immediately, I recognized this shadow of the foe, I had yet to meet, as my stepfather when he was in the Navy. Realizing that my stepfather and I held some nefarious trait in common, I burst in upon an old, rundown and abandoned burlesque house with its seating arranged around the stage, like an indoor amphitheater.

“Hello,“ I yelled out rather sheepishly. “Is anyone here?“ Having received no response, I spun around to leave and turned right smack dab into the pockmarked face of this big ole fat man, all dressed in black, who seemed to have popped up out of nowhere.

“Who’re you?“ I demanded to know, whereupon he pulled out a large butcher knife from behind his back and, with a smile, held it up to my face. Scared to death, I took off running as fast as my legs could carry me. Round ’n’ round the amphitheater I ran with this madman at my heels. For no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake him.

As the amphitheater grew larger ’n’ larger with each round I made, I found my self racing around a structure, the size of a football stadium, complete with those who’d come out to see such sport. And as the burgeoning crowd chanted, “Kill! Kill! Kill!“ over ’n’ over, in a deafening scream, I was overcome with the hopelessness of ever getting out of this place alive. Then I spotted a small slit in the wall of the amphitheater, through which I knew the Fat Man could never pass. Giving my legs everything I possibly could, I began to outdistance the Fat Man as I made tracks for this narrow gate. Alas, not even I could fit through such a narrow opening. Trapped, I turned to face the Fat Man, as the crowd whipped itself into a frenzy for blood, screaming louder and louder, “Kill! Kill! Kill!“ Just then, I remembered the sword. Drawing forth this blade of bluish-white light, I drew a gasp from the crowd when I held it up for all to see the Fat Man come crashing down upon it to his death. Having pierced him through the heart, I let go of the sword, just in time to see the Fat Man slump to the ground with a butcher knife stuck in his chest. Standing there, all drenched in blood, I screamed hysterically, as the crowd swooped down on me like an angry mob upon a murderer who’s just been caught red-handed. Boy, was I ever relieved when they lit into the Fat Man instead. As they took back those parts of themselves, which had kept the Fat Man alive, all these years, I watched them tear the flesh off his carcass, like birds of prey on a fresh kill, until there was nothing left but the gray shadow of a demon, the first of the three I had coughed up.

There were many thoughts and feelings freed from the tyranny of the Fat Man, that day, far too many for me to recount. Cheering wildly, they grabbed hold of me and threw me up over their heads as their liberator. After carrying me back and forth in front of the narrow gate through which I tried to escape, they finally released me, but not before every one of them had come forward and embraced me. As I walked back through the narrow gate of my own shadow, I watched them all disappear into the great light at the other end of the tunnel of vision, for I had just freed a very small part of humanity from the demon known as Brute Force.

Having barely made it through the initiation process, that is, the trial by fire, was I inducted into this small band of resisters on 24 June 1967, in a serious attempt to harmonize the various aspects of myself into one voice. Of late, I had found my self speaking in harmony with the one voice which has power over the multitude of voices that arise, like demons, at the slightest provocation, from black holes in our personalities, to spread their lies. With the realization that so many of us become personifications of these false voices, I saw this collaboration with my soul and my mentor as an important step towards warding off any takeover attempts by my own personal demons, for I dreaded the thought of ever becoming a permanent puppet, or worse yet, a wraith or shadow of the Magician. Unlike so many of my shipmates, I sought the one true identity which would bring together the renegade forces within me and bind their rebellious cackle into one voice forever. Because I had never seen a living example of an individual who had found his true identity, as they seemed to come ’n’ go with the times, I had no way of visualizing what such a person looked like on the inside, other than through this image of a band playing ’n’ singing together in perfect harmony.

Having sat on my duff as an observer through many of these encounters, or at best, having unwittingly participated in them, I suddenly found my self up on stage, front ’n’ center with the others, as a full participant in the process of trying to bring my earthly existence into harmony with heaven’s goal for me. So did I, with the approval of my own audience, reluctantly step forward to share my thoughts with them.

“Why do you flirt with every skirt that passes, when you have me, the envy of every man who has ever lived?“ she begged to know. “Am I not enough for you—that you have to go looking elsewhere? Why do you insist on looking for the solution to the Jekyll/Hyde dilemma in the faces of these beauties, when mine alone reflects the beauty of the life you seek? How can I convince you that I’m the one meant for you?“

“It’d help if you had a real body,“ I replied rather matter-of-factly.

“O but I do,“ she exclaimed.

“Then where is it?“ I demanded to know.

“Why it’s right here in front of you,“ she answered with that cute little smile of hers, “for I occupy the same body you do.“

“Very funny,“ I muttered.

“It’s really not very funny at all,“ she retorted, “for as it stands, neither one of us has any control over this body of ours.“

“What d’ya mean?“ I asked with some concern.

“I mean this,“ she responded quite frankly, “our body’s in the possession of the evil Magician.“

Rendered speechless, I gulped down the last bit of tea in my cup and looked out the window of the cafe, at the people running up and down the streets, like a bunch of nocturnal wild animals who have just been aroused from another day of sleep by some great internal body clock, to prowl about the growing darkness in search of what they will need to survive another day in a world they have never quite reconciled with their deepest aspirations.

“I’m glad you have brought me here,“ I finally said, “for someone needs to wake up to an understanding of the time in which we’re living, before it’s too late and we’ve destroyed ourselves.“

“How many have been freed from the Magician’s spell?“ I asked.

“Very few,“ she answered rather grimly.

“Then we’d better get started,“ I concluded, “if we want to increase that number by one more.“

“You really mean it?“ she asked, as tears welled up in her eyes.

“What’s the matter?“ I asked. “Did I say something wrong?“

“No,“ she sputtered. “It’s just that I’ve had to wait so long, without really knowing if you’d ever commit yourself to the task of helping me reclaim our body from the Magician. Now that you’ve finally come to my aid, you have come as a broken young man, in need of much mending because of the wound that was inflicted upon you, long ago, and still festers deep within you. And now I have to tell you, just as I’ve told myself over the years, to be patient, for it’s going to take a long time to gain the strength you’ll need to withstand the Magician. I’m sorry; that’s the way it is. So you may as well sit tight and enjoy the rest of what my father has prepared for you, as it is almost over.“

Forced to let go of yet another aspect of the life to which I clung, for fear of falling through the void it had created in my life, did I draw ever so close to grasping hold of one of the most puzzling pieces of my life, the urge to stand tall as a beacon to all. Rather than falling headlong into the Great Abyss, as many of my shipmates had, I was being urged to hold my head high as I stepped into the infernal pit to shed light on whatever remained bound to the beast that inhabited its dank, dirty corridors. But alas, I was not quite ready for so bold an undertaking.

Since I’d never been initiated into the underground resistance, till this Captain’s mast, I basically lacked any training in the ways of the underworld. Why I barely understood the language, much less how to access this world or go about doing anything once I got there. I knew only that it seemed to stir with the slightest ripple I made at the surface, whereupon I’d immediately start receiving images of its perception of what was taking place on the surface. I was always given a choice in the matter, either I did what was shown to me or I did what I was meant to do. If I failed to do the latter, for whatever reason, then I no longer had a choice in the matter—I was forced to do the former, unless my will remained sufficiently strong to withstand its enticing images while I tried to figure out which way I should go. Since the images were generally so highly charged with the energy needed to pull Consciousness down from the heavens in brilliant flashes of insight, I had little time to dally here in the middle, lest I be struck by the energy contained within the images to act them out before I found out what I was meant to do; for She Who Must Be Obeyed always got her man, one way or the other, either by the genitals or through his heart.