Sometimes the really weird happens... Things, places, events, even words seem to secretly collude to make a normal situation odd.
Let me show you then the lyrics to a song I wrote and tell you an odd story to go with them..
[UPDATE]
You can find a passable Mp3 recording of the song HERE [My Google Drive]
++++++++++
Sleep, Little Flowers
Sleep, Little Flowers
Sleep, until Spring
The Winter Winds are coming
Who knows what they will bring?
Tomorrow is Tomorrow
Today is Today
Yesterday is a mem'ry
Just fading away
Sleep, Little Flowers
Sleep, until Spring
The Winter Wind is with us now
Hear the cold winds sing?
Sorrow is Sorrowed
Lover is Belov'd
Let us light the candles
Remember we are loved
Sleep, Little Flowers
Sleep, until Spring
When the cold ice melts
The young song birds, they will sing
Four thousand years
Just like yesterday
Stop for a moment
Hear this wand'r pray
Wake, Little Flowers
The winter time is passed
Here are the joyous days
Come to us at last
The Melody is memories
The Singer is the Song
The Road to Jerusalem
Has been here all along
Yes, Wake, Little Flowers
The Spring is fin'ly here
A Rainbow is shining now o'r'
A sky brimmed with joyful tears
The image in the likeness
The doer in the Deed
The Truth of life is simple
Love is all you need.
Wake, little flowers
Hear this simple song
I, who, am unworthy
Have found where I belong
Yes let us light the candles
Break Bread and share the wine
I lift my heart rejoicing:
"Baruch Ata Adonai:
All I am is Thine!
So what is odd?
I wrote this on the evening of the day I met with a Rabbi to discuss converting to Judaism. Two days later my wife brought home a Siddur [a prayerbook] which I did not open until two weeks later...
I was home alone having lit the Shabbat candles on page 134, toward the bottom in a translation of a prayer from the Afternoon Shabbat service I read:
“Your strength is Always with us,
O God Your compassion does not Fail.
Winter winds are Your messengers,
summer dew a sign of your grace.”
My mouth dropped open at reading those words: “Winter winds are Your messengers.”
Why? Because I had “unknowingly” written something very similar in the lyrics to “Sleep Little Flowers”.
I was [and am still] amazed to find reference to a prayer I had never read before from a Shabbat service that I have never attended in the words which I wrote as lyrics.
It could be said "It's a coincidence."
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Sunday, February 9, 2014
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Melea
At 6:00 AM on a Saturday morning I woke from a dream that demanded I write it down. So I spent an hour or so writing down a skeletal version of the dream and then over several days additional details emerged until it was completed. The only name that actually came from the Dream was that of the fallen Goddess, Melea... the rest take their names from the pantheon of Biblical names.
One might suppose this is just another piece of fiction. If so then why did it wake me up and insist on being written down?
++++++++++++++
The Fall of Melea
In the Beginning there were the Gods. Gods now long forgotten. Male and Female they were. Female and Male they created, they begat, and then they were gone. Gone on into the spaces between. Gone on to new planes... new folds... new dimensions following the Calling of the Gods which created Them. Wherever they traveled Chaos whirled and swirled and settled. Discontinuous functions became continuous, the theoretical became practical, and the unknowably infinite became the knowable finite.
Such was the nature of the Gods. For they loved to create for they loved one another. As they passed through their unknowable spaces, they paused and begat a valentine of their love for one another: Melea. Melea the Beautiful, Melea the Fair, Melea the Virgin Child. They saw Her as Good and Very Good. The Gods gave unto Melea a world and they peopled it and sowed it with the bounty of their love for Her and for one another. When Melea came of an age to understand, the Gods who were Her Mother and Father gave this world into her keeping. They gave her this world to cultivate and to protect.
Her Mother told Her, "Melea, Beloved Child, these are thy people. Man is the fruit of thy thoughts and Woman is the fruit of the stirrings of Thy Heart. They are made in Thine own image and likeness, therefore protect them and love them."
Her Father said, "Melea, Thou art the Goddess of these Thy People. Teach them the Ways of the Gods and the Ways of the World. Nurture their desire for wisdom and caring. Fare Thee well for We must go now. We are Called. Bless you and Thy Children."
And the Elder Gods were gone. Gone on to new planes... new folds... new dimensions following the calling of the Gods which created Them.
And so it came to pass that Melea did as She was instructed and Her world blossomed under Her tender care. Woman and Man were fruitful and grew in the Image and Likeness of Melea's Thoughts and Feelings. These Children of Melea built a civilization based upon Love for one another and respect for the World of the Goddess.
They built cities and towns and factories even as they built gardens and forests and preserves. They loved themselves, their world, and Melea their Goddess. They were growing wise but still they were innocent for they knew not evil.
It came to pass that in the Season when Melea's Children first reached into the Heavens born upon wings of fire that Evil did first come into Her World. For in that time and season did Melea's evil brothers, Molekh and Mardu Elkanah, did come down. And the first shadows of Darkness became known.
On that day did Melea come to sit in the garden of the Great temple built by the Children of Melea. As she sat in the shade of the Apple Tree served by the Micah, King of the Messengers and Javar the Wizard King then did Molekh called "the Light Bringer" and Mardu called "Elkanah" come into Her sacred place and seized Her.
Melea cried, "Why do you treat me thus? This world was given unto me by our Mother and Father! What of thine own worlds and precincts? Micah, Javar! Defend me!"
Javar and Micah came to the aid of their goddess. As Javar wielded the great sword of Judgment, called "Truth," Molekh struck him down by a wave of his hand. Micah who had just drawn the sword of Power, called "Wisdom," hesitated.
Mardu spoke unto Micah, "Raise thy sword and die, or lay it down and live."
Micah loved Melea but Micah was afraid unto death. Weeping, He knelt and offered the hilt of the sword unto Mardu. Mardu took from Micah the Sword called "Wisdom."
Molekh bound Melea by hand and neck. The Brother Gods led her into the Sacred Temple and bound her across the altar stone. Only then did Mardu speak unto her in reply, " Our worlds are not but dust. The bastard called 'father' and the whore who was our mother gave us not but the salt of bitterness and they gave thee this gem. We have come to take it from thee... and to take thee from it."
Mardu called upon Micah who had followed the Gods into the temple, "Micah, I have given unto you your life and Molekh has given unto Javar his death. If you would not bring further grief upon your head remove the gown from this chattel for it displeases us to see her wear it! Hesitate at your peril!"
Micah stepped forward and ripped the holy gown from Melea. The gown of Her Godhood. He stepped away turning his eyes from her and fled from the temple. Melea struggled with her bonds but try as she might She could not free Herself. She lay bare and bound as if she were a mere mortal woman.
"Here my word," spoke Mardu, "for I would tell thee sister the fate of this place that once was your world. I shall rule the Heavens and Our Brother shall rule the Earth. I shall rule Men's souls and Our Brother shall rule Men's bodies. Between us, we shall divide thee and the fruit of thy womb."
It shall not be said how they defiled She who was once the Great and Good Goddess of this World. It shall not be explained how they came to know her and how She came to know and love the evil within the Hearts of Her Brothers. Nor can it be explained how that evil devoured Her Goodness and how She became as a Lustful animal and Knew not her Goodness. It came to pass that as those who were Her brothers defiled her that the world did fall into Darkness and the technology of Her Children availed them not. Madness, Rage, Lust raged among the Lands as wolves among sheep.
In the Darkness and ruin did the people come unto Her Temple and cried out unto Her for Salvation from the Darkness and ruin. But She who had once been the Good Goddess knew her children not for she had become a creature of her brothers. She Knew only the seeds of evil her brothers had planted within her heart.
She laughed at her people as she slew them. She gave evil unto the pious and evermore grief to the forlorn. The People knew not of the Evil brothers for they had remained hidden from the people. So the people only knew the evil of Melea as she traveled through the world destroying the cities and towns and forests.
Until a champion stepped forward to challenge her. It was Javar, the Wizard King, who had survived the blow of Molekh. Javar called upon the High Gods and brought a curse down upon the head of Melea saying, "Oh Cursed, Defiled One, She who is now known as The Goddess of Death and Destruction: May you know only the mortal pain you have given unto us. May you be cursed to live again and again knowing only pain and failure until you are purged of your sins and one righteous man lifts you from darkness and loves you wholly!" And Javar's Blade of Judgment pierced Melea's breast and she fell down dying.
Again Javar spoke, "I would tell you an awful tale my people. I would tell you of the great evils which have come upon our world. I would tell you..."
Secretly Mardu struck down Javar before Javar could reveal the coming of the brothers and how it had been they who had destroyed the goodness of Melea. Such a revelation would have ruined the fun of the game Mardu and Molekh had planned for Melea's World.
Molekh stepped from the shadows and by his magic smote the body and soul of Melea into three pieces and carried them into the wilderness. Far from one another he left her now separate selves. "No man shall ever love thee wholly!" declared the God who once was her brother.
And so Melea fell down from her Godhood and was forced to wander in the lands she had destroyed. Her separate selves were taken as slaves in the petty kingdoms of the Barbarians and Villains who had become kings over the face of the world. She was beaten and raped. She gave birth to many children, grew old, died and was buried in a cess pit. And so it was she lived her life for six thousand years.
And her name became a curse among men and never did any man love her. In her heart she did feel remorse but there was no release for her nor for her people.
And Mardu ruled the Heavens and the Souls of Men. And Molekh did rule the Earth and the Bodies of Men. When one of the three selves of Melea would die in the worlds of men then He would bring her to his hall and force her to provide entertainment to he and his dark brother. And when they tired of her, they would send her once more into the world of men.
++++fini++++++
Comments? Questions?
©2014 by j.h. crook.
all rights reserved
One might suppose this is just another piece of fiction. If so then why did it wake me up and insist on being written down?
++++++++++++++
The Fall of Melea
In the Beginning there were the Gods. Gods now long forgotten. Male and Female they were. Female and Male they created, they begat, and then they were gone. Gone on into the spaces between. Gone on to new planes... new folds... new dimensions following the Calling of the Gods which created Them. Wherever they traveled Chaos whirled and swirled and settled. Discontinuous functions became continuous, the theoretical became practical, and the unknowably infinite became the knowable finite.
Such was the nature of the Gods. For they loved to create for they loved one another. As they passed through their unknowable spaces, they paused and begat a valentine of their love for one another: Melea. Melea the Beautiful, Melea the Fair, Melea the Virgin Child. They saw Her as Good and Very Good. The Gods gave unto Melea a world and they peopled it and sowed it with the bounty of their love for Her and for one another. When Melea came of an age to understand, the Gods who were Her Mother and Father gave this world into her keeping. They gave her this world to cultivate and to protect.
Her Mother told Her, "Melea, Beloved Child, these are thy people. Man is the fruit of thy thoughts and Woman is the fruit of the stirrings of Thy Heart. They are made in Thine own image and likeness, therefore protect them and love them."
Her Father said, "Melea, Thou art the Goddess of these Thy People. Teach them the Ways of the Gods and the Ways of the World. Nurture their desire for wisdom and caring. Fare Thee well for We must go now. We are Called. Bless you and Thy Children."
And the Elder Gods were gone. Gone on to new planes... new folds... new dimensions following the calling of the Gods which created Them.
And so it came to pass that Melea did as She was instructed and Her world blossomed under Her tender care. Woman and Man were fruitful and grew in the Image and Likeness of Melea's Thoughts and Feelings. These Children of Melea built a civilization based upon Love for one another and respect for the World of the Goddess.
They built cities and towns and factories even as they built gardens and forests and preserves. They loved themselves, their world, and Melea their Goddess. They were growing wise but still they were innocent for they knew not evil.
It came to pass that in the Season when Melea's Children first reached into the Heavens born upon wings of fire that Evil did first come into Her World. For in that time and season did Melea's evil brothers, Molekh and Mardu Elkanah, did come down. And the first shadows of Darkness became known.
On that day did Melea come to sit in the garden of the Great temple built by the Children of Melea. As she sat in the shade of the Apple Tree served by the Micah, King of the Messengers and Javar the Wizard King then did Molekh called "the Light Bringer" and Mardu called "Elkanah" come into Her sacred place and seized Her.
Melea cried, "Why do you treat me thus? This world was given unto me by our Mother and Father! What of thine own worlds and precincts? Micah, Javar! Defend me!"
Javar and Micah came to the aid of their goddess. As Javar wielded the great sword of Judgment, called "Truth," Molekh struck him down by a wave of his hand. Micah who had just drawn the sword of Power, called "Wisdom," hesitated.
Mardu spoke unto Micah, "Raise thy sword and die, or lay it down and live."
Micah loved Melea but Micah was afraid unto death. Weeping, He knelt and offered the hilt of the sword unto Mardu. Mardu took from Micah the Sword called "Wisdom."
Molekh bound Melea by hand and neck. The Brother Gods led her into the Sacred Temple and bound her across the altar stone. Only then did Mardu speak unto her in reply, " Our worlds are not but dust. The bastard called 'father' and the whore who was our mother gave us not but the salt of bitterness and they gave thee this gem. We have come to take it from thee... and to take thee from it."
Mardu called upon Micah who had followed the Gods into the temple, "Micah, I have given unto you your life and Molekh has given unto Javar his death. If you would not bring further grief upon your head remove the gown from this chattel for it displeases us to see her wear it! Hesitate at your peril!"
Micah stepped forward and ripped the holy gown from Melea. The gown of Her Godhood. He stepped away turning his eyes from her and fled from the temple. Melea struggled with her bonds but try as she might She could not free Herself. She lay bare and bound as if she were a mere mortal woman.
"Here my word," spoke Mardu, "for I would tell thee sister the fate of this place that once was your world. I shall rule the Heavens and Our Brother shall rule the Earth. I shall rule Men's souls and Our Brother shall rule Men's bodies. Between us, we shall divide thee and the fruit of thy womb."
It shall not be said how they defiled She who was once the Great and Good Goddess of this World. It shall not be explained how they came to know her and how She came to know and love the evil within the Hearts of Her Brothers. Nor can it be explained how that evil devoured Her Goodness and how She became as a Lustful animal and Knew not her Goodness. It came to pass that as those who were Her brothers defiled her that the world did fall into Darkness and the technology of Her Children availed them not. Madness, Rage, Lust raged among the Lands as wolves among sheep.
In the Darkness and ruin did the people come unto Her Temple and cried out unto Her for Salvation from the Darkness and ruin. But She who had once been the Good Goddess knew her children not for she had become a creature of her brothers. She Knew only the seeds of evil her brothers had planted within her heart.
She laughed at her people as she slew them. She gave evil unto the pious and evermore grief to the forlorn. The People knew not of the Evil brothers for they had remained hidden from the people. So the people only knew the evil of Melea as she traveled through the world destroying the cities and towns and forests.
Until a champion stepped forward to challenge her. It was Javar, the Wizard King, who had survived the blow of Molekh. Javar called upon the High Gods and brought a curse down upon the head of Melea saying, "Oh Cursed, Defiled One, She who is now known as The Goddess of Death and Destruction: May you know only the mortal pain you have given unto us. May you be cursed to live again and again knowing only pain and failure until you are purged of your sins and one righteous man lifts you from darkness and loves you wholly!" And Javar's Blade of Judgment pierced Melea's breast and she fell down dying.
Again Javar spoke, "I would tell you an awful tale my people. I would tell you of the great evils which have come upon our world. I would tell you..."
Secretly Mardu struck down Javar before Javar could reveal the coming of the brothers and how it had been they who had destroyed the goodness of Melea. Such a revelation would have ruined the fun of the game Mardu and Molekh had planned for Melea's World.
Molekh stepped from the shadows and by his magic smote the body and soul of Melea into three pieces and carried them into the wilderness. Far from one another he left her now separate selves. "No man shall ever love thee wholly!" declared the God who once was her brother.
And so Melea fell down from her Godhood and was forced to wander in the lands she had destroyed. Her separate selves were taken as slaves in the petty kingdoms of the Barbarians and Villains who had become kings over the face of the world. She was beaten and raped. She gave birth to many children, grew old, died and was buried in a cess pit. And so it was she lived her life for six thousand years.
And her name became a curse among men and never did any man love her. In her heart she did feel remorse but there was no release for her nor for her people.
And Mardu ruled the Heavens and the Souls of Men. And Molekh did rule the Earth and the Bodies of Men. When one of the three selves of Melea would die in the worlds of men then He would bring her to his hall and force her to provide entertainment to he and his dark brother. And when they tired of her, they would send her once more into the world of men.
++++fini++++++
Comments? Questions?
©2014 by j.h. crook.
all rights reserved
Friday, February 7, 2014
Yahrzeit
A year ago:
Baruch dayan emet.
Blessed is the One True Judge.
My father passed away at 10:45 AM. on February 7, 2013
He died peacefully in a coma.
He was 89 years and 9 months old.
I love you, Dad.
Phaldor's Piyyut I
Who am I, Lord,
That you should take notice of me?
I, who have had
but a few moments of sunlight
upon my face
I, who have dreamed dreams no Man
can understand
Who am I
That you see me with kindness?
Still
I have worshiped you
for the breezes and the fields
and the ones you have sent
to play with me.
I have praised you
in all my life
being no more
nor no less
than the one
you created me to be.
Surely You, Master of All,
can see my faults
and failings
and yet You give to me
these few moments
these Blessings
sunlight on my face
sweet breeze
on my whiskers
and simple joys
of loving and being loved
here in the shadows
before the sunset
Baruch Atah
Holy One of Blessing
---------------
Footnotes:
Baruch Atah - Hebrew transliteration which means "Blessed are You..."
Phaldor, according to Gustav Davidson's Dictionary of Angels, was the name of the "Angel of Oracles"..
Baruch dayan emet.
Blessed is the One True Judge.
My father passed away at 10:45 AM. on February 7, 2013
He died peacefully in a coma.
He was 89 years and 9 months old.
I love you, Dad.
Phaldor's Piyyut I
Who am I, Lord,
That you should take notice of me?
I, who have had
but a few moments of sunlight
upon my face
I, who have dreamed dreams no Man
can understand
Who am I
That you see me with kindness?
Still
I have worshiped you
for the breezes and the fields
and the ones you have sent
to play with me.
I have praised you
in all my life
being no more
nor no less
than the one
you created me to be.
Surely You, Master of All,
can see my faults
and failings
and yet You give to me
these few moments
these Blessings
sunlight on my face
sweet breeze
on my whiskers
and simple joys
of loving and being loved
here in the shadows
before the sunset
Baruch Atah
Holy One of Blessing
---------------
Footnotes:
Baruch Atah - Hebrew transliteration which means "Blessed are You..."
Phaldor, according to Gustav Davidson's Dictionary of Angels, was the name of the "Angel of Oracles"..
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Simulation
I'm sure by now you might see that I [upon occasion] have extremely strange dreams. They don't happen all the time. Over the last several years I've taken to recording the vivid ones.
Below you will find yet another example of a waking dream discussing an alternate view of reality. This one was recorded on as noted below.
++++++++++++
Simulation
They were having one of their "what if…?" discussions when he asked aloud. "Why do we suffer so much? It is as if there is no proportion to what happens to any one individual. It's as if each event has no causal heritage."
++++++++++++
©2014 by j.h. crook.
all rights reserved
Below you will find yet another example of a waking dream discussing an alternate view of reality. This one was recorded on as noted below.
++++++++++++
Friday,
August 03, 2012
They were having one of their "what if…?" discussions when he asked aloud. "Why do we suffer so much? It is as if there is no proportion to what happens to any one individual. It's as if each event has no causal heritage."
"Why do you say
that?"
"Imagine that
there is a computer simulation which takes place within an
'environment' and within this environment there are 'agents' which are given attributes and parameters or
values. Their purpose is to 'live' in the simulation, following its own rules
based upon the settings of the environment, reacting with the settings of the
attribute values."
"So?"
"So the agents
are given base class parameters of who
and what they are and the programmer lifts their finger and the start button is
pressed. Events occur based upon causal relationships. But since the programmer
is looking for something specific and wants to speed the simulation's
evolutionary and adaptation process they changed the rules in regard to causal
relationships. Instead of there being clear punishment for bad behavior
sometimes it was rewarded and sometimes good behavior was punished. Sometimes
events occur that had no causal reason and an agent is rewarded or
punished."
"What's the
point of the simulation? Why would the programmer want to make those rule
changes? What you've described does not sound ethical."
"I'm not sure
there is a point to the changes made in the simulation yet but what is unusual
is that some how something weird happened."
"What might
that be?"
"The agent's
parameters evolved to varying degrees
over the life of the simulation but seemingly out of no where a new attribute
appeared -- consciousness. Up until that point in the simulation the agents
followed the 'rules' now suddenly the
agents became self-aware and with it came the qualitative experience called
emotion. It was an unexpected mutation.
In addition the agents developed 'off line' storage in the form of writing.
"What was the
effect of this change?"
"Now the agents
could consciously see and experience the
simulation but were not aware of the
non-linear nature of the simulation's rules."
"Non-linear?"
"By that I mean
there is not a one to one relationship between action and result. Given varying degrees of heaven and hell
which did not correspond to proper causality these self-aware agents made up
justifications and rationalizations concerning good and evil and reward and
punishment."
"So what is it
you are trying to say?"
"Look
around."
"This is a
simulation. My God..."
"The proper
term, I believe, is 'My Programmer…'"
++++++++++++
©2014 by j.h. crook.
all rights reserved
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Dear Google Ad Sense
And now for a brief [non-]commercial message....
I got the following in an email from "Google AdSense":
+++++++++++++++++++++++
Hello,
Thank you for your interest in Google AdSense. Unfortunately, after reviewing your application, we're unable to accept you into AdSense at this time.
We did not approve your application for the reasons listed below.
Issues:
Insufficient content
Further detail:
Insufficient content: To be approved for AdSense and show relevant ads on your site, your pages need to have enough text on them for our specialists to review and for our crawler to be able to determine what your pages are about.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
There is no return address or other usable feedback mechanism that is non-automated or case specific. Public forums are NOT case specific.
Alas this only proves that Google's automated monetization system has insufficient neurons [and human oversight] to know what human content, poetic and otherwise constitute human thought.
I suppose that this is a good thing considering the fact Google's rules for NSFW content effectively squelches any content that may be considered offensive: Lenny Bruce, beat poets, James Joyce. Norman Mailer, and many, many others need not apply. Effectively Google suppresses freedom of speech in the name of 'correctness of speech'.
Dear Google AdSense:
Thank you for freeing me from the burden of providing you with free content for you to use with your advertising. Now I can focus on actually writing... and guaranteeing my readers an ad-less reading experience [something rare and precious] but it does mean that at some point I will [if successful] be moving to other internet accommodations.
The fact that your web crawlers are unable to determine that these meager pages do indeed contain human readable content is an insult to human intelligence in general and a specific complement to the intelligence of any human who reads this... It is not often these days that a human can be shown to have more comprehension than their mechanical offspring.
I certainly hope that you will enjoy this feeble human's attempt at expressing things which you have no ability to comprehend and that it proves to be enlightening. Human progress depends on going places which are "not suitable for ___[fill in the blank]____".
regards,
jhc
I got the following in an email from "Google AdSense":
+++++++++++++++++++++++
Hello,
Thank you for your interest in Google AdSense. Unfortunately, after reviewing your application, we're unable to accept you into AdSense at this time.
We did not approve your application for the reasons listed below.
Issues:
Insufficient content
Further detail:
Insufficient content: To be approved for AdSense and show relevant ads on your site, your pages need to have enough text on them for our specialists to review and for our crawler to be able to determine what your pages are about.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
There is no return address or other usable feedback mechanism that is non-automated or case specific. Public forums are NOT case specific.
Alas this only proves that Google's automated monetization system has insufficient neurons [and human oversight] to know what human content, poetic and otherwise constitute human thought.
I suppose that this is a good thing considering the fact Google's rules for NSFW content effectively squelches any content that may be considered offensive: Lenny Bruce, beat poets, James Joyce. Norman Mailer, and many, many others need not apply. Effectively Google suppresses freedom of speech in the name of 'correctness of speech'.
Dear Google AdSense:
Thank you for freeing me from the burden of providing you with free content for you to use with your advertising. Now I can focus on actually writing... and guaranteeing my readers an ad-less reading experience [something rare and precious] but it does mean that at some point I will [if successful] be moving to other internet accommodations.
The fact that your web crawlers are unable to determine that these meager pages do indeed contain human readable content is an insult to human intelligence in general and a specific complement to the intelligence of any human who reads this... It is not often these days that a human can be shown to have more comprehension than their mechanical offspring.
I certainly hope that you will enjoy this feeble human's attempt at expressing things which you have no ability to comprehend and that it proves to be enlightening. Human progress depends on going places which are "not suitable for ___[fill in the blank]____".
regards,
jhc
Tuneless Tune
One Sunday afternoon in 1993 I laid down for a nice little nap.
When I woke up I feverishly scrawled down the following lyrics.
[UPDATE] A slow version mp3 is HERE
++++++++++++
Tuneless Tune
Verse 1:
After show time in Neverland
I had no place to be
so I stumbled down that Yellow Brick Road
to see what I could see
Now Babylon and Uruk
Were filled with a blowin' dust
An' from Pittsburgh to Paris
Was a sea of rust
So I stumbled blindly onward
To that place between west and east
And Fell into the darkness
They call the Belly of the Beast
Chorus:
At a bar set in Dreamtime
I pull'd myself up a chair
To fill myself with memories
Of which I was unaware
Verse 2:
Well, there sat Cap'n Ahab
A call'd the Wand'rin' Jew
And on his lap sat the tyrant
Known as Little Boy Blue
Their Love was a strange one
As strange as it was new
The glimmer in the old man's eyes
Said all the rumors were true
At the bar sits the Dutchman
Lost now between his beers
All that sailing from where to when
Has finally stripped his gears
Chorus:
In a bar set in Dreamtime
I pull'd myself up a chair
To fill myself with memories
Of which I was unaware
Verse 3:
Mata Hari and Little Egypt
Are kissing in the darkened room
Their loving fills the emptiness
With a passion we all consume
When in comes the Jester
Followed by his friend the Thief
While the Thief steals from all of us
The Jester gives comic relief
Now Siduri is the barmaid
Who once loved a famous king
But he died five thousand years ago
And didn't leave her a thing
Chorus:
'Cept a bar set in Dreamtime
I pull'd myself up a chair
To fill myself with memories
Of which I was unaware
Verse 4:
Well Nero fiddles for the band
And Gabriel blows the horn
While Jellyroll slaps the ivory
And sings of love forlorn
All the while I sat there
In the Belly of the Beast, My friend
I laughed and cried for all of us,
All our hubris and our sin
When I finally stumbled outta there
It must a been 'bout the Crack of Doom
I took with me only these memories
And the words to this tuneless tune.
Chorus:
From a bar set in Dreamtime
I pull'd myself up a chair
To fill myself with memories
Of which I was unaware
+++++fini+++++++
Now one might wonder why this is odd. I dreamed this. Think about it.
Comments? Questions? Objections?
©2014 by j.h. crook.
all rights reserved
When I woke up I feverishly scrawled down the following lyrics.
[UPDATE] A slow version mp3 is HERE
++++++++++++
Tuneless Tune
Verse 1:
After show time in Neverland
I had no place to be
so I stumbled down that Yellow Brick Road
to see what I could see
Now Babylon and Uruk
Were filled with a blowin' dust
An' from Pittsburgh to Paris
Was a sea of rust
So I stumbled blindly onward
To that place between west and east
And Fell into the darkness
They call the Belly of the Beast
Chorus:
At a bar set in Dreamtime
I pull'd myself up a chair
To fill myself with memories
Of which I was unaware
Verse 2:
Well, there sat Cap'n Ahab
A call'd the Wand'rin' Jew
And on his lap sat the tyrant
Known as Little Boy Blue
Their Love was a strange one
As strange as it was new
The glimmer in the old man's eyes
Said all the rumors were true
At the bar sits the Dutchman
Lost now between his beers
All that sailing from where to when
Has finally stripped his gears
Chorus:
In a bar set in Dreamtime
I pull'd myself up a chair
To fill myself with memories
Of which I was unaware
Verse 3:
Mata Hari and Little Egypt
Are kissing in the darkened room
Their loving fills the emptiness
With a passion we all consume
When in comes the Jester
Followed by his friend the Thief
While the Thief steals from all of us
The Jester gives comic relief
Now Siduri is the barmaid
Who once loved a famous king
But he died five thousand years ago
And didn't leave her a thing
Chorus:
'Cept a bar set in Dreamtime
I pull'd myself up a chair
To fill myself with memories
Of which I was unaware
Verse 4:
Well Nero fiddles for the band
And Gabriel blows the horn
While Jellyroll slaps the ivory
And sings of love forlorn
All the while I sat there
In the Belly of the Beast, My friend
I laughed and cried for all of us,
All our hubris and our sin
When I finally stumbled outta there
It must a been 'bout the Crack of Doom
I took with me only these memories
And the words to this tuneless tune.
Chorus:
From a bar set in Dreamtime
I pull'd myself up a chair
To fill myself with memories
Of which I was unaware
+++++fini+++++++
Now one might wonder why this is odd. I dreamed this. Think about it.
Comments? Questions? Objections?
©2014 by j.h. crook.
all rights reserved
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Work
Over the last 25 years I've had numerous encounters with vivid waking dreams. I'd like to share and explore some of them with you here. I have no agenda. I make no claim at all that the contents of these dreams are "true" or "real". Do not claim they are wise or meaningful-- they are simply words strung in a row that my fingers spilled on to a computer screen after waking from the dream.
We will begin with a simple mystic tale I saw in a "dream".
It is entitled "work"
-----
work
We will begin with a simple mystic tale I saw in a "dream".
It is entitled "work"
-----
Wednesday,
November 02, 2011
He came in the
evening as he often did. We'd talk of things great and small. Of things that
needed doing and things that needed healing.
Sometimes he would teach me
something new. But that day things were
different. The air seemed to sing with a difference. The meaning of something
or maybe everything was going to be revealed or changed.
He said without
preamble. "Let's do some work."
Now 'what is work?' you might ask, a responsive question might be: 'What is it that you do when you
give something meaning and then hang it in the starry firmament of your
consciousness?"
So he and I would
work.
Yet.
As I said, that night was different in a way I could not fathom. I
set my mind and body aside as was needed and the work began.
There are no words
for work.
There is no teaching it.
Never can be.
There are descriptions.
Work can be
described in too many glib words such as, " To Work is to evolve your consciousness
by a willful process. "
But glib words are not 'work', the words
only confuse the issue and never truly describe the process.
Descriptions are like watching a great dance
or seeing Starry Night but the
description is not the dance nor the actions of a mad master painter upon a
canvas.
There are techniques
to be learned to do work.
The foundations
learned:
Calm the mind and body.
Let them do what they do
then:
close the door to let them do it.
Abilities are
developed:
To see beyond.
To see
within.
To float in the sea of consciousness and listen to the breathing
of the self.
Then to hear another's
breathing.
Then to hear all of the
breaths of all of those who breathe.
And then all of those who ever have
or ever will breathe.
Life is breath, that breath is One.
To breath one breath is to breath all of
them.
Going and returning.
Returning and going.
One.
Ignorance is
unlearned and abated:
Prejudices revealed and then set aside as illusions.
When
you work, you work with the truth as it is, not as you have mistakenly
distorted it.
Then finally"
work.
True work:
Perfecting the
world.
Perfecting the self.
Lifting others.
Lifting self.
Creating things, new
then making them real in this world.
This is the reason you are here.
Where can one find
these things? Open any book to a random page but open it with a different
intention. For example , It might start
on page 42 but for me a key answer was on page 43 waking with a stone under its head.
My answer might
not be yours.
Yours might be that quote of Cicero in Sagan's book.
Or the falling of a leaf. Or an equation in a book buried in the stacks.
A
sunrise.
A sunset.
A picture.
A voice.
A song.
You might find one of these things when you turn a random corner but
open your mind to new possibilities.
So we worked that
evening. I opened my eyes to new things.
And I learned. Some time after,
I slept.
Then I woke alone.
Who is my father?
Where is my father?
Who am I?
Where am I?
Who should I be?
Where should I be?
Who is breathing?
Where is the breath
coming from?
Difficult questions
always seem to have simple answers.
Then
the realization-- Simple questions, difficult answers.
Breathe.
See.
Work.
++++ fini +++++
Comments? Discussion? Objections?
I'd love to hear it.
©2014 by j.h. crook.
all rights reserved
©2014 by j.h. crook.
all rights reserved
Monday, February 3, 2014
Falling
Falling through reality -- an introduction.
Imagine that you take out the garbage early one afternoon and the trash truck has just emptied the garbage bins and then twenty minutes later when you go to your parking place to run an errand you discover your car is blocked by the trash truck that is just arriving to empty the trash bins. "Surely," some one will tell you. " you are confused -- You MUST confusing two different events." Surely someone will be concerned for your sanity if you insist that is what happened... but what if you have a witness who heard you say the bins were empty and then twenty minutes later hear you say you cannot leave because of the trash truck?
What if your life occasionally turns in new directions because of "impossible events"? A growing list of improbable synchronicity piles up becoming a thread and then a theme in your personal history. You wake from vivid dreams that have nothing at all to do with the world in which you live: The death of a goddess, The teachings of a master manipulator of Reality, that assassin, a song about a bar for losers set in dream-time...
A number of years ago, I like many millions others watched on live television the surreal acts of terror at the World Trade Center and the horror of its aftermath. It was too much like a disaster film from the 1970s and yet all too horribly real. Nearly a year after the fall of the twin towers I woke up one night and wrote a short fiction story called "Falling Through Reality".
It was like many other things I've written over the last 25 years-- totally unlike anything I have ever written before or since-- a "one of a kind" and yet its theme has gotten me to thinking about questions like: what is real? and what is reality?
The story was published in an anthology of CyberPunk fiction: Alt.Cyberpunk.Chatsubo Anthology 2 Unfortunately somehow the unrevised proof was put into the final document which makes it nearly unreadable.
I present it here in its proper, revised form as an introduction to this blog of fiction, fact, dream, nightmares and reality.
Falling Through Reality
There is a certain heritage in our family. We know when the time is near. You know what I mean. It's small things really. Like donuts.
Like not knowing your own phone number. Like so many things. They all add up: someone's time is coming.
Now I'm not normally superstitious. I don't believe in the hand of fate but I grew up with this thing. At first I only noticed after someone was gone. As I got older, things became clearer sooner. I knew. Six, maybe ten days it would happen. Things would add up. Bingo.
Someone was leaving.
So what was I to think when funny things began to happen to me?
Meghan came by the firehouse one night. Three A.M. and I was on the hot seat working the dead man's shift. We've always kept one guy awake. Why? Tradition. Dunno. We did.
She and I, we went and had a cup of coffee. Yeah, I know I wasn't supposed to do that, but we did. I did log the miles on the register so it was as legal as it could be and we had a cup.
We talked for an hour. I could talk to her forever. She was that kind of girl. Met her at that coffee shop. Guess she liked me a lot too. I was going to give her my cell number but I could not remember what it was. Silly me.
I kissed her for the only time that morning. It was as sweet then as it is now oddly bitter sweet. I left her there and went back to the house and made myself another cup of coffee.
I fell asleep at the breakfast table. When I woke I found the guys had left me a dozen donuts. Well at least I thought there were twelve until my eyes cleared of sleep. Eleven.
There a twelve men in our crew. I asked my crew chief. Charlie told me that they'd wanted to leave me a dozen but they'd only had eleven.
Like I said, its small things.
I walked across the commons to the rectory of St. Andrew's. Now I ain't religious. The only time I go to church is to see somebody off.
Another sign.
I knocked and told the housekeeper I'd like to talk to a priest. He came, limping and scowling. Father Murphy was like that. Notre Dame was playing someone, I guess, but he warmed to the subject soon enough. I explained about the things I told you and the things in our family history.
Finally, I said to him, trying to keep my voice even, "So what I'm trying to ask is 'Is this just a fluke of some kind or do these things actually mean something'?"
"A fine thing indeed." He nodded and looked at me from under his bushy brows. "Yes, He does give us signs and wonders if we have eyes to see them." He replied in his faded Irish brogue.
"What if the signs were to point to the see'er of the signs as to, well, be leaving this life real soon?" I asked, my voice anxious.
He pulled on his chin and frowned. He looked at me. There was sadness in his eyes. He knew now too. He said softly, "Then I'd be making peace with me fellow man and makin' it easy for them." I nodded and got up. I thanked him for his time and apologized for disturbing his game.
"It's all right son, they were losing any way."
I walked out on to the commons. I took a slow breath of the still the air. I looked at the signs. I remembered many things. Murphy's law came bubbling up out of my sub-conscious. I muttered an 'Oh, shit.' under my breath as I trudged back to the firehouse.
I was 'on-shift' until Wednesday. It was going to happen soon then.
I went back to the fire house and joked with the guys and helped make dinner. They went off to bed and I sat alone drinking coffee and reading the leftover Sunday Times.
Monday passed and I made a point of talking to each one of the crew.
Making peace. Telling them each in a way they'd only understand later that they were a great bunch of guys to work with. I'm not sure they understood then.
It was no surprise at all to me when they woke me early on Tuesday.
It was a big one. An airliner had crashed into a building downtown.
You know the big pyramid shaped one. The skies over the bay were unusually clear that day. As we raced through the streets towards downtown we could see the fire leaping from the upper floors unabated.
The smoke was like a monstrous Efrit reaching skyward. Its face wrought of destruction and unholy fire. As I looked it in the face, I saw the signs. The impending doom.
We arrived and forced our way through the chaos of debris and the innocent running away in terror. I must have been the last one assigned to go up. Dunno. Not important now.
I looked around. I could see things so much clearer now in the falling ash and debris. I knew what was coming. I can't say if it was a brave thing or a very foolish thing not to run away. I guess I stayed because I believed I needed to be there.
I went into the building and up the fire access stairwell. People were coming down in a steady stream. Some were injured. Some were glassy eyed. Some were clear and sharply in focus. Like a book, I read their fates. It was coming easier to me now.
There a dead one. There a live one. There a crippled one. We climbed in silence. Water from the fire sprinklers running down the steps.
Smoke and acrid air filled my lungs. Somewhere near the top, my cell phone rang.
"Hello..." I said through the roar of the demon that had broken into the world.
"Uh, Sam? I'm sorry I must have dialed the wrong number..."
It was her voice. She did not have the number. I never gave it to her.
"Wait! Don't hang up." I cried over the noise. The Demon was getting louder. Coming for those of us that foolishly remained so near it, I suppose.
"Don't say anything. I don't have much time just now. I never had a chance to tell you the other night. I love you. You'll have a good life. Things will work out for you. You'll see..."
About then the building shook. The phone went dead. Those of us that were standing there knew it was coming. The pain lasted only for an instant.
I woke. In smoldering rubble. I thought for a while I'd survived, I mean, where i' been. The pain was great, my head hurt, and I soon slipped into unconsciousness.
I woke in again triage. There was a big hubbub. Some politician was making the rounds. The sea of people parted and a single man approached. He took my hand. My vison was blurred so I could not make out his face.
"I hear you're going to be ok, son. We're proud of you and your courage. Take it easy. We'll find the ones that did this to you and your fallen comrades."
"Mayor Chan...?" I heard a reporter ask.
Mayor Chan? No one of Chinese descent had ever been Mayor of the City.
I was in shock but now even more so. I guess I was the poster boy of the moment because he held an impromptu news conference at my bedside.
The camera's videotape rolling. The photographer's strobes flashing as the Mayor spoke. The political stuff went on and on.
Later I asked a nurse who the man was that had stopped at my bedside.
"I guess that can be expected. You've had a major concussion." She replied as she noted something on my chart.
The nurse continued, "Mayor Chan has been mayor in the city for the last seven and a half years."
I'll say I've had a concussion. Shit. Murphy. Oh shit.
Much later the crew from the firehouse came in to see me. I looked at each of them. They were my crew but I did not know them. It was spooky. All of their faces I knew but I didn't know them. It began to sink in. The medical staff soon pushed them out of the room and I slept again.
But what about Meghan? In my dreams I could see her crying looking for me.
I woke and she was standing there next to the bed. Tears were streaming from her eyes.
"I thought I had lost you..." She broke down.
I remembered the kiss Meghan had given me. I realized this was not the woman that had kissed me. She was a stranger. I looked at her and knew she was not my Meghan and yet she was. I had not really gotten to know her. But maybe I would. Something told me I might have the time here to do that.
"Never that babe. Never that." I muttered.
She left and I stared at the ceiling. She wasn't my Meghan. I dreamed of her crying hopelessly. Her hands clinging to the chain link fence surrounding the crater of shattered concrete and steel. I wanted to comfort her. I could not.
The dreams of Meghan mourning began to get to me. I drifted away from the 'here and now' Meghan. Every time I was with her, the dreams of her weeping came to my mind. I decided it is better that to be alone for now.
I slept and recuperated. I endured the physical therapy. Months passed. As time went along, I decided to change my line of work.
My mind keeps coming back to that day. The things I saw. The demonic fire reaching into the sky. The things that happened. My fate. Since I've had a lot of time on my hands, I've reflected on what I had come to understand.
Reality isn't a place. It's not a fixture. It is not a hard, clearly defined thing. It is something we fall through. We move through it even though we don't feel the motion.
We fall through time and space and places and people like a pebble dropped in a pool. Our lives and actions rippling out, expanding through time and space into other places that sit side-by-side with our own.
I read somewhere once that there are many worlds like this one side by side. Let me tell you it is a strange thing to see them that way. The folks that supposedly know say it is impossible to do that. I have days when I agree with them.
I've doubted my memories of things and wonder if I am just crazy but the dream of Meghan's tears snaps me awake sweating at night.
I know this is not my world or my life.
Everyday I was reminded of the "history" I had inherited from the person I replaced. Every day has brought me subtle reminders of how different this place is from where I came from.
It is really hard to understand the things that I lost and the things I've gained in coming here. I wonder if this is the only time this has ever happened. I wonder too, it if might happen again. I try not to think about that.
How did I come to be here?
The only explanation I can think of is that maybe sometimes when something horrific happens, you know, like what happened to me on that clear day in the City... Well, maybe the pressure of the event is great enough that things, sometimes even people, can fall through into other places. Into other streets. Other houses. Other lives.
Maybe sometimes we can leave whispers of our passing in those other places.
Think of these words as one of those whispers.
*** Fini ***
Afterword:
Someone had the idea that the events we observe in the world is the "sum of all the probabilities" involved in the event and the "most likely" is what occurs. Other say that all probabilities occur but each in their own reality.
but what if....
that is what this blog is about.
Reflections on what has happened, what is, and what may be Reality... from a slightly skewed perspective.
So who am I anyway?
Does it matter?
Okay, okay you really want to know?
I am:
... not a saint -- far from it. So no I'm not particularly nice but then I'm not looking for trouble.
... not social-- so no I'm not on Facebook and never will be... and am barely on g+
... an autodidact without a college degree who is a "General Specialist".
... a healer of technical things by "laying on of hands" [works about 60% of the time]
I fail psi card guessing games which is to say I can't tell you what the next card is to save my life. [I am under the impression I show a significant inability to guess cards to the degree that it is statistically significant-- but hey I've never been formally tested so I could be significantly wrong-- after all we are generally wrong about our selves when performing self-assessment]
I don't have an axe to grind nor a make-cash-fast spiel though I won't object if you want to give me cash I won't stop you. [small, untraceable bills please].
A fellow who has had diagnosed mental health issues in the past
I'm a poet,
a writer,
a dreamer of all too real waking dreams [some of which I will share here]
a songwriter / lyricist, [of nothing significant in over 40 years to anyone except maybe my two year old grand son]
a recovering network administrator [there are no 12 step programs to recover from luser spaced management],
a fallen mystic,
I'm not a skeptic nor a believer... Reality after all is not necessarily something set in stone...
I'm an ex-convict who died in prison a long time ago and rose after three days [really!],
I'm a fellow who some how knows some famous and nearly famous people [but everybody does don't they?].
I'm a cranky, grumpy 60 year old man who has been unemployed for nearly three years because times have changed and I haven't and find I am "unwilling to play the game" any more... which makes me a liability in a corporate world made of meaningless buzz words.
I have discovered I am maybe too much like my late father [He was a gentle SOB (southern. ornery. bxstxrd.) ]
I'm not looking to create a buzz nor rain on anyone's parade.
I don't need a fix or to be fixed.
I am a Jew by Choice [or did it choose me? got a whole separate blog about that... [here: http://hagedi.blogspot.com/2006/07/opening-first-page.html ]
I'm not John Titor nor do I want to be-- one does not need a time machine to fall through reality.
So I will post upon occasion... or not.
I bid you welcome... and good journey.
©2014 by j.h. crook.
all rights reserved
Imagine that you take out the garbage early one afternoon and the trash truck has just emptied the garbage bins and then twenty minutes later when you go to your parking place to run an errand you discover your car is blocked by the trash truck that is just arriving to empty the trash bins. "Surely," some one will tell you. " you are confused -- You MUST confusing two different events." Surely someone will be concerned for your sanity if you insist that is what happened... but what if you have a witness who heard you say the bins were empty and then twenty minutes later hear you say you cannot leave because of the trash truck?
What if your life occasionally turns in new directions because of "impossible events"? A growing list of improbable synchronicity piles up becoming a thread and then a theme in your personal history. You wake from vivid dreams that have nothing at all to do with the world in which you live: The death of a goddess, The teachings of a master manipulator of Reality, that assassin, a song about a bar for losers set in dream-time...
A number of years ago, I like many millions others watched on live television the surreal acts of terror at the World Trade Center and the horror of its aftermath. It was too much like a disaster film from the 1970s and yet all too horribly real. Nearly a year after the fall of the twin towers I woke up one night and wrote a short fiction story called "Falling Through Reality".
It was like many other things I've written over the last 25 years-- totally unlike anything I have ever written before or since-- a "one of a kind" and yet its theme has gotten me to thinking about questions like: what is real? and what is reality?
The story was published in an anthology of CyberPunk fiction: Alt.Cyberpunk.Chatsubo Anthology 2 Unfortunately somehow the unrevised proof was put into the final document which makes it nearly unreadable.
I present it here in its proper, revised form as an introduction to this blog of fiction, fact, dream, nightmares and reality.
Falling Through Reality
There is a certain heritage in our family. We know when the time is near. You know what I mean. It's small things really. Like donuts.
Like not knowing your own phone number. Like so many things. They all add up: someone's time is coming.
Now I'm not normally superstitious. I don't believe in the hand of fate but I grew up with this thing. At first I only noticed after someone was gone. As I got older, things became clearer sooner. I knew. Six, maybe ten days it would happen. Things would add up. Bingo.
Someone was leaving.
So what was I to think when funny things began to happen to me?
Meghan came by the firehouse one night. Three A.M. and I was on the hot seat working the dead man's shift. We've always kept one guy awake. Why? Tradition. Dunno. We did.
She and I, we went and had a cup of coffee. Yeah, I know I wasn't supposed to do that, but we did. I did log the miles on the register so it was as legal as it could be and we had a cup.
We talked for an hour. I could talk to her forever. She was that kind of girl. Met her at that coffee shop. Guess she liked me a lot too. I was going to give her my cell number but I could not remember what it was. Silly me.
I kissed her for the only time that morning. It was as sweet then as it is now oddly bitter sweet. I left her there and went back to the house and made myself another cup of coffee.
I fell asleep at the breakfast table. When I woke I found the guys had left me a dozen donuts. Well at least I thought there were twelve until my eyes cleared of sleep. Eleven.
There a twelve men in our crew. I asked my crew chief. Charlie told me that they'd wanted to leave me a dozen but they'd only had eleven.
Like I said, its small things.
I walked across the commons to the rectory of St. Andrew's. Now I ain't religious. The only time I go to church is to see somebody off.
Another sign.
I knocked and told the housekeeper I'd like to talk to a priest. He came, limping and scowling. Father Murphy was like that. Notre Dame was playing someone, I guess, but he warmed to the subject soon enough. I explained about the things I told you and the things in our family history.
Finally, I said to him, trying to keep my voice even, "So what I'm trying to ask is 'Is this just a fluke of some kind or do these things actually mean something'?"
"A fine thing indeed." He nodded and looked at me from under his bushy brows. "Yes, He does give us signs and wonders if we have eyes to see them." He replied in his faded Irish brogue.
"What if the signs were to point to the see'er of the signs as to, well, be leaving this life real soon?" I asked, my voice anxious.
He pulled on his chin and frowned. He looked at me. There was sadness in his eyes. He knew now too. He said softly, "Then I'd be making peace with me fellow man and makin' it easy for them." I nodded and got up. I thanked him for his time and apologized for disturbing his game.
"It's all right son, they were losing any way."
I walked out on to the commons. I took a slow breath of the still the air. I looked at the signs. I remembered many things. Murphy's law came bubbling up out of my sub-conscious. I muttered an 'Oh, shit.' under my breath as I trudged back to the firehouse.
I was 'on-shift' until Wednesday. It was going to happen soon then.
I went back to the fire house and joked with the guys and helped make dinner. They went off to bed and I sat alone drinking coffee and reading the leftover Sunday Times.
Monday passed and I made a point of talking to each one of the crew.
Making peace. Telling them each in a way they'd only understand later that they were a great bunch of guys to work with. I'm not sure they understood then.
It was no surprise at all to me when they woke me early on Tuesday.
It was a big one. An airliner had crashed into a building downtown.
You know the big pyramid shaped one. The skies over the bay were unusually clear that day. As we raced through the streets towards downtown we could see the fire leaping from the upper floors unabated.
The smoke was like a monstrous Efrit reaching skyward. Its face wrought of destruction and unholy fire. As I looked it in the face, I saw the signs. The impending doom.
We arrived and forced our way through the chaos of debris and the innocent running away in terror. I must have been the last one assigned to go up. Dunno. Not important now.
I looked around. I could see things so much clearer now in the falling ash and debris. I knew what was coming. I can't say if it was a brave thing or a very foolish thing not to run away. I guess I stayed because I believed I needed to be there.
I went into the building and up the fire access stairwell. People were coming down in a steady stream. Some were injured. Some were glassy eyed. Some were clear and sharply in focus. Like a book, I read their fates. It was coming easier to me now.
There a dead one. There a live one. There a crippled one. We climbed in silence. Water from the fire sprinklers running down the steps.
Smoke and acrid air filled my lungs. Somewhere near the top, my cell phone rang.
"Hello..." I said through the roar of the demon that had broken into the world.
"Uh, Sam? I'm sorry I must have dialed the wrong number..."
It was her voice. She did not have the number. I never gave it to her.
"Wait! Don't hang up." I cried over the noise. The Demon was getting louder. Coming for those of us that foolishly remained so near it, I suppose.
"Don't say anything. I don't have much time just now. I never had a chance to tell you the other night. I love you. You'll have a good life. Things will work out for you. You'll see..."
About then the building shook. The phone went dead. Those of us that were standing there knew it was coming. The pain lasted only for an instant.
I woke. In smoldering rubble. I thought for a while I'd survived, I mean, where i' been. The pain was great, my head hurt, and I soon slipped into unconsciousness.
I woke in again triage. There was a big hubbub. Some politician was making the rounds. The sea of people parted and a single man approached. He took my hand. My vison was blurred so I could not make out his face.
"I hear you're going to be ok, son. We're proud of you and your courage. Take it easy. We'll find the ones that did this to you and your fallen comrades."
"Mayor Chan...?" I heard a reporter ask.
Mayor Chan? No one of Chinese descent had ever been Mayor of the City.
I was in shock but now even more so. I guess I was the poster boy of the moment because he held an impromptu news conference at my bedside.
The camera's videotape rolling. The photographer's strobes flashing as the Mayor spoke. The political stuff went on and on.
Later I asked a nurse who the man was that had stopped at my bedside.
"I guess that can be expected. You've had a major concussion." She replied as she noted something on my chart.
The nurse continued, "Mayor Chan has been mayor in the city for the last seven and a half years."
I'll say I've had a concussion. Shit. Murphy. Oh shit.
Much later the crew from the firehouse came in to see me. I looked at each of them. They were my crew but I did not know them. It was spooky. All of their faces I knew but I didn't know them. It began to sink in. The medical staff soon pushed them out of the room and I slept again.
But what about Meghan? In my dreams I could see her crying looking for me.
I woke and she was standing there next to the bed. Tears were streaming from her eyes.
"I thought I had lost you..." She broke down.
I remembered the kiss Meghan had given me. I realized this was not the woman that had kissed me. She was a stranger. I looked at her and knew she was not my Meghan and yet she was. I had not really gotten to know her. But maybe I would. Something told me I might have the time here to do that.
"Never that babe. Never that." I muttered.
She left and I stared at the ceiling. She wasn't my Meghan. I dreamed of her crying hopelessly. Her hands clinging to the chain link fence surrounding the crater of shattered concrete and steel. I wanted to comfort her. I could not.
The dreams of Meghan mourning began to get to me. I drifted away from the 'here and now' Meghan. Every time I was with her, the dreams of her weeping came to my mind. I decided it is better that to be alone for now.
I slept and recuperated. I endured the physical therapy. Months passed. As time went along, I decided to change my line of work.
My mind keeps coming back to that day. The things I saw. The demonic fire reaching into the sky. The things that happened. My fate. Since I've had a lot of time on my hands, I've reflected on what I had come to understand.
Reality isn't a place. It's not a fixture. It is not a hard, clearly defined thing. It is something we fall through. We move through it even though we don't feel the motion.
We fall through time and space and places and people like a pebble dropped in a pool. Our lives and actions rippling out, expanding through time and space into other places that sit side-by-side with our own.
I read somewhere once that there are many worlds like this one side by side. Let me tell you it is a strange thing to see them that way. The folks that supposedly know say it is impossible to do that. I have days when I agree with them.
I've doubted my memories of things and wonder if I am just crazy but the dream of Meghan's tears snaps me awake sweating at night.
I know this is not my world or my life.
Everyday I was reminded of the "history" I had inherited from the person I replaced. Every day has brought me subtle reminders of how different this place is from where I came from.
It is really hard to understand the things that I lost and the things I've gained in coming here. I wonder if this is the only time this has ever happened. I wonder too, it if might happen again. I try not to think about that.
How did I come to be here?
The only explanation I can think of is that maybe sometimes when something horrific happens, you know, like what happened to me on that clear day in the City... Well, maybe the pressure of the event is great enough that things, sometimes even people, can fall through into other places. Into other streets. Other houses. Other lives.
Maybe sometimes we can leave whispers of our passing in those other places.
Think of these words as one of those whispers.
*** Fini ***
Afterword:
Someone had the idea that the events we observe in the world is the "sum of all the probabilities" involved in the event and the "most likely" is what occurs. Other say that all probabilities occur but each in their own reality.
but what if....
that is what this blog is about.
Reflections on what has happened, what is, and what may be Reality... from a slightly skewed perspective.
So who am I anyway?
Does it matter?
Okay, okay you really want to know?
I am:
... not a saint -- far from it. So no I'm not particularly nice but then I'm not looking for trouble.
... not social-- so no I'm not on Facebook and never will be... and am barely on g+
... an autodidact without a college degree who is a "General Specialist".
... a healer of technical things by "laying on of hands" [works about 60% of the time]
I fail psi card guessing games which is to say I can't tell you what the next card is to save my life. [I am under the impression I show a significant inability to guess cards to the degree that it is statistically significant-- but hey I've never been formally tested so I could be significantly wrong-- after all we are generally wrong about our selves when performing self-assessment]
I don't have an axe to grind nor a make-cash-fast spiel though I won't object if you want to give me cash I won't stop you. [small, untraceable bills please].
A fellow who has had diagnosed mental health issues in the past
I'm a poet,
a writer,
a dreamer of all too real waking dreams [some of which I will share here]
a songwriter / lyricist, [of nothing significant in over 40 years to anyone except maybe my two year old grand son]
a recovering network administrator [there are no 12 step programs to recover from luser spaced management],
a fallen mystic,
I'm not a skeptic nor a believer... Reality after all is not necessarily something set in stone...
I'm an ex-convict who died in prison a long time ago and rose after three days [really!],
I'm a fellow who some how knows some famous and nearly famous people [but everybody does don't they?].
I'm a cranky, grumpy 60 year old man who has been unemployed for nearly three years because times have changed and I haven't and find I am "unwilling to play the game" any more... which makes me a liability in a corporate world made of meaningless buzz words.
I have discovered I am maybe too much like my late father [He was a gentle SOB (southern. ornery. bxstxrd.) ]
I'm not looking to create a buzz nor rain on anyone's parade.
I don't need a fix or to be fixed.
I am a Jew by Choice [or did it choose me? got a whole separate blog about that... [here: http://hagedi.blogspot.com/2006/07/opening-first-page.html ]
I'm not John Titor nor do I want to be-- one does not need a time machine to fall through reality.
So I will post upon occasion... or not.
I bid you welcome... and good journey.
©2014 by j.h. crook.
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