THE SPIRIT OF THE NEW ILLUMINATION In the year 2031, St. Austino (SciWriter) was working at the VLHC at CERN, looking for God’s fingerprints, when he received an invitation from the Pope to visit Vatican City. All travel took place at night now, due to the holes in the ozone layer, and, indeed, many people now slept in the daytime, next to a fan, after taking vitamin-D. In the evening they took light therapy. Austino arrived in Rome within the hour, a helicopter taking him to the platform near St. Peter’s, landing about 3 AM. He got out and soon noted a monument honoring the Illuminati. Things had sure changed here over the years. Pope Teresa—the First, bounded down the steps to greet him, saying, “Thank God for science fixing some of the ozone holes, but I have really come to love the night. The days are of course still too warm yet.” “Well,” Austino replied, “It will take years to replace all of the ozone, but the plan is working, and I’ll thank God. Too, if I ever find her.” “I haven’t found even one of her fingerprints, Austin. “And I have found none myself.” “Agreement at last.” “Well, Pope, it was a very beautiful and glorious wish, just the same.” “Yes, for it brings much happiness to sapiens, but then again, so do other wrong things such as drugs.” “True, as qualified, and it’s even that natural selection may have put the divine wishes there.” “Darwin’s idea was the best idea that anyone ever had!” “True, Ms. Pope Teresa. Well, shall we let joy and innocence prevail a while?” “Yes, perhaps, for at least one more generation. Church attendance is falling fast though.” “The Very Large Hadron Collider was the last hope.” “Thanks for looking, St. Austino. We know that you were hoping not to find God, but your actual research was fair and unbiased. You left no rock untorn but St. Peter’s.” “Thanks, Ms. Pope. I tried.” “We are surely on our own in this universe now, old Austino.” “One can be alone but never lonely, for we have our lives.” “Yes, that’s always where it was at, wasn’t it?” “True. And now we know that we are truly free.” “It is a liberation, really.” “We can now do good just for the sake of good.” “That’s what it’s all about about here, as ever for many others, like those at SciForums.” “And science has neutralized the WMDs of the religious fundamentalist nations.” “Thank Einstein.” “I see that everyone is up and about.” “We all work at night now.” “I see that the celibacy rule was lifted.” “True, Austino, and so now the Pope can even go out on a date.” “Really. Shall we?” “Yes. To the movies? Angels & Demons part 7 just came out.” “Well, is the Pope female?” “Of course I am, let’s go. ‘7’ is a lucky number.” “Yes, there were 7 proofs of no God.” “I am named after St. Teresa of the Ecstasy.” “Oh, my, my. I saw Bernini’s sculpture of her with the angel. Bernini was an illuminatus.” “True, a great guy. Care for a smoke?” “Don’t mind if I do, for they no longer have harmful additives.” “And they still aid concentration, but now even better. I used to sneak them when I was a Cardinal.” “Thank science.” She, the Pope, lit one up and handed it over to Austino, then lit one for herself. Smoke clouds soon rose unto the sky. “There were no Commandments against smoking, Austino, and, as you know, we do love wine, as well.” “Smoke is the spirit of the Holy Ghost.” “Ha. That’s a good one!” “Have any wine around, Pope?” “Sure, here you go.” “You seem strangely familiar, Miss Teresa Pope, the very first. What is your given name?” “Tarina (TaWriter).” “Well, we meet, at last, my dear, under starry skies.” “Yes, finally. And now science has doubled our life spans, Austin, so we are now only halfway through.” “Yes, Popesie, and now that our consciousnesses have merged, we can really enjoy life to the fullest.” “Yes, all the prep work is finally done” “Hey, who’s that monk?” “That’s no monk; it’s Professor Pat going over to the archives to read some fine and tiny print.” “What! he never ever even read halfway through my posts—and I even used size 3 font and put many spacing lines.” “Profpat has come a long way.” “Hey, who’s that guy with the long beard?” “That’s Graybeard. He’s teaching evolution to our clergy. Yet another big missing link has been found.” “And that lady on that fine brown talking horse?” “LabelWench (scheherazade) is our prime diplomatic liaison to the scientific community, since she taught Sunday School once upon a time, and learned science from Lloyd. She teaches us how to work at night, too, as she got used to that in the Yukon. Also, her horse, Caramel, speaks to the animals in their own language, even in Cricket-ese.” “Holy moly cripes. And who’s that speedy guy?” “That’s TimeParticle. He is the chief of all our humanitarian efforts. And he never runs out of time. He’s also one of our resident poets, along with young Mohan from India.” “Wow! so, all this still goes on without there being a God.” “Yes, for if there was a God, She would have wanted it this way. But few are for the vengeful God of old, a myth.” “True, plus evolution put the spirit of this into some.” “Yes, we are naturally supernaturally superstitious.” “And there is still Jesus to follow.” “Yes, he was a fine sapiens and was very much ahead of his time. We don’t need his father.” “Who’s that half-invisible guy over there?” “Nobody.” “C’mon, now; where does he live, here or there.” “Nowhere.” “What! Is he the CIA or something?” “No, Ninja Empire. Nobody Nowhere is becoming real, for the moment.” “And who’s that guy with all the digital equipment?” “Oh, that’s Analog. He converted, but he kept his old name.” “Who’s that in the big green bug suit?” “That’s GreenBug; he looks after the health of our environment.” “And the lady in the white coat?” “Ms. Lesley Key is the head of WorldWide health; she is here is vaccinate us against the flea flu?” “The flea flew?” “No, flea’s jump; the people flee, as from the bird flu.” “The bird flew? And the swine flu?” “Yes, but pigs can’t fly.” “You’re a funny Pope, but a fitting one for these new times.” “Yes, for when the karma ran over the dogma, they had to meet halfway; I was the happy medium.” “Who’s that guy drawing circles crashing into each other?” “That’s Bogie (quantum_wave), one of our smartest, working on arenas in space.” “But he’s here, on the ground.” “He doesn’t go on field trips like Dip does.” “Who that guy with fractal hands vibrating in and out of their most likely places?” “That’s Steve; he’s superimposed a bit.” “And who’s that guy who looks the same all over?” “MJA.” “What’s that sign about the last of the bloodline lecture?” “I’m giving a lecture, for I and my children are the last of the blood line of Jesus and Mary Magdelane.” “Holy Christ!” “You can’t say that here.” “Who’s that guy trying to bum a smoke over there?” “That’s Graham. He’s here to train us how to levitate up to the new Magno City.” “Holy cow! So much progress.” “See that guy playing video games over there?” “Well, I’ll be darned! That’s Meem. See, I only said ‘darn’, not ‘damn’.” “Oops.” “Come on in, Austino; I’ll get out of the habit.” “Smoking?” “No these flowing robes. Then we’ll take the old catacomb.” “Hey, who’s that restoring the statues to their full anatomy?” “It’s ‘Melanie’. She’s my Camerlengo—my assistant.” “She really exists?” “No, but yes.” “And who that handing her the pieces in exchange for the fig leaves removed?” “Racecar.” “Holy mother of Jesus; it’s like old times here. Aren’t they, um, fabricating some extra reality.” “Perhaps, for they have to put in some filler where it was broken off.” “Got a job for me?” “Want to oversee the naked art museum?” “Sure.” “Whatever happened to Toequest?” “It turned into Godquest, and then dwindled away, so a few of us came to SciForums. And now you are here, too!” … St. Austino and the She-Pope (Tarina) soon passed through the tunnel, emerging into Galileo’s old castle lair, the Castele Sant’Angelo, then walked across the lovely Bridge of the Angels, arm in arm, spirit in spirit, to view the fabulous holographic film, with its in-the-head-sound, odour-vision, air-taste, and vibrating seats.
— 18 — RASCAL’S LAST MISSION All good things… [come to an end] The Light in the Window Earth couldn’t be farther out in space, alone; In all directions it rolls along, unknown. Look at the stars piercing the depths of time: They beckon, warm and welcome—the fires of home. Sometimes the road is too long or the path too far, and, suddenly, the whims of fate are upon one, as either a curse or a blessing, eventually even toward the final benediction that ever calls to us. Rascal Puff had assigned himself yet again to a major task of short notice, tempting the Fates to counter the serendipity of his karma in the face of a Probability that had no memory. Yet, Nona, who spun the thread of life from her distaff onto her spindle was sound asleep; Decima was active and measuring the thread of life with her rod; Morta, the cutter of the thread of life, was choosing the manner of death. The incessantly turbulent world was still turning and overturning in and of its perpetual emotion. The personifications of destiny had recently visited doom on the Earth. North Korea had gone nuclear and had been reduced to rubble. Iran, the birthplace of the arts, was but a memory. Iraq was in civil war, its oil fields burning and useless. The Taliban yet threatened to take over Pakistan. The ice caps were nearly gone. The Russians were acting as Soviets once again. Rascal was in a stealth jet that was flying over the heart of Russia, and adjusting his oxygen tanks. The pilot looked back at Rascal, saying, “You don’t like jets, do you?” “Not especially. I think I’ll get off.” “Two minutes.” The jet slowed; Rascal was out the door and then free falling into and through the foreign darkness. Ah, there it was, hard to miss, for it was lit up like a Christmas tree at a carnival. Rascal flared his body and headed over and down toward the KGB maximum security prison for a minute or two, then deployed his black chute and steered himself into the center of the very large roof, using some heating equipment as a a shield after he landed. The eyes of the corner towers had all been looking outward and downward, oblivious to the inward and upward directions. Was this not always the case with mankind? Rascal traversed the large ductwork, making some innocuous marks near the twists and turns that would guide him back out for his escape. He soon found his way into the heating plant, standing there but a few seconds before a guard walked by. The guard continued on, noting Rascal with tool in hand and wearing the right worker clothes bearing an ID. In a while, a work crew of sorts was passing by and Rascal fell in behind them as they all headed into the cell blocks to relieve some masonry workers, many of the doors shutting and locking behind them. Rascal spotted the prisoner that he was after, noting a spare bed in the adjacent cell. He pretended to inspect some cement work near the cell. Shortly thereafter, the cells opened to let the men out for early morning exercise, not all of them able to, and Rascal slipped into that adjacent cell, then removed his maintenance uniform to reveal the orange prison clothes underneath, and pretended to sleep while refining his plan. It was not often that someone broke into prison. The exit, well, that might be a bit more difficult, but, hopefully, ‘routine’. The prisoners were returned after a hour or so and then the guards left, not even noticing the additional inmate. Rascal motioned the prisoner of interest to come to the bars that separated their cells, and then managed to loop a wire around the man’s neck, hinting that it would tighten if he screamed out. Rascal spoke gently, “Now, mind you, I already know some of the answers to the questions that I am going to ask you, so if I catch you in a lie, the noose tightens a whole lot. Got it? On the third lie you die.” “Yes,” the man moaned. “Did you send a look-alike to Argentina to interchange with Fredrick?” “No.” The wire was pulled taught and the man began gagging, soon changing his answer to “Yes”. The wire loosened, but not a lot—just enough to allow for breathing. “Well, we caught him. Did you know that your so-called improved Botox factory self-destructed?” “What! No.” “I believe you, for you were imprisoned here before that occurred. You are in here due to theft?” “Yes.” “I knew that. Times must be tough for the Conspiracy. What was to be the impostor’s mission?” “I don’t know.” The wire dug into the man’s neck, causing some bleeding as the man almost passed out. “Remember, we caught him. He talked. Now answer the question so I can know if I can depend on you. By the way, we deactivated his self-destruct mechanism.” “He was to find and infiltrate the TOE Center, or rather, have them find him and bring him there for some emergency.” “It wouldn’t have worked.” “Why?” “If I told you, I would have to kill you.” The very tight wire loosened a bit. “So, I see that you don’t know the exact location of the TOE Center. Then what was to happen?” “He would gain entrance quickly, without being checked thoroughly, to help with the crisis. Then he would send us all the TOE data.” “What crisis?” “Random mortar strikes on Oahu.” “From?” “We have people around.” “I believe you, for we just took them out recently.” “Oh my.” “What is your backup plan?” The wire grew tighter. “None.” More bleeding began. “Wait…” The wire eased up a bit. “There is always a backup plan. Stop being foolish. Death comes next. We have some knowledge of the backup plan. This is your last chance.” The noose tightened. “We borrowed a nuclear submarine from the Russians. It is near to sitting deep and undetected in an ocean trench.” “When is the attack?” The wire tightened a bit. “Today; imminent even as we speak. Ha. It’s unstoppable by you, seeing as you are in a Soviet prison. Terrorists will be blamed. If we can’t get the TOE, then no one can have it.” “This is truly the last gasp of your sad organization, isn’t it?” “Yes, our bases are in total disarray, one could say.” “Where are your autonomous sites?” “Even I don’t know that.” “True.” “Millions will die on Oahu; have you no conscience?” The Leader could not answer. “Wrong answer.” One last gasp and the man who led the Conspiracy was no longer a threat to anyone. Rascal let him down slowly to his bunk to sleep forever in the land of oblivion and regret. Prisoner ‘Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?’ ‘It was my master,’ said the prisoner. ‘I thought I could outdo everybody in the world in wealth and power, and I amassed in my own treasure-house the money due to my king. When sleep overcame me I lay upon the bed that was for my lord, and on waking up I found I was a prisoner in my own treasure-house.’ ‘Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?’ ‘It was I,’ said the prisoner, ‘who forged this chain very carefully. I thought my invincible power would hold the world captive leaving me in a freedom undisturbed. Thus night and day I worked at the chain with huge fires and cruel hard strokes. When at last the work was done and the links were complete and unbreakable, I found that it held me in its grip.’ (Tagore) Rascal’s exit strategy was now a total mess, for he couldn’t wait around for its scheduled happening. Was the 3rd shift work crew coming on soon? He could slip out with the crew shift change. Would they check his ID as he left? Yes, and it wouldn’t be in the computer, nor would they have a record of his entering. Rascal did what he had to do, which was what one would never do—and live. He took out his transmitter and sent the necessary information to Cyn-thea at Eastern Field Command, who then relayed it to #1 East in Turkey and to Niihau to GrandMaster #1 West. Of course this transmission would be noticed at the prison, as well as elsewhere. They would be up here in a matter of minutes. So much for doing the impossible once again. Necessity had been the mother of this impromptu convention of invention that would surely become Rascal’s last battlefield. Last Curtain I know that the day will come when my sight of this earth shall be lost, and life will take its leave in silence, drawing the last curtain over my eyes. Yet stars will watch at night, and morning rise as before, and hours heave like sea waves casting up pleasures and pains. When I think of this end of my moments, the barrier of the moments breaks and I see by the light of death thy world with its careless treasures. Rare is its lowliest seat, rare is its meanest of lives. Things that I longed for in vain and things that I got ---let them pass. Let me but truly possess the things that I ever spurned and overlooked. (Tagore) (We can’t just leave Rascal in the middle of Russia in a prison with smoke coming out of the vents, can we? I will take 10 years off your age if you can help him.) Indeed, Rascal is on his own, as he went on his own, for there could be no help in the alerted time whence he resides now, between a rock, a hard place, and an abyss. Yet, we are of miracles made, and there is always a chance, however slim, for goodness to triumph in this crumbling world, for Rascal is indeed a man of destiny. So, roll on, fate. Rascal led a glorious life, but… wait… there is a spur of the moment plan brewing… Can Houdini return? Rascal, after changing back to his work clothes, remotely blew off all the explosives on the prison roof that would have aided and covered his escape into the sky. Luck would have its way now or not. Glorious Defeat was long overdue, but was now looming at the cell door. All hell soon broke loose, the minimal night guard shift running in total up the stairs toward the roof. Some smoke and flames shot out of the heating vents. Rascal quickly finished the lasering of the cell bars that he had previously nearly cut all the way through, then carefully put them back as a kind of joke on whomever leaned against them. Then he quickly lasered the stairway door to the roof shut, welding it totally inoperable, then ran down the hallways with the evacuating work crews. ELF waves went out from Niihau to the fleet and the hunt was immediately underway. They plunged into the dangerous depths of the ocean trench. Go too deep and you would never come back. The Conspiracy sub was perhaps a suicide sub, nearly in it place, after probably following the deep trench for a day or so, from which it could never surface, but could still launch from, its missiles unstoppable at such a short range. Arriving at the front door checkout station with the work crews, Rascal could see the ‘freedom’ outside, but there was a holdup—the prison was going to lock down. No one would leave, although a few already had. These intermediate times of chaos and uncertainty were the best times to act, so Rascal fired his mini machine gun into the checkout station, blasting the door window beyond, too, then dove through it and ran on out the next to last door that led to the lobby, carefully welding it shut afterwards, imprisoning all within, prisoners of their own prison. Startled would-be visitors hit the floor as Rascal raced out the main doors, welding them shut, too. Fire engines and police were already racing toward the prison and the officers would surely round up anyone wandering about outside this disaster. Rascal looked up at the guard towers, expecting to be shot, but the men in the towers were now all looking inward to the roof that was in flames. My Kingdom for a horse, he thought. He gently removed an old lady from her car and drove off leisurely toward the oncoming emergency vehicles, even pulling to the side of the road so that they could easily pass, and stayed there. The police would soon be upon everyone, their emergency escort duties having greatly diminished. There was a grove of trees, with huge mountains beyond. There could be no more driving, of course, since there would be roadblocks everywhere, not to mention the checking of anyone who drove at night in this suspicious country. The elegance of his former escape plan had escaped as well, but here he was, breathing the air of the free. Rascal crawled along the ground, then crept through the beginning of the forest, and was soon up and onto the slight slope leading to the mountain top. The news of a wild worker blasting his way out would soon be known to all, so Rascal took off his work clothes and then rolled them up, covered them with mud and threw them down a deep gully. No use leaving any ready clues, although the dogs would find them eventually. He laughed at himself now, being clad in bright prison orange. He got rid of his over shirt, then cut his pants into shorts and turned them inside out. In glee, he noted that the lining was still grey inside. He now looked like kind of a normal person out for a stroll instead of a target. There could be no more radio transmissions; he was on his own. Up the hill and then the mountain steep he went, steadily but unhurriedly, for there was no need for exhaustion yet. An hour later he was close to the top. Which way to go? My Kingdom for a moment to activate my cell phone and check its GPS, but it would have been a death warrant, for the total story of his treachery was probably already well known within the prison and without the land. No rescue party could venture forth now. Not willing to risk the main trail, Rascal took off on a deer trail, for they knew what they were doing. US satellites would have detected the prison’s problem by now, indicating to the Ninja Empire that Rascal’s plans had changed. Putting distance in between was now the chief objective, so Rascal moved quickly, ever onward, sensing direction from the stars of the night sky. These, the fires of home, would guide him to his end, for whatever had brought him here would have to take him home. His time on Earth as a shimmering rainbow of stardust had been unsurpassable. He had walked for 40 hours, living on water from streams, plants, and edible berries. The second night was at hand, the best time for travel, and so he did another 12 hours, then made a cover and slept for 12, now half dead. Death retreated, as its fair brother—sleep—restored him to health. Now where? Though thousands of miles through the motherland? He would risk a three-blip signal in another day or two. He walked on. Several times Rascal heard helicopters approaching and had to hide, noting the fully armed ships and the Russians inside peering out. After 4 more days, they came no more. Meanwhile, near Oahu, the subs had long since quickly found the attacker sub and had turned it into a tomb. A remote probe would be sent down to learn the secrets of the deep. Too weak to continue, Rascal sent out the blips and waited. How the heck was someone now going to land in Russia unnoticed and rescue him? But then again, he knew they would try. He slept for 20 hours. Three days passed, Rascal staying put, gathering strength for the journey of a thousand miles that would soon have to begin with a single step. Russia didn’t like any interference and was probably on alert everywhere out of habit of its paranoia. (A GrandMaster’s Thoughts of Rascal) Friend Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love, my friend? The sky groans like one in despair. I have no sleep tonight. Ever and again I open my door and look out on the darkness, my friend! I can see nothing before me. I wonder where lies thy path! By what dim shore of the ink-black river, by what far edge of the frowning forest, through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading thy course to come to me, my friend? (Tagore) The Angel of Light finds Rascal to bless, And says: “Old Puff, I must soon repossess Your clay, so let us drink to your success!” He drinks and smiles, ready for Life’s last caress. Old Rascal reclines on the grass, near death. The Dark Angel arrives and to him saith: “Drink one last deep drought from Life’s precious cup.” The Puff smiles and sips, then breathes his last breath? Parting Words When I go from hence let this be my parting word, that what I have seen is unsurpassable. I have tasted of the hidden honey of this lotus that expands on the ocean of light, and thus am I blessed ---let this be my parting word. In this playhouse of infinite forms I have had my play and here have I caught sight of him that is formless. My whole body and my limbs have thrilled with his touch who is beyond touch; and if the end comes here, let it come ---let this be my parting word. (Tagore’s wishes) An older, but fully armed Soviet era helicopter gun ship approached and quickly passed over as Rascal peeked at it from some bushes. They were going someplace else and not looking for me, he noted. Yet, it soon returned and landed nearby. If they had discovered him, more troops would soon be sent into the area. So, this was the end then, of my time in the middle of nowhere within the greater nowhere in a spiral arm of the Milky Way, Rascal surmised. I should have kept my desk job. Rascal is alone amid the splendour of mountainous nature on the beauteous earth as the enemy closes in…Russian eyes are everywhere for a thousand miles in all directions… looking for anything unusual… ‘00’ is all over the place on the Russian roulette wheel… Snake eyes roll… “What the…!” Robert stepped out of the helicopter saying, “Rascal, come out from wherever you are!” “How did you guys get this…” “You don’t want to know. Hop aboard. I know it’s old, but we tuned it up well.” There was a meal of hot lobster and drawn butter waiting for Rascal, compliments of his Master, and so he enjoyed this manna of the Gods as they began the long and perilous journey to the coast. “Do we have enough fuel, Robert?” “Maybe, maybe not, but we will fly at low altitude to avoid curiosity and to conserve fuel. We added extra tanks, but….” “…I hate the uncertainty principle.” “We’ll be looking for a Nato freighter pulling out of port…” “We can’t land on that.” “No, but we will anyway.” “Who made this plan?” “It was the best we could do on such short notice. I even took the weekend off from work.” “I see no pursuit. The Russians must have heard my blips.” “They did—or just about did, as we knew they might, so we instantly sent out blips by remote control from transmitters all over the place. Fortunately, they’re still tracking down the wrong ones, or have given up.” The helicopter swerved unexpectedly. “Do you know how to fly this thing, Robert?” “No, for the pedals are reversed.” “You are getting used to this?” “Heck no. I reversed my feet, crossing my legs over.” “Crikey!” Many hours later, they were on approach to the coast, the fuel gauge already having read ‘empty’ for the last 20 minutes.” “Robert, how are we running on no fuel?” “As with new American cars, the gauge is offset ahead a bit so one have time to get to a gas station.” “This is not a car and we are in Russia and we are a using an old Soviet machine.” “Oops.” They cleared the coast but the freighter was not in sight. “Now what?” “They freighter probably got delayed by typical Russian red tape. It may be yet coming out of the harbor though.” “Do we have any subs around?” “Not this close in.” “Are we heading out to sea?” “Yes, we can float on a raft.” “There’s a huge storm coming in.” “OK, we’ll turn around.” “You were going to do that anyway.” “Yes, better to float on a raft closer to shore.” The helicopter then gained as much altitude as it could; then the fuel gave out. “Great Mother of England.” “Hold on, I see her racing out.” “We’re going to land on a freighter without a landing pad with no fuel?” “The rotors will slow our descent.” “Not good enough.” “I turned off the fuel when I heard a sputter; we probably have about 30 seconds worth left.” “And you’re going to turn the engines back on just in time.” “Yes.” “You are certainly a fearless leader, Robert.” The freighter was just making it into international waters, running at flank speed now, with the gliding copter heading dangerously downward for it. “Is this going to work?” “No sweat; I play video games.” “Cripes. Is the freighter going to slow down or stop?” “No, that would look suspicious.” “Double cripes.” The two moving crafts were converging rapidly. “I never thought calculus would be of any use, so I didn’t take it.” “Neither did I.” “Crimey sakes.” “Where did you get these ‘cripes’ things? You’re not from Australia.” “I get them from ~ boots ~. of ToeQuest.” “Oh.” The helicopter was literally spiraling down to the rendezvous to crash as Robert restarted the engines, slowing it somewhat, then a bit more. The freighter crew had removed some railings to give some more room to land. The copter hovered, then fell the last few feet as the fuel gave out, then slid a few feet over toward the open edge, the right side hanging out over the sea. “Quick, Rascal, move to my side and follow me out.” They got out and noted the helicopter teetering and tottering. Robert put one finger against it, pressing no harder than the force of a butterfly’s wing flap, and sent it sliding into the sea. “Don’t need this piece of junk anymore.” “Have to get rid of the evidence anyway.” “Robert, I’m going to wring your…” “…I’ll close one of your threads.” “OK, never mind.”
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— 19 — NIIHAU As Rascal landed on the helo pad in Niihau, he thought, My God, it’s been over five years since I’ve seen my old Master—where did the time go? Whence have all these roots of evil sprouted? The scent of hibiscus blossoms flavored the balmy air. It seemed like heaven. GrandMaster West walked out slowly but surely, now using a cane and ethereally framed by the glow of the setting sun. He looked much older, although still vibrant with a kind of deep calm, if those two traits could be present at the same time. A cascade of wondrous memories swept over them both, of the early days, the tough days, the triumphs and the glorious failures, but ever always with the everlasting gladness of life’s being washing over them with its goodness. “I heard that you took a very long walk, Rascal, for one of your age.” “I had to, but it was indeed grueling, Master.” “Goodness drove you on, for in that there is strength.” “I suppose it did.” “I have to pull you off Field Command.” “What? I love this job; well, maybe not the last two weeks.” “You were the best.” “Why then?” “I’m giving you my job; you are now #1 West.” “Huh?” “I am fading; I am 99 years old.” “What! You don’t look it.” “I kept in shape and ate right, but now the time has come, although I will still be around here for a little while to show you the ropes. Reports come in… you read between the lines. Easy.” “You could live another 10 years.” “Not likely, but good things end… for you, Rascal… when better things become.” “But…” Rascal felt a presence behind him, but he didn’t turn around. “A thousand monks have just crept up,” Rascal surmised out loud. “They are our third graduating class; tomorrow, they go forth to the four winds to keep their eyes and ears open; they will even sense without turning about. “The world yet rolls like a snowball toward the Gates of Hell.” Half of the monks came around behind the Master’s side to form a complete circle, 5 rows deep, bowing both to the new and the old #1’s. “How will I do this, Master?” “Rascal, remember when you first came to us, so long ago, having ridden far and alone on a bicycle in the dark?” “Yes—I could never forget that night.” “It’s the same now, only you ride in the light.” “Master, who is that man yonder, sitting on that hill?” “He is our founder, Thomas Veil. He will visit with us shortly.” “’Nowhere Man—he is legend—no one has ever seen him.” “None but us.” Trish, #1 East, materialized somehow, next to West, her shimmering form changing to Nona, the thread spinner of life, then back, or perhaps this was just in Rascal’s imagination. “GrandMaster East, you sent the chopper… Thank You.” “We thought we would cut you some slack.” She took a step to the side as the Master removed his sword lightning fast, holding it aloft. Rascal held out both hands, worried that he might lose an ear as the sword came down on his shoulder, but it was already there, Rascal not having seen it move. The Master then laid the sword in Rascal’s hands. “I accept the job, Master, and swear to protect the Earth and its people.” “More than that, Rascal, old friend—you must protect eternity. You are a guardian of forever now—and you stand at the edge of the abyss, warding off the oblivion of evil.” “Where will I find you after you leave here, Master.” “I will be with the wind and flow as the water—and so you shall know me when you feel the breeze and quench your thirst in the stream.” We see many good and bad things directly, Person to person,via the actual. Such are the good civil laws And good human values taught. The problem becomes when we ‘see’ From no direction but the imagined, Via the unreal. These ‘good’ things, merely pronounced, Also define their ‘bad’ counterpart. One then ‘forgets’ their source, Leaping into adoption, Becoming with them one; thus, The ideas must be protected. Anger arises toward the contrary, As emotion stains the brain. Then, evil is done in the name of ‘good’. All these ‘good’ things Eventually Come to a bloody end.
After the glorious movie, Austino looked deeply into Ms. Teresa Popes's eyes and got lost along with her as their souls merged, and hearts beat in time with one another. Let's go find your holy bed, and finally we can merge physically, Austino whispered in her ear. They ran as one, as startled men in funny purple and yellow suits kept a close eye on them. Teresa's personal guard would wait outside her chambers. As Austino enfolded Pope Teresa in his arms, she reached behind him and slowly turned the handle. Slowly she stepped closer as he stepped backwards, guiding her to her holy sheets. As Pope Teresa slowly lifted her gown off of her head, Austino's hands roamed her chest.... his searing hot mouth located her nipples one, then the other. Moaning she desperately pulled him as close to her as she could. She had yearned for this day for years, as did he. Austino looked into her eyes and said "Are you ready for me? I have never been so ready in all of my life-come to me..." They lowered themselves into the luscious sheets, and into each other. The universe spun around them, as the stars glowed ever brighter in the night sky. Their heart's and souls were finally, at long, long last ONE. Teresa's wept with joy and ecstasy as they hummed together , their bodies energies were singing together, at last.
