“I believe you ’n’ I are the ones who should take a hike,“ concluded my mentor, “so these two can spend some much needed time together, getting to know each other a little better.“

“You’re right,“ agreed Michael, as the two of them disappeared, leaving me alone with my soul, really, for the first time since I met her.

As I sat there poking around in the fire of my heart’s desires, with a stick, I grew uncomfortable with the feelings I had stirred up. Fearful of letting the beast in me take over, I jabbed the stick, quickly, in ’n’ out of the coals, before plunging it all the way into the fire and letting go of it. Immediately I climaxed, without having ejaculated.

O how wonderful it was! Gone was the fire that burned between us. Gone, too, were the two of us, for in our place stood, for an instant, an invincible being of neither sex, before it returned to its former glory.

And O how she did radiate with the beauty of that little amalgam of her and me.

“What happened?“ I asked with a grin.

“You have just experienced at-one-ment with me,“ she replied with that roguish little smile of hers.

Just then, the bubble burst. And I knew, immediately, that I was in trouble again with the Navy.

“You’re on report, Dury,“ shouted some PO, as he disappeared up the ladder before I could even identify him.

“For what?“ I shouted back, to no avail, for I had absolutely no idea of why I’d been written up again.

Expecting my soul to have already disappeared from the mirror, I was surprised, when I turned around, to find her standing there, glowing with the radiance of the new life taking shape within her womb. Instead of chiding her for having gotten me into trouble with the Navy again, I simply smiled at her, for it’d just dawned on me how she was trying to help me get out of the Navy. Whenever she enticed me to cross the line between this world and the next, I literally left the Navy behind, as if it really didn’t exist, to embrace the reality of Who I Am.

“I am Who Am,“ muttered I to my self, in my confusion over the true nature of this unnamed god.

“Yes,“ reaffirmed my soul, “and that’s exactly what your shipmates and their kin saw walking among them on the pier, the day you returned to the isle of your Self.“

“I wish I could’ve seen what they saw,“ I groaned.

“O but you have,“ she exclaimed, “when you beheld the exquisite beauty of that unnamed aspect of your greater Self, that is, of you ’n’ me, I’ve been struggling so hard, over the past six months, to carry to full term for you in my womb.“

“I’m sorry I haven’t been more helpful,“ I confessed.

“When I realized how afraid you were, of assuming responsibility for the consequences of your own actions,“ interjected my soul, “I took the advice of my father and backed off for awhile, or at least until those times when your desire for unity with me overcame your fear.“

Having been charged again, for failing to appear at my appointed place of duty, and for having been derelict in the performance of my duties, was I dragged before the Captain, several days later, with the added charge of having failed to shave that morning, for a real shotgun wedding of sorts. Finding my self surrounded, for the first time ever at a Captain’s mast, by my soul, Michael, and her father, I stood there, before the High Priest and his entourage, dressed as the White Knight.

“Do you, Mr. Drury, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?“ asked the High Priest.

“I do,“ I replied out of guilt.

“And do you, woman, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?“ he asked my soul.

“I do,“ replied she out of her love for me.

“Then I pronounce you both man and wife,“ proclaimed the High Priest, rather methodically, as he sent us on our way, with his blessings, to the Naval Station Brig at Pearl Harbor for thirty days of correctional custody, and all for the paltry sum of half a month’s pay.

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.

Instead of finding the fire that burned within, I somehow ignited a small brush fire at my genitals, which threatened to burn out of control, if I didn’t do something quick. Panicking, I only succeeded in fanning the flames that swiftly consumed me.

“Let go!“ commanded the old Indian, from across the void.

“Let go of what?“ I demanded to know.

“Let go of the illusion that holds on to you as tightly as you hold on to it,“ he replied.

“I don’t know how to do that,“ I shouted back.

“You must stand emotionally aloof from the illusion until it begins to dissipate of its own accord,“ he responded, “for it is nothing without your participation. Your imagination’ll then show you the way to go.“

“It’s not working,“ I cried out, after I had tried to close my eyes to the illusion instead of trying to disentangle my emotions from it.

“O yea of little faith,“ he muttered. “Look around you.“

Opening my eyes, I watched with amazement as the last of the fire died out, for I’d inadvertently allowed the old Indian to distract me from the fire of my desires, long enough, to keep me from fueling it with my emotions. The more I let go of the illusion and refocused my attention elsewhere, the faster the whole scene changed of its own accord, exactly as he had said it would. So did I, with the climax of yet another daydream, suddenly find my self seated at a table in a small European-type cafe, opposite my soul who had just ordered tea for the two of us, from a waiter whom I immediately recognized as the old Indian.

As I cringed with embarrassment over my handling of this last affair, she laughed. “I see you’ve already met my father,“ she concluded.

“Good morning,“ said the old Indian.

And for lack of anything better to say, I wished him the same.

Immediately, did he start talking to me about some of the images that’d popped into my head, giving new meaning to them. For he certainly seemed to know more about them than I did—the reason I’d been drawn to him in the first place.

“You have chosen wisely, my son,“ he went on to say, “for seldom has one, so young, ever slipped past the Magician and the wall of illusion that surrounds him, without falling prey to his magic. If you want to see the face of God, you’ll have to remove the Magician’s mask from your face. Made in the image ’n’ likeness of God, you’ll have to tear down the facade, behind which you hide, if you want to see yourself as you really are—for the only mask you can safely wear, without being destroyed by it, is the one God specifically fashioned for you alone.

“In looking to the void—the space created by the emotional departure of your soul from the illusory way of life you’ve inherited from your parents—for the help you’ll need as you attempt to find this mask, you have, once again, chosen wisely, my son. In your fear, however, of letting go of the life the Navy has imposed upon you, to embrace that of your own soul, you’ve gotten bogged down in this limbo, or gray area between heaven and hell. For you have yet to learn the lesson of the void, that everything you seek is all right here within you.“

As I turned to face the music of my own dreams, I slipped, unnoticed, through the gate she had provided at her expense. Inside, I ran smack dab into an incredibly massive and seemingly impenetrable stone wall, the likes of which I had never seen before. Standing back for a moment, to take in the full measure of the barrier I had constructed between my self and my imagination, with the help of all those who had ever passed this way, I caught sight of an invisible opening in the wall, a black hole through which only the undaunted passed. Overcoming my dismay over the shadow of a noose that hung on the wall above the opening, just beyond my reach, I stepped off into the black hole where I encountered the spirits of what had, long ago, been condemned by the Church of the Living Dead and strangled to death by the Wraiths of the State. As the spirits swarmed and slithered about me like venomous snakes, I knew the lies, which enveloped the truth of these spirits in such vile forms, could do me no harm. Allowed to pass unharmed, was I greeted by the Great Necromancer, himself, the one whom men have called the Adversary ever since he tricked them out of Paradise. While the Trickster stood there smiling at me with the conceited assurance that the likes of me would never see through the magic of an erect phallus, I watched as his form slowly gave way to the very pillar of my being, on top of which sat a pearl, the size of a softball. Immediately, I recognized it as the Pearl of Great Price, a symbol of the individual which, at birth, God had ordained me to become. And I saw it as the only way in which I could ever hope to withstand the lure of the Trickster, to act instinctively. Lacking any awareness of this individual, I lost sight of the apparition, as it slowly gave way to the illuminating light of a fire that burned brighter and brighter, the closer I got.

While I waited for the sun to shed some light on the matter, the ship set out for Yankee Station, full steam ahead. As the days dragged on, into one long day, from which the nights seemed but a brief respite, we inched our way ever closer to the murderous task we’d been sent here to perform. After all, hadn’t we been enlisted by those back home to do their dirty work for them, to butcher other human beings, their women and children? Although we no longer overtly cannibalized each other, we nonetheless gobbled up human flesh at an alarming rate. Consumed by the fire that burned within, had we turned into raptors instead of turning to rapture, that mystical experience in which the spirit is exalted to a knowledge of divine things. And so did we return, like any T. Rex in those days, to the killing fields to stalk our prey, that image of the original man we sought with such a voracious appetite.

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 my friend, Greg, and 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.

Instead of finding the fire that burned within, I somehow ignited a small brush fire at my genitals, which threatened to burn out of control, if I didn’t do something quick.

Panicking, I only succeeded in fanning the flames that swiftly consumed me.

“Let go!” commanded the old Indian, from across the void.

“Let go of what?” I demanded to know.

“Let go of the illusion that holds on to you as tightly as you hold on to it,” he replied.

“I don’t know how to do that,” I shouted back.

“You must stand emotionally aloof from the illusion until it begins to dissipate of its own accord,” he responded, “for it is nothing without your participation. Your imagination will then show you the way to go.”

“It’s not working,” I cried out, after I had tried to close my eyes to the illusion instead of trying to disentangle my emotions from it.

“O yea of little faith,” he muttered. “Look around you.”

Opening my eyes, I watched with amazement as the last of the fire died out, for I’d inadvertently allowed the old Indian to distract me from the fire of my desires, long enough, to keep me from fueling it with my emotions. The more I let go of the illusion and refocused my attention elsewhere, the faster the whole scene changed of its own accord, exactly as he had said it would. So did I, with the climax of yet another daydream, suddenly find my self seated at a table in a small European-type cafe, opposite my soul who had just ordered tea for the two of us, from a waiter whom I immediately recognized as the old Indian.

As I cringed with embarrassment over my handling of this last affair, she laughed. “I see you’ve already met my father,” she concluded.

“Good morning,” said the old Indian.

And for lack of anything better to say, I wished ‘m the same.