“I must be losing my mind,“ I cried out, in response to the little musical charade that kept playing in my head. “I mean, one day I’m flying high, and the next, I’m wallowing around in my own shit, like some goddamn animal. I don’t get it! Just once, I wish someone, outside myself, could see what I’m going through. Even then, I’m not so sure I’d be any better-off, for they’d probably think I was nuts.“

Until I have gotten my self into a heap of shit or fallen flat on my face again, I never know if it’s “me“ who is getting in the way or not. In choosing to live out the dream instead of its meaning, I delude my self into thinking I know the way, when I don’t. And even though I may disagree with my soul, I always wind up doing exactly what she wants me to do, for it seems she must be obeyed, one way or the other. Either I act upon the truth I find hidden within the dream; or I’m sucked down below the belt, to live out the dream, like an animal. O that I could live out the rest of my life in tune with my Self!

Having spurned my soul’s suggestion to resist the Navy, was I confined to a body which, like any stubborn mule, refused to be pushed beyond the limits of its imagination. In my inability to drag my ass any further than the head or mess decks, I quickly found my self at odds again with the Navy when I failed to appear, one morning, at my appointed place of duty. Actually, I had gone by the head, I’d been assigned to, only to discover I was out of scouring powder. Like a dumb ass, I made the mistake of leaving my station without first having asked for permission to go ’n’ get what I needed. And to make matters worse, I followed my ass right smack dab into a conversation with a fellow jackass down in the compartment, only to forget why I’d gone down there in the first place. Having, as usual, been assigned to clean the head by myself, had I unwittingly responded to the greater need my brother, the ass, had for companionship. With no other explanation for my behavior than that, was I put on report. In the struggle to meet the demands of my being, thus did I learn the ins ’n’ outs of the art of passive resistance, that is, who to resist and who not to.

“Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord’s about to pass by,“ commanded the voice of my soul.

“Now there was a great wind, so strong it split mountains and broke rocks into pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind, an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake, a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire, a sound of sheer silence.“ I Kings 19:11–12.

Overcome with fear, I broke out in a cold sweat as I lay there, struggling to awaken from a deep sleep. Unable to let go of my fear, I found little to comfort me as I rhetorically circumambulated the meaning of the dream. “Had I gone over to the exchange with Marty and the others,“ I asked my self, “only to see the hint of an encounter with God succumb to a whirlwind of Brute Force? Had I been looking for an experience of God, when I was so badly shaken by the fall of Elrie? Had not I found God in the fire that burned to reunite me with the other side of my nature?“ Into the feminine side of my nature had I lunged as I latched onto what my body had grasped. Having abandoned the foundering, one-sided, masculine point of view, to wage an unwinnable war in Vietnam, had I darted off in search of what I knew not. Lest I get swept away by a treacherous undercurrent or backlash of the feminine side of my nature, as had my real father, some twenty-odd years ago, I wanted to know what she had seen, the second the sound of sheer silence resonated with me. Having stumbled across bits ’n’ pieces of the truth, I had not yet found the whole truth, for it was nothing but the truth, so help me God, whom I sought. And so did I awaken, if only briefly, from the deep sleep that’d been imposed upon me ere I entered this world in human form to free my soul from the clutches of Instinct.

“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.“

“Want good f—?“ one of them asked with an inviting smile.

“Only ten dollars,“ added the other with the same cute smile.

Caught off guard by their bluntness, Greg and I simply looked at each other and laughed in our embarrassment.

“While we appreciate your interest in us,“ I finally said, “we’re really not interested in what you have to offer.“

With that, we darted across the street, just to get away from them. But they were persistent. “Only five dollars,“ insisted the gal who had negotiated the last offer, as they raced to catch up with us.

Seeing how quickly they were gaining on us, we increased our gait, with the hope of losing them.

Thinking we were simply playing hard to get, our negotiator offered us a new price of only two dollars. Seeing us break into a trot, she even dropped the price down to a dollar. “Fifty cents,“ she shouted after us, as we took off running down the street at full gallop. Having made her final offer, she gave up on us and turned around, with her partner, to ply her trade elsewhere.

Saddened by the whole affair, I was sure the encounter hadn’t been a chance one. Whether or not it was anything more than a harbinger of things to come, I had no way of knowing yet, as the meaning of this troubling affair escaped my grasp.

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.“

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.

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.

Alas, heaven seemed to be some vast dream that I could only skirt, at best, like the ocean. With the exception of an occasional glimpse through the hole made by a dream or a fantasy, heaven kept itself ever so well concealed behind an invisible barrier of images, specifically designed for just such a task. Only on rare occasions, would it deem me worthy enough to be transported up through this barrier, via some phantasmagoric beam of images, to catch a glimpse of this world from its perspective. Even rarer were the occasions upon which it might reveal to me the meaning of such phantasms.

As heaven contained me, so did I contain heaven. Only I did not yet know how to keep myself from getting carried away with some of the myths that came and went through heaven’s door, at their own behest. For I could stand up to only those myths I knew well enough to let pass without getting emotionally caught up as a passenger on the train of images that would fly past me. Otherwise, would I get sucked into taking part in the dream or fantasy either in real life or within my imagination. In the latter instance, I had the distinct advantage of seeing the myth before I acted, which gave me some leeway, depending upon my knowledge of the myth, to decide whether I wanted to hop onboard this train of images or not. I was free to choose only when I saw through the myth, a formidable barrier which protects the truth from an unworthy intruder by disguising it in images that appear meaningless to the untrained eye. After all, was not I made in the image of a God Whose likeness still remained hidden from me.

MR. HART: No questions, other than I understand that we have the right to ask certain questions of the members of the board to determine whether they may or may not have a predetermined opinion about what should be done with the respondent in this case.

SENIOR MEMBER: Yes, that’s right. Do you wish to question any members of the board concerning their qualifications?

MR. HART: Yes, I would.

Questions by Counsel:

Q. Mr. Fitzgibbons, how long have you been in the Navy?

A. Eleven and a half years, sir.

Q. Have you ever served on an administrative board before?

A. Yes, I have.

Q. Could you estimate how many?

A. Two.

Q. Have you ever served on a court-martial board?

A. Yes, I have.

Q. Would you estimate how many?

A. About twenty.

Q. Now have you ever had any occasion, in the course of your eleven and a half years of service, to have contact with any naval personnel who opposed military service?

A. No, sir.

Q. Do you have any prior knowledge as to the regulations pertaining to the processing of such an individual?

A. Nothing specific, only the general background which every naval officer, you might say, should have.

Q. Could you describe briefly for me, what that background is?

A. While I am aware that there are procedures recently revised by the Department of Defense to afford any member of the naval service the right to refuse military service if he understands the true meaning of military service, and that there are certain formal procedures which should be followed in these cases, I am not familiar with the details.

Q. Now, Mr. Fitzgibbons, do you have any personal feelings about a man who would refuse to kill those he has been ordered to kill?

A. No, sir.

Q. If the evidence were to show that Drury has refused to take part in the killing of other human beings as a fact, which was his reason for having been involved in certain matters, you’d have no prior opinion of his refusal to kill on another’s command?

A. No, sir. If I may point out, as far as any individual refusing to take part in the killing of other human beings, I stand firm in my own personal opinion that every individual has the right to refuse. As far as a prior notion, I have no preconceived notion one way or the other.

Q. Now, do you know what ship Mr. Drury served on?

A. I’m aware he was transferred to the Goldsborough from the Davidson, but know little else of his previous record or how long he had served on the Davidson.

Q. Do you know anybody on the Davidson?

A. Not personally—no, sir.

In like manner were the other members of the board grilled. Having neither seen nor heard, nor spoken anything that might prejudice themselves against the Daniel who did so vociferously object to their way of life, did all but the last of these great tailless apes step forth, unscathed, from the fiery furnace into which they had been cast by that Nebuchadnezzar lawyer of mine to bridge the brook to their hearts. For it seemed that the last of this breed of war mongering apes had actually had contact with someone on my old ship, the USS Davidson. But he too failed to cough up anything more significant than this half-digested tidbit as he finished testifying in the same monkey-see, monkey-do fashion of those who had testified before him.

MR. HART: I have no further questions; and I have no challenges
for cause.

Deeply troubled by the dream, I lay awake for what seemed like an awfully long time. Upset with myself for having given into my sexual desires, I sincerely hoped the dream was not a portent of how I would be conducting myself in real life at some point in the near future.

As I fell back to dreaming again, I beheld a white knight riding towards me on the back of an incredibly beautiful white horse. Overcome by a tremendous fear of what I was seeing, I woke up wondering what I had been so afraid of. In my drowsiness, I managed to unearth some vague notion that the white knight and I were one and the same person, before I fell back to sleep.

This time, as I slipped back into the dream where I’d left it out of fear, I was not so afraid of the white knight when I saw him. Much to my consternation, I was informed by the white knight that I must serve She Who Must Be Obeyed, if I wished to free myself from the spell of the Great Gray Whore. Startled by this revelation, I woke up.

Unable to fall back to sleep, I got up, dressed myself and moseyed on up topside to my favorite perch to begin the painful process of trying to catch a glimpse into the meaning of these god-awful dreams. Not until I had let go of my own thoughts, long enough to hear those of my heart, did I realize my mistake. Having told the Temple Priest, under psychological duress, that I would eat again, I essentially gave myself back to the Navy. In other words, before it dawned on me that I must find out why I wanted out of the Navy, I fell victim to servicing a whore of the Great Gray Mother—to putting my energies back into a way of life which was not meant for me. Even though I had been enthralled by the incredible power I had briefly commanded in my new role as the white knight, I grew fearful of the price I might have to pay to play such an obscure part. Out of fear, I relinquished this new role, and fell back into an unconscious state of being. So did I, by emotionally distancing myself from the white knight, effectively rid myself of the fear of stepping into his shoes before I was ready. To my consternation, I was informed that I could serve only one mistress, either She Who Must Be Obeyed or her shadow, the Great Gray Whore.

Unable to crack the shell surrounding the truth of these images, I began to feel some regret over having ended my fast so soon, and wondered if more wouldn’t have been revealed to me had I continued it.

As I continued to listen to my feelings, I felt as if I were stuck on the threshold of a dream, only because I didn’t know how to enter it. While the Great Gray Whore drove me to act instinctively, like a wild animal, She and the white knight were trying to show me the way out, the doorway to my humanity. Only I just couldn’t take the first step—that big of a leap in faith. I was too afraid to simply walk into the unknown without having some idea of where I was going.