“With your guns & drums ’n’ drums & guns,“ bemoaned my mentor, “the enemy nearly slew ye.“

Instantly, I knew that this part of the story would push the button of everyone who read it.

“Then keep it to yourself,“ demanded an inharmonious voice from somewhere deep within my being.

“My darlin’ dear, ye look so queer,“ moaned the dead man.

“Och! Johnny,“ began the right hand, ere it was cut off by the left.

“I hardly knew ye,“ completed the left hand, its ode to the dead.

“Knew who?“ asked a tremulous right hand.

“Who are you, anyway“ entreated the left hand.

“Dammit! Who are you?“ demanded the right hand, in an effort to ascertain what was going on here, before the dead man’s spirit slipped through my fingers, taking its awful secret with it.

With that, I realized I had finally destroyed the terrible image I had of my stepfather. He was the enemy I’d shot ’n’ killed, as I peeled away the lies, which’d hidden the truth from me for so long. With each round I had, figuratively speaking, fired into the face of this dark specter, I unveiled all the pain ’n’ suffering this miserable human being had inflicted upon me. No longer cursed to live out his fate, I was free now, to make my own choices. Or was I, for while the spirit was most willing, the flesh was still very weak.

Before I could get a word in edgewise, he proceeded to lambaste me: “Prior to your gallivanting off like an ass, and endangering your soul so egregiously, you never once gave this latest fiasco of yours a second thought. Why? Because your ability to think has been relegated to the odious task of tormenting the hell out of you with unfounded thoughts about yourself—which have helped to shape this shadowy specter—you abandoned this endeavor as useless, even though it was only trying to get you back in touch with your feelings. In your inability to see through the disguise of this sick shadowy specter, you inadvertently banished the guardian of your soul, Pure Thought, to the wastelands of your mind. Until you free him from the interminable beating he suffers at the hands of the opinionated old witch who has taken possession of your mother imago, you will likewise be driven to beat off the advances of this spirit whenever he rises up, in the guise of your phallus, to release his thoughts; for in her condemnation of them, she breaks the chain of thought that’d normally link you with your feelings, to create consciousness. Therefore, must you learn to attune yourself to only those thoughts which truly reflect your feelings if, in the future, you wish to avoid falling prey to the evil of an asinine choice, that is, one marked by an inexcusable failure to exercise intelligence and sound judgment.“

Only this time, I was confronted by a shadowy figure riding my ass as I ran up over the top of a huge sand dune in the desert of my mind. Startled, I demanded that this ethereal invader of my space immediately reveal his identity to me.

“I am but a shadowy glimpse of who you really are,“ he whispered as if it were his last dying breath. And with that, he slipped from the mule, and fell face first into the sand.

Alarmed, I stepped back from this mirage which, at that point, was so thin, I could almost see right through it. Moved to resuscitate him, I knelt down in the sand at his side, quickly rolled him over, and began to breathe new life into his vanishing form.

“You must learn to stand tall,“ he whispered before the whole vision simply vanished.

At the behest of the master-at-arms, I entered the Captain’s stateroom where Farris, a yeoman, and the ship’s new Executive Officer—a LCDR Kihune—had already gathered for this charade. A native of Hawaii, the new XO immediately struck me as being rather pharisaical. Decked out in a precisely pressed and tailor-made set of khakis, he not only chose his words very carefully before he spoke, but also expressed himself in excellent form. At first, I was envious of his ability to speak so well. The more I observed him, the more I found to dislike. For he was so methodical, almost mechanical in his movements, that he impressed me as having been programmed, like some computerized robot, to move in a particular way upon receipt of certain data from his environment. Why even his laughter lacked the full-bodied spontaneity of a good laugh. A hundred percent military, he stirred up within me a deep revulsion for what he’d become—the embodiment of the perfect law enforcement officer for the state. As a High Priest for the Great Gray Whore, he was the antithesis of the very Spirit for which I was being asked to stand tall. While we stood there psyching each other out, I suddenly felt his repugnance for me, whereupon he promptly withdrew his gaze to fidget with himself instead.

Unwilling to let a pawn beat him at his own game, he approached me with the idea of trying to put me down in some way. “What’s this?“ he demanded to know, as he pointed to the hair I’d just recently started to legally cultivate on my upper lip.

“Why it’s a mustache, Sir,“ I replied, “and a darn good looking one at that—don’t you think?“

“I see, Mr. Drury, that you and I have a very different perspective on life,“ he concluded, with a wry little smile on his face. “And if I may make a suggestion to you, don’t let your feelings get in the way of your obligations, for I will personally see that you pay dearly for any transgressions in which your feelings embroil you.“

“Touché,“ I muttered to myself as he resumed his previous position. Inside, I shuddered at the thought of what he could do to me.

“Stand tall,“ whispered the shadowy depths of my being.

As the Captain entered the room, I picked up my shoulders and raised my head, not so much for him, as for my shadow. “O Captain, my Captain,“ I heard my self exclaim from somewhere deep within me.

“O courage, my life,“ I heard this wispy shadow of mine reply.

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.

“If ya mean the hate I feel for the f____n’ Navy and for f____n’ lifers, like Farris, yeah, sure I’ve felt it,“ replied Marty, “eatin’ away at my insides, until I’m ready to f____n’ explode.“

“Can’t ya see, Marty?“ I exclaimed. “Filling you with hate for the Navy is soul’s way of letting ya know she can’t tolerate the life you’re leading. Having shown ya what she doesn’t like in your life, she’s also given ya some indication of the direction she’d like to see it move.

“Don’t ya recall how alive we all felt as we shared with each other our fantasies, the rebellious ideas our souls had awakened in us? Don’t ya see how listless we’ve all gotten since they cracked down on us with their decrees? Don’t ya ever feel like just reaching out and grabbing hold of the life that’d relieve the ache inside your heart and set ya free?

“Don’t ya see what we do to ourselves, Marty? When the soul draws us to her with tantalizing fantasies, we quite naturally stop what we’re doing and go to her. But let her demand commitment from us, and we drop her like a hot potato, for some whore or totally unbefitting way of life that neither satisfies our desires nor fulfills our needs.

“Why? Why do we reject one set of fantasies as unrealistic and accept another as real? Why don’t we decide for ourselves what is real? “Don’t ya see, Marty, it’s because we’re afraid. Because their fantasy’s overshadowed the hearts ’n’ minds of men for so long, we’ve grown up fearing the power they have over our lives, what they can do to us if we disobey them.

“And while the havoc wreaked upon our souls, by our participation in their crimes against the rest of humanity, is far greater than the damage they could ever inflict upon our bodies for our noncooperation, we kowtow to their god—to the cyclops who resides within the great pyramid on the almighty dollar. As the pawns in this fantasy, we’re taught it’s our sacred duty, when called upon, to sacrifice our lives to this god in the bloody rituals that’re periodically orchestrated around the hidden issue of maintaining, at all costs, the opulent lifestyles of those who’ve been favored by this god. Through one of the biggest pyramid schemes in history, the American Dream, have we been sucked into believing that we too can become immortal, like them, but only if we buy into their scheme and turn our lives over to them to be used as they see fit. Thus have we been bilked out of a truly fulfilling way of life.

“As our broken lives and dead bodies become the bricks ’n’ mortar with which they continue to build this colossal monument to their god, the question arises, do we really wanna spend the rest of our lives struggling, fighting ’n’ dying, just to help make some lousy bastard back home filthy rich? Or do we wanna espouse a whole new fantasy, one based upon truth ’n’ justice for all?

“Don’t ya see how much they fear us. How afraid they are of what we’re saying. How afraid they are of the rebellious tone of our voices. How afraid they are of our reluctance to carry out their orders. How afraid they are of the truth that keeps oozing out of us no matter what they do.

“And so I ask, who has more to fear? I daresay, they do.“

“I don’t know about that,“ exclaimed Marty, before he excused himself to go back to work. “They still have the upper hand, ya know.“

“Only because we let ’em have it,“ I yelled back as he disappeared down the passageway.

And yet, I found myself falling in love with the very same spirit. “How could this be?“ I wondered. “How could I fall in love with what I couldn’t see?“ Yet the feelings I was experiencing were unmistakably clear. After all, hadn’t I fallen in love with Mary for the very same reason, the love of some spirit I couldn’t see? Who was this spirit, which so skillfully eluded my grasp? And why did I feel such a compulsion to unite with it—with what I did not yet know?

Suddenly, I felt an incredible hunger for self-knowledge. I wanted to know everything there was to know about myself. As tears welled up in my eyes, I felt excited about the prospect of getting to know myself from head to toe, inside and out. I looked forward to this new relationship with my Self, like a newfound love. Impatient, I wanted the relationship to develop more quickly than it was, for I’d been overcome by an insatiable desire to learn the true nature of this spirit.

“How amazing is this spirit!“ I thought to myself. “Where just a moment ago, I felt depressed and even expressed hate for this spirit, I now felt hope.“