Before I could get a word in edgewise, he proceeded to lambaste me: “Prior to your gallivanting off like an ass, and endangering your soul so egregiously, you never once gave this latest fiasco of yours a second thought. Why? Because your ability to think has been relegated to the odious task of tormenting the hell out of you with unfounded thoughts about yourself—which have helped to shape this shadowy specter—you abandoned this endeavor as useless, even though it was only trying to get you back in touch with your feelings. In your inability to see through the disguise of this sick shadowy specter, you inadvertently banished the guardian of your soul, Pure Thought, to the wastelands of your mind. Until you free him from the interminable beating he suffers at the hands of the opinionated old witch who has taken possession of your mother imago, you will likewise be driven to beat off the advances of this spirit whenever he rises up, in the guise of your phallus, to release his thoughts; for in her condemnation of them, she breaks the chain of thought that’d normally link you with your feelings, to create consciousness. Therefore, must you learn to attune yourself to only those thoughts which truly reflect your feelings if, in the future, you wish to avoid falling prey to the evil of an asinine choice, that is, one marked by an inexcusable failure to exercise intelligence and sound judgment.“

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.

Where I’d been, I could not recall. Had I fallen asleep? While I didn’t think so, I wasn’t sure I hadn’t, either. I was sure of one thing only, that I’d finally come back to where I belonged, for I’d never before experienced such total peace of mind.

Wherever I’d been, for the time being, I felt at one with myself. I felt as if I’d finally come back to my senses. As tears welled up in my eyes, I recalled what’d happened to me when I went out—I had unexpectedly gotten back in touch with my feelings.

As I sat pondering over my next move, I was pricked by the painful thought that I should have nothing to do with the Navy. Like an expectant mother, I had no conception of the form in which this child would appear when it was born. I knew only that I was a long ways off from giving birth to this new life taking shape within me. Because I wanted it to happen now, I was pricked with the pain I sometimes felt when I didn’t get my way.

Even though I still didn’t know what to do with my feelings towards the Navy, I knew that I could no longer simply ignore them either. Because the soul eventually requires a little action from the body, I had no choice but to do what she asked of me if I wanted to keep myself out of the arms of some whore. Only I didn’t want to have to endure any suffering in the process. Little did I know that labor pain’s a prerequisite for the birth of truth. In spite of the great pain I normally felt as a result of the severe limitations the Navy placed upon my soul, I found great joy in those moments when she was given free rein. In my struggle to find a way out of this maze, I felt as if I were being subjected to a course in behavior modification, to see if I could be prodded into following the orders of a much greater will than my own, that of either She Who Must Be Obeyed or the Great Gray Whore. While I certainly preferred the joy my soul gave me to the pain the Navy inflicted upon her, I’d never realized that new life was taking shape within me, until now. Thus did I resign myself to the task of meeting its needs whenever my soul prevailed upon me to do so.

Was I guilty of having been derelict in the performance of my duties? Indeed I was, for I’d left my soul to drown in a sea of unconscious behavior. Having performed a minor miracle, staying on top of all this instinctive behavior, I had yet to rescue her from the clutches of the Great Gray Mother of Instinct. In other words, I had yet to find my way in real life. Because the way I should go remained so unclear to me at the time, I couldn’t hold onto it for very long without its vanishing from my grasp. I had a choice, either I played with my self, that is, I played along with the Navy’s program for me or I played, once again, with my old imaginary or real—depending on how one viewed the matter—childhood playmate, my soul. Whereas I’d made the right choice when I rescued her from the sea in the metaphysical realm, at the same time, I had offended the Great Gray Whore on the physical plane. Indeed, I was beginning to see just how difficult it is to serve two masters.

By means of a simple torpedo had my soul brought home to me not only the threat of death ’n’ destruction, but also the promise of new life. In her own way, had she forced me to rise above my feelings of powerlessness, to stand tall against the raw power of Nature. In other words, she had tricked me into momentarily embracing a whole new approach to life, one in which I could indeed walk on water or at least overcome the severe limitations of a purely instinctive existence.

“Mr. Drury, Sir,“ smartly snapped the Lieutenant.

“Thank you, Mr. Smith,“ snapped the XO. “You may go now.“

“Have a seat, Mr. Drury,“ the XO said in a rather annoyed tone of voice as the door slammed shut behind the Lieutenant.

“What’s this, I hear, about your refusing to eat?“ he asked.

“I don’t wanna eat anymore,“ I managed to squeak out as I struggled to control the trembling of my body with fear.

“Poppycock!“ he shouted in my face. “You will eat, Mr. Drury, because I order you to. Do you understand?“

“No Sir, I don’t,“ I replied rather indignantly.

Failing to elicit an obedient response from me, he decided to take a different tack. “Did you know, Mr. Drury,“ he began, “that by refusing to eat you are willfully destroying government property?“

Puzzled, I asked, “How’s that, Sir?“

“When you enlisted in the Navy,“ he replied, “you signed your life over to the government of the United States to be used as it sees fit. In effect, you became government property. Whatever befalls you befalls the property of the government of the United States. So you see, Mr. Drury, you could quite possibly be charged with the willful destruction of government property if, in the continuation of this ridiculous fast of yours, you harm yourself in any way.“

Irked by his insistence that I was government property, I responded rather coldly, “I see.“ For I wanted so badly to tell him I was not some soulless piece of meat the Navy could order around like a zombie, but bit my lip instead.

Having threatened to write me up if I didn’t eat, he again ordered me to eat.

Once again, I refused.

“You leave me no choice then,“ he concluded as he rose from his
chair and hurried out the door.

As soon as he heard the “s“ word, he honed in on it like a vulture on a fly, as if the real reason for my fast were hidden in some dark dirty little secret surrounding my sexuality. “Have you ever desired sex or had sex with anyone onboard this ship?“ he asked.

Bewildered by what I thought was the most bizarre question I’d ever been asked, I finally responded, “No, I can’t say that I have ever desired to have sex with anyone onboard the ship. I have a girl friend back home in St. Louis, whom I love very much and dream about marrying some day. Occasionally, I have fantasies of having sex with her. As far as having sex with other guys, why I have never heard of such a thing! I can’t even imagine how that would work. I assure you, Lt. Smith, my problem with sex has nothing to do with anyone else onboard this ship but my self. I just can’t seem to find out where I fit in.“

“Mr. Drury, I fail to see anything in what you’ve said that’d warrant taking such a drastic step as to refuse yourself food,“ he concluded.

“I feel sorry for you, Sir,“ I rejoined, “that you’re so oblivious to the pain and suffering you inflict upon the souls under your command. In choosing to live blindly, you can’t see beyond the bread you eat.“

It became clear to me that we weren’t talking to each other on the same wavelength. At that point, I wasn’t sure where the hell I was coming from. Normally, I didn’t talk like this, especially to a lieutenant. Besides, I wasn’t sure I saw much beyond the bread I used to eat.

In an attempt to regain control over the situation, the Lieutenant resorted to his power as a superior officer. “Mr. Drury,“ he snapped back, “I order you to eat.“

Chuckling to myself, I shook my head in disbelief. “Sir, neither you nor the whole damn Navy can make me eat if I don’t want to.

“Do you know the consequences, Mr. Drury, for refusing the direct order of a superior officer?“

“No, I’m afraid I don’t, Sir,“ I answered.

“A court-martial,“ he replied with a grin when he saw me squirm in my seat. “And brig time,“ he added. Having succeeded in stirring up a great deal of fear within me, he again ordered me to eat.

“You can’t make me eat,“ I insisted as I struggled to stay on top of the fear that, by now, had my whole body trembling.

“You leave me no choice, Mr. Drury, but to refer the matter to the Executive Officer,“ he snapped back. “Come with me,“ he commanded as he jumped up from his seat and hurried out the door, only to disappear through another just down the passageway.

Dear Butch,
Sounds like you don’t think too much of the Navy. I think it’s because of all the rules and regulations. You haven’t had many restrictions put on you in a long time. It’s going to take a lot of getting used to. The only thing you can do is to make the best of it. Otherwise, you’ll go crazy. You’re never going to be completely satisfied with the job you’re doing—that’s human nature. Make the time you have to spend in the Navy one you’ll never forget. Remember, life is what you make of it. Whatever job you’re doing, do it well, even if you don’t like it. You have no choice. Remember, it’s only temporary.
Love,
Mary

Now I felt totally misunderstood. While I sometimes doubted my sanity, I certainly didn’t want to become some socially accepted, schizophrenic beast like M. For I saw the rules ’n’ regulations, all the pomp ’n’ plume of the military, as a facade shrewdly constructed long ago to hide the true nature of this beast from the consciousness of the general public. With the beast so well concealed, how could I ever get Mary to see military service as the bloody poison which transforms the young Jekylls of this country into hideous Hydes, so that they, who were once men, can kill without feeling, consciousness of the soul or a conscience. How could I convey to her what has happened to the M.‘s of this country? How could I tell her about the Hyde who lurked within my own body and periodically dragged me down to hell? And lastly, how could I ever convince her that it is the discipline of the soul rather than of the military, which ultimately transforms the beast?

Why even the mess decks had its share of seedy rogues, of whom the worst was a little wiry, dark complected guy named B., who cussed incessantly in that same gruff gravelly voice. Just watching him cook was enough to make me sick. Having wiped the sweat from his brow with his finger, he’d often fling it into the food he was preparing. Or whenever he cleared his throat or blew his nose, he’d occasionally spit the phlegm or blow the snot onto the grill and mix it into the food he was frying. Once he even beat off on a raw steak, which he then threw onto the grill to be cooked and served to the crew along with the others. In my opinion, the dude was crazy, and yet he was greatly admired by those around him for his audacity.

For my part, I absolutely refused to eat whenever he cooked. How else was I to make the best of such memorable experiences? If I reported him, who’d believe me? It’d be his word against that of a f___-up. How could I ever make the best of anything in this hellhole?