“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.

With that, did my soul grab hold of my hand, to lead me out of the pit of despair.

“Where’ve you been?“ I chided her, as I caught sight of her in the light at the end of the tunnel.

“I’ve been down in the dumps with you,“ she insisted, “scrounging around for clues to the nature of our being.“

“Why haven’t I seen you before now?“ I persisted.

“You were so infatuated with Despair,“ she replied, “you couldn’t take your eyes off her. Until my father started feeding you insight into some of the old myths that’d been relegated to the trash heap, you were hopelessly lost to her. That’s why.“

“We now know,“ interjected my mentor, “that your real identity lies just beyond our grasp, somewhere between the inner ’n’ outer circumstances of your life, waiting to reveal itself to you the instant these two seemingly irreconcilable realities come to the same realization. For it is written, my son, as the Word became flesh, so must the flesh become Word, and the two of them, one, before the identity of the Original Being is revealed. In other words, must you give flesh to your thoughts, and thought to your feelings, to gain insight into Who You Really Are.“

“Where I come from, Dury,“ he replied, with a little too much glee in my estimation, “ya hit the other guy first, with everything ya got, to disable the motherf—er so he can’t strike back.“

“How does it feel,“ I entreated, “knowing you’ve maimed another human being, possibly for life?“

“He’s a f—in’ animal,“ insisted Marty. “You saw how the motherf—er acted.“

“I also saw how you behaved,“ I rejoined. “Does that make you an animal too? No. Even though he acted like an animal, the other night, it doesn’t make him one either. You’ve dehumanized him, to justify your own cruelty towards animals. But I daresay you’d never consider treating an animal the way you treated that guy. Am I not right?“

“Get off my back, Dury,“ barked Marty. “You’ve been ridin’ my ass ever since I saved yours, the other night at the exchange.“

“Saved my ass!“ I exclaimed. “How d’ya think you saved my ass?“

“Seein’ how ya feel about strikin’ another person,“ Marty replied, “I knew you wouldna hit that guy back if he’da jumped ya. I couldna stood by ’n’ watched that happen, without doin’ somethin’ about it. So I stepped in to keep ya from gettin’ your ass kicked.“

Touched by his brand of chivalry, I didn’t quite know what to say. “Well I guess that about evens the score,“ I finally said.

“How’s that?“ he asked rather good-naturedly.

“After you saved my ass,“ I replied, “I saved yours from gettin’ thrown into the brig.“

And with that, we both laughed.

“Hey Dury,“ exclaimed Marty with the Mexican accent of Poncho.

“Hey Marty,“ I came back like Cisco the Kid.

As we laughed again, before parting, I was overcome by the warmest feelings of affection for him, for he was more than a good friend. He was that part of me for which I was still struggling to find a more conscious form of expression. In fact, he had so helped to put me back in touch with my animal roots, where lies true wisdom, that without the horse’s ass, I’d have probably gotten lost somewhere in the back pages of my mind.

“They’re extremely complex thought forms,“ he responded, “which tend to develop around those parts of your personality that remain too far from consciousness, to exercise any control over them. They represent all of the raw, pent-up emotional energy in you which has not the foggiest notion of what its true purpose in life is. As images of those parts of you which still defy consciousness, they provide the antagonism needed to spur you onto bringing these hidden traits to light, that you might live like a human being rather than some brute.“

“I’d rather die first,“ I insisted, “than live like Hyde.“

“Then die you shall—or at least that part of you whose time has come,“ he forewarned me, “for you’re the only one who can penetrate the dark storm which has been brewing at my gate since first we met. To get to the heart of this dark swirl, you must leave this conversation and enter the world of experience,“ whereupon he loomed up over me, larger than life, to facilitate my entry into the void.

Once again did I encounter the spirits of what my parents had, long ago, condemned to a fate worse than hell. As the vile spirits swarmed and slithered about me, like venomous snakes, I realized they represented the thoughts ’n’ feelings my inner mother had condemned down through the years. Numbed by the pain of it all, did I stand by and watch as my stepfather attempted to strangle them, in the image of my brother, Scott, but failed. As the hair stood up on the back of my neck, I grew larger than life. Only this time was I transformed into a great gray wolf instead of Hyde. Sniffing the air, I quickly picked up the scent of the old witch as she lurked about in darkness, to escape the fury that’d been unleashed upon her. With saliva streaming from my mouth in torrents, I lunged for her throat. Grasping hold of her neck with my powerful jaws, I shook her until she resisted no more. Letting out a howl of remorse, I stooped to lick her face clean of the mask that’d enveloped her true beauty. On her last dying breath, I heard my mother say, “I’m sorry, my son, for having offended thee.“ As I wept bitter tears, I washed her body clean of any sign of ever having been a witch. Just then, I felt a hand brush past my ear as its fingers ran through my hair. Opening my eyes, I beheld my soul lying there at my side.

“I don’t understand,“ I exclaimed, for I too had been transformed back into my regular old self.

“It’s all over,“ she replied. “You’ve finally overcome this terrible image of your mother. All that matters now, is that you have me.“

As our eyes welled up with tears, we embraced each other and breathed a sigh of relief.

“You know her all too well,“ replied my mentor, “as the only mother to have donned one of the magician’s masks when she failed to conjure up genuine love from the cauldron of life. Cut off from her feelings by the thoughtless spirit that’d overtaken your stepfather, she lashed out at you and your brother with the bitter tongue of her own unhappiness. Whenever she saw the spirit of truth rise from either one of you to challenge her, she condemned it as the thoughtless spirit that’d overtaken your stepfather, for that is how she perceived it through the eyes of the witch. By her own example did she unwittingly teach you to beat off the advances of the spirit of truth whenever the thoughtless spirit raised its ugly head to release unsettling thoughts. Once you acquired the habit of restricting the free flow of thought from your psyche, you lost the ability to think for yourself, as these damned-up thoughts began to spill over into the physical realm to find expression.“

“To free yourself from her spell,“ concluded the old Indian, “you must learn to love all your feelings, from the least to the most vile, for hidden within their ugly forms lie truths which still defy consciousness. So must you brood over these feelings, without judgment, till you have hatched the truth yet hidden in such raw form. You must learn to make the incestuous return to the womb of your imagination when the need for creating consciousness arises. And so must you follow the chain of thought, the Spirit of Pure Thought feeds you as he unravels the string of images your soul has left behind, to help you find your way through the dark spots in your life. When you have found the truth at the other end of the tunnel of vision, you will certainly know it, for a sudden swell of feeling will greet you as the tension, that has built up in you to create consciousness, is released. And lying there with her in your arms, you will say to yourself, ’Ah! So this is She Who Must Be Obeyed!’“

What could I say, for I knew he was right. “I’m sorry,“ I finally admitted, “for not having used my head when I should’ve.“

“On the other hand,“ he exclaimed, “considering what you’ve had to work with, maybe I’ve been a bit too hard on you.“

With that he embraced me.

As tears welled up in my eyes, I hugged him back.

“You must be ever vigilant, my son,“ he added as he disappeared from my grasp, “as the forces of darkness are cunning.“

Like the apostles at the transfiguration of Christ, I wanted to hold onto these precious moments, which came ’n’ went as quickly as those in reality. In other words, whenever I caught sight of the extraordinary within the ordinary, I wanted to immortalize what was already immortal, for such is the nature of truth. I wanted only to hold onto that part of my life which would not slip through my fingers, like sand, at the end of my time on earth, for such is the nature of immortality. Since I did not yet have a firm grasp of my own truth, I could not hold onto my immortality for very long, for such is the nature of a fleeting awareness.

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.“

Only this time, I was confronted by a shadowy figure riding my ass as I ran up over the top of a huge sand dune in the desert of my mind. Startled, I demanded that this ethereal invader of my space immediately reveal his identity to me.

“I am but a shadowy glimpse of who you really are,“ he whispered as if it were his last dying breath. And with that, he slipped from the mule, and fell face first into the sand.

Alarmed, I stepped back from this mirage which, at that point, was so thin, I could almost see right through it. Moved to resuscitate him, I knelt down in the sand at his side, quickly rolled him over, and began to breathe new life into his vanishing form.

“You must learn to stand tall,“ he whispered before the whole vision simply vanished.

At the behest of the master-at-arms, I entered the Captain’s stateroom where Farris, a yeoman, and the ship’s new Executive Officer—a LCDR Kihune—had already gathered for this charade. A native of Hawaii, the new XO immediately struck me as being rather pharisaical. Decked out in a precisely pressed and tailor-made set of khakis, he not only chose his words very carefully before he spoke, but also expressed himself in excellent form. At first, I was envious of his ability to speak so well. The more I observed him, the more I found to dislike. For he was so methodical, almost mechanical in his movements, that he impressed me as having been programmed, like some computerized robot, to move in a particular way upon receipt of certain data from his environment. Why even his laughter lacked the full-bodied spontaneity of a good laugh. A hundred percent military, he stirred up within me a deep revulsion for what he’d become—the embodiment of the perfect law enforcement officer for the state. As a High Priest for the Great Gray Whore, he was the antithesis of the very Spirit for which I was being asked to stand tall. While we stood there psyching each other out, I suddenly felt his repugnance for me, whereupon he promptly withdrew his gaze to fidget with himself instead.

Unwilling to let a pawn beat him at his own game, he approached me with the idea of trying to put me down in some way. “What’s this?“ he demanded to know, as he pointed to the hair I’d just recently started to legally cultivate on my upper lip.

“Why it’s a mustache, Sir,“ I replied, “and a darn good looking one at that—don’t you think?“

“I see, Mr. Drury, that you and I have a very different perspective on life,“ he concluded, with a wry little smile on his face. “And if I may make a suggestion to you, don’t let your feelings get in the way of your obligations, for I will personally see that you pay dearly for any transgressions in which your feelings embroil you.“

“Touché,“ I muttered to myself as he resumed his previous position. Inside, I shuddered at the thought of what he could do to me.

“Stand tall,“ whispered the shadowy depths of my being.

As the Captain entered the room, I picked up my shoulders and raised my head, not so much for him, as for my shadow. “O Captain, my Captain,“ I heard my self exclaim from somewhere deep within me.

“O courage, my life,“ I heard this wispy shadow of mine reply.

As the experience opens, I find my self at odds again with my body. Driven by some asinine instinct to look beyond the dry, uninspiring and lifeless mode of existence my head has chosen to pursue, I trudge off, one day, with the curiosity of my youth, to explore the farthest reaches of my imagination. Looking back, I realize I’ve gotten mired down in an unsuitable way of life due primarily to a stubborn refusal on my part to trust any other aspect of myself but my head.

At wit’s end, I’m forced to delve ever more deeply into my imagination for inspiration. Because I have such a great fear of losing control, I’m willing to go only so far, to keep from getting too carried away by my imagination. Naturally, I only succeed in getting caught up in circular thinking. After all, how can I put my trust in an instinct that’s so often led me astray. And yet, I’m forced to rely on this same instinct, or inner urge to play with my self, if ever I wish to find a way out of reliving the fate of my fathers. In the struggle to let go of my self, I finally give my imagination free rein.

As I lose my self in play, I panic. In my inability to let go of the urge to play with my self, I race off after this instinct, only to fall flat on my face when my imagination fails me. Having exhausted every effort on my part to make something happen, I finally let go of my conscious self, long enough to fall into the dreadful darkness that still clouds my mind, where I lay until I catch wind of a new awareness stirring about.

Once I engage my imagination, I catch sight of some vague notion fluttering about my head, which, at first, seems so preposterous I simply dismiss it. As I come to my senses, I think, “there’s no way this crazy notion can be true,“ whereupon my feelings quickly let me know that what I’m about to see is the truth.

As I come to this new awareness, I suddenly find myself deeply engaged with the concept that consciousness and the material world are one and the same. Stirred by the very breath of life within me, I come to the realization that I live in this Spirit, just as it lives in me. I come to understand Jesus’ words: “On that day you’ll know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you,“ (Jn. 14:20) for “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.“ (Jn. 8:12) “Is it not written in your law, ’I have said you are gods’?“ (Jn. 10:34) Again, “I say, ’you are gods, children of the Most High, all of you’.“ (Ps. 82:6) Made in the image and likeness of God, in my ecstasy, I come to the realization that, like Jesus, I Am Who Am.

As I struggle to see through the matter that envelopes all consciousness, I am drawn to the tree of life, an image of God in which the hidden feminine side of the Original Being suddenly stands out like never before. At first, I’m so completely captivated by the exquisite beauty of Nature, that I cannot yet see her real identity, the feminine side of my nature. Taking a closer look at this image, I see Wisdom, her whom the Creator “poured out upon all his works, upon all the living according to his gift.“ (Sir. 1:9–10) Cloaked in the simple language of her images, I find Christ’s words: “You will live in my love, if you keep my commandments, even as I have kept my Father’s commandments, and live in his love.“ (Jn. 15:10–11) For true wisdom is the ability to apply what one has acquired mentally to the conduct of his own affairs.

Once I realize the significance of the stone tablet, I find a way back to my heart where I am reminded of the words of the prophet Jeremiah: “I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts. No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, ’Know the Lord,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord.“ (Jer. 31:33–34)

And I find that the way to my heart is through the door opened by those things in the world which contain a hint of what I do not yet know about myself. As soon as something in the material world strikes a chord in my heart, I am reunited with that part of my soul, which remains locked up, out there in nature, far from consciousness. Struck by an arrow of Eros, or some feeling for the thing, am I driven to take possession of whatever it is that eludes my grasp. In my lust, or need for instant gratification, I may fall for the very thing itself, if it remains too far from consciousness. Or if I am patient, I may stumble upon the naked truth of Wisdom herself as I play with her images, for it is in going to her as a lover of truth that she whispers their meaning in my ear.

“What’re you doing?“ she asked.

“What does it look like I’m doin’?“ I replied rather rudely, for I was still upset with her over the incident around the torpedo.

“Ya know,“ I added, “not only did ya make a fool outta me, but ya also got me into a lotta trouble, I didn’t appreciate.“

“I was only thinking of you,“ she replied.

“Thinkin’ of me!“ I exclaimed. “If that’s what ya think of me, then I don’t need your help.“

“You never heed my warnings,“ she insisted.

“Warnings!“ I exclaimed. “What warnings?“

“I’ve told you,“ she continued, “that you don’t belong here. And yet you continue to ignore me.“

“What d’ya want me to do, walk on water?“ I asked her. “Obviously, if I’d found the way out, I’d have taken it.“

“I am the way,“ she proclaimed.

I laughed. “If you’re the way, it’s no wonder I’m still stuck here,“ I concluded. “Why I can’t even see ya!“

“You’re so unimaginative,“ she replied. “When I opened the door for you back in Tokyo, you simply slammed it shut in my face.“

“And who do you think handed you forgiveness when you reached out for it back in Yokuska?“ she asked.

“Then why don’t ya just tell me what to do?“ I scoffed.

“You don’t listen!“ she exclaimed. “You don’t pay enough attention to your imagination.“

“What imagination?“ I mumbled.

“Who do you think is talking to you?“ she asked. “Is it not a product of your imagination?“

“I don’t know,“ I screamed out in anguish. “I don’t know who the hell you are.“

“Why don’t you try letting go of yourself, for just a moment,“ she hastily added, “and instead, try painting me.“

“Paint you!“ I exclaimed. “How ridiculous! I’ve already told ya, I can’t see ya. So how the hell do ya expect me to paint you?“

“I know you can’t see me, but don’t worry about that for now,“ she said. “I’ll stand right here in front of you as you slap paint on my form.“

“This is insane,“ I replied. “What d’ya think my superiors are gonna say when they see me wavin’ a paint brush around in midair?“

“They won’t know the difference,“ she responded. “I’ll stand right here in front of the pipes you’re supposed to paint. They’ll just see you painting the pipes.“

“I don’t know about this,“ I said. “This all sounds so silly.“

“Come on,“ she prodded me.

When I waved a brush full of paint in her direction, to dismiss her, I was amazed by what I saw—gray paint actually adhering to a form that’d previously been invisible to me. Giddy with excitement, I began to hastily fling paint in the direction of the pipes, and smear it around with my brush. While she giggled and goaded me on, I worked like a madman to cover her invisible form with enough paint, so that I could see her. In fact, I’d gotten so engrossed in painting her, that I was totally oblivious of the crowd that’d gathered behind me, back towards the fantail, to watch as I continued to fling paint at my invisible canvas with the agility of an abstract artist. Only instead of building up paint on a canvas, in reality, I was building up layer upon layer of paint on the pipes, until they looked like the trunks of some gnarled old tree. Just as I caught sight of the gray form of a woman standing naked before me, I heard a gravelly nasally voice shout out, “That’s enough, Dury.“

After taking one last look at her, I spun around, right smack dab into the face of an angry First Class Boatswain’s Mate.

“You did it,“ my soul whispered in my ear as she vanished. “You visualized me.“

“O, I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do it, if only you used your imagination,“ I heard her say as her voice gave way to the groans of the boatswain’s mate.

“Not bad for a novice, eh?“ responded I to his great displeasure.

“Go on down below ’n’ pass out laundry,“ he snarled.

Staring at me as if I were nuts, did they all quickly step aside to let me pass. Not a one of them said a word to me as I went below.

How easily were they seduced by this invisible body of nebulous feelings and deep dark emotions as it descended upon them with the caprice of an Olympian god. Instead of wrestling with this god, as Jacob had, they simply fell prey to all of its emotional bluster. In their inability to free their feelings from the emotional pall that overshadowed their souls, like a dark night, they failed to expose the naked truth of the god that lay hidden within the mood.

Having prevailed, thus far, against succumbing to the mood that’d descended upon the rest of the crew, like the plague, I was struck by the magnitude of its power when the ship pulled within sight of the coast of Vietnam. As I stood in awe of the dark foreboding clouds which hugged the earth and stirred the passions of her murky green waters into a squall, I sensed a great evil lurked about this land—that no good could come from our being here. “You do not belong here,“ I heard my soul scream out in the shrill voice of a Siren. Immediately, I saw her words as the truth which lay hidden at the very core of the mood that’d finally swept over us all.

Badly shaken by this sudden revelation, I turned aside, only to find Greg ’n’ Harold standing there with me. “We don’t belong here,“ I prophetically proclaimed.

The two of them just looked at me and smiled, as if to say that while they both agreed with my assessment of this external sign, they were at a complete loss as to what to do about it.