“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.

“Remember, my son, you are three persons in one,“ admonished my mentor, as I stewed over whether to take his life or forfeit mine.

Squeezing the trigger, I stood and watched as round after round peeled away layer after layer of meat ’n’ bone from the side of his face, like a butcher’s knife, before he slumped to the ground in slow motion. Seeing the others run for cover, I realized that not one of these poor peasant farmers was armed.

Looking down, as I stood over the dead man’s body, I watched in awe, as his mutilated face transformed itself into mine, then yours, and back into mine, from whence it transfigured itself into a crucified Christ’s before settling upon my dead brother’s. Closing the eye that was left, after I’d looked into it, I recalled a fight I’d had with my brother, many moons ago. Having been coaxed, by my stepfather, into putting on the boxing gloves to settle an old score with Scott, whom I’d overcome then, as easily as I had, a few moments ago, with a show of superior strength, I recalled a vow I’d made as he lay on the floor, writhing in the pain of defeat. Upon realizing that all men are my brothers, I swore I’d never fight again.

Until now, I had done remarkably well in keeping that vow. When, a year or so later, I was confronted by one of the neighborhood toughs, on my own turf, I talked my way out of a fight and into a mutual respect for the other that lasted through high school. Having stood up to the real enemy, Brute Force, and overcome the beast, for months afterwards, I was looked down on, by the rest of my family, as a coward. Though, in the eyes of my soul, I was seen as the real hero, that day. And in spite of the hurt I felt, over their response to my handling of the incident, I was encouraged by my soul to continue to pursue more peaceful solutions to the problems that confronted mankind.

Turning to the incident at hand, I broke down crying as I waited for the dead man’s people to come back for him. Looking down at the uniform I was wearing, I cursed this bloody day and the man this naughty boy had become, for my face had, indeed, grown long with shame.

“Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord’s about to pass by,“ commanded the voice of my soul.

“Now there was a great wind, so strong it split mountains and broke rocks into pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind, an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake, a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire, a sound of sheer silence.“ I Kings 19:11–12.

Overcome with fear, I broke out in a cold sweat as I lay there, struggling to awaken from a deep sleep. Unable to let go of my fear, I found little to comfort me as I rhetorically circumambulated the meaning of the dream. “Had I gone over to the exchange with Marty and the others,“ I asked my self, “only to see the hint of an encounter with God succumb to a whirlwind of Brute Force? Had I been looking for an experience of God, when I was so badly shaken by the fall of Elrie? Had not I found God in the fire that burned to reunite me with the other side of my nature?“ Into the feminine side of my nature had I lunged as I latched onto what my body had grasped. Having abandoned the foundering, one-sided, masculine point of view, to wage an unwinnable war in Vietnam, had I darted off in search of what I knew not. Lest I get swept away by a treacherous undercurrent or backlash of the feminine side of my nature, as had my real father, some twenty-odd years ago, I wanted to know what she had seen, the second the sound of sheer silence resonated with me. Having stumbled across bits ’n’ pieces of the truth, I had not yet found the whole truth, for it was nothing but the truth, so help me God, whom I sought. And so did I awaken, if only briefly, from the deep sleep that’d been imposed upon me ere I entered this world in human form to free my soul from the clutches of Instinct.

“What’s the meaning of this?“ I asked as I woke up.

“You have heard that it was said,“ he went on to say, “’An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second. Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you.“ Mt. 5:38–42. And with that, he disappeared.

That night I encountered the inclination within man to quarrel with another—whether real or imagined—over matters which, if allowed to grow weary of begging to be heard, will antagonize the hell out of him. In turning to the instinct to survive, had I taken a nip from the cup of my body’s supply of adrenaline. In my intoxication with the powerful effects of this drug on my body, as it rushed to my head, urging me to use brute force, I was instantaneously transformed into a beast. In the swipe of a paw, however, was I awakened to a wisdom infinitely greater than that of taking “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth“. And so did I, in my refusal to add insult to injury, turn the other cheek towards my attacker. Why I even offered him my coat which, after one sniff, he flat out refused, for he merely wanted me to walk that extra mile with him in his shoes. Thus did I learn how to bring out the humanity of an animal in attack mode—the truth yet hidden within the natural man.

When I shared the meaning of the dream with Marty, later that day, he couldn’t let go of the old myth—of what had been tried by him and found to be true—long enough to feel what effect, if any, the new myth had had on him. Like many of our contemporaries, he distrusted what he had not yet experientially come to know. Nor did he put much stock in his own dreams in their refusal to yield to such a meager investment. For Marty wanted only what’d ultimately get him through his indenture to the government of the United States, with the least amount of pain. He couldn’t see that we only hurt others when we ourselves’ve been hurt as had that sailor back at the exchange.

Had he associated me with all the angry young men on the outside, who had grown mustaches, beards ’n’ long hair in their refusal to serve in the very military he unquestionably supported? For he had definitely sensed that I stood for something, so contrary to what he believed, that it brought out the beast in him, the very image in which lay hidden yet the truth that threatened the beast with extinction.

“I don’t like the way you look, sailor,“ exclaimed the predator.

“Who me?“ asked the missing link as it looked up into the face of its natural predator.

“Yeah, you,“ bellowed the predator, whereupon we all just looked at each other and chuckled nervously, more to make light of the matter than anything else.

“I don’t like that hair on your lip, sailor,“ insisted my predator, as he tweaked my mustache.

With that, I leaned back in my chair. “Come on, you guys,“ I said. “Let’s get outta here.“

But it was too late, for the talking horse had already sprung into action. With a hard right to the predator’s jaw, did Marty knock the beast to the floor, where he proceeded to kick it in the ribs, several times, before smashing into its face with one of his hooves. And all this he did ere I could even get hold of the horse’s ass, to reign him in.

“What the hell are ya tryin’ to do, Marty, kill him?“ I screamed into his face.

“Yeah,“ snarled the beast, Brute Force, from somewhere beneath the civilized veneer that normally held it in check.

By that time, Harold ’n’ Greg had also grabbed hold of Marty, to keep him from doing any further harm to the predator.

“Get outta my way ya motherf—ers,“ demanded Marty.

“The shore patrol’s comin’, Marty,“ I yelled, unable to come up with anything else. “They’re gonna arrest ya, Marty, and haul your ass off to the brig, if you don’t get the hell outta here.“

Hesitating for just a moment, I looked down, with some concern, on the bloodstained face of my predator as it lay there groaning ’n’ writhing in pain, after having received another kick in the ribs from Marty as he turned to hightail it out of the place with the rest of us. Boy did I lay into Marty as soon as we’d all gotten safely back to the ship.

“I don’t care what he did to me,“ I insisted, “you had no right to do what you did back there, as he hadn’t laid a finger on you.“

“Listen, Dury,“ rejoined Marty, “the motherf—er was out lookin’ for a fight—I only gave him what he wanted.“

“No, you didn’t,“ I blasted back. “You destroyed the one chance he’d had, to encounter the rebelliousness of his own soul as triggered by my mustache. And had you allowed us to discuss the matter…“

“Before you’d said a word, Dury,“ rebutted Marty, “he’da smacked ya upside the head, like I did him. Don’t ya see, Dury, I had to hit the motherf—er fore he got to ya.“

Unable to get him to step into my shoes to see things from my point of view, I retreated to my bunk where, due to sheer exhaustion, I fell fast asleep.

“Is that the only way you’ll ever understand what I’m tryin’ to tell you?“ I fired back in my frustration with his stiff-neckedness.

Having shut him up, for the moment, I grew depressed at the thought that even my best friend was a Neanderthal.

“Like a chip off the old block, eh?“ did my shadow remind me.

“Aw, shut up,“ I shouted back across the void. “I’m gettin’ so goddamn sick ’n’ tired of hearin’ about evolution, that I could puke. Why me? Why am I the only one who ever sees this shit? Huh?“

“I can’t hear you,“ I shouted back, after a brief pause in which I received no other response from my shadow than dead silence.

“I’m sorry, Marty,“ I finally said, “for havin’ taken my frustrations out on you. I’m just a little depressed today, that’s all.“

“This f—-n’ hole’s enough to depress anyone,“ rejoined Marty.

“That’s just it, Marty,“ I exclaimed. “It’s not the place. It’s you and I who’re out of sync. And I feel as if I’m the only one who sees that.“

“I see it,“ he proclaimed.

“You see only what ya wanna see, Marty,“ I rebutted, “whatever demands little or no change on your part.“

“I’m not you, Dury,“ insisted Marty. “And I never will be.“

“You’re more like me, Marty,“ I added, “than you’ll ever admit. You’re just as stubborn as I am. Only you resist change instead of resisting what refuses to change. You’re all talk ’n’ no action, Marty. In spite of that, ya got spunk—one thing I’ve always liked about ya.

“Boy, am I thirsty,“ I concluded. “Ya wanna get somethin’ to drink?“

“Sounds good,“ he exclaimed as we headed for the exchange.

“Ya know, Dury,“ Marty finally admitted, “while I sometimes, really like what ya have to say, I have a hard time figurin’ out how the hell you’d ever live out some of the shit ya come up with.“

“Yeah, Marty,“ I stated quite frankly, “so do I. But I know one thing for sure—I can’t live like this, either.“

With that, we both fell silent.

“Ya know, Marty,“ I exclaimed, as I looked out over the bay to grasp hold of a thought before it disappeared, “we’re just as stupid as the Spanish were.“

“How’s that?“ he asked.

“Just as the Spaniards, who had colonized these islands, fell for the fallacy of the phallus, so have we,“ I responded. “We haven’t learned a thing from the last two hundred years of the history of man’s mistakes.“

“What d’ya mean?“ he asked again.

“We still believe in using brute force to get what we want,“ I replied, “whether it’s ours to have or not. Like a bunch of wild animals, do we allow ourselves to get all puffed up and bent out of shape at the slightest provocation of our egos. In our inability to make soul without forcing ourselves upon her, we lose our heads instead of using them.“

“I pity the poor bloke who takes a poke at me,“ interjected Marty, “cause I’ll kick the motherf—-r’s face in.“

“Ya see, Marty,“ I exclaimed, “that’s exactly what I mean. Instead of relying on the force of truth, we immediately turn to brute force. We respond instinctively to the differences which rise up between us, for the sake of consciousness, to protect from death that part of us which needs to die, in the first place. In our stubborn refusal to evolve into full human beings, we hold onto a dead way of life and protect it with the old instinctive responses of our animal ancestors.“

“There ain’t no motherf—-r, I’d ever let push me around,“ insisted Marty, “I’d die fightin’, fore I’d let that happen.“

“Don’t ya see, Marty,“ I persisted, “that’s the fallacy—you’d die fightin’ for the wrong cause, to protect a way of life that shoulda died out long ago, for the dinosaur’s way of life, we’re currently leading, was doomed long before you were ever a consideration.

“And even though you ’n’ I don’t always see things, eye to eye,“ I proclaimed, “we’re more alike than either one of us is willing to admit. Why else would we’ve become such good friends, if I were not in you, as you are in me. We’ve been tossed together, like the flip sides of the same coin, that we might learn from each other how much better it is to use our heads than our tails to get across the same point.

“In our disagreement with each other,“ I concluded, “we coulda duked it out. You, being the stronger, coulda decked me, kicked me in the face, and left me lyin’ there half-dead. But you didn’t. Nor did I raise a hand to strike you. Why? Don’t ya see, Marty, it’s because we’re sayin’ the same damn thing, only in a different language. While you were pounding my head into the ground with expressions of brute force, I wriggled free of a like response, only to sneak up behind ya with a verbal assault that has sent ya into a tailspin. Havin’ taken the wind out of your sails, I have mentally accomplished what you had set out to physically impose upon me. I’ve defeated the real enemy, who uses the language of the body to confuse us, in our inability to translate into words what we’re truly feeling.“

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.

“Knowing this about you,“ added my soul, “the One Voice tried to alleviate your fears with the reassurance that you were going nowhere He had not already been and would be traversing again with you.“

“Why didn’t I see Him then?“ I asked.

“Like any voice,“ replied my mentor, “you cannot see it. Unlike the One Voice, you saw Him in the images that presented themselves to you after He spoke.“

“In response to the call for enlightenment,“ continued my shadow, “you delved into the dark pall which has hung over your head, like the Sword of Damocles, since puberty. There were you confronted by your alter ego as it flew out of control in its intoxication with the force of Nature that is released whenever the ego takes what does not belong to it. And for the first time, Dr. Jekyll, you recognized this image of Hyde as your stepfather. With the realization that you had vicariously inherited from your stepfather the same ugly tendency to usurp the sovereignty of the One Voice, you entered the theater of the absurd to seek out this tyrant, in a roundabout way, from among your own rundown and abandoned thoughts and feelings.“

“Not knowing what to expect,“ chimed in my soul, “you reluctantly inquired within, making yourself vulnerable to a confrontation with the force that had so marred your life in the past, it now appeared much more menacing than it really was. So threatened were you, by the brutish side of your nature, you tried to run away from it again, to no avail. Round ’n’ round your mind you raced, in an effort to escape having to confront your own brutality. No matter how hard you tried, you could not rationalize it away, this time.“

“As your mind expanded upon a way to get out of this pickle with your self-esteem intact,“ expounded my mentor, “you wound up on the receiving end, where your thoughts about the use of force had gathered to make sport of you. As they reiterated the chant you’d been taught in boot camp, to yell out every time you thrust your bayonet into one of them, you were overcome by the hopelessness, they had felt back then, of ever again seeing the light of day.“

“Then,“ interjected my shadow, “you spotted the narrow gate—the one seldom chosen only because the gate that leads to damnation is so much wider, the way to it, so much clearer to those who choose it. In running with the idea that the narrower choice simply consisted of putting some distance between your self and the urge to use brute force, you overlooked the limitations this choice really imposed upon you.“

“Feeling trapped,“ continued my soul, “you turned to face the urge to use brute force, as every thought ’n’ feeling in your body screamed out to kill the urge before it got hold of you and inflicted you with the wound that never heals—that endless cycle of revenge, of taking an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.“

To be continued…