“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.

“Okay,“ I responded rather lackadaisically, for I still had no insight into the cause of the tropical depression that’d descended upon me after our arrival in Pubic Bay. And since we both pretty much shared the same taste in music, I figured it might just be what I needed to help me take my mind off my self. But I found no more solace in his collection of songs than I had in those coming from the jukebox at the exchange.

Still feeling blue by the following evening, I let Marty con me into going back over to the exchange for a few drinks with Harold, Greg, and himself. Seeing how I’d gotten caught up in one of those psychic tropical lows with which one can do little else but ride it out, I agreed to go with him, for I knew Marty well enough by now, to realize that he was only trying to cheer me up.

“Boy are they packin’ ’em in, tonight,“ observed Harold the hare as we scurried in and snatched up one of the few remaining tables.

“It’s all a part of the f—in’ ritual,“ added Martin, the cynical talking horse, “in which the dumb-ass motherf—ers come in here to get all juiced up fore headin’ out into Olongapo to get jizzed up.“

“It’s the last civilized watering hole, this side of hell,“ snapped back the missing link from this side of the event horizon.

“I must say,“ added that gregarious little ole tortoise, Greg, “that I quite agree with you-all—this place certainly does have a way of releasing the animal, normally held bound beneath the surface of our civilized veneer, by the fetters of a very shaky humanity.“

“Why I feel as if we’ve all been sucked down into some big black hole,“ bemused the missing link.

“I see us all,“ quipped the tortoise, “as havin’ just escaped from the zoo, masquerading as humans.“

“And now I suppose you’re gonna tell us,“ insisted the talking horse, “that we’ve all come together here, tonight, to celebrate our new found freedom.“

“That’s right!“ exclaimed the tortoise.

“You-all strike me,“ observed the hare, “as a buncha kooks whose imaginations have all run away with your sanity.“

“Why have we run to the wild side of our natures?“ asked a curiously revitalized missing link.

“Cause we’ve been caged up like a buncha wild animals,“ snarled the talking horse, “onboard some goddamn ark bound for hell.“

“Don’t you-all see,“ inquired the missing link, “how easily we revert to animals when we choose not to live out the dictates of our own souls. Don’t ya see that she must be obeyed, one way or the other, as some soulless animal or as a full human being.“

With that we all fell silent.

At some point in the song, I found my self standing in a field of the most luscious strawberries I’d ever seen. Wary of the sudden craving, that’d come over me, to jump in and wallow around in the berries, rubbing them all over my naked body as I ate whatever I wanted, I backed off with the realization that man does not live by images alone, “but on every word that comes forth from the mouth of God“. Mt. 4:4.

Then the magician, who’d been standing behind this fantasy, waiting for me to choose, took me down to the very kore of my being, or source of all fantasy, and placed me before the most voluptuous woman I’d ever seen, saying to me, “If you are a true son of God, then throw your self upon her; for it is written,
’You will not die;
For God knows,
That when you partake of this fruit,
Your eyes will be opened,
And you will be like God’.“ Gen. 3:4–5.

“It is also written,“ I said to him, “that ’you shall not commit adultery, for anyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart’.“ Mt. 5:27–28.

Again, the magician took me down to the very kore of my being and showed me every sensuous fantasy he could drum up, whereupon he said to me, “All these will I fulfill for you, if only you let me trick, er, I mean, treat you to the delights of your imagination.“

“Away with you, Satan!“ I finally insisted, “for it is written,
’Indulge not the fantasies of Instinct
But rather the way of the soul,
For it is she who must be obeyed
If you are to be overcome’.“

“In what book is that written?“ the magician demanded to know.

“Why, right here on this page from the story of my life,“ I pithily replied, whereupon he disappeared, leaving me sitting there with a brief glimpse into the strange workings of my soul.

“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.“

“Trust,“ he pleaded with heartfelt sincerity. “I make offer, no can refuse—no take American money, to end of day. What say?“

While we weren’t sure what to believe after our last experience, Greg and I both agreed that we had nothing to lose since we did not have to pay him until the end of the day.

“Trust,“ he reiterated with a nod, this time.

“Okay,“ Greg finally agreed.

With a grin that extended from ear to ear, he rushed to open the door of his cab, and bade us to have a seat. Only after he, himself, had gotten into the cab, did he ask us where we wanted to go.

As we struggled to communicate to our cabby, the desire we both shared to purchase a nice gift for that special someone back home, he pointed to the ring on his finger. “Eh?“ inquired our cabby.

“Jewelry!“ I exclaimed, in answer to the charade our hearts had played on us.

“Yes!“ rejoined Greg. “What an excellent idea!“

So did our cabby, with the unanimous approval of his fare, take off for parts unknown.

Suddenly, it struck me how much Life is like a game of charades, in which we’re forced to find the Word hidden within Her images, both real and imaginary, to avoid giving flesh to His nemesis, Instinct. In our inability to interpret the language of the body, are we driven to act instinctively, to live out what we see rather than what we hear. For we’ve never been taught how to listen to ourselves or seek the counsel of our own faculties. Lured by the attractiveness of Life’s images, we let the multitude, rather than the One Voice, interpret them for us, preferring to live as our animal ancestors have always lived, under the tyranny of Instinct. In our failure to realize that She must be obeyed, one way or the other, are we forced to live out the charade instead of the truth.

As I refocused my attention onto a more visible band of the spectrum of consciousness, I found my self getting out of the cab, with Greg, in front of a small jewelry store. Inside, I quickly honed in on a gold ring upon which was mounted a star sapphire. Trying it on my baby finger, I just knew it would fit Mary. When I asked the shopkeeper how much it cost, I balked at first.

“Twenty dollars,“ he finally said, “no lower.“

“That’s a bargain,“ piped up Greg. “You could never buy the same ring at that price, back in the States.“

“You think not?“ I asked, hesitatingly.

“I know,“ added Greg, “for gold’s much higher back in the States.“

“All right,“ I muttered as I reached into my pocket for the money. “I’ll take it.“

“I sure wish I could be there,“ I rambled on, “to see the expression on her face when she tears into this package and feasts her eyes on a ring—it’ll blow her mind.“

Greg just smiled, as if to say he agreed. Having selected a beautiful gold necklace for his wife, he proceeded to pay for it.

“If you go away from this experience with anything at all,“ stated my mentor, “I hope it is with the realization that you may never take the life of another human being, no matter how you feel, for you have been called by the Highest Authority to destroy the images of your enemies as you see them within yourself rather than in your neighbor.“

“Do you not see, my son, how the cycle of violence is passed from one generation to the next!“ exclaimed my mentor. “As you acquired the habit of putting down the lesser self and beating off the advances of the greater Self from your parents, so would you have passed this tendency down to your children, had you not chosen to break the cycle.“

“I hope you see now, how this behavior has led to the creation of Hyde,“ added my shadow.

“For She must be obeyed, one way or the other,“ interjected my soul, “as either a beast or a human being.“

“What I don’t understand,“ I inquired, “is why I was transformed into a wolf instead of Hyde.“

“You see, my son,“ answered my mentor, “because Hyde perpetuated the cycle of self-abuse, in his addiction to this narcotic, he could never have turned against his supplier.“

“Since only the witch knew the words to the incantation that transformed you into such a hideous beast,“ added my shadow, “as Hyde, you could never have destroyed this life line to your existence.“

“To get you to attack this predaceous image of your mother,“ insisted my soul, “we had to draw upon the instinct for survival, that you found in the image of the wolf.“

“It was all so horrible,“ I cried out, as tears welled up in my eyes. “Once I’d been transformed into a wolf, I could think of nothing but killing my prey, the old witch. As I grew more ’n’ more intoxicated with the idea of killing her, I had the sense that it was all right, that I was only taking this life in order to live. I felt as if I was only taking back what rightfully belonged to me, my own personhood. I tore into her flesh, not so much for the revenge, as I did for the food of the gods, that knowledge which comes from the destruction of an old image. Then I was overcome by remorse for having taken the life of an old god.“

“Only you never realized,“ interjected my mentor, “how incomplete was your picture of God, until you prepared this false image for interment.“

“When Mother Nature finally revealed her true identity,“ added my shadow, “she apologized for the shoddy treatment you had received from her alter ego, the opinionated old witch that’d devoured the image of your mother.“

“It was only you,“ insisted my soul, “who could free us from the devouring image of your mother.“

“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.

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.

Where I’d been, I could not recall. Had I fallen asleep? While I didn’t think so, I wasn’t sure I hadn’t, either. I was sure of one thing only, that I’d finally come back to where I belonged, for I’d never before experienced such total peace of mind.

Wherever I’d been, for the time being, I felt at one with myself. I felt as if I’d finally come back to my senses. As tears welled up in my eyes, I recalled what’d happened to me when I went out—I had unexpectedly gotten back in touch with my feelings.

As I sat pondering over my next move, I was pricked by the painful thought that I should have nothing to do with the Navy. Like an expectant mother, I had no conception of the form in which this child would appear when it was born. I knew only that I was a long ways off from giving birth to this new life taking shape within me. Because I wanted it to happen now, I was pricked with the pain I sometimes felt when I didn’t get my way.

Even though I still didn’t know what to do with my feelings towards the Navy, I knew that I could no longer simply ignore them either. Because the soul eventually requires a little action from the body, I had no choice but to do what she asked of me if I wanted to keep myself out of the arms of some whore. Only I didn’t want to have to endure any suffering in the process. Little did I know that labor pain’s a prerequisite for the birth of truth. In spite of the great pain I normally felt as a result of the severe limitations the Navy placed upon my soul, I found great joy in those moments when she was given free rein. In my struggle to find a way out of this maze, I felt as if I were being subjected to a course in behavior modification, to see if I could be prodded into following the orders of a much greater will than my own, that of either She Who Must Be Obeyed or the Great Gray Whore. While I certainly preferred the joy my soul gave me to the pain the Navy inflicted upon her, I’d never realized that new life was taking shape within me, until now. Thus did I resign myself to the task of meeting its needs whenever my soul prevailed upon me to do so.

Having snatched my records from the yeoman, the XO proceeded to read aloud the charge against me. “Mr. Drury, you’ve been charged with having violated Article 92 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, specifically the section which deals with dereliction in the performance of duties, in that while standing watch onboard the USS Davidson at 1230 hours, 13 May 1967, you did fail to report the approach of an oncoming torpedo during a fleet exercise. How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?“ he asked.

“Not guilty,“ I proclaimed, as I struggled, like a lowly worm, to free myself from the hook that’d gotten under the Captain’s skin. While the Captain showed signs of squirming around my plea, I wasn’t let off the
hook that easily.

“Because you’ve pled not guilty,“ interjected the XO, “you have the right, Mr. Drury, to testify in your behalf or to remain silent. You may request the appearance, before this mast, of any witness whose testimony you believe to be pertinent to your case. If you choose to present no evidence, that fact may not be used against you as an admission of guilt. If there is any evidence you wish to present, you must do so at this time. Let me remind you, that whatever you say may also be used as evidence against you.“

“Do you understand, Mr. Drury?“ he asked.

“Yes, I do,“ I replied.

“Do you have anything to say in your defense?“ he asked.

As I agonized over how I could tell the Captain he’s not my master, I balked. If I told him the truth, my words would only be used against me. How could I convince him that my failure to see the torpedo, as he had seen it, had literally saved the life of my soul? How could I show him that it was he who was guilty of the greater offense here? While I’d only offended a mere mortal, I saw his participation in the exercise as an offense against the very soul of mankind, the Great Spirit She Who Must Be Obeyed.

“I have nothing to say at this time,“ I finally said in capitulation.

While the Captain’d been noticeably unnerved by the tone of my response, as evidenced by his fidgeting prior to pronouncing my guilt, he nonetheless sentenced me to 30 days of extra duty. Why the words’d hardly left his mouth before he scurried out the door, satisfied that he had dealt with this thorn in his side. Little did he know this irritant was in the early stages of developing into a pearl, the pearl of great price.

Visibly shaken by the whole event, I was dismissed and sent below. Though I still felt unwilling to simply fall into step, I was sure glad it was all over, for now. As shy as I was, I hated these encounters into which my soul forced me. And since I had no idea of just how miserable these guys could make my life, I greatly feared the price I might have to pay for my actions. Unaware of the price that had already been exacted from me for my participation in the Navy, thus far, I would buckle under for the time being, or at least until my soul forced me into yet another predicament.