“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.

Though I was being led to believe that I could stand up to the Navy and prevail, I had some reservations as to whether or not I could ever beat the devil at his own game, since, in the past, I had overcome Instinct on only the rarest of occasions. Why I felt as if I were hopelessly locked into a body, that wasn’t mine, and into a whole way of life over which I had absolutely no control.

“You can do it,“ insisted the White Knight from out across the void, “but only if you step into my shoes.“

“How can I do that in reality?“ asked I of my own shadow.

“Love me,“ came back he in a way that almost verged on the unholy. “That’s all you have to do.“

“Would learning to love this aspect of my Self truly solve the problem of evil in my life?“ I wondered to my self. “Or would it only exacerbate the problem? Don’t I love my Self, as I ought to? And if not, how can I learn to love something about which I know so little?“

“You know,“ insisted my shadow as he loomed up over me, larger than life, to embrace the nothingness of the ego that now stood naked before him. “See, how easily I penetrate your facade.“

And as I penetrated to the very core of my being, I ran smack dab into my soul.

“What child is this,“ burst in some heavenly chorus from deep within my being, “who laid to rest, on Jinny’s lap is sleeping? Whom angels greet with anthems sweet, while shepherds watch are keeping?“

“She loves me above all else,“ interjected the White Knight.

With that, did I realize how much more than anything else in the whole world I needed the love of my soul, for it was, ultimately, the only key to heaven I had.

“Fly,“ commanded Michael, as I looked down, only to see my self standing upon the shoulders of my guardian angel.

“Very funny,“ I exclaimed. “But aren’t you forgetting something?“

“What’s that?“ he innocently asked in reply.

“I don’t have my wings yet,“ I shot back.

“O yes you do,“ he yelled out as he gave me the heave-ho. “Flap your arms and you shall see.“

The instant I started flapping my arms, back ’n’ forth, I pulled out of free fall and took to the air like a seasoned angel. I couldn’t believe it! I could really fly. Only, I got a little too carried away with my self when I looked heavenward, while trying to do the back stroke, and lost my balance. Plummeting to the earth, I landed in the bushes along a lane, unharmed by my sudden fall from grace.

In the ensuing commotion, had my fellow countrymen wandered off without me.

“Where have they all gone?“ I begged to know.

“To fulfill that great need of the body politic to preserve life as it is,“ replied my mentor.

“They’ve gone to soldiers, everyone,“ restated my shadow.

“When will they learn,“ admonished my soul, “to lose life for my sake, and mine alone, if they wish to preserve it.“

“No man can serve two masters,“ proclaimed my mentor. “He’ll either hate one and love the other or be attentive to one and despise the other.“ Mt. 6:24.

“In other words,“ reiterated my shadow, “you cannot give yourself to God and the military.“

“To do so,“ warned my soul, “will only bring you ruin. Therefore, do not tarry here, long, lest you lose the life you seek. Bring your self instead, to naught for me to live on, forever, in the minds of men.“

“You have heard it said, ’You shall love your countryman and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. For if you love only those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers ’n’ sisters, what more are you doing than everyone else? Do not the Gentiles do the same? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.“ Mt. 5:43–48.

The real kicker came when I realized I didn’t love my own countrymen, for I saw them, rather than the Viet Cong, as the real enemy.

“Do not be alarmed by such sentiments,“ responded my mentor, “for they are the beginning of true wisdom.“

“The real enemy,“ proclaimed my shadow ’n’ guardian angel, Michael, “is found within, not without the realm of one’s being.“

“You feel enmity towards your countrymen,“ insisted my soul, Jinny, “because you are still in the process of becoming aware of how the enemy manifests itself within our being.“

“For the speck you see in the eyes of your persecutors,“ reiterated Michael, “is but a reflection of the beam in your own.“

“You see, my son,“ concluded my mentor, “in condemning the actions of your countrymen, you condemn those parts of yourself, of which you are unaware, to living out their existence in the only way left them, in some beastly fashion. And so does it behoove you to embrace your countrymen in a more charitable light—to enter into a more reflective dialogue with the darker aspects of yourself, in much the same way a child engages his detractors in imaginative play.

“For you really have no way of knowing what form enlightenment will take,“ he continued, “until it comes raining down upon you. If you embrace only that which is known, what reward do you have? Do not those, whose behavior sorely taxes your abilities to deal with them, do the same? And if you accept only that with which you are already familiar, what more are you doing than your countrymen? Do not they do the same? Therefore, must you faithfully reproduce the man God intended you to become.“

Dear Butch,

I was glad to receive your letter today. While I had every intention of answering the last one, I got sick again—nothing serious, just a small relapse into what’d happened to me last March. I’d gotten to feeling down in the dumps before I realized there was something wrong with me, for I just didn’t feel like doing anything but laying around and sleeping all the time. Now that I’m back on my feet, I feel my old healthy and completely lucky Irish self.

I want to thank you for all the wonderful gifts you sent me. Having received both packages on the same day, I felt as if I were celebrating Christmas and my birthday at the same time. Butch, the blouse is absolutely beautiful! I’ve gotten so many compliments on it. The Peanut’s books came at just the right time. I was feeling so down because I was sick again, they really helped to bring me out of it. The Snoopy mug occupies a place of honor on my desk at work, right beside my adding machine. I did just as you’d suggested with the Snoopy patch and sewed it on the flap of the white jumper you’d sent me. It really looks sharp. Thank you very much. You don’t know how much you’re spoiling me. But I love every minute of it.

Butch, I was really upset when I read about what you are doing. You once told me you would move the world for me, if ever I asked you. I don’t want the world moved; I only want the Navy moved. I know you don’t like the Navy. You’re only going to be in there for a short time; why not make the time count. I was so happy to read you’re going to take a correspondence course. That’s one thing about you, Butch, you can’t let yourself have idle time on your hands; you’ve got to keep busy. You’ve got to show the Navy what you’re made of, what you can do. If you can’t do it for yourself, then do it for me. Give the remainder of your time in the Navy everything you’ve got, for you have so much potential, that can’t be kept inside but must be given to others as God intended. And it’s up to you to find a way to give it to them. While the others may act like animals, that’s no reason for you to go along with the wave. You must walk out ahead of it to get where you’re going. Butch, you’ve got so much going for you, if only you’d put it to good use. I know you can do it, because you’ve done it before. That’s why I’ve never stopped being proud of you. And I know that your taking this course will only make me feel even prouder. I hope it’ll keep your mind occupied, and challenge you to think real hard. And though I’m no longer in school, I still like to see others studying hard, so long as it’s not me sweating it out over a new course. Aren’t I awful?

Guess I’d better sign off before I go off on any more tangents. I know you’ll be glad of that.

Remember you’re in my thoughts and always in my prayers.

Love,
Mary

PS. Just to set the record straight, I met you on July 23, 1966. See, I don’t forget dates very easily—important ones, that is.

Around this time, I received some information about taking a correspondence course, in response to a hankering I’d had to do something a little more constructive with all the time I had on my hands. Drawn to a course in creative writing, I opted for a refresher course in English, out of a lack of confidence in my ability to write. I was so disappointed when I finally received the materials for the course, that I never started it. Obviously, I hadn’t found what I’d been looking for.

In a second letter I fired off to Mary, before I received any response to the last one I’d sent her, I hinted around, again without coming out and telling her what I had done, that I’d been getting into trouble with the Navy, for I had need of her perspective, whether I agreed with it or not. How else was I to find out if we were compatible enough to marry.

Unless she was open to the new direction, my life seemed to be headed, I saw no future in our relationship. On the other hand, maybe I needed the reality check she offered.

While the mail came and went by helicopter, on a fairly regular basis, I still experienced long delays in hearing from her, for I’d often mail off two or three letters before I’d hear from her. Since she was the only source of real life I had outside myself, I pined away for any word from her and clung onto her letters for dear life. In my need for instant gratification, I experienced an intolerable ache inside my heart when I hadn’t heard from her any sooner than I did. I read her letters over ’n’ over in search of the love I so desperately needed but could not see in the blindness of my own self-centeredness. O how I longed to hear her tell the beast within that she loved him.

“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.