“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.“

“Come now, my lad!“ exclaimed my shadow. “You must get hold of yourself, for all is not as bad as it seems. Why you’ve been given a great gift in the ability to see your demons, or that part of your animal nature which still has you in its grip. While you may now see this knowledge as more of a burden than a boon, you’ll one day be called upon to share it with the rest of the world, for like Jonah, you’ve been confined to this instinctive existence, to force you to find the way out.“

“If you know the way, why don’t you show me?“ I beseeched him.

“I know no more than what the Council has deciphered from the images you’ve been shown thus far,“ he replied.

“Well I guess that leaves us all in the dark,“ I quipped.

“Not quite,“ he rebutted, “for we’re continually being fed images that shed light on the way you must go. Until recently, I’ve not been at liberty to discuss with you our latest translation—into thought—of some of the material we’d received from your senses awhile back. If you’re up to it, I’d like to share with you those thoughts that speak to the qualms you are having with your participation in the war in Vietnam.“

“Are you game?“ he asked.

“Sure! Why not!“ I exclaimed. “Like any true glutton for punishment, I want more, as long as it’s not too painful. Though, I’m not sure I could handle coughing up any more demons,“ whereupon he readily assured me that was not what he had in mind.

“If you don’t know it yet,“ he began, “you’ll soon find out that war is hell. Unless you deal with me on a personal level, that is, integrate me into your life, you will be forced to fight me on a transpersonal level, in the faces of the Viet Cong, for the Beast has been unleashed.“

“What beast?“ I asked out of the alarm he’d just sounded to alert me to the very real dangers that lay ahead.

“Why that part of Nature which still defies Consciousness,“ he answered rather matter-of-factly.

“I don’t understand,“ I exclaimed.

“You see,“ he unequivocally replied, “each human being is given, at birth, a little piece of the dark side of Nature, or hell as you-all call it, from which to free the truth he’ll need to get back into paradise. Till he frees the truth yet hidden within the animal side of his nature, it’ll haunt him like a specter. For this worthiest of opponents will act as a thorn in his side, and thwart his every effort to live out any other truth than the one meant for him. And he’ll be unable to resist such behavior because the laws of Nature must be obeyed one way or the other, as either an unconscious animal or a conscious human being.

“Like the fissile material in a nuclear reactor, the energy to live out this truth lies dormant in you till you reach the age of puberty, at which time the One Who Rules Over All releases control of it to you through your rod. If you lose control of this rod, by using your libidinal energy for any other purpose than that intended, you run the risk of releasing this creative energy in the form of that beast which had best expressed this truth, no matter how crudely, before you came along. And if enough of your countrymen lose control of this energy, so that critical mass is reached, a chain reaction of great destructive power is set in motion, above which only the individual can rise, until those who’ve contributed to this war regain their senses and banish the beast back to the wildest parts of their imaginations, from whence it came.

Older and much wiser, in this fantasy I find my self speaking to a small gathering of elders about the wonderful relationship my soul and I have enjoyed down through the years, for they had never cultivated as close a relationship with their souls as I had with mine. While I wondered if she would still be sending me revelations, when I reached this ripe old age, or if she would have already locked the door, through which I had always returned to the land of the living, and thrown away the key instead, I heard the voices in my head unwaveringly insist they knew not the answer to such a far-reaching question. As I continued to reminisce over the long walk we had taken together through the garden of life, I had just begun to tell my audience how I could never have asked for more when I heard the voices in my head say, this time around, they wanted no more than to see my self retire to the back pages of my mind. As I began to go over the places in nature where she had hidden herself in the game she used to play, to see if I could find her, I realized that life was much too short to piddle away on the unthinkable. Having been sentenced to two years before the mast for the sins of my generation and those long past, had I found the answer to my dilemma in the person of my own soul.

“What am I to do now?“ asked I of the more civilized aspects of my nature who, in their ongoing feud with the more uncivilized parts of me, had never won a single round in the debate over this question, and then wondered why I’d thrown out their unworkable old solutions, along with those of the beastly neighbors beneath them.

Having been encouraged to imagine my way out, did I slip into a region of the brain where I could go without having to act like a beast, one day, and a god, the next. Only I wasn’t too sure I’d found the place until the voices in my head had dropped me off there, in their own picturesque way.

“The uncivilized run around like chickens with their heads chopped off,“ gave I some thought to the unthinkable side of nature. “They worry me with the half-baked ideas they concoct and force down the throats of unsuspecting souls like me, as if their solutions were the only way to go. And they wonder why I don’t ever take them very seriously.“

So off I went to fill the hole these images invariably left behind whenever I slipped into this region of the brain to find the words to express myself in a more civilized manner.

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.

As the supplies in her hold dwindled with each passing day, I ventured out into this harsh and desolate wasteland, farther ’n’ farther, in search of food for thought and the waters of life. But I’d only let my mule go so far, since I feared losing touch with this last bit of reality onto which I still clung. In fact, I unwittingly held such a tight rein on my mule, that I succeeded in doing nothing more than going in circles around my present position. After all, how could I put my trust in an animal nature that has so often led me astray? Deserted by every aspect of myself but my animal nature, was I forced to rely on my own ass—to trust in my own basic instincts. Unaware that I had let loose of the tight grip I’d held on the reins, I finally got up off my ass, one day, to go off in search of soul, no matter where my ass might lead me.

Unable to keep up with my own ass, this instinct which seemed to be leading me ever more deeply into the hinterland of my being, I suddenly realized that I had lost sight of my guide. In a panic, I raced off in the direction in which its barely visible footprints seemed to lead. When they, too, disappeared beneath the blowing and shifting sands of time, I fell flat on my face. In my exhaustion, I rolled over on my back and swirled off into unconsciousness, where I lay until I caught wind of a gentle breeze blowing about my face.

Opening my eyes, I caught sight of a dove fluttering its wings in midair just above my head. Certain I was still under the spell of some dream, I closed my eyes to rub the sleep from them, whereupon the dove disappeared. Upon looking out over the length of my body, I thought I saw the dove again, this time, fluttering at my feet where it simply vanished as I blinked my eyes. The third time around, I spotted the dove fluttering in midair at my left side just above my heart where, instead of disappearing again, it suddenly transformed itself into the image of my soul, right before my very eyes.

“Come with me,“ she begged with a smile I could hardly refuse.

Suddenly, I found myself standing knee deep in a sea of grass that thrashed about wildly, in response to the strong gusts of wind which came and went like the breath of some mighty being. Never before had I seen such a wind, that could buffet my body and, in the same breath, blow right through me as if there were nothing to me. Never before had I been permitted to see the world around me with such clarity, for a great light penetrated everything. No longer did I, or anything else for that matter, cast a shadow. Never before had I encountered such all-encompassing unity.

As my vision refocused its sights on the forest surrounding this magical little meadow, I quickly honed in on a lone tree, the only one bold enough to wear an evening gown in broad daylight—to sport her true colors before it was time. Why I was so completely captivated by the radiant splendor of her gown, the exquisite blend of yellow, orange, and red in the leaves of her dress, that I could not take my eyes off her.

Whatever I so earnestly sought out there in nature, suddenly manifested itself in the form of a young woman of east Mediterranean descent. Dressed in a simple gown, the style worn by women around the time of Christ, she held in her bosom a stone tablet that was divided into two pages, like the face of an open book, and upon which were written, in some ancient middle-eastern script, Ten Commandments.

As soon as I realized the significance of the stone tablet, I found my self standing beside an image of my soul in an enormous cavern filled with every religious symbol in the whole world.

“Do you see anything else that strikes your fancy?“ she asked.

“No, I don’t,“ I replied as she reached out to open a door that had not been there before.

“You know,“ she added, “you’re a very interesting person.“

“Really!“ I exclaimed, quite surprised by what I’d just encountered within my own being.

And with that, she closed the door and disappeared within.

Like a vulture, did he swoop down on me. “You’re on report,“ he screeched out.

“What for?“ I asked.

“For disobeyin’ a direct order,“ he squawked, “and for leavin’ your appointed place of duty without my permission.“

“I had to take a shit, Farris,“ I tried to explain to him. “And when I couldn’t find you anywhere on the mess decks…“

It was useless trying to explain anything to him, for he was totally unreasonable. “You’re on report,“ he kept screaming into my face, over ’n’ over. “You’re on report.“

“I’ll tell you one goddamn thing, Farris,“ I finally interjected. “I’ve never once had to ask anyone on this ship for permission to take a shit, unless I was on watch. And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna start now.“

Immediately, he spun around and raced off across the mess decks, only to disappear down the forward passageway.

“The guy’s a f____n’ animal!“ exclaimed Marty.

“Nah,“ I replied, “he’s just afraid; that’s all. Like the rest of them, he’s afraid of the tide of resistance that’s risen up from amongst us plebes, and threatens to sweep over the ship like a tidal wave.”

Was I guilty of having been derelict in the performance of my duties? Indeed I was, for I’d left my soul to drown in a sea of unconscious behavior. Having performed a minor miracle, staying on top of all this instinctive behavior, I had yet to rescue her from the clutches of the Great Gray Mother of Instinct. In other words, I had yet to find my way in real life. Because the way I should go remained so unclear to me at the time, I couldn’t hold onto it for very long without its vanishing from my grasp. I had a choice, either I played with my self, that is, I played along with the Navy’s program for me or I played, once again, with my old imaginary or real—depending on how one viewed the matter—childhood playmate, my soul. Whereas I’d made the right choice when I rescued her from the sea in the metaphysical realm, at the same time, I had offended the Great Gray Whore on the physical plane. Indeed, I was beginning to see just how difficult it is to serve two masters.

By means of a simple torpedo had my soul brought home to me not only the threat of death ’n’ destruction, but also the promise of new life. In her own way, had she forced me to rise above my feelings of powerlessness, to stand tall against the raw power of Nature. In other words, she had tricked me into momentarily embracing a whole new approach to life, one in which I could indeed walk on water or at least overcome the severe limitations of a purely instinctive existence.

“You’re late,” booms a voice from out across the threshold of consciousness as I step forth from the looking-glass world of my soul to greet the only defense I have, a legal adviser of my own ilk willing to take on Uncle Sam’s lieutenants for the sake of the soul alone.

“Have you rewritten your statement?” he asks as I enter the courtroom to be judged, this time around, on the grounds of my own being instead of theirs.

“I have,” I respond with a big grin, “to more accurately reflect what has taken place inside me over the past two years.”

“Good,” he replies.

With that, in bursts the recorder—or lawyer for the Navy—like a steam engine from the judge’s chamber. As the five officers, who will decide my fate, file past him, like empty boxcars, to take up their predisposed positions on this lonesome freight, he commands the real E. J. Drury to please stand up.

Not until the only ear on the whole damn train, the court reporter in the caboose, has set herself up to record all this gibberish, am I told to be seated by the senior member of the board, a throwback to prehistoric times named Fitzgibbons.

As he swings from one limb to another in my mind’s eye, like some great tailless ape does he convene the hearing.

SENIOR MEMBER: This hearing will come to order. This hearing convened in the General Court Martial Room of the Commandant, Fourteenth Naval District, U.S. Naval Station, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, in accordance with the Commanding Officer, USS Goldsborough DDG-20, appointing order serial 603 dated 4 November 1968. The appointed members of the board are all present.

The board convened at 0927 hours, 7 November 1968.

Fireman Recruit Drury is the respondent in this hearing and shall be referred to as such throughout these proceedings.

Mr. Brook Hart will represent the respondent.