“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.

While my life deconstructed itself, right before my eyes, I grasped hold of a whole new way of life, more beautiful than I’d ever imagined. As I clung to her, I was confronted by yet another image. For I was being given the choice now, to become Who I Really Am, if I so desired.

And as I danced out onto a stage with her, in the performance of my life, I was left standing there alone in front of a huge stone arch, in the top of which was carved the figure of an angel who had just begun to break free of his imprisonment in the stone, like some prehistoric creature from a fossilized egg. Seeing how this arch represented the dome of my skull, or my own thickheadedness in other words, I turned just in time to see a vapor sneak in through the back door to the mind of God, like a sigh of relief from His mouth. As this evacuation of the truth, from the void, animated my shadow, I watched it slowly raise its sultry self up from the ground of my being, like a phoenix from its own ashes, only to give rise to the haunting specter of the White Knight, towards whom I surprisingly enough showed no fear, this time. Not until he had removed his helmet did I recognize him as a mirror image of myself.

“Who am I?“ asked I of this image of myself.

“You are a sentinel for the house of Uncle Sam,“ he replied, rather matter-of-factly.

“Tell me then,“ I begged to know, “am I to play the part of a sailor after all?“

“Nay,“ said he, “for the house of Uncle Sam is in need of a very different kind of sentinel, one who can interpret for him, correctly, the signs of the times, or pull forth from this Trojan horse, the thoughts of God.“

“How much deeper must I go before I find them?“ inquired I of the White Knight, as this figure of speech put its arm around my shoulders, to welcome me back home.

“Why past your own egocentric view of the world,“ proclaimed the White Knight.

“How can I ever see that far?“ asked I of my host.

“Why through the eyes of the sentinel who stands guard at the gate to the mind of God,“ replied he who did dwell there.

“How does it feel to be standing here?“ rang out the voice of he who had just stepped into my shoes.

“Darn good!“ belted out I in unison with the voices of some heavenly chorus from somewhere deep within my being.

“As often as you’ve stood here, in the past, looking into your own puss, how could you have missed me?“ questioned he this inability of mine to see past its most prominent feature without his help.

“I saw nothing until you showed up there just a few moments ago,“ I insisted on what I experientially knew to be true.

“In the end,“ he concluded, “will your wealth be measured in terms of the richness of the images you find buried here.“

And O how much richer are we, when someone takes the time to unearth this treasure trove of Wisdom, for all the world to see.

At first, I was beside myself, only because I had looked forward to going ashore when we reached our next port of call, Hong Kong. Having, in the past, held onto these excursions for dear life, after my experiences in Subic Bay, I realized they were not nearly as important as those of the imaginary world. Had I never learned to take off on these flights of fantasy, nor met up with the likes of my own faculties, I would have, long since, buckled under the weight of the peer pressure that hung over my head like the Sword of Damocles. Nor had I inherited from my parents such a strong will to survive, in spite of the odds, I would never have found the strength to march to the beat of a different drummer. Luckily, I had learned, early on, to live out the young David in my mother rather than the old Saul in my stepfather who, like his counterpart in the Old Testament, was tormented by the demons of old dying world order, because he refused to listen to the winds of change that continually swirl about the mind in search of form.

O how it did please my soul, to give form to life over death! Whenever my soul and I became as one again, I’d be filled to overflowing with all the joy ’n’ satisfaction of the psychological equivalent of an orgasm. For I was being driven by a much deeper and more evolutionary aspect of the primitive urge to propagate the species—an insatiable desire to create a new life for my self, only one made in the image and likeness of the Original Being.

How often, though, did I succumb to the intransigent will of Saul. Forced to wrestle with Saul’s demon and my old nemesis, Brute Force, whenever Saul tried to bully his way back into my life, I quickly learned to slam the door in his face, once I recognized him. Thus did I learn obedience by what I suffered at my own hand.

Having completed her mission in Vietnam, the Davidson had pulled out to sea where, on the day of the white glove inspection, she encountered some rough going. While I worked hard to make it look as if I had finished cleaning the head to which I’d been assigned, she tossed me back ’n’ forth with the piss ’n’ shit she had belched up onto the deck from the mouth of the toilet someone had forgotten to flush. As the shit broke down into little turds which rolled back ’n’ forth across the deck, like marbles, the great gray whale couldn’t have helped me out any more than she did that day.

With the appearance of Chief Duggan, I knew the Captain and the XO were not far behind.

“Dury,“ meowed this pussycat of a slothful chief, as it peeped its head inside the door. “Is this compartment ready for inspection?“

“I suppose,“ mused the Cheshire cat in me, with a grin.

“Then get over here and present it for inspection,“ droned the slothful cat, “for you’re keeping the Captain waiting.“

Believing that this black sheep in disguise had rejoined the fold, the Captain stood outside the door staring down at his troublesome young ward, with the satisfied look of an old weasel upon his face.

“Ready, Sir,“ gleefully reported a very naughty little Cheshire cat.

“Mr. Drury, when you present a space to the Captain,“ sneered the primp little Victorian cat that usually accompanied the weasel on its excursions outside of officer’s country, “you salute the Captain smartly, and present the space by its number, as being ready for inspection.“

“I don’t think this space has a number,“ meowed the cat with a Cheshire grin.

As the primp little Victorian cat sprang back with the slothful one to look for the number that was obviously missing, why the pompous old weasel who had been standing silently by, until then, flew into a rage. “Just present the space as a head, Mr. Drury,“ sizzled a simmering weasel, “and let us get on with the goddamn inspection.“

“O Captain, my Captain,“ meowed the cat with a Cheshire grin, “thou mayest inspect thine own head, as suits thee, Sire.“ After a very disquieting salute—that started on the shores of this country, only to end up in Nazi Germany—did this most irreverent cat step aside, that the ole weasel might examine the contents of its own head. Looking to catch a glimpse of its haughty self in the mirror, was the Cheshire cat taken aback instead, by the sudden appearance of the white knight. As the great white horse reared up on its hind legs in approval, the cat reckoned it had just seen its own transformation.

Having lost his marbles at a young age, the Captain grew irate at the sight of the shit he now found rolling around inside his head. Having lost them again, only this time, to the white knight, did he go out of his head, muttering obscenities to himself and the XO. Why he was so beside himself, as he ’n’ the Victorian cat fled from the white knight, I’m not sure, to this day, if he ever pulled himself together, long enough to complete his inspection of the ship.

“I can see now,“ hissed a not so docile pussy cat of a slothful chief as it exited the Captain’s head, “that it was a mistake to think I could ever change you, Dury, for you’re no diamond in the rough.“

“No, Chief,“ I interjected, “I’m the stone which you, the builders of this way of life, have rejected. And like any stumbling block, I have yet to take on my true form. When I do, I will dazzle even your eyes.“

With that, did this pussycat of a slothful chief retreat down the passageway to lick its wounds.

Within moments, was I relieved of the duty of cleaning the head, and ordered below by Joe, to pass out laundry. Finally, I’d been relegated to the most innocuous position onboard the ship, which suited me just fine since I wanted little else to have to do for the Navy than clean the sleeping quarters of my shipmates or pass out their laundry. Besides, I found it to be much more amenable to meeting the great need my soul seemed to have for fraternizing with the other members of the crew around the real issues of the day, without the fear of being punished. Thus did I win my first real victory since going on the warpath again, against the Navy.

“Until you say no to the Navy, in body,“ stated my mentor, “you‘ll have neither the energy nor the will to go on as you have.“

“O well,“ bemoaned the jackass, as the last of his faculties abandoned him to his self.

“Good night ’n’ good luck,“ echoed the voices of my faculties from somewhere across the void.

“That’s the last straw!“ brayed a perturbed jackass as it chomped down on the words of its master, chewed them up, and spit the unpalatable ole cud onto the ground, to be trampled underfoot, pissed and shit upon.

And so was the donkey driven to play with its self, only on a much lower level than it’d grown accustomed to, of late. Having pissed away another opportunity for union with soul, had the ass, once again, banished itself to the barren reaches of its mind, to trudge through the endless sand in search of that oasis where the beast could unload itself of the burden of soul with impunity. Like Jonah, had it only succeeded in further miring itself down in the belly of the animal kingdom.

“Lemme outta here,“ screamed the horse’s ass, to no avail.

A new breed of men, the reservists differed from the low life Neanderthals as much as did the Cro-Magnon men of prehistoric times. A more intelligent and sensitive lot, they hated, with a passion, their indentured servitude to a lower form of life, and rued the day they had ever gotten involved in this country’s military solution to the problems in Vietnam. However much they indulged in grass, hashish, or acid to escape the hellish conflict within themselves over their participation in this war, they nevertheless remained faithful to the wives and fiancées they’d left behind. In spite of their disaffection with the Navy and the war in Vietnam, they still performed their tasks, only to the beat of the rock music to which they constantly subjected themselves, to drown out the screaming of their souls in righteous indignation over their complicity. More often than not were they standing up for what they believed, and at least confronting the lifers before they would agree to carry out those commands that offended their sensibilities in any way. And because I seemed to speak to something hidden deep within their beings, they unconsciously adopted me as the rebel for their cause, the white knight who might just free them from themselves.

The lifers, on the other hand, feared this new breed of man, who dared to stand up to them and question their authority. Like outcasts, the lifers had flocked to the Great Gray Whore, only because she appeared to give them what this society otherwise withheld from them—a reason for living. Driven to serve the soul of this sick society, these patriots of the Great Gray Whore searched in vain through the brothels of the Far East for her ever-illusive form. In their quest for the Great Prostitute, the genie who could fulfill their every desire, they turned to the Spirits of Alcohol. Instead of releasing the genie bottled up within them, they aroused, from his slumber, the ogre who ruled over her, the instinctive beast hidden within us all—Hyde. Because Hyde gave them what they wanted, they grew fond of the horny old devil. Then, one day, they ran into their own shadowy perception of the white knight, hiding out within a lowly peon named Drury, and grew fearful; for somewhere, in the back pages of their minds, they recalled a tale from the days of old, in which the white knight slays the beast.

And in the middle stood the majority of the crew who, unlike the lifers, still had some semblance of a conscience to which the white knight could appeal. Caught up in this tug-of-war for their souls, when push came to shove, they often fell prey to the ways of their animal natures. In their inability to interpret the language of the body, they easily lost their heads when confronted by the rawness of their desires. With their heads in the clouds, and their feet mired down in clay, were they driven to live like the gods, one day, and the beasts of the earth, the next; for this, they believed, was the fate of those who lived in the middle.

While neither lifers nor reservists would have much to do with each other, those who lived in the middle associated freely with the members of both factions. By at least keeping open the paths of communication between the two sides, they seemed to temper some of the hostility each side felt for the other. For now, they were the glue that tenuously held the crew together.

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.

A review

Having survived the war in Vietnam, without physical injury to himself, the author “had nonetheless incurred the deeper wounds of a house divided against itself.” As a child, had not he experienced his real father’s schizophrenia and, later, his stepfather’s alcoholism as war related, he may very well have written a different kind of story than A Different Kind of Sentinel.

That the author takes memoir writing to a new and intriguing level is a gross understatement. For he gives to the imagination what Albert Einstein gave to the world, a reality “that is just as accessible to one’s faculties as the material world.”

“You speak of the imagination,” complained a cohort of his, “as if it were some place I could walk to, like the back of this plane.”

“Indeed I do,” proclaims he to whom the vastly rich experiences of the imaginal realm are just as real as those of the material world–a topic that, no doubt, will be hotly debated for years to come.

From the first page of this very well-written book to the last, does the author slip so seamlessly from one world to the next, as if there were truly no distinction between the two. While standing, for example, in front of a mirror, one day, he sees an image of his soul, a woman “standing opposite” him in the mirror. Alarmed at first, he steps “back from the mirror only to find himself being inexorably drawn back into her world through the smile on her face.” In the end, is he “left standing in front of the mirror, smiling at an image of himself dressed as a white knight.”

And therein lies the whole story in a nutshell. For this remarkable story is as much about the author as it is about the soul and their eventual reunion. While he fears the white knight, she loves the White Knight “above all else.” Where he longs to be free of his obsession with sex, she longs to be free of her imprisonment in nature, somewhere out there. “I am the way,” she boldly proclaims when he finally admits he is lost. And though the two suffer the same agonizing pain of separation from each other and their respective worlds, both seek the one person they are meant to become.

As a sailor then, in the service of the US Navy circa 1967, does he reluctantly set off, that spring, in search of she who must be obeyed if he is to overcome the beastly side of his nature and reunite himself with soul. “Whatever you do,” is he forewarned by a fellow shipmate, “don’t let them rob you of the most precious gift you have, your humanity, for the wraiths will claw away at it until all that remains is the shadow of what was once you.” And so must he, at all costs, resist the temptation of his fathers before him, “to live out the visions of others rather than the one with which he had been entrusted at birth,” a vision that eventually pits him against the Navy.

Loaded with many wonderful insights into the workings of the soul and the trinity, human sexuality and creativity, war and the beastly side of nature, this little gem of a book is sure to please the palate of those intrepid souls who venture to open its pages in search of what they know not. Having gone where no book has ever dared, this starkly honest book is truly “a work of art of indescribable beauty.”

View all my reviews.

When, three days later, I find myself alone again, I manage to slip back into the vision where I’d left it. Only this time, I’m not so afraid of the white knight when I see him, for I realize that he and I are somehow connected. Called to appear before a very old man whose form, with the exception of his head, remains hidden from me, like the Wizard of Oz, within a thick swirling mass of wind and cloud, I am overcome by an incredible fear as I look beyond the long white hair and beard blowing wildly about the angry features of his face.

“Humble yourself before the Lord,” commands a voice that permeates my whole being ere I can flee.

With that, I fall face down onto the floor, where I feel the Old Man’s presence pass before me, over me, and through me, all in one breath.

“Who’re you?” I ask out of a need to hear it from the horse’s own mouth.

“I Am Who Am,” He responds in a way that only seems to further fuel the fear filling my frame.

“What do you want with me?” I inquire as my curiosity finally gets the best of me.

“As I have need of a good knight,” He replies, “I have called you into my service.”

“But Sir,” I respond, “I am not a knight; besides I’d be of little use to One so powerful as You.”

Having touched me upon the shoulder with the point of a red-hot sword, just fresh from the forge, He says to me as the fire He has ignited within my heart consumes me, “I dub thee Sir Eodor, Knight Exemplar. Rise! And go forth as thy heart shall lead thee.”