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.

“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.

“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.

“Nor did the Buddha or Christ,“ responded my mentor. “It took Christ thirty years to come to a fuller understanding of Who He Really Is. Like the Buddha, it may take you longer to find out Who You Really Are.“

“Why?“ I asked.

“You have so much more of the evolution of man to work through, than did Christ,“ he replied.

“What d’ya mean?“ I inquired further.

“For Christ,“ he began, “Wisdom had been extracted from her imprisonment in nature, in the form of Mary, his mother. Through the union of her image with its likeness in heaven, had she conceived the first fully human being, for man’d finally evolved into its prototype, God. In other words, with the birth of Christ, had God created the first image of man ever made in His own likeness.“

“But I thought Adam was the first man,“ I exclaimed.

“Adam was man’s first conception of his own masculine self,“ responded my mentor, “just as Eve was his first conceptualization of the soul or feminine side of himself. Because these concepts split the Original Being into two seemingly opposite entities, that is, into the image and likeness of God, the concept of Who Man Really Is was flawed from the beginning. Thus began the long struggle, that culminated in the birth of Christ, to conceive of man’s true identity, one made in both the image and likeness of God, rather than in one form or the other.“

“Jesus wasn’t hermaphroditic, was he?“ I asked with incredulity.

“All who have evolved into human form are latent hermaphrodites,“ answered my mentor. “Is not your body housed by an apparently masculine self and a soul that is, by all appearances, feminine? And is not such a union with your soul what you really fear?“

Until I received affirmation from my feelings, I wasn’t too sure what I believed. And though I sensed the presence of truth in his words, I still found them hard to swallow, for I had always been taught that God’s our Father.

“The Original Being’s also your Mother,“ insisted my mentor, after having read my thoughts.

“But how can that be?“ I begged to know. “Did not Jesus always refer to God as our Father who art in heaven?“

“Was not Mary, his mother, filled with the Holy Spirit, the spirit of Wisdom?“ he asked in response. “Do you not see Mary as the incarnation of his heavenly mother, Wisdom? Why else do you think Christ would have spent thirty years of his life with this woman if she were not the embodiment of Wisdom? Do you not see the correspondence between Mary and his heavenly mother?

“You see, my son,“ concluded my mentor, “without Wisdom, there would be no stories to tell, for devoid of all meaning, life would simply not exist. Above all else, seek her while yet she may be found, for she is the only mistress who can satisfy you. Turn to her, that you may find the way, for she must be obeyed, one way or the other, as the man she wants you to become or as the beast she wants you to so badly overcome, so that she might, one day, be freed from the image of Nature in which she has remained imprisoned ever since her alter ego, Eve, gave into an instinctive desire to create consciousness.“

The sooner we realize that T. Rex is dead ’n’ gone forever, the better off we’ll be. If we are to survive as a species, we must overcome the temptation to gobble up everything that stands in the way of our gaining complete ego control of our destiny—behavior which is so destructive, it causes the mind to lose control of the body, the right hand, control of the left, like a schizophrenic whose ability to reason has been lost to instinct. Stripped of all that is human, the left strikes back, in the only way possible when reason gives way to terror, with the ferocity of a cornered animal. Naturally, the right sees such actions as barbaric, and rightfully so, for what remains unconscious is bound to act like a beast if the human aspect of the behavior is denied expression on the physical plane. The more the right represses the left, the more barbaric become the actions of the left. In the deadly game of tit for tat that invariably follows, neither side ever comes to the realization that it is Wisdom the two must obey, one way or the other, in truth or in beastly fashion. Either we embrace the truth that transcends our differences or we condemn ourselves to living out a hellish existence in which we prey upon each other, like dinosaurs, until nigh a one of us is left.

“Dury,“ shouted Marty in a tone of voice that alarmed me.

“What’s the matter?“ I inquired.

“He’s plannin’ to kill ya, Dury!“ exclaimed Marty.

“Who’s plannin’ to kill me?“ I asked.

“Kraft,“ he answered. “He thinks you were behind the fiasco down on the mess decks. He’s so convinced you poisoned my mind and then turned me loose to make a fool out of him in front of everyone.“

“He’s made a fool out of himself,“ I exclaimed, “by choosin’ to live like an animal. He just didn’t like the way you pointed that out to him.

“So he thinks I set him up,“ I mused, for the whole thing’d really been quite spontaneous.

“And then,“ Marty continued, “when he plunked $50 down onto the table and offered it to whoever’d push you overboard, I thought I’d heard everything, until he called those who were standin’ there, all cowards cause no one’d taken him up on his offer. He shut up real quick when he was asked why he didn’t wanna do it himself.“

“Why that Judas priest!“ I exclaimed. “Who the hell does he think he is? Why no one in his right mind would kill another person for a measly fifty bucks!“

“They killed Jesus for less,“ rebutted Marty.

“Yeah, but thirty pieces of silver was a lot of money back then,“ I added. “Fifty dollars, today, ain’t nothin’.“

“I don’t know, Dury,“ rejoined Marty. “I wouldn’t put anything past the motherf___ers. Seein’ how you sit up here by yourself, night after night, why any one of them could sneak up behind ya and push you overboard.“

Unwilling to believe that anyone in his right mind could stoop so low, I concluded that Kraft’d just let off a little steam. “Look at how you act when you get mad at one of them,“ I finally said. “You go off on the poor son of a buck, rantin’ ’n’ ravin’ about how you’ll kill the motherf___er when you get your hands on him. But you don’t ever physically grab hold of him and wring his neck, like you said you would when you were still angry. Instead, you imagine what you’ll do, in order to vent your anger in much the same way you observed Kraft venting his.“

“Only, I don’t plunk money down on the goddamn table and ask someone else to do my dirty work,“ rejoined Marty. “I’m tellin’ ya Dury, you coulda heard a pin drop when Kraft told them you were a threat that had to be reckoned with, if they didn’t wanna see your rebelliousness spread around the ship, like some f___in’ infectious disease.“

“Why I’m impressed,“ I exclaimed.

“Don’t you see, Dury,“ Marty insisted, “If you piss enough of them off, they’re gonna do ya in.“

“I don’t know, Marty,“ I replied. “I just can’t believe they’d go that far. This is the twentieth century, ya know.“

“You can believe what you want, Dury,“ Marty persisted, “cause that don’t mean a goddamn thing to these medieval motherf___kers.“

“I have a hard time lookin’ at Kraft’s conversation any differently than the ones we had around mutiny,“ I rebutted. “While there was a lotta talk about mutinyin’, we never did cause that was not our real intention. Just as I don’t believe Kraft really intends to have me killed. I see his actions as the reaction of his animal nature to bein’ cornered by his own human nature, which he sees as belongin’ to me rather than himself. Unable to reconcile these two aspects of himself, he’s decided to go after his humanity before it takes away the double life he’s been leadin’ as an animal, for he has yet to learn that domestication’s really the only way out of the Jekyll/Hyde dilemma.“

“Listen, Dury,“ insisted Marty. “While all that may be true, you’ve forgotten one thing—the motherf___kers don’t know how to do anything else but live out their f___in’ fantasies on other people. You gotta realize, Dury, that you’re dealin’ with a bunch of f___in’ wild animals, who’ll turn on ya, the minute you think you’ve tamed them.“

“It is written, Marty, that ’the wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze, their young shall lie down together, and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den. They will not hurt or destroy on all of my holy mountain; for the earth’ll be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea.’ Isaiah 11:6–9. The picture painted here, Marty, by the prophet, is one depictin’ the end of evolution, for it’s within man that these miraculous changes’ll take place.“

“You’re impossible, Dury,“ exclaimed Marty as we both looked at each other and smiled.

“Thanks for warnin’ me,“ I finally conceded. “I don’t know what I’d do without ya.“

So did I go below, that night, assured that harm was less likely to befall me as long as I had friends like Marty watching out for me.

The first person I met was Greg. From Los Angeles, he was the gregarious magnet that drew us all together. In build, he reminded me of a lanky turtle without its shell, for from out of his rounded shoulders protruded a long skinny neck on top of which sat a head he always held cocked slightly forward and off to one side. He stood his ground, though, against the taunts he incurred around his slow, deliberate movements and somewhat effeminate mannerisms. Gifted with an ability to draw, he rose above the herd mentality of his tormentors by drawing satirical caricatures of them. In his hate for the Navy, he regularly smoked marijuana and, on occasion, dropped acid with another shipmate to escape the pain of it all.

Shortly thereafter, Greg introduced me to Harold, a rabbity-looking fella from Collinsville, Illinois. Of slight build, Harold was a very warm and gentle person, who approached others with his nose twitching as nibbled on one of his fingers or puffed on a cigarette, like a novice smoker. With his big watery brown eyes fixed elsewhere, on some distant worry, he often had little to say. When he did, he never spoke an unkind word about anyone, even the lifers. For unlike Greg ’n’ I, his dislike of the Navy had been tempered by the more satisfying position, he held, as a clerk typist in the ship’s office. Besides, he had a wife and a newborn baby back home to think about. For he had apparently gotten her pregnant before they were married—before he was ready to assume that much responsibility in his life.

The next person, I met, was Marty, a wild and high-spirited stallion, who would soon prove much more difficult to keep corralled than either a boxed turtle or a caged rabbit. For he would go on to become one of the most outspoken members of the crew beside myself. While he could never accept such a position for himself, he deeply respected the stand I had taken against the Navy and stood by me to the very end.

From a tough working class neighborhood in Baltimore, Maryland, Marty never cowered from speaking his mind and challenging the other members of the crew. For he hated the Navy and the animallike behavior of the lifers. A hard worker, he always followed orders, in spite of the abuse he suffered at the hands of some of the lifers for expressing his views. And even though Marty stood up for what he believed, he always acted within the confines of the law he felt bound to obey. As an electrician’s mate did he short-circuit many a lie the lifers lived by. An answer to a prayer, Marty was more than a like-minded companion, for he was another voice in the desert.

And even though I didn’t know it at the time, I was the missing link, that hypothetical intermediate between the myth of man and his animal ancestry. Indeed, I was the next great step in the evolution of mankind, which so many of us long to see and yet bitterly detest when we do.

Just then, I encountered a large group of Neanderthals. As they stood there staring at me, amazed at how different I looked, I realized that I was the next evolutionary link in the development of mankind. Ere they could grab me, I was snatched back to the ship by my relief.

That night, I lay awake pondering over this most unusual reverie. Were the guys on the ship, the very Neanderthals I had encountered in this fantasy? Was I actually carrying within my own despicable body the next stage of human development? If so, what was it? Since I really had no answers to such far-reaching questions, I simply stored the reverie away, for the time being, to savor bits ’n’ pieces of it as the aroma of its subtle meanings arose from the ground of my being.